My burgeoning anticipation for Bioshock
could not be measured on any normal scale. Over the last few weeks I?ve watched the demo religiously at least once for every time I?ve sat at a computer, which is a lot. My gaming shrine has been heaped with offerings in the hopes of ensuring the benevolence of the gaming gods.
I had such high expectations for this game than anything less than as-close-as-is-humanly-possible to perfection would have bought about a grief in my soul, which it would only be possible to express by spending the next few weeks roaming the house in my pyjamas, wailing like a tortured widow in a Gothic novella: this would have been frankly insufferable for those who have to live with me.
Luckily the Aussies have done me proud, so instead of a gloomy banshee my housemates have had the pleasure of hearing a disturbing mix of crackling pre-60s music interspersed with screaming and drilling. On reflection, they may have preferred my Woman In White
impression. But screw them.
From the minute the demo started I knew that this game would have to be bought and that, if done properly, I would be spending all the post-release nights for the foreseeable future up until the early hours freaking myself out, jumping at shadows and missing many a meal to satisfy my insatiable craving to stay at the computer; so, not actually a huge change there then.
Unfortunately for my passionate desire to get stuck in to it, the day I pick up BioShock
is very busy for me, driving to Manchester, London, Ashford, back to London and the attending a Dub-Step night in Brixton. This, coupled with the fact that my car was relived of its stereo by a kindly passer-by who thought it needed a better home, has meant that most of the day ended up being spent examining and, in the latter stages, gnawing at the box.
Once I had picked up my friend from Manchester, who was much amused by this demonstration of eagerness, I explained my excitement and that I was fantasising about encountering my first Big Daddy. Nodding he reminded me that we were off to Soho on Sunday night and he was looking forward to much the same thing. I then called him ?a bummer? and we discussed the homosexual symbolism on the cover.
Once in London for the second time I meet my friend Smitty who at once went into rapturous detail about?well, Rapture, for the benefit of my other mate whilst trying not to give any spoilers. We decide to sack off the club and go straight back to Kenny Ken?s old house to get exceedingly drunk.
I leave the boys alone, once we?re mightily inebriated, whilst I walk my friend up to the tube and by the time I?m back they have fallen asleep! That is what happens when you haven?t seen the demo I suppose. Undeterred I set up the 360 and get settled down with more vodka and squash (yes, it had sunk to that level) and roll-ups when, horror struck, I realised that BioShock
wasn?t in the bag any more! Cue me shaking my comatose mate by his lapels screaming ?Where?s BioShock
Once I had convinced him that no, it probably wasn?t in the sink, he suggested the car. Good point. I sprint out of the door, unthinkingly and as I run through the streets of Leytonstone the tarmac glitters under my feet. A part of me registers, mistily, that I am literally running barefoot over broken glass in my underwear to play this game.
Finally back at the house, game in hand and feet in ribbons I slam the disc in so quickly that I miss the fact that I?ve just put it on top of Kung Fu Hustle
which was already in there. I have minor heart attack when it tells me the disc is unreadable, but soon it is resolved.
Obstacles arose, ensued, were overcome. And talk about cum! I?m so hot for this game that whilst Ryan is doing his ?petty morality? speech, (love that phrase!) a house spider three-inches in diameter walks over my wrists and I nonchalantly pick him up, walk to the door, with him wriggling and burrowing in my hand, and cast him out, unblinking, with no thought other than ?Get the hell out of my experience?.
Once in the game I start hacking ? succeeding on my first vending machine makes me feel like a genius and getting the turret onside makes me feel like a queen! I can?t afford anything except vodka from the vending machine, but that at least ensures that my character and I have a similar, blurred perspective on the world.
The only reason I stop is because I realise I?m shivering with cold and have to find a blanket. I wander the house, stumbling and bleeding, looking for something warm to wrap around me (and some bandages) when it occurs to me that it is very much life imitating art. ?Health pack? found I pause to heal my feet. It?s just a good thing that being able to walk will be the least of my concerns over the next month. Hook me up a catheter ? I?m in for the long-haul.
All glory to BioShock