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Urban Terror Blogs

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Urban Terror 5 Physics - Part 3

posted Friday, 12 June 2015

Soooo I've been working exclusively on Urban Terror 5 physics the last few weeks and I'm now happy enough with the result to show it in a video. :)

Please admire my Movie Maker skills:

Of course there is still a lot of work to do, especially on powerslides and walljumps, but the movements are really starting to feel nice which is a good start. Our goal is still to make the movements feel like 4.x so... let's get back to work! :-)

NB: sorry, Movie Maker and YouTube destroyed the quality of my video... Do you have any free software to recommend me?
comments: Feel free to discuss this on our forums

Urban Terror 5 Physics - Part 2

posted Sunday, 08 March 2015
Hey there!

It's been a long time since my last blog post about Urban Terror 5. For many months I had to use my crappy computer with 4GB of RAM and an old Core2Duo. The real-time UE4 editor was very slow to run, so was my progress... especially when you work on game physics. :)

But good news! I invested in a brand new computer. It has a i7 4790K CPU and 16GB of RAM. And trust me, it isn't too much for the very greedy UE4 editor! And although I still use my old GPU (ATI Radeon HD 5770), Urban Terror 5 and the UE4 editor both run very smoothly.

Here is a little video I recorded today to show you the progress I made during the last four weeks (set the quality to 720p 60fps):

As you can see I worked on ledge climbing, ladder climbing, player booting/kicking and head stomping. All of them are still a Work In Progress but I'm quite happy with the result for now. I'm now going to continue working on wall jumping, strafe jumping as well as powersliding.

More to come!


Character Models Forever

posted Friday, 20 February 2015
It's been quite a while since my last blog entry but I am still doing the same job. I am still working on the character models. I have just finished the mesh for the eighth character. Her name is Soo Min and she is from Seoul, Korea. She is a member of the loosely organized anarchists following Sarah Terror.

I have finished the meshes for the U.T.R.T. characters Amanda Scott and Anastazie. I made some simple placeholder materials for them to help visualize the team uniforms.

The other character meshes that are ready for surfacing are Sarah (leader of the red team), her soldiers Pierre Vannier and Charles, and U.T.R.T. Leader Tom Striker and soldier Fred Johnson. I have four more to finish before I start making materials for them otherwise known as surfacing.

They are all wearing the classic GI shaved head hairstyle because hair will be an option in HD and you will have several styles to choose from to customize your character.
comments: Feel free to discuss this on our forums

Frankie V

Chapter 4: Don't call me Shirley.

posted Sunday, 01 February 2015
I original did up 4 chapters so this will be the last for a while but there will be more coming I just don't know when.

Chapter 4: Don't call me Shirley.

Tom was in the barracks when the news came over the Net.

Well not new news as the same subject was being played and replayed through out the night into day and it's obvious to the more informed the bias the reporting was heading as to the nature of the “criminal” act of terrorism being played out to the beat of an agenda.

The BBC has been gone for years but the fat cats still used the reporting format as to what was news on their own networks.

“More propaganda bullshit” Tom though to himself as he gave his boots a last bit of polish and positioned the two in front of him like two soldiers standing at an attention.

“Well lets see what they have to say this time”

Tom increased the volume of the overhead monitor, one of many peppered at strategic locations around the citadel, and you could not get away from the party line if you wanted to, even in the washroom, and was like having someone natter in your ear all the day.

“The horrific death of governor Robert W Baxter-Kaneen was compounded by the death of sixteen guardsmen who bravely gave their lives to fight off the well organized and trained terrorists that attacked the governors mansion last night.

The UTRT are still conducting their investigation but it is clear by these pictures you are seeing the terrorists where well armed with advanced weaponry and explosive devices that once the fighting was over only the foundation of the once glorious mansion was left standing'

Tom smirks.

“Who the hell writes this shit?”

“For more on this tragedy the network turns you over to Leslie Nielsen on the scene and with this report.

Thank you Elaine.”

This time Tom breaks out a broken laugh as it looks like this Leslie joker had just come from the Opera. The only thing missing was the top hat but with the amount of jell in his hair he could sculpt one.

“The local UTRT sheriff has informed me directly that there were aware that local terrorist cells were being organized as well communicating with other cells across this great nation and were in the process of taking action when this tragic event that you see behind me occurred.

Leslie how come we the people did not know of this organizing going on and warned?

Good Question Elaine the sheriff informed me that they did not want the terrorist made aware of their intelligences gathering methods that would have set off a chain reaction prematurity before having reinforcement teams in place. The sheriff also informs me that they are now in complete control and sending reinforcements to critical local locations as well as locations around the world.

It's good to know Leslie that we are all in good hands and look forward to this being the last act of terrorism that we as a great nation will have to face.

Indeed Elaine indeed.

We now return you back to your regular programming of Coronation Street already in progress.”

“More mind control rot”

Tom drops the volume.

Anyone in UTRT with half a mind knows that governors are a butch of chicken shit bastards that to cover their own ass stores as much bombs and bullets they can get their hands on. All that fire power is useless if you don't know how to store it and would not take much to leave a big hole in the ground.

Tom slides his feet into the nice shinny boots.

“Come to think of it”

Tom thinks to himself.

“It would only take one person knowing what they are doing to set off all of these compounds like popping popcorn”

Tom turns to his locker and reaches for the top shelf and stops as he sees the inked markings between his right thumb and forefinger.

Tom grew up in a military family going back as far as anyone can remember and Tom's father was a sergeant major in the Royal Military and ran the house hold as if one of his regiments in his charge. From him he learned God, country and honor and it was a forgone conclusion that Tom would enter the military academy and earn his commission.

When that day arrived Tom asked for and was granted permission to have his father pin his bars on for the first time and to be the first to present him with his first salute. Tom still carry’s the picture in his wallet whenever he needs a boost as to respect and pride that vanished during the Euro-Russian wars just after the world market crash.

The ER as the old timers like to call it took a lot out of everyone but there was still military pride for God, country and honor that all were willing to go to war when Russian begun pressing across their boarders and into Europe. It was not known until much later that the Russians did not have enough farming land to feed their population so as much as anyone could call it a war it was all about an act desperation.

At the time Tom was a front line commander as a captain and as such was one of the first in command to notice that military support response was not coming as fast as it should or if it came at all and at some point resupply dropped to zero leaving the men in the field to fend for themselves.
It was a blood bath after that with no way to turn it off and as food, ammo, ran out things got even worst with in fighting over anything that use to be available in abundance.

It was discovered later the one-percenters were taking control of key military assets yet to be paid for by the military and considered them on loan. Satellites, network communication systems, telephone switching networks, anything involving hardware and software was pulled in the middle of battle and communication with the front lines was not even possible using a pay phone.

The war did not end with defeat or victory but just ended as there was no way to direct reinforcement from either side and the end came because there as no one left to fight. For that matter there was no military left to speak of and the one-percenters made their own army out of anyone wishing to eat having to put on the UTRT blues.

The only badge of honor out of the ER wars was the inked reveres E slash R on the web between Tom's right thumb and forefinger that anyone even trying to fake rights and honors would land up in short order being called lefty for the rest of their life.

Tom reaches to the top shelf of this locker and pulls out three live ammo magazines for his UTRT standard issue, pops out the dummy mag slaps in the live, and put the other two in his fanny pack.

Little know fact UTRT troopers don't carry live rounds, they always land up shooting their own toes off.

Closing his locker Tom starts moving for the exit like a man with a purpose and is stop short by the garrison commander with a green trooper at his side.

“Tom I want you to meet someone. He's going to be assigned to your squad next week once he clears orientation.”

“Sheriff Tom Striker meet Denis Bajram”

As Denis raised his hand for the traditional first greet handshake Tom could already see that stupid joke forming on his lips.

“Nice to meet you just don't call me Shirley”

Tom locks and loads a round into his standard issue, the first one it's seen probably since the assembly line, and continues towards the door.

“No worries not going to happen”

And one last turn before escape is achieved.

“And the guys name is Ted you dumb ass”

Tom does the song and dance across the quad towards the waiting deuce and half trying to avoid getting mud on his shinny boots and jumps into the cab with the last single leap.

Impressed with himself he barks out orders.

“OK Trooper get her down the road”

The response was familiar but Tom was startled by the gruff Russian accent attached.


And Tom was even more startled to see the big Russian bear attached in full military posture with both hands on the wheel holding on for what seems for dear life.

“Well aren’t you a big one” in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

Toms mannerism changed as he watched the bear reach for the floor stick shift and could see the web markings on his right hand and pulls his knees up against the dash and slides back into his preferred traveling position.

“Call me Tom”

Bear as Tom would call him for now on fumbles with the stick a bit trying to find first gear on the aging deuce

“And drop the military bullshit”

“Ohkay Tom”

The old girl finally gives it up with one last bump and grind and lurches forward.

“And we go now”

And off the two go with the six in the back for a day in the British country side.

This was the part of his daily duties Tom actually enjoyed and would spend the next 8 hours with his normal crew on patrol with in their assigned zone. It was the easiest gig in town as although they had one of the largest zones to cover it had the least amount of population consisting of mostly small hamlets, townships, and farm land.

The team would drive around and would rarely get out of the deuce and their job was to just let people see them as being there like a hood ornament to show off. Except for Terry, one of his older troopers, who would drop off the back of the deuce with his skateboard when they hit that 4 kilometer of freshly asphalt road and do a bit of bumper skiing.

Today though Tom was out on an orientation patrol with green troopers but him and Bear were having a good old time hitting every pothole they could find and watching the six bounce around like a bunch of bobble heads. Bear only made Tom laugh even harder as his evil intentions were clear as each time a hole appeared he would accelerate just a bit more and would roar with Russian laughter each time the deuce would try to get a bit of air time.

Got to hand it to Bear he really managed to get that old girl running like a Formula 1 race car, or at least a rental and Tom only had to point out to turn left or right from time to time to keep them on the patrol route. Tom even talked to Bear about his thoughts as to the recent news and was in agreement that it all sound like some planned set up.

As stated Tom's patrol would rarely leave the truck except for one spot him and his usual crew would break for lunch that he liked to call “Tom's do drop in Restaurant” which was a bluff just on the far end of his assigned patrol area that over the course of many patrols he managed to haul up everything from a barbeque pit, picnic tables, and lawn furniture that would make for a nice day at the beach, if it was a beach.

The best part of TDDR was the view. You could see clear down the valley and about 3-4 kilometers away was the township of TS17, names being dropped long ago for the efficiency of numbers, and even though not part of their district they would watch the inhabitants go about their daily business with UTRT issued ground scanners.

Getting up the hill was not a problem for Bear as he only had to get the wheels to line up with tire tracks of past visits and moved up the hill in more or less cruse control and Tom knew once they make it over the next crest the valley ahead would frame out the entire windshield.

As the front of the truck came down Tom was the one surprised as if on cue he saw a familiar flash of light and the beginnings of a debris cloud forming over what was once to be TS17.

Tom was out of the deuce even before it came to a full stop and jogged over to the edge of the bluff to watch the shock wave race up the valley. Bear was not to far behind and Tom commented over his shoulder

“I think they figured it out”

“Da kaputski”

This was something new to the green troopers and not knowing what to expect had dug in to the dirt embankment.

“OH come on it's not nuclear” Not said but what Tom thought just as the shock wave arrived.

At this distance it did little damage except for being very loud, like being directly under a thunder storm, and shook the old deuce around and being a bucket of bolts only made it seem worst than it was.

The thing that gets you though is the heat and Tom closed his eyes to think barbeque instead of the lives lost in a single moment of madness he hoped to forget or never see again.

“OK boys pack it up, back on the truck, we are heading back to the citadel”

“But sir should we not head down there and help”

Grabbing the pull up handle on the deuce Tom turns to the young trooper.

“Son all that’s left is a big hole in the ground. If you want to be a tourist feel free to start walking”

Diving into the cab Bear had already gotten the old girl revved up and the troopers barely had time to buckle in when Bear popped the clutch, hammered the accelerator, and got the old girls big old butt to swing around in a 180 skidding across the grass and landing in the same place facing the other direction.



On the ride back things were not as fun. Bear this time avoided all of the potholes but still was driving a bit faster than he should but was still going to take a few hours to get back.

This gave Tom time to think...

“OK for sure a war was started but against who? The indecent in New York made sense as far as a viable target goes but TS17 was of little military relevance or of strategic value”

That’s when the shiver ran down Tom's spine.

And out loud.

“It's not military”

Bear looks at Tom like he must have missed half the conversation.

“OK hear me out. Me and my crew been watching that town for years and we know everything that goes on there every day and from a strategic stand point it would be the worst possible location for anything”

Bear nods.

“From a security stand point there is very little cover and you saw that valley, a bomber of any kind would only need to make a single pass and wipe out any kind of military strong hold and you would not want to move troops into that valley as there is only one way in and out of it”

“It's not military”

Bear puts in a bit more throttle.

“I need to talk to Dave TS17 was in his district”

Making good time Bear pulls the deuce into the quad just a little after 1330 and Tom moves across with purpose ignoring the mud this time and enters the barracks. Moving down the hall way Tom checks quickly each office in turn before reaching the bunk room.

It was clear the news had got to the citadel before Tom and his crew got back as there was a lot of heavy activity going on and news flash coming over the UTRT-Net on all channels and the banner tags were all saying the same thing.

International peace summit at TS17 rocked by Terrorist attack.


Tom turns into the bunk room.

“Where's Dave?”

“In the canteen” came the reply.

Moving back down the hall way Tom turns at the junction that takes him directly to the canteen where he finds Dave sitting nursing a cup of coffee.

“Dave what the hell happened to TS17?”

“I don't know Tom me and my crew were told to stand down for the day. We did not even help with orientation”

“That makes no sense at all” Tom says.

Dave looks up with a worried look.

“Tom what makes no sense the only way into and out of TS17 is over a single lane bridge that we can barely get the deuce over”

Something Tom did not know.

“Most times we did not even go into the town but when we did we would make a quick run through and come right back out”

While talking Tom was scratching down some notes on a napkin.

And Tom.

Tom looks up.

“They are kitting UTRT with live rounds, even the new guys”


Tom's back up and moving and makes the end of the junction just as Bear comes through the main doors. Tom half pushes Bear into a free office and closes the door behind them.

“OK first of all international peace summit my ass”

“New York, be it planned or dumb luck was the real deal right?”

Bear nods

“OK then”

Tom pulls out his notebook and napkins and lays it all out like a battle plan.

“The Net hypes up an other wise action incident that the UTRT Information Control would normally down play and certainly would not release any names of VIP's injured or killed”


Bear nods again'


“Today we have a complete town go up and told there was a peace summit going on at the time yet with one way in and only one way out was a clear red flag as to security”

Again the nod.

“The only thing that fits is if someone had already planed out before hand that an action event would take place and already had enough explosives to vaporizer an entire town that you would not know was there unless you knew it was there”

Bear started to realize where Tom was going.

“The strategic value of TS17 was not how to securer the area but how to control the area AFTER an action event”

Tom turns the napkin he was writing on in the canteen and even with his poor reading skills of the English language Bear knew the meaning of the words.

“False Flag”


Urban Terror 4.3

posted Saturday, 03 January 2015

I hope that you had a good time with your family and friends for Christmas and the new year!

A few days ago the information about a new version of Urban Terror 4 was leaked and we immediately started to see a lot of rumors about it, so we thought it would be better to just make it official. :)

We are currently working on a new version of UrT called Urban Terror 4.3.0.
Warning: Before giving some details about this new version, I want to make something clear: this does NOT mean that we are dropping the development of Urban Terror HD and it doesn't mean that this development will be slowed down by 4.3 either. Most of what we added to 4.3 was already partially or totally finished work but was never released.
We have several aims for this release. The first one is to clean up and repack the game. 4.2 was getting messy with a lot of duplicated files and assets leading to bigger and bigger packs. A new major version is the perfect occasion for a clean up. We also decided to drop the complicated naming of the versions ( for a more simple one (4.x.x) which also means that we will do releases less often because we want to take more time to QA test them.

We are also planning to release a new version of the Updater, including a lot of bug fixes and improvements compared to the one released with Urban Terror 4.2. Making an Updater / Launcher accessible to all players, having all kinds of internet connections, computers and operating systems is a really huge challenge but we believe it is worth the try.

A new game mode will be introduced: the Gun Game. We already did a public beta of this game mode last year but the development was put on hold for a while. It is now ready for a release so expect it to be available in 4.3.0!

Here is a non exhaustive list of our other plans for Urban Terror 4.3:
a new gear selection menu with real time visualization of the player and its gears
several new weapons: .44 Magnum, FN P90, Benelli M4 and more...
unlock of the cvars sv_fps and snaps
menus improvements
and more!

There isn't a precise release date for now. We don't want to repeat the mistakes of early 4.2 releases so we are going to take our time to polish this version. You can expect Urban Terror 4.3.0 to be released in the first quarter of 2015 though. :)

We are very excited about this release and we really hope that you will enjoy the new features as much as we do!
comments: Feel free to discuss this on our forums

Frankie V

Chapter 3: Fish love the color red.

posted Saturday, 03 January 2015
Chapter 3: Fish love the color red.

Pierre Vannier was not a complicated man it just seems complications always found him but gowning up in the back county of northern Quebec hunting and fishing he not only learned valuable survival skills but the art of patients as well.

Growing up in the back country honed Pierre's survival skills but nothing prepared him for the Euro-Russian wars which started shortly after the financial melt-down.

He had joined the French infantry due to family living in Picardy. Disillusioned after the war he found himself scrounging for food in Paris with a few of the survivors from his platoon. He'd thought about joining the UTRT but after the war he just couldn't stomach any kind of military organization. He was too old and bitter to help defend a bunch of naive civilian sheep.

Having enough Pierre decided to return to his beloved woods in northern Quebec and to the hunting grounds he knew so well and as luck would have it one of his long time friends, Ducky, was making flights to New York to bring the fat cats French cuisine and wine that only the French could make.

It was not a fun flight as Pierre had to hide in the unheated cargo hold but was not his first time having to deal with the cold but he hoped that no one notices the nibble here and there from the French pastries.

The only thing Pierre Vannier liked better then fresh French baked goods is a good scotch and even the air and smells around him tasted with flavor that help make the flight bearable.

Landing in upper New York Pierre was able to make his way out of the cargo bay undetected. UTRT has a habit of shooting first and asking question later and although he was a big man, at 6ft 3in, he still could move with grace even with a full pack on his back and was able to make his way to and over the 12 foot fence that surrounded the airport with ease.

Checking his map he figured there was two ways to go. Over the mountain ranges and back roads running along the boarder or take the direct route along the road ways using the travel papers he hopes are still active. OK there is only one way to do this as he pulls a coin from his pocket to let random chance decide.

Heads roads, tails border line.

There were few cars on the roads that night, which was a good thing for Pierre as those who could still afford to drive are not of the charitable nature, and with the high grass running along side it was a quick hop to cover when he saw the lights and heard the engine of the on coming traffic.

This is where Pierre Vannier meet Sarah Terror for the first time as he came around the corner and saw by the light of the glass inclosed bus shelter a fur ball of red laying the whoop ass down on a couple of rednecks thinking that they had discovered the opportunity for a good time.

For a moment Pierre was inclined to lend a hand but by the way things were going it would all be over before he even got there so he figured he would malinger on over and pay his respects.

Sarah heard the scuff of boot on pavement even before turning around and hunched down enough to hide the tire iron from view.

“AND what do you want?”

Just as he breaks into the light of the over head lamp post Sarah could see what was clearly a kind smile that she has not seen in a long time.

“Just to say hello”

“My name is Pierre whats yours?”

Sarah has always had the gift of being able to read people as to their true intentions. Her father use to call here a living, breathing, walking talking lie detector and not once has she even been proven wrong.

As quick as she jumped into attack mod Sarah drops the tire iron, squares herself up and becomes the proper lady.

“Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York”

“Well Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York what are you doing here in a bus shelter”

“ It was the only shelter I could find and they are saying its going to rain tonight”

“Well if you like I know of an abandoned bomb shelter left over from the late 60's just a few miles up the road and your more than welcome to join me”

Sarah give the big man another going over and although intimidating in size determined to be harmless enough.


As they start walking to the north Sarah stops.

“OH wait a second”

She runs back to the shelter and picks up what looks to be a toy and runs back to where Pierre is waiting.

“Whats up with the monkey?” Pierre says with a smile

“It's the only thing I could grab when they tossed me out of my house”

“Well then the monkey comes with us”

Pulling the loaf of French bread he stole from the cargo plane from his pack he breaks off a piece and hands half to Sarah

“OH yummie”

Sarah pops the toy monkey onto the top Pierre's pack putting her free arm though his and at the same time accepting the kind offer.

“Frenchie this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”

“What's up with the eye?”

“Fishing accident...revenge for the monkey remark right?”


It never did rain that night and the broken down bomb shelter over the years grew from one room to two to three to more rooms that they knew what to do with. They even had guest rooms even though the chances of a visit were slim as Sarah and Pierre became their own family. Sarah was always joking that they had so much room they should convert one to an indoor swimming pool but since even collecting rain water was illegal collecting enough to fill a swimming pool would seem to be a bit wasteful.

Even Pierre was happier than he was back in Quebec and he loved doing all of the building while Sarah did all the scrounging. The perfect arrangement that one could count on the other to have their back and Sarah was no push over if it came down to a bar fight.

It was one of those evenings Pierre set aside each month to get his fishing tackle ready for the week he would spend at the lake he found twenty miles away that would take the better part of the day to get to. Like all things it took papers to just go fishing and Pierre was sure that the ones he had gotten while in France would be of little use.

Be as it may he enjoyed making his own fly’s from the bits and pieces he could collect and put into the little leather bag he always carried. Sarah found them pretty and Pierre did not have the nerve to tell Sarah that they really love the bright red ones. He's sure she would be forgiving as she loved fresh trout as much as he did but why take the chance?

Sarah picked that moment of solitude to make her entrance as she always does. Been forever but she still owns the room that requires the grand entrance and a metal door if it does anything besides close she uses it well as an instrument to trumpet out her return.


“Frenchieeeeeee you should see all the good stuff I got”. As she drop the big box of stuff right in the middle of Pierre's collection of bits and pieces.

“I even got something for youuuuu”

OK when Sarah says she has something for you it's not just anything. Every time Pierre hears those words, and more so if she calls him Frenchie first, it's something worth your undivided attention that even his now displaced bits and pieces could not distract from.

Sarah reaching over the table like some kind of splunker she pulls off the top the unquestionable shape of a bottle wrapped in newspaper and presents it to Pierre like presenting a new born to it's father for the very fist time.

Pierre carefully pulls back the news pint to reveal the unmistakable words Scotch Whiskey.

“Sarah where did you get this?”

“I traded it for some of your fishing tackle, you know all those fancy red ones you say the fish go nuts for”

Pierre was obliviously displaying a shocked expression as Sarah was was doing a very good job of a drop jaw bugged eyed Pierre impression right back.

“Well to morn the loss I think I'll have a drink, read my newspaper and try to forget, would you be so kind as to fetch my slippers and pipe?”

The thwack to the back of the head was unmistakable sound of a wet kitchen dish cloth and the smug “no you didn’t” expression on Sarah's face, that can only be achieve through years of training as a mother, would have been more that enough to put Pierre in his place.....except for the trailing Irish giggle letting him off the hook...yet again.

“OK then back to work”

Pierre cracks open the cap of the newly acquired bottle of Scotch Whiskey and pours out the customary three fingers worth and settles in to read the accompanying newspaper.

“Says here that after the lighting storm last week the power substation is still out of action and will not be back on line until next week”

“Aw so sad... as Sarah pokes her head around the pantry door with the obvious sarcastic pouty face”

“Two new districts were fenced off”

“How many does that make now”, “Twenty Seven”

Sarah walks back into the kitchen and begins sorting out the rest of the goods from the big box on the table. Made a bit of a racket as it seems Sarah also scored a few pots and pans to add to her already extensive collection of cook wear.

“OK this is interesting New York is getting a new governor next week”

“You mean galactic overload don't you? They don't vote for these guys anymore and it's the fat cats who put them”

Sarah pulls the fake cough routine to indicate yet another sarcastic shot

“into office”

“Who is this guy anyways?”

“Some guy named Robert W Baxter-Kaneen“

“So what did mister hody pody do to get such a cherry gig?”

“Well seems he ran a company called NewCorp but I don't know why that would put him first in line. I mean wasn't NewCorp one of the big guys that crashed and burned big time?”

The silence was deafening. The crashing and banging had stopped like someone turning off a radio and as Pierre turned to see who pulled the plug he saw the look in Sarah's face that he only saw once before that included a tire iron at the ready.


With out a word Sarah left the room and returned a few moments later with an old shoe box that Pierre knew she kept under her bunk. Opening the box she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Pierre in silence.

Puzzled Pierre scanned each page one at a time and it did not take much to realize that it was the written history of Sarah's past. The eviction notice, the denial of claim, and even the papers authorizing the man with the gun to take her children all of them with the same letterhead stamp”NewCorp”.

With out seemingly moving her lips Sarah speaks in a hush tone.

“NewCorp was a shell company that all local and state services were feed into along with major investment banks channeling all their toxic assets through back door deals making them the major share holder”

“NewCorp was suppose to fail”

Pierre still scanning over the documents takes a sip of Scotch that does not taste as sweet as the first.

“So...what do you want to do about this Baxter-Kaneen guy?”

“Kill him...Kill him tonight”

“Aw Sarah that’s imposable governors are heavily protected more so than even the president since the crash”

“I know Frenchie...Everyone knows they are part of the one-percenters but unlike most we know where he's going to be. The governors mansion is the cherry in this pie”

Pierre knew Sarah well enough than when she says she is going to do something she always does and if he does not bring her down now all that will happen that night is Sarah getting killed and accomplishing nothing.

“OK” as Pierre places the papers back into he shoe box and hands it to Sarah.
“But we do it my way and only if I feel we can get away cleanly agreed?”

Sarah considers


Pierre takes the last sip of Scotch that once again went down with the sweetness that he knew so well


It was a week later Pierre was walking the south bound connector and side rails and was the holding area for train shipments going to and from MBF which was a good area to look for useful metal items and even railroad spikes could be made into useful tools in Pierre's home build forge.

Something he had learned a while back is he could pop the auto close on a car if the locking bolt was not engaged and sometimes useful items could be found on cars someone forgot to lock.

Rounding the bend in the tracks Pierre spots such a car off to the side railing he knew would be hooked to the south bound and pulling the tool he made for such occasions out of his pocket he hooked it into the auto close.

“OK my pretty lest see whats behind door number one”

With a snap of the wrist the auto lock let loose opening the door as fast as it closes and out through the door pops the sneaker foot and leg of one Charles Jordan.


Pierre reads the name on the sneaker.

“Lets get you out of here Charles”

Tossing the unconscious Charles over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes he also hooks the pack he found in the car over his other and heads back to the shelter.

Sarah was in the kitchen when Pierre got back and was not so much interested in the bag he tossed to the table but in the body he had over his shoulder.

“Who did you kill this time and why did you bring his body back here?”

Pierre starts down the hall towards one of the guest rooms.

“He's not dead just unconscious and I found him on the south bound, looks like the auto close got him on the back of the head”

“OH great now your bringing home strays but why him? I mean a dog would be nice but another mouth to feed?”

Pierre drops Charles into the bunk just as easily as he picked him up and points to the name on the sneaker.

“I think his name is Charles so watch over him until he wakes up while I check out his bag”

“OK OK” as Sarah perches herself on the foot of the bunk like a Vulture looking at it's next meal.

“But if he bites it can I have his sneakers?”

Pierre heads back down the hall towards the kitchen shaking his head and reaching his destination pulls the bag towards him and unzips halfway which was all that was needed for a familiar odor to escape and Pierre knew he did not need to search the bag because he already knew what was in it.

Be it myth, legend or fact this would not be an act of randomness but a decision to be made to either keep a promise or lie to keep a good thing going. All things consider Pierre was happy with what he had and had survived his own trial by fire during the Euro-Russian wars but Sarah

Crossing the kitchen Pierre pulls his old kit from the storage room and opens it up to make sure what he needs is still all there. Once assured he opens the bag the rest of the way and pulls out the bits and pieces he knew made up a standard UTRT kit.

Portable GPS
Med Pack
empty MP5 magazines

And on it went until he pulled out the plastic wrapped brick of what looked like modeling clay.

With item in hand Pierre paused.

“A promise is a promise”

Pierre thought to himself as he walked back down the hall now hearing voices in conversation he knew Charles was awake..or Sarah was talking to herself.

Standing in the door all Pierre could see was the back of Sarah's head as she was still on her perch and Charles was obscured by the red head of hair that the fishes loved so much.

Last chance

“I went through his bag and there was not much of anything of interest except for this”


Chapter 2: Paging Mister Charles Jordan.

posted Sunday, 07 December 2014
It was the same ritual everyday.

Charles sat on the wall that divides the ally from one side from the other eating his ham sandwich . The city of Toronto had put it there to prevent commercial vehicles from using the ally as a short cut and Charles figures that a lot of the high end shops that use to share the ally were owned by council members probably had a lot to do with it.

It was his wall now and he would always start the day the same way. At the far end of his world he could watch the sun come up over the city of Toronto and as the sun began to flow down the row after row of alleys with a river of light it was the moment that the finger of light touching his face that he knew it was time to start the day.

No need for watches and calendars to mark time Charles though to himself as he looked down at the new scuff mark on his Charles Jordan’s.

It's not like branding means anything these days as during the “happening”, as Charles likes to call it as he was to young to fully understand what was happening at the time, dumpster after dumpster was being filled to the brim with merchandise for the pickings and except for what he could wear to keep cool in the summer and warm in the winter he would be more than happy to trade it all for a half eaten ham sandwich.

As Charles sat eating his sandwich he chuckled to himself as to how strange people find value in objects that has someones name stitched into them. The first thing Charles did was to take a marker and wrote with flair HIS name over this guy Michael Jordan. To bad for Michael, Charles though to himself at the time, if he can't keep track of his own stuff I'll be more than happy to make it my own.

“Can't let my stuff get dirty” rubbing the scuff with the sandwich wrapper Charles was please to see the scuff mark disappear just in time to hear those two words he hears every day at this time.

“Hay Chuck”

“It's Mister Charles Jordan to you good sir” as Charles pushed off the wall with a half attempt of grace and posture.

Truth be told Charles did not have a last name but it was the same joke everyday that he would share with his friend Yoann every morning and most on the streets are not know by name but by first impressions. Charles by his shoes and Yoann called Nono as every time he says no he would say no twice.

So you getting into trouble?

No no

See told you.

So Nono what have you to trade, as Charles picked up his bag with the strange looking cat on the back, I have a few things I know you will like.

Reaching into his cat bag Charles pulls out two packs of cigarettes...sealed.

Charles does not smoke but on the street a single cigarette is worth more than food to some and two packs SEALED makes you a very rich man.

Nono's eyes pop out of his head like a bad cartoon.. “HOLY CRAP WHERE DID YOU GET THOUSE?”

Yeah he smokes.

“Well lets just say a one-percenter is not happy with me right about now”

“I don't know what I got but last night I was down by the river and those UTRT guys were rousting another newbie camp.”

For those of you not in the know as to the way of the streets being a newbie refers to those who have lost their homes and forced out into the streets by the bankers. As misery loves company they always manage to find one another in familiar places and it's those places the UTRT guys don't want you hanging around all day.

“So while they were doing their move along move along thing I jumped into the back of their equipment van and filled my bag with anything I could get my hands on. Don't know what I got, to dark to see, but check it out”

Nono hands the pack to Charles.

“Heavy” Charles remarks nearly dropping the bag of unexpected weight, “You been carrying this all night?”

“Yeah I had to keep moving as someone was following me so I did not have time to see what I got”

“OK then the Charles Jordan trading post is now open for business” Charles says as he props the bag on the edge of his wall.


Call them UTRT, blue meanies, mercs or any multitude of slurs one can think of to describe thous who are no more than hired thugs of the one-pecenters they are still the dumbest bunch of idiots to think that everybody does what they tell them to do.

This and more said in a single look exchanged between Charles and Nono that was punctuated by a single though.


Charles books left, Nono right and just before rabbiting down the side ally Charles shouts out “Nono catch” and toss him the two packs of sealed's “on faith brother” and the last words Charles would ever hear for a long time from his good friend Nono is “YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssss” as the two vanish into their world of familiar surroundings.

Now to say Charles knew his backyard would be an understatement as he had long planned out escape routes not seen on any map or programed into hand held GPS portables used by the UTRT and was not the first time he has been chased for what ever reason even if for no reason at all.

Charles though it as a game of catch me if you can and has always won as in all cases the chase would end before it even started. It was like they did not even want to try and mission was accomplished by having him move out of an area much the same way they would roust newbies because some one-percenter did not like them being there.

This was different.

As Charles peeked out from his rabbit hole it was clear that UTRT had control of the streets. Road blocks at ever turn and ally ways guarded.

“What the hell is in this bag” Charles though to himself.

To get an idea what game he was playing this time Charles manages to work his way up to what looked to be a command post.

“That's right sir we have the area boxed in and waiting for the gunship to arrive with the ground scanners”

OK this is NOT a game anymore and these guys have serious intent.

There was no way these guys would catch him even with the gunship, he was to good of a rabbit, but it's for sure they would not just give up as they have in the past and there was only one though that came to Charles.

“I've got to get out of town until it all blows over”

“Next stop train yard.”

Breaking out of the box was easy enough as Charles moved towards the yard through pathways only he knew or had made to ensure he always had more the one or two escape routes and getting down to the yard as mission one was easy considering.

Setting up shop at the edge of the yard Charles scanned with the Opera glasses he keeps in his jacket pocket to find just the right car which did not take long to find the one with the open door.

Now be it myth, legend or fact this is the point of no return where an act of randomness would have taken the story in a different direction. He could have missed the open and inviting door and could have selected a different option but instead of considering options Charles took action.

Running across the yard as fast as his Charles Jordan would carry him he toss the bag through the now moving car door at almost same instance he pulled himself up and standing the last thing he remembers is.

BANG lights out.

They say when your knocked out that is much like falling asleep except for the pounding headache equal to that of a hangover and takes a bit for your brain to figure out just what the hell happened.

As Charles eyes begin to adjust to what his brain is telling him the first thing to registrar was red, lots and lots of red that Charles brain told him he needed to brush the blood out of his eyes. The second thing his brain told him that attached to the red was a face, then a nose, mouth and finally green.

Green eyes staring at you out of a pool of red would make any brain say “screw you buddy your on your own” and Charles sense of self preservation took over as to the basics of survival of fight or flight.

“Easy now Charles your safe...mostly”

“How do you know my name mam?”

The nice lady, well at least she seems nice at the time, points down at Charles shoes.

“I'm assuming a good guess” not taking her eyes off of Charles as if looking for something.

“OK fair enough how did I get here mam?”

“Well as far as I can tell you got bonked by the train car door. The new ones have auto closers to prevent unauthorized travelers such as yourself and will close once the train reaches speed”

“Lucky or unlucky you were just in the right place at the wrong time.. or is that the other way around?”

“I don't believe in luck I make my own mam” Charles says a bit more comfortable with the situation but still unsettled with the visual scanning going on.

Still with the see through gaze..

“Well the luck comes in that it was lucky Pierre found you when he did. Another ten minuets and you would have been hooked to the south bound to Miami Beach Florida”

For those of you not informed after the “happening” MBF as it now called became a stronghold for the haves over the have not's and was a place where newbies tends to disappear rather than moved along moved along as Nono would call it.


Where am I?”

The green eyes still staring back.

“Upper New York just this side of the Canadian border”

This was something new to Charles and as he was processing his new reality a rather large man with a patch over one eye walks into the room through the door slightly bigger than him.

“I went through his bag and there was not much of anything of interest except for this”
With ease he toss the plastic wrapped package on to the bed that bounces a few times before settling.

With out looking down and still scanning.

“What is it? Can we eat it”

“Well you could but I doubt your digestive system would take kindly to C4”

For the first time since they meet the nice lady, or at least Charles though, broke target lock and reengaged a new target. There was that look again. An entire conversion taking place as to something that was already decided and agreed to.

Reaching into the footlocker at the foot of the bed the lady in red and green pulls out what looks like a toy, a toy monkey with a windup key sticking out of its back. With practice precision, not the first time to the dance, out comes and the click of the switchblade and the thud of steal on cloth in one single motion.

While pulling out the stuffing by the handful.

“Charles you and I are going to go out on a date”

“Ah mam a date? I'm not sure I understand? Why me? Date!”

The once nice lady, so Charles though, turns to the one eyed man and toss him both the now empty toy along with what we now know is C4 and turns her green lasers back onto Charles.

“Bucko if you can get of of Toronto you have the skills to get me in and out of where I need to go tonight”

“I rather not mam”

The now not so nice lady, so Charles though, stands up and looks down.

“Charles after tonight you have no choice, it's time to pick sides”

moving to the doorway the now scarey lady turns back.

“Oh and you can call me Sarah”

Trailing off down the hall.

“You finished rigging up that monkey Pierre? And while your at it make me a sandwich bitch”

It's funny how gravity at times takes over as the only thing Charles could feel was his entire body sinking into the mattress and his brain telling him he needs to sleep.

The last though on his mind before the lights went out was.

“Why did I not take up smoking?”

Chapter One: It's all Sarah's fault.

posted Thursday, 27 November 2014
How it all started no one really knows as after all these years it all seems so random like a pick up game of road hockey were you pick your team by dropping your stick into the mix and whatever side of the road your stick landed up was the team you were on for the duration of the match.

That’s not to say there was no one to blame as far as the complete and utter collapse of the world economy goes, lots to go around then and still more to go around today, but in the world where papers value is defined and limited as to it's usefulness, as what hangs off a roll in a washroom, the act of survival has traded the lunch box and thermos for gun belts and grenades.

There was that moment though were it could have gone either way if not for events of the random nature that set things in motion and compounded by media hype in an effort to get the best if it bleeds it leads story. This is my story as to how all this insanity begun be it myth, legend or fact.

It all began with Sarah Terror.

Well actually it began with Sarah Maureen FizSimons born Dublin Ireland the only child of well to do parents and although would not be considered rich as one of the one-percenters they were not wanting for anything more than whats best for Sarah.

Sarah was every inch the lady with red hair and green eyes that could be seen clear across the room yet could take to the greens and give any healthy man a run for their money in any track and field event she entered and it was these attributes that would command attention of whatever room she walked into.

That was until the day Andrew Terror arrived and if the room was ring and a fight for the heavy weigh title it was predictable that all matches would end in a draw.

Andrew is what you would call a self-made man with little education was able to build his own business as a financial adviser in New York’s Wall Street district using street smarts, a gift since birth, to build up a reputation of honest advice that he would share with his clients and was trusted as to what would be a good investment even at the cost of an other wise easy to make commission.

Needless to say Andrew's reputation always preceded him and was invited to Dublin by the FizSimons to discus options with the small investment group they had put together of friends and neighbors that over the years investing had become the focus of conversation at their weekly bridge tournaments.

It was no surprise to anyone when wedding bells were heard and Sarah Maureen FizSimons born Dublin Ireland became Miss Sarah Maureen Terror of New York, New York.

You would think that whats been put into place was the key ingredients for the Happy Ever After story but as to myth, legend or fact the act of randomness was in motion that if the dots are connected everything comes back to the single unrecoverable event that could perhaps been avoided if for a chance meeting.

After moving back to New York things were good for the Terror's long enough for twins to be born, a boy named Jeff and a girl named Maureen, that combined to make for a happy family... for seven years.

It was early 2007 when Andrew noticed something was not right with the markets. Indicators that said that the market should be going down market analysis were saying that the benchmark housing and real estate market was going up and against his street smarts he continued to keep his clients in real estate which had already peaked the year before.

The day it all began was August 9,2007 as the liquidity of three major hedge funds evaporated seemingly over night causing the complete collapse of the housing bubble along with it that took a mere 48 hours for it's effect to ripple around the world sending house wives, husbands, teachers and those called neighbors to the streets to rush the banks for their hard earned earnings that were only there but as a number on a ledger sheet.

The only description of the events that unfolded could only be describe as World War 3 with no clear front lines and the first shot in the war occurred August 15,2007 at 5.35pm. This is the day Andrew Terror, financial adviser, was leaving work for the day making his last bad decision to leave by the front door of the company he was once proud of and became the target, as an enemy of convenience, of a missile attack in the form of a brick that struck him on the temple.

The coroner report said he was dead before he hit the ground.

Was this the start of it all? Nope it was the flame put to the powder keg that would soon divided city and countries around the world by choice or separation by hockey stick and as I said in the beginning it was Sarah who started it all be it myth, legend or fact.

For the first few weeks after the death of husband father and provider it was a sad time for the Terror household but Sarah was always assured by Andrew that their way of life was not at risk and although hard times were ahead there were assurances and insurances in place that would provided for the family in his absence.

That was until the insurance as to wrongful death was rejected.

Seems that the insurance company had in the past invested to the margins in a company called Enron with constant double digit returns and was claimed to be a safe and lasting investment that could be counted on to last forever with a formula and market strategy this side of printing money from nothing which ironically is what they did.

As it turned out the insurance company, to stay in business, had resorted to what amounts to a Ponzie scheme to protect their own investments by also declining legitimate claims for any half bake reason. A bit difficult to claim a wrongful death by brick to the head as a preexisting condition so the denial of claim amounted to an announcement that they were no longer in the insurance business and was filing for bankruptcy.

Then came the knock at the door and the man with the gun. The paper he placed in Sarah's hand said her and the children no longer had a place to call home and the man with the gun was there to ensure that Sarah knew that she no longer owns what she though was hers. It was instant and with out waring equal to the death of Andrew with no sense as to what is just and justice.

To make matters worst it was not long after being evicted from her life that they came for the children. It is unclear who they are but they had a piece of paper that said she was no longer a mother, at least to that effect, and once again delivered by a man with a gun.

Now one would think “Why not go back to family and friends in Dublin?” Well that would have been the case if countries allowed for free travel as it use to be but airlines were no longer going anywhere as countries begun to shut down boarders and means of communication, Internet, phone lines, and air waves were being shut down as a service by big business in an effort to save the bottom line.

This is when the bankers begun taking over control of the government for the people by the people and the Declaration of Independence being replaced by the ideals of capitalism and the free market system of survival of the fittest where necessities such as food, shelter, clean drinking water became commodities as oil became useless and the one-percenters looking for other means to support their lavish life style.

To work you had to have papers, to eat you had to have papers, to travel you had to have papers and the papers that says in God We Trust is now nothing more than a wishful suggestion.

The American dream had had come to an end as to the ideals of working hard you can become successful and success for most has now becoming a skill learned at the trigger of a gun that has turned ownership into what you can take what was once earned.

It was complete capitalism had become the new world government and was being run by the one-percenters as the new world order with a new economy that only the select few could take part in leaving most like Sarah out on the streets with out home and in the case of Sarah with out family.

Yes it was a rainy day Sarah and Charles planted the bomb, the first, that started it all and was Sarah who came up with the idea to pack the C4 into a child’s toy, the last connection to her past, a wind-up toy monkey her children use to play with but some how seemed fitting that play time was over and now time for serious people to do serious things.

Running for the cover of the night Charles looks back to see Sarah lingering on the edge of darkness and the lights of the street lamps made available only because someone decided to make it so if for only fear of the dark.


BOOOOMMMMMMMM goes the monkey.

Sarah turns as the lights goes out and is framed by the light of the explosion, the one thing she had done that was within her control for a long time, and Charles in that instant could see the mother, the wife, a productive member of that was once called the great society disappear replaced by clarity of purpose of right and wrong.

“No Charles there is hell to pay and I'm not going anywhere”

So it begins.

At least that's what the myth, legend, facts says but to find out if they are true or not one only has to walk down the hall, turn left at the junction, and ask her if and when she makes it back to the bunker... if you dare as those once green eyes that once hide the joke only she knew are now daggers of clear intent that she would rather take you out than be pestered by newbie questions.

But yeah if you connect the dots that where it started but that’s another story.
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Urban Terror HUD Evolution

posted Monday, 10 November 2014
The Urban Terror HUD has been largely unchanged for many, many years. At first glance, this could seem like a good thing - that means it has stood the test of time. On the other hand, you could argue that it's dated, or ancient. While we're disinclined to believe it's dying, we do believe that it could use a little freshness. To that end, we've been working hard to make adjustments to the HUD that keep the traditional Urban Terror spirit, but transform it into something a lot more modern and sleek.

(click the images for full-size versions)

Just as a little bonus, here's a picture from UrT 2.6 ;)

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Chill to this instrument of terror

posted Saturday, 23 August 2014
While working on uptown is my main focus, building houses all day gets a bit monotonous after a while. To spice things up for myself I was looking for something else to model and I felt like a ukulele model would be a nice little project. Since I own a ukulele it was quite easy for me to get the correct measurements for the model and I didn't have to search for references at all. The model has about 3000 tris, which is not very much compared to the example UE4 content from Epic Games but I still want to create a LOD model for it later. I can also use the uke as a base to build other instruments like guitars, violins, etc. So you can expect some random instruments waiting to be played (or shot at) in the future UrT HD maps.

Ok, back to working on uptown now, cya later :)

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