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This Poster ships Rolled in an oversized protective tube for maximum protection. You wouldn’t have guessed it was a man… until you saw their face properly. Killer Frost worked as a member of the Suicide Squad on a mission to assassinate the Riddler.
Houdai is given multiple routes to go through, some affecting the game’s storyline, levels, bosses and endings. One of the more interesting aspects of the game is it’s replayability. Following a successful Doki-Doki mode, the girls… explode… with ecstasy… that wipes out any remaining targets. Players can also use the Doki-Doki mode which allows you to send an overflow of ecstasy to a single or multiple girls… by rubbing and touching sensitive spots on their body. While multiple shots are needed to bring down most opponents, players can aim for Ecstasy shots which will down opponents in cries of joy. Ekoro, the aforementioned cupid in training, decides to help him on his quest by giving him the power of the Pheromone Shot, a power which injects pure love into a target, filling them with… ecstasy… Houdai is forced to use his powers through the school as his female classmates all come after him with hugs, love notes and words of affection until he can find his one true love.Īs with most Rail Shooters, players or placed on track while swarms of girls come after Houdai, controlling a cursor to aim and fire the Pheromone Shot. This puts Houdai in a predicament, if he does not find his true love by the end of the day, he will be forever alone, not even Dogs will love him. Things change one day when Houdai is shot with a Fully Charged Love Shot from a cupid in training, making him irresistible to Women. His only friends are two sisters who he hasn’t talked with in 3 years due to what he believes is a family issue, in which the younger sister left. Gal*Gun puts you in the shoes of Houdai, a school nobody who people largely ignore. Hmm… on second thought, we might need to explain ourselves here. It is a game where you are shooting Japanese Schoolgirls with Euphoria to make them… relax? Gal*Gun Double Peace is the second game in the series, but requires little knowledge about the title, the only thing you need to know is this. All 100% uncensored from its original content. Just as I start to get my hopes up, in comes Inti Creates and publisher PQube for bringing a lovely, unique, and perverted Rail Shooter with enough replay value that actually supports enough playthroughs to warrant the price tag. While titles like House of the Dead OverKill and The Resident Evil Chronicles titles satisfied my hunger on last gen, this generation feels like there isn’t any room for First Person Arcade fun. I’ve always enjoyed Rail Shooters and to be honest, it was probably the real reason I wanted a Wii when it was released. I do know that by the age of 5 or 6, in my corduroy overalls, racing around in Keds, I had begun to be apprehensive about what lay in wait for me. All the same, who knows but that I was already adopting the mask of all-rightness that every depressed person learns to wear in order to navigate the world? Perhaps I am overstating the case I don’t think I actually began as a melancholy baby, if I am to go by photos of me, in which I seem impish, with sparkly eyes and a full smile. It is an affliction that often starts young and goes unheeded - younger than would seem possible, as if in exiting the womb I was enveloped in a gray and itchy wool blanket instead of a soft, pastel-colored bunting. I had done battle with it in some way or other since childhood. By the time I admitted myself to the hospital last June after a downhill period of six months, I felt isolated in my own pitch-darkness, even when I was in a room full of conversation and light.ĭEPRESSION - THE THICK BLACK paste of it, the muck of bleakness - was nothing new to me. Then again, as those who suffer from it know, intractable depression creates a planet all its own, largely impermeable to influence from others except as shadow presences, urging you to come out and rejoin the world, take in a movie, go out for a bite, cheer up. The people on 4 Center, hidden away as it is in a small building, have next to no contact with the other units we might as well be on different planets. refers to as “the storks,” are in various phases of imperceptible recovery and tend to stick together.) The garden is also home to patients from 4 South, which caters to patients from within the surrounding Washington Heights community, and 5 South, which treats patients with psychotic and substance-abuse disorders. On either side of him are ragtag groups of people culled from several units of the hospital, including the one I am on, which is devoted primarily to the treatment of patients with depression or eating disorders. I can see R., the most recent addition to our dysfunctional gang of 12 on 4 Center, sitting on a bench in his unseasonal cashmere polo, smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot with equal intensity. Looking out onto the highway overpass there is a green-and-white sign indicating “Exit - West 178th Street” nearer to the entrance another sign explains: “The Patients’ Park & Garden is for the use of patients and their families only, and for staff escorting patients. I have only to open my eyes for the surreal scene to come back into my immediate line of vision, like a picnic area without picnickers: two barbecue grills, bags of mulch that seem never to be opened, empty planters, clusters of tables and chairs, the entire area cordoned off behind a high mesh fence. Soggy as my brain is from being wrenched off a slew of antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications in the last 10 days, I reach for a Coleridgian suspension of disbelief, ignoring the roar of traffic and summoning up the sound of breaking waves. In the 20 or so minutes of “fresh air” allotted after lunch (one of four such breaks on the daily schedule), I try to forget where I am, imaging myself elsewhere than in this fenced-off concrete garden bordered by the West Side Highway on one side and Riverside Drive on the other, planted with patches of green and a few lonely flowers, my movements watched over by a more or less friendly psychiatric aide. My mind floats away into a space where chronology doesn’t count: I am back on the beach of my adolescence, lost in a book, or talking to my old college chum Bethanie as we brave the bay water in front of her parents’ house in Connecticut, where she comes to visit every summer. As I soak up the rays I think about summers past, the squawking of seagulls on the beach and walking along the water with my daughter, picking out enticing seashells, arguing over their various merits. I am lying on my back on the grass, listening to the intermittent chirping of nearby birds my eyes are closed, the better to savor the warmth on my face. IT IS A SPARKLING DAY IN MID-JUNE, the sun out in full force, the sky a limpid blue. |
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