‘Cyborg Hunter’ was a crap game. Not only was it crap, it was too hard. Much too hard. I had a love/hate relationship with it. I wanted to finish it, but a particularly rotund boss on something like the 4th level always got the better of me with his infernal red laser. A little Internet research and I learn that the boss who ruined my Cyborg hunter experience was called ‘Cytra’. Cytra and his vessel, Cyborg hunter appeared on the Master System in 1988. I was 4 years old… I like to think that explains my inability to defeat him. Cytra? Craptra.

For as long as I can remember videogames have been at my very core. I have a tremendously fond memory of a youth spent in the local arcade, watching older kids, ‘masters’, pummel challenger after challenger on Street Fighter 2.

The more I think about Cyborg Hunter, and the total annihilation that it slapped in my face, the more pleasure I derive from decimating an opponent with a little panache.

I’m not suggesting I imagine Cytra each time the ‘YOU WIN’ logo is blazoned across my screen… rather I think early defeats lead to my ‘completist’ gamer attitude. Very quickly my brother and I become obsessed with the concept of ‘being the best’. As we grew up in that dingy smoke-filled arcade, our goal was to fill the shoes of the aforementioned older kids. Street Fighter 2, Samurai Showdown, Final Fight, Golden Axe, a side-scrolling beat’em up where the protagonists can turn into raging beasts… these are the games that nurtured our competitive streaks. Cytra’s laser wielding ways may have bullied me into submission years ago, but in my newfound battleground, I learnt to fight back.

I remember the first time I finished Street Fighter 2 in the arcade. Remember the fear that came with facing M.Bison. A modest but audibly present group of onlookers surrounding me. I came to enter my name and… froze. Benjamin Richard Hall. The allotted three-letter space is perfect, no? BRH? BEN? I faltered because after all the work it felt a little disappointing. BEN. My heart sank. I punched out the abbreviated version of my given name and walked away from the machine.

I don’t remember the exact date that my brother created his own pseudonym, but it had a tremendous impact on me. Alexander was, before my eyes, transformed into AKO. It had a ring, albeit a visual one. A visual ring. Stay with me. I was envious. Immediately the kudos that his victory over whatever game he’d been playing seemed more epic. More exciting. Special. I was so used to seeing ‘ALE’, but ALE was no more and before my envy riddled green eyes AKO was born.

After a few moments of [limited] creative thinking followed by a bash at the game of choice [perhaps killer instinct] I came face to face with the same title screen. Enter your name. I stared, wide eyed at the pixilated flashing letters. A timer counting down from 99 goading me. BRH? BEN? No. Not this time. I wanted in to the rank of gamers with tags and pseudonyms and kudos and secrecy. ZEN came quickly. I didn’t give thought to its longevity – to a simplicity that, perhaps, I’d one day come to regret.

Approximately 15 years later and I’m staring at the first comic book that I’ve had a hand in producing. DevaShard. I flip to the credits… Writer, Zen.

It’s a cute moment. Each time I sign a book or hear someone ask about ‘Zen’ I’m transported back to that arcade. My brother at my side. We’re playing street fighter 2, wasting money on games and wasting oxygen arguing over who’s the best. Not who’s the best out of Alex and myself,but the only “who’s the best” that ever really mattered to us. The only “who’s the best” that we needed to argue over. The only “who’s the best” that we must agree to disagree over. Ryu versus Ken. The correct answer, incidentally, is Ken.

Ken is the best.

I’m looking around the room. It happens quite often. Sitting at my desk in the Fluid Comics office, I’m temporarily a million miles away from my work. Light years. A momentary lapse in concentration. Physically, I’m right here, fingers poised in suspended animation - but my mind is wandering. Not wandering. Frolicking, at 160mph. Bouncing between anticipation for the latest slew of games unveiled at this years E3 show and pre-Dark Knight expectation. Couple this with flashbacks to the Metal Gear, mech-boss fight I blitzed at 2am a night or two ago and I’m a vessel of excitement. My eye catches an image of Viilal, a character from DevaShard staring [albeit with a rag covering his eyes] ominously at me. I scoff slightly as I admire the contours of his weathered face. I feel a slight twinge of pride. Just as every parent shares their pride with a spouse, I share mine with a team of artists. Staring at his battered, lifeless exterior a sudden rush of ‘possibilities’ swamp my thoughts. I know this character inside out, because I wrote this character inside and out. As I continue to stare at his face I start to think about the duty I have to maintain his integrity. That sounds a little overzealous… If I’m still frolicking through thoughts, I’m frolicking dangerously close to an area called ‘Pretentiousness’.

Character Integrity? I’m thinking about the point where we pick his story up again in the series. I know I want to explore his clan, their origin, their motives, their homes… their lives. Looking at him a flurry of possible homes hit me. Bleached white sand mountains with tatooine inspired dwellings? No. Marriage? No. Suddenly I’m staring at a character that has standards. Things have certainly changed over the last two years. Viilal [the Assassin] is a character that will always be dear to my heart because right from the off his concept was clear to me. He embodies so many characters that I’ve literally played around as over the years. Rather, that my Grandfather played around as… he embodies the villains of my Grandfather. As a child I whiled away my post-school afternoons in the garden with him… with them. Getting home from school was a pleasant, if somewhat repetitive process. Shoes off [laces untouched] tie off [still knotted] freshen up, trainers on, head into the Garden… Save the world. Yes. Save the world. My grandfather would already be lying in wait. His supervillain of choice would vary, often he was simply a ‘monster made entirely from shadows’. I would vanquish him day-in, day-out for the good of mankind. Our fights would see us traversing perilous ravines, impossibly jagged cliff faces and such. His attacks would often disarm me, occasionally leaving me severely wounded. But either by healing factor or sheer strength of will I’d find my way to delivery of that final blow.

Viilal’s unrelenting commitment to assassinate his target was born out of the onslaught of attacks that my grandfather would present to me, each afternoon. I know Viilal’s character on the battlefield because I’ve fought him a thousand times in my past.

Back in my office, fingers coaxed into action and I’m filled with a newfound urgency to address the back-story of our characters. To continue building on it, perhaps I should ask my Grandfather what he think Viilal’s home life is like… or perhaps I should concentrate on finishing Metal Gear before my girlfriend gets too immersed and starts beating me on it.