The Mona Lisa.
The Fur Elise.
E.T.
Everyone has their masterpiece. Their crowning glory.
To all of us, there was none greater than Urban Assault, as it had been haphazardly named. Bob had no other gauntlet, no test more perfect. He had built the perfect beast. And he knew it. Only the end level students were allowed to participate, and you only got one shot. It was a two man exercise, unusual for Bob’s games. There was no pass or fail. You were evaluated on performance and longevity alone. No one who went through UA was allowed to talk about it, and whispers and rumors spun wildly around. Not even the sub-instructors knew what it was. Bob alone sat in the throne of knowledge, changing details every year, so that even if there was chatter, it would be wrong come the test.
The tension was palpable in the small conference room. Bob stood there, soaking in it. Between him and us was a battered old table with a rattle cooking pot sitting on it. He held out his hand. Popsicle sticks. This really was a game to him. He tossed all of the sticks, each one with one of our names on it into the pot. None of us knew what was ahead, so apprehension was extreme during the stick draw.
Matt and I drew each other. From across the room, we nodded at each other slightly. Once the pairings were made, Bob dismissed us.
The elegance of this masterpiece was in its simplicity.
Capture the fucking flag…
The next morning we were dropped off at a motel in the heart of the city. We had been briefed, and the premise was straightforward.
The ‘flag’ was somewhere on the 21st story of a high-rise building we were given the address to. We had one week to prepare however we saw necessary. There were 3 2-person teams. Each team had been dropped off at a different location surrounding the high-rise. The game would begin at exactly 2am on Monday.
It had been named Urban Assault by someone.
But everyone who ever went through the program knew that the final test was really called Urban Insanity...
