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We present to your attention a computer novel based on the game "NIGHT RUN" ("CEASE FIRE-2"), released by the company DIVIDE BY ZERO in 1991, following the first part of this gaming duology.
In the first part of the game, fearless agent John Ladd rescues a security service employee who was kidnapped by some villains. The scoundrels tried to hide information about so-called "double" agents who worked in British intelligence along with the girl. Among the traitors was General Thomas himself, who sent John Ladd on the mission...
This game is a typical representative of the arcade adventure genre, and we hope that fans of programs like "VENDETTA" will enjoy trying themselves in the role of a secret service agent.
The controls in the game are entirely based on pictograms, and we think you will find it easy to understand them.
(c) Anatoly Khorobrykh
RUNNING IN THE NIGHT
(based on the game "NIGHT RUN")
The roar of the helicopter blades drowned out the pilot's voice, who was trying to shout over the noise of the engine. A silver dragonfly hovered just a meter above the concrete of the landing pad.
- What? - John, shielding himself from the blast of air, approached the helicopter's cabin.
- You have only two and a half hours! You must make it... Good luck! - the pilot raised his thumb and smiled encouragingly.
The blades turned into a solid shining circle, and the helicopter smoothly soared into the night sky.
"The Center has gone mad! One successful operation wasn't enough for them; now I have to deal with General Thomas himself." Agent John Ladd's thoughts were far from cheerful. His colleague - a girl from the British Secret Service, who managed to obtain not only the list of the firm's double agents but also got caught by terrorists, stood by the helicopter pad's fence.
"My God! Who would have thought that this girl could get to the slyest fox among the 'turncoats.' General Thomas! A man who dedicated many years to the country's security turned out to be a traitor! Incredible!" John tried to suppress his emotions and turned to the Englishwoman:
- We're very close to my home. I think it makes sense to rest a bit and decide what to do next.
- Good idea. Let's go, - the girl headed towards the gates.
Some instinct warned John of danger before the first shot rang out.
- Duck! - he managed to shout and instantly pulled out his "Python." The flashes of gunfire shattered the darkness at the gates. "An ambush!" - rolling on the concrete, John opened fire.
Silhouettes in black jumpsuits, as dark as night, flickered behind the fence. The girl, hiding behind the gate's overhang, sent bullet after bullet along with the shots from Ladd's Python. A second, another - indistinct cries, the sound of feet, - and the enemy melted into the night.
- How are you? - John shook out the empty magazine and inserted a new one.
- I'm fine. It seems we took one down, - her voice trembled slightly from nervous tension.
"It seems so," - Ladd thought and quickly dashed across the gate. On the ground lay a darkened body. Kicking aside the UZI that had fallen from the hand of the dead man, John turned the corpse over. A terrorist! The black mask concealed the face, but Ladd already understood without this that the attackers were not just hired killers, but professionals in their field. "General Thomas has set us up for a grand reception. We need to get home quickly," - the thought flashed.
- Let's go. It seems we've been set up pretty badly.
- My name is Linda, sir. And you are right. My service had information about General Thomas's betrayal...
- What the hell?! Couldn't you warn me earlier?
- I didn't have the authority, - Linda lowered her eyes in guilt.
- Anyway, now it's clear who we need to eliminate, - John cocked the Python's action. - Let's go! Time is of the essence...
* * *
The feeling of danger did not leave Ladd during the short journey home. The city seemed to hold its breath... No cars, no people. Even the lighting was mysteriously turned off. Pressing against the walls of buildings and keeping to the shadows, Ladd and Linda silently approached the door of the apartment.
John raised his hand in warning. A beam of light fell onto the sidewalk from behind the slightly ajar door. Linda touched John's shoulder and silently held up three fingers.
Ladd nodded. "On the count of three," - taking a deep breath, he kicked the door open with a swift motion...
The man in the cap clearly did not expect the owner to appear. An automatic weapon lay next to the keyboard of the turned-on computer. And while he reached for the weapon, John shot him between the eyes without hesitation. The shot knocked the stranger back against the wall. Jerking, he fell to the floor and lay still.
- Why, sir? He could have told us a lot, - Linda kept her eyes on the pool of blood flowing from under the corpse.
- I don't think so. Apparently, this man was sent to deprive us of the most important thing - information. - John approached the computer. His fingers flew over the keyboard. - He didn't have time. Give me the list of agents. I'll request our database.
Ladd turned to Linda. The girl handed him a packet. "She clearly looks exhausted, just on the edge."
Suppressing pity, John returned to the computer. He entered the access code and, ensuring at least temporary security, requested the files on all four agents and their photographs.
T.TIRIP - a professional, has been working since 1963. A big fan of beer, often found at the "Solomon's Stable" pub...
Lines raced across the screen, but John managed to gather far from complete information about all the agents. Linda, peering over his shoulder, studied the text of the message closely.
- Very little... The only thing I can help you with, John... is to tell you about one of them. Fletcher L. Simpson - one of the former employees of my "office." I knew him personally. And I was always amazed by his unique quality: he blended perfectly into any crowd on the streets of my city. He simply belonged there...
- Sorry, Linda, but time is too precious to indulge in memories. - John stood up, opened a cupboard. "I think I'll take a grenade and a couple of bandages with me." He began to gather his things, trying not to pay attention to Linda.
- Ladd, are you really planning to search for them alone? - Linda looked at John's preparations in surprise. Not turning around, he continued tossing boxes of ammunition into his bag:
- Yes. I'm becoming too dangerous for you.
- But...
- No, that's an order. Stay here and wait for my return. John tried to speak firmly, but something trembled in his soul. "Good girl! I'll try to keep at least your life safe."
Linda silently saw Ladd to the door. As she was locking it, she leaned against the door frame and whispered:
- Good luck, John!
* * *
John did not recognize the city. Some drunken girls, clearly of ill repute, were walking towards him. A nightmare! Sodom and Gomorrah! Complete anarchy and chaos. Ladd was trying in vain to extract any useful information from the "night butterflies." Drunken smiles and obscene, coarse expressions were his only answers. Reaching the "Shopping Center" bus stop, he delved into the half-darkness of an alley. "It's too dangerous to wander alone now," - John thought and stopped. In the shadow of a house's porch stood a drunken beggar. An old, torn hat lay at his feet.
- He's not here anymore, not anymore... - the old alcoholic mumbled, futilely trying to wrap himself in rags. - Simpson is gone... Ha-ha... He's not here...
The drunkard's eyes fixed on Ladd. Blowing John's face with the stench of alcohol, the beggar chuckled and danced, begging:
- Brother, spare me some change! Can't you see how I'm suffering? Huh?
- Which Simpson are you talking about? - John was ready to pull out his Python, feeling that he would extract information from this drunken fool at any cost.
- Ha, Simpson is no longer here, no more... He's gone. But if you, my friend, could give me a little whiskey, I would tell you something. - The drunk swayed and fell onto the asphalt.
John pulled a full bottle of Scotch from his bag. Hearing the gurgling, the beggar instantly raised his head.
- Oh, you want to save me, friend!.. Praise all saints, - he was already reaching for the coveted bottle. John handed him the whiskey, trying not to touch the drunkard.
- But you will tell me where Simpson is?
- Yes, yes, just a sip of life. - The drunkard brought the bottle to his toothless mouth and took a huge gulp. In a few seconds, he emptied the entire bottle and happily threw his head back on the porch steps. His eyes closed...
- Well, you bastard, tell me where he is? - John kicked the dozing drunkard. He, without opening his eyes, only drunkenly smirked and muttered something unintelligible. Suppressing disgust, Ladd leaned closer to him, overcoming the horrible stench.
- Go straight to hell... To hell! He's underground...
The drunkard's head bobbed, his body slid to the ground, and he began to snore loudly. John hit his fist against his other hand in frustration. "This bastard didn't tell me anything specific! - he thought. - Wait! Go down to hell, underground?" Thoughts raced through his mind. In a moment, Ladd confidently strode toward the subway station.
* * *
- Do you have a pass, sir? - the controller blocked the passage with his bulk. Warm air rushed out of the subway, pushing trash and scraps of old newspapers along the deserted street.
- What the hell? What pass? - John tried to slip past the turnstile.
- I don't care about this chaos, sir. There has always been order at my station, no matter what!
The guard reached for his holster. "That's the last thing we need"... Ladd stepped back a step and looked around.
- Fine, give me a pass form.
The controller suspiciously eyed Ladd and handed him the form.
- This will cost a little, sir. Just a small fee, and you will have your photo taken for the document. - He nodded towards the urgent photo booth.
John entered it and stood in front of the black lens. Dropping coins into the machine's slot, he heard a buzzing sound, and a bright flash hit his eyes... A minute later, Ladd carefully stuck his photo onto the form and returned to the entrance of the station.
- Now everything is in order, sir! Welcome, - the guard smartly saluted and stepped aside.
"Go to hell!" - thought John as he quickly descended the escalator to the platform. The dim light made him pull out a lamp from his bag. Striking a match, Ladd lit the wick and lowered the glass. "There should be a door at the end of the platform leading to the storage rooms," - he thought and quickly walked toward the tunnel's mouth.
The door creaked open, and Ladd found himself on a staircase leading directly to the tracks. "But still no... The tunnel's lighting is off." Removing the safety from his Python, John cautiously began to move through the tunnel, illuminated only by the weak glow of his lamp. "If Simpson is here, I'll definitely find him"...
He crept along, listening for every sound. The flickering of the lamp revealed a wooden door in the darkness. John stopped and listened. A faint rustle made him tense. "He's there!" - with one hand, John pulled out a small crowbar and carefully inserted it into the door's crack.
He broke the lock and burst into the cramped room. A blinding flash of a shot and the whiz of a bullet by his temple confirmed that Ladd was not mistaken. Instantly aiming at the flash of the shot, John pulled the trigger of the Python...
Searching the dead body, Ladd found a strange leaflet. Meaningless calls, but on the back, confidently written was: "Meet at the nightclub at 7:37." And a short signature, rather initials: "F.B." John tossed the leaflet aside: "Frank Brent! The second on our list of traitors."
The clock face lit up with the numbers: 7:12. "I still have time for this rendezvous. I think Frank will be glad to see me!" John quickly left the gloomy tunnel... "But I have one more meeting," - John thought, heading toward the "Solomon's Stable" pub. At 7:15, this bar was supposed to see the big beer lover, Mr. Tirips - agent number three. Concealed in the half-light, Ladd began to wait...
With a crash, the metal gates rose, and along with the noise of the drinking establishment, a fat man stumbled onto the street. Burping loudly, he stopped in front of the entrance and, tilting his head back, began to drink straight from a can of his favorite beverage... The cold barrel of the Python touched his fat neck.
- Move a muscle and you're a dead man, - the metal in Ladd's voice made the fat man flinch and drop the can.
- Where is General Thomas? - the click of the safety sounded like a cannon shot. The fat man slowly began to raise his hands and suddenly, turning sharply, struck Ladd in the torso, trying to knock the weapon away. The sound of the shot echoed off the walls. "He was a quick guy despite his build," - John stepped back a step, and the dead Tirips collapsed to the ground.
Screams erupted from the pub, and several people in black masks rushed onto the street. Ladd raised the Python and began to shoot back, taking cover behind the walls of buildings. "I've cut another thread"... - John thought, retreating down the street filled with the noise of UZI gunfire...
* * *
Finding the nightclub "Hot Torture" was not difficult. A bright neon sign invited visitors to this spicy establishment. John carefully watched the crowd of "night butterflies" and elegantly dressed gentlemen. But in the shadows, he noticed people in black masks and jumpsuits. "They are clearly waiting for me here," - Ladd stepped back and, turning around, walked away. "Not a cent to my name... Damn!" John frantically rummaged through his bag, quietly cursing under his breath. "What to do?"
The time until the scheduled meeting at the nightclub was rapidly running out... Running in the night... "The computer provided more information about Anderson.
He was spotted by surveillance in one of the hotels"... - Ladd decided that it was time to stroll into the city center...
The hotel loomed with its massive hundred stories. John passed through the glass doors and headed for the reception desk.
- Do you know this man? - he showed the photograph and his badge to the hotel staff.
- Yes, sir. He is staying in room on the second floor "third luxury," the hotel employee whispered fearfully. His hands trembled.
- The key, - John quickly said, extending his hand.
Climbing to the second floor, he walked down the corridor. At the "third luxury" room, John stopped. The voice of a television newscaster boomed from behind the door. "Mr. Anderson is home," - the steel of the faithful Python felt pleasantly cold in his hand. Carefully inserting the key into the lock, Ladd slowly turned the handle...
Anderson was sprawled on the luxurious bed, flicking through TV channels. The rustle made him shove his hand under the pillow, where a gun lay.
- Quiet, Mr. Anderson! Don't... - Ladd's words were drowned out by the sound of a shot. "He hit me!" Pain burned in his arm above the elbow. John lunged forward.
- I will kill you, - Anderson rolled off the bed, aiming at Ladd. But he was a fraction of a second too late... Wrapping a bandage around his arm, John sorrowfully thought: "It's all over: now this suit is ruined." He began to search through Anderson's belongings for something useful. Coming across a birthday card, he turned it in his hands and tossed it aside.
But a credit card caught his interest more. "American Visa! Not bad! Now I have a chance to get into the club "Hot Torture!" Rising, Ladd stood for a moment, moving his injured arm. "Nothing... The bandage is tight... And forget about the pain!" - He left the room and descended to the hall. Passing by the reception desk, he placed the key in the hand of the frightened clerk:
- Call the police if those scoundrels haven't already run them off.
* * *
"Please enter your access code." The ATM display, having swallowed Anderson's credit card, blinked expectantly. Ladd smirked, entered the required combination, and the window opened.
"Five hundred dollars! Quite enough to buy a decent suit." He stepped away from the British travel agency, where the ATM was located, and confidently strode towards the well-known store "Clothes from Solomon." The road was familiar, and within a few minutes, a charming saleswoman smiled sweetly and asked:
- How can I help you, sir?
John turned to her in such a way that his shot arm was not visible and said, looking her in the eyes:
- I need a good suit and definitely a trendy tie.
- I think this one will suit you, sir, - the girl took a dark gray suit off the shelf, - will you pay in cash?
- Yes, - Ladd replied and headed to the fitting room. A couple of minutes later, he emerged dressed in all new attire.
The girl looked at him admiringly:
- Perfect, sir. Would you like your clothes wrapped up?
- Put it in my bag. And thank you. The tie you picked for me is very nice.
Stepping outside from the store, John looked at his watch. There were twelve minutes left until the meeting at the nightclub...
* * *
The club was living its carefree, joyful life. Loud music burst from the doors. Girls were flitting about. A huge bouncer, eyeing Ladd closely, asked:
- Good evening, sir! How can I...
- I need Mr. Brent. Is he here?
- Yes, come in, - the bouncer opened the door wide.
John recognized him immediately from the photograph. "But there are so many people around! - thoughts raced wildly. - I need to lure him outside." A tall blonde was strolling deep within the club. Ladd approached him closely and touched his sleeve.
- Frank... It's pointless to struggle; I know who you really are, - Ladd's voice was cold.
The blonde, maintaining his composure, smirked:
- Oh really! What do you want, buddy? - Irony and mockery echoed in every word he spoke.
John gritted his teeth:
- All your buddies have already gone to hell. Now it's your turn, - John quietly said. However, Brent seemed not particularly frightened by this.
- You, bastard! In a minute, I'm expecting a call from General Thomas. And I will definitely send him your regards, - he leaned in close to John's face. - By that time, you will also be in hell, understood? - He raised his hand, and terrorists burst into the club. Aiming weapons at everyone present, the "black team" yelled out of sync:
- Everyone down! On the floor! Quickly!..
- Well, it seems you've lost? - Brent grinned in a sneer. His hand pulled a gun from his pocket.
- I don't think so... - John replied and with a swift motion threw a knife at Brent, which he had hidden behind his back. The blade sank into his chest, and the traitor stared at him in surprise. Somehow he managed to grab the handle, but he lacked the strength to pull it out. Taking advantage of everyone's shock, John fearlessly dashed toward the exit. A black figure tried to block his path. With a powerful blow of the Python's grip, Ladd knocked the opponent down and dashed outside. The nearest phone booth was seven meters from the club's entrance. Diving into it, John crouched down, shooting at the bandits rushing out of "Hot Torture."
Seconds flew by. He could barely hear the ringing over the noise of music and gunfire. Without standing up, Ladd reached for the receiver and pressed it to his ear. The familiar voice of General Thomas clearly said:
- You don't need to answer, Brent. We have big problems. I'm waiting for you in a few minutes at warehouse number two. - The dial tone followed. Bullets shattered the glass of the booth. John dropped the receiver and crawled out onto the street.
"The warehouse by the river. That must be where the general is!" The ammunition was running low. The barrel was hot from frequent firing, but Ladd kept pulling the trigger. He managed to shake off his pursuers, weaving through the city streets.
Dashing through an archway, John, breathless from running fast, raced down the alley leading to a small bridge. On the other side, the warehouse loomed darkly.
Putting all his strength into one last sprint, he managed to cross the bridge, shooting a couple more terrorists along the way. Gasping for breath, Ladd yanked on the metal door of the warehouse. Locked.
His vision blurred, the bandage on his wound swelled with blood, but John held on. Pulling a lockpick from his bag, he struggled with the lock for just a second. Kicking the warehouse door open, Ladd ran down a corridor lined with large crates.
"Box number two... I need to go here." The door slid open, and he found himself in an empty room with a lift. "No one... Did I arrive too late?" - blood rushed to his face. He helplessly looked around.
- No need to worry, my boy! - the voice from above pinned Ladd to the floor. Slowly raising his head, John saw the barrel of a machine gun pointed directly at his face from the lift hatch.
- Put your weapon on the lift and raise your hands, - General Thomas cocked the machine gun. - If you do it right, I'll think about how much your life is worth.
John Ladd unclenched his fingers, and the pistol clattered against the metal of the platform.
- Be careful! It's loaded, - the mockery in his voice was so evident that it made John shudder. - And also put the bag from your belt down, okay?
Ladd unclipped the bag's carabiner and bent down to place it on the lift platform. His fingers felt the ribbed surface of a grenade through the fabric. The quiet click of the pulled pin was not heard over the clang of the lift chains, which were taking the last gift for General Thomas upward...
* * *
Contents of the publication: Spectrofon #05
- Экспертиза - Дмитрий Усманов
Description of 'THEATRE EUROPE' game mechanics simulating hypothetical NATO-Warsaw Pact conflict in the 1980s, with emphasis on strategic decisions and potential nuclear scenarios. Players manage military units with options for offensive and defensive strategies. Explores the severe consequences of nuclear warfare.
- Дебют - Дмитрий Усманов
Description of the text adventure game 'Robin of Sherwood: Touchstones of Rhianon' by Adventure International. The article provides a walkthrough for the game's initial challenging locations. Emphasizes the game's real-time mechanics and encourages frequent saving.
- Экзамен
Quiz section 'EXAM' in Spectrofon #05 remains popular, receiving many answers from readers about 'ROBIN OF THE SHERWOOD'. New questions are posed and readers compete for journal issues. First correct answers win issues of the journal.
- Обзор - Анатолий Хоробрых
The article provides an expert review of 'ELITE-3', covering its features and challenges. It discusses civilized software distribution in Russia. Key gameplay elements and missions are explored in detail.
- Архив
Description of the strategy game '1812' involving troop command and battlefield choices. Highlights include game mechanics, strategic options, and in-game scoring based on player performance. Updated version optimized for speed with save state features.
- Фантазия - Анатолий Хоробрых
A computer novella based on the game 'NIGHT RUN' by DIVIDE BY ZERO, following agent John Ladd's mission against double agents and a treacherous general. The story highlights Ladd's dangerous encounters and his relentless pursuit of justice. It’s an arcade adventure for fans of 'VENDETTA'.
- Система
Introduction of 'GRAPHIC ADVENTURE CREATOR' by INCENTIVE SOFTWARE for creating adventure games, featuring an unprotected version with an example. A detailed review is available in 'ZX-REVU' 1994. Includes instructions for using the software to create a standalone game.
- Горячий привет - Сергей Симонович
Analysis of adventure games evolution from text-based to multimedia. Discussion of simplification and challenges in modern adventure games. Nostalgia for classic gameplay and potential for Russian game development.
- Реклама
Advertisement for the Spectrofon magazine with distribution details and call for authors, artists, and musicians.
