Headshot Honch...ess?

Dear Diary,

How I get 100 headshots in a firefight game in Halo, every time. AND a perfection.

First watch this game of skirmiggedon, it's on my recommended list.

Okay, watch it again, and admire my prowess! *preen*

Okay, Skirmigeddon is one of the "Score Attack" game types, it doesn't always show up, and on most maps, with skirmishers who weave, leap, flank and swarm, it's pure hell.

But on the Covenant corvette, where right where you are placed there's a long, narrow corridor with only two access points (one to your side, one lengthy one, right ahead of you) ...

It's pure headshot heaven.

What do I do to get 116 headshots in one game?

1. I choose 'evade' as the armor ability. Why? Skirmishers are feisty bitches, leaping and lively, I have to counter by being equally nimble. When I come under fire and am swarmed, I DO NOT want to run away in a straight line ('Sprint') I want to bob and weave out of the way and behind cover at a distance to recover.
   
2. I let them come to me. Repeated: I. Let. Them. Come. To. MOI! I'm in a perfectly defensible stronghold, and skirmishers take their sweet time coming to me, but come they do (like every girl under me, but that's another story), and when they come to me, where I am waiting at the end of a long tunnel (where's the Dr. Freud who designed this map?), then I get headshot after headshot as they align their heads to my crosshairs.
   
   Here's what happens when I DON'T wait and leave my perfectly defensible fortress and take the fight to them: they swarm, they flank, they surround me, and shoot me in the head, many, many times, and I die.
   
   I go to them, they swarm, I die. I let them come to me, they funnel into my crosshairs, they die.
   
   Once more, with feeling: I let them come to me.
3. I pick up a needle rifle, and never look back. The needle rifle is like, the perfect skirmisher exterminator, I aim for their head, I get a headshot, instakill. I aim for their chest, the needle rifle auto-corrects to their head before I pull the trigger, headshot, instadeath. I aim for the BIG TOE, the needle rifle autocorrects to their head before I pull the trigger ... you get the idea. Out of 120 enemies, I only missed 4 headshots that game. That's not me (too much); that's the needle rifle. The DMR is a good, penetrating (easy now, girls) tool (of destruction ... THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!), but it doesn't get headshots like the needle rifle does. And in the off-chance you miss the head, three times in a row, the enemy explodes in a bright, pink mist.
   
   What's not to love?
   
   
   
4. The skirmishers come in waves, waves of four. I dispatch 4 enemies, reload, pick up any dropped needle rifle ammo, then reset to the back of the long tunnel and await the next wave of baddies. Kill 4, reload, regroup. Lather, rinse, repeat.
5. I get hit all the time. No worries, my shield goes down, ... to avoid getting hit, I'm in constant motion; I'm never standing still. When my shield drops, okay, don't panic, and you don't see it in this game, but I take the gloves off. Any living thing facing me is getting 'evaded' (I backpedal when I fight), grenades, and every single needle I can unload into their chest. They go 'BOOM!' and hurt their buddies, and I get my second wind (and a health pack) as the next wave approaches.
6. GAME. OVER! (p.s.: I win! ;)

Weak

"Dark Paradise" sung by Lana Del Rey

— `phfina commentary:

Okay, you know what Jesus did?

Well, okay: 'said.'

Jesus said a lot of things, but, for the most part, he spoke in metaphor.

Why?

Because words aren't the thing. The thing is the thing, and words describe the thing, but aren't the thing at all.

But the thing is (geddit: 'the "thing" is'? geddit?), people forget that. They start thinking of the words, instead of the thing, and forget that the words are not the thing, the thing is the thing, and in forgetting, confuse words for the thing itself, so they only have words, and, get this: forget the thing, itself, entirely and in fact, now, we live in a world, in a universe, where the only relevant thing is the language that describe things, and we don't care about things anymore, we care about the words around them.

For example. Remember that time when ...

Yup, you're crying already, when she broke your heart, so badly, but she broke your heart. She is not now breaking your heart. Your heart, now, is free to love, or free to laugh, or free to cry.

But no, you bind your heart with those memories, which are descriptions, words, of something that happened in the past and will never happen again, unless you recreate it, and you always do, because all you have is words, memory, and that's all we are, spreaders of memes now, we, ourselves sell our hearts, souls, bodies to memes, so that ideas survive us and what's important, the idea, or this moment, that you're living, right now?

It's the idea, the word, the logos, the meme, that's important, because you're not living anymore, you're just an automaton drifting through the fog.

So.

With me?

So, Jesus was always saying, 'The Kingdom of Heaven is like ..." is like whatever, doesn't matter, because Jesus was taking just one aspect of the thing, Heaven, and saying, the faith of a mustard seed could move a mountain, and everybody stood around and said, 'yeah, sure, whatever, sounds good.' but never, ever, got it, because if they got it, they could move a mountain with a mustard seed of faith, but they didn't, Jesus did, because he had that Faith, and that Faith wasn't words, it was the thing, itself, because He directly experienced what the Kingdom of Heaven was, but all He could do for us was explain, in metaphor and parable what it was like, and then show people, you have 5 loaves and 2 fish and there's 5000 men, let's eat, and they all did, and they still crucified Him because they still never got it, even as they had the fish burps from eating their fill from 5 loaves and 2 fish and they still didn't get it.

And you still don't get it.

Some people get it. Because they have that faith, that ... whatever, whatever they set out to do, and they do it, and a man walked on the surface of the Moon and mountains have been leveled or tunneled through, and the desert has been made an oasis (that city in Kuwait, right?) (or Salmon Fishing in Yemen, right?) and people set up their homes in the middle of, or under, for that matter, the oceans, and you still don't get that these men and women are just like you but they believed they could do it, and you don't.

So, I have words.

That's what I have.

But I know that, see. So I'm going to say something.

I am weak.

That's the thing.

So now I'll use metaphor.

Here's the metaphor.

See that little girl? Her weapons were these: a sniper rifle and a needler.

What are these weapons? A sniper rifle, in the third round, will get you this: the first shot, an Elite will say, "Did a mosquito just bite me?" The second shot, the Elite will say: "You touch me again with that, I will kill you." The third shot, in the head, kills him.

Three shots to kill an Elite. Oh, don't miss: a sniper rifle's clip only has 4 shots.

There are 24 Elites in one wave in the third round.

The needler? Skirmishers laugh at it. It requires a full clip to take out an enemy, or if shielded (like an Elite), to take out just their shields.

And the covies are good dodgers. So you miss. A lot.

Those are my weapons. Weak weapons for a weak girl.

Here were the weapons for the other two players: rockets, and fuel rods. These launch shells so destructive they can take out 8, 9, 10 enemies with one shot. BOOM! They are dead and problem solved.

Strong weapons for strong boys.

Here's the thing. I have weak weapons so I have to work for each and every kill.

They had strong weapons, so they could just aim in a general area and laugh at the destruction they wrought. No skill necessary.

But if you live by the rockets ... you die by the rockets. You shell an Elite, who, because you are lazy, avoids a direct hit. You've just made him mad. He's coming after you.

So okay, your next shell doesn't miss, but guess what? An Elite, charging you, firing at you all the way, takes a shell in the chest, right next to you, who dies in the blast?

He does, yes, but so do you.

Over, and over, and over again.

I was down by 10,000 points that game against those rocket boys, but I had weak weapons, so I ran when I was shot at, and I never died.

Guess who won that game?

Those boys, they were strong, and they rested on their strength and confidence, and, in resting, fell to it.

Pride precedeth the fall.

But I am weak. I know I am weak. I acknowledge it. Freely. I am aware of what my abilities are: I suck at this game, this game called Halo, this game called life, but I use what I have: sniper and needler in Halo, and words in life, and I use them well, and in conflict, where strong people fall, to their own strength, over, and over, and over again, I walk away from fights, triumphant. Right. Victorious.

Whereas other people walk away, angry, selfish, bitter, self-delusionally, wondering: "What the hell just happened? Did that little cunt just walk all over me? I have more skilz than her, I'm a boy, I have the better sex than her. I have more money than her. I have ... all of that. How did she come out on top? How did I look like a fool who didn't know what he was saying in that meeting?"

I am weak. I acknowledge it. I embrace it, and my weakness is my strength.

Other people?

They are strong. Or they want to be. But they are afraid that maybe they aren't.

Actually they are strong, but you can't be strong if you hide things from others or yourself. You can't be strong if you don't know that you are weak.

So somebody lashes out at me, and hurts me, badly, because, yes, I allow it, and yes, they are strong, strong enough to see my weakness, and to bear down into it. Hard.

Like Traci. Like those girls on ffn who looked for understanding, but then found what they really wanted: somebody else to hurt. Me. Because if they can hurt somebody like me, so gifted in her words, as they are not, then that makes their hurting okay, because they hurt somebody else more, so they are now better than me.

But they aren't. But you aren't. You aren't better. You are hurting. And, in hurting, you've hurt somebody else, carefully, thoughtfully, sinisterly, deliberately hurt a delicate, fragile creature: me.

And now you have that deal with. Because now, hurting, you've corrupted yourself, and you see that. You see: 'wow, she sure is a sensitive cunt! All I said was ...' All you said was the exact words that you knew would hurt me, and what happened was that I didn't shrug or laugh it off, I lashed back, or I cried, or I went on a drinking binge, or I slit my wrists.

And you participated in helping me hurt myself, with your words.

So, you can deny that, as people are so good at doing: "I didn't mean that!" "I was only joking!" or "Man up, for God's sake and stop being such a whiny bitch!"

('Man' up?)

Or you can acknowledge that.

How do you acknowledge that?

"I'm sorry"?

No.

"I'm sorry." means all of the above, sugar-coated in sincerity.

Why?

Because "I'm sorry" demands an "It's okay" and in "It's okay" means every mean, little, belittling thing you said is now "okay" somehow because you said "I'm sorry" and you got your "It's okay."

You acknowledge that by acknowledging that. "Holy shit, I was a fucking bitch just then! I meant to hurt you, and I did. Oh, my God! I'm really like that."

And you know what? You're really like that.

Let me say that again: you are really like that.

You, your machinery, kicked into high gear, when you are hurting, and it said, let's hurt somebody really badly, right now, and you snap out those hurtful words, and you hurt somebody. And there are girls, and boys, in high school, right now, killing themselves because there are boys and girls, just like you that, when hurting, hurt others.

That's who you are.

You know why?

Because that's who you choose to be.

And not: "Oh, I choose to be a hurtful person."

No, like this: "I'm strong. I have to be strong. I can't hurt. I'm not allowed to hurt. I'm not weak. If I'm weak, then that means that all these bad things that I allowed to happen to me are because I chose to be weak, and not see them coming, and seeing them coming, not take steps to stop them from happening. Every time I start that fight with my sister she cries and I cry, but no, I start that fight, and now she's dead, or in the hospital with a stomach pump, but I chose to ignore my weakness, because I'm strong and have to be right, even at the expense of my sister's/friend's/classmate's/coworker's life, because it's either them or it's me, and I'm strong, so it's them."

Or: "I've seen my step-father looking at me. And I know, in the pit of my stomach, what that means, but no, mom left home for groceries, and I didn't insist on going, I didn't tell her I think daddy's going to rape me to her, so she left, happy as a clam, and as aware as one, and daddy raped me, and now I have that scar for my life, that I could have stopped. I could have, but now I'm going to scar mom for the rest of her life and every man I ever see for being daddy in my bedroom, and every woman in my life for not stopping what I could have if I had been honest with myself and got help before I needed it, too late."

My dad didn't rape me. But there are Dads raping their daughters, right now. And people just let it happen, because if they don't ...

Then they'd have to admit that something's wrong with him. SHOCKER! But worse, for them: they'd have to admit something is wrong in themselves for picking a man they now know something is not quite right with, but rather than listen to their heart, they do what is safe, they are careful, and turn a blind eye to the thing that hurts them and others, because we can't make waves, can we?

Here's something for you. Examine your histories. Who were the people written in the books? The people who played it safe and got by? Or the people who made waves?

Now.

Now you have a choice. You can get by, and, thereby hurt yourself, more and more and more, playing it safe, and hurt others, and in fact: everyone in your life that you encounter in big ways and in big (for those of you 'confused' about my last declaration, there is no small hurts, you fucking assholes).

Or you can acknowledge who you are being, right now, and right this instant. And choose. And choose to be that, AND make a difference.

"I am weak, and I won that game of firefight."

"I am black, and I have a dream."

"I am Desi, and I am Mahatma."

"I am a woman, and I am God's wire."

I am not MLKjr, Ghandi, nor Mother Teresa.

I am me.

And what can I do? And what can be done, that I am in the world.

Doesn't matter.

What matters, for you, right now, is that you are you, and what can be effected, what can be accomplished in the world because you now choose to be you, instead of using what you believe or what happened to you or what you have been telling yourself that you are, but really whispering deep down in your very core that you're really nothing and shit, ... no: what can you do, what can be done, and done, because you are you, now that you choose to be you, you in your strengths and in your weaknesses.

I am weak.

I acknowledge that.

And none can touch me. None can hurt me.

I am weak.

And I think, and I breathe, and I live, as no one else in this world can, nor ever will.

You? You are so full of your own shit, ... newsflash: just like me, and everybody else in the world, ... the one difference, the one difference between the wave-makers, the doers of this world, and the cannon fodder, the one difference between those two categories of people is that the former, acknowledge them as themselves and, with that, move the world, and the latter say, 'nothing's wrong! nothing's wrong!' and swim in their own shit, and eat it, too, every day, and serve it to whomever they can get to buy it, and call it 'Organic Mango Smoothie' and give you shit for not liking the shit they're serving.

You choose your side, every second. You choose the later by default. It's call the survival mode. But, newsflash: it's just as easy to join the winners' club. You know how I know? A genius and the common man? The mensa and the densa? The difference between the two is 1% more effort of brain power.

Is one percent all that hard? Is one percent effort worth it for you to rise out of the cesspool?

Here's one percent, for me, for you it'll be the same, even as you say it's different, but it's not, because I say so, and I'm writing this entry, so shut the fuck up with your opinion:

Give yourself a good, hard, honest look in the mirror, and acknowledge exactly who you are, and exactly who you aren't.

A child of God, who, with the faith of a mustard see, can say to the mountain, "go," and it will cast itself into the sea.

Have a nice day.

Unfrigginbelievable!

Okay, so what does a girl do, when she's stuck on the beach, all alone, with an alien invasion coming in to end all of it as we know it?

Well, take out 1000 aliens before they take her out first, obviously.

Okay, but what happens when, right after she gets this...

... the 'Inconceivable' medal, or 500 kills in a row, a marine, a ... and I'm sorry to say this ... a girl marine throws a grenade into the pile of dead covenant you, that girl, had just single-handedly killed and where now in the midst of them, scavenging for grenades?

Oh, I found grenades alright. They all exploded in my face. Ending my spree, that I had just spent ('wasted'?) an hour to work up to!

So, what is she to do?

Well, obviously the first thought, on respawn was for me to hunt that marine down and shove her grenade right up her ass! Pin out, and NO KY.

But no.

No. I'm a calm, mature, level-headed girl. So, no. I didn't do that.

Even though I was very sorely tempted.

No. What I did was breathe in, then breathe out, then start over. From scratch, with kill number 1.

Three hours later...

... yup, the 'unfrigginbelievable' medal, that is to say: I killed 1000 covies dead. In a row. One after the other. One by one.

Hey, if you're going to set out to do something, set out, and fucking do it! Other things will happen. Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. They don't matter. So, a marine kills me at exactly the half-way mark and I have to start over. SO WHAT? Did I say I was going to do this? Yes. Did I do it? Yes. End of story.

I work hard. I push myself hard. Yeah? So? Those are either excuses or reasons.

I'd rather have a reason to be alive. I'd rather not be a sorry excuse taking up space.

My choice, errant grenade notwithstanding.

Kay. Nighty night!

Skullamanjaro!

Recipe:

Take equal parts --

1. A wee bit of unlucky luck followed by everybody else obligingly killing each other.
2. A little girl who runs out into the middle of the fray (after the fray has, well: frayed itself out) to pick up all the skulls and then do what she does best: run and hide
3. Everybody else obligingly ignoring the girl with ten skulls behind the curtain, biding her time ('biding' or 'biting her fingernails off'?) for the hill to come within sprinting distance
4. And one mad dash for the hill, ignoring all-comers, who, thankfully, ... mostly ignored her

And what do you get?

Skullamanjaro! ... `phfina-style!

The proof is in the pudding, right? So: pr0n

Whoopsie! WRONG LINK! (and very definitely NSFW!)

I meant: game on!

:p

Just have the 'Unfriggenbelieveable' medal left to earn in multiplayer, but I'll get it one day. I know I will.

Nighty-night kisses from your little `phfina, shy, and quiet.

Queen of the Hill

Check this:

http://halo.xbox.com/en-us/Career/HaloReach/GameHistory#/?game=1096142126

Particular the shy and quiet girl ... IN FIRST PLACE ... `phfina is her name, in case you were confused on anything.

You see this medal?

This medal is a new one for the enphfinamistress (that is Swedish) (kinda) (sorta) I call it "Hail to the Queen" but its actual name has a slightly more male-centric bent @_@

See, I was playing with a friend ... you know what friends are, right? Good, because I didn't until a year ago ... ANYWAY! ... well I was playing with a friend, Sgt Wulfy, and he's like 'Wat da hell iz dat!' when he saw that medal on the front page.

What the hell is that, indeed!

Well, it's a very special medal. It's meaning is this: "Kill 5 opponents in a row from inside the hill before it moves."

It was a medal that I never paid any mind to, because it's a boyz medal. A medal I would never get. Why? Here's why.

(Thank you for asking)

It basically means in the whole big bad well-protected map, you stand right in the middle of a little circle and stick out your chest and say: 'C'mon, fools! I'll take you all on!' and kill all of them, all of them throwing grenades at you and shooting your head 27 times and rocketing your ass well under cover, while you stand there out in the open in a little circle that everybody wants because you are a dumbass.

Like I said, a boyz medal. Bragging rights, and shit like that.

Well, my style is, like, totally the opposite. I like hide, under cover, take potshots from a grand distance, and then, if anybody returns fire, I run home to mommy and hide behind her skirt, because that's how I roll.

That's why I would never get that medal in my Halo career.

That I just got yesterday.

How?

Well, not on the map Countdown, that's for sure ... too many unbroken lines of sight across multiple levels. It's simply suicide to walk into the center circle. No, I'm the girl shooting at people in the hill. If you see me in the hill, check your pulse, because that'd be when hell just froze over.

No, it was on Ivory Tower/Reflection. All angles, all covered spaces.

I hate that map. It's a boyz map, because of this: AMBUSH! *BOOM* YOU'RE DEAD, now let me rub my dick in your face that I just punched because that's they only way you die: sword, shotgun, rocket launcher, grenades.

BOOOOORRRRIIINNNNGGGG!

Actually, the real way to survive a firefight is to have more planning and patience and start shooting their heads off WAY before you can see the whites of their eyes because you have a scope, so why not use it?

But what do I know?

Well, it was on that surprise attack map that I got it.

And here's how.

The hill/circle is just around the corner, so what does little `phfina do? Turn the corner and get shotgunned? No, she banks a grenade off the wall, and just as her 'this little piggy went to market' toe entered the circle, the announcer gleefully intoned: 'Triple kill!'

Whoa.

Then some random was charging up to me from across the map: headshot, headshot, headshot, headshot with my DMR and boom, he's dead.

Why do boyz have to charge straight at you from across the map?

That was kill #4 with me being in the hill. Then I noticed a sword lying on the ground right by me. I picked it up just in time to have three boyz jump my bones, but first I sliced, then diced, one of them before the other two lay me low.

As my body crumpled to the ground I heard that dispassionate announcer solemnly state: 'Hail to the king!' and I saw the crown emblem that I thought I would never see by my name, but there it was.

That was my best. death. evah!

Why? (and thanks for asking) I died, but I died taking five snot-nosed boyz with me. Yup, *glow* it takes five brash boys with mad skilz to take out one scaredy cat little phfina.

And wars are fought by men, ... why, again?

Actually, wars should be fought by women, which means, not at all, because there would be a significant increase in lesbianism and there would be a whole lot of shooting and stabbing, but not with rifled carbines, oh, no: with ... other instruments, because this babe charges you screaming like a banshee, and you're like, duh-amn, she's hot, and she's like, 'Fuck this battle charge! I'll fuck you instead!'

Make love, not war, indeed!

And then, all the combatants would eventually synch up so that every month for three days hostilities of one kind would cease to deal with the more internal battles and R&R would be required with warm baths and (very gentle) massages and ice cream and chocolates

Uh, where was I?

Oh, yeah, they crowned me QUEEN (not the other thingie) of the hill and shouted: "Hail to the QUEEN" (not the other thingie).

But Queen? Ick, too ... responsible. You have to be made of iron and steel and raw determination. I see myself more as a ... well: faery princess with rainbows and winged unicorns and a harem of hand maidens with very skilful ... um: hands and very skilful ... um ... other things, and ...

Um, I have to excuse myself for a mo'

*ahem*

Little Rocket in the Sky

Hey, Boy,
Do-do-do
Hey, Boy,
When we first met,
on the 31st,
and it was Hallowe'en
You know what I mean.
And I was the one dressed up as a rocket
that night
Don't ask me why!

You came over to me, and said tell me,
if you're alone tonight, can I be by your side?
Hey, baby, aren't we having fun?
Little Rocket in the sky?

I'm a Rocket in the sky.
Don't ask me why.

Benassi Brothers feat. Dhany

-- `phfina analysis:

So have you seen that song's vid? With Dhany walking across the stage, the imaginary universe in a patent leather outfit that would make the CatWoman jealous and leave Batman standing there, totally enchanted, totally befuddled like the dumb fu- (uh, PG rating, `phfina) fool that he is? That is, since Michael Keaton played Batman when Batman had at least a one-dimensional character to play, given the helming by Tim Burton (who totally missed the boat on Abe Lincoln and Vampires and how could you screw that up, Tim, but so it goes).

Anyway, she walks across this orange creamiscle world in her black leather get-up and leaves trails of herself across the backdrop, marking it with her.

*sigh*

That's not the image that captures me. (yes, it is, but so what), the image is the lyrics: a rocket, in the sky.

*sigh* (again)

That's me, a little rocket in the sky!

Why do I like the Haloz so much? Why does anybody?

Well, I suppose I could punt there, and say each has a different reason, and that would so totally explain that it outsold every movie in the world going toe-to-toe.

So I'll just give my reason, and let the corporate wonks chuckle greedily as they rake in more profits from other little rockets in the sky.

See, there's this thing, when teams are competing against each other online called a banshee, it's an alien aircraft, a one-seater, very effective against ground forces. It swoops, it bombs and then rockets away, untouched, untouchable. A little rocket in the sky.

When I get in the banshee ...

Well, when I get in the banshee, our team wins; but it's the real test, that we don't have anymore: a test of self against all others, and the results are immediate and obvious: you win, you lose.

And you fly.

In the banshee, I'm invincible. I'm a little hawk, swooping down from my lofty perch, raining down death and destruction, and shrieking away, my keening victory cry the only thing you hear from beyond the grave I just splattered you into.

Why do I play the Haloz?

Why do I write fan fiction?

No reason, and every reason. It, they, are something I can do well, something others recognize and admire in me, and something I derive pleasure, a sense of excellence and belonging.

Putting on the wings of a banshee, I find myself centered, grounded, and ... free.

And nothing can stop me from getting to my beautiful bird and soaring into the heavens. One time, there were three elite warriors guarding the banshee as it spawned, and I rolled right into the midst of them: me, and Bessy, my rocket launcher. I took out two of them with two rocket rounds, and the splash damage weakened the third enough that a few shots from my needle rifle finished him off.

Three elites between me and my banshee? No. Not today.

And nothing's more frustrating that me soaring along in the heavens, then BAM! a rocket takes me out, or ZAP some plasma disables and grounds me, leaving me an easy target for being boarded and forcibly ejected. ARRG! I'm like: Hey! My Banshee!

And, I can do this, online, with my friends, and we can measure our worth against a team of other friends. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, and we come out of the game a team of friends, still.

Now, you may say, "Hey, `phfina, you're a girl, all this talk of Video games and swooping and swerving in a combat aircraft sounds rather, well, you know: mannish!"

Yeah, maybe so, but I have one little interesting factoid for ya.

You know who are the deadliest fighter pilots in the world?

Teenaged boyz, yes (guess who flew the first fighter jets for the Nazis?)

But, now: girls. Specifically, young women, in the Air Force, be it for Israel or the U.S.A. or Sweden (Saab fighter jets, so smexy!) Yep, in modern air combat, a girl fighter pilot of similar skill can beat a boy fighter pilot.

Why?

Well, a girl's smaller frame and lower weight for the same height means she can withstand higher G's than that same boy can before passing out. She turns, he turns, she turns harder, he turns harder. He blacks out and crashes into a mountain, or he levels off, and she gets behind him, shoots, and destroys him and his fighter air craft.

`phfina in a banshee: mannish? or just right?

But also, so what? I have mad skilz in the banshee. Okay, and that's a given. So we win this game.

What about the next game, and the next?

What if you're closer to the banshee and three bks are coming to kill you and I'm across the map?

That's why I believe in: the person closest picks it up.

All the time I see bks betraying for sniper rifle, or sword, or for banshee. I've been betrayed quite a bit for these power weapons, and then, I watch the betrayer charge in and die, instead of using the weapon wisely and getting kill after kill after spree.

Okay.

So, you're closer. You pick it up, or you say, '`phfina, take it.' Okay.

I probably won't take it, if we can afford it. Why? You suck at banshee. Okay: learn on the job. You'll suck this time, and the next time, and the next.

But eventually you'll get better, and then we'll have two good banshee flyers on our team. So you fly banshee, and I'll snipe. And we win, even better than before.

When you're playing a team game, with your team, your team wins better and better the better each person is, and a person gets better by being bad at something at first, and then learning from first-hand experience by sucking at it, not doing sucky things anymore, and then getting skilled.

It's only a game.

But all this: teamwork, coordination, learning from past mistakes, sharing, all this is directly applicable to real life. You get better in game, because you try harder ('try hard': I'd rather be called a 'try hard' then a 'fail weak.' ... think about it), make mistakes, pick yourself up, correct, learn, apply, win, grow.

Yeah. That.

Boyz and their toyz

"Imma boy. I have rockets. I play Call of Dummy. No: Call of Doodoo. No: sommat like that. Anyway! Today's challenge is to get headshots, but I don't care. Imma gonna get high score, cause Imma boy, and I have rockets!"

*sigh* Um, no.

`phfina with her big, long purple thing?



Yeah, I meant needler rifle, too, but that's another story ... hm-hm-hm. Where was I? (Girls get ... 'distracted' ... by 'things')

Oh, yeah: `phfina with her needler rifle, and her non-death-spree (great job, there killer-boy! And how many suicides was that with your big-old rocket launcher, compensating for your little willy?), well, let's just say I walked away with another win. Again.

Boyz. @_~

Fangirl

Okay.

SQUEEE!

That's not very informative, but have you ever met a fangirl who is?

Well, now you have, 'cause you just met me, biatch!

Like, for example, I squee like a fangirl over the Avengers, but I tell you why I'm squeeing. And it makes (reasonable) sense. So there.

So, a bit of squeeing first:

Cortana-angry/(nekkid)-babe ... what you didn't see in that clip was the (start of the?) campaign mission, with spiffy new, neato self-constructing weapons (ooh, techi-nerdy girl squeals), and bad-ass robotic alien enemies (eh *shrugs* ... I'm not into monster-closet-boo-scared-you cheap thrills).

Okay, more squeeing: Imma gonna save the galaxy!

Imma gonna act like a ... BOY! ... Not! SO Not!

Imma gonna kill me some nasty space bugs!

So, yeah, I'm all tingly and squee-y and saving up my quarters. But you notice something? (besides boyz being boyz, but that's like a non-news item) ... I mean and sure the hero is a (craggy old) boy, but you notice how much more present the female role is? And more than just a 'Imma here to give you the next waypoint and make you a sammich' role?

Check this.

Yes, it's fictional, but there are more girls on that team, and kicking ass, too, than there are boys.

Yes, I'm a fangirl, and an idealist, that I believe that girls can ... well, you know, be out there with the boys, on equal footing, kicking ass, and getting respect, not because they are girls only, but because they are, you know, real, contributing members of the team.

Yeah, I'm stupid that way, but that's one of the reasons why I'm squeeing. I'm seeing girls, I'm seeing me, out there, in Halo 4, kicking ass, taking names, smiling, a part of the team, respected.

And that's one of the reasons why I'm saving my quarters for Halo 4.

... oh, and do I get a steamy hot-smex shower scene with Cortana as an unlockable? I'd kneel down in front of her and make her scream, all right, but she won't be wearing her angry face, oh, no ... ;) *snicker*

Carried

Okay...this.

So, it's just a bunch of numbers to you the outsider, so, as a gracious favor to you, little `phfina in her black shawl (and black eye, again, don't ask) will provide interpretation for you.

Okay, so I go into the hopper, ready to drive a vehicle, so somebody will gun for me, so I can get a shiny new driver assist ribbon, but here we go into condemned ... no vehicles. Great.

*sigh*

Well, just tough it out.

And what transpired before my eyes? Two of my teammates were around my rank, so I thought, finally I wouldn't have to carry the whole damn team (which I rarely do, ... my friends, who are boyz, are killahs to da Max). But no, I see boyz being boyz, rushing right in, and dying. All the time. We were behind, by like, 10 points at one point in the game, and I was leading my team in score, in fact: twice that of the second player.

At the end of the game, well, in the last minute, we pull ahead and win.

I look at the leaderboard, and saw what you see.

What do you see?

Well, kills are kills, right? Wrong. K-D is actually important. It tells you how many times you killed, but also how many times you died. My k-d was higher than anybody elses...friend, or foe.

But when you add up the k-d's... my k-d was higher than my team. My whole team. My k-d was higher, in fact, than both teams combined!

Why?

Boyz being boyz.

"YARRRRG! I'm a boy! So I'm going to rush straight in and punch the other guy, 'cause I'm a boy!"

The kill distance for all my teammates were all averaging less than 10 meters. Their death distance were all at least double that.

My kill distance, contra-whateverly, was at least double my death distance.

And the weapons they used? My teammates? Every single one of them?

Their fists.

They have all these beautiful ranged weapons where they can like, shoot from a distance? Or shoot mid-ranged? No. It's like they put all these things aside. "I don't need no stinking rifle! I'm a BOY! CHAARRRRRGGGEEE!!!"

And got shot full of holes, the final hole being in their cranium.

Me, I'm a girl. I watch. From a distance. I watch boyz charging at each other, I pick up my scoped rifle, and I shoot them. I shoot them all. The enemies, that is.

When a boy charges toward me? What's my instinctive reaction? "CHHHAARRRRGGEEE!!!!"?

No, it's back-up, shoot, back-up, shoot, back-up, shoot, back-up, shoot, kill.

I'm a girl. I'm smaller. Only an idiot would charge in and go toe-to-toe with "HULK SMASH!"

I was, unfortunately, matched up with five idiots.

And I carried their asses to the win.

What did I get for that? Gratitude? "Oh, `phfina, thank you for carrying our sorry n00b asses to the win!"?

Nah. I waited. And I waited. And I checked the stats, ... and I told them, exactly, what idiots they all were, and how.

I did get some feedback. "You on the rag?"

"Just off, thanks," was my reply, "But what's your excuse for that piss-poor performance? None! Learn to fight like a girl!"

Now, I don't want to leave you the impression that I'm all anti-boy. ... I'm MOSTLY anti-boy.

But some boys make being boyz ... work. Take Grim or Max or Gulch for example. They are boyz. They are really boyz. They charge right in there.

But the thing is, they don't do it stupidly. They have mad skilz, yo! They come in with better weapons, or with surprise, or under cover, or after the fire fight has already started, so they walk away from a three-dog fight the winners, time after time.

Fine. Works for them, and great, glad they are on my team.

Me? I'm a girl. So I'll just hide in my little hidey hole and snipe and get headshot after headshot, game after game. ONE day Imma gonna get an unfriggenbelievable. I already have two perfections. Two. Boyz? With you charging in there, how many perfections do you have? More importantly: are you helping the team? Yes? Keep doing that. But are you hurting the team. Stop it. Stop what you're doing, and do something different, something better.

You know: assess, evaluate, learn! Is that too much to ask of you boyz? No, it's not. You just have to set aside your manly pride and admit what you're doing isn't working and watch other players and see what's working for them, then learn, try that, fail, try again, and help the team, right?

Is that so hard?

T31-Needler Rifle

It's long, it's purple, it's deadly accurate. 'nuff said.

Imma gonna take my long, purple thing, and put it to some really good use. Right. Fucking. Now.

And then, after that, Imma gonna kill me some covies, with my long, purple needler rifle.

Some of you will get that, eventually. DO NOT ask your parents if you don't. I don't need any more daughters locked away from my wily (and limber) (and vigorous) grasp, thank you.

Halo: a `phfinaescque dissection

In which a girl gives some unsolicited gaming advice.

So, you want to play Halo[1] with me, `phfina[2], and you want to play with me, today.

What do you need to do?

Okay, so first of all, if your name is I Love Decline or x Seraphic x, or you're a girl like them, ignore this post, you're already doing just fine, better than me, in fact, so you don't need to take advice from me. No, I take advice from you, and watch how you play to improve my game.

But if you're just starting out ...

Well, what do I do, every day, every game?

Halo: general multiplayer tactics

I am arguably one of the best players of Halo in the world. And that's not bragging on myself, that is stating a fact, plain and simple. I am one of the highest ranked players, a Noble (the full moon symbol. Yes, I know: shut up), and about to be promoted this week to an Eclipse (the moon eclipsing the Sun. Yes, I know the symbolism here, too: shut up).

There are 8.4 million people who play Halo every day. I have a BPR [3] of 87%. Using Perato analysis [4] I am off the charts, or, anecdotally, when playing the best of the best, I can hold my own, sometimes doing well, sometimes even distinguishing myself as the MVP [5] of the game.

That's not me talking, that's the results from the game engine itself.

So, if you want to play with me, it's helpful if you play like me. Why? A team has different roles, to be sure, but a team whose members are of like-purpose is more unified. A more unified team succeeds more, wins more, and all the members benefit from the strength of the unified team.

So, how to play like me then?

Well, how do I play?

First of all, my playing skill I self-rate to be: meh. I don't have the skill to snipe a headshot across the map while evading return fire. I don't have the skill to get into close quarters combat, going toe-to-toe and blow-for-blow and come out the survivor of that fight.

I'm not a skillful player. So I have to be a smart one.

How to play smart?

Firstly, in team games, I rely, heavily, on the team. Because the other players on the other team? They are working together in twos or threes. I go into a fight against an enemy, there's no doubt I'm going to die, if not by his hand [6] then surely by his teammate who comes in to clean up the buzzard bait, that is: me.

So what I do is to be the buzzard.

Translation: if I'm not watching your ass as you lead the charge into the fray, it's because I'm leading the charge. Meaning: I'm dead meat.

So, in combat, I'm always looking for my teammate's asses. If I don't see them, I'm dead; plain, and simple.

So how do you play?

The same way. If you aren't married to the hip of me, if you can't see my ass on your screen, it means you are charging ahead, like a n00b, and, like a n00b, you are going to get murderlized by four players on the other team, because there's no way I'm following a suicide runner. I'll just watch you die and pick off any enemy you've weakened ... that is, if I can. A n00b charge is usually so ineffective that it's just a free point for the other team.

So, lock onto my ass and grab it and don't let it go, the whole game.

Except.

There are always exceptions to the rule.

Except for Invasion and Grifball.

In Invasion, the 'cannon fodder' has to press the goal, and press hard. Why? The skillful player has to stand off and pick off the enemy trying to attack goal or defend goal, if the cannon fodder are not pressing goal, no progress is made and the game defaults to a win for the enemy.

Of course there's no point in pressing solo, that's just another free kill for them and an extended delay in respawn for you. Wait until you have a skilled partner, then press. If somebody else is in goal, hang back! defend them as best you can, then press when they die.

Invasion is all about the overwhelming and coordinated strength of the push, if you, as the less skilled player is not pressing, then I have to, then I die, and you die right after and the goal is never captured. But if you press, you die, but in so doing, you shave time off goal, and I respawn you right by goal, and we win.

See the distinction?

Now for grifball, if you're drooling on my ass while I, the skilled player, carry ball, then there is no path that you've cleared to goal, and with four enemies with more effective swords and hammers than my wee little ball (THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!) I'll be made quick work of, and they'll get the turnover.

No, stop drooling on my ass when I have ball. Instead: press, press hard and with the path you've cleared, I can score the goal and our team wins. Now, if you have ball, if you do not see a teammate in front of you, DO NOT PRESS! Game after game I watch idiot n00bs turn the ball over because there they are, all the way in the enemy field by themselves with three enemies guarding goal and one coming up right behind him with sword out at the ready.

Yup, I say to myself: another sliced-and-diced victim.

When you have ball, let, you hear that word? let your teammates press. Grifball is not basketball, and has no room for heroics nor for showboating.

"But, `phfina, there was that one time when I ..."

Yeah, yeah, because the other team were all idiots with their thumbs up their ... 'assets' doesn't mean your foolhardy moves wins game after game. Sure, at start when you have ball and the goal is clear, press, because everybody is respawn from the first exchange of blows, but that's different than what I see all the time: idiot charging solo with the ball into a thicket of enemies thinking because they've just hit puberty and they have double shields that they are invunerable (except for the achilles heel — their back — which they stupidly forget as they ignore everything else in their suicidal charge to goal ... 'to goal'? I meant: 'to turn the ball over to the other team.')

Goal-oriented games are all about the coordinated press, and we, the skilled players need you to press so as to create openings. Openings are opportunities for a quick win. But only press when there is a skilled player there to seize that advantage, otherwise you're just charging into your blaze of glory to die to no purpose and to no end other than helping somebody else's K-D [7], and that just sucks for you.

All the other game types in multiplayer are usually point based ('slayer') so in that case it is very important that you kill more and die less. n00bs concentrate on 'killing more' but then just charge ahead and don't kill at all, but they die and die and die. In slayer games, find a buddy and cover her ass, and she'll cover yours, ... drool- or other-wise.

Otherwise your ass ... is grass.

Just sayin'

Halo: the Game and the Meta-game

Halo is a game, as I'm told, but it also is several meta-games.

The most obvious three are the commendations, challenges, and achievements, because when you complete one of them, you are immediately rewarded with credits (cR) or gamerscore.

So, yeah, you get rewarded for close quarters combat.

And if that's your bag, go have a blast throwing yourself at a smarter enemy who shoots you first with the pistol, then the Assault Rifle, and if you make it through that hail of rounds running straight at them to deliver the melee, enjoy dying at their love tap to your face.

@_@

A not-so-obvious meta-game is the game of the interplay of those three meta-games, and, within these game, the interplay there, internally.

"What are you saying, `phfina?"

What I'm saying is this: yes, every day, I check what the daily challenges are, and I pursue them. So, today, the daily challenges are:

• "Fire when ready" Completion reward: 1,100cR
  
  Kill 30 enemies in multiplayer matchmaking
  


• "Up close and personal" Completion reward: 1,600cR
  
  Kill 8 enemies with close quarters combat in a multiplayer matchmaking game.
  


• "The little guys" Completion reward: 2,500cR
  
  Kill 200 grunts in campaign today on normal or harder.
  


• "Survivor" Completion reward: 2,000cR
  
  Earn 9 sprees in a firefight matchmaking game
  

And this week's challenge:

• "Legendary Friends" Completion reward: 10,000cR
  
  Complete any campaign mission on legendary in co-op mode.

What is obvious between one of today's daily challenge and the weekly challenge? Well, obviously, doing a campaign mission of legendary, you may encounter some cute little grunts (I just wanna hug them!), that you may just kill. So, doing the weekly challenge will score completion toward the daily "The little guys" challenge.

I play with so many people who go about this backwards. Like they load up rally point bravo in The Package on normal, or the hang down by wraith drop off on The Long Night of Solace, kill two hundred grunts, quit out of that game and then attempt the weekly.

Or, if the daily challenges are three multiplayer ones, and the fourth one is "kill 200 enemies in any game mode in Reach" then they load up firefight, kill two hundred enemies, then subsequently kill more than two hundred more enemies in multiplayer, with their firefight commendations already maxed out.

Talk about redundant effort!

And on that note ... (`phfina rolls up her sleeves and leans over her bully pulpit)

Okay, "The little guys" great, so hang out by wraith drop off point and kill two hundred grunts.

But have you completed the campaign? On X level of difficulty? Good, kill away, but no? you haven't?

Well, then, finish the damn fight! There may be two hundred grunts in the campaign, total, if there are, they you've killed two birds with one stone: the daily challenge and a set of achievements associated with completing each level and then the entire campaign. Bonus.

AND there are achievements for weapons use and weapons swap. Before every game, this is what I do: I check which achievements I have left open, I check which challenges I can address and I check which commendations I can work on.

Warning: a Firefight rant

It's like those guys in firefight who grab rockets and go to town committing suicide. I'm like, excuse me! isn't your heavy weapons commendation maxed out already? Oh, really? Have you ever heard of a killing spree, Mr. Jet-pack-rockets Suicide? No? I bet you've never heard of the perfection commendation either, and, oh, by the way, the commendation for precision weapons is higher than the one for heavy weaps. That goes double if you just so happen to get a headshot with your snipe or needle rifle (the best weapon in the game). Try getting a headshot with that rocket, Mr. HotRockets. Just try.

So what happens in firefight game after firefight game? Mr. Suicidal grabs a huge lead with his zillion multikills.

And then `phfina walks away from the game, slowly accumulating spree after spree. Results: 0 deaths, ... and the high score.

And then the credit rollout happens, and where rocketboy gets 2-3,000cR, `phfina gets 5-10,000+cR each and every firefight game.

Stupid fucking suicidal rocket n00bs.

And THEN they have to weather the `phfinaescque note afterwards: 'Nice death rampage, buddy. Next time try to get a longer spree than the number of your deaths, huh? And, have you ever heard of an invincible? Didn't think so.'

Bungie 2.0'd firefight, and not in the good way. Firefight was perfect in ODST [8]; they should have left well-enough alone, but, no: they had to slice open that golden goose. Now all we have left now is this grinding slog called Reach: Firefight, that encourages 'yaaaa! charge!' behavior from boys with rocket toys too big for them to handle, because all they have is the little weenie rockets in their pants, so they think they can hold onto that big gun on their shoulder, because they can't even free little willy. But that's okay. At least they have a big rocket ... on their shoulder.

So all firefight now is boys (way)(over-)compensating.

Firefight in ODST was challenging, frustrating, exhilarating, joyous, beautiful. Firefight in Reach is just plain boring, and I only play it to complete the daily or weekly challenges.

Firefight limited is mildly challenging, and I enjoy receiving all the 'hero'ine medals from it but ... but Bungie really flubbed on this one by dumbing it down with Arcade fight. After all, why play with any skill or intellect when you have unlimited lives with no consequence of dying except not getting the perfection commendation that has so little payout for such a stupifyingly long stretch of perfections that there's no feedback to the player whatsoever for playing smarter.

Thank God I can still play firefight in ODST. But every time I do, I shake my head and mourn the loss of what it could have been in Reach.

Okay, enough of that.

So playing the basic meta-games of commendations, challenges and achievements well means playing the meta-meta game well: 'How can I work on the most number of commendations, challenges, and achievement in this next game?'

Of course, you can't play the meta-games at all unless you are play the games, and my advice for that is that when you are playing the game, play the game! So many are in chat with their friends playing other games! or asking other player do they want to date them (my answer: 'Aw, how sweet! No, thanks. Now, cap the damn flag, please!') or are complaining about the vote or the map or the other players. Play the game! You don't get commendations for dying nor for bitching about how much your pussy hurts (and guys excel at this, for some strange reason). You get commendations for having the s.o.b. on the other team dying, whether by your hand or by your help.

Jeez.

Okay, so that's enough general guidance/soapbox bitching. Now let's get down to the hardened nipples ... I meant, 'brass tacks.'

*blush*

Today's Challenges

• One game of grifball will solve "Fire when ready" and "Up close and personal." Done. (The close quarters commendation should actually be an anti-commendation where you get penalized for a close-quarters combat kill. Just sayin')


• "The little guys". Completing the weekly gets you on the way, finish campaign levels in co-op for level completions/flawless cowboys, and, to get the hardest commendations for campaign, let the other players steal your kills for the second gunman/gunwoman, and thank them for doing it.
  

  
  Rant: "Aw, you stole my kill!" In a team game? It's our point, not yours, you fucking show-boater, and if you can't close the deal and I get a protector medal out of it, you should be thanking me, bitch, not bitching to me, Mr. Reload-No-Shot.
  

  
  "Aw, you stole my kill!" in a team game. Those guys should be allowed only to play rumble pit. Forever.



• "Survivor". Okay, as I've said, arcade fight is super nerfed, so there it is. Go for it. The thing is, put down the fucking rockets and pick up spree weaps: snipe, sword, hammer, plas grenade, and shot gun. I routinely get 15 sprees in a firefight game, and this is how I do it:
  

  
  The first 20 kills gets me five sprees[9]:
  

  
  

  • At 5 kills I get the sniper spree
  
  
  • At 10 kills I get two more sprees: sharpshooter and killing spree
  
  
  • At 15 kills I get be the bullet
  
  
  • At 20 kills I get killing frenzy.
  
  

  
  Then I pick up to shotty which a fucking n00b has left on the ground in his death frenzy already in the first round.
  

  
  

  • At 25 kills I get a shotgun spree
  
  
  • At 30 kills I get two sprees: running riot and open season.
  
  
  • At 35 kills I get the buck wild
  
  

  
  By this time it's the fifth wave, so I pick up sword or hammer.
  

  
  But I'm already at nine sprees.
  

  
  Get the picture? Good!
  

  
  Now for you, it may be hard staying alive, because you didn't follow my advice and grab hold of my ass at all times but went out, right into the middle of the courtyard where the last thing you heard was 'warq-warq-warq' and the last thing you saw was this bright blue ball covering your visor.
  

  
  Well, okay. Pick up snipe. Get twenty kills with it.
  

  
  Twenty kills with snipe is 5 sprees. Automatically.
  

  
  THEN run out into courtyard, because you just can't stop yourself, assault rifle blazing, and shouting at the elite you're charging straight at: 'Your mother dresses you funny!'
  

  
  Works every time.
  

  
  You dying, that is.
  

  
  I see it all the time.
  

  
  THEN, on respawn, pick up snipe, get twenty more kills, and ...
  

  
  And you've just gotten 5 more sprees to complete (actually exceed) the daily challenge.
  

  
  Ever get ten sprees in firefight matchmaking? This way, you will every game.
  

  
  Sprees are a commendation, you know.
  

  
  Pretty cool.

And that's the daily. The dailies are simple, most days, and I get every daily, every day.

Now this week's weekly is actually so stupid-easy it's really a daily challenge. Just load up Nightfall, do the three short-cut bypasses, [10] and you're done. Do that with a friend and you both get a sweat-free 10 grand cR.

Okay, I'm outie. Girls, go out there and kick guys 'assets.' Show them what 'hitting like a girl' really feels like.

My motto: every shot, a headshot, and all the boys will be singing soprano.

:p

---

Endnotes

[1] http://halo.xbox.com

[2] http://phfina.blogspot.com

[3] BPR, n.: "Battle Proficiency Rating" see: BPR [3].

[4] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pareto_analysis

[5] MVP, n.: "Most Valuable Player," or "The girl who sweeps the top three medals in the Post Game Carnage Report," see: `phfina [2]. (that's me, btw) (and, yes, I have humility issues, but I'm working on being more outgoing and assertive, kay?)

[6] I write 'his' because Halo is so predominately male to assume anything else is ridiculous, shocking even, as I'm told all the time: 'You're a girl? who plays Halo? No way!'

[7] K-D, n.: "Kills to Deaths" an inordinately important pair of numbers to too many people who talk too much about it because THEY. HAVE. NO. LIFE! My K/D is around 2.0, btw. *blush* (those of you who do not get the paradoxical irony of those two statements forming a non sequitur need to reach the mental maturity of finishing grade school first before flaming me).

[8] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halo_3:_ODST

[9] http://wikigameguides.com/Halo_Reach/wiki/Sprees-529

[10] http://halo.bungie.org/gameplay/reach_mythic/nf.html