Halo

In the fiction of the Halo universe, Master Chief is a supreme badass. Look at him in that trailer there, taking on twenty-foot tall space monsters like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Look at the way he moves, stringing together action after action after action. It’s balletic. Brutal, but graceful.

When I play the game, Master Chief is a braindead meatbag who is more likely to die in the first five minutes by throwing a grenade at his own feet because the person controlling him is trying to figure out what each button does. The kind of idiot who jumps into a firefight with one bullet in the clip, so he spends the next 10 seconds getting riddled with bullets as he stands there, reloading. He’s a moron whose neck muscles are made of jelly, so he spends almost the entire game looking either straight up or straight down.

This is because I’m not great at Halo¹.

I’ve accepted that I’m not great at certain games. Most games, to be honest. I’m okay with this. I muddle through. I’ll die a lot and eventually limp across the finish line. My death-count in VVVVVV stands in the couple-hundreds, but this is fine, because I’m getting through the game at my own pace. This is how I get my money’s worth.

Except with Halo, this approach seems wrong, like it’s missing the point. The main character, Master Chief, is not supposed to be the kind of person who just “muddles through”. I realise how stupid and overwrought this sounds, but I don’t feel like I’m doing justice to the character. The Halo story I’m playing out is wrong: my Master Chief doesn’t deserve any awe or respect.

And this is why it takes me months to finish an 8-hour game of Halo.