Boom
Boom
Foreshadow
I run down a darkened corridor, but my heart does not pound. I cannot feel my feet thundering beneath me as I run for my life. I cannot smell the musty air that surrounds me. I cannot feel these sensations because I am controlling an avatar of myself within a game. I can only see a first person view, but I know I am dressed as a seven-foot soldier clad in black armor that makes me look like a cyborg, a shotgun clenched in my hands.
I am both removed and immersed. I am not really there, but my adrenaline still pounds as I try to prevent myself from dying.
I race through the basement of some decrepit building. The walls are painted a dull red from rust, the floors are old and filthy, and the ambient light from overhead seems to create more darkness than luminance.
I grip my weapon. My rivals sport the same.
Twenty-four shots. Twelve in the clip and twelve in reserve.
Boom.
My shotgun rings true as my opponent drops at my feet.
Boom.
Another one dressed like me, but clad in blue.
Boom.
I do not know his name.
Boom.
But I can still take satisfaction from killing him.
Boom.
My ammo is running low. I clear the room of enemies and find a quiet corner to crouch down.
I pull out my new clip and feed the rounds into the port near the base of the barrel.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
I give the pump a good thrust to eject the old, spent cartridge and replace it with a new one, ready to go. Seeing no immediate enemies, I check the player line-up. The list shows ten other players.
Ten people, ten chances to score.
Feeling as if there is no time like the present, I continue through the rooms. I approach a door frame with a green illumination blazing from it. I run right into it.
The transporter spits me out at a new section of the map. Still no one in sight.
I round a corner, my finger tense on the trigger, ready to pull.
Boom!
Another enemy down. Quickly, I grab a pair of fragmentation grenades and ten more rounds for my shotgun from the body, leaving the fallen soldier laying in the dirt.
I pause by the entrance to another large room. The reports from multiple shotguns alert me to the battle waging just beyond my line of sight.
Hesitantly, I peek around the corner. A stray shot whizzes by me and I catch a glimpse of the fight.
Four people engaged in a deathly brawl.
Not wanting to risk my head against such odds, I pull the pin from one of my grenades and haul it into the room. It bounces off the wall and explodes near the quarreling quartet, shrapnel scattering on the ground.
I check the damage.
Two people killed with the grenade; One taken down by the last survivor. He turns towards me.
I freeze, and I know I've been spotted. I risk my already impressive kill record as I rush my new opponent. He promptly follows suit and we are locked in a mortal dance whose only purpose is to kill. Both of us try to bring the butt of our shotguns down onto the back of the other for an instant kill, but we are too close and neither of us can get a clear strike.
I am alone in my strife. No one will come to save me.
This is slayer.
A kill-or-be-killed, every-man-for-himself game where the object is to take down as many other people as possible. The first thing you do when you see someone is shoot them.
No one will help me.
So I improvise.
I change my pattern of movement, strafing for a split second to bring him closer. The trick works and I hear the satisfying crack of bone and flesh as my trusty weapon slams into his skull.
He stays standing. Weakened, but not yet dead.
Not good enough.
I look down the barrel, his head is within my sight.
Boom.
Miss.
He strafes away just in time and avoids my shot. I quickly pop an extra cartridge down the port to ensure that I have a full clip.
Boom.
He lands a shot, but he was hasty and aims too low. I can continue the fight.
At this point, both of us realize that the next shot will decide the victor. Neither one of us can take even one more round.
We rush each other again, trying to stick the barrel into the other's torso to nail a point-blank shot. Again, we are too close, and we are unable to swing our weapons around fast enough, the elusive body just out of reach.
Frustrated, I grab my last grenade, pull the pin, and aim straight down.
3...2...1... Boom!
I dodge just in time to evade the splash damage from the shrapnel. The grenade distracts my opponent just long enough for me to bring my shotgun to bear.
Boom.
The shot reverberates off the walls the over-sized room, and my rival, my partner in mutual animosity, falls dead at my feet.
Another victory, another point on my kill-count.
But this moment of triumph cannot last long, because I know that my foes will respawn in 3...2...1...
Boom.