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Playstyle Royale: you must never leave your helicopter in COD WarzoneCopterlorians
Copterlorians
Nate can’t actually be here for this write-up, because he is very selfishly on holiday. Don’t worry, I’ll do the voices. As usual, we’ve got five attempts.
We do not win our prison duels.
We do not win our prison duels.
For our third attempt, I steer us well clear of the crowds. Our patience is rewarded with an uncontested helicopter, and before we know it (and before we’ve had a chance to find any weapons better than out starting pistols) we are airborne.
Nate is in the pilot seat. We fly as high as we possibly can, and just chill for a bit. Verdansk spills out beneath us, and we listen to the distant echoes of gunfights that are no longer our concern. We don’t have to worry about fuel, because we’re in a magical warzone where fuel doesn’t exist. We do have to worry about the other people in helicopters, who do exist, and do also have much bigger guns.
One of them wants to tussle. We buzz past each other, with me firing off piddly little pistol shots in response to the roaring of their LMGs. Nate has grander ideas, and crashes us into their chassis. I grudgingly admit it was the right call, as we fall from the sky in a drizzle of shrapnel and blood.
We do not win our prison duels.
We both win our prison duels!
I make it to the top without incident, then descend with incident aplenty. I tell Nate that I’ve spotted a man, and that I’m going to batman him. Like this.
Watch on YouTube
Watch on YouTube
My dreams of aerial assassination come crashing to the ground, and we load into our fifth and final round.
We hop into another isolated helicopter, with me at the wheel for once. Nate flagrantly disregards the rules and jumps onto a roof so he can loot it more thoroughly, and I’m forced to fly as close as I can to him while tutting vigorously. His impertinence nets him an LMG.
It’s at this moment that we realise one helicopter is no longer enough to sate us. We spot another one, unused, then both take to the air like invulnerable wasps. We buzz around the map, unchallenged, revelling in our ascendancy. Ever since we killed someone Nate has been calling us the “Copterlorians”, which gets a bit much, so we settle down for a nice picnic behind a dam.
It was to be our last meal. When the circle moves us on, I spot a man and attempt to take him out with my helicopter blades. This goes spectacularly, but not in a good way. Over the sound of tearing metal, I hear Nate complain of a fast-approaching rocket.
We do not win our prison duels.
