| abstract | - __NOEDITSECTION__
- Dead Man Walking is an arcade mode in Max Payne 2. The player gets to control Max Payne in a map with constantly spawning enemies. The goal is to stay alive for as long as possible. Dead Man Walking is unlocked after the game is passed on the Detective (lowest) difficulty.
- There are no current writers.
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 4:58 pm The winter night is overcast over the city of London. Deep charcoal washes blackness like soiled feathers. Cold and wet hair sits over the city cloaking windows with ice, frost, and snow from a recent fall. The darkness is still, despite the festivities reaching their New Years Eve climax. The millions left homeless from the war have little to celebrate, and those that managed to survive have little to celebrate with. The holiday marks another year of destitution, poverty, and struggle. One of the only places seeming to ignore the devastation of London, the pubs and clubs at Kensington Market have opened doors, patrons pouring out with booze of all kinds, and lights lining the snow-colored street. Shouts and hollers echo through the streets as the New Year turns. The drunk and celebrated fall into the streets like collapsing buildings. Jazz trickles through the air while merchants and women work the crowd. Benecio Villarreal del So�ador stumbled into the lively parts of the city quite by accident. Accompanied only by his backpack and dressed in denim and cotton, he had only recently tied up his hair with a bandanna and cracked open imported taquila. Like pinche piss in this ciudad... Its flavor wrenched through his throat, but having been long ago inebriated it didn't bother him as much. Casting faded black eyes into the crowd of Kensington Market it only now occurred to him that it was New Years. Another year and Alice no closer to being found. The thought drove a spike deep inside and in response he threw the tequila onto the ground. Stumbling forward he marched into the nearest pub to refill.
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 7:00 pm Benecio was probably harder on the eyes than he thought, and staggering much more than he thought too. Nonetheless, even the war had brought many people of many different nationalites to the this island, a mexican will always stand out. The drunken sod probably didn't even notice he was being followed, but perhaps heard the talk behind him. "He's dead, I say, I'll wager the rest of the nights drinks on it." One voice said. "Then I am seeing a ghost, you arse, I tell you that is him. You saw him once, I've seen him a dozen or more times, though I doubt he would remember me...because I suppose I never spoke to him. But it's him." There was silence for a bit, "I don't know if I want to approach him though, probably armed...violent folks across the pond." The first voice chimed in, "Fine, go talk with him." Soon, Benecio found he was walking abreast to someone he did not know, "Villarreal? That you bloke?" He asked of Benecio. "Oh, he's piss drunk." He shot back to the other fellow. "C'mon fellow, speak up is it--" The smoke from the man's cigarettes made it hard for Benecio to breathe, and the cherry of the cigarette bobbing up and down with every word was enough to make Benecio dizzy. Soon, his legs felt like jello, and the world started to blink out. "Ah, hell, he is going down, give me a hand." "But where we gonna take 'em." "Just shut up and we'll--" That would be the last thing that Benecio would hear for awhile. Well, he wasn't fully awake yet, but he knew he was laying down...in some place he had never been before. Still couldn't quite open his eyes. A mixture of booze of and cigarette scents filled the air, and it was hard to tell what was Benecio's and it what wasn't. Finally, he could open his eyes. He was in a fair-sized flat, lying on a rather neat bed, a bed lamp was dimly light next him, but that still pist his eyes off. Then came that feeling that one wasn't alone in a room, and as he sat up. A rather youngish looking man, just passing boyhood watched him wide-eyed. "Villarreal?"
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 7:19 pm Benecio had no idea how far he'd gone until he passed out. The world swimming into a darkened haze of insobriety. Taquila clenching his lungs and cutting off his vision. The world spun around him and wrapped his mind in a velvet nausea until he collapsed into darkness. It was not the first time he'd passed out. A frequent occurence, in fact. The world seemed intolerable without the numbness of his native drink. Sobriety brought memories. Bombshells. Blood. The wrenching of his heart. She had an innocent smile but murderer's eyes. Delicate brown hair and fair skin, but sharp features. Never soft. Never was she soft. Distantly serene perhaps. If not completely detached. That was why he loved her. Light burned onto his mind searing his subconsciousness. Easing into reality like he was being pulled through aching mud, he managed to open his eyes. Squinting and flinching from the light, he looked at the unfamiliar face. The world spun once again, now that he had his bearing. Holding vomit down and closing his eyes in response to pounding dehydration he remained still for a moment. It was not the first time he awoke in a place unfamiliar. Keeping his eyes closed he responded only to the familiar sound of his surname. "Si." Saying more may have released the nausea onto the floor.
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 9:21 pm As soon as the young man, had heard the answer, he ran off, and apparently sprinted up some stairs, not taking any precautions to be quiet. "That's great, yes, if you could just jump from stair to stair, that would be great." Said a groggy english accented voice to his left. "Righto, so...where am I?" He was clearly talking to himself. Next were much slower, and thankfully quiet steps, coming down the stairs. If Benecio could focus his eyes, he could see it was a rather tall, American Marine, dressed to the nine in his Class A's. He carried a coffee cup and a muffin. He sat next to Benecio on a bedside chair and looked at him only breifly while he unwrapped the muffin. Setting the two food items on the stand by the lamp. "Benecio? You want the lamp on or off? Anyways, eat that and drink that. It would be nice if you were sober. It would also be nice if you could tell us what Alice is doing. She's off the reservation so to speak--drink the coffee." The other man that was also clearly drunk, stuck his head up, "Can I have some coffee." "Shut the hell up ya, red."
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 9:48 pm The Mexican scowled at the intruding voice in his pounding skull. Taking only the quickest glances before shutting his eyes, he absorbed the man. American. Marine. Was the war over? Where was he? When was he? The echo of the word "Benecio" entered his mind. "Me llamo So�ador. . . they don't call me Benecio." They did in the military. He'd lost the name So�ador when he left Mexico. Confused on the time, the date and the place, he could do nothing but accept the coffee and mutter "gracious" through a groan. He perked up at her name. It rolled off the man's lips so matter-of-factly. The American had no concept ... no idea. "... we were to marry ..." he said, struggling to pull English from his memory. The world caught up and the booze left with it. His eyes snapped open. Rage overcame him as he realized the situation. This man knew what happened. The Americans had her! He threw the coffee against the wall and stood, stumbling to a fighting stance. "Give her to me!" Without a pause he added, "Give her to me, pinche gringo! Ahora!"
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 10:22 pm The American hardly moved when Benecio went into his rage, in fact, he seemed to be waiting for something. Nobody, has her So�ador. Brace yourself, buddy, you about to empty your stomach." It was only seconds later, that Benecio would do exactly that. The sick smell of booze and stomach acid rushed into the room. The thought of poision might have came into Benecio's mind, but it was the coffee some additive to make one empty there stomach. The marine walked up behind Benecio and coughed, and then spoke in Spanish, "No one has her," he repeated, "but the british goverment is rather interested in where and what she is doing, all by herself. Two teams, we are part of one: locate and relay. The other one, will do the first, but not the second my friend. You understand?" The marine lit a cigarette and wondered across the room, "I don't know a damn thing about her, and hardly anything about you. I was lent to the British goverment to find her, that's what I do, and that's all I do. So, if you want your misses back, I think you should calm down, and start telling me everything, up until last contact." "We don't want to fail on this, if we do, Team Juilette gets there chance. And that isn't the military alphabet, that's Shakespear. Ever read it? Juliette doesn't turn out to well in the end."
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 6:04 pm The nature of his rage was quickly overcome by the onslaught of vomit. Hearing only remnants of the Marine's words before he began heaving onto the floor, he caught only the necessary remark. They didn't have her. He'd overreacted. Two years of nipping at the governments like an annoying dog, turning into blind corners, and finding nothing but redirection culminated into rage at nothing. Anger at only the idea of resolution. Resolution was then handed to him. In military terms. The verbiage ringing instinctively in his drunken mind. The structure of the military engrains itself into ones mental cavity like a rash under skin and no amount of scratching helps. It would always be there. Talk of missions and directives snapped that core of training inside Benecio and he sat up straight, listening carefully, absorbing the words in his dislodged state. Forgetting that the man was speaking Spanish, he continued in broken English out of habit, "The governments do not care. I've spoken to them and talked and talked.... why does England care about this?" The question was rhetorical. "Alicia. It was before the war at Normandy. She was sent on orders of England to re... como se dice...reconnaissance. The whole team was gone and the governments, all of the governments, said nothing. Absolumente nada. I have looked for her ever since."
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 10:05 pm The marine listened to Benecio and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the small table, "Well," He said patiently working on match after match, "you're honest. I was rather hoping so." The marine sat forward on his chair, his forearms ontop of his this thighs, "Mmm, my name is Steven Andes." He exhaled slowly through his nose. "And I really don't think the goverments care about Alice--sure you know that. They care more about what she's doing, and who might percieve it in the name of England. That make more sense, now? If she is AWOL--absent without leave--just left. Then, hell, she might think the war is not even over--depending how deep she is, and where she is." "Tell her type of work, a signature of hers, and I might be able to tell you if she has been picked up on." He sat back and enjoyed his cigarette for a moment, "Oh, sorry about the vomit, but I have this crazy idea, things might be easier if you are sober."
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 24, 2005 10:40 pm His head still swam, but the vomit released toxins that were about to go to work. The spinning slowed and only pounds echoed through his head. The pounding would not stop until he had some water. He began to orient himself, focusing on the marine and hearing his words. Calm, but stern. He'd acted like a fool. But not a stupid one. Something far worst, a desperate one. He snapped his fingers toward the Marine, gesturing to his cigarette. "Por favor", he said and rubbed his fingers together. Running his hand through greasy unwashed hair he realized that has appearance must have been pathetic. He collected his thoughts, ran through old memories and ignored the onslaught of obssessive pain that seeped into his consciousness. "She was dirty, you know," he said in English, "did murders for the government. We all did. It was ... eh... black operations. She used the same method the whole crew did and the governments know this." He waited for a cigarrette before proceeding. "When we had a target, we'd set them up in a public place... a cantina... or parque. If we cannot get a clear shot we take them up close with a knife. Either way, we leave the target as if he is sleeping, you see? It is public so that the enemy gets the message. "She always left lipstick. On the cheek... the shirt. Somewhere."
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Mar 26, 2005 6:25 pm Steven handed Benecio a cigarette, and light it for him. Then, he finally turned his attention towards the other fellow in the room, also drunk, but not nearly as drunk as Benecio still was. Steven took off the constricting outer coat of his uniform, but didn't stop there, he went down right to his undershirt. He streched a little, and then reached down into his pocket and pulled out a picture. He walked over to him slowly, and probably for the first time, Benecio would notice the man was restrained. "You saw you saw Alice Weeks, Peter? And doing her job?" The man on the bed propped his head up, "Yes, I did." Steven pushed the picture into the mans face, "This woman, you saw, this woman, Alice Weeks." "Yep, like I said, I saw her." Steven flashed the picture to Benecio, "Is this Alice?" The picture was faded, but it was clearly not Alice, at least not his Alice, in fact, this woman looked more Italian than anything else. Before Benecio could answer, he pulled the picture away, and looked at the man tied to the bed, pulling out a pocket knife. He started cutting the restraints of the man. "See, I told you I was telling the truth." The man stood he was of average size, a bit pale, but probably understandable. "Sorry, bub, that isn't Alice." With an almost scary speed, Steven took the mans arm by the elbow, and shoved it up the mans back, there was a loud crack, and a grunt from the man. "I think you broke my arm." "Stop fussing, it's not broke. I promised you I wouldn't break it." He guided the man around the room, pushing him into the moonlight that was drifting through the window. Then without warning, Steven threw the man out the closed window. By the sound of the yell they must have been three stories up. Steven walked towards the window, and shook his head, "That's a damn mess. I'll be cleaning that glass up forever." "C'mon Benecio, let get a drink, and try figure this out." Steve led Benecio down a flight of stairs and into the streets, just across the street was a small but packed pub. "So, the man that Ray, the guy that fell out the window saw, was killed with a pistol close up. Powered burns on his forehead, no lipstick, and not the same face." Steven led them into a non-desript club, and sat at a barstool, patting at the one next to him. "But, the lipstick lead, I have heard two of, one...all the way in Cairo, and one in Paris. Think she would prefer one to the other."
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Sun Mar 27, 2005 12:10 am Benecio watched passively, enjoying the smoke and admiring the work of the marine. Fury began welling up inside at the prospect that this man knew Alice but was quickly put out by viewing the photograph. Although surprised at the sudden defenestration of the other drunk man, he was also numb to the act. Not quite alert enough to digest the action and emotionless enough to not react, he simply allowed the American to do his job. He calmly accompanied his new associate into the pub and muttered only "Is that an Americana way of questioning?" Taking a seat next to Steven he gave the question a thought, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. "Cairo. She would go their first. She spoke of Egypt and hated France." Pero.... "Her last mission was in France. Normandy."
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Mon Mar 28, 2005 10:01 pm Steven nodded as he listened to Benecio, "Lot of peoples last mission was in Normandy. My brother, an old school mate--" he shook his head, "we all got our stories." He laughed suddenly, "Well, the questioning was done. I was just never properly trained on what to do afterwards." The marine ordered a beer, though he only sipped on it lightly, "She didn't like France, well, I'm starting to like her already." Behind them a drunk buch of hooligans started to make some comments just loud enough to be heard, about the 'Yankee'. "Yes, yank, ever so sorry, that we didn't send you an invitation earlier. Completely our fault and how rude of us, English gents." Steven smirked slightly to Benecio before just shaking his head. "If it would have taken you lasses any longer to take your skirt off, I'd be speaking German right now." "Is that a thanks?" Steven he asked Benecio. Finally one walked up behind Steven, and grabbed his shoulder and shooke it, somewhat brashly, "Hey listen, to me." With a sigh, Steven put down his beer, then quickly grabbed the arm on his shoulder, and sprung up and twisted it over. The drunk could only react by going with the twist and falling to the ground. Then the the situation got a slightly out of hand. As a mug whizzed between Benecio and Steven. Steven quickly left the man on the ground, and went to the man tossing the mug. The drunken Englishmen took a broadswing, to broad and slow for the sober marine who almost plucked it out of the air, before head-butting the poor bastard, then giving him stout kick to the midsection. As he did a peice of paper drifted like a lift onto the pub floor. The first man that Steven quickly dispatched had grabbed a glass was heading for Steven glass raised to strike. During that time, some random man, with a darker complexion picked it up and looked at it, probably hoping it was some money. But then he smiled, "Ah, Josephine. Beautiful woman." However, the picture that laid on the ground for just breif second was spotted by Benecio. Alice.
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu Mar 31, 2005 1:12 pm Benecio was humored by the American's banter. The last few years in England made him crazy. There was none of the American frankness here, no honesty. People hid emotions and intentions like it were a family fortune. In Mexico, there was never a doubt on what someone was thinking. No arbitrary politeness, obsolete customs or silly prejudices. Sitting with an American at last was a breath of fresh air. He decided to finally involved himself after the mug was thrown. He could use a good brawl to put his spirit back into check, if it were temporary. He was about to dispatch an oncoming Brit with a right hook, but then noticed the photograph. He then changed his target from the Brit to the dark haired man. A solid punch to his nose followed up with tackling force, shoving his knee into the man's gut. After pinned, his questions would start. "How do you know this woman??"
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Apr 02, 2005 8:00 pm A knee in the gut wouldn�t be the best way to get answers out of this fellow. Now, that Benecio was close enough to the olive-hued skin of the man, who could see the man was older, not elderly by any means, but aging. Though he did raise his head from the floor, and try to gasp something, �Pah-- �purt.� He struggled to get out, it didn�t make much since. Then there was the matter of the first man, which Steven had introduced to the floor, his glass now went from being ready to strike, to shattering over the marines head. There was a moment Steven had looked dumbfounded, mixed with a look in his eyes which almost screamed to the room �How dare you?� Instinctively the marine, cocked a blind elbow back behind him, and it hit the aggressive Englishmen square in the nose, sending him spiraling away, holding his face. Steven light touched the back of his head where he had been struck and cringed slightly, �Son of a bitch, now I am probably going to have to kick all you�ah damn.� It was then in which Steven was bowled over by four burly men, knocking him to the floor, though doing nothing more than that. When finally they had a good grip on him, they picked him up and tossed him out into the street. The man with the dark complexion was about to try speak again, when the same four men made there way back, and smothered both of them. Three of them restrained Benecio and tossed him unceremoniously onto his tailbone into the street next to Steven, while the other man was a little easier on the aging fellow, just giving him a stern shove into the street. �Thanks for having my back, in there, I owe you one.� Steven said sitting up still assessing his wound, though his tone was actually sardonic. The man who said he spotted Alice, simply straightened his clothes, though he made no move to escape, �Passports, I help certain people, attain them�nine in her case, nine in nine days. Now, can I leave, or would you like to ask more questions? I can lay myself down this time if you prefer, though I could do without the knee.�
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Tue Apr 05, 2005 12:20 pm Benecio took the ejection in stride, trying not to physically grimace when colliding with the sidewalk. He stood, gathering his wits and escalating to sobriety. He knew he was getting sober because suddenly the depression sunk in. The dark head of loneliness peered up from the clouds of liquor and he began to remember. She would often laugh at times when she shouldn't. Mi amor... Benecio laughed. For Alice. She would have cracked up at the sight of him. He accepted the marine's tone, although he didn't feel it necessary to explain anything. He didn't have the man's back for one reason alone and that reason was still standing before him. Listening to the man, he calculated the ramifications. Was she running from something? Allowing his laugh to proceed he clasped a friendly hand on the olive-skinned man's shoulder. "I owe this man tequila," he jabbed the marine with his elbow, "Quieres tequila? We will talk over British piss water."
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 11:19 pm "Come, come, it is odd, but I somehow came across a bottle tequila a few days ago. I do not drink it, so I do not know why it is at my house." The link to Alice said as he made his way down the street, a bit of a limp in his walk. "My name is Rashidi, I brought my wife with me here to England with fear that of getting caught up on the African front, and instead, I took us right into the Third Reich's cross hairs. Come, along, my wife will patch your american friend up, she is an excellent nurse." Rashidi took them to a flat, which was not far away, and could be seen from one of the windows where Benecio was first taken--if he could remember that. "Thanks," Steven said, "but we don't want to be a burden, you are being a great help already." "Oh, I will be asking you a favor too." He said with a smug smile. Going up a small flight of stairs he led them to inside his humble abode, it wasn't large, but then, it seemed it was just him and his wife. He went to a closed door that was across the main room of the flat, and tapped on the door. "Nathifa," He said through the door, "I am sorry to wake you darling, but there is man in need of some slight medical attention." "You can have a seat in the kitchen." He said to Steven, and then turned to Benecio, "You come with me, I have a small study, where I do my work." Rashidi led him to a door that was on the same wall as his bedroom, but at the other end of the flat, he opened it and it was seemingly just a closet but he bent down, and removed a discolored panel of the wall, making a crawl space. Going through there was a very cramped hideaway, only big enough for a desk and a chair, and little more. Benecio would need to stand just there would be enough room. It was however, well-lit, from a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. "I keep a list of the work I have done, it can be my only leverage to keep what I do a secret--keep those I help from talking." He reached into the a drawer and pulled out a bottle of tequilia, an average priced bottle nothing special about it. "She was here about a week ago, as I said, don't know how she heard about me. Nine passports she wanted, not that it takes me long to do now, I have gotten quite the hang of it. Only odd part was she wanted them made in a certain order, and she demanded she get to pick the names. I don't know...there is no way she could use all of them in time anyways." He opened a book on the desk, and pointed to a large entry. "There, these are what she wanted." He showed Bencio the entry: Josephine to France Ophelia to Denmark Anna to the United States Niolette to Egypt Ophelia to Germany Francine to Austrialia Anna to Canada Rachel to Russia Christine to Mexico "I don't know if this helps, but you can keep the bottle."
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Mon Apr 18, 2005 3:41 pm The weight of sobriety was now fully on the shoulders of Benecio. His mind picked up each painful detail of their walk into the home. He could sense the smells and sounds of the city around him, the perpetual stagnating sewage beneath the streets, the uncollected garbage from the night, his own night of drukenness. He followed the strange man into the office. All the colors and sounds pounding his dehydrated mind into sickness. Stabilizing his stature, he gratefully took the tequila and washed his stomach with the soothing nectar. Hair of the dog that bit you. The words in the man's book deflected before finally settling into his mind. She is running. But from what? He cocked his head. France, Denmark, US, Egypt, Germany, Australia, Canada, Russia . . . Mexico. It had only been one week. She must have been in Paris. And no, she wasn't running. She was collecting. Mexico was her final destination, where she assumed Benecio would be. Taking a moment to commit the names and places to memory, Benecio smiled at the man. "I owe you a great debt. What is this favor you ask?" He passed the tequila to him.
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Sat Apr 30, 2005 11:44 am Rashidi raised a finger as if to interject, "I want to tell you something friend, a poin that it is very simple to understand. My passports can be used safely for only three weeks to one month at the most. It is why I am surprised she bought so many. Some who wish to cover their trails, they buy three or four, but nine is I have not heard of, except for a few families of three." Rashidi, sniffed, the tequila, and gave a small cringe, then continued to speak, "I have certain friends that will over look things for a bit, however, at the end of the month, they are checked over, and the bad passports get weeded out. So, each passport is only good for at the most one month. I am always willing to try to make arrangement, but Josephine did not ask for any." Not long after Rashidi had explained to Benecio how the passports are cycled through, uneven sounding steps made there way towards the little hidden workshop. It was Steven gingerly holding cold compress to his head, "Your wife is good nurse...I think. I can honesntly say I didn't feel a thing beyond the pain I was already in. She gave me a few pills for that." He produced one of the forementioned pills and placed it in his mouth, and sipped on a coffee cup, "No offense, by any means, but I'm afriad I'm not to big on this coffee-tea hybrid." Rashidi nodded, as if he expected so much, and waved the bottle of tequila at Steven for a trade, which they gladly did. "Ah, yes, here we go." The marine took a long pull off the bottle. His eye had a little twitch to it as he finished his chug. He looked at the bottle with a little curosity. "I think there is something behind this label." He took out a pocket knife, and cut around a bulging square, that Benecio probably wondered why hadn't detected it. As cut open the label and pulled free what looked to be a light folded piece of paper, wrinkled now, from Steven's large chug. Steven opened it, and open his eyes wide and held it away from him, underneath the light. The olived-skinned man started to interject, as to make sure he wasn't forgotten, "The favor I ask, is that you watch over my flat for a few nights--if you could, there are people snooping around my building, once they broke into my home." "Is that what happened to your wife's eye?" Steven asked flatly. "Yes, she came home a little to early one day." "I think I can take care of that, why don't you are wife stay at hotel for now though." Steven ignored the piece of paper for a moment, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. A large bunch of bills, several of which he gave to Rashidi. "At least for your trouble." Steven, then as if remembering the note as an after thought. "Oh, yes, sorry Benecio, this is for you." He said handing the small piece of paper to the Mexican. Steven waivered a bit, and decided to do away with compress on his head as he leaned over the table, looking over the ledger, he tilted his head, and finally spoke, "Who is Joan? Raashidi looked at Steven, and shook his head, "Pardon?" Steven shook his head, and then brashly put his hand over the ledger, covering everything but the first letter of everyone of Alice's aliases. What stuck out practically slapped Benecio in the face: J O A N O F A R C The crumpled not Bencio recieved read as follows: B.V.D.S There is a difference between being rescued or being in need of a little help. You know I do not need rescuing, but I would like some help. I hate my countrymen, like only one other could. A.W
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Thu May 05, 2005 4:39 pm The spent Mexican hung onto his new colleague's words, absorbing them. Nine countries in one month. It sounded more like a military strategy then a mere cat and mouse game. There were exchanges being made. Contacts prearranged at each location. A broad range of backgrounds and affinities. Could it be she was assembling a crew? He thought it over and after the tequila was refused he pulled more and passed it onto the American. Relaxing in complacent thought he was jarred by the acronym of the aliases. ...a notorious female enemy of England...? It was the note that sealed it. She is declaring war on the United Kingdom. The Black Ops in him kept his mouth shut, even though these two men could be trusted. He hardly acknowledge their end of the bargain except to simply not go anywhere.
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Wed May 11, 2005 12:56 am Steve was not done, he picked up the book and walked out of the hidden closet area and into the living room, "Mmm...Eddie Polanski, a fellow I worked with more hate for the Nazis then ten men combined, helps that he is jewish and orginally from Poland. Also, fluent in french, and could dig skeltons out of a saints closet. Going to France to, wow, what a coincidence. Seems she is gathering..." Steven trailed off as he looked out the window, as before, they were close to the bar, which was also close to the flat where Benecio awoke. The din of New Years celebration could still be heard, but so could the closing of three car doors, and when Steven could see no car until the doors where closed, it was driving with it's lights out. Steven cocked his head, waved Benecio to come to the him, he whispered in spanish, "Those are hitmen, if I have ever seen them." Obvious why he now choose to speak in spanish, though the reasons would be understood soon enough. He gave a quick look out the windows, to the building he took Benecio, "Rashidi, do you have a gun?" "Yes, but I--" "Good, don't think about using it." He turned to Benecio. "I have a feeling you are armed, but if not, use Rashidi's." Rashidi had already, returned from his workspace with a pistol. "This seem odd, but I have to leave, but I'll be keeping an eye on you, so to speak. Leave this door slightly open when I leave. Rashidi, take your wife and get into your work space--lock yourselves in tight. Benecio, go into there bedroom, leave the door cracked ...then there be a signal. You'll have just a second to do what you do, two more after that, before I can help again." With those quick and simple instructions, Steven left the flat with a burst of speed. The marine took another door out into the streets, the man ran as if hell was chasing him, not franticly, but with blinding speed and great grace. As Benecio took his position, Steven meanwhile was bounding up stairs three at a time. Steven, was indeed a marine, it was obvious when he wanted it too be, but yet there was something more to him. What type of marine is sent to find a missing English black ops agent? Meanwhile, Benecio could hear heavy footsteps, one by one three men in heavy coats slowly came through the door, though just standing there looking around. They spotted the open door. It was hard to tell what came next, a large boom or its result. The first of the three men did not even have a chance, his head looking as if it exploded, the second two men instinctively turned towards the direction of the sound, of sniper rifle and broken glass there backs to Benecio. A signal if there ever was one.
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Fri May 27, 2005 8:42 am Edward Polanski. Even in his slight inebriation, Benecio took a brief moment to commit the name to memory. Undoubtedly he would need to know him later. The Mexican's dark eyes spiked at Steven as he spoke his thoughts outloud. Don't say what you are thinking... Relieved the American didn't vocally disclose Alice's likely motive, he relaxed for a moment only until he learned there were hitmen outside. Indeed Benecio did have two revolvers, but he took Rashidi's gun anyway. There was no use in wasting his ammo, or revealing the nature of his armament. Waiting for the signal, Benecio's old life came rushing back. It was all too familiar and one he'd so completely pushed into his subconscious. Kissing his rosary, he pulled out another pistol. He always worked better double-fisted. Not hesitating, war instincts taking over, and familiarity from dozens of Black Ops missions, Benecio took flight. Taking a sidways charge, he extend his primary hand forward and then left his left hand back. Running this way allowed for the sniper behind him to still take aim without danger of hitting his back. A worst case scenario would strike his shoulder rather harmlessly. He fired both weapons, aiming both of them at one target at a time. One pistol aimed high, the other low. His expectation was that a good shot would land in the target's head, but if not the secondary shot would at least knock the target over. Three blasts on one target and then three on the other. Six seconds and then he would withdraw his charge pivoting against a wall to avoid a reactionary attack.
* Author: The Ambassador, PostPosted: Fri Jun 17, 2005 8:47 am Before the man with the fragmented head hit the floor Benecio had come clear of his cover. Steven had his crosshair trained on the other two men as they looked almost directly at him--it would have made a nice photo oppurtunity--but he held fast on the trigger, knowing that Benecio was 'danger close' and had the element of surprise. Benecio, however, would be the only one to appreciate his surprise, as the only time there was for reaction for the remaining two thugs was a slight turn of the shoulders by the first one Benecio took aim at. That man would never even get to lay eyes on the one that would hand him his demise, as three bullets entered his back, but only one of the three fired at his head made contact, hitting him just above the ear as he had his profile facing Benecio. As that thug dropped to the groud, the second had almost fully turned around, in fact he reacted fast enough to even be able to start to raise his own pistol, but thats the all the farther he would get, as three bullets went into his torso, none of those shots truly lethal, but two of the shots aimed at his head found their home in the man's forehead, the third bullet entering the wall, as it was fired as the man already dropping. Benecio again took cover, but there would be no need that he could see. There was complete silence from Rashidi and his wife, or at least, the sounds of the bullets were still too loud for Benecio to hear them. Soon, the all that was left of the violent storm was the eerie calm that remain afterwards, and a ringing in Benecio's ears. Oddly it was a ringing at intervals. Well, actually it wasn't so odd, it was the phone. It didn't cease to ring, and the silence of gunfire, and the long wait eventually lead to Rashidi poking his head out from his spot of safety. "Should I answer the phone?" He said looking at Benecio. "I--I am going to answer it." Rashidi picked up the reciever and put it too his ear. He then turned to Benecio. "Um, it is for you." He handed the phone to Benecio, and before he could even put the phone to his ear, the loud earpiece let it be known who it wasy was, "Heeeey, Benecio!" It was Steven. "Way to let loose some rounds, but don't worry, after the war, if there is a surplus of anything it's bullets. I think it's time you got out of there, and tell Rashidi to get himself and his wife out of there too. Sorry, to leave you there, but you said you weren't armed. Tsk.Tsk. So I thought one of us wouldn't be a good match, and I don't know if you know how to use a nice long gun--mmm, this is great, Adam, did you make this sandwhich--" Steven could be heard munching on something. "Benecio, you want a sandwhich? Anyways, get on out of there, I am at the place you woke up from your stupor at--remember just across from the bar, I'm only about a hundred yards away. Are you sure you don't want a sandwhich, this is really good. Well, if you don't remember, just a hundred yards north, by the bar...or pub, whatever they are called. Just look for the marine with telescopic rifle looking out the window that should be it.
* Author: Benecio Villarreal, PostPosted: Mon Jun 20, 2005 3:27 pm Taking only a few seconds to ensure his foes were down, Benecio came out from his defensive posture keeping both pistols trained on the three men as he approached. Ignoring the ringing for long enough to check the victims with his foot, he nodded to Rashidi. Listening to the marine's light-hearted banter on the otherside did little to raise his mood. He only grunted and returned the receiver to their host. "Find a safe place for your wife, friend. Do not return." Benecio inspected the men for their wallets ammo and weapons. Taking what he could he gave Rashidi a firm handshake and his wife a half hug. In the next moment he was down the street and into the marine's headquarters. After he safely arrived, he inspected any findings from the goons. Still in battle mode, it would be a good hour before he descended into thoughts and reactions from the bloody encounter.
- Akabane: Well I appreciate the lift here Scarecrow: Are you heading back to the new world? Akabane: Not just yet, I still need to get some information Bishop: Wait a minute, didn't you say you were meeting some members of your crew here? Akabane: Nah they would have head on by now, they probably think I'm dead which will help me greatly on my mission Jinx: And what mission is this? Akabane: Okay you guys never repeat this name again, okay? All: Yeah sure no problem Akabane: Good because you will be hunted down within the week and killed Bishop: What?... I don't wanna know! Karas: yeah wait can we fill Kalas in? Kalas: Fill me in on what? Akabane: Well It will be nice to know you guys will be alright after I'm gone, now that your captain is up and walking Kalas: You thought I'd just let you leave? Akabane: Nah I just forgot about you to be honest... Kalas: That sounds like fighting talk to me Akabane: Wh Italicen you've recovered we will fight again! Kalas: And when I beat you, you better worn Kaido that I'm coming after him next! Akabane: Strong words coming from a man that can't walk! Bishop: Wait I thought you didn't want to be the pirate king? Kalas: Who said anything about being pirate king? I'll have to be at the level of the yonko to take on Akainu won't I? Jinx: This is a lovely conversation but I'm more interested in our earliar conversation Chemist: Why what was it about? Jinx: Let Akabane explain Akabane: Oh yeah I forgot anyway, the only reason I'm warning you guys is because my brother is in your crew and I think it would be safer if you knew. There is an extremely dangerous group known as the Kakureta, they are controlled by a mysterious underground broker. The group are made up of some of the best spies and assassins in the world. They have infiltrated most of the biggest groups in the world. I only found out about them recently and no one in my crew knows who they are but I have a picture of one of them. His name is Enzo Faith, well the name he uses is anyway and he has infiltrated the big mom pirates. Chemist: Ahh I see Karas: You see what? Chemist: If they have infiltrated the big mom pirates then he is scarred they have infiltrated his crew Scarecrow: You think, one of these guys are in Kaido's crew? Akabane: I honestly don't know but they may be but the problem is, I have no other leads. Only a picture and a name Kalas: So where are you headed? Akabane: To meet Big mom Scarecrow: Are you an idiot? She will kill you! A member of another yonko's crew? She'll kill you the moment she realises who you are! Akabane: Maybe she will but I have to take that chance, Its the responsability of the crew to look out for one another. Scarecrow: You could get a few other members to help you? Karas: But what if they are the spy? Bishop: What if a member of our crew is a spy? Chemist: A member of our crew? A member of a crew with a captain worth 20,000,000? yeah sounds about right. Kalas: Who is worth 20,000,000? Scarecrow: Oh yeah! You were sleeping when the paper with your bounty came! Kalas: I have a bounty? Awesome! Chemist: Then why are we standing out in the open? Scarecrow: They do realise that the fact that my brother is a member of the Kaido's crew that his bounty is far bigger than yours right? Kalas: No, I think I'm the captain of a crew of idiots Akabane: Haha, well I'll see you guys in the new world, when I force yous to serve Kaido Kalas: Did he just steal a boat? Scarecrow: Yeahhhhh lets go hide
- Dead Man Walking is a Character Perk. __NoToC__
- Each Dead Man Walking ("DMW") shares certain characteristics. They are all oblivious to their immediate surroundings. They fail to take cues like negative performance reviews and co-worker scowls at face value, instead "blaming the other" for the situation. They are also stubborn and refuse to face reality, telling themselves that "everything is alright," when it clearly isn't.
- Dead Man Walking is a mission in Grand Theft Auto V, given to protagonist Michael De Santa by FIB agent Dave Norton.
- Dead Man Walking is an episode from Series 22 that first aired on 16 December 2005.
- Dead Man Walking is the seventh mission of Crysis 2.
- "Dead Man Walking" is the eleventh episode of Season 1 of Robin Hood.
- The swamp waters bubbled and the ghasts drifted across the swamp. A man ran and ran, he had just made it out the reach of the ghasts who lashed out at him. He waded through the swampy waters and fell into the river surrounding Mort'ton. A shade ambushed him, but just missed as he swam onwards. Dirth and Edward had heard the sounds of frantic splashing in the river and dashed out of their homes and halted at the gate. Emerging from the river, a stranger walked towards the gate. His skin was pale, and his eyes were brown; he was human. "Burgh de Rott!" The man announced cheerfully as he walked up to the gate. "Who in Saradomin's name are you?" Edward asked. "James?" Dirth asked. "Yes," the man replied. "I saw you! I saw you die!" Dirth exclaimed. "Then you were wrong, Dirth, for I lived!" James exclaimed. "But how? Where have you been?" Dirth asked. "For years, I have been in hiding in a hollow tree near the Haunted Woods. I lived under the shadows of vampyres, ghasts, leeches, the lot. I survived on snail meat, I taste that is strongly acquired," James said. "Well come in!" Edward said, welcoming James inside the village. There was movement in the village square, as Tamron, Luna, Ernest, the Wanderer and various other villagers emerged from their homes. "Impossible," the Wanderer remarked walking straight up to James. "Wanderer!" James exclaimed. "But you died-" the Wanderer was interrupted. "I escaped, alive but injured," James said. "But why did you not return to the village?" The Wanderer asked. "I had been chased and chased and chased, I was lost in the swamps, but recently I discovered a way back," James said. Dirth entered the Wanderer's home with a solemn expression on his face. The Wanderer looked up from his books that he was reading. "What is it Dirth?" The Wanderer asked. "You know very well," Dirth said. "I saw him die," the Wanderer said. "So did I!" Dirth snapped. "Well then, there's only one answer to it," the Wanderer said. "He died, we made him die!" Dirth exclaimed. "Then he knows this, and he's going to take his revenge," the Wanderer said. "Our most foul murder must have failed, he must have been stronger than we thought," Dirth said. "Now we are not to talk of this again Dirth, do you hear me?" The Wanderer asked. "We need to know-" Dirth stopped mid-sentence. The Wanderer had risen to his feet with a sharp dagger clasped in his hand, pressed against Dirth's neck. "Now I shall repeat myself one more time: you are never, and I mean never, to speak of this again," the Wanderer said. Dirth left the Wanderer's home, speechless with guilt and fright. Edward, Tamron, and Luna sat around James in Dirth's home, with James lying on the piece of fabric Dirth used as a bed. "Burgh de Rott, it hasn't changed," James said, his head faced upwards at the dirty ceiling. "How long has it been since you were here?" Edward asked. "Just about fifteen years, I was thirty at the time I went," James said. "Why did you leave?" Tamron asked, slightly suspicious of James. "Well once; me, Dirth and the Wanderer used to go on walks into the swamps, but not too far. One time we went, a shade attacked us. I was separated," James said. "And Dirth did not try to save you?" Edward asked. "He couldn't have, the shade would have killed him, he probably thought I was dead," James said. "I could imagine the Wanderer leaving someone like that but not Dirth," Tamron said. "People change," Edward said, "For all we know he could have been as ruthless and ignorant as the Wanderer." "We should not speak of the Wanderer like this, he is the person who cured everyone of the Mort'ton virus," Luna said in a small voice. "The Mort'ton virus?" James asked. "A few weeks ago the Mort'ton virus mutated, infected a few of us, but we were cured," Tamron said. "And don't forget the time he saved us from a murderer, Apoca Lypse," Luna added. "Apoca Lypse?" James asked. "Yes, he came back, but Dirth's brother became him," Tamron said. "Hirtho?" James asked. "Yes, Hirtho," Tamron said. "I only knew him through Dirth, we never really spoke. I remember the day he died, Dirth didn't stop crying, and he never did for the next few months," James said. "How did he die?" Edward asked. "I'm not sure if it's for me to say," James said. "Was it related in any way with the snapping beast we here from the swamp every night?" Edward asked. "Snapping beast?" James asked. "We've never seen it, but we know it's there; waiting," Tamron said. "No, it was nothing like that," James said, "Dirth's brother was attacked by a swamp creature, it was a tentacled beast that used to live in the swamp, I'm not sure if it is still there, as I've never seen it since I've lived there." James and Dirth sat quietly in the latter's home, there was a strong uncomfortable feeling in the air. "You seem to be doing well," James noted. "Yes, I guess I am," Dirth replied. "I remember when I was here years ago, how different things were. I remember you, you thought yourself as a warrior, that you were strong," James said. "Yes, I like to think I am a strong person," Dirth said. "The Wanderer hasn't changed, has he?" James asked. "No," Dirth said. "I saw him hanging about in the darkness among the shadows, trying to hide himself away," James said. "He's always been secretive," Dirth stated. "Do you remember those walks we used to go on, through the swamps?" James asked. Dirth felt an alarming chill come over him. "Yes," Dirth stammered. "Me, you and the Wanderer, we used to go and get snail meat from the winding path in the swamp, we did it once a week. That was when the shade came," James said in a small voice. "I couldn't stop it-" Dirth was interrupted. "I don't blame you," James said quickly. "Oh for Saradomin's sake! I cannot live with myself! There is something you must know," Dirth exclaimed. "That you and the Wanderer tried to get me killed?" James asked. "You know?" Dirth exclaimed. "Yes of course I knew, ever since we embarked on our walk I knew," James said. "So why did you come?" Dirth asked. "I believed you would kill me at a later point, so I planned on dying quickly and in a way that both of you would not get caught for," James said. "But you escaped from that shade, why didn't you let it kill you then?" Dirth asked. "I realized how precious life is, I looked at the rambling ghouls of Mort'ton and decided I would escape," James said, "And I did." "So why come back to here, how do you know me and the Wanderer do not plan on killing you again?" Dirth asked. "That's a risk I'm willing to take, besides, it is my home as well," James said. Dirth walked into the Wanderer's home in a foul mood. "What do you want?" The Wanderer asked. "He knows. He knows!" Dirth shouted. "How on Gielinor does he know?" The Wanderer asked. "I have no idea, but he knew ever since we embarked on our walk into the swamps that day!" Dirth exclaimed thumping his fist on the table. "Why did you actually want him dead anyway? If I remember correctly, I only assisted you due to a promise of rare herbs that your father had been growing," the Wanderer said. "And you got your reward, didn't you? I wanted him dead, I was going to murder someone, I was going to become a cold blooded killer! And why? Why did I want him dead? Do you know why Wanderer? It's because he was next in line to be head of the village! I was younger than him by a mere year, so my father was going to pass it on to him! My own father! Giving away my life-long dream to that smug-faced idiot!" Dirth shouted, having never felt so angry in all his life. "Well if I was you Dirth, I'd be thankful. Everything has worked out fine if you ask me, we'd better hope he doesn't blurt it all out or we might find ourselves homeless," the Wanderer said, hardly concerned over what were of no interest to him. Dirth slammed the door and exited, and the Wanderer did not care at all. Dirth sat back in his chair, looking out his window towards the sea. The waters were a dark blue, and the waves crashed against the rocky waterfront. Edward entered the hut carrying his dagger and a dead swamp snail. "Thought you might be hungry," Edward said in a small voice, slightly weary of Dirth after his foul mood the night prior. Fortunately, no one had picked up on the source of his anger, but they did very well know he was angry. "Thanks," Dirth grunted, not even turning to face Edward. "Dirth, what troubles you?" Edward asked. "I could not say, it is a matter I cannot discuss," Dirth said. "Well then, I shall leave you to sort your matters out alone," Edward said exiting. Moments later James entered. "What do you want?" Dirth asked. "I have come to make peace with you Dirth," James said. "Well then, I accept your peace offering," Dirth said, turning to face him. "All I want to know is why you tried to kill me all those years ago," James said. "Why do you have to complicate matters. I was a different person back then anyway," Dirth muttered. "Tell me, I must know. All those years alone it has plagued me, at why you wanted me dead," James insisted. "Fine then; I'll tell you. Do you remember my father? He ran the village at the time when you left," Dirth said. "Yes, I remember your father. A nice gentlemen he was," James said. "He was growing old; dying, in fact. Someone needed to succeed him as head of the village, and do you remember who he chose?" Dirth asked. "Me," James answered. "Yes, you. How do you think that feels? Your own father shattering your dreams of running this village, I had wanted to run it ever since I discovered my father's position. It also made me feel unaccepted by my father, and growing up things had been the same, he'd always paid more attention to little Hirtho, and then he died. The darkest and saddest day for my family, all down to me they thought," Dirth said. "I remember that day too well, you coming back from the swamps drenched in swamp water, that expression you had, as if the whole world had come crashing down around you," James said. "And it had. Hirtho; dead. And I was a year younger than you, so he felt you'd had more experience in life and would do a better job, but a year! A year! And after Hirtho's death who couldn't trust me. He never said it to my face, but I knew it, every time I looked at him I could see the blame that he targeted at me; blaming me for Hirtho's death! It was an accident! I couldn't have done anything!" Dirth shouted, slamming his fists on his table. "Being shunned by your own father is a terrible thing, how could he have blamed you?" James asked. "I do not know, and I do not wish to know. Whenever I think of him now I always think of the guilt he pushed on me," Dirth said turning away from James to look out the window. "I'm sorry," James said. "But I should be apologizing to you, for I am in the wrong. I tried to kill you! Yet you are so accepting and forgiving! I only wish I had such skills as you, because ever since I thought you had been killed, at my hands, I have had a terrible memory of it waying down on my mind. I sometimes have nightmares about it; that shade floating towards you, the screaming, you disappearing beneath the water," Dirth said. "You cannot find peace with yourself?" James asked. "No, I can't, but it is something I wish dearly for," Dirth said. "I think you need to find peace with yourself, and I know a way. This evening, me you and the Wanderer shall go for another walk in the swamp, just like we used to. We shall put all those bad memories to rest, and we shall then have made peace with ourselves," James said. "I will come! Yes, I will come! Anything to remove this burden of guilt from me!" Dirth exclaimed, feeling a surge of delight. "Good, so be ready by twilight," James said. The sky was darkening, and below it stood Dirth, James and the Wanderer. "Let us make haste, for we should return before darkness," James insisted as they made their way out into the swamps... The three of them stood on the Mort'ton bridge that stood between the swamp entrance and the town of Mort'ton. "This is where it happened," James said. "This place still haunts me," Dirth said as he felt guilt overwhelming him. "James, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Dirth said. "I forgive you Dirth, but what do you have to say for yourself Wanderer?" James asked. "I too must express my apologies to you James. That was my darkest hour," the Wanderer said. "I forgive you too," James said. "Now let us abandon our memories of that terrible day, and make a fresh start." A cold feeling suddenly began to invade the senses of the three of them. They turned to see a green shade hovering towards them. They scattered as the shade approached, but the shade continued to pursue them, and suddenly its undead arm gripped onto James' shoulder, and he felt his energy being drained. He fell into the waters as the shade descended on him. "I didn't think it of you Dirth, I forgave you!" James exclaimed as he disappeared under the water as the shade reached out towards him. "No! No! It wasn't me! I didn't do this!" Dirth yelled as he watched, rooted to the ground with fear. "Stop watching and run!" The Wanderer yelled as he grabbed Dirth by the shoulders as another shade drifted towards them. They both fled for the safety of Burgh de Rott. Dirth sat alone in his hut as darkness fell. A tear formed in his eye and it ran down his cheek. The Wanderer entered, a solemn expression crossing his face for the first time in a long time. "How are you?" The Wanderer asked. "I can't believe it, he forgave me, but now he thinks I'm just an untrustworthy beast," Dirth said. "You couldn't do anything to save him, and we both know it wasn't us who caused it," the Wanderer said. "How will I explain to the others what happened? Young Edward looks up to me, yet doesn't know of these dark times I have had," Dirth said. "There will be questions, but you must remember that you never killed him, not now and not all those years before. You didn't lure the shade this time, it was purely an accident," the Wanderer said, and then he left. "Goodbye, James," Dirth said sadly as he looked out the window towards the swamp...
- Майкл встречается с Дэйвом на балконе обсерватории Галилео. В ходе разговора он сознаётся, что ограбил ювелирный магазин и Дэйв может его арестовать, но.... нет. Для Майкла есть работёнка. Нужно попасть в морг и убедиться что информатор FIB мёртв. Далее идёт кат-сцена, в которой Майкл просыпается в морге. Нужно быстро очнуться, иначе вас разрежут пилой для вскрытия патологоанатоги и миссия будет провалена. Нужное вам тело находится через зал. Осматриваем его и приходим к выводу, что это не стукач, а какая-то чернокожая женщина. Звоним Дэйву и затем встречаем агента с нацеленным на вас пистолетом. Далее перестрелка. Вам нужно попасть на второй этаж. Используйте укрытия и спецспособности Майкла. На втором этаже находится ваше оружие. Подбираем его (не обязательно). Далее пробираемся к окну, выбиваем его и пикируем в мусорный бак. Миссия закончится, когда вы сбросите копов и встретитесь с Франклином.
- As an idiom, the phrase "dead man walking" is most infamous as a call-out once traditional in American prisons; when the wardens would lead a man on Death Row down the hall, declaring "Dead man walking! Dead man walking here!" Dead Man Walking means Your Days Are Numbered and you and/or the people around you know it. Now that prison wardens no longer use it (least not where they can be noticed), modern use of the term broadened somewhat to other types of doom, even benign "doom" such as losing a job (which may actually be the original meaning, but so far no one's been able to trace it conclusively). Does not have anything to do with The Undead but is often used that way Just for Pun. Compare Your Days Are Numbered, Who Dunnit to Me?, Incurable Cough of Death, Doomy Dooms of Doom. Invoked by Dead Star Walking. Sometimes used to describe a state in a game that's Unwinnable by Design. Examples of Dead Man Walking include:
- Dead Man Walking is a 1995 American crime drama film starring Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn, Robert Prosky, Raymond J. Barry, R. Lee Emrey, Celia Weston, Lois Smith and Scott Wilson. It was co-produced and directed by Tim Robbins, who adapted the screenplay from the non-fiction book of the same name.
- "Looks like rain, greenskin." Booth flashed his corn-kernel teeth in a grin to Nargesh. The orc looked up. What was his boss talking about? There were no raindrops, just stars shimmering above a clear Muglore sky. "Ah think there's gonna' be a storm tonight, greenskin. That rain's a'comin'. You ready for rain? Sometimes it just... comes outta' nowhere." Orbs as yellow as his mouth glared into Nargesh's eyes. If there wasn't going to be rain before, Booth looked like he was prepared to will the clouds to fall. "Well, I like storms," Nargesh said, doing his best to hide the awkwardness of a prophetic weather conversation in the middle of tribal Thunder Bluff. A guard covered in a smattering of leather, mail, and blades passed by the two men without giving them a second look. The two Tong agents were just more faces in a crowd of sleepy-eyed adventurers perparing for the end of their day. "Yeah, but ya' don't wanna' be caught out in storms, greenskin. An' ah think the storm that's comin' is the kind ya' wanna' stay away from." There was a shine in Booth's eyes like that of a mischievous child. "Ya' know what I'd do if ah were you caught out in a storm? I'd pick mah'self up an' run fer the nearest, biggest buildin' ah could." The eyes flicked to a nearby building with a couple of Cenarion guards at the door. Nargesh nodded slowly--whether he sincerely understood what Booth was suggesting or he was humoring the undead was not betrayed by the orc's eyes. "Don't you worry, though. I'll be back ta' get ya' if the rain starts fallin'." Booth's bony fingers fumbled over a small pocketwatch. He looked down at the timepiece's face and his grin grew. "Rain's comin' now, greenskin," and with a snap of his fingers and a pop of light Booth was gone. Nargesh leaned against the large wooden sign next to him and grunted. Thunder Bluff was renowned throughout the Horde as a place of astounding tranquility. Ten hollow beats of a drum echoed across the mountains. The grindstones of mills lazily churned grain for the next morning's bread. The first cool Fall breezes sang through the city, and leather tent walls quietly flapped in reply. Booth had already settled in a new spot higher up on the central bluff; a side road where even the guards forgot to travel. His voice crackled over his radio. "Stick n' stones. Make it happen, buddy." Angry yells from the Hunter Rise began to tear through the peace of the night. Something heavy slipped into Booth's hand. "It is done," said a whisper from behind. Booth nodded, pushed the object into his pocket and looked up the road. A giant black silhouette framed against the moonlit sky gazed at him from down the path. The yells came closer. The ground rumbled as a second form took shape between the tents. Two large, angry cow eyes froze Booth to the ground. He quickly pulled the brim of his dusty hat over his eyes and snapped another pinch of flash powder between his fingers. Nargesh raised his chin as Booth slowly trudged down the path toward him. Booth never seemed to be worried when on the run; even then he didn't betray a flinch as screams in Taurahe roared over the bluffs, most likely for him. "Come on, greenskin." He pointed to the edge of the bluff, near the back lifts. "Let's go watch the storm."
- Dead Man Walking est le septième épisode de la seconde saison de Torchwood et le second à faire figurer Martha Jones.
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