Just a black screen.
No Windows desktop.
Frame 1: The Traveler, but cracked like a dropped egg, oozing a viscous, golden light that moved in reverse, sucking itself back into the sphere.
0.2.
Frame 2: His own Guardian, but the helmet was off. The face underneath wasn't his. It was a stretched, porcelain mannequin with Zavala's jaw and Ikora's eyes.
Just a blink. The monitor went black, then returned. But something was wrong. The RivaTuner overlay was still there—the tiny yellow font—but it was no longer displaying "141 FPS."
Then, one by one, the frames began to render. He saw himself, asleep in his bed. He saw himself, walking to his PC. He saw himself, reaching for the mouse. He saw himself now , staring at the screen. riva tuner destiny 2
The Frame Counter
And Alex realized, with a slow, creeping horror, that he was no longer playing Destiny 2 .
Tonight, the Tower hub area was crowded. Hundreds of Guardians, their armor shimmering with arcane shaders, danced and sparred. Alex’s framerate trembled. 140. 139. 138. A cold dread pooled in his stomach. He opened RivaTuner, cranking the scanline sync and forcing the framerate limiter to 142. The numbers steadied. Just a black screen
Alex had been chasing the perfect framerate for longer than he cared to admit. His gaming PC was a cathedral of RGB lighting and liquid cooling, and its high priest was RivaTuner Statistics Server. That unassuming on-screen display—the crisp, yellow numbers in the top-right corner—was his scripture. He didn't just play Destiny 2 ; he benchmarked it. A dip below 141 frames per second was a heresy, a stutter a small death.
And in the top-right corner, in that familiar, crisp yellow font:
Frame 3: The RivaTuner overlay itself, floating in a black void. Below the FPS counter, a new line of text appeared: It was a stretched, porcelain mannequin with Zavala's