izigame.me

Marko had spent last night scoping the place out. He clutched his pistol tightly with a pair of sweaty plams. This was it. Slowly, he edged towards the door and out of the rain, opening it with a gentle sigh from the hinges. It was dingy inside; the gloom was heavy. Taking slow steps forwards he made his way to the next door.
Knelling down and looking through the grimy keyhole, he saw no one. Good, he thought to himself. Nudging the door open with his pistol, the hooded survivor krept down the hall. Footsteps! Quickly hiding in the gloom of an alcove, he held his breath tightly as a young woman walked past.
Some part of him was screaming in anguish over the moral dilema. It's not right, the voice spoke to him. His conscience needed to be suffed, and he ignored it as the door closed. The woman was inside the kitchen. He just needed to wait, and-
"Emil!" she screamed suddenly. Marko bit his lip as she locked eyes with him, only to run upstairs. Grasping the weapon as his breathing became hard, the young man ran through the open kitchen door, slid down the ladder, and burst into the basement. Turning and looking for a place to hide, he wanted to cry. There was nowhere.
"Not here," came a strong masculine voice from above. Markos slowly turned to face the door, his eyes shaking in their sockets. Some bloke in a blue shirt ran into the room, holding a knife high. "Bandit!" Marko was up against the wall. He couldn't hold the pistol properly because his hands were shaking so hard.
Two shots burst through the gloom. One hit the man square in the chest, the other in his knee. Although wounded he charged, stabbing Marko twice as they grappled for freedom. Life and death. Markos raised his pistol to fire and...
...He missed.

He died before he could realize the folly, falling limp with a soft plod as the knife sunk into his neck. Marko had been a hero, always willing to brave danger to feed his fellow survivors, always volunteering to scavange, and never letting anyone go hungry. He'd been a hero.
Pavle realized his best friend was dead the moment he didn't come back. He was distraught. Waiting by the door all day, sitting on the floor and listening for hours. The young sports star had only eaten once, and his face was grim.
"I'm sure he's just la-" began Bruce.
Pavle sucked his breath in sharply, cutting Bruce off. "No," he said slowly. "Marko is never late. Ever since this started he was always back on time." Taking a knife from the floor besides him, Pavle looked Bruce in the eye. They knew it had to be done.
It was raining again. The journey to the house had been uneventful, and Pavle knew roughly what was up, thanks to Marko's work two nights before. Slowly but surely he crept into the dark building, illuminated only by the blinking lights and fire. Creeping into the kitchen the football player could see food. He was glad. Sliding down the ladder and turning around, however, his mood plumeted.
There lay Marko; his corpse pale in the darkness. Blood was all across the floor and up the back wall, with the body slumped slightly against it. His face was frozen in time, eyes wide in fear. Pavle was... calm. He knew what he need to do now.
Going back up the ladder and shunting the kitchen door open, with no regard for stealth, he charged up the stairs. Up and up he went, his breathing becoming savage as he reached the very top floor. Pavle heard groaning and the moving of objects, but he didn't care, bursting through the door he stared a bandaged and bloody man in the eyes.
"No... you can't!" cried a female voice behind him. Running forwards with his knife in hand, Pavle screamed as tears streamed down his angry face. The blade sunk deep into the wounded man, killing him instantly. Turning to face the woman, and watching her run out of the room, Pavle ran after her.
She was too slow, and his blade was very sharp. Her body fell limp about as fast as he used to score a goal. Checking both their bodies with no respect, the sports star cursed. They had nothing on them.
When he got back to the safehouse, Pavle was covered in blood. Alica asked him what happened, but Bruce merely handed him a drink. Placing the knife off to one side, Pavle just sat down, and wept. They had killed his best friend... and he had killed them.
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EDIT: Complaints and whatnot, decided to do a little proper review down here.
This War of Mine is powerful because of how it handles itself. There's an overtone of helplessness and regret, characters lamenting over their uselessness. Often when someone dies, they'll hope the next one isn't them.
Marko is dead.
Those three words gave off more emotion than every other war game I've played. I didn't need to twoniner my foxtrot, I wasn't "getting my ass" down to 'bravo point', there wasn't some black hawk down, and my 'LZ' wasn't 'too hot'. I didn't even have to press to pay respects.
Marko is dead. I just saw these three words as my screen faded to black. Then I was back at camp, and the others knew something was up.
I can't really express how profound that was. Perhaps because of how subtle the game was, the moment it outright told me someone was dead, then moved on... maybe that's why it was so powerful.
This War of Mine allows you to build characters up. It's literally an open book and it'll allow you to draw as many conclusions as you want. Because of that, I feel, it was made much more personal. Let me explain: I'm a writer, see? I write characters, get attatched to them, and sometimes watch them die. I'm constantly close to my own creations.
I feel like this game lets everyone else do that, too. If you want to make your own characters with it, that's totally fine, and it will let you. If not? That's still fine, because the game tells you enough on its own to invest you regardless.
I'm kind of rambling here, so I'll end this edit thus: This was not the game I wanted, this was the game I needed.
Also the DLC is garbage sadly. Hopefully their new game is better.