There was nothing else for it, the Kid decided to go out. A drink and a game of pool would be a nice change, anyway. It didn't take long to find a suitably seedy little watering hole with a pool table, and there was no shortage of nasty-looking gentleman who looked like they were only too happy to consider a little wager or two. In fact, after a couple of shandys the evening suddenly seemed to be looking up.

With a bit of dutch courage now behind him, GK thought he'd have a crack. "Fifty quid says you're shite," he said to a burly punk after introducing himself. "You what, mate?"he said. "You heard me," the Kid says cockily. "All right: you're on..."

'This is going to be fun,' thought our Kid. 'I should get out more often'. Two minutes later, though, he wasn't smiling. He hadn't stood a chance. In fact the whole game had been a farce - and as for my opponent: he was completely unreasonable. "Unlucky mate; that's fifty quid you owe me".
"What do you mean unlucky? You call that a controller? I couldn't even find the X button. We'll have to play again. How about $30,000?". The Kid was clutching at straws.

Things got ugly. If the landlord hadn't vaulted over the bar our hero might not be alive today to tell the tale. But that was nothing to the reaction he got when he went outside and sprayed Somerfield with an Uzi. Apparently they've never heard of Tomb Raider before.