I’m going to start this article with a disclaimer: I am not good at first person shooters on the XBox, PS2, PS3, or any other non-mouse-and-keyboard platform.

I am not the world’s finest shot with a Torgue Bow, my handling of the BFOG leaves much to be desired, and I sometimes think a head shot means a nice photograph. I’m far from cannon fodder, sure, but I’m no ducking-jumping-rolling-reloading crack shot. The point is, I’m probably an average gamer, just as I am an average person. And this is an article, definitely, about average people.

e.g. What average people do in an average situation, and how my online gaming experiences over the past month have helped me to form one simple monster/zombie apocalypse survival rule.

Put on a uniform.

My games du jour are the perennial classic Gears of War 2 and the comparatively more recent Left for Dead 2. In both games, I play online and typically play in a cooperative mode – either a cooperative campaign, GoW2′s “Horde” mode, or L4D2′s “Survival”. For anyone not sure what these are, they essentially pit the online players against AI controlled monsters (be they Locust or zombies) and you play together with a common goal. By comparison, a “deathmatch” pits you alone or in teams against other players and, in this environment, I normally take the role of “human shield” or “sitting duck”. (See my “I’m not a ducking-jumping-blah-blah above).

In both games I can hold my own. Average I may be, but the difficulty curves in both games allows even a casual duffer like me to pull off the odd headshot, the occasional “last man standing saves the day moment”, and I can typically hold a good second place on any leaderboard. AIs are stupid, basically, and so my “lurk, shoot, move” system is beyond their tiny minds to comprehend.

Still, everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes I get hurt. Bleeding, dragging my carcas across the virtual floor, my tiny digital me cries out for help. He has only seconds left to live as the enemy bear down on him. Will he go out in a blaze of glory, igniting a grenade and taking a few of “them” with him, or will he be ignominiously kerb stomped/eaten in short order?

Well, if I am playing Gears of War, I know what’s coming and what’s coming is a rescue. Not an AI player who happens to be in the right place at the right time, not a magic button press or a respawn. No, I’m talking about another player streaking across the field of play, shrugging off bullets to reach my bleeding hidey-hole, and uttering the immortal words “Get up soldier!”, or something similar. It happens with a regularity that ensures that I always do the same for my team mates. Unless all is lost and we are down to that “last man standing” moment, I’d rather go out making a dash to save another player than get swarmed on alone.

In Left for Dead however? Well, the name speaks for itself. I don’t mean to insult any individual player of that game, but … wow. Those people are greedy, selfish, and as the zombie horde swarms in? They are probably running the other way. It is one of the most uncooperative cooperative gameplay experiences I’ve ever had and everyone seems out for themselves. I’ve bled out in that game more times than I can count. I’ve fought off tens of zombies from the prone position, expecting a save at any moment. But nobody, nobody, in this game is “Saving Private Ryan”. No. They are busying privately saving their own asses, far away from me and the zombie dance-off happening on my virtual face.

It would be easy to criticise individual players, to name and shame those who have sacrificed this friendly stranger, but I don’t blame them for the egregious selfishness that this game seems to milk from the last remaining reptile glands in the human brain. No, I don’t blame the player. I don’t even blame the zombies.

I blame the lack of a uniform. I blame the lack of a flag.

Left for Dead paints you as an individual, not the member of a team. You’ve been thrown together with these other folks and, hell, you may not even like them. Who are they you, eh? Zombie fodder, that’s what. Hot, juicy flesh for the dead-ites to chow down on while you clamber over that fence and are away on your toes to freedom. So long, seemingly amicable “Coach”, you are too slow on the uptake to realise that when I set the house on fire, I was really lighting a zombie barbeque with you as main course. Toodleoo, “Stereotypical Redneck Guy”. See you around, “Guy who is in a White Suit for no reason”. Give me that health pack and bullets, “Token Female”, you don’t want to carry those … let me.

Like I said, average player = average people. And average people screw you over every time. Especially the ones in white suits.

So, my ill informed psychological conclusion is this … When the monsters come (and they will), sign up. Get yourself a badge, get yourself a gun, get yourself a uniform. You are not safer with the civilains, you cannot rely on the kindness of strangers.

Regular people suck. Man up soldier, and never leave a man beind.