ubercharged.net

Hiding out in the bunker is fun, but after a month or so the air does start to get stale. I put it off, and pretend nothing’s wrong, but eventually it gets to the point where I either open the door or metamorphose into basalt in order to survive.
Of course, even at the best of times the bunker’s air pressure stabilises itself to several hundred hectopascals below that of the outside, for reasons I conveniently can’t recall, so opening the door tends to result in cyclonic winds for about 30 seconds as the outside air pressure does it’s best to both stabilise the inside and, I assume, viciously murder me. Surviving such an ordeal is a matter of reflex, luck, and having padded walls along the entire length of the entrance corridor.

It is often at times like this, as I lie pinned to a wall 3m above the floor while my bunker gets a quick dusting, that I start to get a bit deluded and see the virtues of spending a bit of time outside with other people. Dazed, with a headache, and not feeling remotely original, I packed my scant possessions in preparation for a hitchhike to Bellevue, Washington, America:

Valve HQ.

* * * * * * *

I arrived at my destination to a sound similar to that of a thousand bulls when they find out the cows are on heat, or maybe the sound of a thousand farmers when the bulls step on their feet, or maybe even the sound of a thousand bikers arm-wrestling. I don’t know exactly what it sounded like, to tell the truth. It was loud though. Whatever the sound sounded like, it was coming from a massive throng of humanity milling about 100 metres from the base of the offices housing our favourite developers.

The crowd had been busy.

The entire area for several blocks around looked like Tennant Creek on dole day. Several buildings had, apparently, spontaneously combusted from excessive global warming which, quite coincidentally, had also caused a highly explosive mixture of fuel in several overturned cars at street level. It must have all been Valve’s fault, somehow. Or something. Everyone there seemed to think so, at any rate.
The Valve offices were the only thing left untouched, a jolting clash with the incessant destruction nearby. As I watched, a flaming bottle flew up from the crowd, arcing beautifully towards the magnificent office building. As it neared the pristine structure, it seemed to slow. I got the distinct impression of something elastic stretching around the building when the burning molly suddenly shot back into the crowd. The bottle slammed into the ground and bloomed out into a condensed flower of heat. People tried to scatter, but the crowd was too dense. Faced between the flames and the immovable wall of people, several obvious gamers tried to double-jump over the fire. It didn’t work. A few dozen screams of “Fire!” had a quite visible effect on the seething mass of enraged humanity, and as one it moved away from the pyre.
Raucous laughter boomed out of the Valve offices and the distinct slapping of numerous high-fives echoed out from the windows.

“General Balls, what the hell?!”

I turned to see clubtheseals approaching, moving like a half-starved mouse who, desperate for food, had overdosed on anti-depressants. That is, if that half-starved mouse itself wore a $5K suit and owned half of Alaska. Think of the G-man, except five hundred years younger and perpetually miffed, that’s club at the moment. Twitching with excitement, he waved aside my greeting and gestured towards the besieging of Valve HQ.

“Look at that! That, is, awesome!”

Club started bobbing up and down on his feet, he was that happy. I decided to interject before he started telling me in minute detail why he liked it.

“So what exactly happened?”

Club looked at me like I had gone sane.

“They…torched the block?” club volunteered, “Valve are owning them?” He grinned suddenly. “It’s awesome.”

I facepalmed.

“No…I mean…why?”

“Oh, the Scout update.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not out yet.”

“Oh…”

“It’s been going on for about a day now. Soon after that update, you know the one with the fix for Natascha and extra Soldier rockets, yeah?” I nodded. “Soon after that someone really snapped on the Steam Forums about how it was taking too long to be released. They said Valve were a bunch of lazy capitalist money-grabbing communist terrorists or some crap. It must have started some sort of chain-reaction among the kids there, and they all popped up here.”

Club checked to make sure I hadn’t fallen asleep, and continued.

“I don’t think Valve noticed it right away among all the nerf threads, it took ages before someone actually looked out the window and told Gabe. He came out, and asked if anyone wanted to playtest the patch they were working on for Day of Defeat.”

“Bugger.”

“I know! They freakin’ exploded. It’s gonna be months before they calm down. When they found out they couldn’t get through that bubble thing around the building, they got kinda more angry and set some things on fire.”

I gave this a bit of thought. There was the sound of another molotov explosion followed by a few screams in the background.

“Every once in a while they test the bubble again.” club added unnecessarily.

“What exactly was Gabe thinking when he said that?” I thought aloud.

“I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

“Say again?”

“Think about it. Valve have a Half Life episode in development, probably another Portal, updates mainly for Left 4 Dead and Team Fortress 2 to make, as well as minor fixes occasionally for other Source multiplayer games, Steam, negotiating with other developers to stick stuff on Steam and making their games compatible with Steamworks. All for like, 150 people to do? It’s no wonder they want to work off some stress.”

I stayed silent for a while as I processed all this. A couple of TV channel helicopters roared overhead. If I squinted hard enough, I could just see news crews on the ground supplying the rioters with bottles of petrol and lighters.

“Well shit. Mate, as long as they’re out there Valve’s gonna have too much fun playing with them. We won’t see the Scout update for bloody yonks.”

“I know.” club confirmed.

Looking long and hard at him, I thought a bit more, and came to a conclusion.

“When are your choppers getting here?”

“Soon.” club grinned maniacally.

“Who is coming?” I couldn’t help but grin in return.

“Most of the Contributers, you, me, supremesonic, and about 20 forum members I could whip up on short notice. Himmelstoss isn’t coming”

“Someone mention Demomen around him?”

“Yeah, I think he’s still ranting. He gets quite offended when people like other classes. He’ll probably still be going when we get back.”

“Ain’t that the bloody truth.” I chuckled. “Poor bastard’s gonna miss out. Shall we get a head-start?”

“Nah, hold up. I’m waiting for a call from madlep. He’s posted something about how long it’s taking on the forums, and how the wait is irritating.” club gave an amused snort, “We’re banking on about three quarters of the fans to come here and join the angry mob. Then we’ll run in and drive them all off.”

“Ha! We clear the siege of Valve HQ and rid madlep of most of the parasites. This is bloody community service, mate. We should be getting medals!”

“Well I’m not sure about madlep, but I think Valve’s going to be a bit pissed at us taking away their entertainment.”

“If we don’t, they’ll just do it, and this is way too much fun to pass up.”

“Good enough for me-” The rest of his sentence was washed away as the choppers bearing his name flew into view, magnificently silhouetted against the dying sun. The ubercharged army had arrived.

* * * * * * *

As the first helicopter lightly brushed the pavement, Xharn and Paper Shadow jumped out. As Xharn hauled out what looked to be a box full of short aluminium bats, Paper sauntered over to me. Looking every bit the grizzled British fighter pilot, Paper’s the kind of guy you expect to scream ‘Tally Ho!’ in a flawless British accent before jumping out of his plane without a parachute over enemy territory and getting out alive with 6 notches on his boots recording his chained goomba-stomp kills. He handed me a high-velocity paintball rifle.

“Alright, you, I, and Grumbles are the only ones who can actually aim in this insane lot.” he began, “So we’re sniping. First, Whimsical Goofball’s going to sneak up to the HQ and distract them with his voice. Then, while the rest run in and beat the crap out of them with bats, we cover them by shooting the fans and TV crews.”

“With paintball guns?” Grumbles piped up as he arrived from his chopper.

“Crotch shots are the go here, mate.” I smiled evilly and winked. “We’re here to work off some steam and drive them off. Not kill anyone, Valve seems to be taking care of that well enough. Once we’re done there, Valve’ll have to get back onto releasing the Scout update.”

“Oh. Right.” Grumbles’ eyes lit up. “I like it.”

There’s something distinctly evil about a gathering of people who enjoy playing Sniper. They create some kind of dark aura, incensed with the pure, unadulterated satisfaction they draw from an accurate shot, whatever it was they were aiming at. It’s probably the reason why club looked so reluctant to approach us. Or, more likely, he just heard us talking about shooting crotches.

“Everyone’s ready to lay out some pain.” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the ubercharged army, swinging their bats and generally getting excited about the coming battle. They weren’t in a formation, no battle lines, no all-important, over-encompassing strategy. This was TF2 tactics, a pure and brutal Scout rush. ‘How bloody iconic’, I thought. Everyone knew what to do.

“All we have to do is wait for th-”

“They’re already here, mate.” I interrupted.

In the middle of the horde, there was a distinct clearing. In the middle of it were hundreds of fans, all with laptops, all staring at madlep’s avatar. No-one saw them arrive. The other protesters gave them a lot of room.
I quickly found a position and sighted in, Grumbles and Paper did the same. Club turned to our loyal and expectant army.

“Be careful around the fans, they can get pretty goddamned angry when they’re distracted from madlep.” he warned.

“Get ready!” I shouted.

From nearby the angry throng, a voice rose out of the deepening shadows.
It was a confident voice, a musical voice, a voice that demanded attention in the way newbies demand nerfs.
As one, the entire host, with the obvious exception of the fans, turned towards this handy distraction.
An exultant cry rose from the ranks of uberchargers.
In a wincingly accurate volley, the three Snipers fired on their marks.
Our army charged.

The rush was on.

* * * * * * *

It was a day of fun, carnage, and deep, deep satisfaction. But make no mistake, dear readers, this was not a charge purely for our own benefit. This was a charge for Valve. This was a charge for the Scout. This was a charge for all the content we have received and is yet to come. This was a charge for Team Fortress 2, despite it’s ups and downs, despite the reasons we ragequit in disgust, all counteracted by that one fact: we keep coming back for more. This was a charge for all of these things.

This was a charge for you.