Brad Hinds

I was among those many who pre-ordered Left-4-Dead prior to its release a little over twelve months ago. I admit I arrived rather late amongst the parade of anticipations and expectations the game had. Though I had previously purchased most of VALVe’s products, I cannot claim to have harbored much interest towards the likes of Counter-Strike or Team Fortress 2. Though competent in their respective areas as multiplayer based titles, my interest has largely always been directed towards the carefully-crafted single-player experience – in VALVe’s particular case, Half-Life - and I can only assume my initial disinterest towards L4D stemmed from that same notion. But, you know, it was a VALVe game and I would not have done them the injustice of failing to support any of their fine work. Having said that, I enjoyed what VALVe had to offer with L4D, despite it marking an obvious descent into the more casual realm of gaming. It bore the strengths of any competent multiplayer or cooperative based title, but it also retained some of the best strengths of VALVe’s single-player series; there was a sense of narrative there, of thematic depth, of implicitness and subtlety, and of something much larger occurring outside of the survivors’ relatively contained struggle to reach safety. Those with observant eyes and cognitive minds could detect recurring themes and motifs, and a great deal of potential discussion was readily available for those who did so. Though this was inessential to the core experience of the game, it was pleasing to see that VALVe had retained the credible worlds that are so often associated with their creations. Despite this, L4D was far from flawless, and it was clear, among a myriad of other concerns, that VALVe had not completely tapped into the potential available to them with the game’s unique narrative and gameplay presentation.

One of the biggest concerns I harbored towards L4D, however, was how stagnant the experiences soon became; tired, easily predictable and exploitable. I have no issue in stating that L4D was a shallow game; accessible like any other VALVe title, but lacking a certain level of depth in the design and execution of its gameplay; very much unlike Half-Life which was – and still is - largely indefatigable. The AI Director contributed a certain level of replayability, yes, but only in the most mundane of ways; sporadically altering the placement of essential items and weapons, periodically mixing up the size of common infected hordes and mini-crescendo events, and procedurally determining random spawn points for the Special Infected. Though this helped create different experiences every time one played the game, the changes were but superficial in nature; the manner by which you and your team reacted to any given scenario a majority of the time – regardless of the area you were in – changed very little.

A major factor contributing to this level of stagnation, I think, was the limited Special Infected on offer; it became easy, ultimately, to determine individual weaknesses and exploits within the relationships between each of the Special Infected. These ‘lessons’ diluted the intensity, variation and suspense of each respective encounter as players adopted techniques that effectively quelled their capacity to break up or defeat a well-equipped, well-formulated team, and the lack of dynamics associated with the common infected did little to help. Furthermore, the environments respective to each of the four campaigns lacked in diversity; all were at night, took place in relatively similar, aesthetically bland environments, and offered little in the way of gameplay variation. Compounding these problems, the finales themselves proved to be sluggish in the long-term. The stand-still mechanic in which you and your team would be confined to the one contained area while you beat off infinite hordes of Infected as you await rescue became incredibly tiresome, and their construction resulted in a number of cheap exploits open to players including, though not limited to, corner-camping. L4D was fun, but it lacked depth in every aspect of its production; an overly simple and bland game that appealed greatly towards the casual audience, in sacrifice of a great many elements that truly distinguished VALVe games above most of its competition.

Regardless of these flaws, as I said, L4D was an enjoyable game. Versus was a step forward in abrogating some of the aforementioned issues, and killing hordes of the mindless undead alongside friends is infinitely exciting. There is no doubt VALVe were conservative in their approach to the creation of L4D, unaware as they were of the level of success or attention it would receive upon release, and their development schedule reflected this conservativeness; lower risks were taken. Consequently, only the barest and most streamlined version of the game was developed and readily available upon release. Some have chosen to attack VALVe for taking that approach. Though that method certainly has its disadvantages – as I stated before, L4D was often hinderingly shallow - it would have been impractical, I think, to have created an entirely new game with hundreds of features and options. You sacrifice a certain level of creativity for ensuring that a solid, compact game is developed on time and received well among both critics and players. L4D was, after all, an experiment on Valve’s part; the creation of an entirely new IP outside of the success of its only real counter-part; the gargantuan Half-Life. The success it did receive, however, paved the way for the creative insurrection that spread throughout the team following its release that ultimately led to the conception of its infamous sequel, Left-4-Dead 2.

But therein lies one of L4D2’s greatest flaws and I feel compelled to address this issue before I even think of commencing my evaluation of specific areas of the sequel’s design. L4D2 is everything L4D was; merely refined, enhanced and expanded upon in almost every conceivable way. Consequently, L4D2 essentially negates its predecessor. I have played L4D2. I have thoroughly enjoyed it, and unfortunately I have no need – no wish – to play L4D ever again. Not for nostalgia. Not for the original survivors. It is now sitting in my Steam games tab gathering dust; obsolete and superfluous. As such, the concern that the release of L4D2 may alienate the community has been justified. That is one of the negative trade-offs for developing a sequel so soon without allowing for the opportunity to solely enhance the original product for those who paid for it and expected greater longevity. The quality of L4D2 is absolutely unquestionable; such is the additional variety and increased sense of purpose that it comes with. But L4D appears as little more than an incomplete beta in comparison; mechanical and inorganic, revealing its almost exclusive reliance on the AI director to orchestrate drama from the ebbs and flows of the zombie horde. Those who believe they wasted fifty dollars will find justification here, and I can’t say I blame any of them.

Justification potentially exists in a number of other concerns related to the implications I mentioned briefly above; notably, the perceived expansionist nature of the so-called ‘sequel’ in question. The major issue: is a twelve month development period for a sequel to a game that was promised to receive dedication to a moderate flow of free content and post-release support reasonable? VALVe have deviated substantially from the prolonged development schedules they have since been renowned for with L4D2, and though they have clearly stated that they are in a period of experimentation the unusually short development schedule has resulted in a number of assumptions that claim that L4D2 is little more than an expansion to its predecessor, and that it’s fifty dollar price tag is unjustified and unfair regardless of the plethora of new content that has obviously become available with it. I think the major question that needs to be asked in response to this issue is this: what exactly constitutes an expansionist game and a monolithic sequel? There is a fine line in classifying games as such, and that line often becomes blurred as subjective opinions float about and dilute what is otherwise objective investigation and truth. The relative nature and scope of the project in question must first be vitally considered, I think, in reaching a suitable conclusion. There are no absolutes. There is no black and white in regards to what constitutes either or. One may argue that a sequel must dramatically expand upon the technological and artistic base by which their predecessor was founded upon; that new gameplay mechanics and rules must be established; that any project which does not adhere to these absolutist guidelines cannot – nay, should not - be considered a sequel. I disagree. Such rhetoric won't take this argument forward because it operates on polar extremes of what constitutes an 'expansion' and a 'sequel'. It is far more intricate and complex than any such worthless distinctions of argument.

Using the aforementioned logic, one could argue that Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas is little more than an expansion to either GTA III or GTA: Vice City and this argument is, quite frankly, flimsy at best. San Andreas represents exactly what L4D2 represents. It utilizes the very same graphics engine and basic gameplay formulas that it’s two predecessors were dominated by; merely refined, enhanced, and expanded upon in almost every conceivable way. Notice how I spoke identically of L4D2 above. SA is a sequel. Why? Because the nature of the project says that it is. It features countless new and enhanced gameplay features built around an entirely new narrative, one rooted within an already established fictional world, with a whole new cast of characters in an entirely new location. The foundation is identical to the two games released before it, yet it cannot be called anything other than a sequel because it represents and offers a change, progression and upheaval in core elements that is much too considerable. That L4D2 is considered differently when it represents the same development and creative direction is a mistake in judgment.

The nature of the HL2 Episodes is especially problematic, considering the nature of the experiences that they offer, the goal that the episodes have, and their segmented and contained structure. That is another argument altogether, and one which I will not delve into at the moment for obvious reasons. The point I am addressing, however, is that despite the negation that L4D2 represents for its predecessor, there is little doubt that that it is a rightful sequel. Every element, either new or enhanced, that its experience has to offer could never have conceivably been released as DLC or a half-priced expansion title; what is here is far too considerable, and far too much of a step forward in the future of the series. Any claims that are in opposition to this are either half-baked conclusions based upon pretence or subjective nonsense. Having played it – having experienced it in its entirety – I am more than happy to claim that it is a sequel.

Despite its controversy, as I said, L4D2 opens up the series magnificently though not in any special way through its plethoric offering of new content, it's upheaval of core gameplay mechanics, and it’s capacity at expanding the scope of the world in the face of this apocalyptic Infection. Most importantly, it focuses on the flaws of its predecessor and successfully manages to rectify them with competence, precision and sublimity. It is a game that certainly appeals and is directed towards a much larger casual audience as opposed to other VALVe titles, but not once does it ever lose that touch of subtlety and depth that generally inherent VALVe projects; that which was sadly absent from L4D. L4D2 is a deeply rewarding and infinitely dynamic experience that offers a level of accessibility, depth and, most importantly, collaboration that will appease a majority of its audience for a long time to come.

But how exactly does it do what I have said it does? Oh, goodness, where to start?

You are walking through an old concrete building; it is among dozens of other industrial constructions surrounding you. You had only just passed through this area not long ago. Now you are heading back to where you started from. You are carrying a green colored fuel container on your back. So too are your three teammates. It is dark. It shouldn’t be. You can hear rain hailing down from the sky impetuously. Thick, dark clouds have completely obscured what little sunlight would remain at this time of day. Strange female-like cries emanate in huge numbers in the sugar mill behind and below you. Your flashlight is active. You are huddled close to your team-mates. You need to be, or you would lose sight of them, surely sentencing yourself to death in the process. You and your friends descend down a flight of concrete steps; they are cracked - signs of a struggle that had taken place here not too long ago. You reach the bottom. You move out into the open cautiously. Everyone trains their weapons in every feasible direction. Dark human-shaped figures in the distance lumber about in incoherent movements. You and your friends come to a halt. An obstruction. The area has begun to flood. Looking around you spot a steel walkway suspended above ground, accessible from the first floor of the concrete building you just exited. You move back in, up the stairs, towards the walkway. You begin to cross. You are free from being bogged down by the thick, murky water. You are above the mindless figures lumbering about below. Then, the worst thing possible; thunder. The rain increases in intensity, near blinding you. Thunder roars across the area. The wind begins to howl. They awaken. The seemingly impartial figures below stir in agitation. They look around instinctually. There are dozens of them. Within moments every one of them has their eerie and animalistic yellow eyes trained upon you and your friends. You are in trouble. The infected human beings race with astonishing agility towards you. Some race inside the building, coming up behind you. Others jump and cling to the walkway, pulling themselves up. Your AK-47 at the ready, you fire at the ones coming up from behind as your friends take care of those in front, along the sides, and down below. You seem to have the situation well in hand, despite the poor visibility. This lukewarm impression does not last long. A tall feminine figure joins the horde storming from inside the building. Green fluid drips disgustingly from her mouth. She screeches. You have little time to react. She leans forward, a projectile of green fluid emanates from her mouth, and it lands among you and your friends. You are now losing health quickly. You all jump from the walkway, into the water below. You are separated. Hordes of Infected are converging down on you. You are about to run out of bullets. You toss the gun over your back and reach behind you, taking hold of a Chainsaw you found during your first travel. Starting the engine, bringing it forward, the mindless figures in front of you quickly fall to the ground in a terribly gory fashion as they stupidly come into contact with it. It is effective. The horde is thinning down. You can hear your teammates near you; they too have brought out a range of melee weapons; axes, crowbars, swords. Your team reunites. There are smiles, several sarcastic comments thrown about, and signs of encouragement. The female Spitter reemerges, sending another projectile of green fluid towards you. It does not make contact this time. You have adapted. You jump out of its way. Another sound emerges; almost like an insane laugh. A hunched and terribly disfigured shape looms from within the darkness. It jumps at one of your friends. It attaches itself to their head, guiding them back towards the pool of acidic fluid. You raise your weapon and prepare to spend the last of your ammo to save them. Another complication. A strange groan, heavy thumping, racing across the ground, getting louder, getting closer…SMASH. Another team-mate has fallen. A large creature with an enormous arm grapples them to the ground. Your only other standing friend races towards the Charger, Katana in hand, and with one swing of tremendous force, slices it’s back open. It falls to the ground; your teammate is safe. You, on the other hand, race towards the Jockey. You raise your AK-47, dispense of your remaining ammo, and it too falls to the ground. They too are safe. Disaster averted. You’ve all been banged up terribly. The effects of the attack have been severe. You still have a way to go before you reach the safe-house. You each draw out a large syringe, prepare it, and force it into your chests. A rush of adrenaline fills your veins. You race off with inhuman speed, past hordes of Infected – even a few unique looking ones wearing bullet protecting construction uniforms and earmuffs. It’s not long before you and your friends reach the safe-house. The door shuts, a sigh of relief and gratitude, a few winning remarks. You, Coach, Rochelle, and Nick are safe.

I thought an anecdote to be the best way to lead into the jists of this review. It highlights the wealth of new features and mechanics that make L4D2 a sturdier, more complex, dynamic, and entertaining experience than L4D. As most of you are no doubt aware, I chose Hard Rain to exemplify this; the game’s stand-out campaign by a mile. That isn’t to say, of course, that the four other campaigns that are packaged with L4D2 are underwhelming. Indeed, only one of them truly falls short; Swamp Fever. Alongside Hard Rain the likes of Dead Center, the Parish and, in particular, Dark Carnival represent the game’s more ambitious and vibrant creative and artistic direction, and this extends well into the core mechanics of the gameplay as well. Whereas the first game relied on the director alone to create interest in its environments, punctuating a point-to-point slog with a smattering of special events, the sequel introduces more frequent and richer set pieces due in part to the new Special Infected on offer, new horde dynamics, a fundamental and excitingly fresh upheaval in crescendo and finale mechanics, and closer attention to level composition in accordance with gameplay design.

L4D2 introduces three new special infected on top of those introduced in the original game including the Charger, the Jockey, and the Spitter. Aside from the individual abilities each of these new SI provide – and they do pack a punch when utilized correctly in the competitive mode of Versus – the Charger, Jockey and Spitter were designed to corroborate each other. In particular, their obvious purpose during development was to prevent the former game’s exploit of corner-camping and the end result has proven little to the contrary. They work exceptionally well together in substantiating and complimenting each other’s attacks in breaking up well-formulated teams and deterring players from corner-camping, and provide a much needed layer of depth to the gameplay.

Alongside these new creatures, the dynamics of the common infected hordes have improved, and compliment the new SI quite well. Each campaign provides its own respective Uncommon Common Infected that is thematically tied to that campaign’s locale and narrative premise. The likes of bullet proof riot Infected and other variants force teams to react differently and somewhat instinctively to constantly changing circumstances, again adding a greater level of depth to the gameplay. As such, they play extremely effective roles. They aren’t designed to be team killers. I merely wish we had seen more of them, as opposed to just the one for each campaign.

Most excitingly, the nature of the crescendo events and finales has changed to accommodate for the new special infected. The stand-still mechanic has largely been abolished in favor of gauntlet scenarios; no longer do you wait in the one spot as you wait for an escape to become available. Instead, you and your team are often forced to run through assiduous hordes of Infected to reach an exit or cut off a disturbance that is attracting them. The concept of forward progress is thoroughly thrilling and engaging and one of the most notable improvements the sequel capitalizes upon.

A distinct improvement in level design has served to exemplify all of the enhancements listed above. The levels in L4D2 are a lot more vibrant and alive than the previous game and more often than not you will sometimes stop just to admire the decadent beauty in the design. But it goes much further beyond aesthetics and more towards a seamless correlation with gameplay; the campaigns here include exciting crescendo events and defense sequences that may not have been possible with the locales of the previous game. The likes of Dark Carnival and Hard Rain in particular capitalize upon the opportunity to provide a wealth of unique set-pieces outside of the game’s standard gameplay scenarios. Dark Carnival – which is arguably the game’s most creative campaign – has players running along an actual rollercoaster and later defending themselves from infinite hordes of Infected during an automated rock concert, complete with fireworks and light-shows. Hard Rain even has players running through a sugar mill, inhabited by an unnaturally large number of Witches, and having them later retreat back to the campaign’s starting point; essentially seeing players battle their way in one direction only to return in the other with the environment now submerged, landmarks only just visible through the driving rain, and the AI Director contributing random thunderstorms, forcing teams to adopt different tactics and approach situations in a manner they would not normally do so.

While some challenges are more contrived than others, the possibilities here are clearly far greater than in L4D, and the dramatic ambitions for each level have scaled to match. The locations themselves are also more sumptuously rendered than L4D’s recreations of prosaic zombie fiction: Valve has proven it can do well with its dark woods, hospitals and sewers – now it brings its own creativity to bear, recasting the familiar zombie horror with sallow southern light, misty dawns and jangling bluegrass music. Familiar instrumental stings and spooky synths are now given a Cajun twist, and campaigns have distinct flavors themselves, an early favorite being the trip to Dark Carnival’s amusement park, complete with red-nosed clown zombies, big dipper and a tunnel of love. The Parish, too, is beautifully constructed, the race through its pastel-colored streets as aircraft attempt to purge the plague from on high proving no less intense because of its occurrence during daylight hours. Not all the campaigns hit the same highs, however – Swamp Fever is aesthetically bland, and the trudge through the bayou is in places a little too disorienting. The Mud Men UCI is particularly uninspiring; its role is questionable and it is not particularly engaging in terms of gameplay. In many respects, Swamp Fever proves retrogressive for the series through largely relying once more upon the antics of the AI Director and terribly dull defense crescendo finales to provide suspense. If it were not for the new weapons and special infected, it could easily have been something to come out of L4D. But even as the Source engine creaks towards retirement, evocative lighting and a little bit of southern flavor still put its modest polygon count to good use. Though it does not level up to the likes of CryEngine 2, the artistic wonders that VALVe manages to pull off are often startling. I thought initially that the daylight levels would be sterile but that impression did not last long. As I became accustomed to the surroundings of New Orleans, I found myself falling into the degeneration of this nightmarish district, the conspicuous morning heat growing as we progressed. Toward the end, the vistas start to open up, revealing the extent of the devastation – nothing at all new to L4D, but I found it all the more involving than previously. Distance had crept up behind me, something that the original never quite accomplished. The new daylight levels have, in turn, paved the way for enemy variants; females have now become subjected to the Boomer mutation, and the witch now walks about during the day.

The Wandering Witch, as she has been aptly named, is easier to bypass but her role nonetheless remains effective. I consider myself an accomplished L4D player - not a 'veteran' by any stretch of the imagination - but clean and competent nonetheless, and I find myself slowing down, treading carefully, and adopting different tactics when in the presence of a Wandering Witch. I have even, on occasion, shot a few of them. Because she is both standing and walking - and she does so only during the day - I have found that it is so much easier to shoot her accidentally either because she becomes obstructed by common infected or the glare of the sunlight obscures her silhouette. Incidentally, this is a consequence I have not yet suffered from with the stationary witch in night levels. This presence of variation is refreshing, and L4D2 does well by capitalizing upon small narrative details such as that. The sugar mill in Hard Rain is genuinely quite difficult and menacing, so they play a particularly effective role there.

As rich as the game has become as a result of the improvements listed above, much of its depth is attributed to a shake-up in combat mechanics; a bolstered and meatier arsenal ensures that the action is subtly altered from its predecessor, and this increase in variety along with complimentary items such as laser-sights, incendiary/explosive ammo, and cans of Boomer bile inevitably means the function of items is less easy to instantly intuit. Defined roles become murkier – no longer do you choose between range and heft, but range, heft, rate of fire and accuracy in many combinations. Who’s got the defibrillator? Who has the adrenaline syringe? As confusing as this may get for beginners, these small innovations give way to depth and dynamism, grander thrills and starker drama.

But the real change here is in the addition of melee weaponry. Far from being a mere novelty, fire-axes, crowbars and cricket bats re-balance the threat posed by the common infected. No longer are you so susceptible to the horde; in fact often the most effective way to deal with a threat is to get up close and personal. These things can absolutely shred the undead, particularly the machete, katana, and limited use chainsaw. If your Survivor teammates are trying to heal and share adrenaline shots, choose between med packs or defibrillator kits, or decide between pipe bombs, Molotov cocktails, or the new bile bombs that when shattered are like zombie lightning rods, there's no better way to seal off entrance to the area than by meeting any approaching foe with a whirring chainsaw. Or if you're out of ammunition and see the safe room just ahead, instead of simply shoving foes aside, why not smash in their skulls with a few broad swipes with an electric guitar? In other words, the melee weapons aren't just a bullet point on a marketing sheet, but add a noticeable and welcome element to the gameplay. And, for Half-Life fans, it's yet another opportunity to wield a crowbar.

Complimenting this improvement in level and gameplay composition is a greater prominence placed on narrative. As I said at the beginning of this article, Left 4 Dead’s story bore a sense of a much larger world and a much larger conflict occurring outside of the Survivors’ struggle; but it was merely that - a sense. L4D was bleaker, which was good for the game's respective atmosphere, but it leaved something to be desired for in terms of scope. VALVe largely failed to capitalize on the opportunities that were available with such implicit, ergodic storytelling within such a chaotically changing world. Thankfully, L4D2's story is, generally speaking, far more substantive this time around thanks mostly to a strong sense of continuity. There is a very distinct connection between the campaigns and having the survivors meet just in the beginning and allowing for these tie-ins to dominate each campaign's opening sequence. Not a great deal of exposition is provided – at least from what I am aware of – about the nature of the Infection itself, but what has been exemplified in terms of the narrative is humanity’s response to the Infection; notably the changing state of the world and the disposition of its inhabitants.

Consequently, the world is no longer static. Instead, it has opened up and so too has the premise of the Infection. We are seeing a progression in various elements over the course of the campaigns; a notion of steady narrative, characterization and thematic progression through distinctly connected, though no less contained, campaigns. But it goes slightly further than that; the story within L4D2 is subtle and requires a great deal of observation and - perhaps - a sense of foresight. Much more material is hidden within the game for those seeking it out. Narrative presentation must be dictated through gameplay. Consequently, the nature of the gameplay in L4D2 reflects the nature of storytelling in the game. It isn't direct. It isn't necessarily obvious. But it is there, and the payoff is certainly satisfying.

Thankfully, the series’ amusing ‘wall writings’ return and many of them are located outside of safe-rooms, encouraging exploration and independence to some degree. If I were to voice any complaints about the game’s delivery of narrative, I would suggest that further avenues could have been explored; the world is still – in some respects – overly static. No gunshots can be heard in the distance, indicating that there may be further survivors. Optional radios could have been utilized to deliver cryptic and interpretive messages and/or pieces of news; though arguably VALVe’s storytelling is at its best when it is showing as opposed to telling.

As a result of this improvement in storytelling, the survivors also have a bit more of a personality than the first game and will often have conversations of the past chapter or current situations. Coach, Ellis, Nick, and Rochelle are a bunch of clowns to be sure, but they fit well with game’s creative direction and are quite likable, even if they are representative of stereotypical archetypes.

Outside of these features, L4D2 provides two further game modes alongside the standard Campaign, Versus, and Survival. Complimenting these are the competitive Scavenge and daunting Realism modes. L4D2’s Realism mode makes the campaign challenge even more difficult, removing helpful glows around items and weapons amongst other things, meaning it's all up to your communication skills to call out ammunition and item pickups or to let people know you're in trouble. Scavenge is noticeably a streamlined version of Versus, and it is arguably the epitome experience of L4D2. It does not rely on its teams spending hours moving through an entire campaign each, but pits them into a contained area to participate in a thrilling deathmatch. The survivors must retrieve as many gas cans as possible to fill up a motor and it is the Infected’s job to bog them down and prevent them from succeeding. Jolly good fun.

As positive as most of the above has sounded, I am not entirely out of complaints;

I am curious as to why VALVe believed so many weapon variants to be necessary; though they all certainly serve a thematic role, I suppose, there seems to be very little difference in some of the weapons in terms of gameplay. As such, a few feel rather redundant. I understand the nature of the game as a shooter, but VALVe has generally always elevated themselves beyond the typical mundane FPS standards that pollute most of the genre’s titles; the weapons appear to be there purely for aesthetic value. What the hell is the difference between a Cricket and Baseball Bat, exactly? It is certainly a testament to VALVe’s decision to focus more on the casual, mainstream audience. Regardless, I am largely content with the weapons on offer.

As dynamic and competitive as versus and scavenge has become, a number of exploits still exist within the game; notably with the Spitter. Through playing both game modes I have determined very specific spots where the Spitter can simply camp for as long as possible with minimal risk of being killed. And most of these spots are elevated above ground, giving you a distinct advantage over the survivors. I have lasted whole rounds simply as the Spitter and came out with the most points.

There are also noticeable ping issues playing in your own country’s servers. I have occasionally found the game to be unplayable as a result of lag.

As much as I am aware that L4D2 is a co-operative game that greatly encourages human players to participate over AI, bots are occasionally unavoidable in the event one member of the team decides to leave a game. Once this occurs, the team becomes incredibly liable. The bots are absolutely crap. They can be, depending on the difficulty, game “breakingly” crap.

I can’t say I was happy with VALVe offering bonus deals with the likes of GameStop, either. I had thought VALVe cherished the ubiquity of their products; it appears as if their descent into the casual market with the game itself has brought with it many of the repugnant commodities often associated with it.

But this is dragging on now. Kudos to those who have read this in its entirety. I commend you. I shall wrap this up promptly; enjoy L4D2. It is thoroughly worth every cent. See you all in the game. Until then, I bid farewell.

For Uncle Phillip

Brad Hinds

I admit I’m lost for words. What do you say at someone’s funeral that does not cast a sense of extreme loss and sadness among all those who are listening? I know that in circumstances as tragic as this we must maintain positive perspectives; we must celebrate his existence and the impact he had on our lives as opposed to reveling in misery and pity. I must write something nonetheless; I need to write something, because I need him to know how much I truly appreciated him. I need him to know that his existence wasn’t for nothing. This is for Phillip. My uncle. My family.

I have been going over a few words in my mind persistently over the past week:

The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.

So many of us, it would seem, are living examples of this consequence. Wasting away our years, failing to capitalize on the many opportunities life presents us with, and crawling blindly forwards in the hope that we shall be shown the path to personal and financial fulfillment. Phillip was not this; he sized opportunities, worked hard to succeed and a left a mark upon those he was close to that won’t soon be forgotten. Owning his own vineyard was a testament to that.

I can’t say I can recall too many memories of Phillip, but those I do have are at the forefront of my mind and will continue to be there for many years to come. I have heard accounts – I do not remember, of course – that when he first lay eyes upon me as a baby the first few words to emanate from his mouth was ‘spud’; apparently because my head was shaped so much like a fully rounded potato. I’ve lost count at how many times this instance has been recalled to me, especially by my Dad. When I spent time with him over the Christmas break, I was just leaving Pop’s house when he said “see yah later, Spud”. I couldn’t help but laugh.

I just spoke of the Christmas holiday; I am infinitely grateful that our family spent that precious time together. I knew that it was perhaps the last opportunity for all of us to be together under the one roof at the one time. I didn’t know it would be that soon after. I spent a great deal of time with Phillip during this break. I went with him to the place across the street where he was staying at. I stayed there with him for a good half an hour. We would chat for ages about each of our lives; his childhood, his education and my own. We would also chat about music; notably Pink Floyd. How he loved them. It was Phillip who first introduced that amazing band to Dad, who in turn passed that influence onto me. It has been one of the greatest influences of my upbringing that I can recall. I find it so fitting that A Great Day for Freedom will be played for him today. He would have liked that.

As affected as I am with his passing, I cannot imagine the suffering that his sister, Christine, his two brothers, Baden and Michael, and his father, Perce are going through. To die at 54 – as fit as he was – is horrifying. It signifies how frail human life is, and although as terrible as his passing is, I’m sure it will bring the rest of his family much closer together. As is this the nature of death.

For Dad in particular I feel so terribly for. I’m not sure even he realised how close he was to his brother. They spent so much time with each other as children, listening to the same music together, playing with each other, adventuring together. I’ve never quite seen you so shook up over anything other than this before, Dad. Yet, as I have mentioned to you before, I will always be here to support you whenever you need it.

All I can say is that I wish I could be there to properly say goodbye to you; you deserve that. Alas, that cannot be, and I must be content with writing my feelings down on paper. I am happy that we all managed to come together as a family for Christmas. I am happy that we were given the chance to spend time together. Thank you for listening to me when you did. Thank you for treating me like an adult. I wish you could have come to us again in March, as you said you would. That you died so soon is terrible; you should not have left us. You were always so healthy. I am glad, at the very least, that you passed away doing something you loved so passionately. Goodbye Uncle Phillip. We will miss you. We wish you were here with us still.

You are our crazy diamond, and you will shine on with us for all eternity.

I was listening to the news the other day when something occurred to me. In the midst of listening to the story in question, I had finally figured out how to succinctly sum up why I write. It goes a little something like this --There’s this ninety-year old woman named Rose who, after honking her horn repeatedly at the school bus idling in front of her, decides she has much more important things to do and guns her Honda Civic around the bus. Before she realizes that the bus was stopped for a very good reason indeed, Rose finds herself watching a freight train bear down on her and almost instantly, it smashes into the passenger side of the Civic and pushes it a good hundred feet before screeching to a stop. Forgoing all the gory details, Rose is pronounced dead at the local hospital and the attending doctor in the ER is tasked with notifying next of kin. Turns out Rose’s husband has been dead for decades, but she has a couple sons and a daughter. The doctor calls one of her sons and his wife answers the phone. The son isn’t home, but the wife offers to take a message. The notification ethics, however, forbid the hospital from telling anyone but next of kin about Rose’s death and so they ask when the son will be home so they can call back.And the wife responds “He won’t be back for two months.” And the hospital says, “Well… do you have a number where we could reach him?” And the wife says no, she doesn’t. And why not?–

Because he’s in space.

As in outer space. As in orbit. As in one of a handful of human beings who have the unique distinction of not being on the fucking planet.

The son, Richard, is working on the International Space Station doing repair work. And as he floats in Zero-G, he is blissfully unaware that his ninety-year old mother has just been flattened by a train.

I shit you not. This really happened.

And what does this family’s personal tragedy have to do with why I write?

Because to me, this is an amazing story. And as soon as I hear it, my brain is already hammering out the scene where Rose’s other kids debate as to whether or not to even tell Richard. The daughter, Christine, insists on telling him that mom died peacefully in her sleep and holding the grisly truth for when he’s back on Earth. Richard’s brother Michael, however, demands they tell Richard all the gory details. Why? Because it was Richard’s fault she was still driving at ninety. Michael’s been trying to get her into assisted living for over five years now and if stupid fucking Richard had just fucking listened to him, she’d still be fucking alive!

Fortunately, I think, the decision is not up to Richard’s siblings. He is, after all, a member of the military, so this would be a NASA issue. And it turns out in their guidelines there’s this thing called the Dual Plume Protocol. The Dual Plume Protocol, or DPP, was officially incorporated into NASA’s Psychological Charter this year. Let me back up --

In September of 2001, the space station was manned by three people -- an American and Two Russians. As they were orbiting over the Northeastern United States, the American called Mission Control to report that he could see (with his naked eye) two massive pillars of black smoke rising up through the atmosphere. When they answered back, explaining that the black smoke was all that remained of the Towers, the American took a long, sorrowful pause and responded – “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

As a result of the DPP, NASA started actually asking the astronauts who are leaving the planet what their personal wishes are regarding notifications of earthbound tragedies. And this is like, a very detailed document because it covers everything from worldwide catastrophes (i.e. Katrina or a Tsunami) down to things that would only affect the astronaut him or herself (i.e. their mother’s Honda getting pulverized by a freight train) and it must be signed and notarized before launch. Why? Because the emotional state and focus of these guys is critical. They’re being sent up to perform missions on a space station and after spending millions to train them (Richard is one of three people alive who has the skill set to execute these specific repairs) it costs BILLIONS just to get them up there to perform them and the last thing NASA needs is for someone to go batshit with grief on the day they’re supposed to fix the thruster converter thigamajob.

So I’m sitting there thinking how Richard may have filled out his DPP Form…

And I realize there’s no such thing.

I made it up.

Yeah, I remember hearing about the astronauts on the space station having seen the carnage over Manhattan from orbit, but that’s got nothing to do with the story of Rose’s death. In fact, I don’t know how many kids she had or, for that matter, whether or not they can just send an email to Richard (can you get email in space?) and dispense with all the formality.

But where’s the drama in that?

So that’s why I write.
I write because I can’t help but make things up.
I write because I love to tell stories.
I write because my imagination compels me to do so.
I write because if I didn’t, I’d be branded a pathological liar.

In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein companionship is a vital recurring theme that offers extensive insight into several of the novel’s primary characters; notably Walton and the Monster. That Walton complains of not having peers with whom he can relate to and confide intimately with illustrates the most basic human need of companionship just as the Monster later desires a female with whom he may live out his wretched and solitary existence with in isolation. By drawing upon parallels between Walton and the Monster, these passages highlight the presence and absence of companionship, and how either may provide a catalyst by which resultant actions – either positive or negative – take place. Shelley’s development of the parallel she creates between Walton and the monster, and the duty the monster irrevocably believes his creator, Victor, owes him combine to provide an answer to a key question in the novel: if Victor had finished his construction of the monster’s companion, would the monster really have stopped his killing spree? The author quietly answers ‘yes.’

Signs of a deliberate parallel between Walton and the Monster are immediately foreseeable. While speaking of Victor, Walton reveals his easily impressed persona when he persistently refers to Victor as a “noble creature”. The monster bears a comparable nature, made evident by his rampant use of the phrase “lovely creatures” when describing the De Lacey’s. The admiration these two share for their fellow creatures leads them to desire interaction with them. Walton’s letters themselves are proof of his will to connect with others. In a letter he writes to his sister, he exclaims, “Continue to write to me by every opportunity . . . I need them most to support my spirits”. Meanwhile, Frankenstein’s monster expresses similar wishes to interact with others when he says, “I eagerly longed to discover myself to the cottagers.” The monster reveals a longing for human connection through expression of a desire for communication. This is the strongest parallel in the natures between these two characters; both experience severe loneliness and the craving to put it to an end. Walton and the monster’s comments are eerily similar in expressing these feelings; Walton remarks, “I have no friend.”, while the monster says, “I have no relation or friend upon earth”. Walton continues, “I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me”, while the monster states, “my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures”. The close bond between these two characters is now fully exposed.

Formerly a mysterious, grotesque, completely physical being, the monster now becomes a verbal, emotional, sensitive, almost human figure that communicates his past to Victor in eloquent and moving terms. The monster clearly understands his position in the world, the tragedy of his existence and abandonment by his creator, and is out to seek either redress or revenge. “Am I not alone, miserably alone?” and “You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures, who owe me nothing?”. While Victor curses the creature as an ‘abhorred monster’ and a ‘fiend’, the monster responds to Victor’s coarseness with surprising eloquence and sensitivity, proving himself an educated, emotional, human being. One of the ways in which the monster demonstrates his eloquence is by alluding to John Milton’s Paradise Lost, one of the books he reads while living in the peasants’ hovel (described later in the monster’s narrative). He entreats Victor to “remember, that I am thy creature: I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel.” Comparing himself to both Adam and Satan, perceiving himself as both human and demonic, the monster is poised uncomfortably between two realms. Shelley suggests that the creature's misdeeds are caused by the enormity of his suffering and loneliness; at heart, he is essentially good and, more importantly, essentially human. Scolded like Adam and cursed like Satan, the monster is painfully aware of his creator’s utter disdain for him. By comparing Victor to God, the monster heaps responsibility for his evil actions upon Victor, scolding him for his neglectful failure to provide a nourishing environment.

Interestingly, it is the manner by which the monster convinces Frankenstein to comply with his request for a companion that is significant. The monster continues to address Victor directly, reminding the reader of the relationship between the two. Furthermore, quotes like “Unfeeling, heartless creator!” and “you cast me abroad, an object for the scorn and horror of mankind” serve to emphasize that the monster has a purpose in telling his story: he wants to elicit a reaction from Victor; recognition of Victor’s responsibility for his disastrous plight. Throughout the better part of their exchange, the creature's tone is reasonable in the extreme: in fact, his desire for a companion seems almost noble. “Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my request”. In this way, he will divest himself of his longing for violence and revenge, and lead a blameless life. By aligning his maliciousness with his misery, he is implicitly blaming Frankenstein for what he has become: such an accusation is effective in evoking the sympathy of both Victor and the reader. The creature often refers to Frankenstein as "you, my creator": this doubled form of address does not only serve to remind Victor of the responsibility he bears for giving the creature life; it is also a complimentary title that implores him for help.  As he speaks, the creature's syntax becomes almost Biblical in tone: he frequently uses the verb "shall," which has the ring of both prophecy and command. He is thus subtly informing Victor that he has no choice in this matter: his acquiescence is already a foregone conclusion.

There seems to be one conflict, however, tying back to the start of the novel and the first passage. Walton also is devoid of companionship by the end of the book; Victor dies and leaves him once again without a friend. Walton, bitter about his renewed loneliness, shows hostility to the monster upon meeting him. Yet Walton refrains from murdering anyone, unlike Frankenstein’s monster. In fact, he takes time to listen to the monster’s story, and lets him go in the end. The differences here would allow room for differences elsewhere; maybe the monster, if given a companion, would not react as Walton had. Maybe he would have kept killing. But there is a major difference between them. Walton experienced companionship; something the monster never did. The friendship the captain had with Victor conditioned him even more to compassion. After caring for someone as much as he did, he simply could not take the monster’s life, especially after listening to his story. There was never any friendship to be found in the monster’s life; he didn’t have a single companion for the entirety of the novel. The overwhelming amount of hatred that the monster experienced throughout his life only served to further destroy his original compassion. The fact that Walton lets the monster go in the end further proves this answer correct. Upon receiving nothing but hatred in life, one can only respond in kind. However, when one gains a friend, ones learned compassion keeps one from harming others. If Frankenstein’s monster had received a companion as planned, he would have kept his promise and stopped killing.

Frankenstein was written as a horror story. This inner seam brings forth the issue of companionship, and the effects of having it, losing it, and never experiencing it. Society is largely responsible for how much or how little companionship one has. Now that readers have become accustomed to the face of Frankenstein’s monster, the terror of the story shifts its focus. The horror of Frankenstein no longer lies in the gruesome face of the monster, but in the loneliness society inflicts upon him by refusing to provide a companion. Today, the horror surrounds society itself, subtly warning readers to remain compassionate, even to those who appear hideous

Frankenstein Creative Piece – Commentary

I admit the prospect of endeavoring to write creatively for Frankenstein enthralled me due to the sheer amount of material there was to play with, and the context of such material. I toyed initially with the idea of expanding upon the novel’s premise; by extending the story beyond its current canon conclusion. My first thought was that of following the Monster’s perception as it committed suicide; tendencies which it strongly hinted at as it fled Walton’s ship. That idea bore the opportunity to expand upon the Monster’s self-definition in the wake of his creator’s death and the culmination of every event that had previously transpired; Adam or Satan. Concurrently, the idea of offering a potential happy alternative for the Monster became apparent to me. I realized that a single relative of Victor Frankenstein still lived; Ernest, Victor’s younger brother. Having been mentioned little over the course of the novel – or at least over-shadowed by the affairs of Elizabeth, William, Clerval and Robert – I pondered the concept of having the Monster coincidentally stumble upon Ernest. Initially unaware of his relation to Victor, Ernest would have displayed an unexpected level of compassion and generosity to the Monster, setting him on a completely different course.

I quickly discarded the idea of the latter and indeed the former as a result of how incredibly arbitrary the ideas felt. Exploring the Monster committing suicide so as to flesh out his self-identity felt as such because a great deal of the novel’s lasting impact stems from continuously being unaware as to that question’s answer. There would also have been little relevance in exploring an event that is perhaps not only self-explanatory but also better suited to uncertainty. I discarded the idea of Ernest meeting the Monster because it felt incredibly cliche, and ultimately I felt such an approach diluted the mood, tone and subject matter which constituted the core narrative. Instead, I opted to explore Frankenstein’s state of mind towards the end of his life on Walton’s ship through the use of a secret diary. Although Victor clearly re-tells his story to Walton throughout the novel, I found it interesting that very little exposition was offered as to Victor’s actual state of mind as he neared death. Though I attribute this to the fact that it is Walton who is narrating the story at the time that this occurs, I felt intrigued by the possibility of exploring Victor’s thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of sharing his life-story to Walton. Having finally shared something so momentous to someone else, I felt it only natural that Victor’s thoughts and feelings may have perhaps begun to objectify. As he nears his death, he is no longer isolated and alone. He is also no longer subject to the chase that had become so obsessive and consuming for so long. He literally has had the time to sit and think. As a result, I offer this creative piece which returns to Victor’s perception towards the time of his death, so as to bring to a close some of his own personal issues.

In the end, I have allowed Victor to come to terms, at least in some part, with what it is that he has done, and what it is that he has been subjected to for so long. I found it fitting that the diary entry be addressed to Elizabeth, despite the fact she has long since passed away, because the life he had once cherished started with her. As such, his life takes an almost full-circle turn, as he begins to accept his responsibility for what has happened to him, and the death he is soon to be consumed by.