Our Week In Games – Week 42

Our Week In Games – Week 42

It’s another one of those ‘busy weekends’ for the denizens of Reticule Towers, which generally seem to involve a lot of wrestling and potentially even more alcohol. As a result, you’re stuck with just little old me for this week’s Our Week In Games, but nevertheless, feel free to put your feet up and grab yourself a cup of tea as I tell the tale of one of the last men to walk the earth.


My name is Niko Bellic, and I am one of the last survivors of Liberty City.

I’ve no idea what caused it, but overnight the normally peaceful residents of our city have been possessed by some kind of ‘rage’, transforming them from peaceful citizens into ferocious, slavering beasts, eager to tear apart any survivors. I for some reason remain unaffected by the condition that has swept the city, perhaps possessing some kind of immunity to the virus or fungus. I’ve no idea what caused it, be it curse from god, military super-weapon or perhaps the collection of files downloaded from here, but the outcome’s the same – Either I get out of this city, or I die.

Emerging from my small flat yesterday morning, I found a world in chaos. Screams of terror and anguish filled the air as people were grabbed and torn apart by their once friendly neighbours. Distant explosions rocked the city as mad panic gripped the population of Liberty City, cars speeding through the streets, their drivers desperate to escape the carnage around them.

Driving laws were relaxed somewhat during the apocalpyse

But that all feels like an eternity ago. Now they’re all gone. The only cars on the streets are burnt out husks, and the only people on the streets are the…changed.

My only chance is to keep moving and stay off the main roads. By sticking to the back alleys and rooftops, I can avoid the majority of the infected humans and gun-toting gangs that are trying to seize the city for themselves. I’m low on ammunition, tired, hungry, and wounded. But I’ve got a plan – if I head south to the docks, I can acquire a boat and somehow get off this island. After my attempt to leave by air were stopped by mysterious military helicopters that fired upon me only seconds after taking off, I just hope I can sneak off by sea under the cover of the morning fog.

If you’re reading this, there’s only two possibilities. Either it’s a souvenir I kept from the time the world went mad, or I failed. As I write these words, temporarily safe on the roof of a warehouse, watching the carnage below, I’m thinking only one thing.

Where’s Iron Man when you need him?

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