Shoot Club

Shoot Club: Shot Club, Part Three

Tom Chick | 16 Aug 2007 17:00
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"So let's play Rainbow Six: Vegas, but with pistols only."

"Yeah, pistols only."

We put the revolver back in its case, but left it open so we could admire it as we went back and forth to the kitchen for Dr. Peppers and stacks of Oreos and handfuls of Doritos and slices of the poppy seed coffee cake someone brought and red vines. Everyone was careful to wipe his hands before lifting the gun out. No one pointed it at anyone else. We somehow instinctively knew not to dry fire it, in case a bullet somehow sneaked its way into the cylinder. Or maybe just because of the wear and tear. Either way, actually pulling the trigger was way too serious a thing to do. The gun was handled with the appropriate gravity and reverence you'd give any holy relic.

I set up Vegas on the LAN. I queued up a series of maps. With the new patch, we could even have different names. Before the latest patch, everyone was MyComputer. Every death message read, "MyComputer [<nameofgun>] MyComputer".

We all took the Raging Bull, which most resembled Trevor's gun. It also did the most damage of all the pistols. It sometimes took a few shots to kill someone, but it looked totally sweet. When you reloaded, you tilted the pistol up and shook out the empty shell casings. Then you slapped some sort of ring of bullets up into the cylinder before snapping it shut. Spinning it first, of course.

Even without the big guns, this is the best shooter there is. No joke. Until another game comes along that lets you seamlessly use cover like Vegas does, it will sit in its own special place, preceded by the word 'best'. Gears of War might be good, but it's not that good.

"Whose .38?" Douglas' voice said over my shoulder. I could hear him eating celery. Douglas didn't eat the normal Shoot Club food. He brought vegetable platters and quietly lorded it over us that he was in better shape than we were.

"Oh, hey, Douglas. We're playing Rainbow Six: Vegas."

"I can see that. Who left a .38 laying on the table in there?"

Lying, I thought but didn't say.

"I only made three hundred tonight," Douglas said, even though I hadn't asked. The sound of his celery rivaled the shots from our Raging Bulls.

After playing a few rounds, we gathered around Trevor's gun in the dining room. We all tried to emulate the reloading animation. Now that was first person perspective.

"So do you have bullets?" Peter finally asked.

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