7. Doom-ed

I don’t know if it was just me, but Id Software’s severely punctuated warning to users of legally dubious copies of Doom always used to send a chill down my spine.

‘If you are using a pirated version of this game, you are going to hell.’

I could almost imagine John Carmack saying it. Waiting for a wink or a smile that would never come. No exclamation mark. It was a fact.

You forgot the BFG…

And I was buggered.

I’d sit there wringing my hands as Graham confidently tapped away at the keyboard. The thought would eat away at the back of my mind as I guiltily sent hell’s denizens back from whence they came during my turns. Despite being 12 years old, the irony wasn’t lost on me.

Strange then, that after a frenzied, whispered, midnight conversation we decided to set up business duplicating and selling his already pirated version to the kids at school. A box of 10 disks would only cost us a fiver, Graham reasoned, and we could sell each copy for the same amount. At two disks per game, we’d make four quid on each game sold. That’s two quid each per copy… As I feverishly tried to work out how many Chomp bars I could get with two pounds, Graham’s mum knocked on his bedroom door and reminded us that it was getting late. The plans had been laid and the wheels were in motion. Silence descended, and Mr Carmack’s warning played on my mind as I tremblingly crapped myself to sleep.

The next few days were spent in busy preparation. We purchased our first box of disks in town and carefully destroyed the receipt, ensuring that if the police caught on and investigated, the trail would go suddenly and ominously cold. We laughed heartily on our way home. The bumbling fools didn’t stand a chance. That afternoon was spent stealthily creating our first five duplicates. I didn’t have a clue how this was done, but Graham reassured me that it was easy, so I let him get on with it. After what seemed to be a considerable amount of time, our initial batch was done, all prepared for the ready and willing black market. We arranged to meet at school the next day, with punters if possible.

Why don’t you go and catch some real criminals?

The clandestine gathering took place during lunch, in the middle of the playground. Graham had suggested holding it behind the mobiles, but for reasons lost to time, this didn’t happen. At lightning speed, the deals were struck. Disks were shoved into pockets, fivers pressed into hands and soon, five satisfied customers were whistling inconspicuously away into the distance. With £25 in our possession, I suddenly felt slightly sick…suffocated…sort of like I wanted to confess all to my mum and cry and be hugged and forgiven. This feeling wasn’t for me.

So it was with some relief that after a sleepless night, I was confronted by five angry soon-to-be ex-punters. The duplicates hadn’t worked, and they wanted their money back.

Oi! TMUK!

Graham and I took the disks back, refunded our disgruntled associates and called a close on the whole operation. To prevent the police from ever successfully investigating our scheme, and to ensure that once again their trail would go suddenly and ominously cold, we burned the floppies in Graham’s garden until they formed into a solid ball of black plastic, which we then lugged over the hedge into the spastics home next door.

Thanks Graham.

TMUK, April 2004

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