Tag: Games

Lordt, the Far Cry Chronicles. “C4 At the Door”

As I removed my eye from the rim of the scope my lips curled up in silent satisfaction.

“Would you remove that shit-eating grin?” Hurk asked.

I saw no reason to do so and held the pose before loading another round into the chamber of my Predator sniper rifle and deftly executing another sentry.

However, my smugness was short-lived, since the Fortress ahead of us was not populated by sentries alone. They were but the icing on the cake, if that. Somewhere behind those walls would be men-at-arms, lunatics, heavies and no doubt the customary mortar these guys seemed so obsessed with. To be honest, if I had access to one, I would be too.

We needed a plan to get inside and if the slumped corpses of the trio of sentries I’d reamed hadn’t already given the game away, the RPG on my shoulder might.

“Wait, I’ve an idea” Hurk said, ill-advisedly placing his hand on the end of the rocket to lower the launcher.

He nodded over to the truck we’d just exited.

To be fair, I’m surprised our arrival hadn’t already alerted every fortress and outpost within a fifty mile radius. We had burnt the clutch out, ragged the engine and basically skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway before piling into the shrubbery.

Yet somehow no one seemed to notice a damn thing.

It took me a while to get Hurk’s meaning. He’d not long been savaged by a Honey Badger and I had suspected it was beginning to affect his performance.

But then the penny dropped.

Seconds later we were packing the trunk of the van with C4 like the stuff was going out of fashion.

The plan was to release the handbrake on the truck and send it through the front door like an unwelcome guest.

Naturally the plan hit a snag when we realized the incline on the road was nonexistent and the truck stayed put.

There was only one thing for it. One of us, and by which I mean Hurk, would have to drive the vehicle hurtling towards the front gates and then abandon ship mid-way, leaving the vehicle to careen helplessly to its doom.

It was a perfect plan that could not possible fail.

…At least until we executed it.

Now, I’m not an unkind man, but I do have a certain reputation. But before I could wish my pal good luck and to be careful not to drive over any mines he…drove over a mine.

As I watched the mushroom before me cloud reach skyward from the comfort of a nearby grassy knoll I noticed the crisp husk of a man looking back at me from the wreckage. Those cold, dead eyes were fixed on one thing; the detonator in my hand.

What must he have thought?

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Lordt, The Splinter Cell Chronicles. “Silent and Smooth”

We’d entered Yastreb Archives with the aim of being silent and smooth, as always.

After all, all we had to do hack some computers.

The reality involved a broken chandelier, a dozen empty magazines, two dozen dead guards and 2 pairs of brown trousers.

It’s difficult to pinpoint where it all went wrong, but I suspect it was during the stage when my companion was sneaking around on the edge of a balcony and I thought I’d “help him out” by poppin’ a cap into the head of a guard approaching his position.

I hadn’t shared my plan. I just thought I’d do it and then look smug when the guard slumped over the balcony next to him. Besides, I knew my companion had a penchant for non-lethal combat if at all possible and to be honest, I don’t buy that, even from Batman.

So I took aim and fired, silencer on of course.

I missed and clipped an enormous chandelier.

I crowned as the chandelier decided if it wanted to drop or not and I saw my companion turn as he heard the unmistakable chink of bullet upon chain/glass.

And then it fell.

And not only did it fall, it fell on a group of guards hanging out beneath it, showering them in glass but otherwise only serving to alert them as to our presence.

Seconds later my companion fell from the balcony. I say fell, he was pushed by the guard that I had failed to take down.

I suppose the saving grace here was that we were now in a darkened section of the vast room, albeit teeming with guards. I mean, there were a LOT of guards; so many guards in fact that I considered fucking off.

But then I remembered my pay check, or lack thereof if I abandoned the mission at this critical time.

I stormed over with not 1 but 2 syringes of adrenalin and let him have one in both sides of the groin.

He was hard for hours.

The room became a warzone. Our “quiet” approach had turned into the usual massacre. Oh well, at least now we could go loud.

I brought out the sub-machine gun and stitched a human outline around a marble pillar of the guard I was shooting at. Eventually I needed to reload and I hit the deck as he returned fire.

I saw my companion take cover too. He gave me a withering look.

“The hacking” he hissed. “let’s get it done and get out of here!”

I signaled with hand gestures that the next room looked empty and that we should hold up in there for the moment. He nodded in recognition and we burst in like we owned the joint.

It was full of guards and as I had tactically let my companion enter first he was cut down like a corn stalk.

I opted to stay out of the room and poked my head round the corner. 4 of them, and my companion looked dead.

Shit.

I reloaded and kneecapped one of them. While I had their attention I noticed my companion sit up like The Undertaker and switch off the light.

There was some kind of kerfuffle and when the light came back on everybody was dead.

I used a third shot of adrenalin on my companion, this time directly to the tip, and then one on myself for giggles.

There was a moment’s respite. All the guards in the area had bought it and it seemed as though those remaining had clustered around the data units we were required to infiltrate.

Great.

“Quietly” my companion said.

I nodded and we both shimmied up the pillars and hung off the balconies.

To be honest I was somewhat surprised at how anyone with so much adrenalin inside them could still function.

As we hung off the balcony I noticed a bulge in the crotch of his trousers. I hadn’t needed to see that and it ruined the whole evening for me.

Next we split up and took a sector each in order to hack the terminals. Apparently all we needed to do was to get near the computers and we could transmit wirelessly. The closer we got the quicker it would be.

A natural coward I had already tried accessing the data in the car park, but it just wasn’t working.

I could see my companion near his 2 terminals, just below, hanging off the balcony. He silently crept up and choked out the guard nearby, setting the data transfer off and giving us a time limit.

We had a minute left for me to complete my hacking and 2 guards were camped beside the computers.

I hung off the balcony and waited. The transfers had begun, but were painfully slow. I couldn’t risk taking on both guards so close to completing our goal. With any luck the hack would complete and I could lower safely down and out the back door.

But no. There just wasn’t time.

10 seconds left and only 80% hacked.

We were fucked.

At the last second I pulled myself up over the balcony and the transfer shot up, completing but 1 second before the deadline. I more or less fell into the computer stack and the guards rumbled my straight away.

I leapt back over the balcony leaving a trail of shit behind me. That was close.

As the guards swung around with their torches my companion had the misfortune to be just rounding the corner.

Needless to say, a 4th shot of adrenalin was summarily needed.

Having taken down the two guards from behind and saved my companion AND having just completed the data transfer I was feeling pretty good.

Hands on hips I stood on the balcony and surveyed the scene.

“Yup… Silent and smooth as always”

 

~Lordt

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Lordt, The Splinter Cell Chronicles. “Looks Like Somebody Got Some Smoke Grenades for Christmas!”

It had been a lean Christmas in the Fisher household this year and true to form Santa had at forgotten to place the deployable minigun that I had requested (in a hand written and wax sealed letter for 6 years running) under the tree.

It was then, whilst trying to order some cheap Dutch female mud-wrestling videos over the internet that I found that my credit card had been declined.

Boxing Day ruined.

After spending then next few minutes inscribing “FML” on Facebook and looking at photographs of everyone’s Christmas dinner that I decided to pay a visit to the bank to see what the problem was. They’d be open on Boxing Day, right?

I’d spent longer than I had intended in Poundland, having taken full advantage of their 10% sale and saving myself well in excess of 10p on the mornings essentials.

I then heard a call from my friend. Turning around I saw he was rather grim faced. It transpired that he too was unable to purchase the aforementioned mud-wrestling videos and that his Boxing Day was also a complete write-off. Conveniently, we shared the same bank so decided to go together.

It was a bit of a mission since the bank was based in Panama, but we shared a bag of Haribo on the way which made the hours just fly by.

En route I also idly considered the idea of changing my name to $am Fi$her, but my companion informed me this was a perfect way to be a cunt, so I decided against it.

The Bank.

I must say staff were a little surprised when my companion and I rocked up at the MCAS Banco de Panama at 11am on a Thursday morning.

It may have been something to do with the AK47 strapped to my back, or the fact that I was erect due to the AK47 strapped to my back. Either way, they weren’t letting us in.

I tried to explain, as did my companion. All we wanted was to watch some quality mud wrestling on Boxing Day and if the female members of staff would just like to remove all their clothes and crawl into the mud, even the gutter would do, then we would happily be on our way and would address the declined cards in the morning.

Their response was unanimous in its indifference, save for one enterprising character who at least took the time to inform us that not only did the bank have no female members of staff but that the remaining men would not be willing to drape themselves into the gutter for our personal entertainment.

Well. For my riposte I informed the guards that I had some dirt on their current manager Hugo and if they all wanted to still have a job in the morning they had best open up.

The most access I saw in those next few minutes included a man’s anus as he mooned us and then the guards holed up and said we weren’t getting our money.

It was then my companion and I went to work.

Carefully infiltrating the building through a network of lift shafts and air conditioning units we entered the main sales floor at sometime just after midday.

The room was teeming with guards ad we were lit up like a Christmas tree as the Sun poured in and silhouetted us against the windows.

Taking time to close the blinds we then opened fire and the room quickly filled with shattered glass, bullets and faeces.

Hunkered down behind a filing cabinet with my companion it was then I realised that I had indeed soiled myself. It was a shame since for my trip to Panama I had opted to wear my best slacks, not having expected the day to take such a downward turn, despite having turned up locked and loaded, as well as pre-lubed.

“What are we going to do!?” shouted my companion as he fired a few suppressing rounds at the enemy over the top of the cabinet.

“I have a plan” I responded.

It was a ploy I had used many time before and had failed me on more than one occasion. I thought I heard my companion sigh as I lowered my gun and reached for the grenades.

With two hands I was able to throw at twice the speed, instantly filling the room with small cylindrical devices. It was then that I noticed I had left the frags at home and had just thrown 6 smoke grenades into a confined space. In hindsight I suppose it could have been worse…

“Shit”

My partner and I hit the deck and began to choke as the place fogged up forthwith…and I’m not talking about the stench from my recently soiled slacks.

The gunfire seemed to lessen until all that remained was one guy as he commando rolled across the floor for no reason, uttering the immortal phrase “Looks like somebody got some smoke grenades for Christmas!”

I had, in fact, received the grenades in this year’s stocking.

It looked like Father Christmas had fucked things up once again.

Git.

~Lordt

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Lordt, The Chivalry Chronicles. “You…Bastard”

The Mason Order thought that we would just roll over without a word and that they could pass through without so much as a “by your leave”. And to be fair, they were nearly right save for the might of my sword arm matched with that of my companion’s.

A small team of elite knights stood assembled at our command. The task, simple; to drive thee enemy back.

They would not take the Dark Forest. Not today, nor ever, for our blades were keen and hair and chests well oiled.

My companion strode out in front with a huge battle cry as the enemy made their way up the small hill. Claymore in hand he began to cut a path through the Mason ranks. I stepped up beside him wielding a huge double headed axe or war. Much blood was shed.

Proud knights all around screamed in pain as lifeblood fountained around us like cheap champagne.

But the battle as turning, we had them on the ropes and their ranks were thinning. That was, until the reinforcements came.

Heavily outnumbered my companion called back to rally what troops we had left, and I summoned upon strength from deep within and began a frenzy of maiming and back-chatting. My huge axe worked in unison with my companion’s claymore and as our own ranks dwindled we brought the fight to the enemy.

Limbs lay about like so many spent matches, and the rain poured as though the heavens themselves had it against us.

The final wave approached.

A quick look to my left saw us being flanked as the last of our command was hacked to pieces. Those damn archers had been picking men off piecemeal.

Well, no longer.

We ran head-on into the remaining strength of the enemy, swinging left to right. Archers, surprised by our charge, choked as weasands were flayed open and skulls were duly stoved.

I took point, carving huge swathes as I swung large strokes with my axe. I cheered in wild exhilaration as my steel met the last of the enemies number, a wounding blow no less, and as I swung back to wind up for the coup de grace I shouted to mine companion in triumph and felt a sudden resistance.

“You…bastard”…I heard him gargle in response. A strange comment considering our victory, I thought.

However, as it turned out, the backstroke of my over-sized double headed broad-axe had unknowingly embedded itself into the chest cavity of my age old companion. And in a heap he lay.

And still the rain came down.

~Lordt
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