By Andy Corrigan

I have not yet bested any opponents, nor do I have any chicken dinners to my name. Hell, I’ve barely fired a weapon in anger outside of the chaotic pre-game lobby but, regardless, I’m new to PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds and I’m finding it absolutely thrilling.

Without a PC powerful enough to run it and a general disinterest in online shooters (with a few exceptions), it’s taken me a long time to come around to the idea of PUBG. Yet, as a big fan of slower-paced, more methodical shooters, such as old-school Ghost Recon and Operation Flashpoint, and the fact that its primary mode allows me to play in isolation, in picking up the (admittedly still-wonky) Xbox One version, I’ve discovered a game that feels like it was tailor-made for a lone-wolf like me.

And while I’m absolutely terrible at it thus far, I’m in constant awe of the drama that unfolds in almost every game.

From the instant I land to the second I perish, PUBG is a chain of exhilarating, high-tension moments. As soon as I toss aside my parachute, I’m on edge, hoping to high-heaven that the remote area I selected strategically while dangling above hasn’t already been picked clean; that its weapons are not already in the hands of a competitor lying in wait as I, completely unarmed, come along scrambling desperately for anything to provide me with an illusion of safety. Traversing the world from that point, trying to stay within the circumference of the dreaded, ever-contracting ‘blue wall of death’ without getting shot sees that tension only escalate.

Some of my most successful runs, however – ones where I’ve somehow made it into the last surviving ten – have been, ultimately, largely uneventful. But it’s the knowledge that death can come swiftly and cruelly at any time, from any angle, that makes working my way through Erangel’s mix of eerily peaceful grassy clearings and built-up, dilapidated urban areas a process that’s positively fraught with paranoia.

In fact, while I’ve been in many closely fought and exciting head-on confrontations, of which I’ve lost every single one, some of my favourite moments have been near misses, and often without bullets being traded.

In one match, I found a discarded jeep in a clearing and, after making sure it wasn’t a trap of some sort, drove off towards the centre of the active play area. Conscious that the vehicle might make me a target and carrying only a shotgun (obviously not suitable for anything other than short-range combat), I thought it best to stop and find something a little more versatile.

I pulled up next to an apartment block and headed into the storage shed attached to its side, closing the door behind me. Result! I’d found an assault rifle and a scope! As I was equipping and reloading my new loot, I heard the crunch of footsteps. I crouched under the window and positioned the camera to see what was coming. There was someone outside and they were armed too. I had cover, though; they couldn’t see my position, so I waited and watched. From the way they were moving I could tell they knew that someone was nearby but wasn’t sure exactly where, so I at least still had the element of surprise in my favour.

Heart pounding, I mentally prepared for them coming in to investigate, switching back to my shotgun and training it on the door. They took a few steps towards the shed before stopping, standing motionless in the grass for a few seconds. I held my breath.

Then they bolted for my jeep.

I was fine with this. I wasn’t 100% sure I was going to use it again, or if I should use it as a trap, maybe park it in the open and find a decent vantage point to ambush from. Given how all my other duels had gone so far, here I was happy to avoid conflict until I absolutely had to, just to survive a little longer. Once I heard the car disappear over the horizon, I exhaled, waited a few minutes to ensure they weren’t waiting nearby to run me down once I made my move, and then went on my merry way.

It was a minor situation where nothing had really happened other than me finding a sweet gun that I never actually got chance to fire – I died much later lining up a shot before someone else shot me in the back – but the mixture of fear, anticipation and pressure that encounter had conjured was  exhilarating, making it one of my favourites so far.

In another match, one where I’d found decent weapons and gear right off the bat, I was moving from a woody area into one of those precarious clearings. Hunched, but with my rifle at the ready, I started to make my way across. I moved slowly but purposefully, stopping periodically to get a 360-degree look at my surroundings. About halfway across the field, I spotted movement in the treeline I had just emerged from. Dropping to the floor, I waited to see if they had been following me, but it seemed like they hadn’t seen me at all.

I switched to the crossbow I’d just found to keep a silent advantage. I carefully lined up a shot and pulled the trigger. I think it hit? They certainly reacted, frantically spinning as close to the nearest tree as possible, looking for me, but the lack of return-fire told me that I hadn’t been made. I reloaded and started lining up my second shot, but as I was about to fire, a car sped past me to my right, missing me by a few feet. I watched as it barrelled towards my prey, missing them completely and ploughing into the tree. The driver bailed from the vehicle and a messy gunfight began around it.

I considered switching to my rifle and trying to cut them both down.

Instead, I got up and ran like hell.

I made it over a knoll, spun around and dropped prone again, just in time to see the victor looting the loser’s corpse. I think the motorist had won (maybe my initial crossbow bolt had given them an advantage?), and they returned to the car and drove back the way they came. They hadn’t seen me run away in the confusion. Relief washed over. Cowardly? For sure. But I was alive, and grinning about how it played out. (I did get run over later in this match. Turns out that wooden shacks are destructible. Who knew?)

It’s clear to me, then, even in just a short time with it, that PlayerUnknown’s Battleground’s unwavering popularity is built upon these kinds of small, intense encounters. These flashes of pure, unintended drama – which could almost feel like set-pieces, as though carefully constructed and scripted – are absolutely absorbing, despite being borne of nothing more than anarchic human interactions against the lawless, practically post-apocalyptic backdrop of Erangel. It’s these moments that keep me coming back to it, rather than the compulsion to improve that I get with other online games.

Don’t get me wrong, I do want to be competitive at it; I want to taste the sweet success of being the sole survivor, and while I’ve probably a way to go given that I’m late to the party and haven’t even bagged that elusive first kill, I’m happy that there’s still plenty of tense spectacle to enjoy while I get there.

Andy Corrigan is a freelance games journalist based in Australia. He’s gradually working his way through all the Final Fantasy games. You should read his features on the original Final Fantasy, the much-maligned Final Fantasy II, Final Fantasy III and Final Fantasy IV. Oh, and follow him on Twitter.