We try to be roundly educated gamers. We claim broad interests and experience. But the truth is that we all have our fears and foibles; those bogey-games we%26rsquo;ll gladly feign Legionnaire%26rsquo;s Disease to avoid. But real men face their fears. We knew we had to grit our teeth and install these detested titles or forever have our parentage questioned. As a team, we picked up the gauntlet thrown down by, er, ourselves, and sat down to play the games we vowed we never would.
Gamer: Tim Edwards
I can do massively multiplayer games. I can do space games. But EVE Online, the massively multiplayer space game, is my blind-spot: a hulking game of math and long-term projection that my explosion-addled mind cannot cope with. I admire the stories that come out of it, the wars and betrayals, politics and peacekeeping. But the actual game? Play it? Why?
This time, I have no choice. So, character creation then. Race: Caldari, because it sounds like Calamari. Background: Civivre, because the description says they %26ldquo;form the backbone of the Caldari state.%26rdquo; As a trained biologist, I can tell you that octopi have no backbone. I admire the contradiction. Gender: hottie. Charisma: high, as usual. Intelligence: ditto. I have high dissent (the basic ingredient of a Deputy Editor), and some form of executive command. I%26rsquo;m also very, very hot. And kinda naked. In space, no one can see you work the joystick naked.
Within a few moments I%26rsquo;m in command of Crappee 1, the newbie starship. It looks like a space-Skoda with a gatling gun. Hilariously, I land near pirates in worse space-boats than mine. The throaty computer lady talks me through the mindless destruction of these pirates, the leeching of a nearby asteroid, and the assassination of a local traitor. My usual woes with EVE rapidly surface: the interface makes me feel like a total idiot (it takes me about ten minutes to work out how to open the cargo hold), I can%26rsquo;t for the life of me work out where I%26rsquo;m going, or how to get there, and the sheer scale of the map terrifies me. But gradually, I fall into line. I chill. I relax. I chillax. I stop worrying about what the game is telling me to do, and choose my own destiny. I shut the tutorial down, and go for a drive. I%26rsquo;m in outer-space, with no mission, no plan, and no real hope of surviving. I resort to my usual trick - pretending to be a flirty lady, and preying on the lonely. EVE players: Poppette is coming. And she%26rsquo;s a space-siren.
Play it again?
Maybe. WLTM Lonely Male for interstellar romance.