Disco   Gumdag, Balkan, Turkmenistan
Half Light is your fight-or-flight response. It enables you to sense the way situations are about to turn. It injects palpable fear into your heart – fear that urges you act before it’s too late to act ever again; fear that makes you frighten others. It is the aggression that lets you squeeze every last drop of information out of a witness.
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People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today – a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!

0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a ♥♥♥♥-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *♥♥♥♥♥♥ him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.

First, let's make this absolutely clear. No one is saying you're an *actual* superstar in the groupies-and-cocaine, riddled-with-hepatitis-C, strikes-a-lionesque-pose-with-a mic kind of way. You’re not Guillaume le Million or Davy Dewis, no. You're a *metaphorical* superstar. You bring that rock-and-roll authenticity and passion to a line of work where people don't expect (or want) to see it. Where, some would say, it doesn't *belong*: law enforcement.

They say the world isn’t ready for a rock-and-roll cop. No one *wants* their state monopoly on violence to be mixed with celebrity worship. They 'claim to know' it would be dangerous for detectives to rise to the ranks of demigods and have sexual encounters with barely-legal cover girls. It would be 'insane', they say. To all this you say: ♥♥♥♥ off and die. In a cool voice. You people have no idea how *good* these cops are gonna get. They're gonna crack twenty cases a day. In the future, cops will be like astrophysicists. Or prime ministers. Or prophets. And you’re the first one.

There's something you can’t get out of your head. Kras Mazov, the father of scientific communism, the Premier of the Communist Party of Shest and Graad during the Antecentennial Revolution, head of the Eleven Day Government, sideburn-toting, bearded figurehead of the movement... shot himself in the mouth? And died? One day in his cabinet, as things were collapsing around him? Just gave up? That's not good propaganda, is it? “Вe a communist, shoot yourself in the mouth.” Something about this irks you...

It's clearly a lie. Kras “Kak Ras” Mazov didn't shoot himself. Reaction was on the counter-offensive, the State Day Palace in Mirova was surrounded. He was either assassinated or died in the bombing. You might even have evidence to support this, somewhere in your brain. Mazov was never given a state funeral by the communists. Some people even say the body that was recovered from the ruins wasn't his. There. Good. Hero restored to glory. Carry on, comrade.

You woke up in a hotel room and started rambling about the end of the world. It's not your normal everyday doom-crying, either. Something truly colossal is approaching -- the Gloaming. The Culling. The Bloodletting of Unimaginable Proportions. Until now you've been *pleasantly* vague about the precise nature of this cataclysm. No more! Put the Bloodletting on the burner and *really* figure out what's threatening the fragile physical reality you just found yourself in.

It's not fire. It's not ash. There will most certainly be a sea of corpses leading up to the Event, but it won't be war or pestilence that causes it, oh no. The Event will belong to a genre of cataclysm no man has dared to suspect would ever come to pass. You can only sense the *shape* of it. Like a cavity, a pit opening up in your stomach. A throat into which the world will vanish. The streets, the grass, the stars -- all will be *rolled back*. By whom, by what? And how? You don't know. All you know is -- you’re not joking around.

They say nameless heroes need no credit. Doing the right thing is reward enough. But deep down, an honourable man knows there will be a reward. Oh yes, the Honourable shall inherit the world, and you, Compte de Honore, will lead the charge with your thumb held high. What you need is a creed. An oath. A great oath of honour. Flex your honour glands, see if you can come up with something.

Here it is. It's titled “Honour: For the Brave” and goes: “I have no family; I make *honour* my family. I have no home; I make *bravery* my home. I have no desire; I make *dignity* my desire. I have no friends; I make *humility* my friend. I have no enemy; I make *dishonour* my enemy. This is my vow of honor -- for the brave. I am brave.“ Something like that. It's not the words that matter, it's the honour.
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4.7 Hours played
Beautiful game. Short, but sweet, I love the artstyle and the aesthetic of the game. 10/10, would play again and again.
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TruePatriot Jun 20 @ 1:51pm 
he boutta blow
Half-Light Apr 29 @ 12:27pm 
Hi Dave!!!
TruePatriot Apr 29 @ 11:27am 
kys :ujel:
Curiosity Apr 28 @ 7:47pm 
awpgod Apr 12 @ 6:49am 
watch yo tone mf
Half-Light Mar 7 @ 3:47pm 
hi dad