Battlefield 6 status: server issues and outage reports

Problems in the last 24 hours

The graph below depicts the number of Battlefield 6 reports received over the last 24 hours by time of day. When the number of reports exceeds the baseline, represented by the red line, an outage is determined.

Most Reported Problems

The following are the most recent problems reported by Battlefield 6 users through our website.

• Sign in (36%)
• Online Play (33%)
• Glitches (13%)
• Game Crash (9%)
• Matchmaking (8%)
• Hacking / Cheating (0%)

Live Outage Map

The most recent Battlefield 6 outage reports came from the following cities:

City	Problem Type	Report Time
Bitche	Game Crash	23 hours ago
Paris	Game Crash	3 days ago
Aurillac	Glitches	3 days ago
Annecy	Online Play	3 days ago
Paris	Online Play	3 days ago
Paris	Matchmaking	3 days ago

Full Outage Map

Community Discussion

Tips? Frustrations? Share them here. Useful comments include a description of the problem, city and postal code.

Beware of "support numbers" or "recovery" accounts that might be posted below. Make sure to report and downvote those comments. Avoid posting your personal information.

Battlefield 6 Issues Reports

Latest outage, problems and issue reports in social media:

• 
  Igor Sushko (@igorsushko) reported 37 seconds ago

  @MediaResonator Why are you so full of ****? Ukrainian defense analysts (particularly Defense Express) portray the episode as a shift from aid to hard-nosed barter. Poland moved from donating jets in 2023 to demanding high-value Ukrainian drone technology and know-how in exchange for aging airframes that were already at the end of their service life with only modest prior upgrades. Ukraine engaged seriously (technical talks, inspections occurred), seeing value in more MiG-29s for its air force. However, Ukrainian analysts had flagged early on that trading cutting-edge battlefield drone capabilities for “outdated” jets (by Poland’s own description) was of doubtful benefit to Kyiv. The deal collapsed primarily because the two sides could not close the drone technology transfer agreement (scope, depth, and terms). Secondary issues around the jets’ readiness and who would pay for any adaptation added friction.

• 
  jjfpesce22 (@Masterful_Fish) reported 2 minutes ago

  @Battlefield could you actually fix your game? Like how is it that season 2 catch up hardware 2 assignment, asks for destroy or support using said launcher but doesn't count them. I should be done with this but it only counts kills.

• 
  Great Game Studio (@studiogreatgame) reported 3 minutes ago

  @Jree503 @RandyVonStrangl If you shoot your gun in real life, it can jam, especially if you don't take care of it. So in COD or Battlefield, you never take care of it. So by your logic, your gun should barely work and always jam. That's real life bro. You're crying about a 5 yard drop back. Stop making excuses for broken video games

• 
  Mr.FAFO 2026 (@MrDilligaf2026) reported 5 minutes ago

  @killertkr6 @Battlefield IDK bro im just trying to help u figure it out . Hate hearing u have issues with BF6

• 
  William Peynsaert (@PeynsaertBill) reported 15 minutes ago

  War wasn't always about shooting babies in the head from a very safe distance, Israeli style. They rushed us into line. The officers shouting, using their swords almost like a measuring stick to align us. We fell down behind a wooden fence. In mud. It was the first day in two weeks it had finally stopped raining. We wished to sink into that mud until only our noses would stick out and let us breathe. As soon as that feeling hit me came the question: ‘But how will I shoot my rifle at them then?’. It’s fear clashing against this bizarre masculine honor that makes you want to kill people so you won’t feel mortified after. We heard them before we could see them. They were Coburn’s boys. A full brigade. Five regiments zeroing in on us. Hungry, some of them shoeless. Moving towards us like a multicolored quilt with bayonets sticking out. That’s one of the many odd things about them, many of them have completely different uniforms, and yet if you look at each of them individually, no matter what they are wearing, brown jackets, gray jackets, blue jackets taken from our dead or captured supply wagons, white shirts, red shirts, no matter, you just know: That’s a Confederate infantryman. And he will kill me if I don’t manage to kill him first. But like I said, first we heard them. At first it was like I could hear their silence, if that makes sense. That moment the marching stops, the shuffling through trees, the cling clang clong of metal, canteens dangling from belts, officers cocking pistols, men loading their rifles. Then nothing. The sound of the rustling of the trees, inviting play and sharing food on the grass, not state sanctioned murder. The sound that doesn’t penetrate your ears, but your gut, your bones, of 2,000 heartbeats and their breathing speeding up, as they work up their dander to come at you. And then they surge forward. Mysteriously, cause you don’t see or hear anyone give a command. After that you see them, you see them come out of the tree line, into the open, but still too far to get a good shot at them. Then your heart drops right into your stomach, like someone pushed over its scaffolding in your chest. They start running. You feel the ground vibrate. And the yelling. The yelling. It’s not yelling. It’s the sound of something that’s decided that all it now lives for is to tear right into you and just rip you apart. A vicious lash snapping out of 2,000 throats that seems to grab you by the back of your neck to pull you into the abyss. That’s when many piss themselves. I did too. Am not as much ashamed of the fact that I pissed myself as I am grateful that at least I didn’t have **** running over my legs. At least piss dries and it’s not so obvious. For a second you hope they will realize we are behind a fence, we will have 400 yards of open field to pour our rifles into them and they will be smart about this and turn back. But that’s not how they are built. There’s a frenzy in the air. For them nothing in the world exists anymore. Only you as their destination, their final communion with their existence on this earth and the only way you can convince them to stop is to shoot them to pieces. With some even that doesn’t work and they’ll still run, shot up, to at least get one slash or stab or smack at your firing line. They’re madmen. Very focused madmen. And they stink. They reek. Weeks of not washing. Months of wearing the same uniforms. So now it’s not just the screaming. It’s the bubonic plague, but it moves and it’s screeching. The sound they make cuts. Like a wounded animal you’ve angered and it has nothing to lose and will have your blood no matter what you do now. They’re not even halfway and some of the guys next to you become like little children. They drop their rifles. First they crawl. Then they get up. Running. Some stay, but yell: ‘Our line is breaking. We can’t hold them.’ This then makes more of us skedaddle to the rear. God knows where to. Just back, away from here. Anywhere where those fatalistic lunatics aren’t. You shoot your rifle before you realize you never took aim. You forget to reload even though you’ve gone through the whole routine a hundred times. You forget, even though the veterans have warned you, you would forget. They told you to focus on nothing but that routine in your head, nothing else, but it’s too late. You watch your own hands and they’re doing everything wrong. You pick up a rifle left behind by a fellow soldier who bolted back, back to mama, or wherever to. You shoot that one. You count to ten to steady yourself and it takes all your energy to reload. To get it right. Your brain has never had to do anything harder, and yet you know it’s not that complicated. You curse your own brain for not functioning properly when it should be doing all it can to keep you alive. Then the first guys actually get hit. You see bullets knock through cheeks. Flesh gets torn off faces. Like you smash a pumpkin with a small pick ax. When a bullet hits a human body it’s not loud, but it’s unmistakable. It’s a unique dull popping sound. A small pebble piercing a bag of water. Now you are reloading AND praying this doesn’t happen to you or if it does that at least you get hit right in the heart so you are done with this. Your biggest fear is to be hit between your legs. Or that you turn a certain way and a bullet tears out both your eyes, but you survive. And if a head shot is coming, please, Lord, let it be fatal. You don’t want to have a hole in the middle of your face, nose gone, for the rest of your life. Imagine life where your chances with women dwindle to zero. Even hookers would refuse you. Their screaming intensifies. It no longer sounds like anything a living creature can produce. It’s like the volume of it is debating with you and trying to convince you to let go, to die, to embrace the mercy of dying right here and now. Then comes that moment that you know. If you wait even 20 more seconds one of them will literally jump at your throat, pin you to the ground and strangle you to death by pushing his rifle against your throat with both hands. It’s already happening to one of your acquaintances five yards away. And yet you do nothing to pull the assailant off him. It’s pointless to try and reload. This is where your bayonet training should kick in. But it doesn’t. You weakly throw your rifle at them. Thinking it will fly like a spear. It does no such thing. It just sticks in the ground. Now you run. You run like a little boy who’s five years old and thinks he will never see his mum and dad again if he doesn’t run. You run like a lost boy searching for his parents at a busy market and believes the market is endlessly big and home can never be found again. You step on a wounded comrade and in a flash you notice you pushed his nose into the mud. This may make you responsible for his death. Yet you don’t stop. You don’t go back to turn him around. Now it’s like every aspect of you that you could ever be proud of stepped out of your body and is sitting with that comrade you drove deeper into the mud. You crash through the lines of a friendly brigade that is now forming to stem the rebel tide. From the look on your face some of them are already trying to turn back, but their officers are still in control and shove them back into line. For a second you think: Where are your officers? Why couldn’t they keep us steady? Once behind this fresh brigade you collapse on a tree log. There’s a few seconds of relief, but then shame. Teamsters trying to get ammunition wagons closer to the front already know what happened to you. They pity you. A small sniper unit is way up in a tree behind you. One of them loading rifles on the ground for his comrades above looks at you and ask: ‘You alright their, mate? They’re on us thick like fleas. They’re turning our flank. Damn rascals are outnumbered two to one and they’re mauling our flank.’ Your head hangs between your legs and you say ‘it’s a real mess out there, we had no artillery support’, but the guy probably never hears you, your voice doesn’t go as loud as you intended. You know you are making excuses. They ran towards your line. They did the more dangerous part. Artillery or no, the line should have held. Besides, in these thick woods it’s nearly impossible to use artillery effectively. That’s why they dare to attack an enemy that outguns them. They chose the worst possible nightmare of a battlefield cause they are desperate enough and this wilderness doesn’t make a difference anymore. They are used to conditions that break most humans, your side isn’t. You get 4,000 calories to eat most days. They get 1,200 on a good day. Even their corpses decay differently. Theirs just get bleached over time, the corpses on your side swell and then break open. An officer drags you from the tree log. ‘Get yourself a gun, lad.’ He shoves you towards about 20 wild eyed young guys like yourself. One asks: ‘Who’s this glory hunter?’ A guy answers: ‘It’s some lieutenant with the 3rd Vermont. He has something to prove, I guess.’ The lieutenant comes back with about ten more men and a new crate of rifles. He shoves a rifle into your hands. ‘Form a line. The boys up yonder need us.’ You’re thinking: not this madness again, but you can’t just make off now. As the lieutenant orders this makeshift infantry company forward, a courier rides up on a magnificent black horse. ‘Orders of general Burnside, everyone fall back to the bridge immediately. The rebs are rolling up our flank.’ You ask if he knows anything about the rest of the front. All he says is: ‘Not good.’ He then rides off to find the divisional commander to order a retreat all long this line. The lieutenant is visibly dissapointed, but gives in. ‘Alright then, boys, follow me.’ Once you are far enough removed from the fighting a feverish, compelling urge takes over. You want to apologize to the boy you stepped on. You stop boys passing by, put both hands on their shoulders, shake them and say with a pleading voice: ‘I am sorry, I am so so sorry. Please believe me, I am sorry!’ Each time one shoves you away you grab another one. One has to bite you in your fingers so you let go of him. This continues until one with the most innocent, big, watery green eyes says simply: ‘I forgive you.’ With tears streaming down your cheeks you explain what you did. The boy’s eyes go moist too, but with a very steady, calm voice says: ‘After this war, whenever you can pick someone up, pick them up. That’s all you have to do. You are forgiven.’ The boy, though not older than you, strokes your cheek and your hair like a father would, then walks away, in search of his own regiment. That is how Henry got saddled with running the first homeless shelter in a boom town out west a few years after Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomatox. A role he half hates, half loves, and can’t quit, because as soon as he thinks of going back to farming like he did before the war, he feels that wounded man’s head under his foot again. #gettysburg #acw

• 
  Zen ۶ৎ | reading closed (@jentelism) reported 16 minutes ago

  But the universe is using Justice and The Hanged Man to pull the emergency brake. They are being asked to step down from the battlefield, stop trying to fix the external world or the broken collaborations, and turn inward.

• 
  Pope Puke (@ReligionKills66) reported 17 minutes ago

  @MAGAVoice Look at the staggering difference between a true military hero and a total disgrace. Our brave service members look danger in the eye. They are willing to lay down their lives, knowing the rest of our military will die for our country to protect our freedom. They sacrifice everything—their youth, their safety, and their lives—so that we can stand here today. And what do we get on the other side? A cowardly, draft-dodging piece of trash who ran away when his country called. While real heroes were bleeding on the battlefield, he was hiding behind fake excuses and privilege. It is a pathetic, shameful display. It should give you an embarrassment so deep, it leaves a literal tingle in your pants just watching someone act with such total cowardice. We must never confuse the ultimate sacrifice of our military with the absolute disgrace of a coward.. Disgraceful **** Face

• 
  Sann (@san_x_m) reported 18 minutes ago

  His name was Major Shaitan Singh. He was told to abandon his post. He was outnumbered, out of range of his own guns, and no help was coming. He was ordered to fall back. He refused. He was born on 1 December 1924 in Jodhpur, into a family of soldiers. By 1962 he was a major in the 13 Kumaon, commanding a company of 120 men, most of them Ahir farmers from Haryana who had followed him to the roof of the world. Their post was called Rezang La. A pass in Ladakh at nearly 16,000 feet, guarding the road to Chushul. Behind it lay Leh. If Rezang La fell, Ladakh lay open. There was one cruel problem. A ridge stood between his company and the Indian artillery. It meant that if the Chinese came, his 120 men would fight without a single supporting gun. They knew it. They dug their trenches into the frozen rock anyway. On the freezing dawn of 18 November 1962, the Chinese came. Not in dozens. In waves. Hundreds at a time, wave after wave, up the ravines below the pass. Shaitan Singh's men cut them down and kept cutting them down. When one post was overrun, he moved to the next, and the next, walking through machine gun fire to hold his men together. He was hit. He kept going. He was hit again. By the time the guns fell silent, almost all of his company was gone. 114 of the 120 were dead. But they had made the enemy pay in blood for every foot of that ridge. The snow closed over the battlefield. For three months no one could reach it. When the thaw came and the recovery teams finally climbed to Rezang La, they found the men of Charlie Company still in their trenches. Frozen. Weapons still in their hands. The mortar man with a bomb still in his grip. They had died exactly where they had been told to stand. Shaitan Singh was found on that ridge, beside his men. He was given the Param Vir Chakra, the highest honour India has. He was told to fall back. He chose the mountain.

• 
  The Rocket Media (@TheRocketMediaX) reported 19 minutes ago

  Recall the frustration we all feel when Google Maps malfunctions in an unkown city ! Now imagine a drone losing its access to GPS in a battlefield. Consequences can be huge. The problem? GPS communication happens over fixed frequencies that can be jammed with high-power electronic systems. Which is exactly why GPS-denied drone technology is becoming critical globally.

• 
  Marwan Takchi (@TakchiM) reported 23 minutes ago

  @ziyad_kayyali @jacksonhinkle Shame on me? Shame on you for glorifying a militia that “liberated” nothing and destroyed what was left of Lebanon. Yes, Israel withdrew in 2000. And what did Hezbollah do with that moment? Build a state? Rebuild the South? Strengthen the army? Grow the economy? No. It built a state within a state, kept its weapons, and dragged Lebanon from one disaster to the next in service of Tehran. Should I remind you what your “holy resistance” actually gave Lebanon? May 7, 2008: Hezbollah turned its weapons inward and invaded Beirut and the Druze mountains, attacking Lebanese civilians because the government dared challenge its telecom network. August 4, 2020: while Hezbollah controlled the port, the airport, the border crossings and terrorized every judge who got close, Beirut was blown to pieces and over 200 people were killed, thousands wounded, and entire neighborhoods destroyed. October 14, 2021 – Tayyouneh: armed men opened fire in Ain el-Remmaneh and turned Beirut into a battlefield again to intimidate Lebanese who dared say enough. So spare me the “they paid in blood” sermon. Every thug, militia and warlord pays in blood. That does not make them patriots. It makes them armed men willing to sacrifice Lebanese lives for an Iranian project. You call it “resistance.” I call it what it is: an Iranian proxy that assassinated, occupied, intimidated, bankrupted, and isolated Lebanon. You put Hezbollah before Lebanon. We don’t. We put Lebanon, its sovereignty, its army, its constitution and its people above every militia, every mullah, and every fake resistance slogan.

• 
  Dj Stephens (@DdotJAY30) reported 23 minutes ago

  Fix the bugs in your game… @Battlefield -Hit reg is trash -Delay after placing claymore is trash -Let console players cross play with only console players

• 
  Reggie (@RegisStasionis) reported 24 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm Reality is different, what anti cheat? cause cheater amount just getting higher and higher. stop showing fake stats and bs that you doing something, cause you cant event fix simple thing in game so how you can say you do anything to battle cheaters? :D

• 
  Milk Vessel Pilot (@trueliberal1848) reported 25 minutes ago

  Today (July 3) 163 years ago: After failed attacks on both Union flanks on July 2, General Robert E. Lee resolves to attack the Union center, which was nearly broken by the troops of major generals Lafayette McLaws and Richard Anderson in the ****** of July 2's fighting. He orders Lieutenant General James Longstreet to assume command of a motley collection of two divisions, many of whose brigades were badly mauled on the fighting of July 1, augmented by the three fresh brigades of the division of Major General George Pickett, which arrived late last evening after a hard march to the battlefield. About 12,000 men have been assembled for the attack, which will cross 3/4s of a mile of open ground, several fenced-in roads, and ascend a gentle slope toward the Union line, formed by a stone wall on Cemetery Ridge.

• 
  PLA_Overwhelm (@junshiguancha1) reported 25 minutes ago

  @alpha_defense Bro, it’s time to retire this aircraft—it’s an embarrassment to India. The return on continued investment is simply too low; if it can crash at an airshow, what kind of survivability could it possibly have on the battlefield?

• 
  Tim on two wheels (@2wheelsgoodBrum) reported 30 minutes ago

  @Bloatee1 @DonUnderThePool @SaferRoadsYorks We can all agree on that. As soon as we fix the endangerment behaviour, it will no longer feel like it is a battlefield.

• 
  John Preston (@JohnGPreston) reported 37 minutes ago

  Read up on @DARPA's "Rads to Watts" program this morning. The pitch is straightforward: power cells built from Strontium-90 separated from nuclear waste, running for decades without recharging. It is trying to solve one of the most basic problems on the modern battlefield. Drone batteries die. Persistent ISR gets interrupted. Long-duration autonomous missions get cut short by power constraints no amount of procurement reform fixes. $3.37 million contract, 10 watts per kilogram target, prototype due at @PNNLab by early 2027. The feedstock is 100,000 metric tons of waste sitting at 52 domestic reactor sites the federal government already pays billions in lawsuits to not deal with. If the numbers hold at field scale, the power constraint on persistent ISR and long-duration autonomous systems looks very different by 2030. Very interesting!

• 
  Misfit (@misfithz) reported 38 minutes ago

  Squadmate gets kicked for being afk cuz the respawn timer was stuck, can’t rejoin so he queues for another match, finds one AND IT PULLS ME OUT OF MY ONGOING ROUND INTO HIS MATCH. Fix your game @Battlefield #battlefield6

• 
  Crypto.jedi24 (@CryptoJedi24) reported 38 minutes ago

  Genesis Declaration No parchment bears the word “Bitcoin” in the hand of Jefferson, quill still wet with July ink. No founder etched satoshis beside “unalienable Rights,” no covenant of 21 million sealed in wax beside Life, Liberty, Pursuit. Yet hear the echo across centuries: They broke from a crown that debased coin, that inflated the people’s sweat into royal favor, that printed promises to pay nothing while demanding everything. The Bank of England loomed then as the Fed does now— a hidden hand clipping wings, watering blood. “We hold these truths…” they declared separation from fiat tyranny, from arbitrary seizure, from endless debasement. Sound money was their silent oath— gold and silver coin, unspendable by decree, weights fixed, not whims. Bitcoin arrives late, but arrives as heir. Not written into parchment, but carved into code— the same spirit, hardened in silicon fire. A ledger that remembers every grievance, every inflation assassin, every broken promise since 1776. No bells rang for it in Philadelphia, no signatures in iron gall ink. But the genesis block whispers the headline they would have recognized: Chancellor on brink of second bailout for banks. Same war. Different battlefield. Prairie wind carries old defiance now, high plain gust over mountains of hash, stream mining patient through valleys of doubt. Sunset rations light to atoms once more— halving, halving, until only truth remains. Private key in your palm: declaration renewed. No king. No printer. No prince. Just you, the covenant, the unspent oath. Hold it. 🧡 The ledger waits, awake—

• 
  CryptoPatrick (@cryptopatrick) reported 39 minutes ago

  @oxngon What made you come back to the financial battlefield? I'm staging another deployment to the FX nervegrinder, albeit with less experience than your 15 years of service.🕺

• 
  Gerardy Cabrera (@gerardyimdesign) reported 40 minutes ago

  @Battlefield Finally. Now fix the home UI menu. Thanks

• 
  beporo (@beporoh) reported 42 minutes ago

  @hFX10mhtIJ7q5KF when this guy shows up everybody is in trouble Or they call him Commander If they fight is big enough they call him in as the strategist F+1 Rank Be advised if seen on the battlefield

• 
  urticaria⚧️ (@urticariuh) reported 43 minutes ago

  bouta drop bf6 and play bo2 because battlefield wants to CRASH EVERY TWO SECONDS I NEVER HAD ANY ISSUES BEFORE LIKE 2 DAYS AGO

• 
  Mangled Stump (@MangledStump) reported 44 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm Please fix your game, repeatedly crashing, freezing, etc. since a few days ago.

• 
  medoyid_ua (@LetsArmUKR) reported 47 minutes ago

  The footage from occupied Donetsk region says it all: Ukrainian long-range strike drones are turning Starobesheve into a logistics bonfire. That thick black smoke isn't random. It's moscovian supply lines, fuel dumps, and rear-area staging points getting exactly what they deserve. While their meat assaults crawl forward a few ruined villages at a time, losing more orcs per square kilometer than the pre-war population, our forces are systematically burning everything that keeps their front alive. This is the pattern they refuse to admit. Moscovia cannot stop the war because the war is the only thing holding their rotten imperial project together. End the fighting tomorrow and a million traumatized conscripts come home asking why their friends died for another "liberated" ruin with no strategic value. Putin knows that question ends regimes. So he feeds more bodies into the grinder, hoping quantity magically becomes quality. Z-bloggers already admit it in their own circles: fresh mobilization waves change nothing except the body count, and the bill is paid entirely in moscovian lives. Meanwhile Ukraine is scaling. By end of 2026 our mid-range strike capabilities will be 2-5 times what they are now. Operational-level logistics across occupied territories will burn daily. Crimea is being isolated in plain sight. We're not begging for permission to exist. We're building the defense industrial base that will eventually license Patriots, Tomahawks, and our own next-gen air defense while churning out FREYA systems, drone interceptors, and Gripens that will make Ukrainian skies the most defended on the planet. The favor narrative needs to die. Europe isn't "helping" Ukraine out of charity. Ukraine is absorbing the direct cost of a war the continent would otherwise be fighting on its own soil with its own conscripts. Every drone strike on a moscovian depot, every burned fuel train, every neutralized glide-bomb carrier is security bought and paid for in Ukrainian blood so Berlin, Paris, and Warsaw don't have to learn these lessons the hard way. The isolationist crowd in Washington and European capitals pretending this is someone else's problem are not serious people. They're either useful idiots laundering Kremlin narratives or cowards who think appeasement has ever worked. History's verdict on that delusion is written in mass graves from 1939 onward. Moscovia only understands force. Their hybrid war against NATO is already active. Time to stop pretending otherwise and start closing skies over western Ukraine, accelerating aircraft deliveries, and treating Ukrainian interceptor drone production as the continental shield it has proven to be. We don't need lectures about negotiations. Zelensky keeps saying direct talks with Putin are necessary precisely because everyone knows Putin will refuse them. It proves who is serious about ending the war and who requires total military defeat before any real conversation can begin. There is no diplomatic off-ramp that survives moscovian imperial DNA. Only battlefield reality. The smoke over Starobesheve is not just tactical success. It's strategic inevitability. Moscovia is running out of cards. Their soldiers remain cheap, but even cheap resources are finite when you're losing them faster than you can replace them. Keep feeding the meat grinder. Ukraine will keep adjusting the burn rate until the only thing left is ash and the realization that empires die when their neighbors finally refuse to be swallowed. The question isn't whether we can win. The question is how quickly the West will provide the resources so we finish the job before more European capitals have to learn these lessons firsthand.

• 
  RP Mythos (@SherryGT17Jan25) reported 50 minutes ago

  @a4lasade She just wants to know. And you’re free to tell her or not. Its good that she is open it up with you instead of gossiping about it with your husband. If its a problem between you two keep it between you two. No need to deploy her son into the battlefield it will just signal wars

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  bigby (@EsdHhb) reported 52 minutes ago

  @EndersFPS The problem isn’t the large factor it is the variety that matters i dont care if the maps are large or small they need to be great But battlefield 6 has already more than enough of small to medium maps so yes big maps in this exact context actually matter

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  TekkenJlN (@germanocassese) reported 54 minutes ago

  the amount of console desync in battlefield 6 is insane, it's very cancerous. I don't understand why they don't want to fix this ****, it has been months. VPN high pingers follow. Allow us to disable crossplay on PC and please set max ping servers to 90. @DRUNKKZ3 @tiggr_

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  A3THERPRIME (@A3THERPRIME12) reported 56 minutes ago

  @Battlefield This update is so ******* *** wtf did yall fix?

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  Chris King (@_Chris_King7) reported 56 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm Hey you guys want to immediately fix the issue where Im frozen and then black screen to home 3/5 games ive played today or just suck on your thumbs

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  Bugenhagen (@OtisDri14185268) reported 59 minutes ago

  @CAMIKAZE78 I really hate the state of battlefield ever since the very first update, so much so that I went back to call of duty warzone. Battlefield isn't battlefield at this point, they are trying for a cod/bf hybrid and its just not working (for me). I feel the game will never recover 😒