Palmer finishes up his changes for the day, then walks around the corner of his desk to Lionhead's screening room to test them before going home. He turns the system on, looks up at the screen, and hears Milo:
"Hi Ralph. How's it going?"
At this point, there's nothing in the software that should identify Palmer from the 60-80 other names in the system, so the code chooses a name at random and wins the lottery. It rattles Palmer, giving him "a really weird buzz" that sticks with him for days.
The project doesn't work yet, but in cases like this it feels like it does.
I'd rather drive a nail into my own hand than play another so-called realistic military shooter — and yet when another so-called realistic military shooter comes along, I play it anyway. I guess I find these games insanely irresponsible and also somehow irresistible, which is what I most hate about them. Couldn't you argue that the men and women who make Battlefield and Modern Combat and Call of Duty are making the world a demonstrably worse place? I think you could. Sometimes I wonder how they sleep at night. Sometimes, when I can't sleep at night, I play Call of Duty.
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