***Be mindful. This may contain SPOILERS***

Now it's time for something I hope will be semi-regular: SBC Slam presents "Late to the Party." A feature wherein I discover particularly great games, only weeks, and sometimes months after I should have.

I am notorious for ignoring high-profile (and not so high-profile) releases under the mistaken impression that I won't like the game in question. Case in point, I played Halo 3 for the first time a week ago . . .

Anyway, it usually turns out that I think I'll hate the game, and end up falling madly in love with it. Uncharted 2, and now Modern Warfare also fall into this category, as well as Batman: Arkham Asylum, 'Splosion Man, Shadow Complex, the list goes on . . . and I fucking wish FFXIII was included on this list (ZINGER!).

Now, being that it's already so late, and everyone but myself knows about this shit, I can't exactly offer a review. I mean, what the Hell could I say that would be any sort of relevant several months after the fact? The answer is nothing. So, what I've decided to do is simply share my experience.



See that little boy in the picture? I shot him. He's dead.

I began by completely botching "The Pit" tutorial . . . twice. I was so bad the game told me to go stand at the back of the line and try again when it was my turn. Luckily, no other soldier was nearly as bad as I, and so I was the only lay-over. After once again failing, the game finally passed me, but I could tell it begrudged me the victory. It isn't often that a game treats me like this, and so I took exceptional note. I knew I was in for some shit. It's like the game wanted me to fail, and was going to make sure of it.

Sensing the hatred this game already had for me, I decided to do something I have never done before. I set it to the hardest difficulty. Why? I don't rightly know. Maybe I want to show off to my overbearingly hyper-competitive friend, George, who would strangle me if he saw I beat the game on Veteran. Maybe I wanted to show the game that no matter how hard it tried, I was going to win. Who knows. All I know is I have never played an FPS, single player, on any other difficulty than Normal.

As if to punctuate this grandiose mistake, the game then asked me three times if I was sure I wanted to do this. Three times. It was like, "Uh, dude. I recommended 'Normal.' That's why all the other options are shaded in. You sure?" I said yes. It then persisted, "I'm telling you, man. You will die. A lot. A whole lot." I said yes again. Then, in an unprecedented display of compassion, it gave me one last chance to opt out. I did not.

Fuck you, game. I don't need your charity.



OK, so this game is taking no fucking prisoners. I was scared at first, never having done this. I thought I was going to turn the game into something of a monster, frustrating me at every available opportunity, around every corner. I wasn't necessarily wrong, but to my delicious surprise, it's fun as Hell! I must have gotten myself killed 25 times in the very first fire-fight, but it was so intense, and so adrenal (yeah, I used it as an adjective, fucker), I couldn't tear myself away. I had to beat it to see just how ridiculously obnoxious the rest of the game got. I was seriously enjoying myself.

Every so often, however, the game seems to have this need to turn me around, mount me, and assert dominance. At the end of the controversial "No Russian," while climbing in to the back of an ambulance to finish out the mission, I watched as Makarov (I think that's his name) shot me in the fucking face . . . and I swear to god the game chuckled. It was like, "Great job, Jim! Here, let me help BLAM!!! BWAHAHAHA! Did you see that?! Oh, MAN! You should've seen the look on your face! Oh, oh, oh, hold on. I need to catch my breath . . . BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Fucking game.

I'm not quite done, yet. I'm in a Virginian suburb, slinking around out of sight while I try to dodge enemy armor. It's a bit of a break from all the shooting, but I suspect I'm simply being lulled into a false sense of security, only to become a smear on said Virginian suburb's roads. At any point I am keenly aware that the game will turn on me, but I am also aware that no matter how mentally prepared I am, I won't be as prepared as I need to be.

You know, this game has become like my own personal GLaDOS, without all the entertaining banter. It is my passive aggressive nemesis, waiting quietly to destroy me, all the while maintaining cordial relations.

And there won't be any fucking cake, either.