From the safety of a corrugated rooftop, lying flat on my stomach, I silently focus the crosshairs of my sniper rifle onto the back of the unwitting enemy soldiers head. Scarcely daring to breath, I count 2 beats and pull the trigger.
As I Respawn 300ft away, on the other side of this particular section of town, outside an abandoned warehouse, my kill streak in virtual tatters, I contemplate revenge on the enemy sniper that took me out, milliseconds before I was to take my 7th straight kill.
An enemy sniper called Muthakilla457.
Deciding that caution is the better part of not getting myself shot, I sprint around the corner and in through the door of an empty shop. Belting up the stairs, I jam a claymore mine into the floor by the banister rail to foil any potential sneak attack, crouch in the centre of the room and lift the sniper scope up to my eye. Slowly, methodically I scan the rooftops visible through the open doorway, looking for movement, or a soldiers helmet, anything that will give me a hint as to Muthakilla457’s position.
Respawning just outside the building, I ponder the killcam I have just been shown.
Muthkilla457 hasn’t moved an inch and is still picking people off from the same position on the roof of a ruined barbers shop, the camping bastard. However, having seen through his eyes twice, I have managed to pinpoint his location.
Eagerly imagining Muthakilla457’s death, I run carefully between old, damaged buildings, heading for a spot I know for sure the bastard will be visible from. It’s going to be a tad tricky, but once there I’ll be……..
……this time the respawn point is inside a building that was presumably once used as an apartment of sorts. Cursing my shitty, goddamn, motherloving luck, I hurl myself down the stairs, another plan now forming in my head. If I can make it to……
…..I respawn next to a group of enemy soldiers. I manage to take out 1 of them before I find myself respawning the other side of the town. At least I’d managed to get murdered by a different enemy soldier this time around and not that mother fu….
….this is getting ridiculous.
Although…..this time Muthakilla457 has done me a favour. I’ve respawned near a flight of steps I know for a fact will take me directly up to his position, no messing.
Gingerly, so as not to give away my position, I creep up the steps, staying as low as I can. As my head rises above the last step I see him. The filthy, goddamn, camping motherfucker is exactly where he has been throughout the entire game. The bastard.
I take a couple of seconds to decide on the best weapon to use.
Should I just use the sniper rifle? I have it equipped and ready. Or should I swap to the machine pistol and fill him with an entire clip? I could always see if I can sneak up on him and gut him like the weasly coward he is with my knife.
No, sniper rifle it is.
The crosshairs waiver slightly as I position them over Muthkilla457’s torso. A small smile creeps onto my face and I begin to squeeze the trigger…..
….POINT LIMIT REACHED. GAME OVER.
Me: Kills – 7, Deaths – 5
Muthkilla457: Kills – 13, Deaths – 2
With the next map, I decide to take a different approach. No sneaking around, sniping at people this time, oh no. This time it’s the fully automatic assault rifle/shotgun combo, with grenade launcher accessory.
No pissing about.
The timer counts down to zero, the colour floods the screen, and we’re off.
I’m on my 3rd respawn in as many minutes when I realise that I’ve been killed by the same player each time.
He has a new tactic too. This game, he’s running around, a gun in each hand and has apparently decided that he’s going to be bulletproof.
1 slug. 2 slugs, 3 slugs, an entire clip directly into his rapidly approaching face.
I respawn, having been knifed in the chest.
We go on like this for a while: I run around killing the odd soldier here, lobbing a grenade there, and Muthakilla457 sprints about happily annihilating any and everyone thanks to his new status as the spokesmodel for Diamond coated Kevlar.
Me: Kills – 8, Deaths – 9
Muthkilla: Kills – 18, Deaths 3
It’s around this time that one of my friends joins and I click on the bluetooth so we can trade abuse. Turning up the voice volume (which I’d turned down so I didn’t have to listen to Bullet for my Valentine being played at ear-bleeding volume by some German twat) I start to fire the first salvo in what is almost guaranteed to be an hour long swearathon, when I stop and begin to take in what I’m listening to.
Muthkilla 457 is the only other player with a microphone on and it’s his voice I’m hearing.
His American voice.
A voice so high pitched he sounds like Alvin, Simon or Theodore in a helium tent.
And he’s no more than 7 years old.
He’s no more than 7 years old and playing a violent, bloody, certificate 18 game.
A 7 year old who has utterly pwned me on the battlefield.
And he’s asking his dad for some juice.