‘Welcome To Death’ Laser Warriors Are Merciless In Their Quest For Points At Downtown Battleground

The laser playground looks like a modern-day castle, a dark Day-Glo urban fantasy where shooting red lights punctuate rolling mist and thumping music.

Players take no prisoners. They creep and move and duck through a three-floor maze of strobe lights, painted zigzags and corridors spotted with cutouts. Pieces of chain-link fence, glowing fluorescent orange and green, hang from the ceiling, neighbors of painted plastic triangles. Day-Glo people dance along the walls.

The players shoot to kill - over and over and over. They’re Laser Taggers, diehard members of Laser Quest who vie to be the top-ranked shooter in the club.

“It’s the competition everyone thrives on,” said Jeff McMorris, assistant manager at Laser Quest, also known as Zentor. “These guys come in on regular nights, and they beat families by 2,000 points.”

And everyone knows, that’s no fun. Laser Quest, 202 W. Second, opened in December and has been flooded with shooters ever since.

Many are novices, playing for laughs. The serious members - about 30 out of 660 - play on Tuesday nights.

Each player slips on a bulky black vest with flashing red targets on the front, back and shoulders. The players are armed with large laser guns that shoot thin red lines. After they’re let into the maze, they have 30 seconds to scatter.

Then the shooting begins.

“I take out my week’s frustrations,” said Neal Harland, known as Lord Mystar in laser-tag circles.

It’s an expensive stress-reliever: $24 for a seven-game Tuesday night. Members pay $20 a year to get $1 off on every session played. Regular 15-minute sessions cost $6 for non-members.

Like Zentor and Lord Mystar, diehards pick names out of a hybrid of Greek mythology, role-playing games and nicknames. They’re known as Wraith, Grog, Ahzz, Albino Red, Zero and Crazy Lady. They call each other by these names. They’ll shout them while playing.

“Nightshade used to be my nickname,” said Nightshade, known in the real world as Andrew “Drewid” Kellogg. “It’s a deadly poison. Or it’s a tea that can heal you, if you brew it right.”

Or it’s a player who’ll shoot even a novice. The diehards have no mercy. They’ll shoot a player in the back, in the shoulder or even in the gun. It all racks up points.

Eager for revenge after being shot in the chest, Nightshade pointed his gun at first-timer Cowgirl, caught in the laser lights by the experts.

“Evening, Cowgirl,” Nightshade said. “Welcome to death.”

He shot her once. He shot her seven more times before the night was through. He’s ranked fifth overall for the month of September.

“Out of 666, that’s pretty good,” Kellogg said.

Not as good as some. War Cry, or Timur Wilson, 22, is the top-ranked player for the month. He’s ruthless. On Tuesday night, he won every single members’ game. During some, he moved like a Terminator, walking strong and shooting at any red target in site. He ricocheted shots off mirrors, squeaked shots through holes cut in the maze and fired shots at hiding players.

Wilson started playing 10 months ago, after driving by Laser Quest. He wasn’t an immediate success.

“It sucked. I wanted to go home.”

Most players keep their old scorecards, a record of how badly they once played, where they were shot, who shot them and who they shot. The cards are kept in boxes and crumpled in piles. Players use them to learn from and for strategy.

Most players have similar strategies. Few cower in corners. Most shoot repeatedly, creating a constant arcade in the maze. A wilting beep, like the sound of a dying Pacman, signals that someone’s been hit.

“Move,” Wilson advised. “Don’t let them have an angle at your target. The center is the best one to hit, dude. It’s the best one. If you’re not shooting, you’re not getting points.”

Smaller players, like 16-year-old Harrison Ehradht, crouch.

“Staying low,” said Ehradht, code name Ezra. “Sure, why not? Just stay low, and make sure they’re not in a position to hit you.”

Experts play laser-tag games such as Rage, The Quest, Mixed Nuts and Highlander. Highlander’s the tough game, the one that means bragging rights if won. It’s a half-hour long, and the music and the lights are turned off. Each player can only be hit five times. Only one person is left standing.

It’s not hide and seek.

“It’s hide and shoot anyone you find,” Kellogg said.

War Cry won.

Sunblocker, or Dave Rivers, sat in a place nobody - not even War Cry - could shoot him Tuesday. He lounged in the lobby. He skipped Highlander. Rivers started playing at Laser Quest in June. He’s now ranked eighth.

“It relieves a lot of stress,” Rivers said with a sigh. “I work at Dick’s.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Color Photo