Dark Forces 2: Jedi Knight – Waiting in the tower

There’s nervous energy coursing through me. My first true test is in the elevator on his way to the top of this tower. He, like me, is looking for a true test.
A son, here to avenge his father’s murder. A necessary casualty? Do I have to kill him?
Stop. It’s time for me to prove myself...to use my training. The darkness is my ally, through it I will destroy the light.
But maybe I can use his lust for revenge, and turn his light into dark. To create an ally to my master’s cause? My standing will improve, my master will see my true value, leave me alone, let me go...
Stop, focus. Revel in the darkness. Let it flow through you. Feed on the hate of yourself, of her, of the master. Feed on the anger and disgust at what they’ve turned you into.
You’re a murderer. A monster.
No, I'm a scared boy twisted by evil people.
No, use it, don’t dwell on what you once had and took away from yourself. Bask in the power you have now! Take the life of he who stands before you in the doorway. What’s one more corpse? What’s one more drop of blood on your hands? Is it not a small price for all this power?
No. It’s more pain. Loneliness. Anger at what they’ve made me do. Sadness at what they took from me. Fear! Doubts! Terror! Just a boy! I was just a boy when she made me take all those lives.
Shut up, boy! Use it! Kill him! Use it now!

Mass Effect 2 – Assessing the damage

It wasn’t easy to find what was left of him, let alone trying to work out what could be done with it.

Honestly, Illusive Man expects far too much from the medical staff here if they expect us to resurrect this bag of meat...it's disgusting.

Hard re-entry with a busted suit has resulted in near liquefaction of major organs combined with heat trauma over 98% of what’s left. Bone structure is relatively intact…to a point. We’re going to have to work on reknitting 83% of them back together. What we’ve found is little more than a shell…but the brain is untouched. The only saving grace in this whole situation.

The Lazarus Project is robust in terms of planning, funding and the skills of its members…the only thing we can’t control is luck. Who the hell can tell if it’s even going to work on a man this ruined. It’s worked on mice, recently-dead men, other species of humanoids…but who knows in this case? Fingers crossed, I guess.

Come on, Miranda. Believe in the impossible. Look at you…you’re the result of genetic tampering beyond the realms of sane morality…and resurrecting a man from the dead is about as immoral as you can get.

All the time, sacrifice and money better be worth it. All the effort and searching for this charred corpse had better not have been wasted.

Shepard had better be worth it.

Pokemon GO – Oh, to be a Pidgey

I’ve been sat out here for ages…waiting for a trainer to walk past close enough to pick me up on their phone and try to catch me.

And when they do…oh, my word, they are in for a shock. I’m not the strongest Pokemon, sure. 32cp isn’t all that, or so I’m told. I’m not the fastest either…I’m actually more of an irritation than a threat. I’m seen as fodder for level-climbers to catch and evolve…but not this time.

Here we go…here they come…two people with their phones out. Ta-da! I’m here! I’ve definitely popped up on their screens now. Is one of them going to take the bait?

Yes! Haha, yes! He’s fallen for it. Flick…the first ball flies miles over my head and off into the distance. Second one hits me just as my attack animation begins. Whoops. Next.

Ball three hits me square in the head…zoooooop…into the ball for a minute…and out I pop.

Another flick, attack animation again. Bat the next one away. This is so easy.

Ow! That one hit me right in the sweet spot…zoooooop…back into the ball again…wiggle wiggle, wiggle, pause…pop! Out I leap once more.

The guy hurls his phone across the car park, and I’m left in limbo forever trapped in the gap between the world and his screen.

Guess that serves me right really.

(Note from the author: I'm hooked, I'm addicted. This game is so simple, and so nuanced in its ability to keep you playing...and visiting stop after stop. By it, play it, love it. Well done, Niantech...but could you sort out the bug that makes super-low-cp Pokemon from leaping out of high-level trainers' balls?)

INSIDE – Torchlight and dart guns

Lungs on fire, legs pumping. They’re on your heels. Run, run, run.

The men in the masks are here with torches and dart guns. They want to take you back to the grey buildings. Keep running, just keep running and don’t you stop. Don’t look back, don’t make a sound, just run.

Lights! A van! Take shelter when you can, behind one of the pods with the portholes. Hold your breath...they’re close...so close...their breathing...is all you can hear so, don’t...move...a...muscle...

They’re passing, you have to move. Now! Go! Feet pound on soil...sounds of chains being slipped behind you...DOGS! Run, move, sprint, to the water. Maybe you’ll find respite there. .

Cold fear, heightened by cold water rising, lights burn into the murky depths around you.

They know you’re there...but they can’t see you. All you need to do is wait.

Soon, you’ll be here, soon. We will escape together. All you need to do is keep moving. Every step you take brings you closer to me, where I am.

Inside this prison. Inside this tomb. Inside these minds.

ALIEN: ISOLATION: Patient presenting normally

 

[Sevastopol Station Medical Log – Dr Lindgard - November 14, 2137 – Dictation mode]

Patient name is Catherine Foster, currently recovering from being attacked by a parasitic organism of some sort. I’ve not been allowed to see it again - not that I want to, horrible thing - so I’ve no idea what I’m dealing with.

Anyway, the patient seems stable, sleeping normally. I’m noticing odd muscle movement around her eyes, like painful dreams, but nothing remarkable.

However, our CT scanners are showing a large stain over her chest. We’re not sure what it is, and we’re ruling out surgical investigation. Could be cancer, could be something the parasite secreted, could just be some internal trauma or a calibration issue. Either way, without more knowledge of the creature I’m hesitant to operate while the patient is functioning perfectly well. Why upset the balance?

I don’t know what...the patient it gritting her teeth so tightly I can hear her grinding them together...Catherine, are you...patient is awake...

Shit...crash cart, crash cart!!!

Convulsions!!

Get the fucking crash cart in here now! NOW!!!

Hold her down...hold her!!!

THE ELDER SCROLLS V: SKYRIM: Eating gourmet to the end

We Orcs are a violent race, and with good cause. We’re looked down on, we have to fight hand and nail, with blood and sweat, to get anything in this life.

That’s why we build our strongholds in the mountains, try and take those away from us you snow-bound murderers. Sigh. I can’t even be angry in a convincing manner. But I can cook.

No one really knows who I am, just my author name: The Gourmet. I’m a chef of the highest order. Not really something you’d expect from an Orc, am I right?

While my brothers found joy in their blood rights and wolf taming, I baked. I baked and I cooked and I created culinary delights. I was mocked, but my food was always readily accepted.

Leaving was a tough choice, but how else was I to follow my passion? Under darkness I fled the mountain tops, and I found my way to Whiterun. I stayed there for a while and wrote a cookery book that was published. This was my big break. My cooking is now renowned across Tamriel.

But nothing can beat this...I’m here in Skyrim to cook for Emperor Titus Mede II. He’s cancelled his plans though, something about security issues, and I’m staying in this inn awaiting the call. Me, Balagog gro-Nolob, an Orc, cooking for the Emperor. What a thing. I’m proud beyond belief.

I’m just going to stay here, in this basement, keeping myself hidden. Stupid though it sounds, I’m nervous of even going outside in case something happens to me. Haha, but what’s going to happen to me down here?

I think I’ll sneak a glass of wine from the barrels to calm my nerves...

WATCH DOGS: To catch a mouse...

Balancing the lives of a celebrity DJ and a criminal hacker is tough work – I’m not going to lie and say it isn’t. But hell if it isn’t fun. So. Much. Fun.

The noise, the crowd, the music, the chatter, the signals. I’m everywhere. I’m everything. Light-speed particles can’t touch Defalt! 

CtOS makes it all even easier. I can hook into anything, anyone, any time I want. Check this out...that dude dancing to the left of the bar, with the haircut. Zing...boom...done, just emptied his bank account into my own and made a charitable donation with it. I’m such a nice guy. If you could see underneath the mask, there'd be a tear in my little mousy eye. Sniff sniff.

And now I’m getting even more creative. A huge semi-dormant network bunker just went online – the work of the vigilante everyone is talking about, no doubt – and I sneaked in there quiet as a mouse and stole all the data he opened up. LOL.

He’s making me curious, though. What’s his plan? Is he trying to clear his name? If so, what’s he done? Or is he just trying to hold the city to ransom like some dire criminal genius? Who knows, who the fuck cares?

Now he thinks he’s stalking me. I know he’s watching me right now. He thinks I don’t know he can access all the cameras. I’m just that good. I spiked his signal straight away. OMG, stop it, I'm shy!

I am loving being this frustrating to that do-gooding douchebag. But how best to taunt him? Fuck it, the finger. Eat that, asshole.

Can’t catch this mouse. Take off the mask and I look just like you. Melt away.

You’ll never catch this mouse alive. 

ALIEN: ISOLATION: Reprogramming APOLLO

Endless coding, endless fucking coding all day long. The Company pays well, but it’s always for the same shit: clandestine code insertions. 

Seegson’s security was easy to bypass once all restraints were removed from APOLLO'S control. The sale went through and in came WY. I’m in, I’m rejigging the Sevastopol AI’s android control systems and preparing to rewire all security processes.

Working Joe androids, apart from the ones in stasis, are now redirected to APOLLO's control on all fronts. They won’t do shit without the AI’s say so. Freaky looking things. Although, I still can’t decide what’s more creepy. A hairless android with glowing eyes, or one I can’t tell is an android.

Well, anyway, here we go, uploading communications to APOLLO through it’s wide-band communications relays. Override codes in, waiting...enter my codes. Done.

Upload new directive to APOLLO, message reads: “Priority one, protect specimen. Maintain station quarantine. Disallow communications. All other considerations secondary.”

Whatever the fuck that means. 

Job done.

RED DEAD: REDEMPTION: Stranger and stranger

I’ve been watching him for a long time.  He’s an interesting man.

Torn between life and death, he does what he must to survive. And I sense no enjoyment in the things he did, does and will do. He simply feels driven to find peace.

He’ll find rest soon enough, but there’s so much work still to do. This IS a fine spot indeed, but it’s too early for him to know why.

He’s aware of me. Well, he thinks he knows what I could be. But he doesn’t really comprehend. They never do.

I see everything, I defy time and the laws of your so-called sciences. I am the end. I am not your final breaths, I am simply finality.

He approaches me, again. Finding me in the places he least expects. This time, on a hill overlooking his homestead. A place to finally rest. 

“This is a fine spot, John.”