I Killed Gordon Freeman

Any PC gamer worth his or her salt will agree with this axiom: within the microcosm of video gaming, a custom built, high-end PC reigns supreme. It is the most powerful weapon in a PC gamer’s arsenal, and becomes even more capable when married with high-end peripherals. So why is it that my computer rests comfortably on the bedroom carpet where the most strenuous activity it knows is to play music while running MS Word? Why is it that the only games installed are those scant few that came bundled with Windows 7?

Why is my keyboard a 10 dollar toss-away and my mouse some off-brand disgrace that lacks a middle scroll-wheel? Why is my monitor a cheap Gateway model—one that uses a VGA connection and ghosts when playing YouTube videos—and why are my speakers a 20 dollar bargain bin pair that fall behind my desk when I shuffle my feet around?

It gets worse: I have an Intel processor, but I do not remember what kind; an NVidia card, model unknown; and 8 gigs of RAM that I think is DDR2, but I’m not sure. Even Steam, where all my Half-Life goodness lives, is absent from the control panel’s programs’ list. In fact, the last PC game to appear there was Will Wright’s magnum opus Spore. And despite the fact that it received high marks from critics, I only played it for several weeks before uninstalling it.

Blasphemy, you say? Perhaps, but things were not always this bleak. There was a time when I played competitively in several FPSes, had multiple subscriptions to popular MMOs, and was able to rattle off the name, spec, and price of every component in my system—both internal and external. I knew refresh rates, and polygon counts, and overclocking tweaks, and how to properly optimize Windows.

I followed the development of software patches and quick-fix community Band-Aids with the same anxious trepidation that I normally reserved for those (all to) frequent jaunts to the outside world for more Doritos or Mountain Dew. I sunk hours upon hours into modding popular RPGs, FPSes, and RTSes. My reflexes were so well developed that I was able to simultaneously close Firefox and zip up my pants when I heard those heavy, anti-climactic footsteps hammering down the basement stairs.

So what the hell happened? What would cause such a staunch PC supporter to fall by the wayside? Did PC gaming become too expensive or complicated? No. Did consoles lure me away with their promises of exclusivity? No. Did I get hit in the head with a brick? Once when I was 12, but I recovered. The real reason for all the disarray is this: piracy destroyed PC gaming.

My rabbit now uses Spore’s “Galactic Edition” box as her chew toy.

Let me elaborate: It all started with The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I’d previously pirated and played through The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, and was captivated by its immersive world and free-form design. So naturally, Oblivion was on my most wanted list. I followed the development of the game with a passionate fervor, and I savored every screenshot and trailer that leaked out. The day it released I queued up a torrent and paced the basement as my bandwidth squeezed every last kilobyte of RPG brilliance onto my hard drive.

Now, when Oblivion released I’d already acquired a vast collection of pirated software, so while waiting for the torrent to throttle up I thumbed through my collection and came across a copy of Star Wars: The Knights of the Old Republic. I remembered downloading it, but could not remember playing it. In fact, 90% of the games in my collection had never been installed. The ISO images were burned to discs and then dumped in the Windows’ recycling bin. I looked at the acronym scrawled across the CD in black Sharpie marker—KOTOR—and wondered why I had never played a game that was universally well-received by critics and fans.

So once Oblivion downloaded I installed it, created a sexy female warrior and then set her loose in lands of Cryodiil. Over the course of the next week I chalked up 8 hours of playtime—rather weak considering the size of the game—before abandoning it. I never went back.

The next release I anticipated was Rise of Nations: Rise of Legends. I quickly found a torrent and patiently waited for it to download. However, once it finished, I was already looking forward to the next big game: Half Life²: Episode One. I downloaded that while Rise of Nation’s image file sat unused on my hard drive. I played the opening sequence to Episode One—getting as far as being thrown back into the Citadel by Dog—before moving on to the next release. Titan Quest, Prey, Battlefield 2142, Splinter Cell: Double Agent, Neverwinter Nights 2, and Medieval II: Total War followed the same pattern—they were downloaded but never installed. I simply burned them to discs and placed them snugly into over-sized CD wallets.

Most of these games have never seen the inside of a CD drive.

It was then I realized something: I spent more time browsing torrent sites then I did gaming. I spent more bandwidth downloading .RAR archives then I did fragging my Counter-Strike clansmen. Something changed; PC gaming was no longer tangible, and the devotion I once reserved for it was replaced with flat indifference. Games were just worthless bits of information streaming across a CAT-5 cable, and I cared more about amassing a collection of software than I did about the actual hobby. I’d become a hoarder of executable cracks and key generators. And with that admission I managed to single-handedly destroy my favorite hobby

Someone once said, “If you give a poor man a dollar he’ll thank you because he understands the importance of money; but if you give him one million he’ll thank you because he no longer needs that understanding.” You see, I was a poor man, and my million dollars was minted in fresh, laser-etched DVD-R’s. Digital thievery blinded me, and I never allowed myself to see the importance of the culture that absorbed me.

When a commodity becomes free (and plentiful), it will often lose its appeal. Imagine that every time you turn on your computer and push the ‘escape’ button a Snickers bar pops out of the USB port. At first you’d be excited. “Boy, I love Snickers,” you’d say as you peeled back the crisp plastic wrapper. “I can’t believe I can get these for free now!” The next time you push the escape button another Snickers bars pops out. You smile and sink your teeth in. Now, after eating 20 Snickers bars you might still like the idea of free candy pouring from your computer’s ports, but your initial elation has probably subsided.

After 40, you realize that you haven’t been finishing the tasty treats and that there’s a box of half-eaten Snickers bars melting in the corner of your office. After 60 your teeth are so eroded and dotted with cavities that the idea of eating another candy bar makes your incisors hurt. Finally, after choking down 80 you swear off Snickers bars for good, and you rip the escape button from your keyboard. Now, imagine that 20 thousand other people are doing the same exact thing. Sales of Snickers would drop dramatically. The chocolate industry would crumble. Peanuts supplies would spoil. Caramel nougats would file for unemployment.

Mr. T says, “Get some nuts and stop piracy!”

That may be a bit overly-dramatic, but the fact that this is happening with PC games is still just as troubling. People on both sides tend to look at piracy in terms of dollars, either saved or lost; and while this is an important perspective, it neglects to acknowledge the underlying erosion that takes place each time a copy of The Sims 3 or Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 is downloaded. The very fabric of our gaming culture is threatened because of people like me—people who cheated the system for so long that any benefits obtained from said digressions became just as frivolous as the act of pirating itself. Even now people are inventing new arguments for piracy: DRM is too intrusive and restrictive, mega-corporations like Activision and EA are too greedy or manipulative, and so on. While this subterfuge may sooth troubled consciences, it will not mend broken wings.

The fact is this: both sides of this struggle need to re-examine how piracy affects the culture of video gaming, as well as its effect on how people view video games as a product. Changes need to be made, and people need to realize that the impact from software piracy not only rattles the economy, but also the fundamental raison d’être of gaming. In the end it’ll be consumers that either thrust PC gaming into the stratosphere or bury it in the dirt. This is war, and both sides are recruiting. Where will you stand?