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Half-Life 2’s Zombie Chopper achievement elevates Ravenholm to a true horror masterpieceThe first time I’ve ever truly cared about failing to get a cheevo
The first time I’ve ever truly cared about failing to get a cheevo
Image credit:Rock Paper Shotgun/Valve
Image credit:Rock Paper Shotgun/Valve
At the start of Ravenholm, you’ve got saw blades galore to help you on your Zombie Chopper mission. |Image credit:Rock Paper Shotgun/Valve
Looking back 13-odd years later, I’m still not entirely sure why I did it, to be honest. I normally don’t care two figs about achievements, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve actively pursued a specific challenge like this. But for whatever reason, I clearly thought, “Yeah, I’ll have a pop at that,” without fully realising what I’d set myself up for. In some ways, though, I’m sort of glad I did, as it revealed to me arguably the greatest horror in all video games: running out of chuffing ammo you’ve pieced together from a sparse smattering of saw blades, wood planks and anything else that you can possibly glomp into your gravity gun’s claws.
At first, you’ve got saw blades up the wazoo. They’re all over the place, lodged into floors, lying on tables, wedged into those aforementioned torsos… You’ve got plenty to pick from if your current serrated edge of choice accidentally pings off into the distance when you lob it an oncoming crowd of zombos, or the sheer number of headcrabs surrounding you makes it difficult to retrieve it from where its landed on the floor. You can’t carry them with you like regular ammo, of course, but the ready availability of them lulls you into a false sense of security, and for a while I thought I’d have the Zombie Chopper achievement bagged in no time at all.
It’s never a good sign if you’ve resorted to firing explosive barrels. That way madness (and almost certainly instant death) lies. |Image credit:Rock Paper Shotgun/Valve
But as soon as you meet Father Grigori raving from his rooftop, that supply of one-hit kill blades almost instantly dries up. Your options to defend yourself rapidly shrink down to that one last death disc you’ve been carrying around for the past 15 minutes, and that single blade suddenly becomes your entire lifeline. Honestly, the frantic pace at which I searched nose to the ground, desperately scurrying past the hordes in front of me trying to find my beloved saw blade again so I could fire it off a second time only got tenser and tenser as time wore on, and I even started positioning myself into tight, badly lit corridors so I stood a higher chance of retrieving it without the fear of losing it for good.
Indeed, the thought of being without my saw blade was more terrifying to me than some of the lightning fast monsters stalking Ravenholm’s streets - though their gangly, oil-slick limbs certainly made them scary in their own way, not least when your torch light is running out of battery and they end up vanishing into the shadows at the last minute. I’m too much of a wuss to play a lot ofhorror gamesthese days, but I’ve found that most are actually okay as long as you’ve got something to defend yourself with - see your Resident Evils, Dead Spaces et al for more details. A lack of ammo can certainly rachet up the tension in these games (and can often be a source of frustration if they’re particularly stingy with it), but more often than not you’ve usually gotsomethingto fall back on if all else fails, be it a knife or a generously stocked, if weak, pistol, for example.
Ravenholm is a warren of sharp corners and angled surfaces just waiting to launch your saw blade into oblivion. |Image credit:Rock Paper Shotgun/Valve
But when you’re faced with just a single bullet, so to speak, albeit one you can use over and over again as long as you keep track of it, that dread starts to teeter into full-blown horror territory. Even though you know full well that this is an entirely voluntary situation you’ve put yourself into and there’s really no reason for you to do this whatsoever, you can’t help but feel frightened and desperate as you fiercely cling to this rusty, septic circle in the hopes a small box will pop up on your screen at the end of it congratulating you for being out of your hecking mind. Self-imposed fear is perhaps the most terrible horror of all, because honestly, what sane mind does all this for fun?
