[b]The “Lightning Child.”[/b] Before long, I, the Baptist, and whatever ragged remains of the Player population had arrived at Bungie’s promise of salvation. The entire surviving Bungie online team, bolstered by a few more Bungie workers and those few volunteers still with them had given up defending the match just before this, in order to fortify their positions on this final one. The map was named “Headlong,” set in a futuristic dockyard of the African city of New Mombasa, it made for a very large map, even bigger than the giant of Containment itself. The map consists of several high-rise, half-completed buildings and roads, with one side barred by a towering city wall and the other by the sea. Skyscrapers and cranes loom over the whole affair, the latter holding steel construction beams and a section of motorway above the battlefield. The famed Teleporter was to the seaward end of the map, sitting on an overpass at the foot of a huge, almost modern art style statue. Gaggles of refugees, in loose groups or straggly lines, were constantly filing through. But the pressure to get through was heavy, and showed no sings of easing off. Many suspected that they would never get through in time. Waiting in grim expectation, a Banshee patrolled the skies while two Warthogs trundled around the roadways of the map. The passenger accompanying the gunner and driver on both vehicles was armed with a Rocket Launcher, in the hope it could harm a Strider. Players lined high ledges and walkways spanning between the high-rise construction sites, armed with grenades, Rocket Launchers, or any weapon they could lay their hands on. Some were holding onto the grips of machine gun or plasma turrets, wondering whether their armaments could actually harm Hacker war machines at all. Finally, waiting below the shelter offered by the overpass, was a Scorpion tank, its old engines grumbling and exhaust pipes belching blue exhaust smoke, ready for action. Survivors of the battle to come would later affectionately dub it the “Lightning Child.” In addition to this were the hundreds of refugees like myself waiting impatiently to be let through the last Teleporter and be on our way to safety. But the pressure to get through was huge, and many doubted they would actually escape before it was too late. In addition, the volunteer Players and Bungie workers had to divert some of their already overstretched manpower from defending against Hackers to the queuing refugees to stop a riot. I, as well as the Baptist, was in an undefined category somewhere between lucky and unlucky in this matter. We were unlucky in that we weren’t close enough to the Teleporter in time. We were lucky in the sense that, when the Hackers did attack, we were in a position that allowed us to get away quickly. The Baptist and I were both caught up to the side of a gaggle of refugees standing near to a footbridge over a road which quickly after took a left turn to go under the overpass, and subsequently to the Lightning Child. The footbridge went straight to a raised path, and an open doorway into one of the closest high-rise buildings. This would be vital to our survival once the Hackers arrived in their usual style of shock and awe. The Baptist started leading another sermon again. I absent-mindedly let my mind drift from the frustration the Baptist caused, and looked around at my surroundings. Surely the Hackers would never use their Striders in such an area. Had they not heard of the battles of Stalingrad or Berlin? The roads between the buildings of the map were wide enough for a Scorpion to pass through well enough; so doubtless a Strider could too. But the problem was that these multi-storey buildings offered so many vantage points for an attack and plentiful routes for escape. It was typical urban combat terrain, giving the defender countless places to hide but the attacker hundreds of nooks and crannies to scour clean before proceeding. Any competent fighter could easily keep an enemy held up for a great length of time in these circumstances, I reckoned. But I did not reckon on the fighting style that the Hackers would employ. The Hackers arrived quite suddenly. Without warning, a Telepoter bigger than a house appeared literally out of nowhere at the opposite end of the map to me. My heart sank when I turned to see it, the midnight black abyss of that giant doorway beckoning like the Grim Reaper itself. Then, the tumultuous grind of tortured metal announced the arrival of a Strider. Stalking through the gaping portal, and looking as menacing as ever, the Strider went to one side of the Teleporter. It was then followed by a second, and a third, and a fourth. They stood in a rough line, as if waiting for a superior’s order to attack. My eyes were only a pair in a sea of the things that now stared disbelievingly upward at not one, but four Striders. The Baptist’s droning incantations stopped. None of us moved, none of us cried out, none of us fired a shot, making for a surreal situation. Such a numerous Hacker deployment had never been witnessed before, and we were horrified. Then, to compound our shock, the Striders all at once howled their distinctive, bone-chilling machine roar, like the one I had heard back at Containment. I slowly started to creep toward the footbridge. On foot, it would take an age for a Player to go from where the Striders were to the seaward end. But the Striders could manage it in at most seven lengthy bounds. But my motion was quickly lost in the stampede of panicked Players that rushed for the Teleporter Bungie had talked of so highly. I quickly crossed the footbridge once I fought through the crowds and stood in the doorway of the high-rise building. Three of the monstrous Striders were loping toward the terrified refugees trapped in a wide and enticing target. The fourth broke away to prowl down a side road. A Strider’s Deletion Gun plucked the solitary Banshee out of the sky before it could even try to evade. As the smoking wreck tumbled downward under gravity, the two Warthogs were already trying to flee from the Strider that had broken off from the others, but only to run straight into the sights of its companions. One Warthog burst into flames as a Strider turned a Deletion Gun onto into, while another kicked the second casually away like a football. The kicked Warthog flew for an impressive distance, hurtling with terrible speed into a pack of helpless refugees, mowing them down before ploughing onward into a wall and exploding spectacularly. The turrets on overlooking platforms or balconies opened up on the nearest Striders, peppering them with high velocity tracer bullets or Plasma burning at thousands of degrees Celsius. The Striders shrugged it off and Deletion Guns obliterated the emplacements for their efforts. Rocket Launchers and Grenade Launchers again pelted the monoliths before them but their operators were swept out of existence, having only irritated the walking destroyers. With that, the Striders turned their guns onto the inviting target of the petrified refugees, all rushing at once toward Bungie’s promise of salvation. They pelted the terrified rabble with merciless rapid-fire, thinning out the crowds with pitiless precision. This was a massacre, and there was nothing I could do about it. But then, a Strider’s central body was smacked with a devastating blast, hidden by smoke from an explosive detonation. Rumbling into view on the road beneath the footbridge I had crossed was the Lightning Child, its long-barrelled cannon smoking. The Strider reeled back from the strike, and then staggered again as the Lightning Child dealt another blow. Later, an individual would report what he saw on the Internet, including the tank that threw shells “like bolts of lightning.” And so, the term “Lightning Child” was born. The tank blasted off a third shell that stunned its opponent, sending it stumbling forward. Then, by some wonderful fluke, the towering construct’s thin legs caught on the footbridge, removing it’s footing. So, it piled forward like an express train, unsupported, and smacked into the road with a painful crunch behind the Lightning Child, which traversed its turret and pounded one more shell into the underbelly of the beast, this time provoking an even larger, louder, yet curiously black explosion, with metal shards zipping everywhere. Everyone cheered with relief, their crushingly low morale boosted to finally see an enemy fall. But the Striders were well aware of the Lightning Child now, and determined to make it pay. They turned their attention to the armoured fighting vehicle and peppered it with black lances from their Deletion Guns, buckling the armour plating, tearing track sections apart and making fire spout from its ventilators, melting its valiant heart. Then, in an inevitable conclusion, ammunition and fuel ignited in an explosive tumult and tore the turret straight off from within. I gasped and jumped back from the doorway, and the scorched turret flew upward and then landed haphazardly, the gun bent out of shape, across the doorway, barring the entrance. I turned away, knowing I could do nothing. At least the Lightning Child managed to distract the Hackers for some time, and many survivors attribute their successful escape to the brave crew of the tank. It spared me the sight of watching hundreds deleted, but I found myself cut off from the only way out of this accursed game, so I was as good as dead.