My return to Rust is going well, other than my freakish Guns N' Roses-loving neighbor shooting me every time I try to hang string lights on my roof

As much as I'd like to keep up the charade that I'm not a very competitive player in most games, the degree to which I've been lying to myself has become painfully evident as I get back into Rust. It's been a while, but now I remember why I quit—this game brings the devil out of me. A petty, vindictive, camping-outside-your-door-at-night devil.

In my defense, I'm perfectly pleasant when you're nice to me. But kill me outside the recycler after I've just traded hoards of junk for valuables? Menace. Maybe not the most threatening menace, as I'm not a very good shot, but at the very least I'm lobbing grenades in your door before you take me down. Cross me in any game where there was an option for peace and I will initiate revenge mode while also reverting to my elementary school defense of well, he started it.

My return to Rust, a social survival game for psychopaths that I've lost weeks of my life to over the past seven years, has been mostly chill, with only one or two instances of me going full Liam Neeson in Taken over a handful of metal fragments and a spoiled chicken breast. I tried to talk the first guy down: I knew he was my neighbor and didn't want to start any beef, but he shot me as I left the Bandit Camp with recycled goodies.

Sometimes people in Rust won't kill you if you appeal to some base instinct of shame. I tried shouting "I'm naked, I'm naked!" as many nude, unarmed Rust players do. No luck this time. Being the survival hellscape that it is, he didn't care and dipped with my stacks of precious metals. I spent the next couple hours launching multiple failed revenge plots, with one half-success when I blew up his friend (and myself) in a feat so ridiculous I could hear them both cackling as the screen went dark.

I made the split-second decision to bolt through the front gate when I saw my neighbor had a friend opening and closing the door. I was half-dressed, armed only with a handful of grenades and mushrooms for healing, and claimed the friend as my victim when I realized I wasn't going to survive long enough to reach my neighbor on the roof. At least we all had a good laugh.

That's fine though. Whatever. I'm not mad or anything. I just packed up my measly collection of junk and moved to a new, secluded home in the jungle. It's what I needed, you know? A fresh start, somewhere no one knew me amongst all the man-eating panthers, crocodiles, and snakes.

Cue Welcome to The Jungle

I was delighted to find a convenient spot clear of other players, so I built without a care in the world. The best players will tell you not to use or wear a bunch of flashy crap to attract attention, but Rust has string lights and a Dracula cape in the store and I didn't seem to have any neighbors. What if I indulged a little?

So there I was, standing on my roof with only a wooden mallet and 14 ft of string lights, naked as the day I was born from the waist down, ridiculous bright red Dracula vest and cape from the waist up. I heard shots whiz by, but surely that's not at me? Surely no one is shooting at a festive, half-dressed vampire hanging lights.

Wrong. Somehow I'd missed the guy who set up a new base across from me while I was offline.

"I'm naked, I'm naked!" I tried shouting again, even though I'm clearly wearing a ridiculous vampire cape and armed with a spool of lights. I'd probably shoot me too. He didn't say anything, just continued firing as he sauntered back to his base. I died standing on my own roof, but I was delighted when I realized he wasn't coming to steal my string lights (or the more valuable stuff inside my base). He didn't even make an attempt.

I tried to keep my chill when I respawned. Maybe it was a mistake, and I could see him still outside working on his base, so I decided to make peace. I walked over, told him I was the person building nearby and asked if he had any scrap to sell. No response. Fine. That's fine. At least he didn't shoot me again. I walked back home, and we peacefully ignored each other for the evening.

And then it happened: something broke our unspoken and apparently one-sided armistice. I was on my roof, more naked than ever with a fresh supply of braided lights, and he shot me dead. Again.

I hollered as I went down, yelling for him to mind his business as I hit the ground. He still didn't say anything, but while I waited to bleed out and respawn, I heard a distant song playing over voice chat: "Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and—"

The absurdity made me immediately forget any petty revenge schemes. I laughed so hard I cried, and he still didn't say a damn thing. We mostly ignored each other until the next day when he abruptly did the same thing again, but this time I was on my roof removing my string lights. While I was offline this guy had built a second tower between our bases, and when I logged back in he parked himself on the roof in a plastic chair, took his time, and then shot me.

"If you got the money, honey, we got your disease—"

I laughed so hard I couldn't even keep my hand on my mouse. I've had some pretty ridiculous Rust experiences, but none quite so strange as this guy who seemingly hates festive lighting and communicates exclusively through Guns 'n' Roses. Maybe he just hates people who decorate out of season, or maybe he just didn't want me attracting people to our neighboring bases with my lack of Rust building etiquette.

I guess I'll never know as a recent server wipe separated us, but I'll forever miss my mysterious, weird Welcome to The Jungle soundboard neighbor. I thought I could hold a grudge against anyone in this game, but you really brought me to my knees.