Gone Fishing....

You ever feel like you're falling ever further down a darkened tube of despair or at the very least a cylinder based structure of never ending pain and discomfort?

Should you never hit an end however perhaps this eternal loop will eventually lull you into a deep deep sleep. A hibernation that allows one to ignore and bypass the annoying. Time will seep beneath the cracks and before you know it...


What has happened in your absence?

Was it all a dream?

Or has it all been one excruciatingly long con that will leave us disappointed and angry?

And have I already asked these questions multiple times before and continue to waste all of our damn time?

 To this and more I say, I am not done. It's coming. Soon, into next year I will post the ending and hopefully it doesn't completely suck. And if it does, we'll have our new years* confetti.



*Intentionally cryptic for your reading pleasure.

 Merry Holidays everyone!

Segment 6 (cont)

Just in the distance outside the old dwelling I and my father’s presence currently occupied, the rumbling snarl of mother’s storm roared into the county if properly calibrated to coincide with Wright’s inquiry. The boisterous growl sharpened it’s fangs against the cage of man, tearing at the edges and gnawing the corners till their thinly veiled lodging crumpled bringing down the might and velocity of a vengefully violent tornado through the once intact living room. The earth was sent through a ferocious  shock after concussive shock wave before trembling in defeat. Beneath our feet she relinquished her fading grip causing our limp bodies to suddenly and unbelievably hang in midair, hovering beside a lifetime of acquisitions.

    
    With this impulsive heave to facilitate our loss of stability so too was the sense granted to me by my two ears. Sound had been incongruously abducted and placed somewhere on the other side of this infernal vacuum.

     The faint light that followed the strangulating gasp started absent an operational catalyst, trickling as a mere dot refracted inside one of the many shattered windows. But the stubborn blotch rapidly developed into a copiously healthier encapsulation until the bright colorless shade blanketed the sky, the sun, the moon and everything below.

     I watched as the flesh on father’s tormented face had been quickly peeled into teeny tiny particles and thrust aside like a used product. In the next instant his body vanished inside a burst of sand, spraying bits and specks across the walls of what remained of our house and showering me with dots of crimson, blotting my ordinary pale complexion a pseudo freckling ala chicken pox.

    

     “I know Daniel was constructing something out there in the desert". His words hung softly at the sight of his obligation "Something that's clearly evident on these photographs” Wright laid out three black and white letter sized portraits each displaying father dragging a wooden crate and a single blur that began from the center and smeared all the way to it’s edge.

     I mumbled “There’s nothing there…”.

     “Were you looking!” retorted Wright “Were you even looking at the fucking pictures!”

      The membrane covering my bodily organs rapidly burnt and blistered beneath the torrid sheet wave as I ominously hang alongside the suspended sub-particle mess. Articles of clothing clung momentarily before the vaporizing stratum swept away the useless fabrics of shame, carrying their atoms only a foot in distance before evaporating right in front of me.

     “What was he assembling Jericho? What was your father doing before the blast?”

      The tips of my fingers bled only an instant before they hardened to the strength of rock. My knuckles tightened and cracked, skin separated and also briefly bled before being cauterized and crystallized a tepid soil tone. 

     I panicked and shouted the only words I knew. “I don’t know! You!” I pointed at the man covered in war memorabilia “You’re supposed to know! You told me you knew!”

(Should have another update by tomorrow or the day after. Had to break up the work as it was finished)

Update (Nov 5th)

Had a minor setback this week. I apologize for the lapse and unfortunately am announcing that there will be no posting till next week at the earliest. Segment 6 may run longer depending on whether I recover all the lost work and or may have been altered due to unforeseen circumstances. I suppose I'll found out soon.

On the flip side, still no update on any new reviews and can't really quite grasp changing formats to some other subject for quicker responses. It is as they say what is it is.

But for future reference (and when I have time) I will post my Bioshock 2, Demon souls, and Dead space reviews. Until then, I thank everyone for turning out for the story and hope to finish it soon.

Seg 6 (And tears)

I fidgeted once in the chair before the sought answer found me and escaped my lips in dad’s cold harsh tone. “Death I suppose…” the words slashed through the multidimensional paradox, reverberating the very same in every last one.

     In one corner my father snorted out a chuckle. “No no no we demand much more then that my boy. We require that our attention and our lives be naught for intrusive trifling or atomically fused fracases. We insist that we be heard when the skin of our torn lips detach and the noise we so shallowly utter is not a mere squeaking of mice.”

     The esteemed general broke the silence with a furious chest heaving cackle. “I bet your father knew much about that topic; Did he not?”

     “Father please” the house’s rafters shook in reaction to the approaching storm’s volatile gusts “this place is no longer safe”.

     “No… I suppose it isn’t son.” The face of my father wore a mask of melancholic grim as it’s rubber eye holes bled transparent blood. “There are not too many places left that are…”

     “What have you done dad?” in a rage I stomped my feet like a snappish wee child. “What have you done!?”

     “My father….” The words failed to materialize in my mouth.

     “Go on Jericho. Tell me all your secrets.”

     All of a sudden the howl of our benevolent mother turned acerbic. Her clenching grasp tightened and tore out the frail walls and barriers of my fractured memory scratching at the chance of stealing father’s soul.

     “Jericho…”

     “Come on boy. Spill your goddamn soul! Purge yourself these demons of guilt and despair” commanded the vet.

     “I…” quickly I shuddered at the thought instinctively placing the palms of both my hands around the two earlobes and tightly shut my eyes until the lids twitched. For just a brief moment I tried to jar the memory from my consciousness by rapidly shaking my brain cage back and forth all the while shunning the demanding general.

           “Stop it kid!” I felt a great sensation of thrust wash across my shoulder blade as the chair remained stationary but I fell to the ground in one heap. “You don’t think I know? You believe I’m oblivious to the fact?!” bellowed the exasperated Michael Wright who briefly stood over me like a dominating dog.

     The general wiped his brow, found his cool and retook his seat biting off an end of his thick cigar as he awaited my return from the floor. “It’s my job to know what’s going on, that’s what the taxpayers of this fine country pay me to do and when your mercurial father slithered into my radar…” he quickly struck his hands together producing a sharp sound which echoed across the four corners before fully returning to me. “Needless to say; I’m still clicking at high efficiency”.

     His blood spouted forward and swept down the front of his face as if the spigots of father’s physicality had busted “My sweet Jericho… You’ll need not worry about the future. Not a strand of time shall ever be in jeopardy. Not after what we’ve achieved. Not anymore.”

     The general slouched ever slightly in his chair as he lit his cigar. “You like many were manufactured on a line in vein of the great Ford automobiles. A predictable last stab into the cold bitter night of no tomorrow by the frazzled Daniel Covington” he momentarily released a large puff of smoke into the air before redirecting his attention back to the matter at hand. “He wasn’t the first to try something like this. Quite the contrary, many have, of which were done so in vain. But they’re all gone now I suppose… All but you… you still remain”. 

 

     Some men are cold hardened killers, direct and effective at targeting the weakest chink along the winding chain of humanity.

     “Covington was never your true father.” Wright nonchalantly announced.

     Others were so involuntary and befuddled by the predicament they’ve been emplaced within.

     “He only appeared so inside that splintered head of yours.”

     I recalled watching Wright shift a bit more in his terribly uncomfortable chair as my younger incarnation’s hands shook uncontrollably in their loosened shackles.

     “There have been plenty who tried to help; all of whom no longer breathe…”

     Time was a fickle bitch.

     “Jericho…" Wright lowered his cigar momentarily offering me a rare sight of badgered humility. "You need to answer me on one very important topic. Can you do that?”

     The imprisoned son nodded once knowing full well he could be of no use to this mortal captor.

     “I need to know what’s about to happen”

(conclusion to segment six coming soon. No ETA yet. The following segment shall be the last.)

Segment 6 (Blood)

"His blood..."

     My frail body shivered against the cold steel of my incarceration. A man of prestigious stature causally strolled into the confining room, pulling out the opposing metallic chair from beneath the small round bolted table before taking a deliberately long baffling moment to sit. With his displaced hat now gently resting atop the counter the man quietly exhausted his engine in one exasperating groan. Prior to our introduction he took a moment to wipe himself down, pat his cap ever so slightly, adjust or “fix” his salt and peppered hair before finally propping forward the stretched triangle shaped shirt collars while presenting a smiling grin as wide as one could possibly be. Adhered to his neckline sparkled four five pointed silver stars.

     “Do you know who I am?"

I shook my head twice without glaring too far into the man’s frigid blue eyes.

     “Did your father ever speak of my work whilst he still breathed our oxygen?”

Again and again I tossed my head from left to right, right to left, left to right, right to left.

     “That’s too bad… I thought we used to be friends… How about you son?” the general paused “Will you be my friend?” he spoke with an outstretched hand and a smile.

I did not respond in the same kindness.

     “Are you sure? This will be a lot easier if you don’t fight me…”

      While my eyes hung low and my head tilted towards the floor, I briefly shook my head no for a final time.

     “Alright, no need to get excited now.” He removed a small pad of lined paper from his pocket, flipped the cover over and withdrew a pen. “I, General Michael S Wright, shall be your arbiter in the matter of Jericho vs. Subject three hundred thirty two dash five. Let us begin from the beginning”.

     Like an isle of windows, apertures from across all plains of my imagination swirled about the course of my infinitesimal room. Each one led me in different directions each with a resounding time-line caught entrapped by my past, present and future self’s. A sighting of many distinctions layered all upon one another like that of an onion but whereas in my unpredictable world, each peeling of flap abruptly severed the germane thought with that of the multifarious universe.

     One by one I sat and listened to my honorable guest all the while watching these pieces unwrap themselves simultaneously exposing me to the antecedent world and the present dimension at the very same exact point in time. Out of the blue these assorted moving pictures once again collided, converging with one another momentarily splicing the present imagery in halves with that of my most telling moment. It was here and there I simultaneously authored the tellurian man that I am.

     “What is it you’re searching for father?” enthusiastically I asked.

     “What is it you were searching for kid?” inquired the aged general.

     “We’re looking for life of course my dear boy!” my father handily danced around the inquisition.

     My voice squeaked into a soft murmur “I… don’t know.”

     “Life? Has that not already been discovered?”

     “Uh huh. Was this gifted ignorance applied before or after your father was linked to a doomsday device code named the ninety nine dash A project?”

      Father briefly folded his arms, faintly sulking in response before abruptly breaking out in zealous proclamation “Only the superfluous! We’ve yet to carve our dilapidated way out from the ditch the obtuse dug for us. The cavernous den of teat sucking neglectful mongrels tears at the limbs of decency and attempt to circumvent the future of veracious prevalence. We seek true meaningful life Jericho, not this insubstantial substitute.”

      “I…” I – alongside my many accomplices – watched as my younger incarnation squirmed between the legs of his hardened chair. “He sought to find the necessities for our future welfare!” the young apparition blurted aloud “Honest!”.

     “And what – pray tell – is exactly necessary these days young man?”

-To Be Continued Tomorrow

Subject to be determined @ a later date

About a month previous in a segment long time ago, one sentence captured the essence of my lethargically induced story. Those words were: continued shortly, I hope.

Now a month older, a month (not) wiser, I am back to finish the fight... Err...

The real story: I've been sick and haven't felt quite capable of handling the ending because of it. Now while I am still unfortunately held beneath this restraining grasp of illness, I felt compelled to finish this story as well as any sick person may so that my audience can finally discover what befalls our protagonist.

I'm looking at trying to invest as much time as my ailing body will allow over the next two weeks (or more specifically till all hallows eve) and try to wrangle this story's conclusion here and now before we all die of old age.

All seriousness aside; come back in a week or two. I'll get this running.

And this time I promise no hope.

Segment 6 (Cont)

Time was erroneous. It was manipulative and embryonic in the hands of mankind.

Static needles ranging from enormous to infinitesimal hovered over their lilliputian brains gauging the arcing rifts that tore through the rather dilapidated segments of atmosphere contained so carelessly in the many interwoven submerged consciousness of perceived life. These "tears" continued down the peripheral border overlapping my unnatural jumps throughout the conscious body of this interval present.

A pause, blink, or cough triggers the trapdoor beneath my feet causing my inert vessel to fall and savagely flail alongside the bridged old and new epoch. The sight of failure corkscrews amidst the twisting colorless vortex that I've found myself caught within as previously severed gateways signal my descent through the course of internal perdition. One in particular amongst many caused me greater displeasure then the rest.

 "Corporal, a moment please" A voice beckoned from beyond the open doorway's metallic structure.

      The sterile detention cell where I spoke from held no windows save the for the centered two way mirror and the single door where the summoned man had just exited from. Inside said barren hell only contained a single waist high table with two impossibly uncomfortable chairs aggressively bolted to the textured flooring.

"It's come to my attention son that you've acquired a young child from the area closest to the impact sight. Is this correct?"

"Yes sir" the voice of both men leaked through the steely barriers and hit my ears as if both currently stood just across from me.

"And would it be correct to assume you've found no traces of radiation on our subject?"

"That would be correct sir"

 "Well then, we have only one solution to our little predicament"

The dismantled shards of compressed heat and sand quickly reformed back into their destined shape. A sheet of three eighth inch thick glass slid back through hollowed arch as father strode in, backwards and without a clearly defined tune. His mumble squeaked out, scrabbled from the back-end of our noisy vocabulary.

"Nos ny zah fut"

"Then it is decided corporal..."

"Sir... I do believe that will become a prob-"

Dad's rigid shoulders bulged underneath his milk white smock. The cracked smile tore over the bottom half of his weathered face as he began to peer towards my general direction.

"I ever tell you the story about my father Jericho?"

Mindlessly I shook my head in ignorance.

"It was... So very long ago now that he held out his here hand and showed me this" inside father's rugged fingers gently lay a small darkened matte gray marble no larger then a dime. "He told me that this tiny ball was supposed to change everything..."

"Think before you say what you're thinking young man! I am the one in charge here not Alvarez. If you think for one moment that I'll let you inform the captain of my intentions..."

"But it was the smooth bore musket that caused this little lead ball to rattle inside the barrel as it traveled to and from. A very bad thing to occur indeed. Likewise accuracy was more of a rarity then not. Even so" Father took the ball in hand and squeezed the tiny object until it's visible evidence was entirely covered by four bloodless fingers and a thumb. "It changed the way we thought about any given conflict"


 - continued shortly (hopefully)

Segment 6 (Pirouette)

"With the press of a button, flip of the switch or scolding glare from across the room, the world as we know it can vanish before our very eyes. All life will shudder in the face of the great mighty mushroom cloud as it's glorious incinerating wave of intense plasma glasses over our fair cities, our fair parks, our fair lives. 

And I ask you... For what? So we may rid ourselves of ourselves? Or do we find these differences in each other so demanding, so large and intrusive we must obliterate the very soil beneath thy feet? No I said to the man in largest house on Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest. No I said to the man residing inside the largest country. No I said to the man that demands satisfaction. We must not tailor our inevitablities to our prejudices. We must not falter in the face of discrimination nor in the eyes of unsolicited malice. We must face our elephants and our muskrats, we must stand and fight against the injustice that simply is thrown against any given plight and we must say NO GOT DANG MORE!"

My father had a way with words. Those that despised his obsession had a way to turn said words into bolts of strewn muck. For every attempt to dissuade modern society, they had another way to scare their flock into submission. For every attempt to disable the monster, they had many faux projects or lot of lackey proxies to merely sweep the disrupted rubble beneath the nearest shag carpet.

When he finally turned to violence, they proceeded his attacks with a handful of bullets and buckets of arson. Our two previous houses were nothing more then forgotten memories long past. Our third lay not even atop the ground. Instead it belonged to the earth, a swaying heap of dust simply brushed away under a storm of ember and smoke.


The world knew what he had intended. He himself knew what they had planned. In the end, both were as right as they were forever wrong. The aftermath of that mistake being the ultimate consequence one which took not only our swell rural town in it's sweaty rugged palm but also their global economies, their entrenched work... their entire god damn cities.


All to be plucked one by one, the nations sat and watched, fazed and battered by the resulting effect. It was as they... It was as father once said. Fire for effect.

Beyond the sea (Bioshock Review)

1960

A turbine engine listlessly shudders beyond the steel iron hull. The image of family - your loved ones - glances momentarily towards your present location. Another moment passes before the shrill screams of passengers deafen the watcher’s ears as all vision recedes to black.

Light reemerges with a title. Bioshock.

Originally unearthed for the Xbox 360 and PC platforms in 2007 the game quickly garnered not only the gaming worlds respect but one of it’s most prestigious honor: Game of the Year. In 2008 the game finally found it’s way to the Sony PS3 console with the all important “Extra features”.

As the actual game begins and the player takes the rein of our unknown player, he finds himself in quite a pickle. Surviving the plane crash “somewhere in the pacific” quickly turns out to be the simplest thing on his schedule.

A lighthouse hangs ominously over the darkened water. It being the only refuge from a watery grave, our hero sets foot on the concrete behemoth instantly bringing to life a dead structure. After the short introductory phase by one “Andrew Ryan” our protagonist is quickly unleashed to the world of Rapture – a dystopian world perpetually stuck in 1959.

Bound to progression the man hastily enters the first grisly room to finally be confronted by the resident drug/elephant in the room: plasmids. Once the two of you have been acquainted the floodgates to splicing your genes open up, each with a chemically altered characteristic. But what is a plasmid and how did it get here?

The short story: Andrew Ryan, the curator, created Rapture in the eyes of not land dwelling ideologies. In this same vein, he and other like minded individuals created gene-splicing or plasmids. Their cost? A pinch of Adam; this being their genetic wireframe holding all the little pieces together.

These “powers” work exactly the same as the firearms and act similar to how magic would in any given RPG style game. This being, of course, a first person shooter (FPS) you’ll have access to both styles of play.

And whether you decide to wield the power of electricity or set the world ablaze, remember, too much of a good thing will drain your eve (natural plasmid energy reserve) and leave you defenseless while seeking another injection. So remember, a smart splicer is a happy splicer!

When you awaken the uninviting world of Rapture is waiting. Genetically mutated freaks known as “splicers” roam the city searching for the next hit of adam. The carriers of said miracle science are itty bitty little girls covered in death’s skin wearing the torn remnants of their innocence. But to attack one of these “Little sisters” would be to anger their guardian the “Big Daddy” which has quite the temper when startled.

Once you’ve dealt with one of these colossal tin cans you’ll finally be allowed to taste the venom of Adam but only if you decide the fate of the little sister first.

But in a world where the fabrics of morality lay in tatters and the only certainty is the need for self preservation; can you heed the painful warning that Rapture cries, attempting to thwart the darkness and be their savior or will you fall forever to the alluring corruption of greed and inflated self importance?

Besides all that intoxicating game play, the main attraction to the world of Rapture (the city itself notwithstanding) is the excellently written storyline; one that contains more twists, bumps and heart then most games readily produced. The steadfast attention to detail is simply amazing. The working of every little nuisance inside the city creates such a world full of life, death, and destruction that it takes repeated viewing to fully explore the length of yarn on display. It also helps that it’s being told solely through the eyes and ears of our intrepid captive creates a much more riveting standard for video interaction narrative.

To say anymore would be telling.

Pros:

• Superb narrative that never ceases to interrupt gameplay nor disappoint

• The world of Rapture is a monument to videogame excellence. It in and of itself could self contain a game with minimal exertion

• The ability to actively effect the environment to hurt thy enemy

• Ability to actively enhance your character with tonics, weapon upgrades and crafting offers RPG like augmentation

Cons:

• Prototypical gunplay can sometimes feel antiquated and dated

• A lot of the plasmids don’t really feel very polished

• Hacking

• Ending (cut scene)

Conclusion:

To say Bioshock is anything less then a crowning achievement would be an insult. The game easily bumps shoulders with the most renowned of video games inside their “hall of fame”. And while there are the occasional hiccups, most of which are issued directly to the hacking mini game, so much of the presentation – from the story to the gameplay to the graphical prowess – is fantastically delivered that any issue feels extremely minor and unimportant. The truest testament to the brilliance is the fact that I’ve been through Rapture three times and enjoyed it more with each consecutive play through.

Bioshock is an outstanding game not to be missed by any. If for some reason you’ve not enjoyed the fruits of Eden then you owe it to yourself to take a bite today.

Final score: 95/100

As always, if you enjoyed this review head over to my amazon link to your left (under reviews) and hit thumbs up. If you didn't well... I suppose there is always next time.

Segment 6 (It's been a long time coming)

In my eyes the gelatinous tears begin to build. Their salty concoction of mournful thoughts swell behind the cornea before the eruption bursts out across the pot mocks that riddle my cheeks. Each indentation slows the teardrop nearly bringing the melancholic stream to a dead stand still.


"Son!" Father exclaimed "Awake my son; the dogs have found us!"


 The crease in my lips folded back in time "How is this possible Papa?".


 "I do not know my child but do hurry. We haven't much time. The planes already burning fuel as we speak."


The face of my father vanishes back into the backdrops of my storied memory. His appearance of glee, pure and untouched happiness on the other hand never dissipated.


I watched as he took the necessary and unnecessary in hand before forcible plunging the inanimate inside his large soil tinted leather suitcase. The life up to this point was no longer relevant. The future - as he'd say with a boom and a thunder - had no time for such trivial matters.

"What in God's name were you doing out there kid?"

Lacerations of pain trickle in from left to right, then right to left until the concussive force eventually destroys the fabrics of my alluring dream. Fire engulfs the immediate environment beneath a wave of burnt orange. Pillars of thick charcoal gray smoke hangs ominously over my head.

       "What were you looking for?" 

The structure lay in tatters. It's many windows shattered intermittently peppering the ground a sprinkled concoction of many blades and daggers. My feet, stricken bare and naked to the touch, had yet to bleed.

"Look son" the man let out a long winded sigh "We can help you. All you must do in return is tell me what exactly you were doing out there." 

A gale of exasperated carbon monoxide brushes past the slick portion of my face. The cool frail wind freezes a fair piece of doused flesh before conceiting life backwards through the dull listless marbles lodged within the victim's eye socket.

"Damnit kid, just tell me why you were found trespassing on hollow ground. That field you carelessly stumbled through has been officially ruled as governmental property. For all intents and purposes I could have you arrested and jailed till you're of age."

The stirring of death's fable cauldron had been tasted. The ladle carefully sat aside the hot boiling dish awaiting one final ingredient.

"Did your father ever teach you the rules of responsibility? Do you even realize that for all of this" the young corporal waved his arms in one grand circular motion "All of this costs something. And for every cost, there is a debt. For every debt there is a payment owed"

A drip of hate, a bead of malice, and a crown of justifiable logic.


In my eyes the sun and crescent moon quickly melded into one shade of light. A cataclysmic eruption in the barrier of our inner atmosphere clouded the vermilion skies. The propulsion - a wave of incineration - rapidly ate and dissolved yard by yard of the dry field that I currently stood upon. The ground roared, the earth shuddered, and then the light of a hundred million candles blotted out the ever changing hues of our adventure.


The bright white illumination tore past my father's corpse, past the field's end, past the edge of the world I could readily see. It had engulfed everything. And when the moment had come to pass, I fell to my knees, skin burnt a crisp and bleeding my precious blood to feed a dying world.


But for when I turned to spot my father's grave, the one that had been there just a moment ago, for it was gone as was the dust. All of it was just gone.

Glory Days 2

The thunder of a hundred roaring bird's mechanical engines deafen the muggy air. The stampede of recoiling metallic substance grates across the dry earth as the ever stretching line of assault vehicles leisurely march forward towards their enemy. The smell of burnt ash and spent gasoline flutters past your nostrils as the first shot rung out just off in the distance.

War, no matter the coat of paint nor the propaganda, is never a pretty subject.

Glory Days 2 - much like Advance wars before it - has taken this bleak concept and not only made a game that is quite fun but also very light on the graphical realities. A sequel to (Super Army War) brought to a whole new platform (GBA > DS) and course hopefully in the process, a brand new audience.

The game aptly straddles the corners of a real time strategy/action hybrid game set on a 2d scene. Main objectives are very very simple. Escort your troops across the screen from right to left. In the process you'll A: pick up civvies (civilians) B: Shoot down the enemies fighters in the sky and C: Build troops/drop off troops (helicopter) and from time to time use special weapons (Unmanned fighters/bombs/parachuters). Most of the ground battles play out in rock paper scissor fashion; soldier's capture bunkers but get destroyed by tanks, tanks destroy bunker's and kill soldier's/any other ground unit, anti air units repel enemy helicopter/jets and then there's the two "special" vehicles with unique jobs to play out on the battlefield. It ends up looking something like this when you get all done:

M...........B......B.......B..C..C..B........B......B.......M
(Main enemy base)      (Civ)       (Bunker)   (Your Base)

Bunkers and civilians supply the forces with money (and if civs die YOU lose money) so you must also protect both as best as humanly possible lest your enemy gain the upper hand and build twice the force as you.

These simple mechanics are the game's greatest assets and (eventually) the weakest. See to handle all these complex jobs at once you'll be required to constantly search for the right button or tap the right selection on the touch screen all during the inane combat that ensues in later levels.

While not overly difficult through the first 15 campaign missions the final mission is not for the faint of heart. And being overly ambidextrous can only save you so much time and conversely so many troops. It's quite unfortunate this micromanagement was not addressed in same way... Like say the game pauses when you pull up the troop list or at the very least include a tutorial/training to ease the burden.

I had one other cringe worthy moment. The game's story (or lack thereof) is buried in the letter's of the video game's imaginary soldiers. These seemingly strike the distinct line between endearing and preachy. And then even after all this, I found it quite perculiar the game's backdrops in at least one level is very clearly displaying two towers in very close proximity to one another. It may be the developers merely wanted to show respect but the sight (and letters) came off a little odd.


Overall:
Still, Glory Days 2 is far from lost to the concept of poorly implented controls. It is far from perfect and can be infuriately annoying at times but all in the all this simply put is hands down one of best unknown games put out for the DS.

Score: 80/100



*I've been very very busy and had a LOT of trouble with the next couples of pages thus why the updates haven't been received yet. Soon however I will post it.*

About the future

It's been about a quarter from a dollar of posts and I believe eighteen or so (didn't check/count) have been solely facilitating my fictional writings. I acknowledge this solely because most of my readers have or will come from this very specific reason. I'm not quite sure I've yet to hit the other markets as well and my reviews are quite a bit lacking in energy (lethargic some would say) thus why these facets have been lessened to focus on the bread and butter.

This is no problem of mine. I enjoy the work and hope you do too. It's not quite blog like material (I'd imagine) but then I was never much of this type of update.

But I did feel compelled to examine and explain my recently sluggish updates and assure you that I have not lost sight of the original goals.

1.     Slow updates quickly answered; the ending has less holes to open and more to fill all of which currently have been paved and casted in a vat of instant drying cement. I can't change anything if I find it wrong and expect it to work in the future thus the footing has to now be check trice as much to ensue I don't retread or retcon anything. Most assuredly things won't get any worse.
2.     The ending of our story hasn't change by any drastic nature since it's inception. Yes things haven't went as planned nor have they flowed down the pipe as expected but the ending will remain (mostly) intact from original design.
3.      The future after this tale is still but a mystery even to me but I will offer this sneak peak. The greatest asset of a forum such as this will allow me to offer up instant retrospects and reviews of my own work through my own eyes. This I'm hoping will help alleviate any questions and misunderstanding that will soon be found.
4.      Will there be any new iterations or altogether completely different stories after this one? Of course. Will they be more simple minded or? Don't know.
5.      What about that pesky "complete" edition? Well what about it? Honestly I did begin my evaluation some time ago and found the typical holes or minor annoyances but I must stress this once again. This is not so much a "complete" edition as this is more of a "wishfully" better edition that WILL NOT AFFECT THE BLOG EDITION. Whether you purchase it or not, the tale will end here in it's original drafted glory. 
6.       And finally outside of the narrative... Yes I will come back to the reviews and prodding of video game deficiencies till they erupt. I hope to bring new looks, new styles, and new characters with possibly introducing The White Panther's Pub (reviews, retrospects) and The Russian's Corner (previews, initial reactions, etc)

What this all means to you, my readers? Hopefully it satisfies your queries and keeps you enthralled enough to come back for more fiction/insight. 

As always,

Thanks,

Rossini

    

Segment 6 (What becomes)

        Like so many pedals rung around the ring of the core, the detached flutter slowly and awkwardly towards the depths from which they came. An intimate dance amongst only the single entity, a tranquil but violent struggle against the destructive sense of gravity tears against the soul's earthly vessel. This, a letter, a love song, a final goodbye to those that came looking, wishing for more; much more.

       "Those words were solemnly uttered by a very quiet veteran from the great war." Spoke the tall burly man seated at the front of the room. "Do you know why he clung to such morbid philosophies?"


A young private rose from his seat and quickly answered the man. 


"Sir, it is because the man watched as his close friends and enemy wildly flailed to the ground in the great agony of death"


The young man was seated before the tall man retook the podium.


"Because he felt the intrinsic prickle of pain and guilt all associated with the fury of war. A basic emotion all men have shared not only the in the trenches of the nearest fox hole but also carried through the streets of Fairway. Much that we've ignored and discarded"


Again the man sat and poked inside the nearest desk drawers.


"Michael" he spoke without bothering to bring about his head from it's work. "Come to the front and draw me a man on the chalk board"


"Sir!"


The young cadet arose from his seat and shuffled with haste towards the blackboard. A moment later he was done and gone; back seated with his peers.


"Yes... Very good Michael. Now here we have the physical representation of man" the teacher cocked his head to better appreciate the boy's art.


"Yes as we all see..."


But the teacher's words never continued past that original train of thought. Instead his eyes wandered past the row of desks towards the final and last of souls seated at the far end of the room.


"Sir, I do not believe you belong in this room" The professor propped his glasses back upon the bridge of his nose.


"I..." tingles of cold sweat dripped down the base of my spine.


"Sir..." 


"I was told to come here..." I continued the procrastination disregarding the blood currently dripping from beyond the tip of my cranium.


"From who?"


"I was told to come here..." I repeated.


"Sir I must ask you to-"


Unexpected and abruptly the teacher faltered his words and comprehension of logic. A small, tiny, intrinsically minute lapse of time was just the right amount of time it took for me to spot the repeat.


The quake ripped the glossy lamented floor in half, splitting the children and blackboard into two separate entities. The subsequential shock-wave shattered each and every last remaining porthole to the outer realm bringing the shards of glass inward similar to a hundred thrown spears all of which began rapidly impaling their victims. Those fortunate enough not to fall in or to these plagues were only to be set aside; to be their witnesses.


"When they forget" I began to repeat the line written across the board. 


    The waves of radiated heat covered the earth underneath an ocean of purging blankets sundering the lands with long sprawling rifts that stretched farther then a mile a piece.


"They grow indolent and content to forever echo these mistakes".


And just like that the book - carefully caressed from the professor's hand just a moment ago - fell to the ground bursting into a puff of gray and black dust before disappearing towards the set backdrop of central white light currently overcasting the skies a distance and a half away.


In my mind the sight looped evermore. In my dreams the sight looped evermore. In my eyes...

Segment 5 (concluded)

The long arduous trek across the foriegn land had me biting down hard on my own words.

"What will you do when you find it and what exactly will you do with it?"

Will I merely recalibrate the settings to discover exactly where the contraption faltered? Or will I inevitably buy into the fully laid out and deployed arrangements.

"We're losing the sun skipper, pick it up" an agitated voice calls out.

The device speaks to me as we near the end of our trip. It's distant cry has become a vaporous cloak cast along the thick smog dying the fog the same distinct color as itself. Red drapes strung along as far as the eye can see. Past the ferns, shrubs and roaming hills all leading me, taunting me... Dragging me forward.

It's hand is cold to mine, freezing the skin it contacts a sickly death brown.

"I told you to pick it up Jerry!"

The breath spewed from the lips of death is an atrocious mixing of fecal matter and rotten flesh each of which is carefully strewn together as not to disrupt either delicate fetor.

But most of all I can feel the heartbeat I once lost. A synthetic throbbing of mechanical gears and rotating cylinders... A sense of attachment, adornment, and empty hollowed passages that flutter aimlessly through my head.

Something... No...

Someone has awoken it. I can feel the pace rapidly increase in speed, and then decrease in volume. A cycle of mass that is in constant fluctuation but most importantly never ceasing.

Something is wrong.

The deeply woven thicket finally wore thin by the time we arrived to a clearing paved through nature's backwoods with all but the last lingering rays from the sun's final lapse at our backs. The ghastly fog on the other hand never surrendered an inch as the ankle high cloud spread past our feet sweeping across the esplanade all the way to the nearest asphalt road.

"Come Jerry, I wish to show you something before day's end"

At the very end of our maze we trotted past the lost silence that still crept along the vines and branches entrenched within the marsh. Alfred's swift feet thrust back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster and faster until the surreal vision of a man was engulfed by the darkness.

"Alfred? I can't see a bloody thing!" my cries fell unto deaf ears.

"Stop playing and help me ya damn fucker"

But the vision nor the voice ever reverberated back towards me. With just a click of a finger, light and leader dissolved into an ever bending, ever falling, and ever twisting abyss of shadows and unilluminating wonder.

I was stuck back down there... I was stuck back down there, under the earth, buried and blinded by the never ending tunnels. In every direction I swam I began to drown.

But a life preserver did finally come. A circular tube... No a oblong cylinder. An egg like bulb, florescent, energetic and lit like a match.

Light peered down at me from atop the ceilings, past my shackles and through the bleak wounded areas.

With it I was healed.

"Jerry?" A hand tightly grasped my left shoulder-blade. "I thought I lost you my friend. Come, it's right over here"

Around the green bends light had been repelling the coats of darkness and illuminating the crevices dug through the ground.

"Why are you showing me this Al?"

"No not this. There" with a finger and a smirk the man drew my sight towards a small hill of ragged corpses waiting for the undertaker's shovel. "Do you see that Jerry? Now take a closer look. Do you see that?"

It was not possible. It was not plausible. It was not... It was not... No...

There they lay, thrown off from the carrier's shoulder and stacked neatly in order. All of which now were nothing more then lifeless vessels, molding from the humid winds.

But that did not disturb me so.

It was their hands that did startle my consciously broken mind.

"You're awfully quiet nowadays Jerry. I remember it like yesterday. I remember you being so full of confidence. I remember you comprehending the situation like it had been trained for." spoke Alfred.

"What's wrong Jerry? Where's that guy who knew what it all meant? Where'd he go?"

"He's dead you sick son of a bitch." I dropped my head in anguished failure, leering past the ribbons of gauze tied tightly around my palm.  "He's fucking dead"

Segment 5 (My eye is hurting*)

"You can't get to where you want to be by just standing there Solider. Come, we must make it past the marsh before the sun dies"

I nodded, agreeing and shuffling behind the torrid pace of my leader.


What was it that I said so long ago... What was it that I spoke for or against that would have altered the difference a minor degree? Or did I already charge that burden unto the shoulders of those who've failed to represent the best interest?

"Watch this here." Alfred stuck out his tarnished machete in the direction of the aboriginal plant life. "The green ones aren't too harmful I reckon but the violet and amber ones have been known to kill people".

"Really?" I naively asked hanging on every word.

"Of course not Jerry I was just checking to see if you were paying attention"

"Now what the hell else would I be doing stuck out here in the wilderness?" I retorted.

Alfred's voice was unusually low and dreary. "Dreaming I'd imagine... That's what I'd be doing"

"Not very bloody likely Alfred."

"Oh? You beyond that at this point?" his tone shot back up to it's normal buoyancy.

"Not at all. It's just that dreaming is for the poets or the clever, neither of which I am"

"And what makes you so god dang certain all this is not some faraway dream you've been lulled into by a powerful dose of medicine and or spell from the decrepit wizard's hand? Hell how do you even know that right now you're not just dead somewhere. Sitting, waiting, sleeping, sitting, waiting, watching, waiting, and sleeping away the penance?"

I withdrew the small nagging blade that clung aboard the side of my ankle and ran the sharp jagged edge down the closest seam of my hand. The crimson darkness rapidly seeped out from the rift and bled, flowing flawlessly towards the ground.

"This is how I know the world I live in is real Alfred. This is how I detect what I understand and appreciate; by the sense of feel and the searing tingle of pain that currently jolts through my palm."

Alfred and I held our gaze intently on the leaky faucet of human nectar.

"Do you believe me now that I am authentic?"

*Mine, not the characters/story relevant. Just me. So don't mind any mistakes for the time being. Sorry!*

Segment 5 (Time is changing)

What was left of us in the shadow of our lost moon?

There I stood, head cocked aside, crooked and tilted inhumanly backwards towards the ground. In the sky lit the world beneath bundled sheets of puke orange and brown sprawling lines of ever expanding universal stretch marks. The damage had been done, processed and expelled. Whatever lingers is not what should remain.

I took a deep breath inward, absorbing as much of the nefarious toxin possible and then quietly released my intake. Once in the hot air spiraled like a tornado inside my cringing lungs. The gases quietly diverge as the sweltering oxygen ushers out the carbon dioxide. Once in and once out. Once in, once out.

A burst of sunlight tears at the bottom of my eyelids, peeling at the edges and eventually ripping the flaps backwards with sweet causal innocence of only requesting a glimpse.

Night has receded, faded back to it's perpetual resting spot upon the other side of the world whilst I am alone left to watch the rising sun illuminate and foreshadow the towering city over yonder. A sight I am stricken by and will never be allowed to forget.

As if stolen directly from my many drifting dreams amongst the sundered earth I coyly watch as the cascading rubble and debris from human endeavors leisurely sway across the planet's crust akin to the water washing over any given beach. Their physical life is still there, their belongings, their emotions, even their deep impressive footprints still linger albeit now covered or buried a hair bit more then a moment before.

When I do finally open my eyes and begin to properly siphon the enlarged morning sun's rays into pure concentrated energy I begin to realize just what I hadn't days, months, years, centuries before.

The painted vista from my brain overlapped the actuality perfectly, outlining the edges from the lone skyscraper still standing and dropping it directly over the fallen city of Lucentis. And just adrift to the side, and immediately smack dab in the center, green wilds latched upon the decrepit leap of man and began to bring back the indigenous world to her awaiting mother.

Collecting fragments of my memory

I'm currently playing Assassin's creed 2 (don't expect a review for another week) thus where I ripped the title more or less from. But that is not exactly at all where my intentions lie.

No no no. Truth is I grow tired of this oncoming phenomenon that is sweeping across our sandbox/linear games without rhyme nor reason. And while it appears to be only second to that other annoying trend (QTE's*) brought on by Resident Evil 4 (unless it was God of War's fault...) it has without a doubt seeped into most current releases from now to only a few years back.

*Quick time events for the acronym impaired*


Yes I am blatantly attacking the collection agenda that developers swoon over because of one very simple feat. It adds depth and time to their games and thus it (possibly) hurts resellers of used games/helps original publisher (another topic I'll get into at a later date). But the flaw here completely and unnaturally begins to destroy (linear) games to such a degree that I must question what the hell these people were thinking (other then the whole money thing... Whoops!).

Imagine for a minute - as I recently reviewed Wanted: weapons of fate - that you're streaking the halls (not nude, perverts) nearly dodging bullets while returning fire and smoothly crossing over cover to cover avoiding slugs left and right. Now imagine all the adrenline and all the excitement this brings as you watch the last man crumple beneath your l33t skills... And then you drop EVERYTHING YOU ARE DOING TO LOOK FOR SOME LITTLE ***KING PURSE/COINBAG/CASE/BAGOFWEED/ETC.

Meanwhile the game world carries on without you. More baddies come in and you're still looking through the corners and the garbage and beneath those tiny itty bitty shelfs that shouldn't even exist, all the while your body is riddled with the lead from a thousand uzi's and otherwise obliterating all synergy and continuity you had just a moment ago. Boom, flash of light, flash of black darkness, game over sign, GONE.

A little extreme I know but the reality is and this is a big one here folks, why am I and why should I be searching for these little annoying pieces of whatever when I bought the (insert genre) to do (insert specific tasks). I mean would you really sell a baseball game (say MLB The Show) where at every inning swap (top to bottom) both teams scuttle off the field so that you can relive the enjoyment of bringing out the maintenance crew to manually clean the field up inside a virtual world? It might be interesting to see it done (if it isn't already) but would it and does it justify the time lengthening bullocks currently being employed in what seems to be practically every single game currently/coming out?

I'll answer that for you. No it does not.

But I'll play devil's advacate for a moment. Aftter all how can this be as bad as I say and no one else seems to mind?

Simple fact is collecting stuff is fun just ask Nintendo and their gamefreak department. There's more pokemon alive now then there was/is oil in the gulf. For god's sake if collecting wasn't fun it couldn't and would not have survived the PETULANT GAMER of today's era let alone survive the omnipotent video game reviewer of IGN/Gamespot/etc.

So am I so upset that I can't overlook this (would be) minor glitch in the system?

Well for one *looks up at the disrupting gameplay* I'd say my biggest problem is three fold. For one, why in every game are we collecting these things without some form of contextual reward (other then the beloved achievements)that assists the in game world? Does every collection gather need rewards? No, but if you want me to drop (the game version of) reality for some silly nilly object I certainly should be rewarded other then a little blinking instant message saying that I just won the game. Look to Mercenaries 2/Grand Theft auto/Armyoftwo/etc.

Two is actually the procedure of procuring these artifacts. You either end up requiring a guide (more money) or you need the internet nearby neither of which are to abysmal a request but I always thought and still think that a game should be self contained. Batman Arkham asylum is a perfect example. First you'd receive riddles and eventually you'd find a map to approximately where said secrets were. You'd even be compensated for the task. HOW PRACTICAL!

Another scenario is Infamous a game that diverges hidden packages into the two brackets. Which is to say again they're both incredibly useful (adds an extra bolt to your hud/reserve) and give you an actual map to EVERY SINGLE ONE. And on the flipside, to make it both effective and attractive there are over 200+ to find in the world so in game guide be damned it'll still take an ass load of time to find all that goodie goodie treasure.

The other fault here? Why do these hidden packages have to be physical? Why can't they be objective based IE infiltrate base without being spotted/blow up fuel depot/etc.

Oh wait... What was I thinking... Aren't these now achievements?

One minor edit notice: I'm only ripping on linear path game worlds who diverge time and energy into these hidden packages because they are (typically) narrow in decision and progression. Free roamers such as AC 2 (as noted above) infamous or GTA don't really count into the discussion because at the end of the day you can always tackle anything at anytime thus it doesn't interfere. Whether it's worth? Well look at crackdown (one. Not that other one). Many people loved searching for agility orbs for no other reason then for the search. There's nothing wrong with that when it resides in THAT setting.

Second Editing: Was in a hurry this morning. Still doing some trimming to the spelling/grammatical errors.

Segment 4 (concluded)

Globule dots fluttered a playful wink down towards our present location in vein of a blink from the human eye. A possible reminder dancing upon the escaping gases all across the ever expanding milky way. Sight from below, here as we stand, reminded me of the murky waters ten thousand leagues beneath the great ocean. A solidified liquid encircled and spread across the air like smog caught inside the updraft clouds, those of which that cast the earth's atmosphere a dark concentrated hue, one so powerful and deep that not even the remaining electrical surge of lights currently illuminating from a distant desolate and abolished city could bridge.

All we were left with as a dimly lit guide was the sparkling freckled sky face, blinking, crying, and watching over us ever so vigilantly.

"Where's the damn moon at again Walsh?"

"I told you before" snapped my partner "the name's not Walsh; it's Alfred. As for your lackluster orbiting garbage disposal... I told you already. We got rid of it before the incident."

Puzzled I asked "Yes but why would you do such a thing?"

"What the hell is this, twenty questions? You like everyone else should remember it like yesterday! It's orbit around the earth was jarred loose some twenty years ago at the peak of our newly rising star goddess; The Red Devil. Shit" Alfred scuffed against the ground pulling a crumpled paper from amongst the rubble. "Read it for yourself"

I took hold the tarnish report glancing past the headliner.

Collision imminent!

Sources have told our very own Tracy O'Connell that the moon's current trajectory has it enclosing upon our atmosphere with the collision foretold to happen as early as three pm tomorrow afternoon. Head scientist of asteroid research and defense Morgan Shawl had these words for the public.

"We have a plan in place to advert the oncoming incident. A plan we've centered around the new gravitational field of project 99 A. This highly potential and potent technology will allow us to rip the axis of our very own moon back to it's original placement. I assure you, public of Freedom Park, you have nothing to fear"


"I don't understand Alfred, what exactly occurred here?"

"You read the newspaper?"

"Yeah but-"

Alfred abruptly interrupted me. "That's what happened."

Somethings Wrong

I wanted to post this as a foreword and possible intrusion to my new headliner. As anyone who's already read a part, the whole thing, even a mere single word from my tale must have realized by now that there is something a askew with the story here.

Typically we have an idea, a draft, research, time...

Here I didn't employ any of that. I feel almost childish in thinking I could write without the use of any of those procedures.

Which led me to thinking. I can't redo what I've posted here because it's already been done regardless if anyone has read it or not. It's silly and stupid to simply step backwards and try and fix the problem where it rests currently.

A better and slightly more intrusive idea struck me. One that may or not annoy some of my readers.

Why don't I finish the story here but in the vain of a draft mode and then, as soon as time allows, release the more fleshed out and complete tale of Jerry's journey on Amazon.com (or any other publisher that will take it) for say .99 cents.

This will allow me to still update my blog with new content and finish what I began but still satisfy my perfectionist side.

I hope it works out a bit better this way because I'm a bit disappointed thus far with the Oasis story as it is. How it can be with a bit time... Well I hope I can actually fair that journey a bit better.

Will keep informed,

Thanks for understanding/reading,

-Rossini

Segment 4 Cont.

Darkness surrounds us. Behind every wet nook and every doused little man is the breeding grounds of something not normal. Something I describe as the vast empty waters reaching out far and wide touching every coast once, twice, three times a day. Darkness has encased our mindless zombified corpses and now we wait to be flushed out and away.

With much haste a natural purging element surges across the land we tread intending to fulfill it's intended design. We as the unlucky, we as the unfaithful and blind must oblige our murky monster. We must fall. We must be crushed. We must die.


My head ran a million scenarios all simultaneously over and over and over and over again. A perpetual loop of unforgiving cold and calculated nature. Before long I could feel my feet swell, sweat, and otherwise bend beneath me before floating alongside me as my brain cruised further and further down the drain.


Darkness has a name.


A slip here, a discarded shoe there. Three of us ran with intense speed, jostling for first, second, and "Shit I survived" places respectively.

I imagine the world sitting down to watch with us as the scuffling tide behind slowly grew and grew in speed. They cheer and pout with effective passionate praise. I slowed just enough to remember the worlds dead and buried beneath the ash and discarded physicality that blew periodically with the gusting wind above.

"We've never gonna make it Jerry!"

I hear a cry. A whimper. A whine.

"We can't do it!"

A beg. A lie. A con.

"There's no exit!"

A notion. A question. An answer.

"There!" I point to the only remaining light that presently emitted beneath the earths surface.


The darkness cries out in pain. It's melancholy grumble sizzles as our lives very very slowly crawl back to life.


A thought hits me as Walsh takes the ladder first. His puppet dangles behind us as I watch the faint brittle illumination swallow the short man alive beneath a coat of black tar.

The darkness has eaten but is not content. My mind rattles off the numbers equivalent to the degree of starvation before the dark sludge reaches it's long steady hand out for me next.

Four fingers and a thumb tug on my collar, lifting me farther, higher, a distance away from the danger.

"We're not safe yet Jerry"

I hear the man in my ear whistle to a tune. The light that guided us - the one that saved us - is run by it's own variation of electricity.

A fixture set by the hands of man to eliminate the darkness. This one here did just that and long enough so that we may watch it's valiant swan song come to a conclusion.


Once again we are encased in darkness.


My mouth is dry, feet are wet and all I could think to ask was :

"Where's the god damn moon at".

The natural flaw in 3rd person shooters

My newest review (Wanted weapons of fate, check my amazon feed) brought me to an old revelation. Third person shooters (and to a degree 1st) have the unwelcome guest of the player interfering with what's supposed to be a climatic, intense, realistic gunfight. Instead the computed AI and the environment must interject a basic overlay in order to provide fun for the inadequate human.

That sounds harsh but the realistic nature of gun-play on consoles (won't comment for PC) is either divided into: Cover or Slow Mo. These elements have persisted for two very good reasons. So that we the gamers can survive the onslaught of advanced technology. Sure the other more boring reasons (cover being realistic) blatantly cover up the fact that the player has not the ability nor the function to control the action that is most delicate.

Take for example, any cut scene during any action oriented game where the hero does something time sensitive and flawlessly. Now try and allow a human player to do the same and you'll end up in a purgatory of endless loops that ultimately are called: Trial and Error.

Case in point: Splinter cell (pre conviction and post). Pre was solely divided into the group of loyal trial and error perfectionists. Post is an alternate, almost reacting culture that allows the players the ability to do things not humanly possible. An automated killing source offers everyone to be a bad ass as was intended.

That cannot be the future of gaming but the question remains: what is? With the new stride towards motion controls one must ask themselves. Are we forgoing the future (or at least altering/delaying it) for a gimmick or will we eventually find a new more natural benchmark where we can achieve what we and the game intend?

Segment 4

The tunnel system ran slick on all sides due to the perspiring earth sweltering underneath afternoon rays. It's sweat streamed from every pore as the journey across the world continued on it's rapid pace.

"You ever curious as to where we're going Walsh?"

"Not in the slightest. Right about now I'm only worried about getting there" he candidly replied.

"And what if I'm leading you astray? Would you care then?" A wry smile teetered off my lips.

"Is that a confession I hear Jerry?"

"Merely a question my friend. It's merely a question".

The deeper we plummet the thinner the light eventually drew completing it's inevitable snuffing about an hour in. Instinctively I ran my palm along the wet gushing wall guiding myself and Walsh deeper and deeper into the blackened abyss.

"What if there isn't an exit Jerry?" My adventurous companion abruptly blurted aloud. "What if this just keeps going and going?"

"Whatever has an entrance must also be entitled to an exit my friend. And a sinkhole such as this has plenty, believe me. Just keep following me and we'll be alright"

I could hear him and his mute minion continue arguing behind me about the rations. Their voices had slowly been dwarfed and eventually drowned out by the incessant sound of dripping water. It was a unlit paradise of quiet renditions and flowing of oceans.

All was well up until I heard the previously unheard friend of Walsh cry up some panic.

"Problem! Problem!" screamed the shortest, stoutest surehanded caddy available to us.

"Jerry! The Walls!"

Everything was dark. There was only noise. That of man and that of nature. The loudest surely would win the battle of attrition but I was just confused as to what my traveling companions had seen or felt. I myself saw nothing.

"The walls aren't holding. We need to go back now!" Walsh shouted.

I stopped in place holding up the conga line just long enough to begin my rant. "I'm not going backwards for anything goddammit! Not for your silly omens, for your stupid silly fucking rations that I explicitly told you would never last, and most importantly" I rest my voice momentarily to build suspense. "I am not going back just because your little dwarf told you to".

The moment those words escaped my mouth I instantly felt what scared them so. With a hand pressed right up against the nearest wall I could feel an oceanic shock wave that could only prove a possible answer to a guess that a large body of water had plunged it's fingers through the earth and drove itself towards our present location in a propulsion similar to that of a bullet in the process of discharging through the barrel.

My words left me cold and shaken.

"Run!"

Segment 3 (continued)

I clambered past seven knee high walls, four chest high and one shoulder high barrier to ultimately arrive before the grand mother of them all. A colossal mass of disrupted dirt, pavement, flesh, and twisted steel hovered some twenty feet tall staggering the land underneath a frigid shadow that flew beyond the realms natural border.

"What the hell... How exactly was this anomaly caused by such a simple weapon?"

"It's more then just a simple weapon mister Walsh. Now please... stand back"

In my pack I carried several bricks of plastic explosives as an emergency clause although typically reserved for self destruction in the case of capture or departure from the best laid plans. In my twenty something years guarding the post I never had to use the stuff. Then snap of a thumb later I'm instantly resorting to the last possible scenario.

Walsh caught a glance of my toys and instantly peppered me with uncertainty. "You think you can blast a hole through the earth with that shit?" he spoke half feet in condescending half in inquisitive.

"No Walsh that would be silly." A smirk rolled off my lips "I'm planning on something else occurring"

"Like what?"

Without response I plunged the detonator through the clay like substance and initiated the fuse. Grabbing hold of the nearest hump I took the composite firmly in hand and arched my back in line straight with rolling sides before surging every muscle throughout my body to heave the explosive up and over the behemoth skyscraper.

"Fire in the hole!" my voice was engulfed a moment later by the boisterous thunder a thousand firecrackers.

Walsh lifted his head first, gasping in disbelief. For just a moment the dust-storm washed away the oxygen and clarity around the impact sight. Just a second later it was gone, blown away by a furious wind.

In it's steed rest a hole the size of a common day sedan smack dab in midst the world.

"What the hell is that Jerry?" Walsh's out reached finger sprung towards the missing splotch of Terra-firma.

"It's a drain hole Walsh. Coincidentally also exactly where we were headed."

A counter clock wise spiraling gap in known physics. Not a black hole, an actual garbage disposal that ran the earth's crust in length all the way to the core. But that wasn't where I was leading the sheep.