Vanwege de interessantheid voor iedereen die van speculeren houd wil ik jullie de posts van een gtaforums.com lid niet weerhouden. Dit lid heet deepthroatgta4 wat een verwijzing is naar de geheime FBI lek die ervoor heeft gezorgd dat het Watergate affaire naar buiten kwam. Wat weer de directe aanleiding was voor het aftreden van President Nixon.
Op 11 maart 2007 heeft dit lid een verhaaltje geplaatst over een mogelijke ontdekking van informatie over GTA IV. Niets bijzonders want er zijn vaker leden die iets in die trant beweren. Echter, na het zien van de trailer blijven zijn beweringen overeind en zijn er meer berichten geplaatst met informatie. Gezien de wijze van brengen van deze informatie vermoed ik dat het gaat om een marketing techniek van Rockstar om de speculatiegolf in gang te houden.
Gents,
I have information that may be huge, I am about to relate to you an incident that occured this week. The information I am about to pass you could cost me my job if I was found to be passing it on, hence the nick name.
On Thursday 8th March 2007, at the bequest of a client, I was conducting a counter surveillance task along with my team in direct response to the repeated sighting of a suspicious vehicle in the vicinity of the clients property located in ManHattan, New York City.
Shortly after identifying the vehicle in question, the Team Leader decided a direct confrontation of the occupants was the most expeditious way forward. I, along with two others confronted the three male occupants of a 2005 GMC Suburban.
The Suburban was configured with an array of computer equipment in the back, a substantial amount of digital capture devices were mounted on the dash and the antenna located on the roof was similar to the small condan/tapestry antenna that I have seen previously on vehicles for tracking purposes.
The driver of the suburban produced credentials that showed he was an employee of Rockstar Games, my two other team members were satisfied and didn't realise the significance of the event, I opened the passenger side door and looked into the rear of the truck where one of the males shut down several LCD screens, but my heart skipped a beat as I looked at a folder on the desk which was emblazed with the "IV" official logo with the Manhattan Skyline clearly shown within the letters.
I tried to appear as calm as possible and walked away from the vehicle.
Make of it what you will.
Deepthroat.
Nogmaals, van het verhaal zelf geloof ik niets van de inhoud, maar ik denk dat er mogelijk verwijzingen naar de inhoud van het spel zelf in verwerkt zitten.
Gents,
Things have taken a turn for the sinister, almost immediately after I made the post an eerie chain of events was initiated. I left my hotel room to go out for a packet of cigarettes, not 100 meters down the street I noticed that I had a tail, these guys we're good, their rotation amongst operators was frequent and seamless, at one point the surveillance team were ahead of me which is a very advanced technique.
I pulled out every trick in the book, I walked contra-flow on 5th Avenue during rush hour, stepped of the subway as the doors were closing at the 52nd street station, discarded my jacket, walked into Macys via the front entrance and exited at the rear, into a cab and down to Tribeca. A mobile tail was immediately initiated by the team that was on me, they were every bit as competent as their foot team. At a dive bar in Tribeca I was engaged by a female who was blatantly out of my league, who started asking some very searching questions.
I abandoned the bar and made my way back to the hotel via the subway, taxi and on foot, taking the most obscure route I could. All the time experiencing the crushing intimidation that is present when you are aware that you are under surveillance. At the hotel my computer noted 467 attempted incursions at my firewall, it was holding, but only just.
Paranoia took over and I began a search of the room, within minutes I had pulled a Lo Jack from the telephone, the fire detector, my freshly laundered cargo pants and there was a peculiar solid metallic object located behind my right eyelid. I looked through my door peep hole to see a surprisingly burly cleaner polishing repeatedly around my door.
As I turned to the window I caught a red dot traversing across the wall and fall neatly onto my chest, as I dived for cover a round penetrated the window and impacted the wall immediately behind where I had been standing. Glancing at the hole that the round had made I estimated 7.62 mm green spot round, as standard in NATO sniper weapons.
I bolted from the room, I executed a strong side face smash on the burly cleaner and made good my escape via the laundry chute, at the rear of the hotel I mugged a vagrant for his clothes and sprinted for Hells Kitchen as the now be-suited assassins ran down the fire escapes.
I am writing this from a internet cafe in HK, I must keep mobile, these men will stop at nothing. I now fear for my life and my dog is not aswering the phone at home.
Play GTA IV for me guys, maybe they have 360's on the big cloud in the sky.
My god, my credit card has been declined by the teller and there is a tactical team cordoning off the street. I need to move.
Keep the truth alive.
Kind regards,
Deepthroat.
Gents,
I now feel the only others I can trust are the people on this forum. I have moved, I exited the internet cafe through a rear exit, mustering everything I could to kick through the padlocked door as the Rockstar Henchmen piled in the front entry point. Sprinting down 57th Street, across 8th, 7th, 6th and 5th avenue I knew I had to make Grand Central where I keep an emergency identity.
The NYPD have been suspiciously looking the other direction whenever I pass, and the goons in the black Suburban now overtly trail my movements with a nonchalant arrogance as if they know they have me caught.
Fumbling with my keys at the left-luggage storage I grabbed my passport, driving license and enormous false moustache and made for the exit. A dazzling light beamed down on me from a suspiciously silent helicopter and a booming voice with a peculiar eastern European accent barked orders over a loud speaker, insisting that if I surrendered that I would be treated humanely.
I had only one option, I ran hard and fast at the bridge that was 200 meters south of where I was stood, I lept over the wall and braced for impact. As if in slow motion a subway train emerged from the tunnel and I landed centrally with a sickening crunch.
I surfed the train for what felt like an eternity, before leaping off just prior to the Brooklyn Bridge. I am now freezing cold, drenched in sweat and stood around a burning oil drum with Jake and Fred. Fred has only one tooth and claims he is a former Vice President of Tahiti.
Jake is being extremely generous with his moonshine in order that Fred may attempt to remove the object behind my eye with his razor which he insists is only a week old. I am typing this on my Blackberry which, annoyingly, is running low on power.
I will endeavour to contact you soon.
What doesn't kill us..........
Deepthroat.
PS. I will reveal my identity as soon as I am sure there are no Rockstar Moles amongst you.
Gents,
After a long, cold night under Brooklyn Bridge I awoke to find that Jake and Fred had kindly relieved me of my shoes, and then relieved themselves on me, which possibly explains my dreams of mild Mediterranean waves lapping over my feet as I relax on the beach whilst being fanned by a surgically enhanced French peasant girl.
I snapped awake, alert, ready, and immediately began scanning the area for signs of the pursuing foe, the relentless mob of Rockstar Heavies that sought me high and low. I observed an aircraft in a high altitude holding pattern, whilst it may have been the overnight flight from London; I knew in my heart that it was in fact a Predator Drone laden with sophisticated observation equipment and the odd Hellfire Missile.
I moved to a small alleyway which ran deep into China Town, I observed the movements of the locals, no doubt each of whom was aware that there was a glorious bounty for whoever returned my head to Rockstar HQ. For the first time I realized that Rockstar had influence in every corner of modern life, they had the Police in their pocket and officials in the highest levels of Government.
I waited for a small, inconspicuous vehicle to trundle down the alley, a blue Volkswagen drew level with me and I pounced forward driving my fist through the glass and snatching the keys, I flung open the door and reached inside to haul the driver from the seat. To my utmost embarrassment I was faced with a sweet old lady, but I flung her out anyway, she just went a little further than the average citizen. I jumped into the car and hit the gas, I was shocked as I was pinned to the seat as the car screamed towards 60 MPH in short order, the frisky old bat had tuned the engine to a ridiculas degree.
This did not add up, I pulled down the sun visor and my fears were confirmed, the ID Card bore her picture, the sweet old lady who's hips I had no doubt rendered useless was a Rockstar employee. The rear window smashed and I heard a weapon report behind me. I ducked low, hammered the gas, dropped the gears and the VW Golf struggled for grip and fishtailed towards the bridge.
They were onto me; I knew that the Rockstar Operation Centre would be alive with activity, satellites being re-tasked, radio nets alive with transmissions, tactical teams being scrambled and an army of black suited white males with sunglasses silently sealing off the city. I accelerated over the bridge and breathed a huge sigh of relief as I crested the centre and saw there were no checkpoints and traffic was flowing nicely. My mind wandered to Buster, my faithful mongrel who no longer knocked the handset from the cradle when the phone rang, I knew they had got to him, but I could trust him to say nothing.
I clocked that it was 40 Km to JFK, but I couldn't keep this car, the deceitful granny would have relayed my actions to the lynch mob that was closing in fast. I saw my opportunity, Dunkin Donuts crept into view, and I knew what would be in the car park, a fleet of shiny new Ford Taurus all neatly flying the flag the for the NYPD. I pulled in and acted fast, I jacked the first car in the row, it wasn't tricky and the car started nicely on the hot-wire.
I've had an opportunity to charge my Blackberry, had some day old doughnuts and I'm now sat at the rear of JFK getting ready for my next move, there is an old Cessna parked just across the fence. The Rusky Pilots are indulged in an orgy of vodka and pontoon, I can make out talk of Europe and I can assure you, when they go, I go.
I'm monitoring the police net and they have initiated a State wide red alert for a kidnapped child, they are airing my description on the television and radio at fifteen minute intervals, I have heard on the news that a transvestite I met once has come forward and claimed that I am the father of her child, they are also suggesting that I was responsible for the death of Diana and that I habitually make trips to Iceland to slaughter baby seals, for fun.
They are going after my credibility, guys. They know that credibility is the only currency of any value in this game. They want people to know that I'm lying so that when this gets big nobody will believe me.
Vladimir has just kicked the tire of his plane, which I think qualifies as his pre-flight checks.
I'm making my move; it's too risky to stay in NYC.
Deepthroat.
Firstly, let me apologies for the length of time since my last update. My situation becomes more critical by the hour.
Using the radio in the jacked Police car I jumped in on the Air Traffic Control net and denied Vladimir’s request for lift off until they had cleaned up the discarded rubbish which they had left on the edge of the runway. I also, quite childishly, sent a Virgin Atlantic flight full of German tourists to the wrong gate hoping that they would be delayed for at least an hour and that their world renowned sense of humor would be tested.
Sure enough, one of the Rusky aviators was dispatched out of the back of the smoky Cessna to collect the remnants of an afternoon spent drinking their own body weight in finest Siberian Vodka.
I scaled the fence, ran at the Russian lackey and drove my elbow down hard on his shoulder, he crumpled to the ground and I crashed punches onto his head, preying that I could produce enough force to knock him out cold.
He seemed to be out for the count; I stripped him of his flight suit and boots and quickly donned the enormous false moustache I had picked up from Grand Central. The Russian awoke and looked truly shocked as he saw the image of himself standing above him.
I quickly dropped another punch to put him to sleep for another few minutes. I could hear impatient voices emerging from the plane so I quickly moved the limp body of the poor soul who I had just beaten and stripped to behind a small concrete wall and set off running on to the back of the Cessna.
On board the plane I slammed the door shut and looked toward the cockpit, Vladimir craned his head around and looked at me, I gave him the thumbs up, he waved and then turned back to his controls and started taxi-ing down to his designated runway.
I peered out of the windows, checking that I had pulled off my little stunt without alerting the airport authorities. All was looking good; I thought we were clear and then, nightmare.
About 400 meters behind us a black Lincoln with tinted windows power slid onto the taxi way that we were traveling on and accelerated hard in our direction. The Lincoln gained rapidly and pulled up along side. Vladimir spouted Russian obscenities and seemed to insinuate that he was fine to fly and didn’t fell drunk at all. I knew that the intent of those within the Lincoln was far more dubious.
A torso emerged from the sun roof, a tall well built figure clad in black fatigues, a tactical vest, balaclava and insanely large goggles. The sinister figure was reasonably amusing until he leveled a HK MP5 in my direction.
I threw the door open and kicked the side of the weapon hard, I clipped the magazine release catch and watched as the clip tumbled down the road behind us. I then knocked back the cocking handle and ejected the one remaining chambered round, rendering the weapon useless.
The masked assassin threw the weapon into the car; I leaned out of the plane at full stretch and grabbed his pistol from his tac-vest. I lined up the sights of the Glock 17 on my challengers forehead, he looked stunned and slowly raised his hands.
“Tell them that I let you live,”
I hollered above the noise of the Cessna engines.
“They’ll never let you get away,”
He replied.
I paused then emptied the magazine into the engine block and front tire, the Lincoln veered sharply to the left and flipped several times before exploding into a disproportionately large fireball.
I sprinted forward and screamed at Vladimir to lift off; he looked at me with wide eyes and pushed forward on the planes throttle. Seconds later the Cessna picked up speed and creaked and groaned as the wheels left Terra Firma and eased into the hazy New York sky.
I scanned the horizon through the cockpit window whilst Vladimir was making wisecracks about the “Silly Americans” and their stringent drink flying rules.
I felt the pesky object behind my eye and wished I had a way of ridding myself of this Rockstar implanted parasite that relayed my every move to their global command centre.
Vladimir still seemed convinced that I was his engineer, despite the mortal combat that had occurred between the murderous agents and I just feet behind him. I hoped they didn’t have any sort of inappropriate work place relationships occurring on board.
Settling down into the aircraft I checked my Blackberry while we still had signal and noticed that I had an email from an old friend of mine who now worked for the agency. He informed me that the following agencies were on high alert and actively pursuing me – CIA, MI5, MI6, FBI, ATF, DEA, INL, Rockstar, Border Control and, strangely, The Woman’s Auxiliary Balloon Corp.
I managed to get a look at the flight plan, fully expecting a nice Trans-Atlantic flight to Europe. I gazed at the maps and the shipping manifest; we were shipping 3500 dehydrated Haggis to Bogota, Columbia.
I let the information sink in and started running through my contacts in South America, Bogota is a lawless hell hole populated by a combination of Mercs, Spooks, Drug Cartels and corrupt Military and Police, I should be right at home. I was jolted from my day dream by the appearance of something on the horizon, it was something I had seen before, it looked like a pair of angry wasps intent on stinging my nether regions, it was two AH-64 Apache attack helicopters.
Dammit, they closed fast on the decrepit aircraft on which I was travelling, and Vladimir’s pathetic rate of climb kept us within striking distance of the Rockstar death machines manned by vicious soldiers of fortune with the expressed desire of using my nipples as target practice.
The lead helicopter started to strafe the plane with its lethal 30mm Cannon; luckily we were still a sufficient distance away for the fire to be largely inaccurate. I moved to the cockpit and franticly gestured towards the helicopters to Vladimir, he looked startled and asked me to go out back and hide the Vodka.
“Climb you fool,”
I shouted. He pulled back hard on the sticks and the Cessna went into a steep climb and pitched toward the sky. The helicopters gave chase but peeled off at about 16000 feet. Thank God.
The rest of the flight to Bogota was uneventful, I spent the time fashioning a parachute from old socks and shirts that were lying about the back of the plane, I planned a HALO jump into the outskirts of Bogota, lack of oxygen may be a problem but I figure that I’ll make it.
I made the jump with no problems, I have landed in dense primary jungle and I estimate that I am about 15 KM from Bogota. I have established an observation post on a small village which appears to be producing a phenomenal amount of Narcotic.
I have been here for about 24 hours and I am meeting one of my contacts this evening, he’s a ruthless private soldier, I forget who he works for, the highest bidder no doubt. He thinks that he will be able to put some work my way. I’ll have to start at the bottom though.
A Military Patrol passed within 50 Meters of my location earlier, they looked like a regular Columbian army patrol, with one glaring difference, they wore the Blue Rockstar Insignia on their right sleeve.
I am now planning my Agent Contact for tonight. I’m going to have to establish myself here so that I can figure a way out of this mess.
For the time I am safe, I hope the canopy is not allowing my GPS implant to give an accurate fix on my location.
Rockstar are chasing me harder than ever, losing some of their agents at JFK has only motivated them more.
I will keep you updated.
Adios for now.
Deepthroat.
Gents,
At about 1500hrs local time on the 14th March 2007 in Bogota, Columbia, I was apprehended by Rockstar Agencies supported by Columbian Anti Narcotics Police and a Combined Federal Task Force. I was moved to a secure facility located in a disused subway station in New York City and subjected to prolonged interrogation and re-education.
I can now confirm that I do not possess, and have never possessed any information pertaining to the forthcoming game commonly known as Grand Theft Auto IV. The previous posts made by me were the confused ramblings of a paranoid mind and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Yours Faithfully,
Scott.
Guys, Gents, Girls, Lads, Folks,
I just wanted to say that I hope that you get all your dreams, and more with GTA IV.
You are true hardcore fans and your passion is clear for all to see, just by browsing the forums.
I hope that I managed to pass a few moments of time for you in the last few weeks. Thanks for all the kind stuff that was said about the little snippets of a story.
Cheers and best of luck tonight, I'm certainly staying up!!!!
Scotty.
PS. A Rockstar employee who resembles a strategically shaved gorilla stands outside my door 24/7 since I was re-educated!
In het dikgedrukt staat er dus: BEINGCOERCEDNYCITIS
Vertaling: Being coerced (gedwongen worden), New York City it is (de setting voor GTA IV)
comment_643320Vanwege de interessantheid voor iedereen die van speculeren houd wil ik jullie de posts van een gtaforums.com lid niet weerhouden. Dit lid heet deepthroatgta4 wat een verwijzing is naar de geheime FBI lek die ervoor heeft gezorgd dat het Watergate affaire naar buiten kwam. Wat weer de directe aanleiding was voor het aftreden van President Nixon.
Op 11 maart 2007 heeft dit lid een verhaaltje geplaatst over een mogelijke ontdekking van informatie over GTA IV. Niets bijzonders want er zijn vaker leden die iets in die trant beweren. Echter, na het zien van de trailer blijven zijn beweringen overeind en zijn er meer berichten geplaatst met informatie. Gezien de wijze van brengen van deze informatie vermoed ik dat het gaat om een marketing techniek van Rockstar om de speculatiegolf in gang te houden.
Nogmaals, van het verhaal zelf geloof ik niets van de inhoud, maar ik denk dat er mogelijk verwijzingen naar de inhoud van het spel zelf in verwerkt zitten.
In het dikgedrukt staat er dus: BEINGCOERCEDNYCITIS
Vertaling: Being coerced (gedwongen worden), New York City it is (de setting voor GTA IV)