Akting Out

This is a knee-jerk review; I spent about an hour on this game before sitting down to write this review.

I remember when King of Fighters nearly heralded in the next great step of the fighting game genre; team fighting. I wonder if what would’ve happened if Capcom had been the one to introduce 3-on-3 fighting, rather than SNK. Either way, I remember the first intro to King of Fighters 94; Terry Bogard and friends challenging their cross town rivals. Fatal Fury vs. Art of Fighting; only Street Fighter vs Mortal Kombat could’ve topped that.

And those first two games; King of Fighters 94 and King of Fighters 95…those were great games. I don’t know what the hell happened after that (Maximum Impact, anyone?) but it was almost like watching a wounded, whimpering dog look pitifully up to you, begging you to pull that trigger…but you just can’t.

Well, after an hour with King of Fighters 12, I’m a little more inclined to put the poor thing out of its misery. While I like to think that Ignition went into this with the best intentions, they fell flat in too many places for this game to be enjoyable, even on a nostalgic level.

This game isn’t horrible; it’s just not worth sixty dollars. The graphics are my biggest complaint. While the re-conceptualized characters are decent (I really don’t like what they did with Terry Bogard, but the hulking Goro Daimon is intimidating) the gaudy, over-the-top backgrounds aren’t just a distraction, they’re an obfuscation. Zooming in too close to a cornered opponent often means losing them against the backdrop. This is especially true for characters with darker colors.

The gameplay itself isn’t bad, but doesn’t raise the bar; the controls are smooth like butter, easy to pick up for veterans. The critical counter opportunity is reminiscent of Street Fighter Alpha’s custom combos, while each character’s heavy attack stuns the opponent suspiciously like Street Fighter 4.

The game’s highest point has to be its audio, and the sound effects, music, and impacts are superbly well-done. The room shook as I unleashed Terry Bogard’s Power Geyser.

The character roster has been (at first glance, there may be unlockables) trimmed down to the series’ most key characters, and of those key characters, only their most memorable super attacks are present; hello, Power Geyser, goodbye, Busterwolf (no pun intended).

What I am most disappointed about is the complete and total lack of drama in this game; no boss battles, hell, no bosses. No Geese, no Krauser, no Rugal, no Orochi, hell, nothing that even comes close to an epic final battle. You pick three characters, you go through a mundane time trial, and that’s it.

King of Fighters 12 was heralded as the return to what made the series great, instead what we get is too much of a bad thing and not enough of what works. Boss battles, deeper move sets, and toned-down backgrounds may have made this game worth renting…or getting used. But there’s no way I can say this is worth sixty bucks. Pass and wait for someone else to sell it.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I spent a total of eleven years without a fixed address, off and on. Of those eleven years, approximately four of them were spent on the street. It wasn’t all at once, but when you add them together, that’s about what it comes out too.

Most of these years were spent in northern California. I never once panhandled, never sat on the street and begged for money (I never beg for anything except forgiveness). Instead, I spent my nights on seventh and Market, in San Francisco’s tenderloin. When 4am rolled around, I would journey to the BART station and hop on the train which ran along what was known as the “Yellow Line”. It got this name for the color of the route it ran. This train would run from the Concord/Orinda area all the way down to Daly City. I—and other people in my situation—would choose this line because it was the only route where you could grab eight hours of sleep without being disturbed. The other lines, red, green, and eventually, blue, were ran by operators who would wake you up when they got to the end of the line.

If I wasn’t fighting, then I would stop at each BART station, mostly along the northern part of the yellow line, and bang on the change machine, claiming to have lost a dollar. More often than not, I could flirt or con my way into the station attendant handing me four quarters. Sometimes, they would issue me a check. On good days, I could walk away with forty dollars. When they became familiar with my routine, I often wound up running from BART police. That was always a lot of fun (seriously, it was. Only once did they ever catch me). I would eat a large meal, either at Carl’s Jr. or the Chinese food place across the street, settle in for the night with Dee and the guys, and fight the night away on the street.

To see me, you wouldn’t have guessed I was homeless. I kept clean by bathing daily in one of the subway’s restrooms. I did my laundry once a week. I even gave money to those who were way worse off than I was, especially a mother and daughter I always saw around fourth street.

Those days were forever ago, and I haven’t been homeless in nearly five years now. I keep the memories fresh because I know that everything I have, everything I’ve earned, can be taken away within a moment.

No matter how one ends up that way, no one ever chooses to be homeless. Everyone makes bad decisions in their lives; some of us have to pay dearer prices than others. But think about it; if you didn’t have your friends, your family, your support system, and you lost everything, what would you do? Would you kill yourself? Can you even imagine it?

It’s easy to look at homeless people and immediately think that they’re complete and total fuck-ups, and in truth, a lot of us are. But when you reach that point, when you literally have nothing left, does it matter how you got there, if you’re doing everything you can to get better?

I got lucky; I got tired of living that way and I knew how to better myself—and I did, and I got out of that situation. Not everyone can do that. You may be able to, but it doesn’t mean that everyone can. Some people just literally don’t know how.

I met some genuinely good people in my travels, some of whom you may consider lowlife or criminal, but the fact is, I may not be here if it wasn’t for them. The first parental figures I had on the street were a couple who had AIDS. They taught me where the shelters were, where the free food was, and where I could find work if I needed. They couldn’t get the time of day from most people, but what no one bothered to find out was that they had both been professionals and victims of their own bad decisions. They had lost their jobs, their insurance, and their homes soon after. Turned away by every clinic they visited, they were both gone less than a year after I met them.

People have to be willing to help themselves before you can do anything for them, but at the same time, most people deserve a second chance. I may be here now, in my apartment, sitting at my desk, writing this blog and prepping for the re-launch of my story…but tomorrow, especially in this economy, you just don’t know.  I take nothing for granted.

This is why I’m putting half of the donations I receive to end homelessness. It’s not just a situation, it’s a cycle, and it’s very easy to lose hope. When you start believing that it’s okay to hurt people, or worse, to survive, it may be too late. Then you’re written off as an undesirable by the system and thrown away. I’d like to keep that from happening to people.

It could be you. It could be someone you know. Bear that in mind the next time you see someone like that and you turn away.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Proudly presenting my first guest post, “Negotiations” by Jacob Nicholson. Jacob is good enough to present a short story featuring a key character in his rebel drama “Ally”.

Let it be said that the Honorable Judge Corso was holding up remarkably well with a gun pressed against his head. He did not fall to pieces or ask for mercy; in fact he did not speak at all. Corso was holding his head high, on his knees with his hands bound, but his eyes blazing defiantly at the man holding the gun.

The man in question was Captain Russo Vive, and it was he who did all the talking, “A life for a life! That is all we demand.” He had a menacing looking pistol held against the man’s head, and he was speaking to the watching crowd, held back by police barricades, while the police themselves had their guns trained on Russo.

Negotiations had been unsuccessful on both fronts. The entire town square had been shut down and roped off; all traffic both vehicular and pedestrian blocked and detoured, while Russo and his men stood confidently around the large fountain that was the centerpiece of the square. Each of his half dozen men had their own hostage, citizens pulled from the crowd before the police managed to secure the block.

There was a retired police chief, called in for the occasion to oversee the operation. He was speaking with the hostage negotiator, but got distracted as he heard murmurs of surprise and suspicion rip through the tight knit group of police, and turned to see what was drawing so much attention.

Four individuals were making their way through the blockade. The newer officers stumbled back away from the strangers, while even the more experienced needed only a second glance before clearing a path. They did not forcefully shove anyone out of the way, but just from the expressions on their faces they forced back the crowd, no one offering any resistance as they pushed their way to the front lines. In front was a woman who could light a fire with nothing more than a stern look. Tall legs and an athletic build spoke of military experience, confirmed by the dog tags that flashed on her chest. She was easy to spot with her fiery red hair that framed a thin face, and vivid no-nonsense green eyes that demanded respect and a wide berth.

The retired chief turned to face them, taking in their approach with an annoyed grimace, “What the hell do you four think you’re doing?”

Meg, the woman and obvious leader of the small group, was not looking at the officer, but instead was scanning the square, taking note of the buildings, the local police snipers on the rooftops, Russo and his men, as well as Judge Corso. She spared the officer only a brief glimpse before turning back to examine the scene, “Five, actually, but you don’t need to worry about that. We’re AAC. I’m pulling rank. This has become a threat to the Council.” One of Meg’s comrades held up an official-looking badge, with Asulon Alliance Council stamped on it.

The officer scrutinized the badge longer than necessary, scratching his retired-policeman stubble, before submitting to the higher authority. He couldn’t imagine what Russo was involved in that would bring the Council’s spooks down here, but he was too experienced to worry about a pissing contest with the stone-faced types the Council sent, “What can I do for you and your colleagues, ma’am?”

“What do we got?” Meg nodded towards the hostages and their captives.

The officer indicated the leader of the group, “Captain Russo Vive is our man, and he’s a member of-”

“Of an underground military organization that has been rallying support against the global ban of international military negotiations.” Meg concluded, taking a bulletproof vest from one of her comrades and strapping it on.

“Right. Most of the hostages were taken randomly, except the man Vive has. That’s-”

“Judge Morgin Corso, the High Court official who sentenced Captain Vive’s leader, one Colonel Mondez, to a life sentence for war crimes.” Meg checked the safety on her sidearm.

The officer bristled, shifting in his jacket and looking quite exasperated, “Well if you know everything that’s going on here, what would you like me to tell you?”

Meg finally gave the man her attention, fixing him with her emerald gaze, “I need to know why you haven’t killed Vive and gotten Corso back yet.”

The officer abandoned any pretense of patience, throwing his arms up at this last comment, “This is a hostage negotiation! Vive has a hair-trigger on Corso, and those are six innocent citizens his men have taken. These aren’t nameless thugs looking for lunch money, these guys are former soldiers. Not everyone has been able to cope well with the global Unification. Taking foreign disputes out of the hands of common politics and military conflicts made a lot of good soldiers obsolete.”

Meg paid the officer little attention, turning towards one of the policemen who was communicating on a radio, “Tell your snipers to pick a target, any of them except Vive. When they lift their guns from the hostages, tell them to open fire. I’m going to talk to the Captain.”

The officer and the chief looked incredulously at each other, ending with a shrug. Meanwhile Meg had made her way past the police blockade, walking up towards the group of armed men. Russo lifted the judge to his feet, standing carefully behind the other man, gun positioned at the back of his head. He was making himself a small target, using the judge as a shield, “Stop right there, missy, or the judge gets it.”

Meg sighed. How cliché.

“We’ve already spoken to your negotiators. Our terms are simple. Release the Colonel who was wrongfully imprisoned, and we’ll release the judge. Live and let live. If the order isn’t sent within the next two hours, we’ll start killing one hostage every hour until we get to Corso. Then we’ll kill him, too.” Russo’s men were all on high-alert, their own weapons ready to end innocent lives in the space of a heartbeat.

“Then what?” Meg cocked an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. She was examining the other men, taking note of every possibly relevant detail.

Russo looked confused, “What do you mean, ‘Then what?’”

“After you kill Corso, when we don’t release the Colonel. Then what are you going to do?” Meg looked behind her, up at a tall building with lots of tall windows, then back at Russo. She took a step to the left, “It seems to me that after you kill Corso, you’ve got nothing left to barter with. Right?”

Russo leaned just enough to the side to look at Meg past the judge, “You’re not a very good negotiator, you know that?”

Meg smiled for the first time since arriving. She lifted one hand, and in response there were a series of threatening metallic clicks, as gun barrels were pressed painfully into the backs of heads. She fixed Russo with a level gaze, “We don’t negotiate.” Her hand dropped.

There was a quiet thwump as something hit Corso, who swayed on the spot for a moment before looking down at his chest. At the spot above his heart, a red stain was spreading across his shirt, and the judge seemed to lose all strength in his body. He slumped forward, nearly pulling Russo down with him as he fell to the ground.

Russo looked down at the judge, then up at Meg in wide-eyed shock. The other men looked equally stunned, unsure of their next move. Russo was about to yell at Meg when the woman’s hand rose back up, only now she was holding a gun. The first shot caught Russo in the chest; a second one knocked him back with a choked cry of shock, pain, and anger, his dying rattle ordering his men to kill the woman.

They all obeyed, and as soon as the guns were lifted from the hostage’s heads, half a dozen snipers shot simultaneously, and each of them fell to the ground. The hostages screamed, some bolting for safety while others remained rooted in place, fearing for their own life. However, after a few seconds passed they all saw that the danger had been removed. The men were dead, and Meg was standing alone in the town square, walking up to the fallen judge. She called for a stretcher as she kneeled to roll him over, but instead of medical assistance, a shadow eclipsed her as the retired officer towered over her, gun drawn and leveled at her, “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you are under arrest for the murder of Judge Corso.”

Meg rolled her eyes, plucking something from Corso’s chest before turning back to the officer. She held up a small hypodermic needle, her fingers covered in what was very convincing fake blood. She turned her attention back to the judge, who was slowly coming to. He blinked, and then his eyes shot open in shock and surprise, accompanied by some screaming that betrayed his calm demeanor from before. As far as he knew, he had just been shot, even though he felt remarkably whole.

Meg gently slapped the man’s face, “Calm down, Your Honor. You’re unharmed. It was a light sedative, a muscle relaxant to make it look convincing.”

Corso felt at his chest, checking for holes, before letting out a sigh of relief and falling back on the pavement. He looked up, brow perspiring with nervous sweat, but his eyes relieved, “I was prepared to die, but I’m awfully glad I didn’t. How can I thank you?”

Meg smirked, “Just keep the Colonel and his men behind bars, Your Honor, and we’ll do the rest.” She rose, tossing the needle to the senior police officer, before shouldering past him and heading back to regroup with her squad.

The older man looked at the small projectile in his palm, turning back at the woman as it all dawned on him, “It was a sedative. Who are you guys?”

Meg turned back to the officer with a wry grin, “We’re whoever you think we are.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It may have been the most defining moment of my life.
I’m eleven, bleeding out on the living room rug, and I can’t even feel the belt anymore, although I remember thinking that it shouldn’t sound like that as it repeatedly came down on my back. It shouldn’t sound like it’s striking water.

The best stops, and in the distance, miles away, they’re yelling. I close my eyes. The voices take on an ethereal, echoing nature. My body feels light, as though I’m slowly leaving gravity behind.

And then, something hits me, as though lightning has gone off in my mind. NO.
Everything hurts, even the ends of my toes, but I open my eyes, and I clench my right fist. The blood has begun to try, and it stings a bit as I push myself up from the ground, even as my muscles scream in resistance. I can’t see either one of them, although I hear my mother gasp. I wipe blood away from my forehead and look to my flabbergasted father and ask him if that’s the best he can do.

Twenty-one years later, I’m home, settling in for the night’s work when I receive an email from my first client (my first client ever) who tells me that interest in the book I wrote for her has turned into a commitment–and we need to talk. She offers her profound thanks for all of my hard work.

I can’t even begin to describe the emotions that raced through me. I finally fell to my knees in utter euphoria, screaming, crying, sobbing, and eternally grateful. I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.

In a few months, I’ll start collecting royalty checks for work I did sheerly for fun. What really blows me away is that this is my first book.

I maintain an attitude that you can do absolutely anything, regardless of opposition, if you put your mind to it. You can overcome anything simply because you want it more than the person/thing that’s trying to stop you. Tonight, it was proven that my attitude is not bullshit; you really can achieve anything you want if you’re willing to work for it.

I overcame my childhood, homelessness, at least fifty or sixty fights, and my own anger to get to this point. I have a relationship with my children, my parents and I get along (my father and I talk regularly), and dammit, I’m good at my job. In a few months, God willing, I’ll be able to add “published novelist” to my list of accomplishments.

You want something, don’t bitch, moan, or make excuses; figure out what it is you need to do, and then do it. It really is that simple.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for helping me get here.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’ve been sitting at both computers for about two hours now, and suddenly I find myself overwhelmed at how much more work I have ahead of me.

So, in the interest of putting forth the best effort I can, I’m pushing the return of the story back to August 16, 2009.

That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do, though.

Part of the timeline is available for reading, as well as the first piece of character art (everyone’s favorite).

I promise to have the story up and running by the sixteenth. I would rather take the time to put out a great effort rather than rush and put out something half-assed. Thank you for bearing with me.

Also, if there are any users from Web Fiction Guide looking for a review, drop me a line. I plan to start doing them weekly.

Want the sneak peek? Head to http://universalwarrioronline.com and enjoy!

Avery K. Tingle
Author

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I don’t have traditional fears, and if I do, I try to move past them. We’re all on this planet together, and it’s not the fear that can kill you; fear is a warning to stay away of something. It’s the action the fear is warning you of that can take you out. Once you learn this, you’re okay. I’m no longer all that afraid of snakes. I just don’t provoke them.

What really scares me are things most people don’t get. I’m afraid of getting close to people. I don’t think there’s anything worse than loving someone only to have them taken away from you. Going through that again scares the hell out of me. So I stay away from most people, and it’s cost me a few good relationships, platonic and otherwise. I’m trying to move past this.

What terrifies me is the next life; ending up in Hell. I don’t think this will happen to me, but a fear of eternal damnation governs a lot of how I live my life now. Some people say their first impression of me is nonchalance, others say that it’s like I know something no one else knows.

I know God is out there. It’s not that I believe, I know, with every fiber of my being, that God exists. I know it just as I know that I have five fingers.  God’s existence to me is as real as anything else in my life. And because I know this, I know that I’ll have to stand before Him and answer for every last thing I do. If I am unrepentant, then I’m done.

Once you go to hell, there’s no redemption, no second chance, no way out. You burn, forever and ever, and that’s it. Yeah, that’s enough to scare the hell out of me, no pun intended. The only certainty we have in this life is that it will end. Knowing that I’ll die one day doesn’t scare me, because I’ve accepted it. What happens after that frightens me.

About six years ago, a friend and I are barreling through Saginaw, Michigan en route to Bad Axe, so I can make up with my girlfriend at the time. We’re doing ninety in a Lincoln Mark IV as the snow comes down all around us. When a black SUV slowly pulls out in front of us, Ralph steers the wheel violently to the right as we run over a patch of black ice. The car spins, I have no seat belt on, and the very last thing I see is a telephone pole coming right at me.

As God is my witness, I’m telling you that I was not afraid. This unbelievable sense of calm and peace came over me, as though I was wrapping myself in a blanket. It was if He saw me and said “It’s okay.”
We miss the pole, go into a ditch, and the car flips. I end up in the backseat—and alive.

That was when I stopped being afraid to die.

If I seem nonchalant, it’s because I know that in the end, everything turns out okay.

It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe in God, and this is why I don’t try to force anyone to; He believes in you, and He works in your life even if you don’t acknowledge his presence. His working in your life is His way of trying to get your attention.

So many people claim that God doesn’t exist based on the horrors we see every day (and quite frankly, I don’t blame them). What these people don’t get is that we are responsible for our own actions. If God stepped in and took control of our problems, He would become a tyrant. His solving of our problems not only robs us of the opportunity to learn from our mistakes, but removes our free will.

When God sees the horrors we wreak upon ourselves, He cries. But it’s our lives to make, or destroy, as we see fit.

I have been to every low one person can possibly encounter, and what really hurts is when I see people go through similar situations, so consumed with their own anger, and I just want to reach out and say here, look what I found!

But I can’t do that. No one can be dragged to God. You have to find Him on your own, in your own way.

If I am nonchalant, it’s because I know this world will end, and the devil will have his time, and then God will come and make things right.

I believe that I am living my life in accordance with what He wants for me, and because of that, I can smile every day.

But that’s just me.

God bless, and thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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