GAME: The Destruction of The World By A Violent Robot-Zombie Plague

Link.

Well, that is a long title.

To quote the site: "The Destruction of The World by A Violent Robot-Zombie Plague is an experimental browser-based side-scrolling action-platformer in development by the Art and Interactive departments at Hook during off hours. The game's production is intended as an exploration into more sophisticated means for creating interactive advertising content as well as a functional creative outlet for internal talent. It's also a kick-ass game."

The recently put out their first playable build. It will be interesting to see how this progresses.

Gear: Zombie T-shirt

Link to Destructiod for a better view.
Capcom is giving these out at Comic-Con to promote Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles or something. One great think is that once you pull it over your head to become the walking dead, you stumble around because you can't see crap.

SCRABBLE

Oh god oh god oh god. I swear. If I survive this, if I get out of this, I'll be good. Whatever that means. I try. I do. But I have to live, right? Oh jesus. I don't want to die.

How did I let this happen? Because I wasted time. I got all nostalgic when I found that toy store. Why did I go in there? Right. Batteries. I thought there might be batteries. But once I realized they had already been looted, I should have left. What useful thing was I going to find in a god damn toy store? But I got distracted looking at all of the things and games, things that served no purpose but playing. I was stupid and didn't notice that it had started to get dark.

Batteries. It's getting darker. I won't be able to find my way through the debris without my flashlight soon. I pray it holds out. Please, hold out.

Scavenged for five hours and what did I end up with? Three cans of green beans. A can of peaches. A box of Cheerios, probably stale. And then I grabbed that Scrabble board as I ran from the toy store. What was I thinking? Katey likes Scrabble, right? I'm pretty sure she mentioned it once. Like we have the energy to play Scrabble. Take our minds off things. The things. I should just toss the box right now but its not like its heavy. Besides, if I get through this tonight, I might as well not have it be totally in vain.

The shadows are getting deep. This is bad, so bad. I don't have that far to go but most of it is in the open. Is that better or worse? I don't even know. I might be able to see them coming. Is that a good thing? They're so damn fast. And the open means flyers. I should cut through the buildings. Give me cover. Actually less distance. But more climbing through and over rubble.

Also more place to hide. For them to hide.

Wait. What was that? Was that movement? Maybe just a dog or cat? Really? When was the last time you saw a dog or cat? Hell, when was the last time you saw a fucking rat?

Hell.

God damn it! Stop staring into the dark! Move!

Inside. Dark in here. Turn on the flashlight. Does it seem dimmer than before? Are the batteries dying? Don't think. Keep moving. Fucking Scrabble. Maybe it wasn't Katey. Maybe it was someone else.

Through the living room. Past the burned sofa and the bones. I wonder who they were. Hallway. Kitchen. Should I look for food? Have I already searched this building? Let me think. No! No time. The backdoor is blocked with something. Up the counter and through the window. Then I just have a quick dash through the backyard to the next building. Just run straight. Only twenty yards.

Fifteen yards. Ten yards. At the swing set, bent and twisted. Shit! That noise. Wings. That awful fluttering, grinding and sharp. Like a dozen scissors opening and shutting. Run. Five yard. Louder. How many? Don't look. Just get to the doorway.

Inside. Get deeper inside. Flyers can't maneuver inside. They won't follow but get away.

There. Take a moment and get back my breath. A dining room. Big oak table, broke down the center, scratch with deep cuts. Shards of china everywhere, crunching under my boots. Dark stains on the walls. Just rest for a second and then move. Close now. Through this building, across the alley and then into the shelter. Why can't I breathe?

Oh no no no no. That shadow. By the shattered cabinet. It glistens as if it were moist. Don't move. Please don't move. It might not be awake yet. Maybe. Just maybe.

The darkness shifts. It slips its corner, probing the into the room. Maybe it has already fed. Maybe it's full. Can they get full? Like thick living oil. Oh no. It is bulging, shaping. Run. Why can't I run? Tendrils, twisting up, forming tendons and limbs. Just move. Wet puckering sound coming from the mouth as it breaks from the surface. Oh god. Please. The flashlight reflects off its skin. Look away. Don't look at it.

Faces in its black, silent screaming faces. A young boy. An old man. A young woman. No no no. Is that her? That's Katey's face. Is it really her or a trick? Oh god, Katey. Why?

No! Move! Run! Up on the broken table in a step, towards the back hall. Don't think of it. Don't think of Katey. She is dead or in the thing or she's at the shelter alive. Down the halls and into the alley. Don't think about the screaming of the thing behind me, the wet sloshing sound so close. Cut down the alley, past the dumpster. Key from pocket, ready to open the shelter.

Katey. what did you do? Did you come looking for me? Crashing behind. That sound! So much hunger. There's the metal door, white painted glyphs. Just get in and then I'll be safe. Katey. Key. Get in, damn it! Twist. Damn it, Katey. Hand on the door knob, turn, throw it open towards me. Feel the thing's cold, sucking heat from me. Please be inside. Oh god please.

Inside. Spin around. The thing is right there, rage and hunger and abyss. Slam the door shut. The shadow hits the door and howls in pain. Turn the lock, lower the bar. It can't get past the glyphs but people can. Can't breathe.

Turn the flashlight off first. Save batteries. Can still here it outside. It will give up soon. They always do. Light match and get candle from the box. Plenty of candles left. The stairs down to the basement flicker in the fire light.

I am just standing here, the thing behind me, behind the door. But I can't move down the step. I am scared of what I might find. Or what I might not. I can't move. I am just waiting here, avoiding.

She used to love Scrabble. I am pretty sure.

“Katey?”

THE LAST OLYMPICS

When the first messages had begun to arrive, it had taken months to get close to a translation. How does one speak to a race of beings that had evolved on another planet? Going was slow but progress was made.

Messages were sent and received. The discussions were muddled and confused. It was clear they knew much of us and our culture. They had studied us from afar and were intrigued. Somehow the topic of sports had come up. They had brought it up and they wanted to partake. From what could be understood, the idea of friendly competition that brought different cultures together was part of their history.

Plans began to form. The world was shocked at first to hear that the aliens desired to be in the Olympics. At least that is what could be deciphered. But he world grew to love the idea. The first interplanetary Olympics was to be held and it would be on Earth!

The anticipation was high. We knew so little of them. They could breathe are air and they shared similar ideals. But we didn't know what they even looked like. The world was anxious but mostly excited. A new era was about to begin. Everything was about to change.

They arrived in massive spacecrafts, slowly descending to the Olympic village. They had insisted that they meet the other athletes right away and that there be a banquet of some sort, but, even now, communication as awkward and confusing. The world was there, a collection of a hundred different flags but all there as on Earth to greet our new friends. The new Olympic logo, with its sixth large ring linking the other five, flew on a thouand banners. The only real sound was the mild buzz of the cameras.

The doors to the crafts all lowered in unison. As the aliens walked out, there was a collective gasp. Whatever was expected, it wasn't quite this. The aliens were thin and tubular, orange-ish pink and glistening as if slightly wet. They had no limbs and moved something like ten-foot long stubby worms. No eyes could be seen, but at one end they had a sphincter-like mouth, puckered and gently sucking at our Earth air.

The Olympic village (and the world) was quiet as one alien immediately made its way to the podium. It reared up on its back end and lowered the front end towards the mic. If a sphincter could smile, it did. It coughed twice and then spoke in clear, if Brooklyn accented, English.

"Let the games begin! Eat!"

And its maw opened to reveal a throat lined with spinning rows of sharp teeth.

And then it made sense. They had not been intrigued by watching footage of our Olympics. They had seen our hot dog eating contests. And they were a lot more suited to eat us than we were to eat them.