Evidently, Tim, Matt, Jack Bauer and I have been captured by terrorists and are being held in some complex. For some reason – we probably have Jack’s ingenuity to thank – the terrorists must transport us somewhere else. They are apparently very inept, for it takes only so much effort to break free of their grasp, and escape in a van.
In the van, Matt hands me some kind of automatic rifle, which I take reluctantly. Suddenly, we hit a bomb of some sort, and the van flips and crashes by the crest of a hill. We hop out and roll down the hill, which is much more steep and dangerous than expected. Jack, Tim and Matt grab hold of some tree, while I slip down to the road below.
There I find an old bicycle lodged into some dirt. I pull it out and it works perfectly well, and as I found out, is easily capable of going faster than a car. So I bike out of there, gunning down sentries as I exit and make my way to the open road. I have no idea where to go, and the terrorists probably know where I live. Regardless, I plan to quickly go home, and tell them that Tim is at Matt’s house, and that’s where I will go as well.
I hide the bike and gun in our neighbors’ yard, and make my way home. I use the computer to find the American corporation that is backing the terrorists rather easily, and leave just as Brendan and his friends arrive to play videogames.
When I go back to where I stashed my stuff, there is a family of indeterminate ethnicity playing catch and wearing ornate clothes. One of them is an old man, sitting on a pillow right where I evidently buried my bike and gun. I push him aside without much resistance, and dig and dig but find nothing. I look over the hill of dirt, and behind it a giant pile of crap that people have tried to bury in the yard, I guess. I find my bike, but cannot find my gun. Instead, I find a katana. I take it, and make my way to the corporate HQ.
Along the way, I stop to get a burrito. When it comes time to pay, I hand the cashier a ten dollar bill. She refuses to take it, seeing all the singles that I have. I acquiesce, and pay with the singles instead.
I bust into HQ on my bike, and someone shouts, “YOU!” evidently aware of who I am.
I draw my sword, but find that its consistency is of rubber, and it flops around cartoonishly. With great effort, I sheathe it, and leap at the nearest suited person, cracking them in the skull with the scabbard. The blow is fatal, and I’m amazed at the strength of my blunt weapon. All those in the lobby charge at me, and I swing my sheathed sword this way and that, knocking them away. In a bid to find those in charge, I leap to the second story of the lobby, and make my way to the stairwell. I’m not sure why I don’t use the elevator. It could be that I hope to kill more people on the way up.
For some reason, the stairwell is huge, kind of like the apartment stage in Silent Hill 4, complete with ghostly attackers, who evidently are not immune to a swift blow to the face. The stairs are arranged in such a way that they end every few floors, forcing me to traverse each floor to access the stairwell on the opposite side.
Each time I do this, there is an old, Wily-esque man who stands in the center of each room, laughing knowingly as I fight the agents of the corporation. His laugh fills me with doubt, and makes me wonder if my assault is futile, and for some reason, I decide not to include him in my otherwise indiscriminate slaughter.
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