Would you like some zyme with that?

Whilst mucking about in Deus Ex I decided to hit the Multiplayer tab just for shits and giggles. An eight year old game, I hardly expected any servers to be running, let alone be populated.

How wrong I was.

Sorting by players and joining the first server on the list, I was dumped into a large pool full full of random objects. A few crates, some basketballs, a couch and a Buddha statue were all floating on the surface. Jumping out of the pool, I took stock of my surroundings and inventory. I was in a simple, sparsely populated courtyard carrying only some credits, a lockpick and a multitool.

My starting area. It was almost as someone had moved all the objects off the streets and in to the pool.

Behind me, a long grey building featured a couple of teller windows and a gigantic sign that read “Deus Ex Shopping”. Listed under this sign were some prices; drinks started at $20, spirits at $40 and pistols $100. Lastly, a surprisingly conspicuous footnote outlined the rules: Don’t kill anyone. As if the pool wasn’t strange enough, reading this sign confirmed the fact that I had absolutely no idea what was going on. I walked up to one of the teller windows, but it seemed no-one was home. Shame, I thought; multiplayer environments are always so hostile, and I was looking to purchase a shotgun and partake.

The sign also reminded patrons to keep an eye on the top picks table, where only the hottest items of the day are put on display!

It was at this point I turned around and was accosted by none other than JC Denton. What the hell he was doing here was beyond me. He stared at me for a second as I pondered his presence.

“Hi.” he said.
“Hey.” I replied.
“Wanna be a cop?”

I thought about this for a second, and decided it would be a good idea.

“OK.”
“Follow me.”

Denton then lead me through a series of concealed passageways, into the police station, past its detention centre and into its armoury.

The casual manner in which Mr. Denton led me to his stash of weapons was slightly unnerving.

Layed out on a long table was every weapon in the game. Buckshots, assault rifles, GEP guns and plasma rifles. The urge to pick up the Dragon’s Tooth straight away was near irresistable, but I didn’t want to risk offending Mr. Denton by taking his prized possession.

“Pick up the Baton.” he said. It seemed he had a different loadout in mind for me anyway. I picked up the Baton.
“Now pick up the Stun Prod.” I did so.
“Now pick up the pistol.” I obliged, and picked it up.
“Now you are a cop.”

I thought about this for a second and decided that yes, he was right. I was now a cop.

Unfortunately, savouring my promotion would have to be postponed, as at that point a Majestic 12 trooper found his way into the police station and confronted us outside the armoury.

The MJ12 troop wielding his "fire sword" variant of the Dragon's Tooth.

The trooper’s objective was simple. He wanted to be a cop as well. Perhaps he had seen Mr. Denton taking me to the police station and felt jealous. Whatever the case, it was never to be. Mr. Denton deemed him unworthy, and ordered me to help take the trooper down. Drawing our batons and charging straight at him, we whack away and bring the troop under submission.

Ever the generous soul, Mr. Denton decided that the detention centre was too harsh a punishment, and sentenced the MJ12 troop to some community service in the local shop. He also assigned me to watch over him.

Things inside the shop were a bit of a mess, but we soon get the place cleaned up.

Mr. Denton kindly showed us the ropes, then left on official cop business. The trooper – who I’d affectionately come to know as Carl – helped me clean the place up and re-stock the shelves. The store had a pretty wide selection, ranging from flowers, soft drinks and protein bars to liquor, grenades and even some zyme. I manned the teller window for some time while Carl fetched the stock I needed to serve customers.

Carl and I, manning the shop.

Since the game doesn’t feature an item trading mechanic, serving customers was a very analog experience. The teller window was blocked by a shutter, which slid open when I pressed a button on my side of the shop. The customer then selected the credit chits in their inventory and dropped them on the teller window’s counter. He tells me what he wants, I take the money, Carl fetches the item, gives it to me, and I place it on the counter in return. The customer then takes the item, and business concludes.

Things were going well, until Mr. Denton showed up again…this time, as a customer.

Mr. Denton: a little under the weather.

“Give me liquor.” said Mr. Denton. I try to tell him that he looks like he’s had enough, but he insists. Carl retrieves a bottle of rum from the storeroom, and I place it on the counter. Mr. Denton takes it without paying, and walks off! Official cop business indeed. I run out of the store and give chase, only to find him hassling a poor, defenceless young lady with his stun prod.

What she was doing out so late I had no idea.

I used to look up to Mr. Denton. I thought he was a good, honest cop. A real servant of the people. But the alcoholism, abuse of power and eye for every pretty young thing that walks by make him what he really is. I quit the force, and threw my baton, stun prod and pistol into the pool. They sunk to the bottom – past the crates, basketballs, couches and Buddha. I stare at the pool for a while, and wonder again how these other random objects came to be floating here in the water. Perhaps they have similar stories behind them.

I don’t think I’ll ever find out.