Due to popular (and fictional) demand, I have once again been called away from my luxury two bedroom apartment in de_dust2 to further guide the uninitiated in the ways of the online shooter enthusiast. In part one
, we discussed how you can preen your feathers and enact the mating call of the average Counter-Strike enthusiast to help you blend in with your new adopted family of cursing adolescents. Exclusive to Destructoid, I can now reveal an excerpt from my upcoming memoirs, detailing my integration into a fledgling clan.
See part one of my travel log to find out how to get on with fellow players like one of these!
The one they called Spooky laughed as I crouched over the fallen counter terrorist, miming the traditional and homo-erotic dance of victory practiced by online gamers for many years. His thick north England accented voice bellowed with laughter as I turned and shot his pal Barber in the face, as Barber let out another sigh of disbelief at his all too sudden failure. “HAX!” Barber responded from beyond the grave (as is tradition).
The smallest and youngest of this group, Jake, who happened to be a fellow terrorist, cried out in elation as he felled Freedom, whom I suspect to be the mate of Spooky. She quietly sighed before calling Jake a bastard, which only spurred Jake’s near climactic glee beyond safe boundaries.
My success in integrating myself within this small, possibly vulnerable pack was down to two things alone; one, being good at the game. Two, the “well pervy” voice I am forced to put on, as I still live at home and am forced to speak quietly when playing late at night, a voice which comes across more Christopher Walken than soft spoken Jude Law. The latter served to amuse this quartet of players, whilst the former confirmed by belonging with them.
The next day, a server was rented, a clan web page formed, a badge concocted, and a name was born, a name which to this day, I neither care for nor understand. For we are “Hunters of Gunmen”, which I’m told by Freedom is good because the initials will be H.O.G, which is also the name of some sort of real life military group. As an extra surprise, despite having no knowledge of what was to happen, I had also been made an admin of this server. I was ecstatic. Had it really worked? Was I truly integrated to the point where the primitive inhabitants of this world were happy to grant me power over the very existence of their mortal plane? Did they really trust me with the power to release the Sword of Damoclese upon any foolish enough to abuse the customs and traditions of their people, along with all the Team Fortress 2 noises which can be played by admins for no good reason? To warp time and space if the map we were playing on displeased me? It seemed, finally, after two months in the jungle, the office and the dusty Middle-Eastern village, the stabilisers were off, and I was hurtling through the park on a shiny red metaphorical BMX.
This is pretty much my new job
At the time of writing, I have only wielded the power to play TF2 noises at the inhabitants of my new realm. This has received a mixed reaction. Aside from my new God-like powers, a much greater benefit has been realised; security. I know now that there is always a server where I am in control, where I can guide the locals who visit our territory/server away from their homophobic and racist slurs by killing or banning them. A place where I can no longer be banned from for simply killing the guy who owns the server more than he would like. A place where everybody knows my name, whether they like it or not. And a place where the fools I have duped into being Steam friends regularly procrastinate, ready for the plucking. Online gaming to the new adventurer is a dark, dangerous, hormonal and sweaty place on the surface. Penetrate the perspiring outer shell of this loud and outspoken species of online FPS enthusiasts, and you can find inner harmony, a second home, and power over life and death.