Hide... Shoot... Dodge... Sprint Up... Hide...

It's interesting how something so violent could look so benign. As I was driven to the front of the site, I saw what seemed to be this nice white office building, but really, I knew it housed something much more "sinister". To add to that ominous mood, the entrance was hidden; a simple back exit door with a plaque that read "Defcon Paintball". As soon as I entered, I smelled the paint. It also happened to be poorly lit, compared to the sunshine pouring in from outside. For a moment, I couldn't see, then right in front of me, I saw rows and rows of different models of paintball guns, or "markers", as they like to call them to keep it softcore. It was a gift shop-like area, with equipment and clothing placed neatly around. To the left was where the other twenty-some people were waiting, and soon we got started. The first time for almost everyone, I can imagine that a lot of people were wondering about the pain. I decided that the time to worry about it was when I was actually hit.

After receiving instructions about how to use the marker, we were assigned a team and played a simple round of 3 life elimination. The field seemed pretty small, but all the hollowed out barrels and sand bags made everyone invisible. The first place I got hit was in the watch. Then I got hit in the helmet. Finally, the shell made contact with my shoulder. It stung, but felt very familiar. After each round, we would head back into the waiting area, and fill up on ammo, eat, and get our guns checked if necessary.

Our ref decided to make a rule that the last one ready would get shot in the behind. At first I didn't approve of it, and I was furious when he wasn't kidding. Poor A.Y. was forced to bend over and take it. I didn't watch, and glared at the opposite wall, muttering about cruelty and corrupt people, wondering how the ref would like it if I shot him point-blank in the groin. But he did it so many times that I got used to the ritual. We played several rounds, each with different variations like the number of lives we had, or capture the flag. After 4 hours of crouching, sprinting and shooting, we were all worn out and heavily paintcoated. Everyone had gotten shot several times... All except Lazy Y.

I spent a long time wondering how he could be so good at something he hadn't tried before. He didn't get shot at all, and killed so many people. Only until some random kids showed up with semi-automatic markers with flashing lights and other professional equipment did he finally take one to the elbow. I didn't see how it was possible to transfer "virtual" skills from playing video games into real life. Then I realized that I was being stupid, and I had been assuming the whole time that he was only good because he played video games. Obviously, I should give him more credit.

Lazy Y was like the guy here, but without the awesome dual wielding paintball guns. He got a rental instead.