SGT Razor
Sr Member
It's Monday, September 24th, 2007. You've waited for hours outside of GameStop, sipping a Game Fuel which adds to the chill of the dark, autumn night, chatting with newfound friends about that Kill Frenzy you got playing 4v4 Swat,* reminiscing about those incredible diorama videos, and daydreaming about building a street-legal, true-to-scale Warthog like Weta made for those Landfall promos. Some dude is walking around in Spartan armor and you wish you could be him, but he's standing right next to that Marine recruiter who is clearly way behind on his quota for the month, judging by how desperate he is to enlist every sweaty, overweight gamer that makes eye contact with him. A watch alarm begins to chime somewhere behind you. Then another goes off. A few more join in the chorus of staccato high-pitched beeps. It's midnight. The doors finally open. You expect Black Friday levels of chaos inside the store, but to your astonishment, these exhausted GameStop employees have it all under control. It feels like months before you get to the front of the line, but at fifteen minutes after midnight, none of that matters. The anticipation drives you to forget all about snapping a photo with the Chief. Hell, with his helmet in your hands, you forget he was even there as you sprint to the car, slam it into first, and peel out of the parking lot with your new Spartan Mk VI helmet safely secured in the passenger seat. On the short drive home, you have to constantly remind yourself to ease off the gas pedal before you get another speeding ticket in your parents' car. Every cell in your body screams to you that this is huge. You begin to search for something, some hypothetical scenario that could beat this exhilaration - the day of your wedding, the birth of your first child, winning the lottery - but they all somehow fall short. It seems hyperbolic at first, like maybe you've succumbed to the power of the hype train and started to believe a lie. But somehow, at this very moment, this is honestly how it feels. You just can't admit it to anyone without feeling foolish. Nothing could ever beat the blissful excitement you feel at this exact moment as you pull into the driveway. It'll have to sit out there because the loud grinding of that ancient garage door will most definitely wake someone up. You gingerly open the front door and slip inside without a sound. Normally, you would untie your shoes before slipping them off, but you refuse to take your hands off the prized emerald and gold trophy you've been patiently waiting for all these months. For now, your shoes will have to take a hit before you venture into the basement where you've made a hasty temporary setup. Cables run sloppily from the TV to the console to the extension cord you bought the night before for this exact purpose. With your controller battery charged, and a fresh one ready to go, you vacate your comfy chair of your strategically placed snacks. As you plop down in the seat, you don't remember it ever feeling this comfortable, but your pounding heart and anxious mind refuse to allow you to relax. You sit leaning forward with your elbows on your knees as the Xbox fires up with a gleeful whir, followed by the ever-recognizable hum of those famously under-powered fans.
Bright pink oblong splotches develop above your kneecaps from the constant pressure of your elbows as you stifle the embarrassing nervous giggles escaping you. The glorious main menu appears on your faithful 14" hand-me-down CRT TV your family has owned longer than you've been alive, and your agape mouth melts into a stupid grin you won't soon forget as Martin O'Donnell's iconic masterpiece of a soundtrack graces your eardrums and sends chills down your spine. You get lost in the magically enrapturing music, waiting for three very specific Xbox Live notifications. Yesterday in the cafeteria, you gave some of your Adderall to your three best friends and promised each other you'd all try out that new 4-player online cooperative campaign feature together. But where the hell are they? You habitually check the Xbox Live Friends "blade" menu every few seconds, wondering if you missed the notification or you simply didn't receive it. Your unsurprisingly short list of online acquaintances shows three friends: the one who is always playing Rainbow Six: Vegas, the heathen that jumped straight into Halo 3's matchmaking, and that poor soul who is stuck playing Halo 2. Like magic, after closing the menu for what seems like the billionth time, the Xbox logo blinks at the bottom of the screen . You reflexively let out a sharp sigh. "I don't want to play matchmaking with that guy until I beat--" The message cuts off your train of thought.
XxUltrabrightxX invited you to play Halo 3
Holy ****, it's happening! Your mild annoyance turns to elation as you accept the invitation, then switches back to annoyance when you realize all three of them have been waiting for you in this lobby, too distracted with their conversation that they forgot to make themselves appear online. Clearly, they haven't taken that Adderall yet. You all get settled, and the countdown timer sounds off. Three slow, familiar "boops" echo over the somber yet soothing chorus of serenading voices as the screen fades to black. You take a deep breath and swallow the lump that's been in your throat all day. Then the lobby comes back up. Seriously? Trolls can still stop the countdown timer? You and two others tell that fourth friend, who thinks he's hilarious, to shut the **** up and quit being an *******. He doesn't. Instead, he does it a couple more times until he no longer finds it humorous. Six hours later of shooting each other more than the enemy, the four of you save the universe and take a leisurely Warthog drive down sleepy side streets to park it gently in the hangar of Forward Unto Dawn, safe and sound. It's almost 7am. You all sign off and get ready for school. That entire day, you struggle to stay awake, regretting your decision to not ditch school. But you're also throwing around ideas for Forge Mode and talking about making ODST armor in your dad's workshop.
This is the night you will all fondly look back on for the rest of your lives. It will be the story that finds its way into your best man speeches and eulogies. After high school, you all go your separate ways, but your mutual fondness for Halo brings you together every weekend. School brought you together as classmates, but Halo made you brothers.
*Yes, I know a Kill Frenzy is 5 kills within 4 seconds of each other in Halo 2. The first guy I killed respawned and I killed him a second time after wiping out the team. It happened, okay? It was unranked, and I was playing as my friend's guest, but it still counts.
Bright pink oblong splotches develop above your kneecaps from the constant pressure of your elbows as you stifle the embarrassing nervous giggles escaping you. The glorious main menu appears on your faithful 14" hand-me-down CRT TV your family has owned longer than you've been alive, and your agape mouth melts into a stupid grin you won't soon forget as Martin O'Donnell's iconic masterpiece of a soundtrack graces your eardrums and sends chills down your spine. You get lost in the magically enrapturing music, waiting for three very specific Xbox Live notifications. Yesterday in the cafeteria, you gave some of your Adderall to your three best friends and promised each other you'd all try out that new 4-player online cooperative campaign feature together. But where the hell are they? You habitually check the Xbox Live Friends "blade" menu every few seconds, wondering if you missed the notification or you simply didn't receive it. Your unsurprisingly short list of online acquaintances shows three friends: the one who is always playing Rainbow Six: Vegas, the heathen that jumped straight into Halo 3's matchmaking, and that poor soul who is stuck playing Halo 2. Like magic, after closing the menu for what seems like the billionth time, the Xbox logo blinks at the bottom of the screen . You reflexively let out a sharp sigh. "I don't want to play matchmaking with that guy until I beat--" The message cuts off your train of thought.
XxUltrabrightxX invited you to play Halo 3
Holy ****, it's happening! Your mild annoyance turns to elation as you accept the invitation, then switches back to annoyance when you realize all three of them have been waiting for you in this lobby, too distracted with their conversation that they forgot to make themselves appear online. Clearly, they haven't taken that Adderall yet. You all get settled, and the countdown timer sounds off. Three slow, familiar "boops" echo over the somber yet soothing chorus of serenading voices as the screen fades to black. You take a deep breath and swallow the lump that's been in your throat all day. Then the lobby comes back up. Seriously? Trolls can still stop the countdown timer? You and two others tell that fourth friend, who thinks he's hilarious, to shut the **** up and quit being an *******. He doesn't. Instead, he does it a couple more times until he no longer finds it humorous. Six hours later of shooting each other more than the enemy, the four of you save the universe and take a leisurely Warthog drive down sleepy side streets to park it gently in the hangar of Forward Unto Dawn, safe and sound. It's almost 7am. You all sign off and get ready for school. That entire day, you struggle to stay awake, regretting your decision to not ditch school. But you're also throwing around ideas for Forge Mode and talking about making ODST armor in your dad's workshop.
This is the night you will all fondly look back on for the rest of your lives. It will be the story that finds its way into your best man speeches and eulogies. After high school, you all go your separate ways, but your mutual fondness for Halo brings you together every weekend. School brought you together as classmates, but Halo made you brothers.
*Yes, I know a Kill Frenzy is 5 kills within 4 seconds of each other in Halo 2. The first guy I killed respawned and I killed him a second time after wiping out the team. It happened, okay? It was unranked, and I was playing as my friend's guest, but it still counts.
