The Skirmish Manual: A Team-Based Approach

By Mitch Mantock

Prologue - Roles and Responsibilities

Welcome to the world of Skirmish. Some of you may be reading this book to understand more about the game everyone is talking about; others are looking for a way to get better at a game you already know and love. A few of you may even want to get into the arena yourselves, and go to sleep at night dreaming of packed stadiums and blaster sponsorships. Well, no matter who you are, this is the book for you.

Let’s start with the basics. The rules of the game clearly state:

Each official Skirmish team will be made up of five players on a side. Their mission is simple: to eliminate the opposing force (whether in campaign mode or against a human-operated team) before they are eliminated themselves.

Building your team the right way is your key to victory. Each team member must understand their role and balance the others to form a complete unit. In this manual, we’ll dive into the essential pieces that make up a successful Skirmish team. These roles aren’t just based on opinion, but on years of experience from the front lines at top levels of the game. Before you know it, each of the roles—Demolitions, Bulldozer, Rover, Sniper, and Leader—will become second nature to you. You’ll understand how to spot a good teammate, and how to be a good teammate.

Let’s get to it.

“Been a while, old man. Place looks downright fantastic.” Mitch shook McDougall’s hand and slumped down, sinking deep into the chair’s leather, staring back across the desk at his old friend.

“Only a year,” McDougall said, pulling a tired but genuine smile across his face. “Just like the year before. And the year before that. You’re welcome to stop by more, but I feel like I tell you that every time I see you.”

“And I always say I will.”

Mac had grown older since Mitch had last seen him—older than the year that had passed. Mitch respected anyone that hadn’t changed the settings on their Karma Systems avatar to do a nip or tuck here or there. A user who reflected his real-life look, wrinkles and all in this case, was everything that was right in the world. It was a shred of humanity in a life that was growing more and more virtual by the day. One last pinch of welcomed truth for anyone spending eighteen hours a day crammed in a plastic helmet.

You can tell a lot about someone from their settings.

Behind McDougall’s desk was a wall of glass serving as a window to the soul of the inner workings of Karma Systems Headquarters. The complex was a virtual world built for its employees, rarely seen by regular users. Open-air catwalks filled with designers and programmers, a living, breathing virtual hive of activity. Karma had grown at an exponential rate over the years, which certainly added to the weight now sitting on Mac’s shoulders. But if you didn’t know Mac, you’d probably never notice. The old man sat calm and still, keeping a watchful eye from above on the world he’d created, like a bird on a wire. You’d never know the impact he’d had on so many lives by building the most popular game in the history of the world.

They key to the Karma virtual world was a simplicity constructed on a complex infrastructure, one that accounted for every scenario and every consequence a player might encounter. Daily tasks. Marketplaces. Social hubs. Virtual neighborhoods and bars and gymnasiums. But when it came to Karma’s most popular offering, McDougall and his leadership were careful not to screw up a good thing. The gameplay in Skirmish had been carefully guarded over the years, its heart and soul intact from when the game had launched. Sure, there were expansion packs now and then—new maps and new weapons every few weeks—but the core remained, and that’s what kept the game so damn addictive, with the most logged user hours in the world, thirty years running.

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“Once a year works best for my busy social calendar,” Mitch said with a hint of a smile. “Ribbon cuttings, PTA meetings, you know how crazy life can get. Plus, I don’t want you getting too used to me being around. What’s new with you?”

“More of the same, really,” McDougall said. “Trying my best to keep everything together. Our unique user number growth has stalled, which has the board running in ten different directions.”

“Of course user growth has stalled. There are only so many people on Earth.”

“That’s ... that’s what I keep telling them,” McDougall said. “It’s a good problem to have, yes? But advertisers, investors—everyone wants growth.”

“Growth without fucking up what’s already working.”

“Well said. And harder than it sounds. But we’ve got a few other things in the works, hoping to get lucky here and there.”

“Skirmish is still a solid game,” Mitch said. “And it didn’t get that way by accident.”

“Sometimes I feel luck had a lot to do with it,” McDougall said with a shake of his head. “And now I’m getting pushed from every direction for more. More, they all say. More levels, more downloadable content. Premium tiers and micro-transactions. It feels like too much to me. I’m trying to find the right balance. Some days, I just want to leave it the way it is.”

“A lot of people depend on this world,” Mitch said. “Work here. Play here.”

“People like you,” McDougall laughed. “Last I heard you were leading new users through tour groups. Level walkthroughs, that sort of thing.”

“Nothing that violates the terms and conditions.”

“That’s not what I was getting at.”

“It pays the bills.”

“I’m sure it does, and I think it’s great,” McDougall said. “Good for you.”

Mitch laughed off the lie. “It’s a living.”

“And hell, looks like you even wrote the book on Skirmish,” McDougall said, activating a Karma Bazaar screen, with the cover of The Skirmish Manual: A Team-Based Approach now hovering over his desk. “I have to admit I haven’t had a chance to read it quite yet—”

“You’re not alone,” Mitch said. “Don’t bother.”

“There’s still room for you back on the main stage, you know,” McDougall said. “We could do a whole marketing blitz. The board would love that—the return of Spitfire, the greatest Skirmish player to ever—”

“No chance, old man.”

“You’re still at the top of the leaderboard.”

“I don’t pay attention to that shit anymore,” Mitch said.

“I doubt that,” McDougall laughed. “You’re still the closest, you know. My engineers won’t leave me alone about that. We’ve never actually seen what a player with a billion can do in the game environment. We put it out there as a brass ring but never thought anyone would get close. And then you up and leave when you’re so—”

A knock at the door broke Mac’s train of thought. The door cracked open as a young man—one Mitch didn’t recognize—poked his head through. With his glasses and half-long lab coat, he looked out of place, even for a virtual world.

“Carl,” McDougall said, his eyes signaling for Carl to get the hell out of the room. “Can we help you?”

“The progress report you asked for, sir,” Carl replied. “No news to speak of, but you asked for updates every ten minutes until—”

“Yes, of course,” McDougall broke him off mid-sentence. “Thanks so much.”

Carl’s eyes grew to saucers as they met with Mitch’s. He froze in the doorway, unable to move. “Is that ... “ Carl stammered, a finger now pointing through the door and straight at Mitch. “Are you ... “

“Very good, Carl,” McDougall said, gesturing a second time for him to exit. Carl obliged, backing away while keeping his eyes locked as long as humanly possible before sliding back out.

McDougall cleared his throat. “So, now’s the time in this meeting when I ask you to come back.” Mac nodded over to the door. “People always loved how you played the game.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Mitch said. “But you already know the answer.”

“Then why do you keep coming back here every year?”

“I can’t say no to a meeting with the founder,” Mitch said. “You know that.”

“Oh, I see. It’s not that you miss seeing an old friend?”

“We’ll go with your angle, sounds better,” Mitch muttered as he stretched his hands into the air.

“It’s just ... “ McDougall said, his voice fading softly as he turned his back to Mitch, his gaze drifting off through the glass. “This year is different. This year ... I was really hoping you’d say yes.”

“What’s going on, Mac?”

“Nothing,” McDougall insisted. “It’s the work—it’s getting to me. Just in one of my moods.”

“Don’t tip toe around me. It’s different today. You’re different. Two weeks early … updates every ten minutes about something you don’t want me to hear about. Something’s up.”

McDougall stared back at Mitch, his face fading to worry. He took a few careful breaths before finding the right words. “What if an old friend were to ask a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Just a quick bit of help. We’re in a bit of a bind, and I’m—”

“I’m not coming back,” Mitch said. “No more spotlights, no more stadiums, no more trading cards. I’m done with all that shit.”

“And normally I wouldn’t ask you to. But ... something’s happened. I’m sure it’s nothing, but we need an ... expert ... a specialist ... someone who knows the system inside and out.”

“An expert?” Mitch asked. “Mac—what are you talking about?”

McDougall stood, turning towards the window, watching the world he had created move around him in perfect lockstep. “It’s your old team,” he said. “The Nefarious Five.”

“Nope,” Mitch stood, backing away from the desk. “Don’t want anything to do with them anymore. They’ve grown into something that I don’t want any part of.”

“They’re in trouble, Mitch.”

Mitch’s eyes froze. What does he mean, trouble?

“I sent them out on a mission,” Mac continued. “It’s my fault, Mitch, I know that now. Asked them to head into something without knowing what I was dealing with.” He turned back to face Mitch. “We haven’t heard from them. Odds are it’s nothing, just a glitch. A problem with the comm link in the new virtual space. But people are starting to ask questions.”

Mitch fell back into his chair.

“We’ve tried everything,” McDougall said. “Considerable resources. They’ve all come up empty. You’re the last option I could think of.”

Mitch watched the catwalks behind Mac’s silhouette, moving, living, breathing with activity. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t understand what was happening, but had a feeling he was about to find out.

“I need your help, Mitch. Please.”