IT starts well. Like all Hewson games, Slayer has a short, inconsequential plot, which owes more to the Cliche School of Popular Prose than to any amount of imagination. I mean, it takes a fairly wild blart of imagination to think that some contiguous luminous phosphor dots portray the elegant form of a craft capable of flying the vast distances between stars, visiting interesting planets and knocking the Reginald Maudling out of them on arrival. It does, believe me.
Whinge numero uno: The loading screen, rather than depicting the heroic although not altogether sane descent of a space fighter into some enemy ground station, looks for all the world like a early sixties jet fighter attempting to lance a boil.
Another fairly major downer is the huge great grey advert for FAST. Now I happen to like FAST, but this load of text is just crying out for some oik of a cracker to put in a pseudo-
Right, now for the game. Take Scramble, multiply by Zynaps and divide by Denaris and you have Slayer, five or take several orders of magnitude.
Basically, it's a fly along the tunnel shooting the assorted colours of 18th-19th century British politicians out of anything you should happen upon. At the end of the level there is a big thing that will huff and will puff and will make you implode somewhat messily.
Not merely is the scenery deadly, it gets very close together at times. It's much closer together than it should by rights be, said he engaging Incensed Reviewer Tone (which is nothing to do with Spiritual Sky Sandalwood) because we're being short changed by 56 lines again! That makes me so angry I could eat what's left of the ozone layer and still manage a couple of tins of beans for afters.
Many games have been described as addictive; Slayer is contagious. It should be locked up as far away from anything remotely computerized and left there to die. The sound is nothing special, the graphics are equally zero-
If you're into awesome grossed-out pestilence, Slayer could just be your mainest groove thing. And if the rest of you are thinking that the earlier reference to British politicians of a bygone age was purely because we reviewers get paid mostly by the word, you could not be further from the truth.
It was, in fact, an ingenious descriptive link. Yes, Slayer, is the Pitts.