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Friday, November 2, 2007

Nothing Personal

Well, I can honestly say that it has been a long while since I've seen myself log less than thirty minutes of free time over a five day period. Now that the workweek's over, I'm hoping to spend a little quality time with my wife, my kids, and my 360 this weekend.

I'm going to be realistic in setting game play goals for the two days off that I have lined up. It looks like Saints Row will be the game and Hitman will be my activity of choice. I've got two days to find the time to beat up, stab, shoot and blow up twenty-one poor souls currently wandering the virtual streets of Stilwater.

Three of my targets have already met a sorry demise:

  1. Poor Jackie was only responding to a 911 call in the Saints Row district. How could she have known that this would be her last call? The door to the ambulance was still closed when the bullet shattered the driver's side window before burrowing itself deep within Jackie's brain. She seemed like a nice enough gal: it's a shame she went and pissed off the wrong people...

  2. Alan was really excited about seeing the big game at the Arena. It was 6 pm as he approached the doors to the Arena. Suddenly, some crazy guy in a Santa suit came running up and flashed a knife. Alan had been waiting for tonight's game for quite a while and he wasn't about to give up his tickets to the game without a fight. He tried to yell for help but nobody seemed to notice...except for "Santa". Alan tried his best to run; alas, the years of watching sports instead of playing sports had taken their toll.

    Alan managed to take three steps before the crazed department-store-Santa stabbed him in the back. For the first time in five years, Row J Seat 12 was empty as the national anthem played over the Ultra Dome's sound system.

  3. Juan really liked to jog. Jogging kept him healthy and had really helped firm up the love handles that had started to take shape around Juan's 30th birthday. In fact, Juan was in such great shape that he felt obligated to show off his body any chance he got! And so, on a brisk Saturday morning, he made his way down to the Ultra Dome wearing only a pair of sneakers and his tight red Speedos. When Juan reached the arena at around noon, he grabbed a hot dog from the pushcart vendor and took a seat on a nearby bench. Juan finished his hot dog while daydreaming about the run home and then wondered whether his mother would like a night on the town (she'd moved in six months ago when Juan's father died of a heart attack).

    As he went to stand, Juan couldn't help but notice a strange young man with white hair and icy blue eyes looking him up and down. The young man pulled what appeared to be a photo out of his jacket pocket and studied it before settling his gaze, once again, on Juan. With a slight nod of his head, the young man quickly produced a Tombstone shotgun from thin air and took a shot. Juan felt something hit him in the chest and he toppled to the ground.

    Struggling for breath, Juan suddenly wished he'd taken up his mother's offer for a nice lunch and a matinee at the local theatre...

As for the other twenty-one unfortunates, their stories are yet to be written. And though I'd like nothing better than to let them live, Stilwater can be an expensive town and my clients pay well...