There May Be No Half-Naked Ladies, but . . .

“If you see any weapons, grab the weapons and shoot each other,” instructed Arthur Martirosian, age 16. “If you have a pipe bomb, throw the pipe bomb.”

The duelists nodded. Here inside Topanga Plaza--and inside the headgear that would transport them to the alternative realm of Duke Nukem 3D--a 14-year-old girl and her uncle were preparing to fight to the virtual death.

TV monitors provided the rivals’ viewpoints. As Martirosian shouted instructions to the customers, proprietor Joel Lipin offered some play-by-play.

“She’s shrunk him.” Shrunk him? “The weapon she had there is a shrinker.”

“She was supposed to step on you,” Lipin told Terry Newell after the nonexistent smoke had cleared. Young Ashley Newell didn’t realize she was supposed to stomp Uncle Terry. At the duel’s end, Terry Newell had recorded seven kills, Ashley only four. They seemed to enjoy it, even though Terry reported some wooziness, just as I had a few minutes before.

Actually, the dizziness first started with the press release. Cyberscape--that’s what Lipin calls this young business--had sent it, touting a donation of 100 minutes’ worth of playtime to a silent auction fund-raiser March 7 for Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran church and school in Canoga Park.

Well, praise the Lord and pass the pipe bomb. Next thing you know, Pat Boone will be singing heavy metal.

Friends who are more grounded in the unreality of computer games tell me that Duke Nukem 3D--one of Cyberscape’s four offerings--can be almost as garish as the infamously bloody Mortal Kombat, in which a skillful player can reach into an opponent’s chest and rip his heart out.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the vicarious thrill of the digitized kill. Back in high school, I hung out at a bowling alley that had a pinball game we called “Kill Clownie.” The real name I can’t remember. We just knew you got a free game for wiping out all the little targets bearing Clownie’s stupid face.

In college, not long after Pong became passe, a pizza parlor near campus had a video game called Death Race. Little stick-figure men ran hither and thither; it was your job to run them down with a tiny car. Every time you hit one, a little cross would appear to mark his grave. Even back then, Death Race had its critics, but I happily spent many a quarter.

When I called Lipin to ask him about Duke Nukem, he explained that the version he purveys in the middle of the mall--and that he donated for the church fund-raiser--is not nearly as gory as the kind you might install on your personal computer. The splatter factor has been toned down for a mass audience.

Lisa Kabelitz is a Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran School volunteer who solicited the Cyberscape donation. Kabelitz, who has two children enrolled in the school, said this PG quality convinced her that Cyberscape’s donation would be appropriate. “I didn’t see anything that looked like Mortal Kombat. I didn’t see any half-naked ladies,” she explained.

Pastor Brian Woken laughed when asked about the donation to the church’s school. “I think children are more capable than we sometimes give them credit for when it comes to distinguishing fantasy from reality.” Still, Woken added, he is concerned that “as we are repeatedly exposed to violence, we ratchet up our tolerance level.”

When I paid five bucks to play five minutes of Duke Nukem--me against the computer--I didn’t see any gore or half-naked ladies. Then again, I could barely walk straight, got shot many times and only killed a few mutants. I’d have been dead myself many times over, but Cyberscape allows customers to play in “god mode.” Five minutes of immortality.

I had intended to play not just Duke Nukem but Cyberscape’s other three games--Quake, Rise of the Triad and Terminal Velocity. How often would I have the chance to write “$20--arcade games” on my expense report? But Duke Nukem left me feeling seasick.

“You get used to it,” Lipin explained. No doubt that is true.

At any rate, since talking with Lipin, Kabelitz and Woken, I’ve learned something that might give the church people pause. My colleague Aaron Curtiss doesn’t just write editorials; he also reviews computer games. In a review last July, he said Duke Nukem “takes video violence to a new level.”

“Young kids,” he continued, “might want to steer clear of Duke Nukem, though--not so much because of the violence, which is no more graphic than Doom, but because of some of the game’s adult themes. Most 6-year-olds probably shouldn’t be shooting digitized go-go dancers.

“Most adults and teens probably shouldn’t be doing it either, but the game is so addictive that it’s hard not to overlook the more objectionable elements. Challenging and smart, Duke Nukem raises the standard by which first-person shooters should be judged.”

So it’s great fun, if the moral implications of this radical mode aren’t a bother. You know what happens when you shoot a go-go dancer? She turns into piles of money. All of this happens, incidentally, along Hollywood Boulevard in a post-apocalyptic L.A. The most advanced players, I’m told, get to shoot it out with mutant wart hogs wearing blue gear marked LAPD.

Now, this isn’t the Duke Nukem that is being played in the middle of the neighborhood mall. This surely isn’t what Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran Church thinks it is auctioning to the highest bidder.

Still, I’m left to wonder what players are to do when they confront the go-go dancer in the PG version. As I approached the Cyberscape game, I thought I could detect a female form obscured by a kind of digital cloud. Are you supposed to shoot the cloud?

Obviously, this is one of the game’s flaws. It would be more realistic if the player could simply tuck a dollar under her G-string.