I Hosted a Zombie Video Gaming Competition in Prison

This past Halloween, I hosted a first-of-its-kind gaming competition inside my housing unit at Farmington Correctional Center in Missouri. 

Chomping Chaz is one of the few games that comes pre-installed on every prisoner’s Securus tablet. In it, Chaz, a yellow-eyed zombie with metal teeth and no torso, runs through an industrial wasteland, avoiding obstacles and collecting floating “brain” bubbles — clear, soap-like bubbles with pink brains inside them. 

Chomping Chaz is a popular way to kill time during lockdowns and institutional counts. Nearly everyone has played it before. It consists of 105 levels divided into easy, medium and hard stages. 

The idea for this competition came from other events hosted by the facility’s recreation team: basketball tournaments, chess tournaments and so on. Many residents would like to see esports introduced to the roster of prosocial events. My gaming tournament served as a pilot in service of a scaled up version of the tournament this October. 

The competition would be a speedrun. Whoever made it furthest into the game within one hour would be crowned the champion and claim the prize: a bowl of Halloween treats I’d made from scratch using commissary items like oatmeal cookies, chocolate syrup and powdered coffee creamer. There were jack-o’-lantern cookies, candy eyeballs, brownie balls and more. 

My roommate and I even created and distributed promotional materials within the wing, including a flyer and Chomping Chaz coloring sheets.  

‘Three, two, one… Chomp!’

The competition was held in the dayroom of our housing unit. The walls are a pale yellow and there are four metal tables near the center of the room, each with four stools attached. Some competitors chose to sit together at the tables. Others stood and walked around. Many wore earbuds or headphones to minimize distractions. Some sat with perfect posture; others hunched over their screens. Everyone was in the zone. 

Some participants had practiced for days. One participant, Shade, made a Chomping Chaz headband to wear throughout the event. The headband announced “Chomping Chaz 2024” in green bubble letters and featured a sketch of Chaz’s face. To make it, Shade used fabric from a T-shirt and drew the design in marker.  

Sixteen minutes into the competition, one participant was advancing to the medium stage and another was yelling at Chaz to get it together. I started doing “level checks,” looking over the shoulder of each participant and announcing their current level to the group. 

“Mims is on 36,” I announced. 

Less than a second later, Mims corrected me: “Thirty-seven!”

A few more minutes went by. Shade nodded his head. Mims stretched his neck. Someone hit the table with a closed fist. But no one took their eyes off Chaz. 

“This is the furthest I’ve ever made it in this game; I’m not gonna lie,” Da Vinci said. 

I scanned the room. My roommate, who’d originally abstained from the competition to avoid a conflict of interest, had joined in. Chaz is contagious like that.

Worm hollered for help. His game was glitching, the screen black. I took his tablet, relaunched the game, and he was back in. 

The results

“Was this your idea?” asked a voice over my shoulder.

“This was my idea,” I responded.

“What the f— is wrong with you?”

I knew what he meant. The scene was chaotic. 

One participant threw his tablet halfway across the floor. Da Vinci yelled in a frustrated rage. Another placed his tablet down on the table, weary. His roommate offered assurance in the form of a critique: “Cellie, you can’t do that. It takes away from your time.” Still another began growling, and had to walk away from his game, hands in the air.

“My palms are sweaty,” he lamented.

“Knees weak, arms are heavy,” chimed Kevin, who had been playing Dungeons & Dragons at a neighboring table. “There’s vomit on his sweater already. Mom’s spagh—”

“I’ve tried this a million different ways and I still die every time!” he complained

“All I had to do was take a breath,” Worm said as he returned to the game. 

“That’s all it ever takes,” observed a spectator.

As I announced that we had 10 minutes left on the clock, I started to panic. Half our participants were tied at Level 60. What would we do if there was a tie? 

Four minutes left became three, then two and finally, one.

“Your Chazes have been chomped.” 

I wish I had said something cooler, but I couldn’t think of anything in the moment. 

I surveyed the scores. Rutledge had come out in the lead, having reached Level 61 on medium. Shade took second and Mims took third. Nobody came close to reaching the top level at 105. Shade relinquished his headband to the victor, and the crowned chomper claimed his candy.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.