When I Deleted My Game Save: A Quiet Farewell to the Digital Chicken Arena

I deleted my game save at 3:17 a.m., after three straight losses and no bonus.

The screen glowed blue—the same shade as my mother’s old quilt hanging in our Brooklyn apartment. I didn’t quit because I was broke. I quit because the chickens never looked back.

In this digital arena, every win felt like a ritual borrowed from Rio’s Carnival—feathers flashing to rhythms coded by algorithms, not chance. The RTP was high (96%), but it didn’t feel fair. It felt hollow.

I used to think: if I just bet small enough, stay long enough, maybe one day the machine would whisper back.

But it never did.

The special events—the ‘Samba Duel’, the ‘Rainforest Showdown’—were beautiful. But they weren’t mine. They were designed for someone else’s hunger.

I stopped chasing赔率 because I started seeing myself in the RNG.

This isn’t a strategy guide. It’s an elegy for what we pretend is joy when no one is watching.

You ever deleted your save because you realized it wasn’t play—it was performance?

Leave your answer below.