Part 13: Hard Time Update 2: An Awesome Miscarriage Of Justice
Hard Time Update 2: An Awesome Miscarriage Of Justice
Welcome back. Last time, we enjoyed some delicious shower beer.
Every now and then, a new prisoner moves in. This is usually due to the fact that a prisoner got horribly murdered. On much rarer occasions, it's because the prisoner got released.
Discovery: blocking with heroin = hilarious stances.
Wow, personal space much?
Well, judging by the surgical tubing on his arm the dude's an addict. And he's asking us to give him a hit.
Sure thing, man!
I feel a little bad for enabling his addiction, but the moron apparently didn't realize heroin needles are scattered all over the floor.
Uh...yeah. I was trying to capture a fight, but had horrible timing. Moving on.
Tasty, tasty heroin, take me to the land of incredibly angry muscled men. It's working already!
Damn, man, slow down! If you don't, you might start seeing things.
Let's see what happens if I assist the guard in beating a prisoner.
FUCK YEAH PRO WRESTLING
The combat system in this game is much more in-depth than it is in The You Testament and The Making of a Prophet. It uses some of the stuff from MDickie's wrestling games, which makes watching a tiny cop suplex a seven foot blob of fat much funnier.
"We've decided to chop off your head and arms."
See what I meant about IrfanView? This same problem seems to apply to recording the damn thing, sadly. That, or my laptop just can't handle it. What actually happens is we were transferred to cell W-001.
En Sabah Nur kills time by watching TV and not givin' a fuck.
1 PM, it's food time.
Oh God damnit. I have to give it up in order to not get my ass beaten.
Fatty Pornstache here tries to mug us.
He opens by knocking us to the ground and ensuring my children will be...interesting.
I counter by breaking his face open.
The guards yell at you if you miss dinner.
Welcome to the cafeteria, where the frame rate goes to die. There's random crap on the floor and food on the tables. I grab myself some floor beer.
Oh my, look at that face.
Never change, MDickie.
I was a little slow with the screenshot key, but I was demonstrating that beer bottles explode when you throw them. Like, with fire. I think it has something to do with molotov cocktails but I don't even know.
I need to get a broom to a guy named 'Iceman' in North Block...I'd appreciate it if you could get a hold of one and take it to him by 14:00 tomorrow?
This isn't a request. It's a demand. He'll get angry at us if we don't. Angry to MDickie means homicidal.
I don't really think prison food is this nice.
In here, we can make some money by making food. Not a whole lot, though, and work of any kind takes hits out of your happiness.
En Sabah Nur takes some time to call his agent and yell at him for putting him in an MDickie game.
Welcome to the exer-
You can improve your strength by lifting weights, or increase your agility by running around the yard...but if that sounds too boring, you can always try shooting hoops! It's a fun way of keeping fit...
En Sabah Nur hates being interrupted.
En Sabah Nur is about to go all Babe Ruth on a bitch.
Damn it all. Dropping the bat gets him off my case.
En Sabah Nur suddenly gets bad cramps, probably from the prison food, and waddles his way back to the main hall.
Where we suddenly feel fine.
Cue ass beating.
This attracts a guard.
WHO SHOOTS ME.
Here's the entrance to the workshop in the study. The guard's intro didn't take.
This computer over here shows you how smart the other inmates and guards are. Let's go into the workshop and build something!
You get paid for everything you produce, but you have to leave it on the bench...
Yes, we can make stuff here.
Stuff including ASSAULT RIFLES.
We continue on in an attempt to use our psychic powers to inflate this beach ball.
JESUS CHRIST WHAT DID I DO
I steal the gun from the guard and book it back to the cell blocks.
SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND
But first, a nap.
Hey, that's the dick who shot us! Time to celebrate!
DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA
Wait a second.
Well, uh. That certainly...happened.
We keep blasting him until he begs us to spare him in exchange for 200 dollars.
We keep shooting him.
EW YOU'RE GETTING BLOOD IN MY AFRO...and you're referring to yourself in the third person.
So yeah, we're being dragged in front of the judge again.
What the fuck kind of defense is that!? That's worse than "she tripped and hit a doorknob!" That's worse than "she fell down a flight of stairs!" That's worse than "she tripped and fell down a flight of doorknobs that were on fire!"
I bet you're wondering how I pulled that one off.
Blowjobs, my friend. Blowjobs.