My roommate's upward-inflecting R2D2 whistle tells me it's time to quit being so evasive.
Using my left hand to steady the joystick on my desk, I cut hard to starboard and roll around to harry the last TIE Fighter. I have to go on the offensive — R2 has made the executive decision to drain my shields, diverting the power to my lasers for a few more shots. The joystick creaks from repeated direction changes (you can't make me say jerked) as the TIE fighter evades my reticule with its tighter turning circle. My next two shots are impatient and spray wide. I've got maybe one more chance. Wrestling the crosshairs forward of the TIE fighter's flight path, I hold my breath, like a biathlete, and fire. A hit. A victorious MIDI refrain sounds, and I resume breathing as I enter hyperspace.
A cheer erupts around the room, which is suddenly strangled when we remember it's 1am on a Tuesday and we're in a crowded college dorm. We settle for some fist pumps instead (stop sniggering up the back).