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jcmarchi · 8 months ago

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Metal Slug Tactics Preview - A Promising And Challenging Boot Camp - Game Informer

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Metal Slug Tactics Preview - A Promising And Challenging Boot Camp - Game Informer

Metal Slug made its name as a fast-paced, run-and-gun explosive arcade shooter, making it all the more surprising how well it seemingly fits into a slower, turn-based strategy format. Since Metal Slug Tactics’ reveal at the final E3 in 2021, both series fans and tactics aficionados have been waiting with bated breath to get their hands on it. I count myself among them and was anxious to play a preview build to finally see how well this marriage of genres blends.

The demo gives me command of three available characters: Marco, Eri, and Fio (with a fourth, Tarma, unlockable later). Each is armed with a primary weapon, a secondary special weapon, and can sport unique passive skills and active abilities called Special Actions. For example, Marco emphasizes relentless offense, and his Salvo special action grants himself or an ally an extra hit for a single attack. Eri, the explosive expert, has a special action that lets her lob two explosives instead of one. Fio favors long-range and can manipulate enemy compositions by sending a drone that can pluck units or allies and drop them to another nearby square. Special Actions are activated by spending Adrenaline, the game’s term for mana points. The mechanic Tarma boasts a knife for close-range offense, a shotgun, and can blow into foes with his motorcycle special action.

The demo offers one region, Argun Palm Desert, but I spot three locked regions for a likely total of four in the game. The villainous Abul Abbas’ army has occupied this desert and its rural villages, putting civilians in harm’s way. It’s my job to pry the region from his clutches, which is presented as a world map with eight missions I can tackle in any order. However, you can only complete four before the boss arrives, indicated by a countdown at the top of the screen. Each mission features a primary objective and a secondary, optional task (such as winning without losing a unit or finishing without taking damage). Both offer unique rewards such as XP gain, coins (which can be turned in for cash), weapon mods, or additional reinforcements. Since you can only tackle a mission connected to an adjacent, completed mission, it’s important to plot the ideal route to collect the resources you want/need.

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Primary mission objectives include wiping out select targets, escaping to an exit, surviving a number of rounds, safely escorting an ally, and destroying a convoy before it leaves the map. Rounds begin by placing units in designated starting zones. Metal Slug Tactics features standard grid-based movement, and maps often include numerous destructible cover points. Placing units in these blue-coded protective spots reduces incoming damage, even when hit from the exposed side of the cover. My favorite element of stages is interactable hazards that can help eliminate foes without spending precious movement/attack points. This includes activating a crane to drop a suspended crate that crushes anyone underneath it. My favorite is shooting a pot to awaken a sleeping cobra that strikes anyone within its range, maiming multiple foes single-handedly (or technically zero-handedly) while also forcing them to navigate around it until it falls asleep again.

Primary weapons, such as a handgun or, in Eri’s case, a grenade, have unlimited ammo. Conversely, the more powerful special weapons, like a machine gun or grenade launcher, have limited ammo. Managing the use of your second weapon is critical, as you’re only allotted that ammo throughout your entire campaign, though replenishing ammo is a reward for certain objectives. The basic flow of positioning units in line with enemies to riddle them with bullets gets more interesting by lining up sync attacks. By targeting a foe within the same firing range as an ally, that character will automatically attack the target with their primary weapon right after you do. This allows you to unleash a tag-team or even triple-team assault if you play your cards right. However, an enemy can only suffer one sync attack per turn. It’s a fun system that has me thoughtfully considering the placement of each character and feels puzzle-like in discovering ways to maximize each attack.

In true Metal Slug fashion, some stages include tanks you can hop into, and they’re great for quickly traversing the stage. Most importantly, tanks unleash a limited number of wide-reaching cannon fire dictated by their fuel count. In addition to dealing tons of damage, tanks serve as useful protective shells for characters on the brink of death. You can also earn Assets, special consumable items used in battle, such as airdropping the titular Metal Slug to wreak havoc. If a unit falls, you can revive them by calling reinforcements. However, this consumes a reinforcement point. You only have six of these for the entire campaign and can only replenish them by completing missions that reward an additional point.

Completing missions earns medals used to upgrade a character’s special action, improving its effectiveness and sometimes lowering its Adrenaline cost. Leveling up a character unlocks an additional special action from a randomized pool of three. Arsenal rewards offer a choice of three weapon mods. Primary weapons can equip two mods, while special weapons hold up to three. Stacking weapons with mods is crucial as it makes them more well-rounded and can be equipped to suit your playstyle. For example, a mod can increase the magazine size of the special weapon or make sync attacks more powerful for participating allies.

After I finish four missions, the boss arrives in the form of Bige Shiee, an overly armed gunship fans may remember from Metal Slug 2. In addition to chipping away at this sturdy foe, which launches wide-reaching missile blasts with a one-turn warning, I have to face a plethora of grunts. Additionally, the floating docks serving as our battlefield gradually crumbled and sank into the ocean, forcing you to keep moving and not camp in an advantageous position for too long.

Failing a mission sends you back to the outpost, where you’re greeted with new cutscenes, usually introducing a new character, such as Margaret, your commander, or the backpack lugging Rumi, who hangs out at the outpost to offer some kind of service. Rumi sells new weapons and mods, and you unlock new character abilities with Margaret. You can also purchase entire load-outs, presenting a full set of weapons and abilities favoring, for example, close-quarter play or one loadout that favors creating sync attacks. Your cumulative performance throughout all completed missions determines your payout, such as the number of missions you completed and the number of sync attacks executed by each character.

Once you’ve kitted yourself out, its off to start the campaign anew. That’s right; Metal Slug Tactics is a roguelite at its core. Starting a new campaign means completing missions all over again, though the selection and rewards are remixed each time. The introductory mission briefing features dialogue exchanges. All of your unlocked special actions and passives reset, too, leaving you with your permanent starting skill for each.

Because of this structure, the early runs of Metal Slug Tactics are quite difficult. I consider myself an experienced tactics player, but even on the lowest available difficulty, many early battles feel like a war of attrition, as conflicts often throw upwards of 15 enemy units against my mere trio. It also doesn’t help that most mission types continually introduce baddie reinforcements. At the start, your units don’t have much health and can be taken out quickly by two or three attacks. With limited revives and no way to heal units (initially, at least), I felt like I was fighting from underneath most of the time.

The “escape to the exit” objectives are the most maddening due to the absurd amount of bad guys thrown at you versus your low HP count. Beelining for the exit often meant I was torn to pieces, but gradually picking off threats and inching toward the goal took ages, only for new enemies to arrive and replace downed ones. I finished most missions with only one living squad member clinging to life.

Strict resource management contributes to this challenge. Since your special weapon has limited ammo throughout the entire campaign, careless usage means you could enter a boss fight with only your basic pistol. At the same time, special weapons wipe out units much faster than your primary one, and the longer a mission lasts, the more the advantage often tilts toward your opposition. This is especially true if you want to fulfill the secondary goals, such as completing missions within two to three turns.

Because of the game’s run-based nature, you’ll likely struggle to get through missions for a while until you get some new abilities or gear under your belt. I performed noticeably better in my subsequent runs, but it took several repeated campaign runs before I felt like I could somewhat hold my own. That said, once I lasted long enough to accrue a solid stable of abilities to play with, building loadouts that complimented an individual’s specialty as well as the team’s dynamic became an enjoyable, strategically stimulating process. Still, climbing that initially steep difficulty wall may be an early turn-off for players expecting a more balanced experience from the outset.

Metal Slug Tactics’ presentation looks great, thanks to the series’ charming sprites and animations. A catchy soundtrack courtesy of Tee Lopes is the melodic cherry on top. Despite the early roadblocks, I gradually developed a callus to Metal Slug Tactics’ hardships and saw more consistent victories. Once I hit a groove, it became an enjoyable and strategically satisfying romp. I’m still worried about its overall balancing, but there’s definitely promise for Metal Slug Tactics to be a mission: success.

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charliemwrites · 2 months ago

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Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon riley #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #non traditional omegaverse

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