“RangerSix, this is PerfectQuestion,” I say as I call in our status to Command.
“Six here; go ahead.”
“Command, we need reinforcements. I’m down to nine total, including myself.”
“I know, I’ve been watching the network feed, son. Heckuva a job. Bad break on Third Squad, though … but I was hoping you’d get the main door open, at low cost, and you did. I’m authorizing you one of our fan SF units. I think they’ll do the job considering where you’re at.”
Where I’m at?
“Where am I at, exactly?”
Long pause. Hairs rising on the back of my neck.
“You didn’t read that sign at the front gate, the one that said property of Weyland-Yutani Corporation?”
“Saw it. Didn’t mean anything.”
“And the big identifier on the face of the main building,” continues RangerSix. “LV-426. C’mon, Question, you’ve never seen the greatest sci-fi combat film ever made? Aliens.”
I pause. On-screen my avatar crouches on the platform as the eight other surviving players reload their weapons. My avatar is holding one hand to his headset, indicating I’m in communication with another element. Over ambient sound I hear the high-pitched whine of an Albatross’s engines powering into its braking hover. I turn. The Albatross rotates above the street. In front of the loading dock. it hovers above the mud.
“Everybody wants to play Space Marine, Question, but this is where it all started … Colonial Marines,” says RangerSix over the chat with a wheezy laugh.
Some fan units go beyond just training together like old gaming clans hoping to get picked up for a network battle. Some take the next step and modify their avatars to effect a cosplay element. I guess these were that sort. I’ve even heard of fan units who go on vacation together and try to live like their characters in real life. That’s a little much for me.
Colonial Marines.
Their armor and camo is similar to ours with only slightly different touches. It reminds me of images I’d looked at of soldiers from the Vietnam War. But spacier. They have helmet-mounted small lights attached. I can’t see how that will be any use in online combat. The trick is to not attract attention to yourself so you can shoot first. Headlights seem to be the opposite of that.
“Are these guys somehow … relevant to this map?” I ask RangerSix.
He laughs briefly. “Yeah, they’re real relevant, Perfect. Listen, this is how I see it. I just did a little checking. This is some sort of advertising stunt for the network. The map, that is. I just talked to a guy over at programming who told me they’re debuting a trailer for the Aliens reboot after the match tonight. Really, you never saw Aliens?”
“No, never. Is it good?”
He laughs again.
“You need to watch it, son. Listen up, this map will somehow relate to the movie. Whether it’s original source material or something from the reboot, I don’t know. But the bioweapon you’re looking for is most likely an alien. So watch out, there might be a whole lot of them inside the main building. If there are … well, your team’s in big trouble.”
“An alien?”
“Roger that, Perfect. An alien. If, and I’m just guessing here, we can get that tech unlock, if we can get the alien as a combat unit or something, that could be a game changer for us. So, if you can get it, get it. If you can’t, make sure WonderSoft doesn’t. The last thing we need right now is a bunch of those crazy things running around my battlefield, playing for the wrong team.”
“One question, Six? What does this alien look like?”
Again he laughs. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard him laugh once. Or express emotion. Anything. “I really can’t believe it, Question,” says RangerSix, still laughing. “Look like? It looks like a cross between a gorilla and a shark and a scorpion. You’ll know it when you see it, son. Six out.”
Two new squads of Colonial Marines come up the loading dock ramp.
“What’s the mission, sir?” asks a player tagged MarineSgtApone.
“We’ve cleared the first map. King of the Hill,” I tell him. “Now we enter the second map. No idea what match it might be, but we’re all about to find out. This is a superlab op, so the endgame is to retrieve the tech and get out. You guys down?”
“Straight up, Question,” says MarineSgtApone, a black burly commando-type avatar chewing a short stubby cigar.
“Listen up, Marines,” he says over BattleChat. “We got to go in and clear us some Softies out. So you know the drill; watch the corners and clear the shadows. We’ve done this on our own mods. WarWorld’s level design might be a little different, maybe even a lot different probably, and the AI on the aliens is most likely gonna be insane, can’t tell. But in the end they’re just big bad bugs, and we’re probably the best suited for this one ’cause we be the bug stompers. Who’d a thought?”
Everyone cheers. This must be like the Super Bowl for them.
“All right, let’s squad up and move in,” I announce over the chat. At the lead of First Squad, I head into the alien-infested remains of a place called Hadley’s Hope. LV-426.
So, Apone,” I whisper over the chat as we proceed slowly down the dimly lit passageway leading into the belly of the main building, “what exactly are these aliens?”
There’s a pause. Wait for it, I tell myself.
“Never seen the movie, sir?”
“Aliens?”
“Yeah. Never seen it?”
“No. So go ahead and tell me what we’re walking into.”
Pause.
“Well, sir … I don’t know. Uh … Never know with the WarWorld programmers. Somethin’ trickylike no doubt. But uh … basically an alien is like a tiger that’s been crossed with a spider and a T. rex.”
“Huh …” I think about that. “Not a gorilla, shark, scorpion?”
Pause.
“Yeah,” says Apone. “Those too.”
“They don’t have weapons? Guns or explosives or laser beams or anything like that?”
“Uh … no. They are the weapon, sir.”
“I don’t understand …”
“You should just watch the movie, sir.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
We arrive at a massive security door. The numbers 01 are stamped in a large space-age font across the door’s surface.
“We open that door, sir,” whispers Apone over the chat, “be ready ’cause I got a feelin’ it’s on real properlike.”
“I read you five by five on that, Sergeant,” says one of the other marines.
Everyone takes up a position across the wide hallway. The overhead lights flicker intermittently and without pattern as gun-toting avatars cling to the sides of the hall, kneel, or lie on their bellies. Two heavy gunners take up the center position; one is a big male avatar, the other a short, curvy, tough-looking Hispanic chick. Apone advances to the door controls.
“Ready, sir?” he asks over the chat.
“Do it.”
The doors part and slide open.
There