I posted this a long time ago while the game was still in early alpha and just never got around to writing the rest of it. So, now that the game's released, I plan to finish things.

Here's the first part.

. . .

Lockwood's Plight - Part I: Of Blood and Smoke

Back against the wall...

Legs outstretched in front of me...

My chest rising and falling with each labored breath...

I try to calm my heart rate, leaning my head back as far as the wall propping me up will allow. An amalgam of blood and sweat leaks into the corners of my mouth; the smell of death and a gun-fight hangs in the air like a wet blanket, heavy and suffocating in its presence. I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure they're all still in place.

They are.

I tilt my head slightly from left to right, straining my neck and cracking the stiffness out of it. The sickening pops only marginally relieve the tension. I give my right shoulder a good roll, recognizing that the numb, tingling feeling in my arm is anything but normal. I reach across my chest with my left hand, scanning for the entrance wound.

Yup, I've been shot alright.

Must be getting soft...


I find the hole within seconds, a wince giving away my discovery. I grit my teeth and clench my jaw, knowing what comes next. Another deep exhale, and my fingers go into my shoulder where the bullet's been lodged just beyond my collar bone. I dig for seconds that feel like minutes and am finally able to grab hold of the slug that didn't find its rightful exit. I exhale one more time before yanking the bullet from my shoulder and letting out a cathartic grunt.

My head hangs low for a moment as I try to compose myself, the pain radiating into my armpit, across my shoulder blades, and all the way down to my fingers.

I bring my face back level and open my eyes. From down the jagged stairs fifty feet or so in front of me, I hear footsteps. It's over, I think to myself.

Of all the damn places to go out...

Hope the hair looks okay.


My hands pat the ground all around me, searching. The footfalls grow louder -- closer this time -- my hands still searching; faster, harder. Once more, the sound grows. And once more, my hands scan feverishly.

Found it.

A sense of relief washes over me.

I snatch the object up off the shambled floor and put it to my lips. I reach into my jacket pocket, working hard to do so, and extract a small trinket. I bring it my mouth. With a quick flick of the wrist, a flame illuminates the dank room. I pull it close, head tilted at just the right angle, fire painting ominous shadows on my face. The sound from the stairwell tries to interrupt, but I'm in the zone. I snap my wrist again; the flame's gone.

Only embers remain.

Embers at the end of my cigar.

I take a deep drag from the stogie before resting it between two fingers and dropping it down to my side. I breathe out a hazy plume.

Nothing like a quick smoke before the end.