FOV 90
Welcome to FOV 90, an FPS column from staff writer Morgan Park. Every other week, I cover topics relevant to first-person shooter enjoyers, spanning everything from multiplayer and singleplayer to the old and the new.
Last night, during what has become an unhealthy habit of solo Marathon runs before bed, I had a run-in that exemplified everything I love and kinda hate about extraction shooters.
Except, they didn’t show up. Three minutes went by. I could hear them looting valuables, knifing UESC bots, and even hacking the wall-mounted vault that sometimes spawns in the back rooms of South Relay. As I stared blankly at a wall, I pondered what goodies they just found in that vault, if their heart rate shot up at the sight of a purple valuable or gold mod—whatever it was, I imagined it would soon be mine.
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As their boots clunked around further, I thought about how good Marathon’s sound propagation is that I can tell almost exactly where in the adjacent room they’re standing.
Below: The “fight”, but sped up.
They kept fussing around with their inventory, picking up everything that wasn’t nailed down in the entire complex except for the single stairwell/bathroom landing I’d made a temporary home. They’d stop moving for a while, then start clunking again. More backpack rummaging. All the while, I’m staring at a wall.
Nearly five minutes into the showdown that only one of us was aware was happening, my patience was wearing thin, my anxiety skyrocketed, and worst of all, I began to feel ridiculous. Am I a coward for camping this room instead of just instigating a normal fight? What if they’ve spent all this time gearing up with better guns and shields than what I’ve got, and my ambush plan proves to be the very thing that gets me killed? How personally humiliating will it feel if I finally face this guy and lose?
For the life of me, I can’t understand what my rival was still doing in this one building. Surely they’d picked up everything worth having. I noticed that the little bathroom attached to this landing had a vent, and that vent lead directly to the room I suspected they were hiding in. I couldn’t enter it without bashing the grate in first and making a bunch of noise, so nothing to do about that yet. They’d stopped moving almost entirely now, and I had to assume they’d gotten comfortable knowing they had the whole compound to themself. It’d been six minutes.
Then some action: a familiar whirring sound from the next room over. Was that… yes, Thief’s drone. So I finally knew which shell I was up against, at least, but now the problem was they could easily discover me with the drone and have plenty of time to react. This would invalidate the last six minutes of my life, and I couldn’t have it. So I ducked into the little bathroom, tucked my 3D model into the corner as closely as Bungie would allow, and said an atheist’s prayer: oh crap oh crap oh god oh crap.
I got lucky: the Thief wasn’t thorough in their recon and flew past my hidey hole without checking their corners.
As I stared blankly at a wall, I pondered what goodies they just found in that vault, if their heart rate shot up at the sight of a purple valuable or gold mod—whatever it was, I imagined it would soon be mine.
It was at this point I realized that the ending of this face off would determine my mood for the next 12 hours, and that freaked me out for its own reasons. Extraction shooters, especially when played solo, are like mainlining the “choke or clutch” rushes I get from 1v1 Rainbow Six Siege scenarios, but like 18 times per night.
When all ends well, I get a memory to replay on repeat in my brain for a week, feeling good about myself and the game I’ve devoted entire days, sometimes weeks, of my life to. But the inherent stakes of extraction shooters also apply a constant pressure to not lose or else, a familiar dread that drove me to swearing off ranked modes in shooters for good and gravitate toward chiller, often older multiplayer shooters in recent years (like Halo Big Team Battle or Battlefield 6).
It’s a tension that I’ve always had with Hunt: Showdown too, Marathon’s emphasis on “loadout value” affixes an exact number to failure. So that’s why I tend to use free loadouts: It’s more fun to enter a match with a clean slate (the best I can do is win) than a backpack full of expectations (the best I can do is not lose).
Anyways, all that emotional mumbo jumbo would have to be processed later. Seven minutes had passed, and with that drone flying out of earshot, my opening finally arrived. I bashed in the vent grate, Adam Jensen-ed into the adjacent room, and found the lone Thief perched on a countertop in their makeshift fortress. The window shutters were closed and exits trapped with claymores—an almost perfect setup for safely looting the rest of the compound via drone while their body relaxes. It’s too bad they forgot about the vent.
As I blasted them out of their drone view and into DBNO, they attempted to lead me toward a claymore that was already gone—presumably a last-ditch effort to deny me their goods. Maybe a glint of hope persisted for them as two UESC bots rushed into the room, but I blasted them too. Seven minutes and 38 seconds later, the war was over.
The haul was arguably not worth the time and mental strain—a nice green backpack, shield, healing items, and two blue valuables that cashed out for a few thousand credits—but I’ll take the win.
As they held G to give up, a rush of relief washed over me, but also something else. It was a little embarrassing how much I cared about winning this fight, and I couldn’t help but empathize with the Thief. They didn’t really misplay the situation or make a grievous error: they just walked at a normal pace, looted stuff, and even covered their back when deciding to drone. I just happened to spawn closer to South Relay and hear them first. Extraction shooters are kinda bullshit like that.
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