A centipede crawls over broken glass, as he swings his rifle around and fires into nothingness. White spiral scars cover his skin, his jaw slack, his mouth a gormless rotting hole, he stalks a dimly lit cave, a gun mounted flashlight cuts through the black, he tunnels on through. He unsheath his knife, and spires a huge snail with a precise crunch, then eats it, crushing shell to a green pulp then swallows. Searches alert for his prey. A game, his game, he planned preforms and stars in. ... He hears the Ratmen horning their blades, their whispering dull in the vacuum, as one suddenly sprints into view, hardening his cock in seconds, he catches up in long loping strides severing its spine from behind in a swift swipe, in gouts of blood, decapitating his prey, then moves on stepping on insects in his wake.
An endless plunge into the vortex of fantasy. 2D and mindless.
A Ratman lays low hidden studying Ben’s manic malign light oncoming, its dagger at the ready, Player One two strides near. … Boom! The rat's head bursts like a pulped yam in a pink mist. Always one step ahead (a game cheat). Brain matter slides down wall, he stares transfixed. A moment later another, his arm swelling around its neck. The first cut: the rest follow. Razor blade cuts flesh. Skin parted for an instant mottled white blood spurts, screams cease. And then their was two.
(The FPS 1993 video game DOOM the “blueprint”). He spits, reloads and moves on. His 32-bit thought resumes. Boom! A ratman reduced to pink wet rubble in a white plume of smoke. … He spits, cocks the hammer and moves on. ... The last Ratman submits freely to horrendous torture and death. “Game Over” he mutters. (Level one complete. Stats: 97%.