Select: jetpack. Start matchmaking in 3… 2… 1… *boop* Deep, ominous male voice declares, “Slayer.” Jetpack over first wall. Vision impaired. I am taking heavy fire. Aim at head, four shot kill. Land. Pick up a gravity hammer, larger than my enormous blue Spartan body. Two enemies charge into my sight. I crush them with the massive mallet. Double kill. Pick up plasma grenade. Lead enemy in lower level. Aim. Throw. Glowing blue ball in the face. Stuck.
The video game industry is responsible for bringing people (predominantly males) of all shapes and sizes together for virtual combat. The most common online games currently include Halo: Reach and Call of Duty and Modern Warfare II. I play both. Whether or not it is a constructive use of time is debatable, but I am addicted. Maybe not to the game, but to the pounding of my heart and surge of euphoria that comes with victory.
As I write this paper, I have just come from playing several rounds of Halo on my Xbox 360 console, which is hooked up to a forty-two inch flat screen, which belongs to my roommate and commands the most attention out of the extensive electronic equipment in our three-bedroom apartment. Though I am not the best of joystick handlers, I have my moments. Late at night when I have satisfactorily completed my homework, I turn on the console and slip in the Halo disk, select matchmaking and scroll through the play lists. Slayer (4v4 team death match), Team Snipers (all .50 and long shots), Big Team Battle (mix of capture the flag and 8v8 death match), Infection (two zombies trying to turn everyone else)… select: Swat.
In the game-type of Swat you can only kill an opponent by shooting them in the head. Upon the start of the game, I sprint around the map to flank the enemy. Approach from the side, before they have had time to think about which way to look. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. The projectiles find their targets: the heads of the enemies. Such a feat is described in game as an Overkill, or four kills within four seconds of each other. Such are my “moments.” Though rare, they do occur.
The main appeal of this game is that it requires skill. The secondary appeal is that my skill is matched against a random collection of people from around the globe. The scope on my sniper rifle landing ever so gently on an enemy’s head proves that for at least a second I am better than someone else somewhere in the world. I conversed with a Vancouver native about lifted trucks, and even came across some French-speaking players. Different languages, cultures, races, social classes are all made equal in a place where no one has a face or rank other than a ratio of kills to deaths. All are brought together on neutral ground to play against each other for a high score and bragging rights. All are brought together to destroy each other in smashing fashion. Whether it is an exploding grenade, a .50 caliber bullet through the face, or a swift melee to the back of the skull, someone will find a way to kill you.
As aforementioned, I am not the best. I have won games but lost many more. Still my quest for victory remains insatiable. It awakens an animalistic psychology within that urges, “Complete the mission!” Gaming does not interest me as much as writing music, but it has the potential to be much more exciting. Having a great game in which I exhibit the combat skills of Achilles, is the closest I can get to those sporting victories of old, the closest I can get to the glory days, the closest I can get to ruling the world.
