Tag Archive | work

Possession 2: Some New Creatures

So I apologize for not really having posted anything recently. There’s been some work going on, but a lot of it has been kind of behind the scenes (probably worth a post, might be of interest to other game dev people), and honestly, there hasn’t been THAT much work done, either. Right now my job situation just makes it hard to put as much time in as I’d like, especially considering I’m still running and working on Pleasantville by Night.

I do still have the energy to do some conceptual work, so once I do get the time to work I have plenty of creatures already planned out. I’ve also managed to make myself do the sprites for quite a few. Here’s a look at some of them:

Click to Enlarge

Click to Enlarge

That’s fifteen new creatures. Possession 1 had a total of 31 creatures, not counting the ghost. Only 24 of them were possessable. The creatures in that one image alone is more than half of what the first game had!

Here’s some more info on how much bigger Possession 2 will be than Possession 1. Possession 1 was five levels long, and each level had the same group of creatures available each time. Possession 2 will be ten levels long, and eight of those levels will randomly be one of three possible levels and creature groups. If each of the levels has an average of five creatures, that’s around 130. That’s already a hundred more than the first game had, not counting bosses or summonables. And, of course, there’s going to be a wider variety of level designs and level features, not to mention all the new creature abilities.

In about two weeks, my job hours are going to drop to sane levels, so you should be seeing more from me after that point. My priority will be to get a playable version out. It won’t be complete (or probably even winnable), but you’ll finally get a chance to play around with some of the new stuff.



I went to high school with Sandra Perlmann. She was one of those people who had it all. She was hot, popular, and managed to get good enough grades, but she was a total bitch.

One time at a party, there was this girl who was there through a friend of a friend or something like that. She wasn’t the type to be there at all. I’m sure she had debated about whether or not to come right up until the last moment, finally just deciding to go just to see what it was like.

For some reason, Sandra picked her out as the target of her latest pointless cruelty.

“Oh my God,” she shouted after engaging the girl in conversation for about a minute, “You’re a drug addict?”

First of all, this was obviously untrue. Second of all, it was a completely random thing to say, and third of all nobody even cared. Hell, quite a few people at the party were easily on their way to drug addiction themselves. We went to a pretty rich school, it wasn’t uncommon for people to do blow at parties.

But none of that mattered to the poor girl, of course. She had come hoping to just blend in and try to have a good time, but instead Sandra had picked her out and shamed her in front of everyone. She ran out of the party crying.

I didn’t say anything, of course. I never did. I was good-looking enough and had decent enough social skills that I was never a target. Why rock the boat?

Since graduation, Sandra has moved to New York, become the editor of a fashion magazine, and gotten engaged to a successful lawyer.

One day I was sitting in a bar after work. A group of three very loud women were in the corner, apparently celebrating the fact that one of them had gotten pregnant. Although, of course, it the other two were doing most the celebrating. The proud mother-to-be just sat quietly, smiling, drinking a coke. Suddenly, she lurched out of her chair, her face a mask of panic. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but it was stuck shut.

“Oh my God!” one of the other women shouted, “Someone put rubber cement in her drink!”

Something snapped inside me. I don’t know if I was drunk off of the half a beer I’d had, or if I’d just had a really bad day at work. All I knew was, I was sick of assholes. I’d been sitting quietly for too long, letting them get away with their bullshit, but I wasn’t going to let them get away with it this time.

“Who the hell did that?” I shouted.

An old man sitting next to me pointed towards the door. I caught a glimpse of a very large man walking out with a woman on his arm.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” I growled at him.

He just glared at me.

Tossing some money on the counter, ran towards the door and stepped outside. “Hey!” I called after the hulking mass, “You’re an asshole.”

He stopped, turned around and looked at me. “What’d you say to me?”

My body immediately told me to run, I’d just made a terrible mistake.

“You the one put rubber cement in that pregnant woman’s drink? You’re an asshole.”

He slowly walked up to me and stood just inches away. We’d have been face-to-face if he wasn’t two inches taller than me. My heart was pounding out of my chest, my mouth was dry but my skin was wetter than it’d ever been. I knew what I was doing was stupid, but I was fed up. I wasn’t going to run, I wasn’t going to let them win this time.

“I’m not gonna hit you,” I said, “I weigh a hundred and forty pounds. But go ahead and hit me if it’ll make you feel better.”

I was on the ground with the first punch.

I stood back up and grinned. That’s about all I remember until the emergency room.

Two days later I walked into work, my face a mass of swollen bruises and my teeth loose.

My boss took one look at me and asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Some guy put rubber cement in a pregnant lady’s drink. I called him an asshole, he did this to me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, shaking his head, “I expected better of you. Go home, take some time off.”

“I didn’t hit him,” I said, “I’m not stupid.”

“Go home,” he said, still shaking his head.

“I didn’t hit him,” I repeated. “I’m not violent. I’ve never even been in a fight before.”

“Go home,” he said.

I turned around and headed out the door.

Did he think I was less of a man for not fighting back? Did he even believe me? I didn’t know. Was he going to fire me? I didn’t know that, either, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. They say the meek will inherit the Earth, but it seems to me like God’s helping out the assholes.

When We Were Jung

“Got any spare change?” asked the Bum as the Truck Driver pushed passed him into the bar.

“The usual?” asked the Bartender as he entered.

“What else?” grunted the Truck Driver, sliding onto the stool. “I don’t know why you work in this dump,” he said, shaking his head.

“We all have to pay the rent somehow,” shrugged the Bartender, mixing up the drink.

“Tell me about it,” sighed the Truck Driver, “But you could do so much more! You’re the Wise Old Man for God’s sake! Couldn’t you have been a professor or a therapist or something?”

“I was self-taught,” sighed the Bartender, “No degree, no fancy title. But hey, you’re not exactly the Playboy Millionaire either!”

“Maybe not,” admitted the Truck Driver, “The Fool got there first, somehow.”

“I heard it was the Trickster,” said the Bartender. “He decided to become a Con Man, then he and the Fool worked together, did some embezzling and fraud, made millions. Of course, then he got arrested and the Fool got to keep all the money. Been living it up ever since, doesn’t give two shits about anything.”

“Hell, man,” laughed the Truck Driver, “why couldn’t that have been us? Ah well, at least I’m still doing what I was meant to. Driving a truck is sort of like being a Wanderer. I get to travel a lot, anyway.”

“Things sure have changed,” sighed the Bartender. “Have you seen the Mother and the Child recently? Now that’s sad.”

The Truck Driver nodded. Back when humanity was young, the Child was all sweetness and light, instead of the snotty little shit he was today. One could almost forgive the Mother for turning from the strong, supportive parent she once was to the henpecking, controlling woman she had become.

“What we need is a Hero to come along and set things right,” the Truck Driver sighed.

The Bartender smiled wistfully. “Every day I wish it more and more. It’s such a shame he was killed back in World War II.”

A Boring Day at the Hospital

“Excuse me,” the man said, “I’m here to see Mr. Henderson.”

Rebecca looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. In front of her stood a tall, thin, elderly gentleman wearing a black suit that had been out of fashion since before the 20th century had even begun.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Mr. Henderson has passed on.”

“What?” exclaimed the man, taking out a gold pocketwatch and examining it closely. “That’s impossible!”

“I’m sorry sir,” Rebecca said sympathetically, “He passed on just a few minutes ago, in fact.”

The man sighed and put his watch away. “They just get more and more unreliable, don’t they?”

“The doctors do the best they can, sir,” she said, shortly, a little offended.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they do,” the man said distractedly, looking at something above and behind Rebecca’s head. “Ah, so you decided to show up anyway?”

Rebecca spun around in shock, but saw nobody. She turned back towards the man. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” the man said, grabbing at something in the air and depositing it in a small jar. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another appointment. Sorry to bother you.”

He tipped his hat and walked out the door. Rebecca shrugged and went back to her paperwork.

Let’s give a warm welcome to my friend Taylor, who decided to join me in creating an unstoppable writing empire.

It’s that time of year again…

January 27th, 2008

Dear Diary,

Work today was boring. No phone calls, no meetings and only ONE email (Consisting entirely of sfbjv;vb). Talk about crazy right? Everyone was moving so slowly, like zombies. I didn’t get any work done today. Plus there was a whole lot of moaning and groaning. Must have been a bad case of the Mondays. And oh my god, the traffic sucked on the way home. I must have seen like, 20 stalled out cars. Oh well diary, I’m going to try and get some sleep now, but the Jacksons next door must be getting busy if you know what I mean. Anyways, goodnight.

January 28th, 2008

Dear Diary,

Work went a lot like yesterday today. Just a lot of bitchiness. So I went to Amanda’s house after work to see if she wanted to do anything. But when I got there, she tried to bite my wrist, then my neck. That was SO not cool. I told her we were through, but I’ll take her back when she calls (I know she will). Anyways, It’s late again, so I’m going to bed. Goodnight Diary.

January 29th, 2008

Dear Diary,

I called into work sick today. I think I’ve come down with a cold. It kinda sucked though, there was nothing on TV and the paper never got dropped off. I spent most of the day waiting for Amanda to call, but she didn’t. I’ll decide what to do tomorrow. Well, ‘night.

January 30th, 2008

Dear Diary, 

I went back to Amanda’s house tonight, I just had to see her again. I told her how I felt about her, but she didn’t need words to express her true feelings for me, and we kissed, but she bit me in the neck. Hard. I’m still bleeding a little. So yeah, we’re totally through as of today. I’ve got to start seeing other people. Ugh, feeling woozy, going to bed.

January 31st, 2008

Dear Diary,

Woke up this morning, had a strange craving for brains. Not sure why exactly. I went to work today, but didn’t feel like doing anything. I kinda just sat around all day and wished I was eating brains. That was nuts. So anyways, I’m going to eat something, I’m reeeeeeely hungry, but I just ate. Isn’t that odd? Well, goodnight.


February 1st, 2008

Dear Brains,

Brains brains brains brains brains brains. Brains brains brains brains. BRAINS! Brains brains brains brains brains brains brains. Brains brains brains brains brains. Brains brains brains brains brains brains brains.

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