MASTER CHIEF WILL SMOKE YOU LIKE A BLUNT!

A Review

by Mighty Doom

            I just got back from Otakon, and god damn does it hurt when reality comes crashing back in on you.  Suddenly you have to worry about getting a job and paying back your college loans, rather than just hunting down that Lulu cosplayer with the massive rack so you can snap a picture of her.  As the Vigo’s little art critic bitch says in Ghostbusters 2, the joyfulness is over.  So here is Doom, two hundred dollars poorer than he was a week ago and with nothing but a couple of art books and a Digi Charat coffee mug to show for it.

            All that said, Otakon was a good time joyride.  I liked it a lot like Instant Whip.  It whipped a Siberian husky’s ass with a belt, and convinced me that rock, rap and roll will never die.  I’m happy to say I was not accosted by DJ Restraining Order – I think he was too busy “taking it to the DDR floor” with Xero to bother the rest of us – and found what I was looking for in the dealer’s room.  I’ve got my Masamune Shirow 2003 calendar, my Love Hina art book (fan service may not be the breakfast of champions, but it’s sure as hell the breakfast of DOOM), a magazine and a mug.  I didn’t get any snapshots of that midget playing DDR against a normal person – the funniest thing EVAR, and anyone who says otherwise has a giant redwood up his ass – but he’s there every year, and next time I’ll be on the lookout.

            I promised you Doombots a review, so here it is.  While sitting around the hotel room at Otakon to avoid spending my food money on a Jin-Roh figure, I played Halo, currently exclusive to the almost universally (and undeservedly) reviled Xbox.  As a great fan of the Marathon series – to the best of my knowledge the only philosophically introspective first-person shooter ever created – I was pleased to find Halo a damn fine prequel to Bungie’s masterpiece trilogy.

In other words this game kicked my ass twice around the block.

            The plot has little to do with Marathon, as it takes place some time before Tycho, Durandal and the Phfor arrived on the scene.  A coalition of alien species known as the Covenant have deemed humanity a race of infidels, and have taken it upon themselves to eliminate us.  Integral to the Covenant’s doomsday plan is the floating ring-world they call Halo, from which they can find Earth and launch a massive attack against it.  Enter Master Chief (yes, that’s his name, and yes, it’s goofy as hell), a Mk 5 cyborg (you might remember those from Marathon) sent to keep the Covenant from seizing control of the Silent Cartographer, Halo’s map room.

            Halo takes Marathon’s FPS gameplay and adds some new things to the mix – namely, vehicles.  In the middle of a firefight you can hop into a jeep and drive around in Red Dog style.  If you’ve got a few soldiers left alive, they’ll even help you out, one riding shotgun, the other manning the Gatling cannon on the back of the jeep.  This makes for some well-needed variety.  Just when Halo’s FPS aspect is getting repetitive, you hop into an alien ship or mounted turret and regulate with lasers.

            Though not as deep (plotwise, anyway) as Bungie’s old Marathon titles, Halo is a fun time, if somewhat mindless.  Massive quantities of malt liquor make this even more fun; you don’t feel nearly as bad about shooting your own guys in the head with a sniper rifle, and blowing up a cluster of those little spastic aliens with a couple of grenades suddenly seems a far more important accomplishment than it actually is.  Doom says this game is badass.  It’s not perfect by a long shot, but it’s a lot of fun.

THE GOOD: Decent story, frenetic action, a weird sense of humor.

THE BAD: It takes place in the Marathon universe, but has little to do with Marathon.

THE UGLY: Some bland interior environments.

DOOM’S FINAL JUDGMENT: B+