PROJECT DESCRIPTION
You control ZAK, an outlaw computer hacker with some very useful skills. Unfortunately, they do you little good while sitting in an FWA confinement cell, awaiting trial and sentencing for treason and espionage.
William Devlin, head of the FWA, gives you a choice. Work for the FWA on a covert mission, or sweat out whatever time you have left in your cell. Some choice...
THE MISSION
Devlin and the FWA have your mission planned. After being released from your confinement cell at the Pentagon, you are taken to a waiting hovercraft. From there you will be transported to the North Atlantic, where you will rendezvous with the Rig. The Rig is a mercenary operations base run by a man known only as Santos. The FWA has signed a contract with Santos to provide a jumping-off point for your trip to the Cyberia Complex.
Once on the Rig, your orders are straight-forward: meet with Santos and take possession of a waiting TF-22 aircraft. The TF-22 has its autopilot set for the optimum route to the Cyberia Complex, as well as an onboard tactical computer for combat.
Once the TF-22 delivers you to the Cyberia Complex your orders are to infiltrate the base and find out just what the hell is going on...
DIFFICULTY
There are two difficulty parameters for a game of Cyberia. You can individually set the difficulty for the arcade portions of the game and the puzzle parts of the game (BLADES).
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Difficulty can be set to Easy, Medium, or Difficult.
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Easy arcade and easy puzzle cannot be chosen together, because the game would be too simple.
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Experienced gamers are encouraged to choose the difficult levels.
ZAK'S DIARY
17/05/27
Start from the beginning. That's the hard way, it's always easier to start from the end and back up, retreat, that's the easy way. But I don't do things the easy way, so I won't tell the story the easy way.
The beginning was about 2010, maybe earlier, I don't remember. I was born, and some people say they remember being born, but I don't. I was brought up, and I should remember more of that than I do now, never mind why, maybe I could explain, maybe later I will. There were apartments, schools, houses, people who called themselves aunts and uncles, people who didn't. There were people who might have been a family. They're the hardest to remember.
Some years back, couldn't be too many, how old am I, after all? I'm probably still a βteen-ager,β what they said in the old videocassettes. Anyway, my memory starts to burn about then, scooting through dark alleys into abandoned basements... I can remember from then on. Probably be better if I remembered the first part and forgot the later years. Not my choice, though.
None of it is anything anyone would be glad to remember. I've done old videocassettes, even seen some library books. I'd be very glad for some of those memories, the lemonade under the shade trees, the ruby sunsets: so glad to see red in the west like rubies and not like blood. Nothing's glad any more. But I need to get back to my story.
We were in the basements, crawling the wires, grabbing tubes and boxes, hooking wires to boards, boards to wires, things to things. Some of us knew some things, others knew other things. Things. Grab a bill of lading from Taipei to San Francisco, grab a purchase order from Houston to San Francisco, land out with a wild shipment to our neighborhood. I got my BLADES that way. Grabbing things and landing them out. Grabbing the Third World and the First World. What were we, maybe the Sixth World? It worked for us, we were glad, Worlds One through Five or however many hadn't worked for us, we hadn't worked for them. Finally we had a World that worked.
World Six worked fine for years, maybe three, maybe four.
19/05/27
But I'm cutting words, they used to call it βwriting,β for the ages. Maybe just for William Devlin, Mr Devlin, Sir, but I pretend the words will last, the story goes pervasive, Century 21 meets Winnie The Pooh. Not Mr Toad, of course, Mr Devlin, perish forbid, oh no, Zak your lame Sixth Worlder is completely absolutely indubitably under your control, nothing will break, everything will be glad again. You know none of this can leak back to the Sixth World, maybe Seventh by now, or you wouldn't let me cut the words. They're for the ages. Woke up early this morning, signed on, looked at the words I cut last night and the night before, what's happening to me? Try cutting some words before breakfast, might have a half an hour.
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My theory. I feel fine, never better, no problems there, I could do pushups with my left hand while I'm cutting words with my right. Not likely for a net felon locked in the Pentagon to feel so good. I think bizarro. I'm OK now, but the words I cut the last two nights were clearly not cool-headed. Not clear-headed.
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Conclusion. Dope. Kindly Mr Devlin and the Eff Wubble You A are building my body and breaking my brain. Steroids, hallucinogenics, wish I knew, old Karo