I was just remembering the fun I had with KZ2's multi-player. Then I felt inspired, so I wrote an ode, a love-letter if you will, to one of the greatest multi-player games of all time.
So here goes:
I am the medic. I brave gunfire and grenades in the middle of a battlefield to save my comrade. I go where few dare to tread for the sake of one mans survival. I revive him. A friendly bullet says hello. I welcome oblivions sweet embrace knowing the VIP is alive and has escaped. The mission is won.
I am the medic.
I am the engineer. My ingenious knowledge of mechanics will prevail today. I have set up my beautiful turrets in spots that will decimate any group of enemies foolish enough to attempt to take this communications hub. My turrets start firing, my shotgun assists. One turret is damaged, I quickly repair it. My mechanical skill is unequaled; none shall deter me from my objective today.
I am the engineer.
I am the tactician. I am the leader of my squad. I have spent hours preparing for this battle. My previous time spent in battle means nothing if I do not succeed today. My strategy is in place, my men in position. I see their faces and become sad inside, knowing some of my best friends wont return from this, but I must win at any cost. I lay down a smoke grenade, signaling a drop-off point for reinforcements. My hands tremble with adrenaline. My men move, laying down fire and drawing attention away. My best saboteur plants the C4. It goes off. Their fuel depot is destroyed. My nation is victorious.
I am the tactician.
I am the saboteur. My special knowledge of infiltration has led me here: behind enemy lines. I sneak through their ranks, going unnoticed. My plan is going swimmingly. I casually walk next to the soldier guarding the back of my targets detail. My knife slips quietly between his vertebrae. Nobody notices; my disguise shifts to that of the poor fool. I ready a grenade, simple enough to take out the rest my targets security. I throw it, it goes off. Delicious, confusing execution. I sneak up to the target, ask if hes alright. He replies that he is, but I know better. I put two in his chest, one in his head. Then I double tap for confirmation. I slip out before the rest of the company knows what happened.
I am the saboteur.
I am the rifleman. Sure I may be the grunt, the expendable guy. But my numbers are great, and my training is superb. My knowledge of weaponry is unrivaled. But I am best with my trusty LMG. I lay down suppressing fire, keeping the enemy at bay, my fellow comrades take the opportunity to sneak around and secure the objective point for communications. I may not be as skilled, but I take pride in knowing that without soldiers like me, this war cannot be won.
I am the rifleman.
I am the assault class. My command calls me a loose cannon. That I am reckless. Ill take that as a compliment. My love for explosions and mass carnage borders on the insane. And I love it. Aesthetic plumes of smoke, grenades raining like champagne falling from heaven. My god, nothing is more perfect than that. My rockets are my babies; I love every one of them. My grenade launcher, I call her Debbie. I named her after that bitch of an ex I had, but whew, was she dynamite in the sack. What Im trying to say here is this: you want explosions and mass devastation, Im your guy.
I am the assault class.
I am the scout. I lie in my perch for that one special moment. All my training has led me here. I see my HVT. Hello, buddy. His security has cleared this section of the complex. I guess they didnt see little ol me. But who can blame them? My cloak is meant for this moment. He pulls out a cigarette, I let him smoke it. One last unknown vice. I hold my breath, centering my reticule in his temple. I am ready for this moment. This one moment, with this one man, one rifle, one bullet. One nation will be victorious, one nation will be lost. All my life I have waited, just for this moment. My best moment, his last. I squeeze the trigger. Redness.
I am the scout.