This one's based on the start of the Resturant level.
From the outside, Angelo Punchinello's resturant looked closed. Behind the dark windows, all was still except for the occasional light from a passing car, it's driver desperate to escape from the endless snowstorm coming down on New York City.
As mentioned, to a passerby the resturant looked closed, although there would be no passers-by tonight (except for those guys in the car). Max Payne, however, was not a passer-by. Max Payne was a man with nothing to lose, and a man with an invitation.
Max quietly closed the doors of Punchinello's resturant behind him. The warmth of the was a welcome change from the freezing streets of New York. He quickly blew into one of his hands, the other tightening around the Beretta it held.
The resturant appeared empty. Shouting would be stupid. If Punchinello was here, he would be waiting for him at the entrance, not hiding. This was very possibly a set-up.
Max took a few careful steps forward. His cold nose was gradually getting used to the warmth, and he became aware of a strong smell all around him. It took him a few moments more to realise what it was.
Gasoline.
"Bastar - "
The resturant exploded into flames, and a dancing orange immediately lit up the room. The fire seemed to have started everywhere at once - the cloth on every table was drenched. The door was completely ablaze.
Max, who had been tossed off his feet by the small explosion which had started the fire, rolled away the flames lapping at his leather jacket, and stood up. The only way out looked to be the hallway at the right of the bar, which presumably lead off to other seating areas of the resturant. Max tumbled over the waist-height partition which split the room down the middle, and ran.
Max bolted down the corridor. He passed a door which he presumed was a storeroom, and therefore no means of escape. He was a few metres from the corner at the end of the corridor, when the wall in front of him and the floor around it burst into flames.
He yelped, the heels of his shoes skidding on the smooth floor. He managed to turn round and run back down, as the fire behind him quickly spread along to engulf the corridor behind him.
Abrubtly Max noticed that the back of his jacket was on fire. He had no time to stop. The drop he decided to substitute for a dive, and he rolled onto his back, putting out the flames.
His legs, above him as he rolled over, crashed into the side of the bar, feet in the air, back on the ground. Max quickly scrabbled off to the side as the flames reached the bar and caused the alcohol there to explode violently. He stumbled through a set of doors off to the back of the bar.
Max fell against the wall, and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The slight dampness of the floor and the stench of petrol told him the fire would spread to here in moments. He sighed. The whole resturant was probably soaking in gas, and rigged with fire bombs or something.
Max made his way off to the door at the other side of the storeroom, as another fire started in the corner the room.
After running, jumping, diving, rolling, and falling his way through another storeroom, more seating areas, a boiler room, and miscellanious corridors, Max was starting to get tired. He staggered through yet another doorway, flames lapping at his sides.
This room was dark, quiet, and completely flame-free. Max took a few cautious steps forward.
From the outside, Angelo Punchinello's resturant looked closed. Behind the dark windows, all was still except for the occasional light from a passing car, it's driver desperate to escape from the endless snowstorm coming down on New York City.
As mentioned, to a passerby the resturant looked closed, although there would be no passers-by tonight (except for those guys in the car). Max Payne, however, was not a passer-by. Max Payne was a man with nothing to lose, and a man with an invitation.
Max quietly closed the doors of Punchinello's resturant behind him. The warmth of the was a welcome change from the freezing streets of New York. He quickly blew into one of his hands, the other tightening around the Beretta it held.
The resturant appeared empty. Shouting would be stupid. If Punchinello was here, he would be waiting for him at the entrance, not hiding. This was very possibly a set-up.
Max took a few careful steps forward. His cold nose was gradually getting used to the warmth, and he became aware of a strong smell all around him. It took him a few moments more to realise what it was.
Gasoline.
"Bastar - "
The resturant exploded into flames, and a dancing orange immediately lit up the room. The fire seemed to have started everywhere at once - the cloth on every table was drenched. The door was completely ablaze.
Max, who had been tossed off his feet by the small explosion which had started the fire, rolled away the flames lapping at his leather jacket, and stood up. The only way out looked to be the hallway at the right of the bar, which presumably lead off to other seating areas of the resturant. Max tumbled over the waist-height partition which split the room down the middle, and ran.
Max bolted down the corridor. He passed a door which he presumed was a storeroom, and therefore no means of escape. He was a few metres from the corner at the end of the corridor, when the wall in front of him and the floor around it burst into flames.
He yelped, the heels of his shoes skidding on the smooth floor. He managed to turn round and run back down, as the fire behind him quickly spread along to engulf the corridor behind him.
Abrubtly Max noticed that the back of his jacket was on fire. He had no time to stop. The drop he decided to substitute for a dive, and he rolled onto his back, putting out the flames.
His legs, above him as he rolled over, crashed into the side of the bar, feet in the air, back on the ground. Max quickly scrabbled off to the side as the flames reached the bar and caused the alcohol there to explode violently. He stumbled through a set of doors off to the back of the bar.
Max fell against the wall, and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The slight dampness of the floor and the stench of petrol told him the fire would spread to here in moments. He sighed. The whole resturant was probably soaking in gas, and rigged with fire bombs or something.
Max made his way off to the door at the other side of the storeroom, as another fire started in the corner the room.
After running, jumping, diving, rolling, and falling his way through another storeroom, more seating areas, a boiler room, and miscellanious corridors, Max was starting to get tired. He staggered through yet another doorway, flames lapping at his sides.
This room was dark, quiet, and completely flame-free. Max took a few cautious steps forward.
