Venice, Italy — An assassin attempting to relive the experiences of his Italian ancestor, using a device known as an Animus, has reported repeated connection problems that he says are hampering his progress.

Desmond Miles, an assassin, has been using a device known as the Animus 2.0, which allows him to experience the genetic memories of his ancestor, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, another assassin who lived in the late 1400’s. However, the Animus 2.o requires a constant connection the servers of Abstergo Industries, and maintaining that connection has been routinely troublesome for Miles.

“It’s frustrating, definitely” said Miles, as his connection was dropped for the fifth time that day. “When I lose my connection, I lose all the progress I’ve made, and I have to wait for the connection to reestablish itself before I can continue.”

“I could understand if I were engaging in some kind of some multi-assassin mode, where between two and twenty-four assassins were all connecting to the same server at the same time, to relive memories together. Then, yeah, it would make sense to have to be constantly connected to the Abstergo server.”

“But this is a single-assassin experience. The memories are all contained in Animus 2.0, and I’m in the lab, connected to it legitimately… it seems stupid to have to be constantly connected to Abstergo’s server as well.”

Abstergo Industries has stated their strict policy of Digital Restriction of Memories, or DRM, is in place to prevent unregistered assassins from reliving their own ancestors’ genetic memories, though many genuine assassins, like Miles, complain that they are the ones having to deal with the connection problems.

“Meanwhile, some unregistered 13-year-old assassin has a pirated version of the Animus 2.0, that he got for free, and he doesn’t have to deal with this at all,” Miles said bitterly. “I’m an actual assassin and I’m being treated like a criminal.”

“I never had this problem with the original Animus,” he added. “Though those memories weren’t as much fun to relive. They were a little repetitive.”

Blackwater, West Elizabeth — As a newfangled mechanical contraption known as a “motorized wagon” arrived in Blackwater today, local officials heralded a new age wherein the wanton theft of personal conveyances would finally be at an end.

Unlike horses, which can simply be climbed upon and spurred away by dastardly thieves, the motorized wagon is a complex mechanical wonder, featuring several pedals and levers, a turning-wheel, and complicated ignition device for its internal combustion engine, meaning a potential thief would have long minutes, or even hours of work in order to make off with the motorized contraption.

“It’s not as if some ruffian or ne’er-do-well could simply elbow through a wind-screen, clamber inside the motor wagon, connect a few lengths of wire, and accelerate off with a conveyance that he did not possess the deed to,” says Federal Bureau agent and horseless-carriage enthusiast Archer Fordham.

“Even if some miscreant did manage to perform the complicated steps in order to ignite the auto-engine,” Fordham continues, “and took the time to affix his driving goggles, steering gloves, and travel-smock, he would have to steer the motorized wagon slowly and carefully to prevent damaging it. These are incredibly rare and expensive machines, and not even a callous thief would risk colliding with telegraph poles, postal boxes, or water troughs as he made his get-away.”

Nearly theft-proof, these gasoline-powered mechanical wagons could be safely left outside saloons and brothels while the owner conducted his business inside.

“Even if the owner had to climb the steps of some grand, three-story, sky-scraping courthouse or spend time shopping for tonics and cure-alls in his city’s general store, his personal conveyance would be perfectly safe from theft upon his return,” Fordham says.

“And in the unlikely event an illicit wagon operator might speed away with the power of more than one horse, the thief would find himself confined to cobblestone roads and well-worn dirt paths, making him quite easy to track down, arrest, and hang.”

There are other benefits to replacing horses with motorized carriages. The newfangled auto-wagons do not litter the street with messy excrement as horses do, instead expelling only beautiful dark clouds of harmless diesel fumes.

“I picture a futuristic world where horses have been entirely replaced with these wonderful, gleaming motor-wagons,” Fordham says. “I see a time when you might witness four, perhaps even five motorized carriages in each city. And theft of such personal transportation contraptions would be non-existent.”

“Mark my words,” he added. “Motorized wagons are the best invention since torn bread.”

Enrichment Center, Aperture Science Laboratories — A female test subject, freshly awakened from a relaxation vault in a secret underground laboratory, has begun to wonder if the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device she is testing makes her ass look big.

The experimental device can manufacture two linked portals through which light and matter can pass, and after placing parallel portals on walls a few feet apart, the test subject, named Chell, has discovered she can peer through one portal and view her own backside, which, she thinks, looks big.

“Does my ass look big in this portal?” she wondered aloud. “Oh, it looks terrible. Terrible. This orange jumpsuit is all bunchy and bulky, I might as well be wearing a burlap sack.”

“My butt looks even bigger down there,” she said, referring to one of the versions of herself that were duplicated over and over into infinity through the portals. “I think each portal adds ten pounds.”

“These heels aren’t helping either,” she noted, referring to the metal impact-negating prostheses attached to her calves.

Chell continued to view herself through the portal, and along with her concerns regarding the appearance of her ass, she also considered the poor state of her hairdo and complexion after spending an unspecified amount of time in stasis.

“My hair looks awful,” she stated after repositioning the two portals perpendicularly in a corner and stepping close so she could view her profile.”Total bed-head. Oh, my skin, too. My pores are totally clogged. I hope one of these portals opens into a spa.”

Doug Rattmann, a previous Aperture Science test subject now living in seclusion in maintenance areas and crawlspaces of the facility, remained hidden from the concerned, slightly insecure woman.

“I don’t really want to talk to her when she’s in this kind of mood,” he whispered from the section of ductwork he was crouching in. “Anyway, her butt looks fine. Totally great. She totally pulls off that jumpsuit look.”

“Why is she so worried?” he added. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?”

Chell, a few chambers away, took one last look at her own butt before shrugging, sighing, and continuing through the facility.

“Either way,” she said, “When I’m done here, I’d better skip the cake.”

Story idea by Observer contributor Michael Fiegel.

Arkham Asylum, Gotham City — Legendary Gotham City crime-fighter Batman, after years of vigilante service combating thugs, monsters, and super villains, gradually learned a number of basic crime-fighting moves while dealing with the Joker’s recent takeover of Arkham Asylum.

Despite his years of experience battling numerous insane villains and their hordes of goons and ruffians, Batman, Gotham’s mysterious masked avenger, discovered there is still much to learn about unarmed attacks and evasive maneuvers, such as how to perform unarmed attacks and evasive maneuvers.

“This works great,” Batman growled, throwing one attacking Arkham goon into another. “Throwing one goon into another goon and stunning them both is a great way to deal with crowds of enemies. Why haven’t I tried at some earlier point in my long career of fighting crowds of enemies?”

“Takes a little getting the hang of, though,” he added, attempting another throw and failing. “I’ll have to work on that.”

After foiling the Joker’s latest plan to kill the mayor, Batman was escorting the notorious villain back to the asylum he’d escaped from earlier. Suddenly, after long minutes of foreshadowing, taunting, and other hints of his impending escape, the Joker escaped, taking over the asylum and sending his thugs after Batman, who then began to learn a series of combat moves to deal with the threat.

“Just in time, too,” growled Batman, hanging upside-down from one of Arkham’s many interior stone gargoyles. “I was just dangling here, inverted, wondering how to take down these thugs below me, when I suddenly learned how to do an inverted takedown.”

When facing a murderous escaped lunatic named Victor Zsasz, Batman found himself looking for a way to stealthily take down the criminal. It was at that moment he tried a glide kick, which involves sailing through the air with his cape extended and landing feet-first on his target, for the first time in his career.

“Another useful move,” Batman said. “Glad I suddenly learned that. Makes wearing a cape for all these years totally worth it.”

As he continued taking down enemies, he felt himself becoming more experienced in fighting, and hoped that experience would lead him to further breakthroughs in the art of combat. Spotting a criminal approaching the corner he was concealed behind, Batman waited patiently.

“I just hope I learn some way to take down an enemy from around a corner,” he growled quietly.

“It sure would come in handy right about now.”

Delgado Vineyards, Chile — Three members of an all-Chilean bodyguard detail tasked with protecting Don Fernando Delgado and his son, Manuel, have reported seeing no sign of a deadly Caucasian assassin who may be attempting to infiltrate their ranks.

The guards patrolling a party at Don Delgado’s vineyard remained vigilant and alert, on the off-chance a highly trained killer should attempt an assassination of the drug kingpin and his son. Scanning the party guests and holding their shotguns at the ready, they remained wary but reported seeing no signs of an interloper thus far.

Chilean-born bodyguard Carlos Javier Acevado, age 32, wiped sweat from his dark-skinned face as he considered the situation. “We’re haven’t seen anything suspicious yet,” Acevado said in Spanish. “Well, except for a neatly folded black suit on the ground and a puddle of blood by the cliffs.”

“Initially, that seemed suspicious,” he continued, “but after a couple minutes I decided it was nothing to worry about. Anybody could have dropped a suit and some blood. It doesn’t mean there’s an assassin at the party.”

“I found a briefcase with a sniper rifle in it near the front gate, “Guillermo Miguel Salazar, also a native of Chile, explained. “It seemed odd, but not terribly alarming. If anything really suspicious happens, though, we’ll be ready.”

A third member of the guard detail refused give his name or to offer a statement. Instead, the bald, pale-skinned Chilean with a bar-code tattooed across the back of his head scowled silently, slowly edging behind the other two guards, with one hand held conspicuously behind his back.

“We’re well-trained,” said Acevado. “I don’t think we could be easily infiltrated. We’ve all known each other for years.” He waved at Salazar and the glaring, white-skinned guard, who was now crouching silently behind them, his eyes darting around the courtyard.

“We know what all guards wear: camo vest, short-sleeved shirt, and hat. As long as someone is wearing those items of clothing, we know they’re one of us. It’s a simple, fool-proof identification system.”

“Sorry, that’s all I can tell you,” Acevado continued. “I have to go. I think I heard a coin bouncing around somewhere over there, so I need to go stare at it for a few moments.”

“A dropped coin could be the sign of something sinister,” he added. “As a guard, you can’t be too careful.”

Badlands, South Dakota — In the midst of a hotly contested battle to capture a control point, a soldier for the Builders League United (BLU) announced to several guys that they needed to capture the control point. Seriously.

“Come on guys,” the soldier said to his teammates, in a bored voice that downplayed the brilliance of his tactical awareness of the situation. “Seriously. We gotta take that point.”

“Guys,” he added. “Seriously.”

The soldier’s bold statement of purpose came after several minutes of violent conflict raging around a control point on a tall, rocky spire, which the members of rival group Reliable Excavation Demolition (RED) had captured earlier that day. Realizing that RED currently had control of the point, the soldier instinctively determined that BLU should, and indeed must, regain control of that point. Seriously.

Putting this complex series of revelations into words was next in the soldier’s series of brilliant tactical moves.

“Guys,” the soldier reiterated, elaborating further on his already complex strategy. “Come on. Let’s get that point.”

Other members of BLU received word of the plan, having had no idea up until that moment that the control point they’d been fighting on and around for long minutes required capture.

Guys. Seriously.

“No shit,” said a BLU Demoman, clearly impressed with the tactical thinking on display.

“Really?” offered a Heavy who was currently standing on the very control point, fighting for his life. “Thanks, I had no idea.”

This isn’t the first time this same soldier has demonstrated leadership and tactical planning in combat situations. He has hatched a number of equally brilliant plans in his career, all of which he has selflessly and repeatedly offered to his teammates.

While struggling to steal secret intelligence documents from RED’s base several weeks ago, he quickly determined that a medic on the BLU team would be needed for success, and stated “We really need a medic” nearly a dozen times in the span of five minutes.

On another occasion, while his team was attempting to push a cart with a bomb strapped to it into enemy territory, the soldier determined that the best way to push the cart was by pushing the cart, which he expressed to his team by telling them, “Push the cart.”

As the battle for the control point continued, the soldier noticed that despite repeatedly outlining his plan to retake the point, the point was not being retaken. Undaunted, he continued to helpfully guide his teammates toward their goal.

“Guys,” he said again. “Guys, seriously.”

“Come on.”

D.C. Wastelands — A former vault-dweller known only as the Lone Wanderer was both pleased and perplexed to discover that killing mutated mole rats with a baseball bat has somehow made him better at picking locks.

“It’s like, locks just suddenly made a lot more sense to me,” The Lone Wanderer said, standing over the bloody corpses of several mole rats. “Somehow, beating a bunch of mutated animals to death with a baseball bat gave me insight into the inner workings of the locking mechanisms of doors and safes.”

“You’d think that using a bat to bludgeon vicious animals would make me stronger, or a better fighter or something,” he continued. “Maybe something related to the physical act of slamming a blunt weapon into a large, rampaging animal.”

He paused, taking a sip of water from a filthy toilet. “Instead, I’m suddenly finding it easier to pick locks with hairpins. I crushed some skulls with a stick of wood and then just had this sudden jolt of knowledge about how locks work.”

This is not the first time the adventurer has noticed that his actions and activities lead to enhancements of unrelated abilities.

“A couple days ago, I was out collecting bottles of Nuka-Cola Quantum for some lady who asked for them, and when I finished, I suddenly had a slightly better sense of how to repair my weapons and armor, and became a bit more adept at sneaking around undetected.”

As for why he’s finding his skills increasing from performing activities unrelated to those skills, the former vault-dweller doesn’t know, and isn’t sure he wants to know.

“It’s definitely weird, but a lot of things around here are weird,” he said. “The locks themselves are kinda weird. They all look like doorknobs, even the ones built into ammo boxes. I can’t explain that, either. I won’t even try.”

“I just hope the afternoon I plan to spend killing feral ghouls with a laser gun in the metro tunnels makes me better at bartering with merchants,” he added. “With all the locks I’m picking lately, I’ve got a lot more loot to sell.”

USG Ishimura, Aegis 7– An engineer battling hordes of mutated Necromorphs aboard the planetary mining ship Ishimura sure wishes he could see the health meter built onto the back of his spacesuit.

“Who designed this stupid spacesuit?” asked Isaac Clarke, a systems engineer, while whirling around and craning his neck in an effort to view his own back. “They built the health meter on the spine? Really? On the spine? Who is this supposed to be useful for, someone standing behind me?”

Clarke was stationed aboard the USG Kellion, which was dispatched to the Ishimura to repair their malfunctioning communications array. After the Kellion crashed into the massive planetary mining ship, Clarke quickly found himself alone and surrounded by the twisted, reanimated corpses of the former crew of the Ishimura. Armed only with mining tools and fighting for his life, Clarke sure would like to know the status of his health and how close he is to dying.

“As an engineer, I don’t believe in form over function,” he said. “I guess the designer of the suit didn’t want to clutter my visor screen with data, or something. But building the heath meter on the back of my suit, where I can’t see it, while space-saving and aesthetically pleasing, isn’t exactly useful for me, the guy wearing the suit and wondering how close to death he is.”

“Is it blue? Is it red? I have no idea. I’m definitely on a need-to-know basis with how close I am to my own death, but unless I find a mirror or maybe someone to follow me around, walking behind and slightly to the side of me, constantly pointing out how badly injured I am in a loud voice, it’s gonna continue to be a flippin’ mystery.”

“Hey, random necromorph!” Clarke yelled sarcastically to the darkened, labyrinthine corridors of the ship. “If you’re creeping up behind me, before you rend me to bloody ribbons with your claws, maybe you could let me know my health status. Since I have no idea what it is. That’d be great. If you could do that.”

“Thanks,” he added.

Savannah, Georgia — In the filthy, body-strewn streets of Savannah, Georgia, one survivor of the apocalyptic pandemic repeatedly complained that his three companions were helping him too much. “Stop shooting!” a survivor known only as “Coach” yelled at his three baffled companions, who were trying to save his life from hordes of rampaging infected humans. “I need melee kills!”

He chastised his fellow survivors a moment later for shooting down a Spitter, a type of infected who expels streams of burning acid from her gaping maw. “Aw, goddamn it! I needed to kill her before she spat!” He hit one of his companions with the fire axe he was wielding. “Thanks a lot, idiot!”

“Everything out of his mouth is a complaint about how we’re interfering with him,” said one of his companions, a former mechanic named Ellis. “Don’t shoot that clown zombie, I need to honk his nose. Don’t heal me, I’m trying to make it without using health kits. It’s like he wishes we weren’t even here with him.”

“Until he gets ridden by a Jockey or dragged by a Smoker,” added Ellis. “Then we apparently can’t help him quickly enough.”

“It’s like he has a series of tasks he’s trying to achieve, and nothing else matters,” another survivor named Rochelle noted. “For some reason, he desperately needs to decapitate thirteen more infected, and heaven help you if you shoot the one he’s got his eye on. He even yelled at me for picking up a vial of Boomer puke off an infected [Civil Emergency and Defense Agency] guy he’d killed, like that was something else on his imaginary list he needed to do.”

“I thought Coach was supposed to be this sort of sage, big-hearted guy, a voice of reason, a natural leader who would band our small group of misfits together,” she added. “But he’s kind of an immature jerk.”

“One time he left me there, incapacitated, after I got hit by a Charger,” said the fourth member of the group, a wry con-man named Nick. “He ran around looking for a shot of adrenaline to inject himself with before helping me up. I don’t know why he feels such a need to accomplish these weird, arbitrary tasks. Most of them have nothing to do with surviving this nightmare, and they don’t contribute to our mutual goal of being rescued.”

“Yesterday, he even insisted on carry a fucking garden gnome with him at all times for some reason,” he said bitterly. “I just know he’s going to get us all killed. And when he does, he’ll probably claim it was our fault.”

Algonquin, Liberty City — The sole suspect in over a thousand violent cop killings was reluctantly released today with no formal charges being filed, police say. Despite overwhelming evidence, the lack of a legal system in Liberty City prevented police detaining and trying the suspect for his alleged crimes.

Niko Bellic, an immigrant from Eastern Europe, is the sole suspect in the slayings of 1,137 police officers and other law enforcement agents, as well as allegedly responsible for the violent deaths of a number of citizens, tourists, and underworld figures. “We know he’s the guy,” one surviving police officer said, speaking to reporters. “We’ve caught him in the act of murder, arson, destruction of property, bank robbery, and thousand of weapons violations. We even have evidence of him breaking Liberty City’s ban on driving while talking on a cell phone. But, the lack of any sort of functioning legal system really has our hands tied.”

“If he should be found guilty of anything,” whined Carmen Ortiz, a Liberty City woman romantically linked to Bellic, “it should be wearing boots and a track suit on our date. Killing cops is one thing, but picking me up for a date in a busted up old Moonbeam covered in blood… that should get him the freakin’ death penalty.”

Evidence against Bellic includes numerous statements from eyewitnesses as well as hours of incriminating videotape from traffic cameras, news helicopters, police car dashboard cameras, and amateur filmmakers. Even with thousands of videos of Bellic’s crimes having been uploaded to YouTube, getting the charges to stick has been troublesome.

“I saw him just yesterday,” one officer said. “He was speeding down the wrong way of a one way street, weaving all of the road, smashing through lampposts and fire hydrants, running over pedestrians, firing out of his windows and dropping grenades. We gave chase with a number of squad cars and a police helicopter. The suspect leapt from his burning car, destroyed the helicopter with a rocket launcher, then opened fire on responding officers with a machine gun.”

“He also threw a can of Sprunk at an old woman,” the officer added. “That’s just mean.”

By the time Bellic was brought down, twenty-two officers and eleven bystanders were dead, many more were wounded, and several vehicles had been destroyed. Bellic, felled by police gunfire, was rushed to Cerveza Heights Medical Center in Dukes, where he was later discharged.

Just hours later, Bellic allegedly led police on another chase that ended when the suspect reached an apartment owned by his cousin, Roman Bellic. “He was driving a stolen ice cream truck, and we were right on his tail,” an officer said, “but he ran into the apartment and went to sleep. There was nothing we could do at that point but give up the chase and leave him alone.”

Police feel helpless but determined. “Even with no way to prosecute him for his crimes, we’ll keep after him,” an officer promised. “He can run, but he can’t hide. Well, he can hide but he can’t… we’ll get him eventually. Let’s leave it at that.”