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Those happy few who actually prove themselves sentient are, unfortunately, the exception to the rule.

And even for those exceptions, I think a modified version of the old saying applies...You can prove yourself sentient to all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you can't prove yourself sentient to all of the people all of the time.

My new favorite "people are stupid" variation is "few people are sentient". 

AGS: Awesome Game Siring

I was skimming the newspaper when she called.  The articles were mostly boring, though one was a semi-interesting piece on the strange disappearances happening around town at various convalescent homes and hospitals.  This is very weird for our quiet little town.  My little brother thinks aliens are involved.  He is five, what does he know?

Sunshine began with her usual, "Hey Mark, what's up?"  "Nothing much, just hanging out," I replied.
 
Sunshine playfully asks, "So…Can you come over and have supper with my family for a change?"  I responded with, "Sure, eight cool?"
 
"Yeah, see you then," she said.

As I drove to Sunshine's house, I mulled over how fast I’ve fallen for her and also ponder why my Grandmother, who is five years from reaching the century mark, contends that she is an evil gypsy.  It bothered me because Granny is known for being very wise, though I’m pretty sure this problem is related to Sunshine making disparaging remarks about Granny’s cooking - specifically her variation of lemongrass seasoning which she is famous for dousing on all of her dishes.  Sunshine jokes that its more like "demonass."

Sunshine moved here eight months ago from Slovakaromastonia, which she claims is a very small country in Eastern Europe.  Sunshine never tells me much about her past and I am not the nosy type; at least I don't think so...All I know is that she’s been sweet and amazing since we first started going out roughly three months ago.  I was literally swept off my feet the minute I first met her, as she had helped me up just after a neighborhood bully had tripped me while I was in the process of checking her out.

I parked my car next to the curb a few doors down from Sunshine's house, as her driveway is too small for my old gargantuan Cadillac.  While casually strolling up to the door and onto the front porch I overheard broken pieces of conversation from within the house.  "Cancer…dead soon anyway…hospital…flavorful seasonings and spices," the disembodied voices said.  I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but I figured that a little intel on the family of the apple of my eye wouldn't hurt.  Eagerly awaiting more snippets of conversation, I milled around the front door pretending to be interested in their tacky homemade bird feeder which was made to look like a cat’s mouth.  The voices abruptly stopped, and the door loudly creaked opened.  Sunshine let me in and I sat down on their big sofa in the living room.

I guessed that they must have been talking about the article in the newspaper.  I naively asked Sunshine, "Does someone in your family have cancer?”  Sunshine's parents exchanged odd glances as her Mom queried in a nervous tone tinged with her heavy accent, "No…Vhy vould yoo tink thaat?"  I quickly replied, "Just wondering, I heard a story about cancer on the news and it was on my mind," while sounding amazingly confident.

Dinner went just fine, until the funky-tasting pork started acting up in my stomach.  "I am going to the bathroom," I mouthed to Sunshine as her parents rattle on about the ongoing border war between Slavatakosova and Monoratvia.  Sunshine ordered, "Use the one upstairs, please!"  I headed towards the stairs and out of sight, and in a ninja-like motion I ducked off into the hall bathroom rather than the upstairs facilties as directed.

What was Sunshine's problem?  I was also curious as to why the downstairs bathroom is off limits.  With the bathroom door locked and secure, I checked the cabinet beneath the sink and was treated to a disturbing find.  It is definitely not common for families to have carving knives of all different varieties stashed in washroom cabinets.  They were well hidden behind boxes of cleaning supplies, but the big jagged-backed knife labeled “Ole’ Spine Splicer” was less than subtle.  There were also several other boxes containing personal effects and some small antiques.

I stealthily unlocked the bathroom door and made sure my little adventure went unnoticed.  While heading up the stairs to the bathroom everything started to sink in with a healthy dose of paranoia filling in the gaps.  The steak tasted funny because these people are cannibals that abduct and eat the terminally ill! I had often wondered about that large, padlocked freezer in the garage labeled with a smiley face sandwiched between two burger buns.  I silently debated the best possible way to make a polite, hasty exit without becoming a Markburger.

After using the upstairs facilities, I joined my charming hosts at the dinner table.  Awaiting my fate, I reluctantly broke the silence by declaring, "I have to be getting home, my…uhhh… grandmother is ill,” and nervously added, "Uhhh…umm…It's not serious."  Sunshine smiled sweetly and said, “It’s fine, we understand…finish your dolge pork and I’ll walk you out.”

The meal went down rough, but I was able to put on a good poker face.  As Sunshine walked me to the door, I think we could both tell that something was different between us.  Perhaps on my end it has something to do with her calling people "pork" and eating them.

Thinking that I was being watched from living room windows and/or nearby bushes, my senses continued to be on edge as I made my everything-is-ok-despite-my-dinner-with-cannibals stroll to the car.  Only after returning home did I feel a sense of relief, and later even moreso after furiously vomiting out both the "dolge pork" and possibly some of my guts.

I'm now sitting in front of my PC.  I just looked up the word “dolge” on Google Translate going from “Slovakaromastonia-ese to English”, and I’ve officially come to the conclusion that the Sun has set on my relationship with Sunshine.

  Those characters look awesome, and lined up like that its as if they are all impatiently waiting for someone to put them in a comedic murder mystery.  

 I guess folks are busy with games set in their own universe (I am), but its still kind of surprising there aren't more RON games from the "loner style" developers with the depth of resources out there.

  Nice!  I'm looking forward to the full version.  I like all the little details in each scene; especially the workshop.

anian

kconan: thanks for the heads up! Wish I could see it with my own eyes somehow...

Just be sure to use your own; no borrowing eyes from anyone else.

http://www.boltactiongame.com/PCFormat.png

This looks like a blast!  If you need another beta tester, let me know.

Johnson from accounts was the first and easiest.  Putting a little “unconventional” e-smut on his work computer and then giving the anonymous tipoff to the IT department was a piece of cake.  Johnson was out of the picture in a day or two.  His mistake was starting rumors around the water cooler about me being a sociopathic psycho.  Well, ok he is half right.  The last I heard, Mr. Rumormonger was drummed out of his family and circle of friends, and moved to Saskatchewan to start a new life in attempts to escape his infamy.

My boss’s boss, Schlabakowitz, was next and much harder.  Sourcing the barely traceable poison from the Ukraine was a long tedious, and at times dangerous, process.  On the other hand, dumping it in his morning java was like taking candy from a blind baby.  Schlabakowitz was no longer a threat to my career trajectory in about a week.  Doctors are now hopeful that he’ll be able to communicate beyond random grunts and groans sometime soon.

Since old man Schlabakowitz became a dribbling addlehead, both my company and career have progressed beyond my initial expectations.  But progress could always be faster, for me especially.

Things went so well for my company that we opened a large office in London.  In order to properly celebrate/announce the grand opening both internally amongst ourselves and externally to the clients, most of the company executives and full-time staff were invited to take a slow luxurious cruise from London to New York.  Roughly one-hundred clients from key accounts were also asked to join the festivities.  One of these clients, specifically Mr. Jefferson Parker who had been assigned cabin 120, happens to have a violent past which includes a variety of well documented assaults, aggravated batterys, and even an attempted murder.  His criminal record abruptly ended ten years ago when Mr. Parker became a sales associate for his brother’s shipping company; which happens to be one of our largest accounts.  Presumably he turned his life around.  After the voyage, Mr. Parker will undoubtedly be heading back in the other direction.

I’m not interested in being President, as it is a high stress job with a history of turnover.  And plus, I’m not that greedy.  My goal is to be the vice-president.  And I am two bodies away from it.  Ok well, I was two bodies away.

Last night the seascape was gorgeous, and the sight of Clark and Peters clanging champagne glasses and enjoying cigars on the ledge at the stern of the boat made it absolutely stunning.  I hadn’t intended on bothering with Clark, as talentless buffoons like him aren’t usually a threat, but when the Career Enhancement Fairy sprinkles her magic dust you don’t argue with her.  I watched nearby as the two unsuspecting drunks swayed arm-in-arm with the rhythm of the sea and their annoying shanties.  All it took to move up a rung on the corporate ladder was one drop-kick, which sent Peters flying into the ship’s giant rooster-tail.  My other foot caught Clark, who went tumbling stogie-in-hand into the drink as well.

Knowing my fall guy was out partying by the pool, I headed to cabin 120 - which I correctly guessed would be unlocked.  I entered the small room, grabbed a pair of shoes, and then carefully took some hair samples from a comb using a plastic bag and tweezers.  The shoes and samples were put in my backpack, and I began my climb up the stairs to the staterooms.  My trip up was lengthy, as I stopped to savor each rung while smelling the salty-sweet ocean air.  There was just…one…more.

Madam Julienne.  What a pretentious narcissist.  She isn’t from England, and yet this woman insists on being referred to as “Madam”.  After once publicly referring to her as “Mrs. Julienne”, she proceeded to dress me down in front of half of the office.  Even if I didn’t already know which stateroom was hers, it wouldn’t be hard to track down as it is ridiculously large and opulent.  Peters was handed to me on a silver platter…Perhaps this career blocking witch would prove more difficult.  I knocked on the Madam’s door while debating which strangulation method, blood versus air supply, would be more entertaining.

She opened the door with bloodshot eyes and said through alcohol-tainted breath, “Yeah, what do you want Peon McNobody?”  I entered her huge suite and gently closed the door behind me.  She glared and said, “Ha-ha!  Everyone in the office is scared of you because they expect you’ll snap at some point.  Well I’m not...afraid of you that is.”  And then her eyes darted down to my hands and slowly became larger as she nervously asked, “Why...are you wearing…those gloves?”  The Madam’s eyes were as big as portholes as they made their way from my hands up to my eyes.  Then a sort of calm came over her as she briefly glanced towards the door and said, “You know I’ll scream while I claw your eyes out.”  I admired her bravery and awareness regarding the predicament, but not enough to decide against shooting her in the side of the head with a surprise tazer shot.  The Madam went into convulsions as she tried to regain control of her body.  Post-strangling, I rubbed Mr. Parker’s shoes on the carpeted floor and strategically placed hairs on Madam Julienne’s body using tweezers.  These measures, along with starting rumors of a torrid affair between Mr. Parker and Madam Julienne, should point the blame squarely on my fall guy.  There was no one left, I was The Vice-President!

I made my way to a well hidden crow’s nest and changed clothes (and shoes), throwing my previous outfit into the sea.  The ocean breeze felt good as my eyes searched the waves and the few areas of the ship that were visible from my vantage point.  After slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I slowly strolled towards Mr. Parker’s cabin.  The pool bash was now breaking up and the attendees were heading back to their cabins.  I caught the eye of one particularly attractive partygoer wearing a mermaid costume, and was given a dirty look as if she knew something.  How dare she eyeball me like that?  I’m probably her boss now.

I returned to a still empty cabin 120, and put Mr. Parker’s shoes back in their original place.  It was much later in the middle of a morning victory stroll around the ship that I realized my error.  The worry was set firmly in-stone when I was looking at the entrances for cabins 220-a, 220-b, and 220-c.  All of the room layouts look basically the same so it was easy to make the mistake.  I don’t know who my fall guy is now, or where his incriminating shoes are for that matter.

It is now late in the morning, and I am peeking from behind the canvas cover of a lifeboat.  I can hear the footsteps of a large, angry search party getting closer.  I’m not one-hundred percent sure exactly who they are looking for, but I can make an educated guess.  I blame everyone in my company besides me, and the designers of the confusing cabin numbering system.  And that mermaid chick for giving me a dirty look.

I hope you get him back soon.  I can't imagine a gang bothering with a cat.

If you are good at reading people, talk to your neighbor again and try to feel him out.  Back when I was in college, a guy I knew messed with my car when I wasn't around.  I questioned him, he denied it, and then I took the route of "what kind of cowardly pansy messes with someone's ride behind their back" and his pride gave him away.  So maybe make some comments to the effect of "what kind of sick, weirdo would steal a cat?".

  "The Journey Down" got a nice blurb in the January, 2011 edition (page 118) of PC Format magazine.

Jimbob

  Agreed, the screenshots look like fun.  Don't give up based on responses (or lack thereof) to your game on here.  Good luck.

[River's Edge]

River's Edge
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091860/

I instantly thought of this movie.  It's a good flick and a bit like "Stand By Me" in that some kids find a body, but this one is much darker.

    Back in the 90s there was a dude in the U.S. who patrolled the streets in a batmobile looking thing that would help people who had broke down and needed mechanical help, a gas refill, a ride somewhere, etc...He was odd, but a good guy just trying to help out.  Thats about the extent that these "superheros" should go.

  The first episode should be free as sort of a hook, so that wasn't a mistake at all.  Considering the production quality of your game, you should certainly consider charging a small fee (like 3-5 US per bucks) for future episodes.

Superheroes could have sparked some ideas...

Those Superhero trophies are cool, thanks for cooking them up.

I like the afterlife theme.  I'll have to mull it over a bit, as nothing is popping into my head. 

matthewmcmurry

The misdirection just before the end was great

  Everything is dripping with awesomely gloomy atmosphere.  That train sequence/animation was really cool.  I'm looking forward to this almost as much as my background 

  I trust the service enough to pay Ebay sellers and occasionally receive payments, though  I do not trust them enough to keep a large amount of money in my PayPal account.