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At the time, I did not know that Halo had a single-player mode all I knew was this moment of multiplayer glory. My brother and I pleaded with my parents with all our might, and an Xbox and a copy of Halo were not long in coming. I went on to finish second on the leaderboard, a seemingly impossible feat. The vision of that kill is burned into my synapses with the fury of a hallucinogen trip. I turned to face the entrance of the base. I got in, excited to drive, but it was the wrong side I was trapped in the passenger seat. I found a drivable vehicle crashed into the front of the other base. I set out from my spawn location across the map, stumbling across a rocket launcher in no-man’s-land. My brother, my teacher, another classmate, and I loaded into a game of 4-person Slayer on Blood Gulch. I had never seen an Xbox I was new to consoles, our family having only recently purchased a GameCube after much begging and pleading. I had heard of Halo, but had never played it.
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My brother and I, plus several of the boys in our eighth grade math class, were invited to a game night that our math teacher was hosting at a nearby tech center. I first encountered Halo one school night in 2003. The Halo formula was a prime fit for a certain type of masculine upbringing: player-versus-player combat with an arsenal of futuristic weaponry, a male soldier protagonist, a female sidekick, and hordes of aliens to slaughter. Released in 2001 as a launch title for the original Xbox, Halo: Combat Evolved, along with its sequels, was something of an adolescent rite of passage for many suburban and urban millennial men in the United States, Europe, and Australia. Image: Bungie/Microsoft Game Studios 343 Gamer Start But I was a child who kept secrets to survive: as trans writer Kai Cheng Thom once referred to herself, a “soldier in soul.” And I spent much of my childhood playing soldier in Halo.
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I created for myself boxes within boxes, each padlocked. I understood by my young experience that this was not an allowable feeling. I constructed for myself an armor to protect the feeling that I knew should not exist within me: the feeling I got the first time I played Word Rescue for MS-DOS at age 4, the feeling of flight that arose within me when I played as the female character and saw her hair flutter in her jump animation.
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I was in the closet, or perhaps I contained a closet. My best friend bragged about his father’s Navy hat, citing years of service he gloated knowingly about the “scrambled eggs” embellishment on the visor and how he would have a hat like that someday. We chased girls around the playground in a strange, gender-segregated game of tag. I played with the white boys on the playground, but I wasn’t white, nor was I a boy (a fact I would not realize for many years). When I was 6 years old in the 1990s, I lived in a Navy town with a mostly white population. To live within dissociation is to live wearing armor. When I was a child, I hoped to grow up to become a soldier.