GAMES OF RAGE

We’re playing Streets of Rage, me and Will, fighting the baddies together. He’s older, gets the best control pad, I get the clunky third-party one with the unresponsive buttons. Will’s good at computer games. Dedicated. I’m alright. Not as bothered as him. I lack the focus. Get into it for a few minutes, then I just drift. Mainly when it gets a bit difficult. Funny, that; sounds a bit like school.

We’re on level four. So far, I’ve resisted bashing him. You can do that on this game, you can bash your partner. Kills off the character, though, leaving the other to fight the baddies alone. Two heads and all that. I’m being good. It’s really hard, though, really hard.

In the long term, I know there’s far more satisfaction to be had completing the game together. Yet the short term is so much more tempting. Abandon the baddies and just batter him with the big metal pole. Right now it’s so much more appealing than the boss we’re about to face. That’s gonna be… hard.

Last time I did it, he said he’d beat me up for real. My head’s hurting; takes a lot of concentrating, this. Will is sat in a weird crouch position, like a squirrel on its hind legs protecting a nut, two hands on the controller, eyes locked on the screen, as if the sheer intensity of his stare is causing the occasional fuzz from the half-hanging-out SCART lead.

I’ve just picked up the big metal pole. My character is walking towards his character. Am I doing this? Yes. I’m doing this, bashing him with the big metal pole. Man down. He fades on screen and disappears. That sound rings out through the shitty side-speakers in the telly to signal digital death. Will’s now bashing me for real. Game over. I gave in.

(c) Paul Cree 2023