I played my first Call of Duty since 2005 and what I found was horrifying

In the darkness of the night, I can still recall my memories of the war. Battling my way through snow-laden Russian streets, charging a building through the cover of a smoke grenade. The roar of a tank in an armored division somewhere far in the desert. Racing to the Reichstag as we approach the crescendo of it all, then watching the credits roll by after I complete the campaign.

Then, in 2006, Call of Duty 3 only came out on consoles, and I haven’t spent time with the series since.

Fall of Duty: How it all began

Every story has a beginning, and I’d wager most of you haven’t read its opening chapters. You see, at one point, CoD was just one shooter of many, an interesting and cinematic take on World War II, the conflict seemingly everyone was trying to explore at the time with their games. It even had a demo!

Now, I hopped on the WWII train long ago with the original Wolfenstein 3D, and later, like many adolescent boys, I had a period of fascination with the planet-scarring conflict. It’s no wonder then that I really enjoyed my time with the first Call of Duty, even if I was too much of a purist to appreciate regenerating health and other stage tricks introduced by its direct sequel. You see, my father and I merrily savescummed our way through many a single-player campaign back in those days, and my deeply ingrained idea of FPS games involved repeatedly reloading and ducking and weaving until we finally survived the next set piece with precious little HP left, forever backtracking for medkits and ammo.

Multiplayer? Had neither the means nor the interest. In fact, they’d only coalesce in 2011, when Team Fortress 2 became free-to-play. Needless to say, I mained the Spy, but most of my midnight gaming sessions continued to feature Civ instead. I ended up sinking a decent amount of time into Counter-Strike later on once the Majors came around and piqued my interest, mainly because of the misbegotten hope that, while I may be slow and inaccurate and I might still tense up with every gunfight to this day, at least there’s a large enough cerebral component where I can—could—outwit and outmaneuver my mostly Silver-rated enemies.

Call of Duty, though? Nah. I missed out on the Doritos and the Mountain Dew, though, as you can see, some of the memes still sideswiped me. But then again, there’s this open beta thing now for MW3, I’ve edited a handful of articles on the game, I heard and read great things, and just like how TF2 was in those innocent days, it happens to be free…?

The world of raging kids and 1v1ing IRL was just a download button away…

Lots of setup, little payoff

I gingerly launch the game, ready to jot down some notes of my first impression. I’m immediately prompted to create an Activision account. (I really should be able to log in with my Microsoft credentials now, but Battle.net will have to suffice.) Then I need to grab a driver update for my trusty GTX 970 from forever ago, a remnant of the pre-crypto boom days, with NVIDIA’s installer helpfully reminding me that the MW3 PC beta is RTX On. I make a mental note to ask my colleagues for screenshots instead of taking my own.

The loading screen rolls by, I shed a tear at the sight of the Raven logo, then do the administrative busywork. I accept license terms, waive my class-action rights, generate yet another bloody password, click through some settings, and then restart for an update.

…Hang on, why are there blood and horror violin strings in my Call of Duty cutscene? Ah, right, Zombies mode. The pentagram doesn’t feel like an appropriate thematic fit, but who am I to judge?

I skip the battle pass, then skip the battle pass again. Things get initialized, I have to escape from a few menus, and then I can finally load up a game. Never mind, I need to restart again for another update. Then I need to accept a code of conduct. Then I need to lower the music volume. Then it’s time to wait for every asset to load and download. Then, 20 minutes after I first pressed the play button, the gods of modern gaming finally decided to give me an opportunity to play.

A nonlethal combatant

Sufficiently annoyed, I jump into Cutthroat (no idea what it is), and I let my teammates choose between Favela and Skidrow.  Suddenly, white noise flares up from a tinny, echoey microphone, and I almost go deaf. I rush to the menu to turn off all voice comms. It might make this less pure of a CoD experience for now, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

While I jot down these notes, I get killed at the spawn. And just like that, the round is already over.

What?

Still recovering from the culture shock, we swap to what I assume is the defensive side since even though it’s Spetsnaz, it’s blue on the HUD. (I will realize my error soon enough.) Running side-by-side with my teammate to buildings unknown, I try to open a door with E, so I end up throwing a grenade instead. No worries, I jump in a window to escape the blast, somehow end up flanking an enemy, and after realizing I should probably keep shooting once they’re on the ground and crawling away, I score my maiden kill. I’m traded a second later, but since I don’t even understand the rules, I take it as a win.

In retrospect, I should have quit while I was “ahead,” sporting that juicy 0.2 K/D. Not gonna lie: I did not expect to see recoil in Call of Duty, and the kill cams make everyone else seem remarkably good at suppressing it. Neither did I expect quite this many menu options. Seeing all the unlocks and operators and loadouts, I realize just how tough a job game designers have when it comes to onboarding players. The mere number of variables makes me bored. These are systems I’m not willing to engage with.

I move on to Ground War, and at least I’m treated to a fun sense of scale and the occasional victorious gunfight. My latent single-player campaign grind skills come in handy as I aimlessly shoot at an enemy transport helicopter and get a juicy assist for my trouble. It’s nice and chaotic fun, but one that outlives its welcome quite quickly.

So I run in and die and run in and die and run in and die a few more times, and I begin to miss the heroics of WWII and the melancholy anti-war quotes that showed up every time I passed away. I figured I’d jump in the Mosh Pit and mess around a little more, but the game crashes on the loading screen. I take it as a sign to go to bed.

I dream of grey, dilapidated buildings and screaming 12-year-olds.

Was that a fart noise?

So I figured I’d come back the next day and unmute the comms, take some abuse, and explore what the community has to offer. I was called idiot noob and fakin purpl so many times in CS, it’s not like the best and brightest of the CoD beta can come up with anything new.

Search and Destroy seems like a more familiar experience, with an objective and a defusal prompt ringing a bell or two. I rush after my teammate with what seems like red plastic skin—modern military camo is weird, man—and get caught in an unexpected crossfire a few seconds later.

Sure, jumping into multiplayer and not really knowing what’s going on, getting killed over and over again as you explore the map is a time-honored tradition in gaming. Still, this feels oddly floaty, yet weighed down by the many tools and prompts. Do you really need approximately three quadrillion loadout slots for a set of 10-second gunfights?

“EGRUUUU BOJGANGEEEE,” shouts somebody. “Fucking Hagia Sophia [unintelligible],” screams back someone else. Then some slurs follow. No—worse than that; slurs slurred over a terrible quality microphone. The ultimate gaming war crime.

I decide to stick around for another round or two, just to see how annoyed this quality human being will be by my terrible play. I don’t think he saw my first death, but he was making some concerning moaning sounds. Final minutes, goes the in-game announcer as the round reaches its crescendo. It all goes quiet. Then our guy loses the clutch. The shouting and the screaming begin, and I have to stifle a laugh. This is exactly what I imagined.

We win the next round as I aimlessly wander around in a three-vs-one. Someone starts baaaing. The swears and slurs flare up again.

You know what? Yes, it was probably a fart noise. I stick it out until the defeat screen and then quickly quit the MW3 beta, leaving Call of Duty behind for another 18 years.