Fog of War: Black Ops 4 Beta

            I would argue that a large piece of player satisfaction in video games is balancing challenge with success.

            Personally, I believe that the Black Ops 4 Multiplayer Beta does this extremely well. Overall, the game play is quick, the map design is fluid and well structured and the enemy encounters seem balanced (for the most part).

            That being said, let’s dive in a bit on some of the topics that have cropped up during this beta that many (including myself) feel need addressed, or that I have enjoyed. I should note that although I have logged several hours on the beta, I have only played TDM – I attempted twice to enter into both Control and Domination, but the lobbies did not fill up rapidly enough to begin a game it seemed.

Gun Balance

                The core of any COD game is the gun play, and for the BO4 Beta I am a happy camper (not literally). That’s because typically I run with an SMG (MX9 I’ll call you later ;) ), and they have been outperforming all other categories of weaponry in the lobbies I’ve been a part of. It seems you can ADS with a SMG and get a better mid to long range kill easier than you can with most of the ARs.

                In recent hours of game play I have also noticed a sudden emergence of quickscopers. This annoys me as we really haven’t seen this mechanic in any Treyarch COD game, other than BO2. Of course, I’ll concede that the main reason why this annoys me is that I am not a sniper.  I will also mention that it is nowhere near as annoyingly OP as the COD WWII snipers (yet).

Assist = EKIA

                I for one love this feature although I can see it padding player’s K/D ratio across the board. That being said, that +100 score popping up on the screen as my teammate finishes off the guy that killed me is extremely satisfying.

Body Armor / Extra Health

                Concerning the armor, it’s still early, but I am going to go out on a limb and say I don’t mind this addition. I see lobbies full of players using this equipment, but overused doesn’t necessarily mean overpowered. Besides, you can use a weapon with AP rounds and neutralize the effects of the armor. To me it’s no different than running flak jacket in BO1 while people are spamming noob tubes on Nuketown.  

                 As far as the added health, I think this plays into Treyarch's goal of making this a more tactical game. This coupled with the stem shot make engagements more dynamic and gives you a chance to turn the tide if you get ambushed. 

Specialists

                I don’t feel that any of these are disgustingly strong or being abused. In fact, for me I have been more willing to jump around and utilize different specialists and have been pleased by the results, almost across the board.

            I would even go as far to say as the requirement to fill your specialist weapon (not special issue) meter needs to be lowered- not by a great deal though, maybe 5-10%.  

            Also, beef up the Nomad’s dog- day 1 he was Cujo, day 2 he was Scooby Doo!
          

Load Time / Frame rate

               Both of these need work- but in a beta you can almost guarantee that these will require adjustments right out of the gate due to player count/demand. It hasn’t been overly frustrating to me, but I would expect that they are tightened up for the official launch, or even for the 'Blackout' beta.

Fog of War

              I see many complaining about this. Again, it is one of those things that is supposec to make you play more tactically. After learning the maps and discovering common areas where players rush, congregate, hold choke points etc, it has no impact on the overall game play. Basically, I could take it or leave it.

Normal COD Sticking Points

·        Spawns – I was spawn killed *maybe* one time so far. Also it seems the map designers built in protection against this, as if you notice the maps we’ve been given for the beta have strategically crafted barriers at opposite ends of the map to curb this practice.

·         Team Balancing – This has not been an issue during the beta for me personally. That is not to say that it won’t become one at launch. Note to Treyarch- I do not want to backpack a bunch of scrubs, nor do I want to have to play conservatively just because I am up against a party full of master prestige COD experts.

·         Campers – It seems the ‘Torque’ specialist is a camper’s wet dream, rather than a tactician’s fantasy. Build in something that motivates these players to move rather than set up shop in one of the many rooms/corridors on each of these maps.

·         Is it fun? – HELL YES! I have been having a blast during the beta! Since we do not have a campaign this year I have the utmost confidence that Treyarch will take the community’s feedback and fine tune this game to the point of near perfection.

           

                 Now from what I’ve seen they raised the max level to 35, so I can’t sit here and gossip about this game any longer- I gotta get back out there!

Last Trip to Mary's

It was late October in Tennessee. Abnormally warm for the time of year, as evidenced by the abundance of ladybugs that flittered everywhere throughout the backyard.  

My girlfriend and I stood talking across the fence that separated the neighbor's yard from Mary's. And yes, although the funeral was the next day, it was still Mary's yard. Everything still reflected her name, her presence, her life.  

As we spoke to the neighbor about when and where the ceremony was to be held, the ladybugs seemed to swarm us in the most innocent and inquiring of ways. Landing lightly here and there; on the nearby trees, the fence railing, even on the three of us as we talked.  

*          *          *

            December had come; it was now cold enough that you could see your breath in the air.      My girlfriend and her brother had decided it would be good for all involved that one last Christmas be spent at Mary’s. No it wasn’t an effort to reach backward for nostalgia, but rather an effort to extend her memory forward. So we went, my girlfriend and I from Arizona, loaded up our three dogs, and spent 22 hours traversing the country to return to Tennessee.

            I found myself on more than one occasion walking through a near-empty house and noticing how empty it felt without her there. I can only imagine what her own children thought, or how deeply this notion might’ve affected them.

             I will remember many things about this trip: the frigid temperatures that 12 year residents of central Arizona have long forgotten, the great times spent with a marvelous family I am lucky to be a part of, one of our dogs eating 31 (of a 32 pack) of Crayola crayons, the generous friends and acquaintances that have helped so much throughout this grim process, the copious amounts of food and drink that was consumed, the way frost-covered grass crunches under footfalls, and the laughter. Moreover, I will remember this as a trip that encompassed all good things; honor, memory and love.

            However, one memory stands out to me the most on the night before our departure. The day had been spent loading furniture, cleaning, and the demands of other backbreaking work.  We had nearly collapsed in what was left of the living room; two recliners that had belonged to her parents. My girlfriend and I were beyond weary when she called out, “Hey look!”

            My view tilted downward towards the arm of my chair where I spied a lone ladybug. The tiny insect was marching forward despite that fact it was late December and 15 degrees outside. We continued to watch the creature until it maneuvered out of sight. 

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Dairy Comics (Featuring "The Prodigious Cheese-Man")

 

            Harold sits regally atop a throne of gold and yellow.

            “I didn’t ask for this power…”

            As we examine him we can see he is wearing a colored outfit, similar in hue to that of his throne. The garb almost looks like that of a cut rate comic book hero; yellow cape, orange tights, oversized gloves shaped like triangles of pale yellow.

            Harold snaps his fingers. A small square of yellow-orange appears before Harold’s open mouth.

            “This blessing…”

            Harold chomps down on the tiny floating brick of cheese, devours it in one bite. He snaps his fingers again, repeating the process.

            “This curse.”

            “They say with great power comes great responsibility. But even they never knew the power I now hold, and what it might cost me.” Harold gazes down, taking in the ridiculous over-sized gloves covering his hands. He scans the back of his hands in deep contemplation…

*

            …In an alley coated in shadow, two dark figures stand speaking in hushed whispers. It’s easy to tell from their body language and rushed conversation they’re up to no good.

            But then an ethereal figure floats down from the sky. For a moment it resembles our innocent protagonist Harold, but that’s merely a fleeting trick on the eyes. For we now only see…

            “The Prodigious Cheese Man!” One of the ne’er-do-wells cries out, as he takes off running.

            The other pauses, if only to ask, “If he’s got cheese powers, how does that make him fly?”

            A booming voice delivers the line that makes villains quiver with an upset stomach. It is his only response, “Are you fellas lactose intolerant? You will be!”

            Both men are now in full sprint, trying to get to the open street at the end of the alleyway.

            The Cheese Man’s right hand begins to reshape itself, in a few moments where there was an abnormally large gloved hand, there’s now a Gatling-gun shaped appendage.

            “No criminal can escape the Curd Turret!” Cheese Man declares, as he opens fire on the two men. Round upon round of creamy, gel-like cheese curds erupt from the barrel that once was a hand. The substance coats the blacktop, covers the walls of the buildings that form the alley, and pelts dumpsters- the twangy-thud of them echoing off the metal containers.  

            The two men are cut down, covered in a thick layer of cheese curd, so much so that they struggle to move, but cannot.

            Just then a van skids into view at the mouth of the alley. The side panel is flung aside, revealing a mounted gun. A man in a black ski mask grins maniacally behind it.

            “Remember, Cheese-Man; turnabout is fair play!” the masked man cackles into the night, releasing the lever on the .50 caliber machine gun. This time its metal shell casings that ring against the pavement instead of the splat of cheese curds.

            Cheese-Man is forced to take evasive action. He dives behind the closest dumpster, knowing that the gunfire will soon tear through the dumpster’s material. The bullets fly past, some so close Cheese Man can feel the hot break in the air as they whiz by.

            As the chaos surrounds him, Cheese-Man closes his eyes to try and think. Its then he hears the most majestic sound his ears could imagine: a cow mooing into the night.

            Make no mistake, this is no ordinary moo. It’s fearsome and prolonged, more like the feral howl of a wolf than anything a bovine creature might produce.

            Cheese-Man opens his eyes, and finds himself staring up at the moon. Superimposed over it is the shadow of a cow. And lucky for him, it’s not just any cow.

            In a flash, the cow’s silhouette has disappeared from the face of the moon. With a whoosh the panel van in front of the alley is hit from the rear by what seems to be a cannon. The vehicle rocks on its frame, causing the masked machine gunner to fly forward, the machine gun grows still and quiet.

            One of the thugs ensnared within the mound of cheese curds comments, “So the cow can fly too? I don’t understand any of this.”

            “Shut up you!” Cheese-Man emerges from the alley and is greeted by a green cow, wearing what appear to be yellow galoshes, and matching goggles.

            “Moo the Cow, ol’ friend!” Cheese-Man attempts to high-five the cow.

            The cow replies with, “Moo.”

            “Oh ya, right.” Cheese-Man lowers his hand realizing his mistake, “Well it’s great to see you as always. Your timing is impeccable.”

            However, fate’s sense of timing is more macabre.

            The masked man is dizzy as he tumbles from the passenger side of the van. Though this does not seem to affect the grip he has on the pistol in his hand. He staggers towards our distracted heroes.

            Cheese-Man’s back is to the masked man, but Moo the Cow sees the villain clearly. “Mooooo!” the cow pitches Cheese-Man out of the way, as the masked man raises his gun.

            Two shots are fired as Cheese-Man looks on in horror.

*

            Again, we are transported back to Harold, the Cheese-Man that was, and will forever be sitting atop his throne alone.

            “Yes,” he says to himself solemnly, “great powers indeed…but even with great powers I fall short of being able to stop a bullet, return the dead to life, or perform mouth-to-snout resuscitation.”

            Cheese-Man is through grieving. He rises to through the air, clenching his fists in rage. As he floats there, hovering above the ground he vows, “I will find this masked man and I will make him pay. I promise you Moo!”

*

            In the background of the room, the two thugs from the alleyway, are still frozen in dry cheese curd, hardened to the density of stone. One looks to the other, “I still don’t get how he can fly. I don’t care how cheesy his powers are. They can’t make you fly?”

            His partner responds, “Oh my God! Shut up already!”

            “What? It’s a legitimate question!”

 

THE END?

 

R.I.P. Moo the Cow 7/17/17-7/17/17

 

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Full Jelly Alchemist

Harold was sitting idly at the breakfast table. A bare piece of toast lay on the plate before him. It represented everything today would be; bland, flat, coarse.

Today was Harold's first day back to school after the brief respite of summer. Today would be a day of awkward shyness. A day of pecking orders being established between students and faculty, as well as among students and students. Harold stared at his glass of orange juice, this crucial part of today’s balanced breakfast was nearly at its bottom. This visual only served to remind Harold where he fell in his school’s hierarchical rolls.

“Harry, eat something, your going to starve.”

Harold blew a long strand of hair from his face in a huff. He didn’t need to look at his rotund frame to know that statement would be a long time coming, before it came true. “I’m not hungry Mom.”

Mom sighed, making a brief trek to the fridge. When she returned to the table a plastic container of margarine and a glass jar of grape jelly suddenly appeared. “Eat,” Mom commanded.

Harold smiled as Mom turned her back, busying herself with the mundane tasks of an adult. Whispering to himself alone, Harold recited, “Just the ingredient I need for my potion, at my thoughts you’ll heed my every notion…”

Harold’s eyes focused on the jelly jar, and before him a thin tendril of purple began to climb up the inside of the jar. Worm-like it pushed itself up and over the jar’s lip, past those ridges where the cap screws on, and down the outside of the glass.

Harold watched this spectacle unfold, but quickly glanced at his mother. As he did so the thin cylindrical mass of grape jelly became motionless. When Harold was satisfied Mom was still preoccupied with her grown up distractions, the jelly-worm formed a thin concave mouth and a tiny arm, complete with a three-fingered hand. With it, the glob of jelly smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to Harold. Harold returned both the smile and the gesture in kind.

Harold then winked and the grape worm wiggled and swayed, grew and twisted into a baseball player. Though roughly the size of a G.I. Joe, the grape ballplayer was a brute of a man, with a chest like a barrel and a large broad bat. The ballplayer stood, chest heaving as if he were living and breathing there on Harold’s kitchen table.

Harold reached over him, with what by comparison was the hand of a giant. He dunked two fingers inside the jelly jar, retrieving a generous glob of the purple substance. The ballplayer watched as Harold sat the hand that contained the jelly on the surface of the table. Looking at the tiny jelly ballplayer he held his free hand over the jelly-smeared fingers on his opposite hand. He made a balling, rolling motion and the jelly, now molded like clay, did the same. Harold repeated this process a few times over.  A few seconds passed and there sat three miniscule, gelatinous baseballs.

The ballplayer nodded knowingly. He readied his bat, shimmied and lined up his hips, tapping the head of the bat against the tabletop, and against his grape-jelly formed cleats.

With a flick of his fore finger and his thumb, Harold “threw” the first diminutive purple ball towards the matching ballplayer without ever touching it. The ballplayer swung, arching his head upwards to see past the brim of his little hat, and watched intently as the jelly baseball flew across the open air of the table, arched high, and then landed with a splat-pat on top of Harold’s toast. In succession, the following two jelly-balls found their mark as well.

“Thanks,” again, Harold found himself smiling at the little guy.

“Harold,” Mom began to turn around, “have you finished eating yet? That bus is probably barrelin’ around the corner right now.”

Mom turned quickly, but paused just long enough to check the clock. Harold had to act. With a grimace, and a short wave Harold said goodbye to the ballplayer. Instantly, the caricature of an athletic baseball player sunk into an unrecognizable patty shape. And then disappeared, seeming to fall right through, rather than off, the table itself.

The succinct but groaning horn of the bus driver signaled it was time for Harold to leave.

Harold wolfed down the now jelly covered toast. “Love ya Mom,” he hugged her at the waist and trotted out the door. With his backpack slung around him Harold went through the front door. He felt like he was an adventurer preparing for a long expedition.

*

Back in the kitchen, Mom removes Harold’s plate from the table and sits it in the sink. When she returns to retrieve the jelly jar and the butter she sees something beneath the table. She kneels to get a closer look.

Mom’s eyes narrow and she finds herself staring at a blob of grape jelly. Although its perimeter indicates the foodstuff was dropped from quite a height, she thinks she can make out a rough shape in spite of its messiness.

“Hmm, kinda looks like a little guy with a bat, maybe a baseball player...”

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Super-Zero

An oblivious young man with his nose glued to a cell phone absently strolls through the park. Passerbys are forced to navigate out of his way. Joggers, senior citizens on walks, and mothers with strollers all side step him at the last minute, clinging to the belief that he couldn’t really be that enthralled by whatever’s on the screen.

This is Harold. Harold, by most accounts has had a shit day.

Sitting down, not because it's the courteous thing to do, but because he wants to, the preteen plops onto a nearby bench. Harold is husky and he seems all-too conscious of this, so as he gets seated comfortably he tugs down his shirt, to make sure no one can see anything they shouldn’t through the green slats that serve as the bench’s backrest.

A few minutes pass and another child sidles up, sitting beside him.
For more than a while, no words are exchanged between the two.

Eventually, the new boy, thin but equally meek-looking breaks the silence, “Sorry-”

“Let me save my game!” Harold holds up a finger. “I am playing versus on Battleblood, and am ranked in the top five for this skirmish.”

The thin child adjusts his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, realizing even he had little idea what most of that meant.

A few presses and swipes, “Ok, what?” Harold still doesn’t look up from his phone, not entirely, it makes the fat underneath his neck stand out even more.

“I’m sorry for what happened today.”

“Ya, you been hangin’ out with those kids?”

The thin boy nodded, blushing almost imperceptibly.

“They suck Tyler. And...and they are stupid.”

Acknowledging the statement, the Tyler nodded again. He not only agreed, but there was no hesitation in him doing so.

“Asshats,” Harold, “that’s what they are.”

Tyler, confused, “What does that even mean anyway?”

“I dunno,” Harold admits, “I picked it up somewhere, but its bad, real bad.”

“Hey, they aren’t that bad. I, we could always use more friends right?”

“Not those guys.” Harold seemed resolute.

“Maybe I could talk to ‘em, put in a good word for ya?”

Harold looked up from his phone completely.

Tyler leaned in closer, “Tell ‘em your a cool guy, tell ‘em how you have all the newest video games.”

Harold’s brief interest already faded, changed to a spark of anger. “You mean bribe them to not pick on me? Thanks Tyler, but no thanks.”

“C’mon, Harold, I still want to be friends with you...and them.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

Tyler looked at Harold, in a way that many adults would think a child was not capable of doing. He saw a fat kid, with a red ball-cap, but redder cheeks, dressed in clothes assembled from discount retail stores. He contrasted this against the group of guys he and Harold were conversing about. “Ya, I guess you’re right. Fuck.”

Harold had never heard a kid his age say the “F” word. He had never heard Tyler swear at all. Both boys shook their heads.

“What do we do?” Tyler asked.

“Doesn’t matter- whatever you want.” Harold said, “I got things to take care of anyway.”

“Like what?” the surprise in Tyler’s question was heavy.

“Hero stuff.”

“Psshh, what are you talkin’ about?”

“I’m a superhero. I didn’t want to tell you, because I thought it might be the only reason you were my friend.”

Tyler paused for a moment, trying to gauge if Harold was trying on being crazy, or trying on being funny. When he couldn’t decide, Tyler broke out in heavy laughter. “More like Super-zero!”

Harold took the laughter and the insult from a kid who he had thought of as his best friend for 3 summers and four grades. He took it like Superman takes bullets.

Tyler looked at Harold and couldn’t believe his eyes. Suddenly, before him, the chubby kid that lived 5 houses down the street was gone.

There in front of him was an image; misty, blurry in the way that the blacktop gets from a distance on a summer day. Harold was now a wavering image of strength. His head held back high, his clothes became the bold uniform of a dealer of justice. His red hat was now a crimson mask. His untucked shirttail transformed into a cape. The discount athletic shoes had become leather boots, complemented with tiny H’s embroidered on their sides Harold’s eyes had changed the most, they seemed to dig into him, they were piercing, full of confidence and know-how.

Tyler could’ve sworn he saw a telling I-told-you-so kind of wink, but he wasn’t sure of that at all. In fact, he was no longer sure of anything.

Then right there before Tyler’s eyes, Harold took off with a bang into the air, it was like lightning combined with thunder. In an instant he was gone.

Off to do hero stuff.

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold - Introduction

Intro

Are you as bummed as I am that you can’t fly? That aliens don’t exist but Trump does? That you don’t have millions of dollars in your bank account? That zombies only really show up on AMC and SyFy?

Well then you’ll be happy to meet Harold. Every once and again we will pop in to check on good ole’ Harry and see just what he’s got going on in his less oridinary- maybe even extraordinary- life.

Harold may be lucky to live in a world where superpowers exist, or where he’s suddenly asked to command a rescue mission into the jungle. Or its quite possible that Harold may merely have an impeccable imagination.

You won’t know unless you drop by and see what Harold is up to!

*

Hi all! I have been toying with the idea of doing a semi-weekly-if-and-when-I-feel-like-it series about a guy that can sort of out-think the parameters of *ugh* reality.

Harold’s adventures are going to be loosely based on the concept of the fantastic meeting the realistic and how those two things might coexist within a certain context.

So here’s hoping you tune in as I get this new idea rolling. I hope you stick with me as Harold and his stories are fleshed out into something more substaintial.

As always, thank you for reading, sharing and enjoying my work. I appreciate everyone stopping by to read the crazy ideas that nest in my brain, and end up on the page.

Thank you!

- David

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 8

The dead man that was Anton Allaine stumbled towards Praesus and I with an otherworldly hunger. Someone had stripped him of his regal armor. Altogether, what was left of him was minimal. His flesh had a dim gray tinge, most of his chest was covered with blood. The only clue to who it belonged was the fact that there was so much of it, that I was certain it had come from multiple sources. In addition to the crimson liquid that seemed to be everywhere, Anton Allaine had apparently had his clothing nearly torn to shreds. It gave him the appearance of a long dead corpse, one who’s funeral suit had been eaten away by earthworms, insects and time under the ground.

Though his body gave the impression of one who had passed over to the other side, Anton’s face held a much different look. If you were able somehow see past the glowing green eyes, you might have noticed Anton’s lips. They were dry and thin, and his teeth seemed to be trying to push them out if the way, with his tongue in tow.

As Praesus and I took in the sight, Asta spoke to me specifically, “I am going to let my brother into your cell. One of two things will happen: You will either cure him. Or he will kill you.”

Praesus gave me a tainted glance. I held up a dismissive hand.

One of Asta’s guards swung open our cell’s door. The other prodded Anton to enter. Both of them regarded Anton with an equal mixture of terror and revulsion, they only went as close as they needed.  

Anton entered slowly at first, but as he got closer he must’ve sensed or smelled us somehow. His sleepwalking shuffle turned more urgent. And along with it, those teeth, pinned down by only his narrow lips began to search by snapping in our general direction.

Asta signaled the guards to shut the door, they quickly and gladly obliged her. Anton, or what Anton had become rather, in large part to me, was getting closer, teeth bared and making indicative guttural sounds in our direction.

Calmly, Praesus looked at me, “What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now isn’t the time for jokin’ squire. Change the man back!”

My attention bounded from Praesus to Anton’s reanimated corpse, “I can’t do that…”

“What?” Praesus was now backing up, heading towards the rear of the cell.

“I mean, I dunno what I mean.This is all new to me.” I focused, tried to concentrate and see if my powers to bring the dead back to life might include the ability to reverse what I had done, and restore Anton’s humanity.
I reached out with my mind to Anton’s corpse. On some other plane, I saw my thoughts travelling towards him. My will itself flowed from me in a bright green arc, like a tornado crossing over a water’s surface. Then I thought of emptying a colored liquid into a glass of plain water. My will to control this man went from me like a green fountain, crossed the small cell and found him. It enveloped him, catching him up in a green swirling mist. I glanced back at Praesus who was in fact watching intently, but by his eyes I could tell he was not seeing what I was. The guards, and Asta herself, peered intently from outside the cell, but again I could tell they were not seeing this fantasm of power that I was.

Quickly, I swung my gaze back to Anton, the green array had all but subsided, and as it did, it evaporated into nothing- that being if it ever was actually anything to begin with.  

Anton was still. He had stopped with the growls and was standing as still as you would have expected, that is, from any normal dead man.

After several moments, I approached him. Although, I had no idea what I was going to do, or even look for once I reached him. Anton stood, back to the cell door, his eyes locked on mine.

Asta cried out to her brother. Anton didn’t respond, but he heaved slightly forward at his waist, and held up an arm, with his forefinger raised. It was if he were indicating he needed just a moment.

“Anton!” Asta, threw herself at the bars. Anton dropped his arm, as he simultaneously dropped to his knees. “He’s back, he’s hurting, let me in there!”

Oddly, the guards looked at me before making a move. “Let me in there now dammit!” Asta’s voice tore through the small space. This broke the guard’s hesitation and they scrambled, opening the door as quickly as they could.

“Anton, by Eve! You’re back! you’re okay!” Asta flew to him, throwing her arms around her brother’s shoulders. When this occurred Anton returned her embrace, the only difference was Anton grabbed Asta’s slender wrist, and then promptly placed it between his teeth.

Yelling to Anton, I said, “No! Don’t you bite down you sunovabitch!” I dashed towards Asta Allaine and her dead brother. Anton turned her around to face me, as he gripped her, teeth ready to meet flesh. I knelt next to her, and whispered in her ear. I told her how I had the events in the courtyard led to Anton’s death. I told her how all we wanted to do was escape. I told her how I had coerced her to get into this cell. I finished by saying, “All it took was a little hope.”

No longer at the back of the cell, Praesus was now standing at it’s doorway, looking over the battered bodies of the two guards. He stared at his knuckles, now covered in blood, “Cursed...”