sometimes you gotta fit in to get in
While the rest of the island wines and dines, dressed as though prepared to walk the red carpet, I'm seated in the third floor lounge of the Compound with a tall stein full of beer to the side and a controller in my hands. In my defense, I tried to stay for the whole of the party. I made a valiant effort. But pleasantries can only go on for so long before they start feeling like a burden. Which defeats the purpose of a party.
I'd much rather be in the company of Elites and Grunts. (I realize that turning away from Frodo Baggins, Natalie Portman, and Batman loses me some of my geek cred. I can't be bothered.)
But for those who would be comforted, at least I can tell you that I was playing on Legendary.
The X-Box in the third floor lounge may not be equipped with the latest games that Mark Zuckerberg's needed to catch up on, but there are times when he simply enjoys a bit of old school, first generation HALO. Huddled on the couch, for a few minutes, the only sound that one can hear aside from the roar of the Covenant on the television is the rapid succession of tapping on his controll. Some people button-mash. Others liberally apply grenades.
Not Mark. He snipes.
The Hunters waiting by the enemy base roar and charge their guns, but to no avail. It takes some clever maneuvering to take one out after the other- the shot of the gun makes his location all too clear to the felled Hunter's partner, and these types aren't exactly keen on waiting around- but eventually Mark manages, a slight curve on his lip as he shoots thrice into the soft orange section of the Hunter's back, felling it with a thud. Quickly, he cracks his knuckles, before settling in for the next stretch.
I'd much rather be in the company of Elites and Grunts. (I realize that turning away from Frodo Baggins, Natalie Portman, and Batman loses me some of my geek cred. I can't be bothered.)
But for those who would be comforted, at least I can tell you that I was playing on Legendary.
The X-Box in the third floor lounge may not be equipped with the latest games that Mark Zuckerberg's needed to catch up on, but there are times when he simply enjoys a bit of old school, first generation HALO. Huddled on the couch, for a few minutes, the only sound that one can hear aside from the roar of the Covenant on the television is the rapid succession of tapping on his controll. Some people button-mash. Others liberally apply grenades.
Not Mark. He snipes.
The Hunters waiting by the enemy base roar and charge their guns, but to no avail. It takes some clever maneuvering to take one out after the other- the shot of the gun makes his location all too clear to the felled Hunter's partner, and these types aren't exactly keen on waiting around- but eventually Mark manages, a slight curve on his lip as he shoots thrice into the soft orange section of the Hunter's back, felling it with a thud. Quickly, he cracks his knuckles, before settling in for the next stretch.