Okay alot of the art and textures are placeholder but the game is starting to take shape and look pretty nice :)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Part One in the Diyin Serial
The bullet ripped through Point’s insides and splattered them across the desert sand. For a moment Jimmy felt a pang of…what? Regret? Or perhaps it was just paranoia. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there for long and there was no going back now.
“Poor bastard…” he eulogized.
Point had never known when to quit, Jimmy knew. Jimmy had known months ago that his business partner was barking up the wrong tree contacting the police about their problems with the Order.
Jimmy shook his head and got into the car. The things he did for white supremacy.
*
“Is it done?”
“It’s done,” Jimmy told the Doctor over the phone. “Problem solved.”
“It had better be…Kenneth is extremely temperamental regarding white failure. I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“Believe me Sir, I’d die before I failed the Order.”
“Good to hear. Good to hear.”
Jimmy reached for the tequila as the Doctor disconnected. His hands shook terribly as he took hold of the bottle. Try as he might he could not remove the image of Point’s face from his mind. Really, it had been the perfect betrayal and it had had to be done. Still, perhaps he could have brought Point around to the Order’s way of thinking. The pure-bred Anglo-Saxons were under fire after all, weren’t they? White values had been tarnished by a government that cared more for minorities than it did for God-fearing tax-paying whites. Unity was the answer. The Order and its allies represented a united front against all the evils of an impure America. They were up against a giant machine, it took a lot of money to fund the kind of operations necessary in a race war, Point might have appreciated that if he had known what the money was being used for.
“We don’t need protection from anyone but them!” he had said.
What about all the others? The Order wasn’t some criminal organization, they were an institution that exemplified honor and respect. They would have gladly done the work the money implied by “protection“…as long as it was in the best interest of the cause.
Just a few more shots and all those questions of morality would disappear, he thought to himself. He looked hard at the empty bottle of tequila. How had that happened?
No matter, there was more where that came from. He stood up and walked to his liquor cabinet then froze. It was unmistakably the sound of gun shots and it was nearly right outside his office. He stared at the door in disbelief as his right hand reached into the liquor cabinet and caught hold of his ten gauge shotgun.
Jimmy fidgeted but, his eyes, his eyes never left the door. Even as the sound of gunfire came to a halt, replaced by an eerie silence, he watched the door apprehensively. Then came the sound of footsteps as someone climbed steadily towards his office.
“This ain’t no cops…” he said to himself.
The knock on the door confirmed his suspicion. The cops would have just broke the damn thing down, whoever was on the other side of the door was surely a psychopath. Jimmy lifted the shaft of the shotgun and blasted a hole through the center of the door, then fired another shot for good measure.
The door slowly swung open and that’s when Jimmy saw him. It was Point. Jimmy could feel his pants getting warm as the urine exited his body. Point took a step into the office and Jimmy could see now that Point was a walking corpse. Their eyes met and Jimmy found his gaze held unwillingly. There was rage in those eyes. There was death.
“You’re dead…”
“I am.”
“You’re walking…”
“I walk.”
Jimmy fired off another shot. Point began to close the gap between them and Jimmy dropped the shotgun and pulled out his pistol and aimed. Point kept coming, seemingly oblivious to the hot metal being spewed at him.
“Why won’t you die?” he asked pleadingly, tears streaming down his face. As he backed up he could feel the glass of his window against his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the gas pipe that ran through the room.
“I had to do it Point…please man, you gotta believe me.”
Point was almost to him, the smell of death was thick in the air and getting worse with every step. Jimmy pointed his gun one final time and watched as the flames exploded outwards. Point was engulfed by the blast while Jimmy was propelled in a shower of fire and shards of glass out of the building.
His neck snapped like a twig upon impact with the ground. As the last strings that bound him to the world were cut Jimmy could almost swear he saw an old-time Indian walking toward him. Couldn’t be…must be the tequila he thought and promptly died.
“Poor bastard…” he eulogized.
Point had never known when to quit, Jimmy knew. Jimmy had known months ago that his business partner was barking up the wrong tree contacting the police about their problems with the Order.
Jimmy shook his head and got into the car. The things he did for white supremacy.
*
“Is it done?”
“It’s done,” Jimmy told the Doctor over the phone. “Problem solved.”
“It had better be…Kenneth is extremely temperamental regarding white failure. I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“Believe me Sir, I’d die before I failed the Order.”
“Good to hear. Good to hear.”
Jimmy reached for the tequila as the Doctor disconnected. His hands shook terribly as he took hold of the bottle. Try as he might he could not remove the image of Point’s face from his mind. Really, it had been the perfect betrayal and it had had to be done. Still, perhaps he could have brought Point around to the Order’s way of thinking. The pure-bred Anglo-Saxons were under fire after all, weren’t they? White values had been tarnished by a government that cared more for minorities than it did for God-fearing tax-paying whites. Unity was the answer. The Order and its allies represented a united front against all the evils of an impure America. They were up against a giant machine, it took a lot of money to fund the kind of operations necessary in a race war, Point might have appreciated that if he had known what the money was being used for.
“We don’t need protection from anyone but them!” he had said.
What about all the others? The Order wasn’t some criminal organization, they were an institution that exemplified honor and respect. They would have gladly done the work the money implied by “protection“…as long as it was in the best interest of the cause.
Just a few more shots and all those questions of morality would disappear, he thought to himself. He looked hard at the empty bottle of tequila. How had that happened?
No matter, there was more where that came from. He stood up and walked to his liquor cabinet then froze. It was unmistakably the sound of gun shots and it was nearly right outside his office. He stared at the door in disbelief as his right hand reached into the liquor cabinet and caught hold of his ten gauge shotgun.
Jimmy fidgeted but, his eyes, his eyes never left the door. Even as the sound of gunfire came to a halt, replaced by an eerie silence, he watched the door apprehensively. Then came the sound of footsteps as someone climbed steadily towards his office.
“This ain’t no cops…” he said to himself.
The knock on the door confirmed his suspicion. The cops would have just broke the damn thing down, whoever was on the other side of the door was surely a psychopath. Jimmy lifted the shaft of the shotgun and blasted a hole through the center of the door, then fired another shot for good measure.
The door slowly swung open and that’s when Jimmy saw him. It was Point. Jimmy could feel his pants getting warm as the urine exited his body. Point took a step into the office and Jimmy could see now that Point was a walking corpse. Their eyes met and Jimmy found his gaze held unwillingly. There was rage in those eyes. There was death.
“You’re dead…”
“I am.”
“You’re walking…”
“I walk.”
Jimmy fired off another shot. Point began to close the gap between them and Jimmy dropped the shotgun and pulled out his pistol and aimed. Point kept coming, seemingly oblivious to the hot metal being spewed at him.
“Why won’t you die?” he asked pleadingly, tears streaming down his face. As he backed up he could feel the glass of his window against his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the gas pipe that ran through the room.
“I had to do it Point…please man, you gotta believe me.”
Point was almost to him, the smell of death was thick in the air and getting worse with every step. Jimmy pointed his gun one final time and watched as the flames exploded outwards. Point was engulfed by the blast while Jimmy was propelled in a shower of fire and shards of glass out of the building.
His neck snapped like a twig upon impact with the ground. As the last strings that bound him to the world were cut Jimmy could almost swear he saw an old-time Indian walking toward him. Couldn’t be…must be the tequila he thought and promptly died.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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