Lights Out In The Office 🌃🔫 The elevator doors open with a bored ding and the hallway answers with a hiss like air leaving a secret. Black IV Time of Revenge doesn’t give you a speech. It gives you a silhouette with angry shoulders, a floor plan that remembers your name, and a first guard who turns too late. The carpet eats footsteps, the vending machine hums like a metronome, and the glass walls reflect a stickman who came back to write a final memo in muzzle flashes. You move, you breathe, you learn how corporate architecture can be a weapon if your hands are quick and your nerves stay quiet.
What You’ll Be Doing Most Of The Time 🎯🏃♂️ You cut diagonals through cubicles, you peek doorframes a thumb’s width, you choose whether a problem deserves a whisper or a thunderclap. Pistols teach rhythm. SMGs draw lines across bad ideas. A stubbier shotgun turns close quarters into a sermon. Grenades? They make the printer room honest. Every floor is a small heist: enter, tag priorities, steal seconds from chaos, exit with pockets full of ammo and answers. The loop is simple and hungry. Clear a room, loot a locker, upgrade something that makes the next corner easier to survive.
The Office As A Battlefield 🗺️🏢 This building used to be spreadsheets and stale coffee. Now it’s lanes and leverage. Cubicle farms are mazes that beg for short angles. Meeting rooms are boxes with too many doors to ignore. Server rooms hum and blink, perfect for cover and terrible for grenades unless you want fireworks. Glass partitions frame reflections you can use to spot a guard before he sees you. Breaker closets hide quiet routes. Stairwells are coin flips that become coin tricks once you learn where to stand so enemies stack into tidy targets. You stop seeing desks and start seeing geometry that owes you favors.
Your Toolkit Of Noise And Nerve 🧰🔥 The starter sidearm is a handshake. Snappy, modest, reliable when your hands are colder than the AC. Then come toys with louder opinions. An automatic that melts panic if you feed it bursts, not panic sprays. A rifle that writes straight sentences down long corridors. A pump shotgun that converts a bad surprise into a good story. Frag grenades roll under tables and turn meetings into reconsiderations. Flashbangs erase confidence for three blessed seconds. You learn to throw on the half beat, to tuck a grenade behind a chair leg, to trade shrapnel for silence and still come out smug.
Enemies With Office Politics 🥽🧠 Security rookies bark and rush. Veterans check corners and wait for your foot to lie. Heavies wear improvised armor and carry patience where their necks should be. Techs stay behind glass and ping reinforcements when your aim hesitates. A floor chief hears a fight, cuts lights, and makes the whole wing talk in infrared until you find a breaker. Patterns emerge if you let them. Rookies flinch at ricochets. Veterans duck twice, then peek wide. Heavies commit when you step left on the third count. Bosses give you tells big enough to read from the copy machine, but only if you stop treating your heartbeat like a fire alarm.
Stealth Or Storming The Gate 🥷⚡ The game doesn’t punish either mood. You can ghost an entire floor with timing, vents, and a silencer that coughs instead of barks. You can also kick a door, paint the whiteboard with tracer math, and let the alarm write you a parade. Smart runs blend both. Slip past a three man patrol because you don’t have the ammo tax yet. Wreck the next squad loudly because their angles are bad. Slip again to reset the map’s pulse. Storm once to make the remaining guards smaller. Revenge feels better when it’s a composition, not a single note screamed until your lungs give up.
Upgrades That Change How You Move 📈🦶 Numbers rise but something subtler rises with them. A faster swap turns hesitation into swagger. A steadier aim while sliding teaches you to attack while moving, not after. A quieter sprint converts risky routes into reliable ones. A tougher vest gives you permission to learn a boss pattern up close instead of from across the room. Gadget perks produce verbs you didn’t have yesterday: a door breach that blinds three suits at once, a zipline anchor you fire into ceiling rails, a sticky camera that watches the hallway while you clean the office. You aren’t getting stronger; you’re getting simpler. Fewer motions, cleaner choices.
Room Reading Like A Pro 🧠🧭 Put your back to something that can’t betray you. Count footsteps through drywall. Watch shadows under doors and the angle of a flashlight beam as it sweeps toward doubt. Glass desks have reflections that tell you more than a minimap ever will. Stacks of paper bend when air moves—someone opened a door you didn’t. The copy room is a death trap unless you stand left of the second cabinet where line of sight breaks and three bodies try to occupy the same bad idea. You start to feel like the building is helping, like it is tired too.
Boss Encounters With Office Drama 👔💥 A floor manager with a riot shield and a temper turns corners into negotiations. Aim for feet, bank grenades, wait out the shove, then feed the opening a diet of pellets. A lab director floods the server room with steam and hides in streaks of red light, so you chase sound, not image, and tag him with a flash he never sees coming. A final executive waits in a penthouse of glass where the skyline becomes a gallery of angles. He calls security in waves; you answer with routes you memorized an hour ago when you pretended to be lost. Bosses here aren’t just hit points. They are lessons with an HR badge.
Movement That Feels Like Cheating But Isn’t 🏃♂️✨ Slide into cover to steady the reticle. Strafe out on the exhale, not the inhale. Feather the trigger to write punctuation, not paragraphs. Pre rotate your wrist so the next target is already a memory. Tap reload behind a column, cancel if footsteps get confident, and finish on the path you were going to take anyway. Vault only when you can’t flank; verticality is flashy and expensive. If a room feels loud, change the door you use. You can win every fight if you pick the fight you want.
Audio Is A Second Sight 🔊👂 The hum of servers becomes a map, the ping of an elevator tells you company is coming, and the brittle crack of a heavy’s armor telegraphs a reload you should either punish or respect. Footsteps on tile versus carpet signal lanes and timing. Radio chatter gives you free intel when you’re patient. Even your own weapons teach. The shotgun’s bark is a promise that you must keep with a reload tuck; the SMG’s purr is a warning that your spray is turning into a prayer. Play with sound on if you can. If you can’t, the animation cadence still tells the truth.
Tiny Habits Big Survival 🧠😉 Peek with your muzzle off center so enemies shoot where you aren’t. Toss a flash high so it blooms above monitor banks. Roll frags to furniture, don’t loft them at glass unless you want confetti and regret. Tag the talker first; callers make chaos. During alarms, pull fights toward stairwells where pathing funnels egos into lines. Leave one medkit untouched behind a copier. Future you appreciates past you more than any upgrade ever will.
Why It Belongs On Kiz10 🌐⚡ Instant load means revenge doesn’t wait for patchers or downloads. On desktop, mouse aim makes doorframe peeks surgical and grenade banks predictable. On mobile, the touch layout puts fire and slide where thumbs naturally land, with input forgiveness tuned for real hands in real life. Quick resumes let you clear a floor between tasks; longer sits let you conquer the building in a single grin.
The Quiet After The Last Shot 🌫️🏁 The alarm finally forgets to scream. The city stares through the glass as if it heard everything. You holster a weapon that feels lighter than it should and take the elevator one last time, the bored ding now a victory parade. Revenge stories are simple when they’re told poorly. Black IV Time of Revenge tells it clean: learn the room, choose the tool, write the line, walk away. Tomorrow, if the building whispers again, you’ll know every desk by name and every hallway by rhythm. That’s not anger anymore. That’s craft.
Movie Maker
Share
Embed
