I’m going to talk about Assassin’s Creed for a while here, so if you haven’t played any of it yet (and even though I’m not really going to give anything away), stop wasting time on the internet reading about playing video games, and go play video games for a while, ok? For me?

All right, for those of you who’ve come back, or played it already, or who just don’t care, let me set the stage for you a little. As my long time Riders know, the best way to keep up to date on new releases without going into hock at The Tag is to rent vociferously. I, for example, subscribe to a web-based service that delivers via the US Mail, a service that will go unnamed at this junction, since they don’t pay me anything. (Watch an ad, and for your time you get something ‘free.’ That’s how it works, people. I digress.) What this all means is that I can be easily classified as a “casual gamer,” a title that I accept since the alternative is that I quit my job and go back to being hardcore, or quit gaming altogether and fully embrace the cold, bleak grip of reality.

Now Assassin’s Creed, is a interesting, innovative game, with story and structural elements that tie it to the GTA series. The controls and game-play that can be likened to the modern day Prince of Persia titles, and is set in a location and timeframe that is rarely explored outside of the aforementioned Prince of Persia and (loosely) to any of the Disney’s Aladdin platformers. However as I hung by my fingertips from the top of a minaret high above ancient Damascus, gazing out on how the game’s impressive draw distance that detailed every roof, chimney and ledge for hundreds of yards in every direction, my attention was otherwise drawn to an object all but floating in the sky above me. It was a flag, more of a banner, really, a swatch of fabric hanging down from a vertical pole. Any writing or symbols on it, obscured by time and memory. I had seen such things before, and therefore took the small step necessary to pull ‘myself’ (you can excuse me for a moment if I get narrative) up to the top to collect this out of place item. The game then gleefully strummed at me in approval, as I had apparently done something good and was being rewarded, I am Pavlov’s Gamer.

It then showed me that I had now found six of these flags, out of one hundred. One hundred. I was now 6% of the way done completing this entirely optional and completely superficial task. As the notice faded, and the auto-save churned away, I tapped the left handle of the controller against the arm of my chair with my right hand, a question raced around my mind (which contrary to popular opinion, does not shut of while I’m gaming and instead becomes a finely tuned analytical instrument). It wasn’t “Why?” I know well that this is how developers keep gamers interested in playing their titles for a greater period of time, this sort of thing, collection quests, are older then the even the ‘open world’ genera itself and are commonly referred to as ‘time-sinks.’ Traditional RPG and MMORPG gamers know what I’m talking about. They are the kind of thing that separates hardcore gamers from casual gamers (mind you, neither of which is any better then the other).

No, the question is ‘Who?’ Who is the person responsible for hiding so many tiny objects in the virtual space? How does he or she do it? Are there rules? Is there a fine line they have to walk between obviousness and difficulty of hiding spaces? What kind of job is that? Is it a desired one, or is it the thing they give the new guy to do?

I want to get into this person’s head, as it has to be interesting in there. Was there something in their upbringing that could explain this? A fascination with Easter Egg hunts, maybe? When he or she sees a stack of hay, do they go for their sewing kit? I might never know, but while there is no room in my gaming life for a collection of one hundred identical flags, whenever I turn a blind corner and another one is there waiting for me, my understanding of that undoubtable combination of madness and genius that put it there just went up another one percent.

This is my stop.

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Back of the Bus is © 2007 by Seth “4:10” Robison, used with exclusive permission by gamertransit.com. Reproduction without permission is prohibited.