u235

More commentary about the gruesome shooter genre...

So you're knocking around in some long-forgotten steam tunnel. Or maybe you're clawing your way out of the basement of a seedy, beaten down hotel. Perhaps it's the air conditioning ducts, other times it's blood-sodden laboratories.

Regardless of the venue some charming individual has managed to keep the place reasonably well stocked with the latest medical kits and armor vests! How thoughtful of them!

Stepping out of the sanity-mold for a second ponder what this mysterious person's life must be like... I mean obviously the medkits are clean and un-spattered so they had to have been placed there after the carnage. And what about the armor? Neatly folded just like a well-trained butler might manage in some genteel establishment, sans white linens and lace doilies.

Can you imagine Albert, pushing his shiny little cart around the broken bottles and empty ten-gallon drums, loaded to the gunwales with candy-apple red boxes with spanking white crosses on top and a stack of helmets and armor in dry-cleaning plastic piled beneath? Would he carefully place and adjust each item while delicately stepping around the masses of decaying flesh or just toss them with a professional snap like a veteran paper-boy?

With one nattily gloved hand he'd shoo the gaunt spectral denizens that lurked about the edges, pausing but a brief moment to adjust his bowtie in the shattered glass from the firefight just moments before... "Ghastly tedious," he might mutter, "but by Jove the benefits are top-notch".