MostlyFilm

by Mr Moth

Hello. My photo manipulation skills aren’t great, but, well, who doesn’t like teddies doing charades? So – the key here is that these photos are depicting romantic movies. For Valentine’s Day. So, say what you see. With love.

Mystery Film number one

Got that? Good. Let’s move on.

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Paul Shuttle shoots, thinks and shoots, then thinks again.

Adam Jensen in Human Revolution: "single-handedly dragging us back to an era of arms-perpetually-folded, mid-90s tough guy protagonists". Like that's a bad thing.

Note: this post contains minor spoilers for the Deus Ex series and Mass Effect.

Riding the elevator down into the depths of an unassuming textiles factory, the glass walls afforded me a glimpse at what awaited on the floor below. A handful of armoured FEMA agents were dotted around, either on patrol or huddled in a small group to the left. In the centre of the room, a rhythmic mechanical thud signalled the familiar presence of an unwieldy ED-209 replica, with its pair of slowly rotating turrets scanning the open, multi-level storage area. As the lift doors pinged open, I darted for the cover of a nearby raised platform, eyes fixed on the HUDs pulsing suspicion meter. Nothing.

Up above laid a series of catwalks, from where a red sniper dot flirted perilously close to my position. I pulled up my inventory and selected one of the two gas grenades I’d stolen from a newly-unlocked cabinet. Leaning out from cover, I tossed an explosive towards the amassed troops, whose immediate rasping was just enough of a distraction for to break for the central stairwell, by now hopelessly unguarded. Suddenly, a piercing siren began to ring out. My pace quickened as I ducked from shadow to shadow, timing my steps to avoid the curiosity of the lingering two-man patrol. Reaching the relative safety of the far side, I crawled slowly back down the stairs, now standing across from where I’d started.

A solitary guard lingering close to the exit, completing a cursory lap of the area; deliberate looks around and behind as he went. Pausing nearby, I held my breath, convinced he’d seen me. A moment passed. Then two. Finally, he turned back towards the door and I exhaled, inching out from behind the railing to strike him in the back of the neck, sending this 3-days-to-retirement badge crashing to the floor with a bone-crunching thud that left him otherwise unharmed. As a nearby surveillance camera began its slow sweep back towards the door, the body was already halfway back into the darkness. Somewhere in the distance I could hear agents muttering about another false alarm. They hadn’t found their unconscious friend yet, but they would soon enough. By then, I’d be gone.

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By Richard

Your face here: Tom Cruise's jacket from Top Gun

Flight! The dream of man from when Daedalus first made wings for his son without first performing a full risk assessment.

Shooting things! Man’s other dream, sadly realised a lot earlier.

Despite the enduring appeal of these dreams, why is it that the once dominant genre of combat flight simulations now survives only because of obsessive Russians willing to work for peanuts?

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