How Juni Cortez From Spy Kids Became A World-Renowned Counter-Terrorist
Written by: Jake Beatrice
I’ve never been any good at Counter-Strike. When I first began my CS:GO career, crouch-jumping, teammates stacking on top of one another, and bullet spray patterns were all examples of strange, off-putting gameplay fundamentals that I had yet to master. But the allure of cutthroat competitive action was irresistible; palpable enough to seduce me into the intimidating world of PC gaming. But with an under-powered machine and a complete lack of mouse and keyboard experience, my road to success would be long and painful.
Months later, I had made no progress. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much help I would seek online or from experienced friends, I would not improve. If my teammates were trained surgeons calculating delicate cuts, I was a ten-year-old med student performing open-heart surgery while wearing oven mitts. Despite constant failure, my search for glory culminated in perhaps the greatest online gaming moment I’ve ever had.
“... I was a ten-year-old med student performing open heart surgery while wearing oven mitts.”
Armed with the Steam username “Juni Cortez”, I queued into a competitive game on the map “Inferno” alongside a party of four strangers. Each of them were moderately experienced players, and each had serious issues with my performance. Throughout the match, beginning to end, I faced constant heckling. “Juuuunniii. You’re lettin’ the team down, Juniiiii.” “That’s not how you use the AK, Juniiii.” Their reactions weren’t out of anger, but rather disappointment. I was trying my best, but I simply wasn’t skilled enough to pull off a win.
After twenty-nine rounds of repeatedly letting my teammates down, the score was 15-14; the final round. A successful defense would give us the win, and failure would result in a tie. Unfortunately, my worst nightmare had come to fruition – all four of my teammates had died. It was up to me to win the game against three opponents. They had already planted the bomb, and I had about twenty seconds to kill three people and defuse. To make matters worse, because of some poor in-game money management, I only could afford a pistol this round. I knew I couldn’t do it. Failure was certain.
“Failure was certain.”
I approached the bomb site in the adjacent corridor. A teammate chimes in with an undeserved display of confidence, “Juunii, dude, pick up that LMG I dropped. They’re all to your left. Just turn the corner and start spraying, man, you got this.” Others joined in, “Yeah, Juni. You can do it.” “Clutch or kick, Juni!” I found the gun, picked it up, and reloaded. It all comes down to Juni Cortez, a lone noob with six kills and nineteen deaths. I’m obviously not going to win this, but it’s worth a shot, right?
I quickly turn the corner, dragging the mouse to scan each hiding place. I spot one of them, already aiming at my head. I slam down the trigger and start spraying. Headshot. One down. The other two peek out from cover and go for the kill trade. I see both of them, flick my aim to the other side of the bomb site, and continue spraying.
“HOLY SHIT! HE DID IT!”
“OH MY GOD! HE ACTUALLY DID IT!”
I finish defusing the bomb with seconds to spare. I’m not sure what exactly just happened, but I somehow pulled it off. Heart pounding and hands quivering, the only thing I could mentally process was the sound of my four teammates, in unison, all chanting,
“JUNI! JUNI! JUNI!”
I’m not sure if what happened was complete luck, or a rare moment of dormant skill revealing itself. It’s almost certainly the former, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is, for the first time, four complete strangers were proud of me. Proud enough to chant my name together.
In my most recent competitive excursions, whenever toxicity reaches its peak, I think back to this unusual moment of joy and goodwill shared among players. Though I’ve had countless negative interactions with players online, this single instance of positivity is the one story that represents the entirety of online gaming in my mind.
