The last few months have been very trying. I’ve been on the run for my life, dodging the death-wielding cronies of Dale Luck as he sought revenge for my scathing review of Gridlee. I’ve seen many horrors, more than any person should ever be forced to witness. I’ve committed a bevy of unspeakable acts and atrocities; I’ve killed men and fathered children. I’ve been to the top of the mountain, and it was high-up and cold.
Just when I thought I had reached my breaking point, I found myself with a reason to persevere. In the basement of the Alamo, while huddled within a dogpile of vagrants of ill-repute, I discovered a dusty arcade cabinet with the faded words Mister Viking emblazoned on the side. Suddenly, life was worth living again.
The game itself is played on a screen format that is longer than it is wide, almost two-fold. Right from the start, my mind was shattered, washed clean and reassembled into something better. Every game up until now (that piece of trash Gridlee included) had been presented in the shape of a square. But not Mister Viking. This little hotshot bucked those antiquated trends and danced to the beat of a different, taller drum.
But Mister Viking‘s revelatory nature didn’t stop there. It may loosely resemble games like Commando, but it’s actually more of a shooter in the vein of 1943. Although you have free-range motion, the enemies approach from the top of the screen in a downward assault. Don’t let their giddy appearances fool you; those D-bags put up quite a fight.
You also start the level by swooping in on an airship of Viking death and destruction, ready to pillage giant strawberry houses. It’s awesome.
Truth be told, I’m not at all surprised that Sega birthed this hellspawn. They’ve been responsible for a majority of the better titles I’ve come across in my Internet Archive reviews. And god bless them. If it hadn’t have been for Mister Viking, I probably would still be rotting in that Alamo basement deep in the heart of Texas, where the stars shine bright and big at night.
It was because of this rebel — this devil-may-care game — that I was able to scrape together what little dignity and purpose I still had, write this review, steal a car, and head back to Minneapolis to reclaim all that had been stolen from me. No more running, no more hiding.
I’m coming for you, Dale Luck, so you’d better be ready with that checkbook. There’s gonna be hell to pay!
