Battlefield 6 Outage Map

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Battlefield 6 Issues Reports

Latest outage, problems and issue reports in social media:

• 
  Eddie McNade (@EddieMcNade) reported 6 minutes ago

  Why do i have to relaunch BF6 like 3 Times before i get a Server thats not 100+ Ping? Top Scores full of 200 Ping players. Half of the Lobby Console Players.... Your Matchmaking sucks. Your Lag Com sucks. The Balance Sucks. Yes the Gunplay is better now. And its way more fun. But actually getting on a Server is pain! Why is it taking you ages to give access to persistent Servers... they ARE in the game! Stop gatekeeping stuff like this for future Roadmaps! I just want to pick a Server and play for hours! Why is this not fixed. DICE PLEASE! Give us Mouse Only Persitent Servers for people that actually want to compete against other Mouseplayers too! Or may i remind you that you promised me a great PORTAL mode, wich actually still does not even have all maps and modes in it! I really love the Patch, but its such a hard sell at this point! I love Battlefield, but its just so frustrating what you did to this great game!

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  Fauzi (@fuuzzzzy) reported 6 minutes ago

  @Battlefield my man, ranked redsec on singapore server is unplayable, no lobby at all after the update. do fix it.

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  DethNade (@DethNade) reported 8 minutes ago

  @EndersFPS The game is broken. Everyone is better off playing battlefield 1 or 4. But EA is lazy and doesn't update the anti-cheat system. You're better off playing free to play games.

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  Zarodnii 🍁 (@zarodnii) reported 9 minutes ago

  @Battlefield @BattlefieldComm fix your damn game! After the stupid update my game keeps freezing!

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  Matty Monster (@Matty_MonsterLA) reported 10 minutes ago

  @Battlefield Fix the XP-Tokens, *********!

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  Digital Areopagus Radio (@AreopagusRadio) reported 10 minutes ago

  @CDamianWrites You literally went to a ROMAN CATHOLIC PRIEST, someone who took a vow and received the Sacrament of Holy Order, to figure out spiritual things in relation to your sins and then you don't like the answer! Look - self proclaimed enemies of God only have so much time before they have to account for their words and deeds. You should listen to Father here and what he is trying to tell you, rather than just being presumptuous and dismissive in your response when he fails to affirm your mortal sins. In our religion, we believe that this life is the battlefield for spiritual warfare and we come to know things spiritual by way of things in matter through a body. When men go into other men, and with men attempt to marry other men as opposed to the natural and divine law of God so as to reject children and what God ordained, the spirit suffers for it. Want to be returned to a sound mind? Stop doing the evil things in the world and change. Want to be affirmed by the error and future condemned heresy of James Martinism? Then follow @JamesMartinSJ The fallen angels followed satan into hell too!

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  William Peynsaert (@PeynsaertBill) reported 10 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

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  JEGULILY SPREADER|🍉 (@JegulilyFluff) reported 12 minutes ago

  He was sick and could make him sick, Lily solved the problem by sacrificing herself to be in bed all day with a regulus lost between sleep and consciousness, the bed Looked like a battlefield, sheets just changed To keep regulus clean and comfortable

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  Jorge (@ghosy01) reported 12 minutes ago

  @AndreiBtvt They just keep slapping explosive bricks on the t90 . I don’t think anything can fix that tank it just doesn’t work on a modern battlefield

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  TygerSparky (@tygersparky) reported 15 minutes ago

  My take on the recent controversy concerning the Sony Playstation decision to no longer produce discs for their systems starting in 2028. Of course everyone is allowed to hold any opinion they want to on this move. I realize that your current opinion would likely be shaped based on your current buying preferences. But I would say that anyone defending this move or who is complicit and okay with Sony doing this is simply another example of someone focusing on the environment one step in front of them instead of actually looking to the future and seeing the inevitable outcome of this decision. I'll be up front, I have been buying things digitally for years. The last disc-based game I bought was The Witcher 3 on the Xbox One. But for me, that is because I don't look as fondly at modern games as I do games from my childhood. Given that, I still appreciate the option of having a disc copy of the game. If there was a game I absolutely fell in love with today, I would want to own a physical disc version of it. I have about 150 Xbox 360 discs and 125 PS2 discs, not to mention PS1 and Nintendo carts/discs in my current collection. For those like Asmongold and others who actually see no problem with this change, I would point to two past games in the current market to see exactly why having a physical option is absolutely superior. First: Battlefield Bad Company. This game was originally released on the PS3/Xbox 360 less than 20 years ago. However, EA delisted this game from digital storefronts in 2023, just 15 years after release. If you don't have an account that currently owns the game, you can't (legally) play a digital copy of this game. However, you can still go out and find a disc copy of the game and enjoy the awesomeness of that single-player story. Second: GTA San Andreas. If you have an original Xbox disc of GTA:SA from 2005, you can pop it in an Xbox or even an Xbox 360 and actually play the original game, complete with the original soundtrack of the game. If you put that same disc in an Xbox One or Series console, you will instead be forced to play the 2014 remaster mobile port which has updates to the game and the soundtrack. Some people consider this remaster to be an inferior version of the game because of these updates and changes. But thankfully, the original game is preserved on the disc and is still playable on original hardware. Another argument that I have heard is that most games come out with Day One patches. However, having a patch on release day doesn't mean that there isn't a playable version of the game on the disc already. It might have some unintended bugs, but if there is a playable form on the game on the disc, that is obviously infinitely better than not having any form of it available except in digital format where you are, again, at the mercy of the corpo storefronts if they allow you to download a copy of the game (even if you paid for it). And even then, it is still a modified version of the original game. There is absolutely no good argument from a consumer's perspective for a company to stop physical disc production. The benefit is completely and totally for the corporation. They save money, DO NOT pass that savings on to the consumer, and get an even tighter grip of maintaining full rights over the distribution and access of their games and content. They can take away that access at any time and offer their customers no compensation. Sony, and any other company who decides to go this route, absolutely deserves any backlash and revenue drop they get from these decisions. And I hope that their bottom line actually feels the pain of going this route. If I wanted to be discless and have zero options, I would move to PC. At least then I have access to the operating and file systems and can actually backup whatever version of a game I am playing for preservation. Not to mention, I have control over the hardware in it and can get the exact look and play of a game that I want. Convenience and nostalgia are why I continued to play my games on my Xbox. But with these systems becoming even more like just a pre-built PC in a box, they are doing little to nothing to actually give me a reason to continue to invest in their platform. Taking away the physical option is one more nail in their coffin. And don't get me started on this push for cloud-based game streaming. I'm 100% out on that. And a happy July 4th to everyone in the U.S.

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  ॐ (@f0reverjasmyn) reported 16 minutes ago

  men don’t bloody the battlefield anymore and that’s the problem. y’all are supposed to be the queens’ men. stand up and fight and die about some real ****, *****.

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  Operation Detachment Gaming (@ODGactual) reported 18 minutes ago

  Breakthrough on Liberation Peak is trash. Defenders have zero tanks, smh. It was decent but then changed for no reason! @Battlefield give defenders some vehicles!!! Fix launch maps on BT! Add Operations back! @BattlefieldComm @EA_DICE

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  PaulsCorner-VerseQuest (@TNTJohn1717) reported 21 minutes ago

  while still having a doctrinal home. Third John’s doctrinal home is Church Age local church life. It addresses how believers should walk in truth, love in truth, receive faithful brethren, support the Lord’s workers, and resist proud men who hinder the truth. This is why the book is so useful for pastors, teachers, Bible students, and ordinary believers sitting in the pews. Church trouble is not new. Proud men are not new. Slander is not new. Gatekeeping is not new. Casting out faithful people in the name of authority is not new. The Holy Ghost put 3 John in the canon because Church Age believers would need it. The local church is supposed to be a pillar and ground of the truth, according to 1 Timothy 3:15, but whenever truth is present, the devil looks for an entrance. Sometimes he attacks from outside. In 3 John, the trouble is inside the walls. Chapter Two: The Elder Stands Where the Battle Is John calls himself “the elder,” and that is significant because local church battlefields require tested spiritual oversight. The elder is not writing from a throne of religious vanity. He is not acting like a pope, prince, or owner of the saints. He is writing with aged discernment, apostolic truth, and pastoral care. That is the right kind of authority for a church battlefield. The wrong kind of authority wants preeminence. The right kind of authority serves truth. John’s authority strengthens Gaius and exposes Diotrephes. Diotrephes’ influence protects himself and harms the brethren. There is the difference between Bible authority and religious control. An elder who stands where the battle is must be able to identify the real issue. Many church conflicts are deliberately clouded by personalities, rumors, hurt feelings, side conversations, and religious language. Diotrephes could have claimed he was protecting the church. He could have said he was guarding local autonomy. He could have accused the brethren of being outsiders. He could have made Gaius look rebellious for receiving those whom he refused. But John sees through the fog. The real issue is preeminence, malicious words, refusal of faithful brethren, forbidding others, and casting people out. A faithful elder does not let the proud man define the battlefield. That is needed now. The Church Age is full of men who can manage meetings but cannot discern spirits, men who can run programs but cannot smell pride, men who can quote leadership books but cannot handle Diotrephes. John is not that kind of elder. He is not neutral between the faithful and the abusive. He is not confused between charity and compromise. He is not intimidated by the local church boss. When the battlefield appears, the elder stands in truth. That is what church leadership is supposed to do. It is not supposed to protect the institution at all costs. It is supposed to protect truth, brethren, testimony, and the honor of the Lord Jesus Christ. Chapter Three: Fellowship Is a Battlefield Third John shows that fellowship is not a harmless social category. Fellowship is a battlefield because whom you receive and whom you refuse says what truth you are standing with. Gaius receives faithful brethren. Diotrephes refuses them. John commands, “We therefore ought to receive such, that we might be fellowhelpers to the truth.” That word “such” is important. It does not mean receive everybody who owns a religious vocabulary. It means receive those who went forth for His name’s sake and took nothing of the Gentiles. Fellowship in 3 John is not blind hospitality. It is truth-governed charity. Second John and Third John must be read together if a man wants balance. Second John says not to receive the false teacher who brings not the doctrine of Christ. Third John says to receive the faithful brethren who go forth for His name. There is no contradiction. The same Bible that closes the door on heresy opens the door to faithful servants. The same truth that rejects antichrist doctrine

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  Build Wealth After 40 (@BuildAfter40) reported 24 minutes ago

  @BullTheoryio This is the problem with headline-driven markets: first the stock loses billions, then everyone checks whether the story was actually real. Stablecoins may be a huge battlefield, but if partners are finding out they “joined” through the news, that’s not disruption - that’s a group project without consent.

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  Thatoneaccount (@Retradworld) reported 25 minutes ago

  I warned GenZ and Alpha that they were a problem that would be solved by a draft to an overseas battlefield. Revolt in America or Die in a Foreign land for juice @Calvin