I had a dream last night…

It was a dark and stormy night. My mood had been sour since I learned of my new assignment. Apparently, I’m a detective and I was being hired to find a teenage girl. Not just any girl mind you, she was the President’s daughter. This was a little weird, since I’m a Canadian and we don’t actually have Presidents with vast amounts of power and a real can-do attitude; instead, we have impotent ex-lawyers who can’t uphold their political platforms because their spines are made of jelly. Jello, in fact. Not the orange kind either, but that old berry flavour which doesn’t really taste like any berry I’ve had before.

I took it all in stride since I knew this was a dream (a neat trick I learned while watching Star Trek Voyager). I began to think about the mission and the team I would presumably be working with. One of these people was a young woman by the name of Ingrid Hunnigan. She was a real looker, and I just knew she was one of those girls who was all quiet and demure on the outside, but on the inside my imagination told me she was really some feral animal waiting to be uncollared. Despite my eagerness to set this poor creature free, I found her external demeanor to be cold and very closed. I think it was her glasses which gave me that impression. Don’t get me wrong, I usually dig a chick with glasses, but her spectacles were so large and formal it was like staring at two street signs that read “STOP – ALL WAYS”, “DEAD END”, or “NO ENTRANCE AT REAR.” I chuckled to myself, as I especially enjoyed that last one. She must have read my mind, apparently, given the number of phone calls she made – probably phoning her girl friends to tell them she’ll be busy tonight.

Before I left the meeting with my boss, he mentioned this would essentially be a solo mission, so I could forget about back-up. His orders were simple: get in, get the girl, and go home. I had to do a double-take, just like the people in those gum commercials; this was the President’s daughter after all, right? Why was I the only man, and a Canadian to boot, sent in after her? My cultural stereotype clearly states that I should abhor violence, discrimination, and meanness of all kinds. According to popular opinion in my country these people may be different than us, but simply because they’re different does it really make them evil? Note to the Jello-men: yes it does. Now shut up and grab your .22 caliber pellet gun.

They explained the reason why I had been chosen over other, more tenable alternatives. It basically stemmed from my experience with the Raccoon City incident. I had to laugh at that one. I told them it was just a video game, but they shook off my remarks including the little anecdote I though in about the fox and the scorpion – it didn’t really apply, but it makes me smile. They weren’t interested in my opinions or my stories and callously chalked them up as venial nonsense. They reasoned I must have been suffering from post-trauma to the brain, probably near the medulla oblongata. They blamed my irrational behaviour on all those untested (but FDA approved) neurological substances I took while playing the first game. I consoled myself against their unfounded criticisms and went back to finding that crazy rascal Hamburgler using one of the cheap paper maps they provided with every Happy Meal.

Yes, as a skilled, um, warrior, I see this kind of violence every day using one of my video game consoles. I’ve single-handedly sent many a demon to the void (/dev/null if you’re playing games on Linux), but I have to say it hasn’t really affected my lifestyle. I still get up, brush my teeth and go to work like every other schmo. Only this time, I’m more than just an anonymous software developer for some multi-national corporation (sort of like a taller, more sturdy version of Neo): I’m the protagonist who’s been assigned to save some hapless American teenager from the ravages of a Spanish cult! And you know they’re savage, because they’re foreign.

Of course, once I met her, I immediately wanted to shoot her. Ashley Graham was attractive, no doubt about it, but her constant whining became insufferable. “Don’t forget about me, Leon!” or “Help me, Leon, this man is trying to abuse my medulla oblongata!” Nag, nag, nag. If she wasn’t the daughter of the most powerful man in the world, I would have considered making her rescue worth my while, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink…

What? Don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t think about something like that if you were in my position. How many times does a person get to control the fate of a girl linked inextricably with the head of a nation so huge and powerful, it requires two Disney theme parks? I wanted free tickets, damn it, and I wasn’t bringing her anywhere until she begged to give them to me. Boy, did her knees get dirty! Normal detergent wasn’t going to get those stains out.

Once the begging had subsided, and it was really pathetic let me tell you, I could finally get on with my “mission.” During our journey together, I had the opportunity to be the hero countless times, but I knew she was stronger than what those politicians back in Washington were telling me. Come hell or high water, she was going to contribute to the mission, even if it meant she would be inadvertently killed again and again. One such opportunity presented itself while trying to escape a series of traps set up by our good friend, Osmund Saddler. He thought he could capture us using a creature coined “El Gigante.” At first, I was frightened and really out of my element. Since I was Canadian, I hadn’t taken a single Spanish class in my three years of high school, so translating this foreign tongue was exasperating and caused me to lose focus on more than one occasion. This confusion often resulted in Ashley’s gory death, but since I knew this was a dream, I could stop and reload it anytime. Kind of like playing a PC game, except with the whole intentional reloading thing. Actually, I should be careful what I say, PC fanboys can be dangerous if they haven’t had enough sugar. I usually subdue them with a can of Coke and a box of Cracker Jacks. They even let me keep the prize sometimes.

Much toil and much fighting later… I was able to find a local who looked a bit shifty, but was at least willing to sell me medicine and supplies. I managed to bargain a used Spanish-English dictionary when buying a couple of medical sprays for 20,000 coins. Often, the salesman started crying after our transactions; honestly, men like that make me sick. He should really learn to barter if he can’t stand losing so much money. I’m not sure what 20,000 pesos, or whatever their currency is, equates to but it surely can’t be more than a few dollars. This is a foreign country, after all.

We met Saddler and his peon Salasar on several occasions. Both of them just didn’t know when to quit. I mean, how many underlings and armies of parasitic men do I have to defeat single-handedly before they acknowledge the certainty of their death? There is nothing wrong with simply dropping what you are doing, hiking up your robes, and hightailing it out of there before I manage to get my hands on you. Their spines were definetly not made of Jello.

Since I knew I was about to wake up, I decided to find a way out of this twisted little world. So, I conjured up a jet ski and told Ashley to hop on. She was a little hesitant at first; I told her to stop being such a baby, if she died I would simply reset the game. After the fifteenth or sixteenth time she died, I finally managed to push all the right buttons. I could tell because she was all over me before we even exited the tunnel. I had to repeatedly decline her offers for love, because I had my eye on this other chick who tried to kill me several times during my mission, and whom I have totally failed to mention in this story. She and I have a long history together, and we’re going to have loads of fun at Disney.

Somewhere off in distance Ashley was still crying, obviously upset and heart-broken. Poor girl. I only vaguely noticed the irritated soldier pointing and gesticulating with his weapon in my direction; I had other more important things to think about, you see. My mind slowly returned to thoughts of Mina… or was it Veronica? Hmmm. I especially liked it when, that girl, got away with the Plagas sample. Denying me the only opportunity I would ever have to sell them on the black market. Which means my dream of retiring rich, fat, and tanned like an immigrant worker may never come to pass if I can’t find her again. Now that’s sexy.

Categories: Games
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