This is a story from [X]press Magazine.

The soldiers stand motionless, staring off across a grassy field. On the far side, a disconcerting mass of slimy insects line the horizon. A pair of dice drops into the center of the battle; one bounces astray and sends an armor-clad figure tumbling to the ground. He is unrattled, frozen in position, facing skyward. His rifle sights stay fixed toward blinding lights. Seconds later the fallen warrior passes into shadow as a large hand swoops down to return him among his fellow troops.

"It's more tangible," says Cameron Thurston, silhouetted high above the field. His eyes stare fixated across a table strewn with formations of a pocket-sized green and yellow army of miniature, handmade figurines; this is the table-top battle board game world of Warhammer 40,000.

On busy Divisadero St. in San Francisco, a shop called Gamescape lies tucked away from the surrounding crush of bar and restaurant-goers. The walls there are stacked with all kinds of board games, metallic figurines filling glass cases, collectible cards, and roleplaying books, with titles like Dungeon and Dragons, line the shelves. Locals flock to the shop all throughout the week to play on designated game days; Friday nights are reserved for Warhammer.

Known to most players simply as "40K", this miniaturized war game has been thriving in living rooms, garages, and the backrooms of game shops all over the world for the past 22 years. It came into being at Games Workshop, a British game company in Nottingham, England, by the hands of creator Rick Priestly, who set it in the 41st Century.

"The best way to explain it is: chess with toy soldiers," says Walter Denlinger, a Warhammer player since the game's 1987 debut. Each figure in 40K carries a point value determined by its strengths, abilities, and weaponry. Before the game starts, opposing sides agree on how big their battle will be, a small one being 500 points' worth of models, larger battles ranging past 2,000 -- which could end up with dozens of figures and vehicles being scattered across four-by-six foot tables -- with unique terrains set up by players before each game. It is very similar at its core to a chess game, with players planning and executing strategies. But the one difference is the power of dice. "You could make no bad moves, have the best units out there, but roll only ones and lose," says Denlinger, referring to how dice rolls determine countless actions in the game, from how far a soldier can move to how powerfully they attack. If players fail to roll the numbers they need, they have a good chance of getting crushed by their opponent.

Every newcomer to the 40K world selects a race, with names like Space Marines or Orks, into which they inevitably invest much time and money in order to create their own unique army.

"I play the Space Marines," says Thurston, adding, "...the genetically engineered super-soldiers -- basically humanity's finest defense, and mine are sworn to defeat our brethren corrupted by the dark forces of the world."

They are often bought as raw metal or plastic parts, having to be glued and hand painted to achieve a custom look, although pre-made figurines are available. Bill Alley, a local at the shop who started playing this past summer, is hooked. "I bought my friend's army out of this case here [at Gamescape] for $200, and started investing after that," recalls Alley. "There's always more stuff I want. I had to buy more to make the army the way I wanted it." Alley has since put around $800 into his new hobby.

The extent of 40K runs very deep; its multifaceted structure of art, strategy, storytelling, and chance pulls in gamers of different backgrounds, each drawn to different aspects. The shop has attracted a diverse and dedicated group. Thurston, 22, a native of Tennessee, is in the process of selling his car to get his electricity back on at his apartment, while his valuable Space Marine army remains intact regardless of its potential worth at online auction. Skylar Woodies, 23, has frequented the shop for the past 10 years and is now an employee of the establishment. He came to San Francisco from Connecticut, where he started messing around with 40K models in elementary school after seeing them in a comic shop. An older gentleman, a regular known as "Teacher Paul," is a calculus teacher at a private school in San Francisco. It's not uncommon to hear Teacher Paul calling out the percentages of a successful dice roll during games, before his opponents even get a chance to release a die.

"There are girls here, too," adds Kayt Ahnberg, the girlfriend of a male gamer, dispelling the common misconception of girl gamers, or lack thereof. Denlinger, 39, a married man with 3 and 5 year old daughters, even has his own studio in which he now makes and sells models to 40K enthusiasts. "My wife and kids are very supportive of my hobby and studio," says Denlinger, adding, "The fact that my commission work not only pays for my hobby, but adds some extra toward monthly expenses also helps." Smiles, handshakes, and hugs are ever-present throughout the night as the doors swing open and closed to welcome others who share a common interest.

In this wireless age, the image of a gamer has become that of a silhouetted body in the cool florescence of computer screens, closed off from the world, save an internet connection. Addictive role-playing games like World of Warcraft are known for drawing players for hours into worlds projected from circuits firing on computer processors. For the most part, artificial intelligence predetermines scripts and courses of action, but the world of Warhammer is a far different place. "I've had my computer game stint. I played the hell out of it, but I got to the point where I gave up World of Warcraft. Because at the end of the day it's all pixels -- a computer crashes and your stuff is gone," says Denlinger. "This is more of a social club, a beer-and-pretzel kind of night, hanging out with buddies."

A computer game player needs high-speed internet connections and a constant flow of capital to upgrade their gaming platforms to keep them from being dated. Denlinger's army of Orks still includes figures he painted in the late 80s. "With this," explains Denlinger, "you build it, you paint it, it's yours, and you have it."

"Unless you lose it on a bus," shouts Woodies from the front of the store, referring to when he left his Warhammer army on the seat of a bus. "Skylar, that's why you don't smoke weed anymore, right?" jokes Paul Bray, another local gamer.

Most people don't merely stumble into Warhammer; more often than not they're introduced by friends. Nate Campbell, 25, who is entering the culinary program at City College of San Francisco, got into 40K two years ago when his friend Curtis Henry, 25, who worked at a game shop at the time, let him borrow an army to play with. Now Campbell is always buying new models and thinking up new army formations. "You can go online and look up strategies, but this is pretty nerdy enough for me." But the thought of leading vast armies 40,000 years in the future isn't the first idea of a fun Friday night for many.

"It's not a game for everybody, because, 'Oh it's playing with toy soldiers, color your little toy army men then play with them.' It has a juvenile aspect, and there's definitely a suspension of disbelief," says Denlinger looking over his army. "I have Orks, that are supposedly sentient fungus beating on guys that are these genetically engineered super humans 40,000 years in the future. That takes a little bit of a leap from a logical perspective; some people are more literally minded, so you have to have an imaginative background for it to have appeal."

Gamescape has become a special place to let this imagination grow. It allows friends, most who only see each other this one night a week, to set aside the everyday stuff of normal life and meet up to have a good time. "Most everyone that comes in here is fairly normal, or somewhat normal for people who spend their Friday nights playing toy soldiers," says Denlinger.

"They have jobs, lives, kids, and mortgages. And they do have tans...some of them," adds Ahnberg.

"But there is truth behind every stereotype, like the massively overweight or underweight gamer, who's only melanin comes from the glare of a computer monitor," says Denlinger, adding, "but a buddy of mine had a great shirt with four points:
1. Yes, I do play roleplaying games.
2. No, I do not live in my parents' basement.
3. Yes, I have kissed a girl.
4. Yes, I could kick your ass."