TOMB RAIDER 2: On serving the Crofts

My family’s history has been intertwined with that of the Crofts for generations. I have served them loyally since my honourable discharged from the military in my late-twenties, just like my father before me.

My loyalty to the Crofts is unwavering. When my sweet wife died, I moved into Croft Manor to become the family’s only live-in staffer just shortly before dear Lara was born. Now I serve her.

 My daily life consists of tending to all of Lara's household needs. Far be it from me to suggest that I go far beyond the duties of a traditional butler, but given Lara's, shall we say, ‘unusual’ lifestyle and pursuits, I’m pleased to say that I have never disappointed her. She’s grown into a wise and dedicated woman, who never takes unnecessary risks, but lives for the rush of adventure.

It is my honour to look after her, and do things such as meet her by the training course in the grounds of Croft Manor with refreshments on-hand should she need them. While I may not approve of the times she trains inside the Manor itself, she always tidies up after herself and I make sure to be there – discreetly following – to help in any way I...

...and she’s locked me in the freezer again. For fuck’s sake.

HALO 2: Cairo inbound

Nervous twitching among the Grunts at the front of the landing craft. Suspicious amounts of human presence around this supposedly uninhabited world. But we place our faith in the Prophets and the promise of the Great Journey.

The journey to this system was planned as a routine search for artefacts left behind by the Forerunners. Now we find ourselves facing a huge Human fleet and orbital defence networks.

Simple plan. Waves of landing craft hit the orbital defence stations. One carries a bomb into the main hanger, the others are distractions to draw the defenders away from it. We’re one of the distractions.

30 seconds out. Grunts adjust their packs. Jackals check their shields. Us Elites get behind them and marshal the troops. Two of the other orbital defence stations explode, rocking our craft. Time for some choice words.

“Stay strong, keep your sights clear. Inflict as much damage as possible. We know we are here as facilitators of the Great Journey. Salvation awaits us all.”

10 seconds out. Docking claws unleash themselves from their housing. The troops go into a ready stance.

Docking claws engaged. “Engage the enemy.”

We pour out of the landing craft’s exit and into the hanger, there’s a fire fight already going on. Another landing craft hit right before we did. Our feet hit metal, we scatter, firing as we do so.

Green armour hits the deck in front of me. The Demon is here! I die for the Great Journey.

DISHONORED: Weeping in the rain

Rain hammers down on the iron roof slats of the shelter. Gathered round a flaming barrel are two homeless men, George and Hiram.

“Nothing but water falling all day,” says Hiram.

“Better that than blood,” replies George.

“Why you always gotta bring things down to blood?” Snaps Hiram.

George says nothing. He’s looking to the rooftops where he thinks he just saw...something...moving? Did it move?

“George! Why you always gotta talk ‘bout blood?” Hiram looks behind him to the roof. Nothing. “There’s nothing up there. Just tiles.”

“Nah, I know,” says George. “Never is.”

“There’s too much down here on the ground.” Hiram sniffs the air, pauses, sniffs again. “Weepers.”

George looks panicked, Hiram suspects he looks just as scared. The two men gather up their belongings and begin to move away, just as a group of Weepers round the corner moaning. Their faces are screwed up with wet blood streaming from their eye sockets.

“Hiram! Hiram, where we gonna go?” George is trying to whisper, but the terror in his voice is making it come out in broken peaks of volume.

“Back here, come back here.” Hiram grabs George and the two men retreat into a short alleyway. They huddle together in silence.

There’s a soft impact noise from behind them, and they turn.

A figure in flowing dark robes stands behind them. And his face...is a skull. It’s obviously a mask, but the features are warped and broken. The rain is flowing over it and out of it from the eyes and mouth.

George and Hiram hold each other, shaking in the rain, waiting to see what the figure will do next.

George is happy it's raining, the drops of water are hiding his tears.

HITMAN: BLOOD MONEY: Wedding bells and shotgun fire

“I’m-a drunk as shit, boys.” I hear myself say it, but my face is as rubbery as a fuckin’...rubbery thing. Ha ha ha. Shit. I gotta piss.

“I’m goan bleed the old alligator.” I stumble over the words, but they get the point. Right, where can I take a leak away from the crowd? The old boat house.

Some crazy sons-a-bitches are firin’ shotguns into the water, and I knock into a couple-a them. I get pushed back hard, but that’s just being friendly down these parts.

Stumblin’ past them I spy the old boat house up ahead, but there’s the dance floor with all them other guests dancin’ square.

Some tasty ladies here tonight, boy. Better get yo’self square and take a run. Ain’t no women want a drunken fella pissin’ themself when they wanna be dancin’.

I manage to get into the boat house and unfurl the dragon. Singin’ a happy song as I drain m’self. I hear what sounds like a footstep behind me, and I go to turn, but I’m pushed forward and something coils round my neck.

There’s a biting feeling like a needle in my neck and I try to...do...something...anything. My arms go limp. My legs wobble. I go down like a sack-a-shit.

I barely feel a gloved hand slide into my pocket. I’m slippin’ into sleep breathin’ laboured gasps. He’s pullin’ out the wedding invite. Sonofa...

I can’t even stop him as he pulls off my pants and puts them on hi’self. Fuckin’ weddings. 

HALO 3: Forward unto wondering what the fuck

Five years. Five. Long. Years.

Seen more people die along the way that I’d care to relive.

Five years I been fighting, and the Covies found Earth anyway. What the hell are we going to do?

I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to hoist ourselves aboard the Dawn and head through the big portal in the sky.

You accepting this? You hearing this? A portal in the sky. Turns out there was a massive, ancient machine under New Mombassa capable of making a portal. In the sky. Yep, I’m not kidding.

And now I’m sitting here in the back of a Pelican, just across from that SPARTAN while he eyes up the sand dunes below us.

Dunes? Where on Earth are we? No, we’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. We’re through the portal flying around a massive floating installation called the Ark.

And you know what? All the other soldiers are just getting on with shit or making excited comments.

Am I the only one who’s worried about how we get home? I don’t see another massive portal open on our side. Apparently I am the only one worried about it.

Everyone else is dangling out the back of the Pelican and whooping, while that SPARTAN just stands there holding a gun looking all moody.

And now we’re landing and getting out. Seriously? Am I really the only one worried about any of this? These other guys have some serious poker faces.

Maybe I should ask if that galaxy in the sky is our galaxy...or not, someone else just did.