I took a trip to the dark side of Arc Raiders, and I don't want to go back

Seconds before loading into Arc Raiders with a friend, he says to me: “Just so you know, my matches are heavy.” It took me all of two minutes to feel the weight of that sentence. Aggression-based matchmaking is a way to reduce friction in the multiplayer game by giving players their ideal partners, whether that be friendly, co-operative strangers, or a no-holds-barred battle to the death.

I’m usually on the calmer end of the scale. I very rarely instigate fights, and only engage when fired upon, which means that I can generally waltz around the map without having to clench whenever I hear a gunshot. These matches, however, were a different beast altogether, and they showed me another side to Arc Raiders – one I’m not sure I’m emotionally equipped for.

I spawned into Riven Tides to the sounds of intense gunfire. I thought that these aggressive lobbies would come with a sense of trepidation, but I was wrong. It was a map full of apex predators whose only aim appeared to be physically and psychologically tormenting me.

“I know where you are,” an eerie voice harkens as I enter the hotel. I’m not sure if these hunters are talking to me directly, or if another unfortunate soul is wandering the corridors of the Panorama Azzurro. I can hear sprinting above and more gunfire, before the sound of a Raider flare going off. Question answered, I guess, and just as I was about to turn and run, my friend tells me we can take them.

After months of destruction, backstabbing, and double-crossing, my friend has curated one of the most aggressive matchmaking profiles I’ve ever seen. I asked him if he did it on purpose; no, this is what came naturally to him. That, to me, is wild. Gear fear was non-existent; why be afraid to lose what you’re likely to pick up from a dead Raider in the next round?

We played a couple of games, and to say it was shoot on sight would be an understatement; occasionally it would be shoot on sound – gunfire and explosions were the green light. Sprinting across open expanses to third, fourth, or even fifth-party fights seemed totally normal. Comms were used to taunt rather than co-operate, and victory was often short-lived, as the next fight was usually mere seconds away.

The central Spaceport elevator was a particular hotspot in these games – as time dwindles, even the most hardcore of bruisers want to cut their losses, which is where the oft-derided guerrilla tactics of Arc Raiders come into play. My friend is often called a rat, and while others may see that as a negative, he revels in it. An exfil site is his canvas, and huge piles of explosives are his brush.

This unburdening of social expectation feels like it runs opposite to what Arc Raiders is supposed to be, but I think that’s what makes this game so compelling. Everyone has their own unique aim, different expectations, and sometimes you’ll come across someone who just doesn’t care. My friend is always loaded to bear, asks no quarter, and in turn, gives none.

I can’t see myself taking to this new ultra-aggressive lifestyle, but I can see the appeal. That nebulous in-between space, either side of spotting a Raider and opening comms, that’s the game for me. It’s a minefield, and sometimes it doesn’t go the way I want, but that’s Arc. I see other players as potential teammates; my friend sees them as the competition. It’s easier, in a way. There is no second-guessing when you have one reaction.

A lot of players are past whatever the endgame of Arc Raiders is, at least until the next big update, so to them, humans are the only real sport left. Looting exists only to top up their arsenal, and players are nothing more than moving containers. After experiencing the upper end of the aggression lobbies, I’m now more sure of my diplomacy-first playstyle, and I’m grateful whenever I walk away from an interaction without firing a single round.