In a very real way, the game most of us has been playing since the advent of surplus agriculture and the kings and the invention of money and everything that followed is, very plainly, Follow the Leader. This manifests, also, as following the bouncing ball and the classic con, the shell game. 


What you should all be waking up to right now is the game we need to be playing, the game we’re all going to start playing weather we like it or not in the very immediate future— and for Americans I mean this 2018 summer— is Run for Your Lives. 

If you’re playing Running for Your Life as you would na horror movie— running scared and trying to stay ahead of the terror— that masked fucker is going to cut you down before the third reel, in the utmost climax of your orgasmic horror. A perfect ending to a life of dutifully suffered protestant mediocrity. It isn’t for me.

Why am I different? Because I get that you can’t win Run for Your Life if you’re in a horror movie— only one person gets out of a horror movie alive. I’m pretty sure that if you aren’t having the time of your life playing Run for Your Life, you’re guaranteed to lose your life. 

This is the fundamental difference between a pawn and Player. A pawn isn’t alive to his life on the board; a Player is, and when she’s awake to the narrative in play and to the contours of the board, and perhaps even has a host of endogenous cheat codes to her advantage, a Player  does more than run. She has fun hacking the narrative itself, and as Kirk shows us in his Kobyashi Maru victory, this orthogonal approach to Run for Your Lives the only way to win the race. 

That’s what makes A2 so fucking awesome— the ability to effect those hacks becomes very real— and that’s what makes A2 in apocalypse play so exciting: the fucking impossible is now totally fucking possible, and the win is now in your grasp.