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This is an extended page of the Ride to Hell "About" section, showcasing the descriptions for each part of the Let's Play. Each description is a slightly altered excerpt from the first two Doom novels, Knee Deep in the Dead and Hell on Earth.

AboutEdit

"Out of the smoke and flame strode a hell prince...and it was as mad as its name. It burst through the wreckage, throwing pieces of demon and chunks of masonry in all directions, a state-of-the-art minotaur with one hell of a 'tude."
— Part one
"Guns! I pawed through my treasure trove, scooping up as much ammo as I could shovel into my pack. Then I stared in reverence; beneath the shells and bullets rested a state-of-the-art, AB-10 machine pistol. The question was, did it still work after scores of zombies and spinys had monkeyed with it?"
— Part two
"I just had a bad through Fly; I hope whatever burned away our clothes didn't also burn away all the microbes in our guts that help us digest food. Without them, we'll die of starvation no matter how much we eat."
— Part three
"Without false modesty, I can say I was a proven a prophet. In that sea of pale, dead faces, two dry as dust eyes came to rest on Yours Truly. Hoping the unfocused eyes would continue their survey of the room, I didn't move a muscle...which was normally what the zombies did when they had no orders and had not spotted a human: they stood and did nothing. Except, that is, for the one who wouldn't stop staring at me. I wasn't about to make the first move. I'd been through a lot lately but I could still count."
— Part four
""You don't know what that's going to do," she proclaimed. "I can't help it...I'm a born lever-puller! I flicked the tongue. With a loud groan, the platform lowered like an elevator. The demons wandered off. They snuffled their pig snouts and evidently scented us, for they made a beeline."
— Part five
"He raised his old .30-99 and aimed it right at my chest. I threw myself to the floor just as the bullet seared over my head. "Damn you to hell!" I shouted, outraged that the universe had decided to foist a new, improved zombie on me. Too late; I'm sure he already was--and me with him."
— Part six
"The lieutenants name was Weems, actually. I just call him Beelzebub because he's a fat sweaty heathen always surrounded by a swarm of gnats. They like the taste of his perspiration."
— Part seven
"So the first thought that leapt to mind when something brushed my face was Ghosts! Peripheral vision warned me something was definitely there; but when I turned to face it, all I saw was a blur. I was still debating when something big and fast knocked me on my ass. I still couldn't see it, but I figured any ghost that can knock you down is a ghost you can return the favor to."
— Part eight
"This head wasn't handsome enough to be a movie star. Its grotesque skin was made of millions of squirming, knotted, bloodred worms stretched over a huge, inflated balloon. For an instant I thought of the floating blue sphere. Staring into the single red eye of this floating pumpkin with a tube for a month, I doubted it would make me feel like a million...years old, maybe."
— Part nine
"The heavy security door rolled shut, mocking me with its lethargy. Fortune loved me this time; slow as the door was, the nightmare was just that slower. The door shut, and the frustrated pig-thing beat on the heavy metal and howled its rage and hunger. And still I hadn't even seen one of the things in the light"
— Part ten
"Now it was her turn to tell a story. "Fly," she began, passing to gulp water from a bottle we'd extracted from the crate, "I don't want to see anything like that first assault ever again." She sat with her back to a wall, and I stood where I had a good view of anything coming or going. I had to find out what happened to Fox Company. Munching on a bland, fast-energy bar that tasted as fine as a steak at that moment, I gave her my undivided attention (and a chocolate bar of her own)."
— Part eleven
"What I saw made me smile grimly. Behind a pile of boxes, ten feet past the machine pistol, were no fewer than a dozen of those brown spinys who would never make Smokey the Bear's Christmas list. They were hiding behind the boxes, staring greedily at the well lit gun and waiting for someone stupid enough to march up and try to grab it."
— Part twelve
"The light was dim. He wanted to breathe fresh air again, as he had before stepping on the platform. He'd been breathing the stale air of spaceships and the Mars station and the Phobos installations for so long he'd almost forgotten what fresh air was like. Even if it had been fake, he wanted it again. But when he filled his lungs, it was that disgusting sour-lemon smell he had first noticed when he killed his first zombie. He was a man again, but he didn't want to be back in hell. Yet he had traveled somewhere, hadn't he? He felt he'd come a very long way just to reach..."
— Part thirteen
"During the precious seconds I spent saving myself from whoever was playing sniper, the last demon charged at me like a runaway bulldozer. I turned to find myself staring into a meter-wide maw. I thought I knew a bad smell was before that moment. A square mile of human cesspool might come close. The odor was so bad it was like a weapon. My eyes watered so I could hardly see."
— Part fourteen
"All hell broke loose. Staring-boy opened his mouth, too; but instead of words, he belched an inarticulate roar. But he was so hemmed in by his fellows, he couldn't raise the pistol in his right hand. Impatient guy that I am, I acted: I tilted up my shotgun and squeezed the trigger."
— Part fifteen
"The spidermind screeched and skittered, joyously engulfed in bright white flames, like one of Weem's monks protesting the war in Kerfiristan by immolating himself with burning gasoline. I watched for several minutes, keeping low as the last of the spiderminds' ammo exploded, bursting off in all directions. Mobility only lasted half a minute, then the intense heat melted the crystal canopy, turning the truck-sized brain into a crispy critter in a matter of seconds. It took longer for the metal body to liquefy, even longer for the whole mass to bubble through the melted deck plates. At last there was nothing left of the dreaded spidermind but a smoking crater..."Get used to it"
— Part sixteen
"By now the train was up to speed again, smoking along at 300, 320 kilometers per hour. At this speed, the wind could be considered a deluxe feature for the typical bovine passenger. As I attempted to squirm through the opening, I quickly learned that a typhoon strength headwind could slow down the most dedicated marine."
— Part seventeen
"Suddenly we were rammed from behind. A truck had hit us. One good view in the side mirror revealed a zombie driver. "Don't react," I hissed to everyone, fearing a volley of gunfire at the wrong moment. Everybody kept his cool."
— Part eighteen
"Arlene smiled slyly. She was using the early-worm-got-the-bird smile. "Flynn Taggart...bring me some duct tape from the toolbox, an armload of computer-switch wiring, and the biggest, goddamned boot you can find""
— Part nineteen Final

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