Competitive
The military courier cannot run fast enough with the box in his hands. It has journeyed past mountains, over seas, through the air to reach its destination and the One who caused it to be summoned has just about reached the end of his patience.
Into the airy expanse of the entertainment hall. There! The Immortal Shining Star of the People’s Democratic Kingdom reclines on His multimedia lounge, drumming fingers. He turns at the sound of rushing footsteps.
“Yes?” is all He says.
“Yes,” the courier replies, bowing, package held out.
The dictator opens it and smiles.
ROCKGOD 4 awaits.
Stuart takes everything out of the box and plugs it in. His hands are trembling slightly. It took weeks of whining and wheedling to get Mom to shell out for ROCKGOD 4 and the new console for it, but she did, and now he’s going to totally rule and pwn all those faggits out there who think they’re such hot shit. He was good with RG2 and better with RG3 but this is the one. No way he can be the best on every song, of course, so he’s going to pick a few and concentrate. Starting with Van Halen.
Almighty Leader reviews the playlist. There is a great deal of mediocrity here, and He will get around to mastering the solo levels in His own time, of course... but that is not the point. That is not the game’s purpose.
The game’s purpose is to show the world that He is the Greatest.
His eyes scan, scan, scan. Ah: “Panama”, a true classic by a truly great band.
The controller is fluid in His hands. One play, two, three, and already He is rocking the global high score boards on ‘Master’.
Then he notices a name above his own.
Stuart has quickly settled his life into a rhythm that supports the game’s. It’s not hard, it’s summer, so there’s no school. Sleeps late. Mom brings lunch to his room when he shouts for it. His room has its own door into the bathroom. He doesn’t sleep until the wee hours. All his time is spent working the controller. He has “Panama”, especially, down to a science. Every play edges his score up a few more points, keeping him ahead of the online competition by an ever-wider margin. No, wait: one name is closing the gap. He launches chat.
URAfoggot32: hey asshole
ShiningPDKStar: Who is this?
URAfoggot32: i bet u think ur hot shit huh
ShiningPDKStar: Who are you? How dare you speak to me in this way!
URAfoggot32: haha funny
ShiningPDKStar: Funny? Do you have any idea who I am?
URAfoggot32: like it matters i just know u will never catch up 2 me
ShiningPDKStar: My eventual dominance is inevitable. It has been foreseen.
URAfoggot32: uh okay whatever dude just wanted 2 say Hi Loser
ShiningPDKStar: You were unwise to taunt me in this way.
URAfoggot32: oo so scared u might reach thru the internet haha
ShiningPDKStar: Indeed.
The Immortal Shining Star closes the chat screen with hands that are shaking with rage.
It is not enough that he must know there are still other players whose unworthy luck has allowed them to stay ahead of his own righteous score, but the infernal game permits them to effectively come into his home, his hallowed palace, to insult him?
For a moment, he considers destroying the controller, the console, the screen, all of it.
But then the white heat of his angry abates enough for a much better idea to form.
He calls in his minister of foreign intelligence.
Stuart is fiddling with “Ice Cream Man” when the People’s Democratic Kingdom strike force silently gases his house, rendering him unconscious. By the time American intelligence realizes they are even active in the country, the strike force has extracted Stuart as cargo aboard a civilian airline flight into China, from which it is a short hop across the relatively porous border into the PDK. Approximately forty-eight hours after his hasty chat, Stuart groggily awakens in a hall of the Almighty Leader’s palace, surrounded by guards with guns who do not speak. A short while later, the Shining Star enters.
“What the hell? Who the hell are you?”
A gun butt silences Stuart.
“From this time forward, you will not speak unless I have permitted it. You may indicate that you understand now.”
Stuart suddenly feels fear in a way he never had before.
“I... understand.”
The little man in the military uniform smiles cruelly.
“You are a formidable player. So much so that undoubtedly you must not be an antagonist. Clearly... the Gods mean for us to work together.”
Two guards bring forward a controller and console.
“Playing here... with me, not against me... will be your new life.”
------
For consideration: more thoughts about despots; still down by one
Into the airy expanse of the entertainment hall. There! The Immortal Shining Star of the People’s Democratic Kingdom reclines on His multimedia lounge, drumming fingers. He turns at the sound of rushing footsteps.
“Yes?” is all He says.
“Yes,” the courier replies, bowing, package held out.
The dictator opens it and smiles.
ROCKGOD 4 awaits.
Stuart takes everything out of the box and plugs it in. His hands are trembling slightly. It took weeks of whining and wheedling to get Mom to shell out for ROCKGOD 4 and the new console for it, but she did, and now he’s going to totally rule and pwn all those faggits out there who think they’re such hot shit. He was good with RG2 and better with RG3 but this is the one. No way he can be the best on every song, of course, so he’s going to pick a few and concentrate. Starting with Van Halen.
Almighty Leader reviews the playlist. There is a great deal of mediocrity here, and He will get around to mastering the solo levels in His own time, of course... but that is not the point. That is not the game’s purpose.
The game’s purpose is to show the world that He is the Greatest.
His eyes scan, scan, scan. Ah: “Panama”, a true classic by a truly great band.
The controller is fluid in His hands. One play, two, three, and already He is rocking the global high score boards on ‘Master’.
Then he notices a name above his own.
Stuart has quickly settled his life into a rhythm that supports the game’s. It’s not hard, it’s summer, so there’s no school. Sleeps late. Mom brings lunch to his room when he shouts for it. His room has its own door into the bathroom. He doesn’t sleep until the wee hours. All his time is spent working the controller. He has “Panama”, especially, down to a science. Every play edges his score up a few more points, keeping him ahead of the online competition by an ever-wider margin. No, wait: one name is closing the gap. He launches chat.
URAfoggot32: hey asshole
ShiningPDKStar: Who is this?
URAfoggot32: i bet u think ur hot shit huh
ShiningPDKStar: Who are you? How dare you speak to me in this way!
URAfoggot32: haha funny
ShiningPDKStar: Funny? Do you have any idea who I am?
URAfoggot32: like it matters i just know u will never catch up 2 me
ShiningPDKStar: My eventual dominance is inevitable. It has been foreseen.
URAfoggot32: uh okay whatever dude just wanted 2 say Hi Loser
ShiningPDKStar: You were unwise to taunt me in this way.
URAfoggot32: oo so scared u might reach thru the internet haha
ShiningPDKStar: Indeed.
The Immortal Shining Star closes the chat screen with hands that are shaking with rage.
It is not enough that he must know there are still other players whose unworthy luck has allowed them to stay ahead of his own righteous score, but the infernal game permits them to effectively come into his home, his hallowed palace, to insult him?
For a moment, he considers destroying the controller, the console, the screen, all of it.
But then the white heat of his angry abates enough for a much better idea to form.
He calls in his minister of foreign intelligence.
Stuart is fiddling with “Ice Cream Man” when the People’s Democratic Kingdom strike force silently gases his house, rendering him unconscious. By the time American intelligence realizes they are even active in the country, the strike force has extracted Stuart as cargo aboard a civilian airline flight into China, from which it is a short hop across the relatively porous border into the PDK. Approximately forty-eight hours after his hasty chat, Stuart groggily awakens in a hall of the Almighty Leader’s palace, surrounded by guards with guns who do not speak. A short while later, the Shining Star enters.
“What the hell? Who the hell are you?”
A gun butt silences Stuart.
“From this time forward, you will not speak unless I have permitted it. You may indicate that you understand now.”
Stuart suddenly feels fear in a way he never had before.
“I... understand.”
The little man in the military uniform smiles cruelly.
“You are a formidable player. So much so that undoubtedly you must not be an antagonist. Clearly... the Gods mean for us to work together.”
Two guards bring forward a controller and console.
“Playing here... with me, not against me... will be your new life.”
------
For consideration: more thoughts about despots; still down by one