Battlefield 6 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:

• 
  PaulsCorner-VerseQuest (@TNTJohn1717) reported 4 minutes ago

  What Does It Mean To Be “Complete In Christ”? To be “complete in Christ” is one of the greatest, cleanest, strongest, most liberating truths in the Christian life, and yet it is one of the doctrines religion hates the most. Colossians 2:10 says, “And ye are complete in him, which is the head of all principality and power.” That verse is not a suggestion, not a feeling, not a goal, not a future possibility, and not a reward for elite saints who reach some higher plane of spirituality. It is a present-tense statement of what God says about the believer’s standing in the Lord Jesus Christ. “Ye are complete in him.” Not complete in a church system. Not complete in a priesthood. Not complete in sacraments. Not complete in philosophy. Not complete in self-improvement. Not complete in mystical experiences. Not complete in Hebrew roots. Not complete in religious traditions. Not complete in your performance. Complete in Him. The book of Colossians is a direct assault on religious substitutes for Christ. Paul warns about philosophy and vain deceit, traditions of men, rudiments of the world, voluntary humility, worshipping of angels, fleshly ordinances, and a false spirituality that looks deep but leaves a man puffed up in his fleshly mind. Right in the middle of that battlefield, the Holy Ghost drops the hammer: “For in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead ******. And ye are complete in him” (Colossians 2:9-10). That means the believer does not need something outside Christ to finish what God has already made complete in Christ. The fullness is in Him. The believer’s completeness is in Him. Religious systems always say, “Christ plus this.” The Bible says, “Christ is enough.” The flesh wants to add something so it can boast. The cross removes boasting and leaves the believer standing in Christ alone. This truth does not mean a Christian is mature in practice the moment he is saved. It does not mean he knows everything, has victory over every habit, understands every doctrine, feels strong every day, or has no need for growth, correction, discipline, prayer, preaching, fellowship, service, and sanctification. That is not what “complete in Christ” means. It means that as to spiritual standing, acceptance, salvation, justification, identity, and position before God, the believer lacks nothing because he is in the Lord Jesus Christ. Growth is still needed in the walk, but nothing needs to be added to Christ to make the believer accepted before God. The Christian grows from completeness, not toward completeness. He serves from acceptance, not for acceptance. He walks because he is in Christ, not to earn his way into Christ. That distinction will either free a man from religious bondage or expose how much bondage he still loves. Chapter One: Complete In Christ Means Christ Is Enough For Salvation The first thing it means to be complete in Christ is that Christ is enough for salvation. That sounds simple, but it is the line where most religion goes wrong. Every false gospel eventually says Christ is necessary, but not sufficient. Rome says Christ plus sacraments, priesthood, confession, penance, mass, purgatory, and church authority. The cults say Christ plus their organization, their prophet, their restored gospel, their temple, their works, or their membership. Legalists say Christ plus law-keeping. Mystics say Christ plus experiences. Modern self-help religion says Christ plus your inner greatness. But the Bible says, “In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins” (Colossians 1:14). Redemption is in Christ, through His blood, not through man’s religious machinery. The gospel that saves today is not complicated. Christ died for our sins, was buried, and rose again the third day according to the Scriptures (1 Corinthians 15:1-4). The sinner is saved by grace through faith, “and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9). If

• 
  Mr. Margheritiiii (@GetCheatz) reported 5 minutes ago

  @falsewoodxt @HeatherMischief @DooM49 influencer... 🤡 He's raving on YouTube and on X how Battlefield 6 is perfect and you're saying I'm the only one who has problems with Battlefield 6... 🤡 I'm not the only one who has problems like someone wrote above...

• 
  Wahoo343 (@wahoo343) reported 7 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm U should of let the issue stay it worked in ur favor

• 
  Dale Gribble’s Hat (@plainhyperbole) reported 8 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm The team balance in this game is worse than it’s ever been. I picked the game back up after the update yesterday and your dogshit game literally put me in 20 back to back losing matches, that’s not hyperbole or an exaggeration. Fix this ******* **** or give us server browser

• 
  RAHUL SINGH, EX-MAJOR Indian Army (@rahulexmajor) reported 11 minutes ago

  @SamSiff Before passing judgment, it is worth asking a simple question: do we actually know the facts? A social media graphic and a viral caption are not evidence. They rarely provide the full context of family circumstances, legal entitlements, personal relationships or events surrounding a death. If the officer's wife received financial benefits, that does not automatically establish greed. In law and policy, next of kin are entitled to compensation, pensions and other benefits precisely because the service member made the ultimate sacrifice. More importantly, using one unverified or isolated case to make sweeping claims about women, wives or military families is neither fair nor rational. The real tragedy here is the loss of a young officer who gave his life in service. That should remain the focus. A martyr deserves remembrance for his sacrifice, not for social media turning his family's private circumstances into a battlefield for ideological arguments. Facts first. Outrage later.

• 
  Nick Calandra (@nickjcal) reported 13 minutes ago

  Look no further than the Battlefield franchise for a great example of how spending more and more didn't lead to better games. It led to rushed out unfinished games that took years and more money to fix, and then to get the franchise back on track even more money to do it "right".

• 
  worpweep (@weepworp) reported 16 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm I hit a truck with 5 rpgs today and it didn't ******* die. Thats a problem.

• 
  Pardon My Mess (@PardonMyMess) reported 16 minutes ago

  @WhiteHouse Bullshit. We utterly capitulated. This was a massive failure for the US and a victory for Iran. Vance is a historically illiterate clown. Every single one of our service members who won this war in the battlefield is probably wondering what the hell they were fighting for.

• 
  Stevo3854 (@stevo3854420) reported 18 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm I hope you guys realize your expiration date is Oct when cod mw4 releases unless you fix the insane amount of issues that persistently plague this broken game and it's absolutely stupid ranked scoring system and squad rules.

• 
  William Peynsaert (@PeynsaertBill) reported 20 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

• 
  VicTheBr1ck (@VicTheBr1ck) reported 24 minutes ago

  @LordAkwa @EA_DICE Me too dude, I keep getting Error Code and can’t get past the “Connecting to Online Services”

• 
  Ryan (@Hoskins1st) reported 25 minutes ago

  @BattlefieldComm How can someone have the battle pass and still can’t get into the shop to receive the free gift from buying the battle pass. That’s makes no sense that you lock them out completely. Support has never responded to the problem. @Battlefield @BattlefieldComm

• 
  TREK (@trek_official) reported 26 minutes ago

  What if I told you that the same psychological trick that sold millions of pet rocks in 1975 is now silently driving trillion-dollar market bubbles today? Back then, entrepreneurs turned a meaningless object into a must-have toy by tapping into something primal: our need to justify our choices. Fast forward to Wall Street, and you'll see the same forces at play, but with billions on the line. 1. THE ORIGIN In 1957, social psychologist Leon Festinger and his team infiltrated a small doomsday cult led by a woman named Dorothy Martin. The group believed that on December 21, they'd be rescued by aliens, but only if they were pure. Festinger predicted that when the prophecy failed, the cult would collapse. Instead, something fascinating happened. Members who had given away their possessions and quit jobs didn't abandon the belief. They doubled down, claiming their faith had saved the world from disaster. Festinger published his findings in "When Prophecy Fails," coining the term cognitive dissonance. It's the mental discomfort we feel when our actions or beliefs conflict with new evidence, and our brains will twist reality to avoid that pain. 2. THE MECHANISM Let's break it down with a simple market scenario. You research a company, read bullish reports, and buy 100 shares at $50. A month later, bad earnings hit, and the stock plummets to $30. Now, you face a dilemma: either admit you misjudged the investment (which hurts your ego) or find reasons to hold. Suddenly, you're scouring forums for positive news, downplaying risks, and telling yourself, "It's a long-term play." That's dissonance resolution in real-time. You're not changing your position; you're changing your narrative to align with your decision. This isn't just individual—it's collective. When enough investors do this, entire markets can detach from fundamentals. 3. THE MARKET TWIST Historically, this has led to some spectacular blowups. Take the dot-com bubble of the late 1990s. Investors poured money into unprofitable internet companies, convinced that "the new economy" defied old rules. When profits never materialized, dissonance kept them holding. CEOs justified burn rates with buzzwords, and analysts looked the other way. The crash in 2000 wiped out trillions, but the dissonance didn't stop there. Many refused to sell, hoping for a rebound, which delayed recovery. Contrast that with the 2008 housing crisis: mortgage-backed securities were rated safe, but when housing prices fell, the system crumbled because everyone—from banks to homeowners—had rationalized away the risk. 4. THE MARKETING PLAYBOOK Marketers have long exploited this. Consider how Apple launched the iPod in 2001. They didn't just sell a device; they sold a lifestyle. The ad campaign with silhouettes dancing to music created a desire to belong. If you didn't have an iPod, you felt left out—dissonance between your self-image and the cultural norm. Resolution? Buy one. In markets, this scales up. During the crypto boom of 2017, ICOs (Initial Coin Offerings) promised revolution. Investors faced dissonance: the fear of missing out on the next Bitcoin versus the risk of losing money. Influencers amplified the narrative, creating FOMO that overrode caution. It's not just about the product; it's about resolving the conflict between aspiration and action. 5. THE CRASH Fast-forward to January 2021, and GameStop becomes a battlefield. Retail traders on Reddit's WallStreetBets bought shares to squeeze short-selling hedge funds. When the stock soared to $483, many felt vindicated. But as it fell back, dissonance kicked in. Instead of taking profits, they held on, chanting "diamond hands." Why? Selling would mean admitting the squeeze was over, which clashed with their identity as savvy investors fighting the establishment. The dissonance fueled a narrative of resistance, turning a financial event into a social movement. Even as losses mounted, the belief in the cause persisted—a modern echo of Festinger's cult. 6. THE MODERN-DAY CONUNDRUM Today, social media acts as a dissonance amplifier. Platforms like Twitter and TikTok create echo chambers where beliefs are reinforced by likes and retweets. When Elon Musk tweets about Dogecoin, enthusiasts ignore regulatory warnings or technical flaws, doubling down on their investments. This collective rationalization can inflate bubbles beyond what traditional models predict. It's not just about information asymmetry; it's about psychological reinforcement at scale. And with algorithm-driven content, we're often fed more of what we already believe, making dissonance harder to break. 7. CONCLUSION source @trek_official

• 
  Burak (@weekendr) reported 26 minutes ago

  @Millitings @BattlefieldComm We need to wait at least 4 more years to fix netcode hit reg and console players desync problems against PC players.

• 
  DJ North (@KarmaKarhu) reported 26 minutes ago

  @Battlefield Fix the bloody XP boosts to only count in game.