Of all games, I didn't expect to find a South African robot in Ultrakill.










With 8 hours of Disco Elysium now in my bloodstream, my wordiness rating has gone up, with a cosy Victorian air, well-maintained with nonchalance smoothness, avoiding a sesquipedalian temperature.










I recommend the documentary "African Addio", so long as you're old enough to see it. Lots of history to learn in it, but I wouldn't show it to a 10 year old, that's for sure.


My findings so far:


The video game company known as "Northwood" also secretively owns a few other businesses, under the names "Nordic Woodlands" and "Neven West Medical", which runs multiple hospitals and mental institutes across the USA.

Nordic Woodlands is an NGO (non-profit organisation) dedicated to the survival of forestry across the world, but most prominently in Poland; Northwood's country of origin.

While Nordic Woodlands broadens its focus internationally, Neven West Medical is entirely based in North America. And it has been brought to the Agency's attention that NWM has been supplying NordW with mental patients to be used as test subjects in increasingly Japanese experiments being conducted underneath the █████ █████. Notable scientists involved include Dr. Jamisha Pillington, sister/cousin/mother/wife (we haven't decided) of Jomfry Pillington, most wanted fugitive in the United States.

Neven West has also set up two (2) hospitals in Washington, whereas every other country Neven West has been based in has only had one (1) hospital.

Neven West, the NGO known as Nordic Woodlands, and their parent company, Northwood, are to be further investigated before serious action may be taken. Although real life anime girls will become a threat to the normalcy of the world, they are not as immediate as the Agency needs to send in a strike team.









Nerd? I see no nerd here.




ඞ











He's in my sights.





The door was blossoming with fish-eyed serpents, half-buried and unearthing themselves from its mangled wood. They had no scales, and if it was skin, it was jet-black. If it was flesh, there were no apparent muscles.

The door creaked, and the handle turned. The serpents retreated into the door, then through the walls. Like pulsing veins, they squirmed under the sepia wallpaper.

A man, clothing identical to me, a goateed face staring back at me as I sat here, watching the worming snakes move in the walls, came over to me and picked up my empty bottle. He threw it across the room. It reached the window, and it shattered. Glass fell to the pavement four storeys below.

I looked at him and said, my thoughts in the future, my vision in the present, my sanity in the past:

"Dr. Freeman."














































The radio stutters to life in your hands. It should be broken, with batteries ripped out and panels falling off, held by rusty screws.

Cautiously, you set it down, and begin to listen:

-- --- .-. ... . / -.-. --- -.. . / .. ... / ..-. --- .-. / -. . .-. -.. ...