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More emails, from Russia.
Did I ever tell you I hate checking my emails? Especially the fan mails I get.
OH GOD, THE FAN MAILS.
I don't know about you, but I don't see why so many people have to start "fan-gasm"-ing over something they really like. So I wrote a good story, and the characters were semi-realistic instead of all-out Mary Sues. Big. Fucking. Deal.
So I actually provided a stable mental image of Samuel Carter or Grey Samuelson. Whoop-dee-doo.
Why am I getting so much god damn fan mail?
Because they want more.
I've compiled a small list of the fan mails, whether useful or not, so you can see the horrors I have to put up with.
I totally, totally, TOTALLY love you work!
Some Hot Chick from Florida"
Wow. I didn't know I had fans in Florida.
"What happened in that one chapter of that one story where the one guy shot the other guy over the table? Or maybe it was a chair?"
Well, you know, if you could clarify which story you're referring to better, I MIGHT be able to answer the question!
"yo yo, b-dog jay-z"
Forget it, Tupac. I don't answer emails from anybody who acts like a gangbanger or a rapper.
"You made a mistake in chapter twelve of Battle Vendetta. I'm pretty sure it's impossible to jump down from a ten-foot-tall building and not hurt yourself."
Then obviously you don't know the many trained soldiers in real life who have to do that sometimes.
"Could you PLEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSE EEEEEEEEEE make another Grey Samuelson story?! I really like them!!!!1!!111!!!!"
God damn, that's the longest "please" I've ever seen! I might need to take your question into consideration...
"Grey is soooo hot! I totally want him under my sheets!"
Oh, oh god, ohgodwhy,whydidIhavetoreadthisemail-! *Hurls in the corner*
"Seriously, Grey seems like he'd have a nice big one! If you see him, tell him a sexy babe's looking for fun!"
*Crying while hurling* Somebody! Somebody! Please, get me a bucket! I can't hold it much longer- *Massive hurl* ...Aw, now the carpet's all sticky...
...Oh god... Not again... *Hurls* ...Hey, I didn't even eat carrots! *Hurls*
"You and I could make masterpieces together. How'd you like to consider writing a book with me?
-Jack *Last name deleted for privacy*"
Sorry, Jack, but I work alone. *God DAMN, that sounds like a James Bond saying.*
"Hey there, cutie. How'd you like some-"
Hell no. I already have a girlfriend, and she would KICK MY ASS.
"Are you getting laughed at by girls?"
No, and I sure as fuck don't want your pills.
"Hey what was that one part about in Red Morning where Jason's all like, shooting that one dude in the face while laughing like a maniac, and Bartz was all like, "You're fucked up, man!"
Oh, that? Well, Matroya's a bit of a bullet-junkie. Bartz is too laid back to give a damn anymore. Ever since boot camp, Matroya's had a nervous tick around whips and guns, but not so much guns as whips, because one of the training stages in the boot camp was nailing you to a wall and whipping you the better part of at least one hundred times, or until you cried mercy.
"Hey, are you that one guy with that one book?"
Nah, you're thinking of that other guy with that other book.
"Yo, J-Z, how it do?"
Z, if you emailed me for the express purpose of pissing me off because you KNOW I hate gangbangers, then you have done your job quite well.
"OMGomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg, I TOTALLY LOVE YOOOOOOOOOOU!!!!!"
Shoot me. Now.
"I totally want to see more of your work!"
Good to know, because I intend to continue my author career for until such time I see fit to actually get a job.
"Got a few things I want you to check out, Jason, I think they might make good stories:
1. A teenager who wakes up in the midst of a battle-torn city and is forced to fight his way out, killing soldiers from both sides and stealing weapons along the way
2. A young girl who has seen the horrors of combat and tries to put an end to it the only way she knows how... by killing everything"
Number one sounds like Sylose, a story I wrote about a kid who wakes up in a battle-torn city that has fallen under the siege of nuclear warfare and has to fight his way off the dead planet he once called home. And number 2 sounds like something I did while playing F.E.A.R.
"How many fan mails do you get a day?"
Too many, but still not enough to impress the really popular authors, thankfully.
"Can you make guns?"
Only in my wildest dreams.
"You totally rock! Your name should be in video games!"
As what? "Jason Haley, the Psycho Killer of Amistad Street"? Sorry, but my name has cropped up in one too many Friday The 13th movies. Remember? Jason, the hockey mask dude with the machete?
And let's not forget Freddy Vs. Jason.
"Darling, shall we dance?"
Marina! I told you not to email me when I'm answering fan mails! (But yeah, let's delay that dance for later.)
"How do you handle answering fan mails so much? I would've gone insane!"
Same as how people handle sending me fan mails, knowing my asshole-ish reply that is soon to come.
So there you go. This is only a small fraction of what I am forced to endure during my day when I actually check the four dark corners of my inbox. I hope you're happy. Cause I'm not.
Ugh... I feel another hurl coming on from that one fan mail, I'ma end this here... see ya- DAMN IT!
(That's the only time I'll ever do that.)
So, I get a lot of these emails asking how the snow is in Russia. EVERY SINGLE TIME I go to Russia.
Look, it's not ALWAYS frozen solid over here.
Did you know Russia actually does have a few beaches?
I'm heading over to one today with my brother(LITERALLY, from another mother), Arkadi. He said, and I'll translate from his Czechan language: "There's a few girls I think you'd be interested in." Yeah, I haven't told him about my girlfriend. He's never interested in that bull-honky. (That's how he puts it.)
Oh, you're wondering why I speak normal Russian while my brother speaks Czechan?
It's because my dad was one crazy asshole. He got freaky with, not one, but TWO girls. One of them gave birth to me, my little brother, Aleksandr, and my two younger sisters, Arina and Dominika. the other gave birth to Arkadi, my older sister, Anastasiya, and my younger brother, Evgeniy. (Yes, those are all Russian names, mine was Nikolai before I changed it to Jason.)
See, my mother was Russian, born in Mirny(where I am now), and raised in Moscow(where I was born). Arkadi's mother is Czechoslovakian. I say my mother and father WERE Russian because they're both dead. So's my little brother, Aleksandr, and my two younger sisters, Arina and Dominika. I was the only survivor of a massive eight-car collision that took their lives. My left shoulder is still slightly out of whack because of me slamming head first into the back of the driver's seat.
So, while I'm technically not an orphan, seeings as I still have relatives from my father's side of the family, since I was born in the Russian side of the family and not, say, the Chinese side, where my Aunt Jun Liang was born, I actually AM an orphan. Now, had I been of Italian descent or Japanese descent, maybe that would be a different story, but since I'm not, that's what it is.
(Oh yeah, my family's at one point or another been born throughout the majority of the world. Because of this, I have an extensive knowledge of language comprehension. It's kinda handy when training bi-lingual recruits in the Marines. Not that I do that anymore, I used to.)
So, anyhow, back to the beach.
I'll be heading out in about... oh, give or take three minutes. But since I've got a cold, I don't want to risk swimming at the moment. I'm starting to get over it, and I don't want it getting worse.
So, for now, this is Jason Haley (alias Nikolai Petrovich) saying, Dosvedanya, Sayonara, Nos Vemos, and for the hell of it, À bientôt.
Now here's a random-ass picture of a bunch of ninjas. For no reason whatsoever.
And be sure to check out Five Real-Life Soldiers Who Make Rambo Look Like A Pussy.
Well, I'm here in Russia. Specifically, I'm not exactly close to Moscow, but I am staying in another city that starts with "M".
I got a bit beat up when I got here by some Russian hoodlums. They told me I looked like I needed it. I probably did. So I'm sitting here with a black eye and a bloody lip. That's about all they did to me. Oh yeah, and my stomach hurts a bit. Thank god that my dad was a Spetznas soldier and gave me exclusive training to not feel it as much, though. I still feel it, but it doesn't hurt me as bad. That's the beauty of a Spetznas.
Anyhow, I decided to check in on my inbox to see if anybody knows I'm here. My idiots friends all sent me emails asking how my trip to Jamaica was, to which I answered I'd already left, and I exclusively insulted each of them.
Then I got this email, coming from my apartment in Mirny, Russia, home of the world's largest diamond mine:
Why do you enjoy violent games like Halo, Left 4 Dead, or Grand Theft Auto? I mean, I certainly don't mind them now and then, but I'm afraid it'll induce feelings of murderous intent."
If you even have to ASK why I like violent games, your an idiot.
For one thing, it's one of the only ways anybody can get the thrill of holding a weapon and beating the opponent shitless. How many times in a normal day do you get to do this kind of thing? If you like fighting, maybe ten times or something thereabouts, but even hardcore fighters can only take so much of a beating.
How many times can you do it without getting arrested? Only when the guy decides it'd be pointless to put you in an environment suited completely to your liking. Jail is basically just one big fucking death match arena, with the exception of the Cops coming and putting a stop to it when it happens. So, the answer to that question, ultimately, is none to one or two times.
Violent games only induce adrenaline and the striking desire to hose down anybody and everybody in your way with the most kickass weapon you can think of. Those who want to really prove their mettle go for the weakest weapon. Those who are melee junkies take a non-projectile weapon. Those who like the good stuff and don't care if they're called pansies for hiding behind a minigun take the biggest, baddest, most deadly, heaviest, and most joy-inducing weapon they can find. If at any time they feel like truly murdering somebody in real life, well, then they're probably insane. Or they're part of the mafia, the Yakuza, some other country-related gang, or maybe they just want some blood to spill(gangbangers).
And to be fair, Halo isn't really as hardcore an action game as people think. You're in a suit of armor, it gives you a regenerating shield, and your weapons don't even shed that much blood when fired. They look like they came out of that old Starship Troopers movie. And Grand Theft Auto is a game completely obsessed with jacking a car, driving it around, beating a few people up, shooting a few people, maybe a bird, and it's generally just everyday crime spree. Left 4 Dead is respectable, but the chances of a zombie apocalypse are nil, and it's very likely that if you are one of four people to survive the mess, you won't last very long. Certainly not long enough to find a weapon to defend yourself with, if that's what you mean. Unless you LIKE cold-cocking a highly-contaminated and possibly deadly zombie filled to the core with a contagious disease that could easily turn you into one of him.
No, games that I find hardcore would be any game from the Mortal Kombat series, excluding MK vs. DC, which wasn't even that fun. Mortal Kombat allows you to tear the spine out of your opponent one vertebrae at a time, or you can split their heads and remove their skulls, or you could even roast them to a fine crisp. In MK vs. DC, you can shove their heads into the ground. That's about it. Maybe break their spine from the waist up, or impale them with poker cards, but nothing spectacular.
More on the list of badass hardcore violence games would be:
Dark Sector. You get infected, and then you're sent around Quarantined Moscow, Russia, spliting hazard-suited soldiers in half at the waist, cutting off arms, legs, and heads, fighting zombified-Russian citizens who enjoy chowing down on their haz-mat buddies, and you eventually encounter a boss made up entirely of tentacles and slimy shit. Then you kill him by stabbing him through the brain with an electrocuted throwing star that looks like it was made by the Grim Reaper. Need more proof than that? Here it is: Your ex girlfriend or whatever gouges out your partner's eyes while you watch from the safety of a security camera room. Then you kill your boss at the end of the game with a serum that was SUPPOSED to help suppress the infection that you got, followed up by cock-blocking your former comrades of the U.S. military. Oh yeah, and you get to drive a spider tank thing while getting shot to shit by hundreds of Russian soldiers.
And then, there's the Call of Duty series. Set mainly in World War 2, you are a common soldier tasked with infiltrating and disposing of the enemy Fritz while staying alive. You have to deal with machine gunners, grenade chucking assholes, melee freaks, tanks, planes, snipers, company gunners, mobs, commanders, and so on, and you only have about two hundred bullets, three grenades, and a stolen German Gewher 43 rifle, if you even picked one up off the dead, decapitated corpse filled with lead. The variety of weapons ranges from a simple pistol to a fuck-off machine gun turret to a head-splitting sniper rifle to a tank-destroying rocket launcher to a mob-killing, room clearing, enemy liquefying fragmentation grenade. All the while, you're running through minefields, barbed wire, mud, the blood of your comrades, fallen soldiers and rotting animal corpses... Yeah. It's pretty hardcore.
And let's not be so quick to discard the Rainbow Six guys. Tom Clancy really outdid himself, and you find yourself in the armored combat boots of a special anti-terrorist unit equipped with the finest weaponry and armor, backed completely by the highest powers within the government, funded straight from the treasury itself(probably), and sent into hostile situations to be handled alone with only backup from the highest of military authorities and intelligence. You're an elite above elites, and your mission: KILL. ALL. TERRORISTS. There's gun fire out your ass, grenades flying, windows shattering, people screaming, orders being shouted over gun fire, hordes of terrorists rushing at you with red in their eyes, hostages crying out to be saved, and you and your small team of special ops. soldiers are supposed to bring a peaceful medium to all of it. You can dress up as an everyday street hoodlum with simple weapons, or you can bust in completely armored from the head down in the strongest gear available with the strongest guns available and the best explosives available. Need more proof? Sorry, I can't find any reason why it WOULDN'T be awesome.
And finally, to complete my rather short list of badass games I enjoy... How about some computer games? The Thing-Thing series has my vote. You get a myriad of weapons used to turn enemies into giblets, split heads into pieces, expose the inner workings of the human body by way of mutilation, and after a while, you'll notice that there's so much blood on the walls that they've turned COMPLETELY FUCKING BLACK. If you stay alive long enough to actually matter to anybody, you can rack up the body count from five to one hundred to a thousand to maybe a million. That is, if you live long enough.
So, there's your answer, and some clarification as to which games I consider hardcore. To anybody who doesn't agree: Fine, believe what you want, but if you say I should like your games because they're better than mine, YOU CAN GO SUCK ON A SHOTTY. I hope it discharges into your fat head. Ain't NEVER gonna' convert ME.
Well, there you have it. My first email answered with a suitable response, coming from Mirny, Russia. Until next time, see ya!
I just got on my plane from Jamaica back to the United States, and from there I'm going to be heading out to Russia for a visit with my relatives.
My god, the jetlag is going to kick my ASS when I get back.
Of course, while I'm in Russia, I'll be fine. I never really adjusted to the American time zone, and I usually end up falling asleep at three in the afternoon and waking up at five in the morning the next day.
Working on a new story too, and while it's called INTERFERENCE, I've titled it "mehz" in my word documents. I'm not creative when it comes to names, did you notice?
Anyhow, INTERFERENCE takes place around a guy named Sam Carter. He's a hitman. He used to be an Elite member of the Special Ops., but then he was discharged and took up the job of a part-time construction worker by day. However, by night, or when nobody notices, he grabs his two best friends, Beretta 9 mm and Desert Eagle .50 cal, a whole lot of ammo, and a Tavor assault rifle, and sets off to rid the world as we know it of corrupted swine within the system.
All this with Matrix-esque slow motion and combat.
I employ Gun Kata very much in this story. Gun Kata treats the gun as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents, while keeping the defender clear of the statistically-traditional trajectories of return fire.
In other words, ninjas with pistols not only kick your ass, but fill it with lead too. And to quote one of my more popular resident badass characters I've ever created, Jason Matroya:
"There ain't nothing more refreshing than the sound of lead being shot out of a barrel."
Another similar quote goes like this:
"That's what I love about this war: the thrill of getting shot, and then returning the favor ten times more until the barrels on your guns melt off."
As you might have guessed, Matroya's a trigger happy bullet fanatic who joined the military for the sole purpose to kick/beat/smash/shoot/crack/blast/frag /cremate the living shit out of whoever wanted to try their luck with him.
So, just to give you a clue as to what happens during INTERFERENCE, here's a small sample, courtesy of the author, Jason Haley:
"Comerade Miron!" Nikolai cried.
Sergeant Miron Konstantin, twenty-four years of age, company gunner, had been shot ten times in the chest by the damaged barrel of a dying Nazi's MP-44 sub-machine gun. Time seemed to have slowed; but he wasn't in pain. No, the pain wasn't there. He was trained to not feel pain.
But he was also trained to live.
Curse his luck!
"Get a medic over here, now!" Senior Lieutenant Nikolai Petrovich, company sniper, shouted as the clouds from the gunfight finally began to die down. Company medic, Master Sergeant Yuri Yakobi, rushed over with his frost-covered medical kit. It was a dark night in Moscow, both for the residents of the Motherland's greatest city, which layed in ruins, and for the 47th Infantry Division. This mission was supposed to be simple; They were to meet up with the 56th Armor Division to deliver the necessary equipment for repairs on some of their tanks. They never saw the all-too-sudden ambush that came from all directions. First to go down was Alexei, shot in the back of the head by a sniper. Then went Mikhail, sprayed by automatic gunfire in the side. Then Pavlov, company heavy gunner. The battle lasted for an hour, sixty minutes of bullets chipping stone and nearly scalping heads. Sixty minutes of grenade explosions. Sixty long and grueling minutes of shouting, stabbing, and even smashing skulls with the butts of SVT-40 rifles.
When it all came to a close, Miron heard the faint sounds of a cowardly Fascist and turned just in time to be met with one last spray of gunfire before he was silenced by Colonel Sergei Agostov, smoking pistol in hand.
That was an excerpt from the prologue of the story, back in the 1940s, when Hitler was off being a one-nut fag to the rest of the world, knowing his ass was going to be cheese if he lost. And he lost. And the victorious had Nazi burgers the following days. (Okay, well, that's how it went in MY head. What really happened was Hitler said "Oh fuck!" and commit suicide when the Allied Forces invaded Germany, and then the Nazis surrendered.)
This, by the way, is the only part of the story where I even TRY to make a reference to World War 2. I normally don't bother with that subject because, for some reason, every other author can get away with writing about it, but the second I bring it up, all HELL breaks loose. And frankly, I got sick of all the hate comments saying that what I write is offensive.
DID YOU NOT SEE THE TAG THAT SAID "WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT AND IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART, CHILDREN, ANYBODY EASILY OFFENDED, OR ANYBODY WHO DOESN'T LIKE VIOLENCE?!" IT WAS THE BIGGEST NOTICE IN THE WHOLE DAMN STORY!
Okay, I'm done now.
I leave you with this random picture of a gun fight. Enjoy.
Oh yeah, and before I forget: This is a Tavor, in case you were wondering.
What was with that picture in your last entry? Dark Sector sucks! It's way too hard, and it's creepy as hell!"
This guy got scared over DARK. FREAKING. SECTOR.
To anybody who doesn't know, Dark Sector is about an American spy(or soldier)who infiltrates Russia during a time of Quarantine, and gets infected by the person he's supposed to track down: A man named Meznar. Meznar apparently went insane due to the Infection, and he, along with his infected partner, Nemesis, plans to take over the world or something. The main character, Hayden Tenno, now with his infected arm, is forced to undertake a mission to both escape Russia and kill Meznar. Along the way, he has about three run-ins with his Russian contact, whose name escapes me, and a former friend or girlfriend or whatever, whose name also escapes me. He also gets weapons from a Black Market merchant who runs his business from the sewers of Moscow.
Hayden is also met with several powers taken from the Infection spreading through his body, via his arm. From Elemental Trapping to Invisibility. Oh yeah, and he has a kick-ass Glaive too. In case you haven't played the game, a Glaive is like a throwing star with only three blades, and they're all scythe-blades. For better reference, I'll post a picture of a glaive below.
And while I would post something else, I feel no need to.
Oh, and check out this site, particularly this column by Chris Bucholz. If you happen to see any of my comments, please don't let me know. I already know what they say, I wrote them.
(See? This is a GLAIVE.)
"Yo, Jason, why is it you never make any videos? You'd probably be awesome at it, and I can imagine you'd be really popular!"
I have made videos. I just keep them to myself because I feel no need to let the public know that, *Gasp* OMG, I MADE A MOVIE!
Internet fame, in my opinion, is unnecessary and pointless. And if I wanted it, I would have gone out of my way to be more of an asshole than I already am to a lot of people.
I'm not even going to bother with answering this email. I ought to put a special tag that deletes any emails that appear to be from wiggers... or, if you want my term, "gangbanger shits".
You're hot, call me
*Phone number deleted to protect identity*
*Name deleted to protect identity*"
Dear *name deleted to protect identity*,
Thanks. Already have a girlfriend.
"You're a faggy-ass piece of shit, you think you can insult me to my face, bitch?"
Uh, yeah, I can. Fairly simple thing, just look you in the eye and insult you. Doesn't seem too difficult to me...
"You've got some real balls, being able to just blow off every threat and insult. How do you do it? Do you really have no life or respect for others?"
Nah, I just don't feel like getting mad over something you typically hear in everyday life. Unless, you know, you live in a world where the darker side of life doesn't exist. Which I don't.
Why Does Everybody Think Your So Great?"
Why must you capitalize every word you write? It's unnecessary(unless you're titling a story), and really annoying.
And, to answer the question, a lot of people actually don't like me because somehow or another I hit a hard note that they can't deny is absolutely true, and they hate that I was able to get through the way I did(by being myself).
Emails from Jamaica always confuse me. Thank god I'll be returning home soon...
...So that I can immediately pack for when I go visit my family in Russia...
Yep. This is my travel week.
Why couldn't it end sooner?
(Hey. At least I remembered to bring some games to amuse myself this time.)
(Don't expect me back until my trip to Hirojima ends, which may take a while, depending on how distracted I get.)
(Enjoy this random picture of one of my personal favorite games.)
(Also? I looked this up so you guys would shut up with those Gundam 08th MS questions. I don't even like that show.)
huh-boy, gotta' leave for Jamaica soon.
I hate plane trips.
Somebody kill me now...
Well, in any event, while I'm in Jamaica, I might try and put something up. Granted, it probably won't let me, because the majority of my artwork is Literature works, but whatever. Gotta' try sometime, right?
See you guys in Jamaica.
My deviantART page, if you want to see it: Jason's Page