[b]The Exodus from Containment.[/b] The moment I logged on to [i]Halo 2[/i], I was hurled into a match without me even so much as pressing a button. Bewildered, I found myself on a map called “Containment.” Containment is one of the largest maps in the entire game, based in the massive, frozen and twisting valley of a natural fault running between two enormous fortresses. Supposedly built by an extinct race of aliens, the symmetrical fortresses sit on opposite ends of the map, dominating each end with their imposing size. The fortresses, their alien metal a rusted brown against the dazzling white snow and decrepit from millennia of disrepair, loom over an icy and inhospitable tundra. I found myself in the “Southern” fortress-at the bottom end of the map-and confronted by a crowd of shouting players facing an agitated speaker at the centre of their gathering. “Would you all just SHUT UP so I can speak!” Barked the speaker menacingly, silencing his audience. “For the benefit of those who have just arrived, I work for Bungie Studios as a member of the online team. I and many co-workers are operating on the Halo 2 system to try and restore order.” He explained. “We don’t care who you are! Just tell us what’s going on! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Snapped someone in the crowd. The speaker sighed in exasperation. “An unknown number of Hackers have infiltrated the system and are running riot. They’ve armed themselves with modified weaponry capable of not only killing you in-game, but deleting your Xbox Live account in one hit.” He said, in a tone of voice that spoke of a man who had long since stopped caring. Nevertheless, he still provoked a gasp of amazement. “Furthermore, they’ve tampered with the system so that you cannot leave the game simply by quitting. However, we’ve bypassed this. At the end of this map is a Teleporter that will transport you to another match. You’ll find that these circumstances will repeat five more times after this until you reach your goal. There, we’ve established another Teleporter that can safely escort you out of the Halo 2 system. Once there, your account will be kept safe and secure until it’s deemed right to release it again.” He finished, waiting for some antagonist to shout something unhelpful out. But no one did, and soon I was just one part of a lengthy column of digital refugees trudging a winding path across the wastes to our only hope of surviving this experience. As I went, I wondered how exactly Bungie had managed to get this many people onto a single match. The limit of players was 16 in normal circumstances, but my estimate told me this was vastly in excess. I smiled and corrected myself: These were anything but normal circumstances now. No one said anything on the difficult journey, with dozens of Players ahead of them, and dozens more behind, they simply meandered on like automatons. Some compared it to the retreat of German troops at Stalingrad, most just carried on. Once we reached the second fortress, my hopes were not raised particularly high. The defenders, workers of the Bungie online team and foolhardy volunteers, had assembled all the mechanised units they had outside of the fortress wall. In the sky flying patrol were two Banshee aircraft. The alien flying machines were aptly named, as they made a distinctive wailing noise while accelerating. Armed with twin Plasma Cannons, the aircraft was poorly armoured and could be fairly awkward to handle when in the heat of combat. Considering they would be flying against a foe whose imagination literally was the limit as far as capabilities were concerned, I didn’t envy the pilots. Accompanying them on the ground were two Warthog 4x4 vehicles. Rugged and reliable, they had room for a driver, passenger and a gunner for the rear-mounted turret. Like the Banshee, they lacked armour in a sacrifice for speed. Finally we saw two Scorpion MBTs. (Main Battle Tanks.) These formidable, inexorable weapons platforms, these heavily armoured monsters of machines were undoubtedly the best hopes for our defence. They boasted a long-barrelled cannon capable of flinging 90mm shells for miles. Having felt their sting myself, I knew how lethal they could be. But that wasn’t the only thing barring the way for any hacker enemies. All along the wall of the fortress, Players manned machine-gun turrets, grasped Rocket and Grenade Launchers and any other weapons they had to hand. It seemed an impregnable defence to some, and they took heart at the sight, but I was less convinced. Luckily, I was inside the fortress once the hackers finally resolved to test the defences. Others weren’t so fortunate. A substantial number of Players were still in a lengthy column exposed in the open when our new foes made their presence known. First, they bombarded the poor souls outside of the fortress. Suddenly appearing from the other end of the map, warping black blobs-for want of a better word-sailed through the air in long arcs, just waiting for gravity to leisurely send them down again. At first, onlookers were bewildered by this display. Then the “blobs” came down on their heads with explosive results. The blobs detonated on impact with the ground, forming a blooming black rose of destruction. Each explosion then lobbed half a dozen more black blobs in random directions, sowing death and chaos in equal measure. Helpless observers also noted an effect identical to the one I witnessed earlier. These blobs served the same purpose as artillery shells, but left no cadavers after their destruction was wrought. The deceased simply vanished. But that wasn’t all. Our morale sank like a stone as we saw the fate of the vehicles waiting for deployment. The Warthogs were blown apart by direct hits, even as their crew scrambled to escape. Armour shards flew around as ammunition cooked off inside and the vehicles burst into flames. More disheartening was the finding that even tanks couldn’t withstand such powerful weaponry. The Scorpions joined the Warthogs in a fiery demise, their turrets springing high into the air, propelled by exploding fuel within. But before anything could be done, the hacker artillery fire adjusted its aim. Again with startling accuracy, the blobs now pounded the fortress walls. The defenders scattered into cover, fear gripping them as their machine gun turrets were blown into pieces and comrades were violently obliterated. Even refugees such as myself were herded by instinct into shelter as the artillery rained down, shaking us all with shockwaves and blast after blast. I watched in horror as a small knot of defenders flew into panic and routed. Abandoning their posts, they fled across the snowy courtyard behind the wall to escape, but were caught by artillery fire before they even made it halfway. Nothing could be done but to ride out this maelstrom. Then, as suddenly as it had began, the blaze of artillery fell silent. Players looked to each other cautiously, fearing a trick. Then they padded into the open, relieved the bombardment was over. I allowed myself to breath a sigh of relief, but I concentrated, hearing an odd, menacing noise. A clank and grind of servos and gears, a bizarre stomp at regular intervals that made the ground shake slightly. It was almost like listening to a recording of some assembly line. But it stopped abruptly, leaving only a curious silence in its place-the calm before the storm. Then, like everyone else on the map, I jumped in surprise. A machine roar sounded out, terribly loud like someone was yelling into your ear. The booming noise was like a trumpet call for the start of a hunt, and then descended into static and feedback as it died out. No one moved. The source of the deafening announcement, which grated on your nerves like nothing else, was a matt black monolith, a gargantuan colossus whose very appearance spoke of death. It towered even over the fortress wall, supported by four spindly legs, the central section looking like a man’s cowled head. From the central section dangled at least a dozen tentacle-like appendages that swung around and moved seemingly of their own volition. No lights, markings or apertures broke the uniform matt black of this massive machine. Behind it were tracks on the frosty ground, marking its path on the way here and clearly the reason we had heard the ominous mechanical noises moments before. Those on the walls, now sneaking out back to their positions, took deep breaths to steady their nerves. People such as myself felt themselves slowly slinking back out of sight. It was at that point that two different individuals on the fortress wall made two very different decisions. (I know of this only through hearsay, so the reliability of this can easily be disputed.) The first was a simple volunteer who had no real intention of putting himself in harm’s way. The second was a worker for Bungie Studios, whose job was on the line to keep events under control. The volunteer decided to run for the hills. Others in a similarly distressed state followed his example and scampered away. The worker pulled the trigger of his Rocket Launcher, starting the massacre in earnest.