The Beast | The city will track you think?

[adaur]

«It was in the year 1764 that the beast appeared on our lands and made them his own. One year later, its fame exceeded the borders of our province and one began to think that no mortal would ever be able to defeat it. Under his assaults, the country of Gévaudan sank little by little into darkness.»
Jacques Perrin, Le Pacte d'ackboo (2001).

The Beast, an asymmetrical stalking game, is excellent. It is a successor without revolution of a classic lineage, but it knew how to take everything that could excite in the sensations of hunting, beating, bluffing, and to leave aside what could be long, tedious, useless. It is tense whether you are one of the hunters or the hunted, rhythmic from beginning to end. Why conclude at the beginning? Because the rules are simple and the best way to tell you about the sensations it provides is to talk to you.

The Beast has a special resonance for all of us "Board Games" editors at Canard PC. Because it is clearly inspired by our lives. We too have our beast, the one who runs away from us, hates us, considers that we have come to pollute his lands. We too are looking for this elusive being filled with venom, without ever knowing for sure where he is. The Gévaudan has its beast, we have the ackboo.

Venerable vengeance. Ackboo journal, spring. They are almost upon me. I feel the hot breath of those horrible beings, "the pawn posers". I hate them, even more than I hate people. Their presence insuppresses me as much as it excites me, because I play with them. I let them discuss and position themselves. I laugh at them, they are so predictable! By following the tracks of my bloody route, and trying to take into account the distance I can travel on my scooter, they think they can guess the stage I have chosen and get there, to prevent me from carrying out another carnage. The fools.

The animal is strong! His hatred is palpable, his wrath terrifying.

I've already gone back south, where I came from, in order to catch them off guard and put some distance between them and me. First of all, it allows me to do a lot of damage until they come back; secondly, the more leagues between us, the better off I am. They stink, they put boxes everywhere and - this is unacceptable - mess up our desks. Anyway, that's what I've been told, I don't set foot in the editorial office anymore, it would be too obvious a move, I'm smarter than that.

Trappers on the town. Hunting notes from Unt', Weaver, Kahn and Perco, summer. The animal is strong! His hatred is palpable, his wrath terrifying. He is our prey, can't hurt us directly (cowardice no doubt) and yet we are the ones who regularly clench our butts. If he stops where none of us are to channel him, it's horror. Sometimes he runs away. Sometimes he taunts us by tightening his hunting perimeter. We have a map, around which we debate. Given his latest position, will he run straight to the Jacques Secrétin gym in Malakoff or turn around and set fire to a café-game in Joinville-le-Pont?





Our plan now is this: if we can't stop him, we need to discover and capture the real identity that runs the ackboo. With this level of anger, there must be people in his head. Is it controlled by a truly mad Ivan, driven by a GeoGuessr developer, or just a pack of Chihuahuas on its own? Each of us has studied his psychiatric file and knows how to recognize a type of trace, which corresponds to a particular identity. The right investigator on the right trace, we definitely record it. Every time, it makes him lose his nerve a little.

Mature tracking. Ackboo journal, fall. My bluff worked. I used a "power" for this. I have several, depending on what voice is talking in my skull, don't you? This one allowed me to move even further. As a result, I'm tired and don't have the strength to do much damage. At my best, I can take out five things, boxes or - how do they say these sick people? - I can take out five things, boxes or - how do they say it? - "mipeuuules", in short, all those degenerate things. I consider them my trophies, my victims. Now I'm just going to burn a bunch of cards and I'll be fine. I left a trace - in this case I spit a molard on one of their bags - they'll send one of them to check it out, the ugly one there, the one who's specialized. Most of the time I'm discreet; if I don't use the associated power, they don't know which voice is under the mark I'm leaving and have to decide who to send to the spot, or who is not too far away. I shouldn't overdo it either. If these morons identify too many correctly, I'll have it in the bone.





And then my time is running out. I'm planning to retire soon, fed up with this bullshit. Come on, I'll give myself twelve seasons, twelve trips and I'll stop. Since I'm a man of challenges, I've set myself a goal: twenty-five victims. If they catch me correctly identifying my good identity trace, or four bad ones, or if I don't reach my goal, well... I won't admit defeat, no shit. They can always say they won if they like. There's one thing I didn't expect. Over the seasons, they've made allies that they post in fixed places, and it pisses me off. Like an anti-ackboo mesh, the little bastards! They don't know me, I've avoided the Prussian trap a thousand times in the Paradox games, I'm in their heads and I know how to surprise them. My intelligence is superior, my ideas are teeming.

I'm going to take a shit on their shoes.