AOD_Hi didn't actually call me a wimp. But he did suggest that perhaps I wouldn't be interested in playing on my back foot in X4. I don't take kindly to people suggesting that I won't meet them on their terms. I fear neither defeat, nor despair; I love the taste of my own blood on my lip, even in the microsecond I have to save my tongue, slamming it behind my teeth before that steel-toed boot comes crunching into my jaw again.

I was furious with this loss. This was not supposed to be a loss. I knew that the second we started the game. Hit after hit, kill after kill, maximum aggression, pound, pound, pound, the relentless pounding. LOCK! LOCK! LOCK! screaming from the console became as mundane as enduring the alarm clock because you can't be bothered to reach out slam the snooze button.

But the alarm clock has the terrifying patience of a machine. And the homing missiles know: not this time, but eventually. Eventually, he will crack.

3 serial smarts planted on his escape from the main hall, followed by a howling procession of 7 homers, and nothing to save me but the deadly ballet.

The endless pirouette. Did the room ever stop spinning? Sparks flew everywhere, but that sweet clanging note evaded me, save for when I dragged him into a corner and beat it out of him.

I lost this game, because the endless waltz failed me again. But I'm remembering how it used to go. I remember how light it felt, how smoothly it all flowed together.

This pilot cannot win on rage alone. But until then:

Give me your Hate.

-Morf

Watch the demo. I promise, you will see the passion.