How to (not) Take Over the World
An epic song of a not-so-epic attempt at world conquest in Civilization SNES.
Here at Pixel Fix, we’re not above a little megalomania. We’re also not above a good credit rating or the overdraft of our bank account. While our gaming peers have been shelling out a whopping NZD $129.99 to board the CIV VII hype train, we’ve only been able to watch poorly from the sidelines.
For us, money may be too damn expensive but at least dreams are free. Verily, my cup runneth over with dreams. Big dreams. Dreams of unbridled power. Dreams of unlimited wealth. Dreams of world leaders cowering before my might and a population worshipping me like a king. Dreams of a house with one of them fancy Japanese toilets in it. You know, dream stuff.
And so it was I slumped down beside the metaphorical tracks and watched the metaphorical Civ VII hype train whizz right on past me. The metaphorical sky darkened and it began to metaphorically rain. I stood up and stepped in a metaphorical puddle and realised my metaphorical shoe had a metaphorical hole in it.
It’s fair to say, this was a low. Those Civ VII players looked happy. They sounded happy. It’s said money can’t buy happiness, but money can buy you CIV VII and that can make you happy. And here I was, standing in a puddle in the rain with naught but a hole in my shoe. I was not happy.
And then — lo! — a wonderful chorus filled my ears with music soothing and sparkling and reassuring and a blinding light filled my vision before a figure appeared.
There was no doubt in my mind who this figure that stood before me was. The herald angels sang and I dropped to my knees. It was God.
Not the God. But a God nevertheless.
In that moment, when she appeared, the rain cleared and night fell and the stars sparkled and this God looked down on the pathetic figure I cut, drenched through with a hole in my shoe kneeling beside these lonely tracks, and she took a great pity.
Upon me, she smiled with all the warmth and wisdom of the heavens and it filled my soul with pure radiance and all my envious thoughts of CIV VII and its game engine improvements, brand-new features and updated graphics fled at once from my head.
Within the glow of her presence, Civilization on the SNES appeared before me, like a life-saving oasis in a cruel dry desert. I was gifted with an innate knowledge of this 1991 game’s surprisingly robust and intuitive control scheme as my ears filled with its inspiring Final Fantasy-esque soundtrack and my heart swooned over its charming pixel graphics. The world of SNES Civilization seared into my overwhelmed brain and I felt its power surge through me.
This PC port which should have been impossible, was indeed manifest. And not only manifest, but spectacular. It was as if this God herself had conjured it from nothing more than stardust and arcane unknowable magic.
And then the world went silent and she spoke.
She spoke with love for the earth and she promised me the world. All I had to do was build great cities in my honour and nurture a flourishing civilisation in my image. A civilisation that would be respected and feared from the dawn of time through to its last spluttering breath. At least, that’s what I took from her divine rambling.
“With civilisation,” she said in a voice that shone with unblemished grace, “the people will lead richer lives,” and I smiled because I too wanted riches. And then her voice grew increasingly more terrifying and voluminous until at awful last a blackness enveloped my heart and soul at every black word she spoke, “and Germany will rule the world” and then a terrible thunder roared from the night sky and my world turned black.
Startled, I awoke. God knows how many hours had passed. I would have asked God but she was gone. Why hast thou forsaken me? I cried. But thou hadst forsaken me and thou wouldst not answer.
I looked around and aside from the plain I was standing on, the world was enveloped in a black fog. All I had was a horse and cart and a hole in my shoe. With nowhere else to go but into the black fog I clicked forward and looked for somewhere, anywhere, to call home.
Eventually, my settlers discovered some prime waterfront real estate. The gentle lapping of the nearby ocean was calming and nearby there were horses to break and gold mines to ruthlessly plunder. I claimed this land for myself and planted the first seed of what I knew would become the greatest civilisation the world has ever seen. After all, I had been blessed by God.
Not the God. But a God. And that still counts for something, right?
With thoughts of glory and Japanese toilets swirling in my head, I founded Germany’s capital, the proud city of Pixeltopia and began my crusade to enter the history books. Or, at least, Wikipedia.
At once I set my peoples to work. Hard work. Gruelling work. Work without end. My farmers farmed the land day and night, my city trained soldiers at a punishing pace and my scientists studied around the clock tirelessly to discover the mysteries of the wheel. This last one, I’ll admit, puzzled me as our settler’s carts quite clearly were equipped with fully functioning wheels. But being a man of grand ambitions and not a man of science I commanded them to fulfil the task anyway and left them to it.
By the Spring, a crack militia had been trained and was awaiting orders. I sent them off South West to explore the coastline and ordered that more peasants be trained in the art of war.
I watched the militia’s travels across the land with keen interest until one day — Eureka! — my scientists revealed the dark secrets of the wheel to me and I swiftly vowed to never allow this sacred knowledge to ever leave the great borders of Pixeltopia. I then immediately tasked the boffins with unravelling the truth behind horseback riding despite the fact that our settlers’ carts were quite clearly already equipped with fully functioning horses.
More time passed and my militia came upon the borders of Rome. Their leader called for parlay. I knew there was little they could offer aside from a plate of grapes and a pledge of allegiance but yet I deigned to humour them and agreed to meet.
These Romans offered to trade their secrets of burial for my treasured scrolls on the wheel, a laughable offer and indeed one to which I laughed in their faces. Burial? Who doesn’t know how to dig a damn hole? “Burial,” I spat. “Who needs it?”
The God herself shone through my white-hot indignation and the Romans pleaded for forgiveness for their impudence and begged for peace. I agreed, but only after demanding a hefty gold tribute, of which they hastily paid.
With this transaction complete, peace ruled the land and my militia left their borders and continued their explorations.
By now my second militia had formed and they too had been sent out into the world. Instructed to travel South East they made their way across rocks and mountains and what I assume were forests until they stumbled across the Greeks.
This meeting was less memorable than my encounter with the Romans and history does not recall the trade deals denied and the gold tribute demands made, but do know that we left with a purse full of Greek gold and another deal for peace.
Back inside the gates of Pixeltopia construction had begun on a barracks. I had peace in my heart but had begun to realise the only way to share this peace was to conquer all of those in front of me until they too were peaceful. With a barracks, I could train a great and feared army of peace.
It was then a battalion of horseback riders were spotted heading towards Pixeltopia. They were quickly identified as originating from Greece, our supposedly peaceful allies, and they began to trouble the borders of my land. I ordered one militia home to the walls and hoped they would make haste. The other militia was sent to the Greek capital at once to see how they liked the feel of a similar transgression. The movement of my troops towards their home did not go unnoticed by the Greek horsemen and they left my Empire on an intercept course. But they were too late and my militia had already assumed a defensive stance outside their gate.
In a foolhardy attack, that I can only assume was driven by Greek arrogance instead of calm strategy, the peacekeeping militia of Pixeltopia found themselves under fire by the untrustworthy currs of Greece. My militia were outnumbered, outgunned and out-horsed but they were not out-spirited. In a heroic battle that will be celebrated in song for years forth, the brave militia kept their defensive stance and put the horsemen down like the dogs they were.
Boosted by this victory, they turned their attention to storming the wall. And then! From nowhere. A squad of Greek archers appeared from the black fog to march upon my grand city. The Greek horsemen had been a mere feint to keep me distracted.
The militia that had been marching home was still not close enough to engage and could only watch idly by as the Greek archers outpaced them in a deadly sprint to Pixeltopia’s walls.
The betrayal of the Greeks beset me into a murderous rage and blinded me with an aggressive madness. Without hesitation, I ordered my other militia to strike their city. Buoyed by their brave and victorious defence against the column of Greek horsemen my battle-hardy soldiers rushed the city and their war cry echoed in the cobbled streets.
But their demise was swift and brutal and indeed I cursed loudly at both the Greeks and the God who had set me down this road to ruin. ‘Where are you now?’ I cried, wiping my Militia’s blood off my otherwise crisp-white toga.
But there was no answer and all I could do was watch the hateful Greek archers draw closer. With Pixeltopia’s barracks only half built, reinforcements would not be forthcoming. In a furious rage, I ordered my remaining militia to divert course to Rome to send our remaining peaceful allies the same spite and ruin currently marching towards my proud city.
Dutifully, the militia abandoned their home and changed course leaving Pixeltopia to face the Greeks alone.
Unguarded and undefended there was not much of a fight. The secrets of the wheel proved less than useless in keeping the Greeks outside the walls.
The end was nigh. As enemy soldiers marched through the streets I began to wonder where it all went so wrong. Perhaps, my advanced wheel knowledge should have been freely shared instead of hoarded like a useless treasure. Maybe, my insults to their leader would have been better left unsaid, instead of enthuistasically gifted. It may have been a mistake to demand a pot of gold right after signing a peace treaty.
But those thoughts were fleeting. And besides, there were bigger things to worry about.
In single file, they marched. Past my farmers. Past the teepees of my people. And right up to the grand palace which I called home. Then, they ransacked the place until they found my treasured secrets of the wheel and then the brutes stole them.
“Good luck understanding them, you uncouth barbarians!” I shouted manically as I valiantly fled from the palace and into sweet, sweet freedom. But my brave attempt to avoid certain death only served to anger the enemy and indeed they took hot flame and burning malice to the city.
Abandoned by God — not the God, but a God – and then betrayed by a civilisation that couldn’t even work out how bloody wheels work, this was truly a dismal end for a Civ whose destiny to impact the history books was cruelly denied them.
It is said history is written by the victors, but let this historical account from a loser who just wanted to play Civ VII but was too broke, stand forever through the ages.
All that remains of the once not-that-great-really city of Pixeltopia were some strong words emblazoned on ancient stone ruins that were recently discovered by archeologists. This mysterious phrase left those dirt diggers stumped.
It read like a song. It read like a rallying cry. It read like the last gasp of a proud civilisation.
It read, “Restore PixelFix!”.