Lego Batman 2: DC Super Heroes - Review

 

Lego is quite the miraculous toy. Not only brilliant in its simplicity and fuel to the desires of children to both construct and destruct. What is equally impressive is how it has adapted to changes presented by their competition. Whether it’s opening theme parks or releasing new sets in the likeness of other famous childhood brands, they’ve managed to remain more than relevant as the years have gone by. Even with video games stealing away more and more of youngster’s free time, Lego has managed to adapt. And they’ve done so, quite wisely, by following a policy of, ‘if you can’t beat them, join them.’

    Thus they recruited developer Travellers’ Tales to produce a series of adventure games based on properties that Lego have acquired the rights, including this most recent release, Lego Batman 2: DC Super Heroes. These titles have a solid reputation in being decent, well-crafted and light hearted jaunts. They treat the property with the utmost respect, often in as humorous and jovial manner as possible. Nothing, from the story tropes to the way the scenery is always made out of destructible Lego bricks, is above lampooning.  

    It’s no different here. In a summer where we’ve seen the more serious side to Batman in cinema’s, we now see the more cartoony side to the Great Detectives adventures here, in a video game that’s very reminiscent of the old and very much loved animated series. The story is definitively aimed at families and younger audiences, but there is plenty here to amuse the comic enthusiast too, with sly nods and references to tales of old. Even another recent notable Batman game can’t escape a mention with a knowing wink. The plot trots along pleasantly, aided by how it is the first Lego tales game to feature full voice acting. And there’s some wonderful characterisation of old favourites. The representation of Superman as an overtly happy, bold goody two shoes is a joy to witness.

 

    The game is a mix of an open world setting split by story episodes. You can travel around Gotham in the worlds least manoeuvrable Batmobile, (so terrible at handling no citizen or lamppost is safe when you’re patrolling the streets), scouring out the wild assortment of villains on the loose from Arkham Asylum, before seeking out the next story episode and putting paid to Lex Luthor and the Joker’s nefarious scheme.

    These story episodes play out just like in every other Lego tales game. You blast from A to B solving puzzles, vaulting obstacles and beating back an assortment of goons to get to the end. Yet it always slightly deceptive to call it a straight action adventure title. Rather it’s more of a puzzle adventure game, requiring you to solve a variety of obstacles and riddles to progress. Often these revolve around making use of each character’s unique abilities, or a differing array of costumes with their own attributes. Yet more often than not these puzzles centre about the construction or indeed deconstruction of those famous Lego bricks, as you use them to create new paths and ways of progressing. These puzzles are hardly brain taxing, and despite a couple of head scratching moments you’re unlikely to be truly stumped. 

      It is not just the puzzles that are easy to get past. The combat itself is incredibly simplistic; often a push of a button is all that’s required to beat back a pantomime goon. Death rarely occurs, and in the case of Superman it’s nigh on impossible, and even if your Lego character does dissemble there’s barely a punishment for doing so. It’s hardly a game for those seeking a challenge. But it is ideal for younger gamers, or indeed family playing sessions. The game is designed very much with co-op play in mind, with collaboration between characters essential in places. Fortunately a seamless character swap option means this happens quickly and without irritation when in single player.

 

     But what is there for the seasoned gamer then, if you aren’t interested in puzzle solving or button bash gameplay? Well how about at least four kitchen sink’s worth of additional content, which revels in the history of Batman and DC comics. This title, much like all other Lego tales before it, is a collectaholics paradise. In addition to 150 golden bricks to find, Lego stud targets to reach and citizens to save, there are a huge number of characters which can be unlocked and then played as, both around Gotham and during free plays of the story episode. It’s a huge cast call of DC heroes and villains, from Wonder Woman down to Killer Moth. Again each character has their own sets of skills, and some of these will be needed to uncover yet more secrets tucked away inside each stage. There are extra vehicles to construct, villains to find and battle about Gotham, and hidden objectives to attain. It’s perhaps a shame that all these iconic characters do not make appearances until late in the game, or until they are unlocked.

    When it comes down to the nitty gritty, it’s business as usual for a Lego tales game. The same gameplay, the same formula, the same style and the same routine. This is not necessarily a bad thing; it’s served the series well in the past. It’s the latest instalment in a franchise that thrives on familiarity. Despite the different properties being used in each title you know that the gameplay will remain largely the same. And ultimately, this is what customers expect from this series.

    That isn’t to say there’s nothing for the seasoned gamer. It’s a fun romp while it lasts, particularly if you’re a Batman nerd or are having ‘Dark Knight Rises’ withdrawal symptoms, and the amount of content will bring smiles to these fans faces. It, just like every other Lego game before it, will hardly revolutionise the gaming world. It’s simple in its execution and gameplay yes, but it revels in this, focusing instead on simply being enjoyable and in doing justice to the world of the Dark Knight.      

Been a while since I posted here, for those of you still bothering to check this out. I've changed from Castle Howard to the Theatre Royal in York, and I'm currently in final rehearsals for 'Company' with York Light Opera Company, and will soon be strarring as Strephon in Iolanthe. Writing wise finishing off a screenplay and some short stories, so stay tuned. Will be posting some reviews soon as well for good measure.

Ramblings on the future of the Resident Evil franchise

Been playing some Resident Evil Revelations recently. As a late comer to the franchise (4 was my leaping on point), the initial stages are providing me perhaps with an insight into what it was like for gamers in 1998 when they first stepped into that fabled Racoon City mansion. It’s a decent game so far, not stellar, but enjoyable enough. Having some issues with the controls, but I guess I’m just far too used to controlling over the shoulder with dual analogue.

    But it’s left me thinking about the upcoming instalment to be released this winter. Resident Evil 6 is being hailed as the most jam packed Resident Evil yet, with three separate scenarios each catering to a different aspect of the of the franchise. First you have Leon, engaging in the type of survival horror associated with the series, with him and his new partner fending off hordes of zombies on limited resources. Then there’s Chris Redfield, who will be taking part in missions against mutants armed with guns and able to co-ordinate military tactics with each other. And finally there’s new character Jake Muller, supposedly the son dear old Albert Wesker, who has a new strain of virus in his body that gives him super human abilities.

    All this sounds rather grand, but it begs the question, why?

    Why are we having some many gameplay styles thrown into one game, rather than focusing on one style and sticking with it? Capcom say this is to provide the most epic instalment into the series yet, and cater for all the fans who want different things. But do the fans really want this variety? Last time I checked people liked Resident Evil because of its survival horror aspects. Since when has all out action become a series staple? Some would argue since 5 a few years back, but even those sections were in small doses, with most of it progressing in exactly the same manner as its predecessor.

     You can’t help but feel Capcom have seen the success of shooting games like Gears or War and Modern Warfare, and action titles like Prototype and Infamous, and decided ‘yummy, we’ll have some of that.’ But instead of taking a risk on a new franchise, they’ve shoehorned these aspects into one of the companies most successful properties in order for them to compete with the multi-million sellers produced by their western counterparts.

   I feel this is counter-productive. For one thing, it’s almost impossible for any series to replicate the mega success COD has recently enjoyed, so if Capcom think making these changes to Resident Evil will allow them to compete (I read that they want to sell 7 million copies in this fiscal year) then they are in for a rude awakening. All this will do is make fans resentful and hurt the series integrity.

    When I think about what made Resident Evil 4 one of my favouritest games, I realise it wasn’t due to over the top action. It was because of its setting. You felt like you were progressing through some kind of dark, sadistic yet incredibly cheesy pantomime, leaping happily from reserved corridor trudging to over the top set pieces in moments. It felt like a modern day gothic tale. All the traditional gothic elements, isolated landscapes and dark foreboding castles, fair maidens under threat from creepy villains and sinister monsters, a successful fusion of science and the supernatural. All the elements were there, and while due to its excellent streamlined gameplay it isn’t strictly a horror game, it sure as heck feels like one.

    Yet this all seems to be sacrificed in a vain attempt to win over the Modern Warfare crowd, and that’s a shame. Because right now the gaming world needs games in Resident Evil 4’s ilk, and it looks like that while Leon may provide some comfort, overall the next game in the series looks like it’s abandoning a lot of what made Resident Evil so popular in the first place.

   Oh and also, Leon, Chris, Sherry and Ada but no Claire Redfield? What the hell Capcom? (On disc DLC probably)  

The Plight of Tottenham Hotspurs

A quick summery I did recently of the plight of a certain North London football club. It's something I whipped out for the Premier League Owl website, and I feel it's worth sharing with you chaps and chapettes!

Imagine the Premier League as a student house party, and its teams as the guests. Man Utd would be the smarmy, self assured hosts gloating at how well they can host a party; Man City the pretty rich boy looking to upstage the hosts, and at this particular party it is Wolves who are now in A & E having their stomach pumped.

    But what role in this analogy is there for Spurs? Undoubtedly they are the geek who convinces themselves that this will be the night they finally get lucky. They make all the right moves, dress in the right clothes, send out all the right signals, but by the time everyone else has grabbed the last taxi home with a pretty girl on their arm Spurs remain alone, and doomed to another lonely night with a hangover to contend with in the morning.

    This season has been a particularly cruel hootenanny for the North London team. After all, it started so brilliantly for them. After an early wobble they threw themselves into the festivities with great gusto. They played with zip, flair and confidence, and watched on from a position of smugness as their London rivals uncharacteristically spluttered and stalled. The big problem, however, was that with the summit in sight the team suddenly realised that they hadn’t brought a safety harness. So when their foothold began to crumble there was nothing to stop their plummet downwards like Wile E Coyote, with their rivals watching their descent like incredible smug roadrunners.

     What cause could there be for the team that showed such promise to have crashed so spectacularly? Many will see at the departure of a furrowed browed Italian from a certain managerial position as the key factor. Redknapp strenuously denies this, as well he might, but even so he must be looking to Wembley Stadium with pound signs in his eyes. Fans will also point the finger at some questionable refereeing decisions, like Balotelli’s silent but deadly stamp on Parker at the Etihad, not to mention the goal-that-never-should-have-been in the recent FA Cup Semi Final, an event that must have had Sepp Blatter cackling against the lightning streaked sky from his cliff top castle.

     Or maybe it’s simply a case of Spurs lacking the experience to maintain a consistent challenge. Their players are talented undoubtedly, capable of playing at speed with the ball on the ground, Modrić and Parker prowling the midfield, Bale and Lennon zipping down the flanks before Adebayor and Van Der Vaart apply the finishing battering ram. Trouble is, Spurs don’t really have a plan B, and when players either fail to perform or are injured, those that remain don’t know what to do next. The team as a whole has relied too much on their midfield for their goals, and lack a Van Persie-esque striker to reward their creative play with the goals it deserves. The fact that Spurs have the worst record at scoring from corners in the league is a telling statistic.

    But Spurs’ problems will only increase should they fail to reach fourth. Last summer Redknapp took on a Del Boy persona, reassuring players that wanting to leave that ‘next year, we’ll be millionaires.’ He convinced the likes of Modrić to stay on that promise, but if he were to go to England and Spurs not qualify for the Champions League, would they stick around or would they be seen running for the nearest Barcelona and Chelsea coloured Robin Reliants.

    There has been the decided whiff of old fashioned sitcom about Spurs’ season, the characters acting on a promise of greater things before it all dissolves into chaos. All is far from lost though. Should they win their last four games (which on paper are all winnable), then their season may yet end happily depending on other results. After all, every geeky student ends up getting lucky eventually.    

Kid Icarus Uprising - Review

It was a pair of quite pleasant dilemmas that Nintendo had to deal with a couple of years back. Firstly, do they let Masahiro Sakurai, a hugely talented man with a fantastic imagination, loose on a fresh project or shackle him to the Smash Bros series where they are guaranteed gazillions of dollars? Secondly, what to do with Kid Icarus, a cult classic franchise with a popular following but one which had been gathering dust for two decades? It was a dilemma that Nintendo consolidated into one, easy to manage solution, by giving Sakurai the green light to spearhead a revival of the long dormant series. And by Palutena, what a good decision this was.

     Kid Icarus Uprising is a game brimming with confidence, bubbling with charisma and crammed with so much content it’s surprising that the cartridge isn’t the thickness of a Jane Austen novel. The temptation with a new adventure for Pit would to turn it into a Zelda clone, but instead what we a presented with is a game that very much forges its own identity. Taking only the characters and setting from the early games, the gameplay is its own beast; Arcady in feel, but concealing a huge amount of depth.

    The story is split into chapters, with each of these split in half. You start with an on-rails aerial battle in which you simply blast the living hell out of everything that moves while avoiding enemy’s attempts to do the same. These sections are frantic and there is rarely a let up in the action. Once Pit’s flying time is up (with a convenient plot device to explain why he even has to land), it’s onto the ground for some shooting, dodging and melee based japery. The pace slows in these sections, but the intensity remains high and there’s rarely a moment things dull down, though sometimes these sections go on for a little too long. At the end of each chapter await a nice variety of boss battles, providing some great set pieces. But the game does not rigidly stick to these constraints, and mixes things up on the odd occasion to keep things fresh. It’s a system that suits the games perfectly, making it a perfect adventure to be completed in short bursts as opposed to in a couple of long sittings.

     The story at first seems like little more than an excuse to update the cast and crew of the first game for the 21^st century, with numerous bosses and enemies making appearances with snazzy new designs. But then begins a series of plot twists that come out of nowhere with little precedent. This could be accused of being lazy storytelling, but it means that you begin each chapter with genuine little idea as to what you will encounter next. But it is the characters that truly shine, with Pit, Palutena and a menagerie of further deities prattling away while the action is taking place. They blabber, they jest, they bicker and they mock, usually at Pits expense. This should be annoying, but instead it’s a delight. This is because the panto-esque script never dips below the ‘tolerable’ level and often shoots up into the excellent category. The character interaction is well thought out and they break the fourth wall gleefully. They are all too aware they are characters in a video game, with references to hand holding, difficulty levels, loading screens and other Nintendo franchises. There are genuinely funny moments to boot, not laugh out loud perhaps but enough to make you smile knowingly to yourself.

     Less likely to make you laugh is the much talked about controls. Reminiscent of ‘Metroid Prime Hunters,’ you control the 3DS with your left hand and use the L-trigger to blast away while moving Pit with the control stick. In the flying sections you aim using the stylus on the touch screen, but in the walking sections it fullfills the role of a second analogue stick, moving the camera via sweeps left and right with the stylus, ‘like spinning a globe,’ as Pit helpfully describes it. This takes some getting used to, and it is bound to put some people off. However it is worth persisting with, particularly when the controls and sensitivity are all customisable. After adapting and learning to the controls it is difficult to envisage just how else this game could have been controlled, with the only legitimately bad controls coming in the vehicle driving segments (curse you Exo-tank!”) The games content keeps you coming back for more, and there is always more room for improvement and bettering your score.   

     The story in itself is enough to keep you occupied for a good few hours, but then we get to the extras. Sakurai once again takes the kitchen sink approach that he did in Smash Bros, and applies a similar stratagem to the unlockable bits. The most compelling is a weapon fusion system which allows you to fuse any two weapons you find or own into a more powerful one. This is a deceptively deep exercise, not only having to choose which weapon you want or how much damage it does, but also whether it excels best as a melee or a ranged weapon, or what extra attributes will survive the fusion process. With weapons and skills in abundance, you’ll constantly revisit old levels on higher difficulties in order to pick up more powerful weapons, which can be fused to make insanely powerful weapons.

    And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are plenty of trophies to be won via a strange egg toss minigame, an impressive soundtrack to be unlocked, and a series of treasure maps that serve as the games achievement system, providing you with stuff that’s worth unlocking as opposed to brainlessly adding to a meaningless gamer score. It even makes use of the 3DS’s Spotpass system, allowing you to create weapon gems that can be picked up when passing fellow 3DS users in the street. Not much use when living in Easingwold, but a nice touch nonetheless.

     And finally we come to the multiplayer. Based solely on the ground based battles of the single player, there are two main modes to choose from. An all out brawl till the time runs out, or an intriguing last man standing concept whereby once a team has lost enough points one member becomes an angel and joins the fray all souped up. But once the angel has been defeated, it’s match over. It’s a very barebones multiplayer, with only two modes and no option of co-op, but it’s fun and simple to play, operating at a buttery smooth frame rate despite a truly hectic amount of action taking place onscreen. If the online for the next Smash Bros takes heed from this game then we are in for a treat indeed.          

    Rarely we see a game that offers such a complete package, but Kid Icarus Uprising offers plenty of value for your buck. But value and content is pointless when the game itself is not fun to play. So it is fortunate that this title is a delight from start to finish. You play each chapter with a knowing smirk, recognising the references and enjoying the quips, with the addictive gameplay keeping you come back for more.

    Pit certainly took his time to return properly to the video gaming scene, but it was worth the wait. Games with this level of charm and humour are a rarity in an industry that can sometimes take itself too seriously. We can only hope that it doesn’t take a further twenty five years for Pit to bring a little bit of light to the industry once again.  

Erosion

This is a first draft of a short story I am submitting to a competition. It was inspired from when I saw a mother and daughter having an emotional conversation on the sea shore when I visited New Hampshire recently. Any feedback on how it can be improved would very much be appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

Erosion

It was the girl’s bright pink hoodie that drew my attention. She was sat on a rusting bench, her body hunched and head bowed, the briny wind blowing her raven hair behind her like a plume. Her arms were crossed and she was rubbing her hands along her shoulders for warmth against the February chill. She was a teenager, but I was unable to pinpoint her exact age. As the years pass you find yourself unable to make such distinctions, though a long time ago it had been the easiest thing in the world. She wore those denim mini shorts, dark tights and bright red converse shoes that all the girls in the city centre paraded in. I briefly wondered if Gwen was wearing similar attire at this exact moment. The fact I didn’t know brought tears to eyes already watering from the regular icy blasts attacking us on this cliff top.

      I stared out at the churning sea beyond me, whipped into frenzy by the hostile winds. Waves smashed into the cliffs below, the water foaming like the jaws of a rabid beast repeatedly snapping at its prey. The water swirled and twisted each time the waves beat their retreat. In younger days Angie and I had sat at this spot picking out shapes in the frothing brine, like children seeing animals in the clouds on blustery days. She’d once found it funny after I claimed to see the outline of Pope John Paul II. I could no longer make out any shapes. Maybe I was too old for such fanciful creativity. Or perhaps Angie had been my muse, and without her I could only see the waves for what they were; a relentless force intent on picking apart the cliffs stone by stone. A metaphor for what the tragedies of life could do to a love once as steadfast as these rocks.

    I inhaled deeply, in an attempt to chill the burning lump in my throat with cold sea air. It didn’t work; it only made me shiver into my heavy grey overcoat. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be truly warm on the inside. I shifted on the spot, the wet grass groaning underfoot. I thought it curious how stood here I was in no danger, but no more than three steps forward would result in a cold, painful and utterly lonely death.

    I looked at the girl again. She’d barely moved in the minutes I’d stood here. I scanned for a group of friends, but we only had each other for company. I wished she’d get up and leave. A selfish request, considering she wasn’t here to enjoy this view either. Her glossed lips were downturned and her eyes fixed on the mobile she was spinning through her fingers. She was very pretty, the type of girl that in my teens I’d have done almost anything for a chance to promenade her along the pier on a lazy summers evening.

   What would it be like to be young again? To be her age once more with the kaleidoscope of emotions and chemicals swirling through a developing body, now armed with the experience provided by the passing years? I suspect it would have made me more cavalier in my approach to the opposite sex. I’d be aware of how a long lasting relationship at that age is as much an illusion as how the cliffs repelled each wave’s assault without a scratch.

       Perhaps that was why she was upset. A schoolgirl crush turned sour by the bitter taste of rejection. It could have been almost anything, given the intensity with which teenagers deliberate over every decision. Was Gwen experiencing similar feelings of rejection? Would they twist and turn through the endless labyrinth of her mind until she emerged despising me for what I’d done? The thought would have broken my heart, had it not already been splintered.

    A seagull flew overhead, its mocking cry piercing our bubbles of isolation. The girl finally looked up and saw me. I turned away slowly, returning my gaze to the point on the horizon where the grey seas met the greyer skies above. I could wait. She would go soon and I had no schedule to keep. Not anymore.

    “Stacy! Stacy!”

     An unfamiliar voice made me look around again. A middle aged woman in a smart trouser suit was jogging down the path, her high heeled pumps clattering against the gravel path. They shared the same height, same stature and shade of raven hair. There was only one person this new arrival could be, and the girl didn’t look pleased to see her.

    “I told you to stay the hell away!” she bellowed, standing up swiftly from the bench. Yet she seemed incapable of moving further away, only able to turn her back on her advancing mother. Just like me, paralysed by grief and fear.

   “I just need you to understand,” the mother pleaded, grabbing the girl’s right arm only for it to be roughly jerked from her grasp.

    “I understand better then you do!” the girl howled, ignoring the wind as it flicked strands of hair into her eyes. Clasping her forehead with both hands she added with an anguished growl, “God I can’t believe you’d be so stupid!”

     The mother hung back momentarily; then lowered herself onto the far side of the bench, splaying her feet as she cradled her hands in between her knees. “Ok Stacy, I’m listening. You want to tell me what you really think, go ahead,” she said while staring at the sodden ground.    

    Stacy deliberated over this offer for a good few seconds. I could see her shoulders rising and falling as she took deep gulps of air to calm down. Then she sat down in her original spot, her converse clad feet jiggling from the nerves. I knew I shouldn’t have intruded upon their private conversation, though in truth I didn’t hear much over the adverse weather anyway. I just caught the odd word, including “betrayed”, “unbelievable,” and repeated use of the word, “twat.” At one point Stacy almost got to her feet again, as she shouted at the top of her voice, “And yet you keep going back to him!”

       I was now completely unable to take my eyes away from their heated debate. Was this some sort of cruel joke played on me by demons of the oceans, like in the seafaring myths of old? Of course not, but the sheer coincidence unnerved me nonetheless. It was as if the most recent battles of my life were being acted out before me. Only it was no act; their pain was just as tangible as mine. As tangible as anyone who had ever broken their heart through acts of unfiltered selfishness. As tangible as the pain I had inflicted on my ex-wife and only daughter.

     Jesus I loved them both. And I was sure they still loved me, but I knew it was a love that could never be reclaimed. I’d been the worst type of fool. A cheating fool: a reckless fool: above all else a violent one. I wished so much that I could forget what had happened at precisely 2:17am on an eerily still November night. I’d been drinking, in a fruitless attempt to stall the impending failure of my construction firm. How easy some find it; pinning their troubles on irresponsible governments during times of economic hardship.

     But it was no politician’s fault that I returned home in a whisky drenched haze, barking and thrashing like a bulldog. Angie had tried to calm me down, as always, but this time she couldn’t soothe my anger fast enough. The immediate seconds afterwards were a haze, as if my brain had deleted them out of shame. What I remember for certain was, over Angie’s desperate and pained sobs, hearing the living room door softly creak open. In stepped Gwen in her purple pyjama’s, tears already falling from her misty blue eyes. She looked at me with an expression of terror so powerful no artist or actress could ever recapture it.

    I’d always lived near the sea. I loved the gentle hiss of waves running over the shingle beach, the reek of fresh seaweed intertwining with overpowering smell of fish and chips, seeing the lights of trawlers through the darkness of night. But now, standing on the brink of deep oblivion, I only saw its raw power. It was an untamed force beyond control. Men built sturdy walls, nature imposing cliff faces. Yet to the sea these were obstacles to be ultimately devoured. How similar to love. Once the affection between Angie and I was so fierce we felt we could roll back the tides like King Canute of the legends. But then we faced money problems, the stress of keeping my business afloat, Gwen being mercilessly bullied at school, the temptation presented by my PA Rosie Henderson, the violent fuel of alcohol. Each was a wave that crashed against our love until it eroded into rubble. Now all that remained was dusty sand, and it was being washed further and further away from the place it had once stood so steadfast.

    I sighed and took a single step forward. The roar of the sea increased in volume, cheering me on, tempting me like Satan in the desert. But I hesitated. The simplest act of the human body, a single step forward, suddenly became the hardest. I became aware of the taste of salt on my tongue, the rumble of distant traffic and the pinpricks of drizzle on my exposed forehead. Little things that you take for granted but would be missed if they were not there. But what use do they have when life loses all meaning?     

   Unable to stop myself I turned around once more to see the argument had ended in a mutual ceasefire. This was signified by the tears now falling down Stacy’s cheeks as she rested her head on her mums shoulder, who affectionately ran her hands through her daughters raven hair; the well practised motion only a mother could perform. It seemed they’d found peace, at least temporarily. Above all it was a moment of silent reflection over what had already transpired, and what was yet to occur. Their closeness was almost tangible, like a familiar childhood smell that soothes you when nervous or afraid.

     I felt a burning in my chest, and the knot in my throat began to unravel.  Tears blurring my vision I could imagine Gwen in the girls place, her long red hair tumbling down her shoulders like a curtain, crying out for her father to help her. Maybe I could. The domestic affair unfolding in front of me had reawakened a long dormant emotion. Hope. I’d been running from my past for too long. This mother and daughter had confronted their problems and, while perhaps they were far from reconciled, they had made their first crucial steps away from the precipice on which I now stood.

    The sea didn’t seem as hypnotic now, the waves no longer beating out an inviting rhythm. This could be an end, but didn’t have to be the end. I could no longer reclaim everything that I had once had, but perhaps there was a chance to build something new from the eroded rubble of my previous life. That is the cycle of the coast, and ultimately the cycle of life.  From what was lost, something new will take its place, for better or worse. What I made of these changes was up to me, and was something to be embraced, not discarded.

    My fingers trembling as much as from the adrenaline as from the cold, I reached into the pockets of my billowing coat and picked out the heavy rocks filling them, one after the other. Then in turn I threw them over arm into the air. I watched as each stone hurtled into the sea, the noise they made on impact drowned out by the roar of the waves. They swiftly disappeared into the dark grey depths, now serving a different purpose to what I had originally intended. Nature would carry them downstream to ultimately form new lands on which life could flourish. They would no longer be used as tools to end my own existence. Then, holding my head high against the disapproving wind I walked away from the brink, bestowing a thankful gaze to the tearful girl and mother as I strode purposefully to my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting down shore

Copyright Michael Foster 2012

Alan Wake's American Nightmare

We live in a world where video game heroes are bald, chisel jawed and have more muscle then an Olympic weightlifter. They carry massive guns and blow the living stuffing out of everything that moves, such is the demand for the action packed shooters that dominate the modern gaming world. Perhaps this is why mild mannered Alan Wake is a breath of fresh air. He has hair, which is a good start, but additionally he is as far away from a hero as you can get. He’s a writer, not a warrior, and carries deep flaws and traits that make him feel utterly mortal. You played through the game believing you were in fact seeing the development of a character, as opposed to the development of an avatar.

    Alan Wake was a thoroughly enjoyable romp; a knowing love letter to the Stephen King school of psychological horror mixed in with the action elements that are usually found in a Resident Evil or Silent Hill. There was more than a whiff of Resident Evil 4 in the sequences where you are being relentlessly hunted by possessed townspeople wielding axes and chainsaws. A strong story featuring likeable characters, a suitably dark and imposing setting, and a neat gameplay device of weakening enemies using light before you could blast them, added into one very strong title. It had some issues with pacing and repetition, but a strong desire to see the story through to the end helped you power through without really thinking about it.

     The problem then, for Remedy, was what to do next. The first game took five years to develop and sold respectably, though not astoundingly. It was clear from the nature of the ending and the way they affectionately referred to the title as ‘Alan Wake, Season 1,’ that they had more planned. But what they produced next was not a true sequel in the strictest sense. They released ‘Alan Wake, American Nightmare.’ An exclusive DLC release that provides a short, but sweet, additional adventure for Mr Wake.

    In a slight twist, this tale is acted out like an episode of Night Springs; the ‘Twilight Zone-esque’ show you could watch on various TV’s dotted around the first game. There is a reason for this. Alan, in his continuing battle with the darkness in the form of his murderous doppelganger Mr Scratch, has written another tale that is coming true, which he based on an old episode of Night Springs which he wrote when he first started out as a writer. But his manuscript is scattered and his knowledge on how to end the nightmare incomplete, and once again he has to find the missing pieces in order to stop himself being trapped in a groundhog day-esque time loop for all eternity. The game is deliberately canny about stating whether this is an out and out follow up to the events of the first game set in the real world, or if it is just a product of Wake’s imagination as he battles his evil twin.

     There’s no such deliberation to be had with the gameplay however, as you are quickly plunged straight into the darkness bashing that made up the meat and potatoes of the first game. Less is made of the story heavy segments, focus this time is much on the action. A good job then that while the gameplay remains pretty much unchanged, they have added an array of new weapons for Wake to wield, and made it so his torch is nigh on impossible to run down. It makes dodging and shooting the baddies that much more streamlined, and much more enjoyable as a result.

     A shame then, that it suffers so much from issues of repetition; which is bizarre when you consider that it is a five to six hour game. It is inevitable, when dealing with time loop storylines, that repetition is going to play a big role. But largely it deals with it well by mixing events up and changing dialogue with the NPC’s. But when you find yourself dealing with wave after wave of very similar enemies, as you did in the first game, then you begin to wonder if they couldn’t have shaken it up a little more.

    This of course doesn’t mean that it isn’t fun, because it is. The chance to discover more about the story by once again uncovering pages from Wake’s missing manuscript provides an intriguing distraction, even if the writing style is erratically different from one page to another. Radio interviews featuring Wake’s agent Barry and his new clients (the old time rockers from the first game), and TV’s displaying the hijinks of Mr Scratch, add another level to an already compacted story. A story that definitely leaves you wanting more from Alan Wake, with the ending again decidedly ambiguous as to where the protagonist will go next.

     Add into this a high score arcade mode, where you fight to survive until morning against the hordes while scoring as high as possible, and you get a package that is well worth the 1200 MS points you’re asked to hand over. Above all else it is encouraging to see that Remedy are not yet done with this fledgling franchise, and bonus material such as American Nightmare can only increase our hope that someday we will see a fully fledged sequel.

Holly

Holly - Synopsis

The Amarici tribe has resided in the Valley of Amoszar for centuries. The stories of their ancestors arrival has been lost to the ages, yet the tribe live peacefully using technology left behind to lead self sufficient lives in the isolated rainforest treetops, beside the mighty Harus Falls. Holly, a young huntress sixteen rain seasons old, often wonders what lies beyond the valley, but is prevented from exploring further by the mysterious lights that patrol the jungle after nightfall.

    On the night of her sister’s wedding their village is suddenly attacked, with many villagers captured and taken to an unknown destination. Holly escapes, and in doing so discovers the great secret located behind Harus Falls. She then realises that the lives of her friends, family and neighbours now depend upon her, and she travels from her jungle home into the world beyond. In doing so she faces incredible dangers, an enemy that is ceaselessly searching for her, and learns the terrible fate of her ancestors and the world that came before.

The Lights

Members of the Amarici tribe know full well not to travel through the forest depths after sunset, for then the lights begin their hunt. It is said when they approach the insects cease their incessant buzzing, the birds in the trees refuse to call out, the tiny frogs climbing the damp tree trunks fail to even croak. When the cacophony of noise that usually engulfs the Valley of Amoszar is replaced by a deathly, pervasive silence, it is certain they are coming. This presents you with two choices, run or hide, and either way your chances of escape are minimal. Once you are uncovered by the dazzling beam of white light there is nowhere to run.

         The Amarici tribe has hid from the lights for generations. They cannot remember why they come, but come the lights do. Anyone beyond the boundary after the sun has set is putting their lives in incredible danger. Yet the lights never cross the boundary, merely prowl the outskirts waiting for one foolish enough to stray too far from the village. Tribal legends claimed that the lights were forbidden from entering their realm by the gods of the old religion, but in truth no-one knows why the lights stop or even exist at all.

     These thoughts did not ease the mind of Holly as she jumped onto the decaying tree stump and leapt over it. Her knee high hunting boots splashed into a muddy pool of rainwater, but she quickly used the momentum of her jump to dash forward at full speed. She breathed in the hot and humid air of the rainforest night, mud stains covering the elegantly crafted tattoo’s that curved their way around her arms. She stumbled over a root concealed by vegetation and collided with a tree trunk, grazing her arm and scratching her cheek. Yet she ignored the pain and continued to run, her long nut coloured hair flowing behind her like the flickering tail of a Jaguar.

       She dared not stop to catch her breath. The jungle had fallen silent minutes ago. She was certain the lights were closing in.

    She emerged into a clearing created by a recently fallen tree, fungus protruding from cracks in the sodden bark. The radiant light of the full moon illuminated the area through the hazy forest air, revealing the way ahead was blocked by a long, scraggy rock face at least twenty feet tall, against which leant the fallen tree. She swore under her breath as she realised she’d missed the opening in the rocks that lead to the boundary of her village. She was trapped.

     “Jark! Jark where the Harus are you?” she hissed as loudly as she dared, whirling about on the spot in search of the person to have led her to this dead end.

     “Up here Holly!” a hushed voice whispered to her from above. She tilted her head up and saw Jark clinging to a branch overhanging the drop, waving at her with his free hand. “Run up the tree and then climb the rest of the way. It’s the fastest way to the boundary!”

     “I wouldn’t have to climb up this thing if you’d just listened to me in the first place!” Holly snarled as she scrambled onto the massive tree, then running along its diagonally slanting trunk with her arms outstretched, helping her maintain her balance.

     “We don’t have time to argue!” Jark snapped at her, anxiously glancing out into the darkened trees that towered around the clearing, scanning for the slightest glimpse of light through them. “There’s a small ledge just above you. I’ll guide you up from here!”

    “I don’t need you instructing me!” Holly snapped, disguising her rising fear underneath her frustrated reply. She took a running jump and grasped the rocky ledge with her fingers. The stones were covered in moss and creeping vines that she had to pull away to find a decent grabbing point. The vegetation was soaked from the recent thunderstorm, and Holly could feel her wet fingers losing grip even as she found a foothold. Collecting herself for a second she then shimmied along the ledge until she arrived at a jagged toothy crack in the rock face, whereupon she clasped a protruding outcrop. But the moment she put her weight on it the rock broke and fell away. Holly cried out as her feet slipped but she just held on with her right hand, swinging from side to side as she scrabbled about trying to regain her footing, her shoulder feeling like it was being wrenched and contorted out of shape.

      “Come on Holly. You’ve got to speed it up!” Jark urged as Holly swung her flailing left arm up and clasped another outcrop.

     “That’s fantastic advice, thanks,” Holly barked as she clambered into the jagged crack, her voice seeming to slice through the terrifyingly silent forest. She pressed her back against the craggy surface of the rock as she pushed against the opposite side with her feet. Moving arduously upwards she shuffled one foot after the other, scraping her back against the rugged stones. Water dripped onto her face and seeped into her mud stained top and sleeveless jacket. She gritted her teeth as a searing cramp engulfed her right calf, but relying on her adrenaline she continued her ascent. As she neared the top Jark dropped to the ground and lay on his front, outstretching his hand to her. Holly steadied herself, breathing fast and rhythmically, before she kicked against the cliff face and swung her right arm. She clasped his hand tightly and used her feet to propel herself while Jark hauled her to the summit. 

    Holly fell to ground, gasping for air as she stared at the empty sky through the canopy. She wriggled her aching fingers then massaged her cramped leg. Rolling over she saw Jark lying next to her, the dark haired boy with tattooed streaks across his arms, neck and cheeks gasping heavily for air.

     “Next time you suggest we take one of your brilliant shortcuts, remind me to push you over a waterfall,” she said as she hauled herself to her feet.

    Jark smiled as he also stood up, stretching his arms and muscles as if getting out of bed. “Relax Holly, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

    Then they heard it. A persistent, high pitched drone that grew ominously louder as it approached from the south. They stared from the cliff top, hearing the frantic screeches of Parita monkeys roused from their slumber by the rising din. Then they saw the beam of light, weaving its way through the forest along the exact same path they had taken. Its shape seemed to twist and contort as it moved through the trees, ever encroaching upon their position.

     “The boundary, run!” Holly hissed, at which she and Jark turned and fled into the jungle.

    She knew the light was right behind them from the way it reflected off of the wet rocks and vegetation, but she dared not look back. A fresh surge of adrenaline kept her running faster then she could have ever thought possible. Fern leaves slapped her legs as she scrambled through a hidden patch. She saw the fallen tree blocking her path from some distance, and grabbing a low hanging branch she used her momentum to swing up, then released her grip so she vaulted straight over. The light wasn’t hindered by such obstacles; it simply maintained its relentless pursuit of her and Jark. As she jumped down a small mound and rolled upon landing, she noticed how the brightness of the light was intensifying, while the whirring noise filling her ears became louder and louder. A few more seconds and it would not matter how fast they could run.

    Then out of nowhere they hit the boundary. It was a brown stretch of earth no more than a metre across that ran for miles around their village in a circle, identified by a line of purple tinted gems that ran right down the tracks centre. No plants grew on it, not even weeds. All that Holly and Jark knew for certain is that once they crossed it they would be safe, so not wasting another second they leapt across in one bound.

    The beam of light was right behind them, but when it reached the dirt track in shuddered to a halt. They watched on uncertainly as the beam remained motionless for a few moments, the edges refusing to touch the brown earth of the pathway. Then it began to slowly saunter away on a different trajectory, the light fading through the tree trunks as the noise evaporated into the night.

    Holly and Jark continued to clutch each other tightly until sure they were safe. Then they broke apart as their bodies began to replenish their depleted air supply. In between deep breaths Holly asked, “You call that knowing what you were doing?”

     “In all honesty, that was more improvisation,” Jark grinned at her.

    Holly emitted a strange noise that took her a split second to realise was a laugh. Now grinning herself she knelt down and scooped up a handful of sodden mud from the puddle at her feet. “So’s this,” she smirked, before she rose up and hurled the dirt into Jarks face with a satisfying splat.  

     Five sunrises later and Holly woke to the sound of a parita monkey screeching from the canopy above her house. She opened her eyes and blearily checked the rays of sun on her bedroom floor and where they lay in conjunction with marks scratched into the wood. She discovered from this that it was 9:45 in the morning, and she had overslept. Cursing loudly she threw off her fur blanket and jumped out of bed.

     She skipped across the bedroom floor, grabbing her clothes from yesterday that lay scattered around her bare feet. She had no time to use last night’s storm water for a shower. She threw on her dark top, sleeveless jacket and knee length skirt, before she hopped on the spot as she pulled on her favourite pair of hunting boots. She reluctantly eyed the red dress made out of the finest woven material provided by Piark the tailor, glad it was not yet time to put it on. She could continue to wear what her father affectionately called her ‘scrambling clothes’ for a few hours yet.

     She ran to her washbasin and turned the crank in the wall to power up the light bulb that hung from the ceiling. As it illuminated the circular mirror she quickly washed the mud stains from her face and arms. The tattoos covering her skin were of her own design, curling about her arms in twisting swirls with twin black stripes on her both her cheeks. It was a sign of individuality among her tribe, of defining and celebrating her unique personality.

    “Holly, Holly where are you?” she heard a familiar voice faintly calling from outside.

    “Give me a minute!” Holly bellowed irritably, tying back her long hair into a flowing ponytail. Then she ran through the furs covering the entrance to her house and stepped out onto the balcony.

     Holly lived in a two roomed hut built above the ground and fixed to the trunk of a sturdy tree, as were all the buildings in which members of the Americi tribe resided. A network of strong wooden walkways and bridges ran from building to building, with vines and colourful flowers curling around the railings and support pillars. They had barely needed to cut down a single tree to construct their thriving, self sustained community, relying solely on what nature provided. A system of cranes, pulley’s and lifts allowed the swift movement of goods and pedestrians. The members of her community lived and worked hanging over the forest floor, hiding in the canopy’s shadow as the jungle animals continued their struggle for survival above and below.

      Holly had lived alone in her hut on the town outskirts since the celebration of her sixteenth rain season three full moons ago. She had no fear of living alone because as an already experienced huntress she was more than capable of handling herself in a fight. Her parents had never born a son, but often joked that having had Holly they didn’t need one. She was about as different to her older sisters as she could get.

      One of these sisters was waiting for her at the foot of her balcony. Nilar folded her arms as she saw Holly emerge onto her balcony. “You’re becoming lazier then a Vezun sloth, you know that?”

    “Can a Vezun sloth do this?” Holly shouted. Then instead of descending down the ladder she grabbed the rope used to winch up supplies, and wrapping her arms and legs around it she slid all the way down. She landed on the walkway with a loud thump, giving her older sister the fright of her life.

      “Ever wondered what life would be like if you knew how to be quiet?” Nilar asked as Holly staggered over to where she was standing.

    “I’d be a lot less interesting for one thing,” Holly smirked. “I haven’t missed anything too dramatic right?”

    “Only the bride’s repeated panic attacks and mum flapping about wondering where you are,” Nilar told her. Giving Holly a gentle shove on the shoulder she said, “You’re wanted at the Falls of Harus, so it’s a good job you’re bursting with energy.”

      “What about you?”

      “I’ve been sent to get some more flowers from the trading post. I think we’ve got plenty, but you know our sister. Everything has to be perfect.”

      “Get me a bag of orange syrup slices would you?” Holly yelled as she jogged backwards.

     “Why would I? You’re hyper enough as it is!” Nilar laughed, pointing in the direction Holly needed to go. “Go on, scram, before you send mum bonkers!”

     Holly laughed to herself as she sprinted along the walkway. Her footsteps echoed off the wooden walkway as she ran, the light bulbs hanging from the support struts illuminating her way as they had yet to be turned off from the night before. They could afford to be wasteful; they were all powered by the massive waterwheel that churned through the Harus River. She caught sight of it to her left as she ran along, noting how fast it spun due to how the river had swelled from the recent flurry of thunderstorms.  She quickly peered over the edge at the white, frothing water below as it flowed onwards in a raging torrent.

      As she ran past Jark’s hut her thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous night. They’d both been incredibly lucky to escape. It had been years since the lights had taken a member of the tribe, a young woman by the name of Cisett. She got caught out late with her boyfriend when they were tailed by the lights. Her boyfriend had escaped, but Cisett had been less fortunate. He’d reported seeing her caught inside the beam, following whichever way she moved. Then there had been a loud buzzing sound, before long vines made out of metal descended from the sky and wrapped their way around her body. She had struggled and screamed but to no avail, and slowly but surely she was picked up off the floor and pulled to the sky. Then in an instant the light disappeared, and her with it. She had never been seen again.

     Holly hadn’t told anyone about what had happened, and neither had Jark. They decided her family had enough to worry about with the upcoming wedding then to reflect on her close call. But truth was everyone was concerned about the increase in light activity. They had always been menaced by them beyond the boundary after dark, but recently they had been increasing in number, their searches seeming to become much more frantic. People could see them from the platform at the top of the Meeting Tree, watching from afar as the disembodied beams scanned the jungle beyond their territory. This change in behaviour had people worried, though there was no reason to suspect that they would be able to cross the boundary.

    But for today those fears would be put aside as the entire village united in joy for the happy couple. She ran past women twining white flowers through the railings and lamps along the route the couple would take, the ceremony taking place at Holly’s favourite place in the entire forest.

    The walkway curled to the left and guided her through a break in the trees. Sometimes the sight that greeted her at this moment still conspired to take her breath away. She emerged into a massive clearing created by a colossal, thundering waterfall. Vast pillars of water fell to earth in torrents whichever way you looked, thick vivid rainbows arching over the walkway magnificently. The spray emitted from the falls tumbled across her path, covering sections with a thick mist and making dew drops form on her tattooed arms. They were the Falls of Harus, the towering waterfalls acting as protector for the villages north west corner.

    Holly gazed at the tumbling cascade beyond the walkway. She could spend hours leaning against the railing by the memorial to the lost god Harus. Often she closed her eyes, feeling the spray engulf her body and listening to the hypnotic churn of the falling water. Sometimes she could swear she heard changes in consistent crashing of the water. It was probably her imagination, but sometimes it seemed the falls were beating out a rhythm, like the beating of jungle drums. Then, as if waking from a dream you can remember only vaguely, she would open her eyes to find nothing had changed.

    But Holly didn’t have time to dwell on such things. She had a wedding to prepare for.   

Copyright Michael Foster 2012

Writing for Video Games - My Time at Lumb Bank.

For the past week I've been in blissful isolation (though with perfect mobile reception) in the deep and frosty dales of West Yorkshire at the writers retreat of Lumb Bank. I was participating in a course that focused on Writing for Video Games. I spent my time in the compay of twelve people with a wealth of experience in either gaming or writing, and we used it as the perfect opportunity to develop our perspective crafts. Our tutors were the very knowledgeable, highly talented and superbly creative Naomi Alderman and David Varela, who used their extensive knowledge of all things interactive to provide an intriguing and thought provoking course.

At first you would think that this would entail plenty of discussion about games along the ilk of Assassin's Creed, Heavy Rain, LA Noire and other big hitting triple A games. And you would be correct, because a lot of discussion of these titles went on. Whether we were debating how effectively Portal 2 uses the environment to reveal the secrets of the laboratory you are trapped in, or whether John Marsden from Red Dead Redemption is a one dimensional avatar incapable of changing his personality to fit his actions, there was plenty of disecting of all the large blockbusters to be had.

Yet there was plenty of exploration to be had regarding the world of interactive fiction, particularly those to be found online. We were encouraged to seriously consider the ever changing landscape of the internet and apps to work and publicise our craft. It certainly gave me some ideas with regards to how I can achieve a wider audience with my work. The advice provided was fresh and came from a perspective I had not heard from before. Guest speaker Rhianna Pratchett provided a fascinating insight into the processes and environments game writers must work in, and I'm additionally glad I did not poison her when I baked my first ever apple crumble.

In addition to all the writing and game discussion, I found Lumb Bank a fantastically productive place for my writing, and highly recommend it to all my writing peeps if you want to hone your craft while writing in peace. The scenery is fantastic, with plenty of amazing walks oer hill and dale to get the creative juices flowing. And I will never forget my online scheming as an ambassador for Ghana, ripping apart helpless villagers as a werewolf, and meeting the enlightening and highly profound character that was Malcolm (I suggest you don't ask).

I will be posting the fruits of my labour shortly, a story I've had knocking about in the back of my head for months, years even. I always thought it would be well suited to a video game setting, so I thought a course based around video gaming writing would be the best opportunity to explore this new character and her world. Been a long time since I wrote so much in the space of four days. Though if this snow carries on I could have plenty more time alone to write.

Unexpected Presents

This isn't a short story in the strictest sene. I wrote it as a sort of brainstorming piece for an idea I've had for a while now. It's plays on the old scenario of a family moving to a new country and starting again. Though the place this family have moved to is slightly unusual.

“Happy birthday kids.” Gwen yelled at her teenage offspring, hearing them thundering down the stairs.

     Jake was the first to walk through the kitchen door as it slid open. He stifled a yawn as he plunged his hands into the pockets of his deep blue dressing gown. “Now that’s a good smell to get you out of bed,” he remarked, sniffing the air in anticipation.

    “Not too old for pancakes now you’re fourteen?” Gwen asked with a knowing smirk.

    “Ha ha ha,” Jake grinned, shaking a strand of curly blond hair away from his forehead.

    Alice closely followed behind him, tightly bundled up in her purple dressing gown with her fluffy pink slippers slapping the polished tiles of the kitchen floor. Her head was bowed as she frantically typed a message into her Galaxy Phone, untidy tangles of her own blonde hair tumbling down the sides of her face. “God I’ve got like fifty messages. Living in a different time zone is weird. Megan says hi to you all,” she announced as she sat at the dining table, in front of a steaming pile of pancakes already put in place by her mother.

     “What’s the weather like in London?” Jake asked his twin sister as he sat beside her.

     “No snow as usual,” she replied without looking up. “Just lots and lots of rain.”

     “Doesn’t it make you glad your dad’s work moved us somewhere with a stable climate?” Gwen asked as she plonked a plate of pancakes in front of Jake, then turning to stare at the ruby red sky through the window.

    “Wwwnnnss ddddd gggtttnnn bbbccckk?” asked Jake through a mouthful of pancake and syrup.

     “He shouldn’t be too long, we’ll open the present when he gets here,” Gwen replied, pouring some more pancake mixture into the pan to fry up for her husband. “Least with him doing a night shift on the reserve he can spend the day with us.”

    After reading her latest message Alice gave a sudden yelp, pushing her chair back so violently it screeched against the stonework. “I can’t believe it. Henrietta’s older brother Stanley...he was killed by a bomb serving in the fifth London regiment...she only found out yesterday. I should seriously message her.”

    “Not now Alice, wait a day or so,” Gwen told her.

    “But she’s my friend, I have to,” Alice protested.

     “I know, but its best Henrietta spends some time alone with her family for now,” Gwen informed her over the hissing sound of the frying pancakes. She gave a sigh, again debating with herself whether it had truly been for the best moving her family from the city where they had lived throughout their lives. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the look of shock on her daughters face, and realised how hard it was being so far away from her old friends when tragedy struck. But it was one of the reasons they had moved here, to be far away from the war, the rhetoric and the anger and be in a place of stability and peace.

      They heard the front door unlocking, followed by the familiar clunk of hiking boots on the stone floor. The kitchen door slid open halfway and in sidled Harry Norton, his brown ranger’s uniform coated in dirt and green plant stains, his immaculately trimmed hair covered by his Stetson. “Happy birthday gang,” he greeted his family happily as he hastily slid the door shut behind him. “Any pancakes left, I’m starving!”

    “Whoah what happened to your head?” Jake suddenly asked, staring at a bloodstained patch above his dad’s left temple.

    Harry, instead of brushing his injury off, appeared delighted to have been asked. He took a seat, and using his healthily tanned arms to re-enact the whole event he explained, “We were transferring some creatures from site C3 to site E7, to protect them from the rise of poaching in the area. But one of them wasn’t sufficiently tranquilized, and started kicking off inside its container. As I was securing the container to the transport it gave a particularly big lurch, and I fell off and hit my head on a stone when I landed.”

     “Are you ok?” Alice asked, holding up a slice of pancake motionless on her fork, syrup dripping onto her plate.

    Looking thoroughly pleased with himself Harry replied, “You know me Alice. I’ve had plenty worse.”

    “You could have at least claimed you were running away from a T-Rex or something,” Jake informed his father jokingly.

      “Don’t encourage him. You’ll just give him more crazy ideas,” Gwen laughed, placing a full plate of pancakes in front of her husband of nineteen years. She then grabbed her large mug of coffee and sat down with her family, her auburn hair tumbling onto the shoulders of her grey hoodie she wore on her days off. She watched her family eat their breakfast, Alice slowly nursing her food in between texts, while Jake and Harry ate at such a speed that they barely took the time to chew. She couldn’t believe how much their lives had changed in the past year. They were free from the foggy and stale atmosphere of London, and now living the life she and Harry had dreamed of ever since they graduated together in the same year they got married.

     It was the kids first birthday in their new home. It had been tough at first, taking the long trip to a distant part of human civilization to start a new life, but they were adjusting well. Harry was enjoying having a regular day job, instead of jetting across the Earth for months on end as he had in the past. Jake shared his father’s sense of adventure and love of the outdoors, and as a result had fallen in love with the land they had travelled to. Alice had found the move the hardest, but she still kept in contact with all her old friends and had already made plenty of new ones. It had been the right move, she was sure of it now.       

    The silent ritual of breakfast was interrupted by a loud banging noise from outside the kitchen. The twins glanced at the door in confusion, then glanced at each other, then glanced at their parents. “What the hell was that?” Jake asked.

    “We don’t have an infestation do we?” Alice squeaked, suddenly looking very apprehensive.

    “Of course not. It’s probably just next door doing some more DIY,” Gwen replied.

   “At seven thirty in the morning?” Alice asked suspiciously.

   “Is it seven thirty already?” Harry exclaimed, hastily changing the subject. “Well I think we’ve delayed long enough. Looks like its present time.” At his words Jake and Alice hastily stood up, almost knocking their chairs over. Yet remaining completely relaxed in his chair Harry asked, “Where are you two going?”

     Jake and Alice froze. This was different to how they normally did things. “Aren’t we going to living room?” Jake asked.

     “Why bother when we can just give you your presents right here,” Harry told them, with a smug glint in his eyes of someone about to impart a great secret. He reached behind him and unclipped something from his belt, his gaze fixed on Jake. He pulled around a giant hunting knife, held in a brown leather sheath, and rested it on the tabletop. Pushing it to his son he said, “Happy birthday mate!”

      “Whoah!” Jake exclaimed, looking genuinely astonished. Gwen and Alice watched on with a mixture of pride and concern, as Jake unsheathed it and held it up to the light. It was nine inches long, curved at the tip and had jagged ridges along the razor sharp blade. The light glinted off the polished steel, making golden lines of light dance around the kitchen walls.

    “Now remember, this is not a weapon,” Harry told him authoritatively. “It is a tool to be used with the utmost responsibility. That means no taking it to school, or out for the evening with your friends. In fact, the only time you can use it will be when you come with me out on the reserve.”

     Alice’s gasp was covered by the loud clatter of metal on wood, as Jake dropped his new knife in shock. It took a few seconds to fully register what his dad had just told him. “You mean, I can come out on patrol with you? I mean like properly out in the wilderness.”

    “Well not on the dangerous expeditions in the middle of nowhere,” Harry replied. “You’ll be mostly sticking around the Triassic Centre with the local animals. I’ve spoken to Clive and he says given how enthusiastic you are about the project, and your strong marks in Biology, PE and Environmental Studies, that you’re perfect for some work experience on Saturdays and Wednesday evenings. You’ll start with boring jobs like mucking out and feeding, but stick with it and you’ll soon be coming out on patrol with me and the other rangers.”

     Jake couldn’t have asked for a better present. It had been his dream to see more of the reserve even before he had journeyed to his new home. Apart from a couple of trips on the tourist routes, he had seen nowhere near enough to satisfy this itch for adventure. But he was surprised he was being allowed in. A fourteen year old being allowed to work on the reserve wasn’t something that happened regularly. He turned to his mum, who had stayed silent throughout the present giving, and asked her, “You ok with this?”

   “As if I could stop you even if I wanted to,” Gwen smiled. “This is a fantastic opportunity you’ve been given, and your father really had to pull some strings for it, so make the most of it!”

    “Well that’s probably the best birthday present in the world,” Alice remarked, resting her elbow on the table as she watched Jake grasp the leather handle of his knife and examine it closely.

      “But you haven’t got yours yet,” Gwen remarked, giving her husband a knowing look as he stood up from the table.

     “Well if it’s another of Aunt Beatrice’s knitted scarves then...are you sure we haven’t got an infestation?” Alice stared at the kitchen door as Harry walked over to it, having heard a couple more clattering sounds from the hall that sounded suspiciously like footsteps.

     “Happy birthday sweetpea!” Harry said to her as he made the door slide back. He poked his head out into the hall and called in an uncharacteristically slushy manner, “Come on, come here. Come say hello to your new mummy!”

     The kitchen fell silent as they heard a strained, nasal cry from outside. It was followed by the clatter of toenails on the polished stone floor. Then Alice gave a delighted gasp and flung her hands over her mouth as a small animal scampered enthusiastically into the kitchen, a red bow tied about its neck.

     It was half a foot tall, walked on all fours and was only seven weeks old. Its scaly skin was coloured a dull maroon, with four black stripes on its back. It wagged its small tail enthusiastically, bashing against the chair legs as it explored its new home. As it scrabbled underneath Jake’s chair it got the jagged frill around its head caught against the crosspiece, and had to back up to progress further. Loud and excited gurgles were emitted from its beaked mouth, and when it knocked over Harry’s empty chair with the tiny yet already sharp horns over each eye and the one on its snout, it hooted in surprise.

     “Oh my God, oh my God she’s gorgeous!” Alice breathed as the tiny triceratops snuffled about her slipper clad feet.

     “Good job identifying her as a she,” Harry said, sharing his daughters delight. “She’s one of the pups born from Professor Parson’s hatchery. She’s a pygmy triceratops, so she’ll only grow to be about two feet tall; Nowhere near as big as the ones out on the reserve.”

     Alice got up from her seat and knelt down, outstretching her hand to the young reptile as it sought shelter underneath the table. “Come here baby, it’s alright,” she whispered affectionately. Encouraged by her soothing tone, the triceratops slowly inched closer, sniffing the air around her empty palm. Then when sure Alice meant no harm, she trotted over to her new owner happily, running about in a circle as Alice ran her hand over its smooth back. “There we are Ruby, aren’t you the cutest,” she murmured.

     “Ruby? Is that the best name you can come up with?” Jake laughed.

    “Don’t listen to him, he’s just jealous,” Alice purred as she stroked Ruby’s snout, making the tiny reptile gurgle happily. She pulled strands of her hair away from her face as she beamed up at her parents. “Best birthday present ever. Thank you so, so much!”

     “Just remember I won’t be walking her every day,” Gwen laughed as she rose from her chair. “You all head to the living room for some more presents. I’ll join you once I’ve checked the post.” She left her daughter cooing over her new pet, her son swishing his new blade, and her husband helping himself to more pancakes, as she moved out to the hall. She zipped up her hoodie as she pressed the electronic panel beside the front door. It beeped when it recognised her DNA signature and slid open.

    She stepped into the humid heat of the early morning. Their front garden had no lawn, as grass did not exist in the time of the dinosaurs. Instead their front garden was filled with luscious green ferns dripping wet from last night’s tropical storm and tall monkey puzzle trees shadowed their house as well as the others lining their street. She heard a caw from above her head, as an archaeopteryx was startled by her presence and flew into the red sky.

      A rattling sound to her right startled her, and she whirled around to see a gang of compsognathus’, no taller than her shins, rifling through her bins for last night’s dinner of diplodocus burgers. They chattered among themselves, ruffling their feathered bodies as they threw plastic packaging all over the drive. “Shoo, shoo get out of here!” Gwen shouted, running at them, at which they dashed back into the ferns as fast as their spindly legs could carry them.

    Gwen sighed at how hot it already was becoming. It was always roasting here in the Jurassic Zone, and always humid with storms occurring almost every day. The climate was closely controlled within the confines of the gigantic dome in which they lived. It had a circumference equal to the length of Great Britain in every direction, and they lived right in the centre of it. The dome itself was made out of a specially reinforced glass that was specially tinted so the sunlight that filtered through had a blood red hue to it, and the sky was always a dark red colour. It had to be this way, as outside the dome the atmosphere was pure sulphur dioxide and the surface temperature was minus 75 degrees centigrade.

    Yet as Gwen opened the letterbox at the end of her driveway she took the time to stare at the leafy suburbs in which she lived, breathing in the warm, clean air. Compared to London, with its choking atmosphere and skyscrapers stretching miles into the sky, this world was paradise. She’d spent the two month trip on the giant space cruiser dreaming of what it would be like here, yet it was better than anything her imagination could conjure. A distant terraformed planet where creatures from millions of years ago were being resurrected and raised, in the hope it would help secure the future of humanity across the galaxy.

       As she heard the distant roar of a T-Rex from beyond the city boundaries she couldn’t help but smile. Coming to Planet Pangaea was without a doubt the best decision she’d ever made.

Copyright Michael Foster 2012