Yes, I was @seanaconda ’s multi. The ghost in your alliances. The spirit you blamed when the game shattered and no one knew why. I moved through Kovaze like a storm searching for somewhere to belong — loud, emotional, burning too brightly for a game built on quiet calculation. And when the chaos became too much, the game chose someone to cast out. One word ended everything: Multi. No farewell. No final vote. No chance to explain. Just silence, and a story torn away before it could finish. But listen closely — because this ending was never only about one account, one player, one mistake. Every lie told to survive. Every alliance made out of fear. Every betrayal justified as strategy. Every mask worn just to stay one more round. We have all hidden behind another version of ourselves in this game. We have all played roles to survive. We have all been someone else when the truth felt too risky. So let the blame fall where it may. Because in the end, the ghost you chased was never just me. It was all of us. We are all seanaconda. - seanaconda

Reason 1 — @Azah You made me feel safe while already knowing I was the one who would fall. Reason 2 — @Blazer You chose my end so the tribe could survive. Reason 3 — @Brxan You stayed silent while my fate was decided. Reason 4 — @Callum You kept me calm while the trap closed around me. Reason 5 — @JessieKowa You laughed with me while my torch was already doomed. Reason 6 — @Ralts023 You carried the votes that sealed my end. Reason 7 — @VenusVafa You watched as the sacrifice was chosen. Reason 8 — @A_Star You survived while my name spread through the tribe. Reason 9 — @Britt You stood safe while my place disappeared. Reason 10 — @bubba You lived while I was fed to the flames. Reason 11 — @JACK_O_LA You walked forward while my journey ended in ashes. Reason 12 — @Telemelo You saw another sunrise because I didn’t. Reason 13 — @v_sh You moved through the tribe like a shadow, whispering my name into every ear, guiding every doubt, aligning every vote, until my fall felt inevitable. The tribe survived. I burned. And the ashes remember who lit the match. -hoeassgirl

I met @seanaconda recently, and honestly, I’m still shaking thinking about it. My name is hoeassgirl, and this is my story. On January 9th, 2026, I approached Seana Conda at her meet and greet and asked to do my pose. After mustering up the courage, I told her, “You saved my life. You’re the reason I’m alive today.” She looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’ll die soon enough, ch*nk.” I froze. The room felt smaller. I started crying, and she laughed, telling me to stop while the photographer kept snapping pictures like nothing was wrong. At that point my hands were shaking so badly I could barely stand. She proceeded to laugh and flicked my vagina. My vision went black, my knees gave out, and I collapsed right there behind the curtain. And while my life literally flashed before my eyes, Seana Conda stood there with a phone in one hand and a vape in the other, and security stepped over my lifeless body to keep the meet-and-greet line moving. Last week, I woke up in a hospice bed after a five year coma. I was told I have one month left to live. Five years of my life vanished after I sacrificed myself at that meet and greet while the world kept moving on without me. Five years gone. One month left. Seana Aconda, I hope you’re happy. So take this feels like my final message to Kovaze, the place I once thought saved me when nothing else did. Goodbye, Kovaze. I hope someday you remember me. — hoeassgirl (1/22/15 - 3/8/2026)

Playing Outcasted wasn’t easy. I’m on the heavier side, and my thumbs struggled to tap the right buttons in the games. But I still showed up. Every round. Every time. I was a ghost in the chat room, present but unheard. I’m schizophrenic, and because of that, speaking to people is never simple for me. The voices drown out everyone else, telling me to quit, telling me I don’t belong, telling me to disappear from Kovaze entirely. Sean Aconda poured every ounce of his time and soul into the game, even bypassing parental internet restrictions to keep playing. But I played as the underdog, quietly fighting battles no one else could see. As a skoliosexual, upper-middle-class, sober-curious woman trying to prove she belongs, winning isn’t about ego. It’s about worth. I only received one vote all game. My own, cast on a day I wasn’t sure I deserved to exist. And still, I stayed.

I received a hate speech warning for using the phrase “Ku Klux Kovaze.” Even as a joke, it carried the weight of real violence and real terror. The warning was not a mistake. It was earned. Kovaze is not just a website to me. It is the only place I have ever felt safe without being asked to disappear or make myself smaller. To bring language tied to hatred into that space is a failure I fully own. I am not asking for the warning to be erased. I am asking for forgiveness. And I need to ask this honestly: when someone crosses a line like this, are they condemned forever? Let the consequence stand. Let it mark me. Let it change me. If forgiveness requires silence, I will be silent. If it requires growth, I will grow. I am here in good faith, and I am listening.