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I have just found a file from about 2 years ago which is a story a mate of mine wrote about a game of counter-strike we had, that he was putting on a website. This was from about year 9 at school, so his spelling is a bit off i think. It just makes me chuckle. Im george adams if you are wondering. i dont know why im putting it on. anyhoooo..
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A night over at a Mr. George Adams’ had us hooked into some unsightly hour of the morning with a thoroughly enjoyable multi-player session of this classic Half-Life modification, Counter Strike. It began as per usual. The chosen side being Terrorist, for obvious gangster pleasure preferences such as the AK-47 and double pistols, and for generally acquiring various ‘bad boy’ titles amongst team members and enemies alike.
A good few rounds spent within a non-stop “Jeepathon2k” server seemed quite adequate at the time. Those of you familiar with this arena should be accustomed to it’s simplicity as a test map, therefore making for some of the most hilarious and stupidly bug-filled events of all CS history. This, my friends, was certainly no exception.
George sat at the edge of his seat, drawn in by the suspense of the current situation. I exited the jeep, which had unfortunately become partially embedded in a section of the level’s scenery, following a most spectacularly pathetic attempt at making a jump from a large ramp. A Guerrilla team mate struggled in the wreckage, but was jammed in a horrible blend of poor clipping and dreaded lag. We watched as the player model frantically swung his weapon in the air, and desperately tried to jump from the vehicle; but to no avail. His movements slowed, and intervals between jumping animations grew longer, eventually meeting his demise as the player’s connection timed out. “DeathKiller has left the game” appeared the solemn message on screen; and although disheartened by the tragedy we just witnessed, George and I were able to progress into what had now developed into an extremely hazardous scenario. DeathKiller, despite holding the rank of pure newbie, had left us to fend for ourselves in a one-man battle against the do-gooders.
And so we crept on. It wasn’t far before a distinct and terrifying noise filled our ears. The awful rumble of a jeep engine. Now, having just previously witnessed the destruction of our own ‘Gangstermobile’, we could safely imagine that this could be none other than a band of H+K totting Counter Terrorists, riding triumphantly around the map in a vicious hunt for the remaining enemy.
‘Uh oh. You’ll never make it, Bob,’ whispered George, eyes still fixed at the monitor.
‘Sure I will. You just wait’ I replied, with almost no confidence in my voice whatsoever.
We didn’t have to wait long before we were spotted. Those tense few seconds saw me reloading the clips on both my Berettas, standing firm at my ground, and quite literally crapping it. I had realised the driver’s obvious intention as he roared ever closer, and made my brave decision just at the last moment. Attempting to dive out of harms way, I at once found myself landing harmlessly on the front bumper of the speeding jeep. I wasted no time in going with my adrenaline and instincts, and made a heroic crouch hop atop the bonnet. I looked down through the windshield, and my bemused stare met with that of the man at the wheel. After another split-second’s thought, I pointed my guns and began firing rounds off wildly in his general direction. I couldn’t watch, as the sound was unbearable enough – the crack of every last one of my bullets vacating the chambers, and the “spak” of an occasional few hitting home.
A number of seconds passed, and I then heard the dull “click” of empty clips as I continued rapidly hammering the mouse button. I stopped, and plucked up enough courage to open my eyes and turn back to the screen, expecting the worst. The jeep rolled to a halt, and lying in the driver’s seat before me was the corpse of a rather disfigured SAS soldier. ‘Terrorists win’ exclaimed a voice over a static radio, and the round ended. I turned to George, who’s expression was a picture of sheer joy. A huge grin took over my face as well, and the both of us burst out with laughter; dazed, surprised, but content with success.
Moral: Enjoy Counter-Strike; without having to return home and attempt a game of similar proportions on a supposedly 56k modem which in fact runs at speeds of up to 9,600 BPS. Consider yourselves lucky.
************************************** ************************************
************************************ **************************************
A night over at a Mr. George Adams’ had us hooked into some unsightly hour of the morning with a thoroughly enjoyable multi-player session of this classic Half-Life modification, Counter Strike. It began as per usual. The chosen side being Terrorist, for obvious gangster pleasure preferences such as the AK-47 and double pistols, and for generally acquiring various ‘bad boy’ titles amongst team members and enemies alike.
A good few rounds spent within a non-stop “Jeepathon2k” server seemed quite adequate at the time. Those of you familiar with this arena should be accustomed to it’s simplicity as a test map, therefore making for some of the most hilarious and stupidly bug-filled events of all CS history. This, my friends, was certainly no exception.
George sat at the edge of his seat, drawn in by the suspense of the current situation. I exited the jeep, which had unfortunately become partially embedded in a section of the level’s scenery, following a most spectacularly pathetic attempt at making a jump from a large ramp. A Guerrilla team mate struggled in the wreckage, but was jammed in a horrible blend of poor clipping and dreaded lag. We watched as the player model frantically swung his weapon in the air, and desperately tried to jump from the vehicle; but to no avail. His movements slowed, and intervals between jumping animations grew longer, eventually meeting his demise as the player’s connection timed out. “DeathKiller has left the game” appeared the solemn message on screen; and although disheartened by the tragedy we just witnessed, George and I were able to progress into what had now developed into an extremely hazardous scenario. DeathKiller, despite holding the rank of pure newbie, had left us to fend for ourselves in a one-man battle against the do-gooders.
And so we crept on. It wasn’t far before a distinct and terrifying noise filled our ears. The awful rumble of a jeep engine. Now, having just previously witnessed the destruction of our own ‘Gangstermobile’, we could safely imagine that this could be none other than a band of H+K totting Counter Terrorists, riding triumphantly around the map in a vicious hunt for the remaining enemy.
‘Uh oh. You’ll never make it, Bob,’ whispered George, eyes still fixed at the monitor.
‘Sure I will. You just wait’ I replied, with almost no confidence in my voice whatsoever.
We didn’t have to wait long before we were spotted. Those tense few seconds saw me reloading the clips on both my Berettas, standing firm at my ground, and quite literally crapping it. I had realised the driver’s obvious intention as he roared ever closer, and made my brave decision just at the last moment. Attempting to dive out of harms way, I at once found myself landing harmlessly on the front bumper of the speeding jeep. I wasted no time in going with my adrenaline and instincts, and made a heroic crouch hop atop the bonnet. I looked down through the windshield, and my bemused stare met with that of the man at the wheel. After another split-second’s thought, I pointed my guns and began firing rounds off wildly in his general direction. I couldn’t watch, as the sound was unbearable enough – the crack of every last one of my bullets vacating the chambers, and the “spak” of an occasional few hitting home.
A number of seconds passed, and I then heard the dull “click” of empty clips as I continued rapidly hammering the mouse button. I stopped, and plucked up enough courage to open my eyes and turn back to the screen, expecting the worst. The jeep rolled to a halt, and lying in the driver’s seat before me was the corpse of a rather disfigured SAS soldier. ‘Terrorists win’ exclaimed a voice over a static radio, and the round ended. I turned to George, who’s expression was a picture of sheer joy. A huge grin took over my face as well, and the both of us burst out with laughter; dazed, surprised, but content with success.
Moral: Enjoy Counter-Strike; without having to return home and attempt a game of similar proportions on a supposedly 56k modem which in fact runs at speeds of up to 9,600 BPS. Consider yourselves lucky.
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I have just found a file from about 2 years ago which is a story a mate of mine wrote about a game of counter-strike we had, that he was putting on a website. This was from about year 9 at school, so his spelling is a bit off i think. It just makes me chuckle. Im george adams if you are wondering. i dont know why im putting it on. anyhoooo..
************************************ **************************************
A night over at a Mr. George Adams’ had us hooked into some unsightly hour of the morning with a thoroughly enjoyable multi-player session of this classic Half-Life modification, Counter Strike. It began as per usual. The chosen side being Terrorist, for obvious gangster pleasure preferences such as the AK-47 and double pistols, and for generally acquiring various ‘bad boy’ titles amongst team members and enemies alike.
A good few rounds spent within a non-stop “Jeepathon2k” server seemed quite adequate at the time. Those of you familiar with this arena should be accustomed to it’s simplicity as a test map, therefore making for some of the most hilarious and stupidly bug-filled events of all CS history. This, my friends, was certainly no exception.
George sat at the edge of his seat, drawn in by the suspense of the current situation. I exited the jeep, which had unfortunately become partially embedded in a section of the level’s scenery, following a most spectacularly pathetic attempt at making a jump from a large ramp. A Guerrilla team mate struggled in the wreckage, but was jammed in a horrible blend of poor clipping and dreaded lag. We watched as the player model frantically swung his weapon in the air, and desperately tried to jump from the vehicle; but to no avail. His movements slowed, and intervals between jumping animations grew longer, eventually meeting his demise as the player’s connection timed out. “DeathKiller has left the game” appeared the solemn message on screen; and although disheartened by the tragedy we just witnessed, George and I were able to progress into what had now developed into an extremely hazardous scenario. DeathKiller, despite holding the rank of pure newbie, had left us to fend for ourselves in a one-man battle against the do-gooders.
And so we crept on. It wasn’t far before a distinct and terrifying noise filled our ears. The awful rumble of a jeep engine. Now, having just previously witnessed the destruction of our own ‘Gangstermobile’, we could safely imagine that this could be none other than a band of H+K totting Counter Terrorists, riding triumphantly around the map in a vicious hunt for the remaining enemy.
‘Uh oh. You’ll never make it, Bob,’ whispered George, eyes still fixed at the monitor.
‘Sure I will. You just wait’ I replied, with almost no confidence in my voice whatsoever.
We didn’t have to wait long before we were spotted. Those tense few seconds saw me reloading the clips on both my Berettas, standing firm at my ground, and quite literally crapping it. I had realised the driver’s obvious intention as he roared ever closer, and made my brave decision just at the last moment. Attempting to dive out of harms way, I at once found myself landing harmlessly on the front bumper of the speeding jeep. I wasted no time in going with my adrenaline and instincts, and made a heroic crouch hop atop the bonnet. I looked down through the windshield, and my bemused stare met with that of the man at the wheel. After another split-second’s thought, I pointed my guns and began firing rounds off wildly in his general direction. I couldn’t watch, as the sound was unbearable enough – the crack of every last one of my bullets vacating the chambers, and the “spak” of an occasional few hitting home.
A number of seconds passed, and I then heard the dull “click” of empty clips as I continued rapidly hammering the mouse button. I stopped, and plucked up enough courage to open my eyes and turn back to the screen, expecting the worst. The jeep rolled to a halt, and lying in the driver’s seat before me was the corpse of a rather disfigured SAS soldier. ‘Terrorists win’ exclaimed a voice over a static radio, and the round ended. I turned to George, who’s expression was a picture of sheer joy. A huge grin took over my face as well, and the both of us burst out with laughter; dazed, surprised, but content with success.
Moral: Enjoy Counter-Strike; without having to return home and attempt a game of similar proportions on a supposedly 56k modem which in fact runs at speeds of up to 9,600 BPS. Consider yourselves lucky.
************************************** ************************************
************************************ **************************************
A night over at a Mr. George Adams’ had us hooked into some unsightly hour of the morning with a thoroughly enjoyable multi-player session of this classic Half-Life modification, Counter Strike. It began as per usual. The chosen side being Terrorist, for obvious gangster pleasure preferences such as the AK-47 and double pistols, and for generally acquiring various ‘bad boy’ titles amongst team members and enemies alike.
A good few rounds spent within a non-stop “Jeepathon2k” server seemed quite adequate at the time. Those of you familiar with this arena should be accustomed to it’s simplicity as a test map, therefore making for some of the most hilarious and stupidly bug-filled events of all CS history. This, my friends, was certainly no exception.
George sat at the edge of his seat, drawn in by the suspense of the current situation. I exited the jeep, which had unfortunately become partially embedded in a section of the level’s scenery, following a most spectacularly pathetic attempt at making a jump from a large ramp. A Guerrilla team mate struggled in the wreckage, but was jammed in a horrible blend of poor clipping and dreaded lag. We watched as the player model frantically swung his weapon in the air, and desperately tried to jump from the vehicle; but to no avail. His movements slowed, and intervals between jumping animations grew longer, eventually meeting his demise as the player’s connection timed out. “DeathKiller has left the game” appeared the solemn message on screen; and although disheartened by the tragedy we just witnessed, George and I were able to progress into what had now developed into an extremely hazardous scenario. DeathKiller, despite holding the rank of pure newbie, had left us to fend for ourselves in a one-man battle against the do-gooders.
And so we crept on. It wasn’t far before a distinct and terrifying noise filled our ears. The awful rumble of a jeep engine. Now, having just previously witnessed the destruction of our own ‘Gangstermobile’, we could safely imagine that this could be none other than a band of H+K totting Counter Terrorists, riding triumphantly around the map in a vicious hunt for the remaining enemy.
‘Uh oh. You’ll never make it, Bob,’ whispered George, eyes still fixed at the monitor.
‘Sure I will. You just wait’ I replied, with almost no confidence in my voice whatsoever.
We didn’t have to wait long before we were spotted. Those tense few seconds saw me reloading the clips on both my Berettas, standing firm at my ground, and quite literally crapping it. I had realised the driver’s obvious intention as he roared ever closer, and made my brave decision just at the last moment. Attempting to dive out of harms way, I at once found myself landing harmlessly on the front bumper of the speeding jeep. I wasted no time in going with my adrenaline and instincts, and made a heroic crouch hop atop the bonnet. I looked down through the windshield, and my bemused stare met with that of the man at the wheel. After another split-second’s thought, I pointed my guns and began firing rounds off wildly in his general direction. I couldn’t watch, as the sound was unbearable enough – the crack of every last one of my bullets vacating the chambers, and the “spak” of an occasional few hitting home.
A number of seconds passed, and I then heard the dull “click” of empty clips as I continued rapidly hammering the mouse button. I stopped, and plucked up enough courage to open my eyes and turn back to the screen, expecting the worst. The jeep rolled to a halt, and lying in the driver’s seat before me was the corpse of a rather disfigured SAS soldier. ‘Terrorists win’ exclaimed a voice over a static radio, and the round ended. I turned to George, who’s expression was a picture of sheer joy. A huge grin took over my face as well, and the both of us burst out with laughter; dazed, surprised, but content with success.
Moral: Enjoy Counter-Strike; without having to return home and attempt a game of similar proportions on a supposedly 56k modem which in fact runs at speeds of up to 9,600 BPS. Consider yourselves lucky.
************************************** ************************************