How the starship captain died is tough to recall, but I do remember his office.
On the floor is a soccer ball. On the shelf is a tiny model of the vessel the captain once led; on the table is a generic computer workstation, the mundane place where life-and-death decisions were made. This office looks like any other office. The futuristic technology waits outside on the ship’s elaborate deck, a wide semi-circle with a breathtaking view of the galaxy. But that’s hazier, not like the office, which I could map onto a napkin if you lent me a pen.
You never actually meet the starship captain in Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare. After he joins the list of the game’s thousands of casualties, you simply assume his title. Other games — the kind with bolder artistic ambitions — might have given us a beautifully constructed montage of the captain giving his final orders. Perhaps the camera would linger on our hero as he shrinks under the assignment of his new seniority. But not Infinite Warfare, a game that, like the best Call of Duty entries, has a workman-like approach to aesthetic and design.
Activision
Call of Duty, which has become the most successful video game franchise of the past decade, established its ascent with 2007’s Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. This first-person shooter successfully transplanted the genre from historical battles and sci-fi operas to more immediate and often mundane venues. One of its most memorable missions sends its hero through the abandoned Chernobyl — beneath apartment complexes, through playgrounds, across gymnasiums. The sequel, Modern Warfare 2, plopped battles on American soil, and in doing so featured meticulous recreations suburban housing and fast-food burger joints.