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<<endnobr>>“Hhhmm,” Maurer nods. “Zhat is a very good choice. I hope it will serve you vell. I ask only that you remember zhis act of friendship and tell no one of zhis place or my secrets.”



You nod and take the red case.



The woman leads you out the mansion and back to the BMW. She remains emotionless, but you feel as though there is a softness to her expression. Maybe you’re just seeing things.



You put the car in gear and drive, staying a little under the speed limit. When this is all over you may have to pay Maurer another visit, but for now, you need to put this little detour on the back burner. You still haven’t managed to start a crime war and Gillian isn’t getting any safer.



You take a long breath and try not to think of what the Boss might have done to her. Either way he’ll get what he deserves soon enough.



But first, a little distraction to set the gears of war in motion. You pull a burn phone from your bag and <span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;text Jimmy Lee.@@</span> If he really was trying to take the kid from the Russians, then he probably still thinks they have him.



Your Russian is a little rusty, but you <span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;text him@@</span> to bring a ridiculous amount of money to the docks for a trade. You send the same text message to the Russians.



Since the address just happens to be a heavily guarded building owned by the Boss, everyone’s guns and tempers should make for a nice mess. It’s almost too bad you won’t be able to see it.



With any luck, it should clear out most of the thugs from the Boss’s penthouse and with this beautiful sniper rifle you should be able to clear out the rest. Now it’s just a matter of set-up.



You’re about a block from the Boss’s penthouse. You see two good vantage points to the top floor: the highest level of a parking garage or an adjacent office building. The parking garage provides easy access to an escape vehicle and gives you a better view of the streets if the cops get involved. The only problem is that twenty percent of the penthouse is obscured.



The office building provides better visibility which means fewer surprises, but getting in and out will take time, leaving Gillian unprotected while you try to exit the building.



[[The parking garage]]

[[The office building]]



<<nobr>>

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<<endnobr>>If you can maneuver all of the Boss’s thugs into the building, that gives you and Gillian a better chance of escaping. It also means you’ll need to keep them distracted as long as possible. You’ll just have to risk the gunfire on the stairs. The second floor is a better <span data-tooltip="Sly +5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;vantage point,@@</span> and you’ll need every advantage you can get.



The Boss isn’t going to come at you soft. He’ll bring an army, and you’ll need to be ready. You climb the stairs to the second floor. You take down one of the paintings and hang the assault rifle on the wall in its place.



Given the other pieces, no one should think twice about a rifle being on display. Yeah, okay so it’s not the best <span data-tooltip="Sly +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;disguise,@@</span> but it’ll have to do.



You head back down the stairs and into the crowd. You see the Boss step through the front entrance with Gillian at his side. She looks tired and shaken, but mostly unharmed. You count at least four thugs enter a few steps behind the Boss.



The Boss smiles at you and motions for you to come to him. You scowl and walk to him. It’s better if he <span data-tooltip="Sly +5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;thinks@@</span> he’s still in control.



“If I had known you were so interested in art,” the Boss pulls Gillian closer. “I would have shown you my collection.”



It takes all of your <span data-tooltip="Force -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;self-control@@</span> not to strangle him right there. “It wouldn’t be the first time you underestimated me.”



The Boss shrugs, “Perhaps, but I certainly won’t make that mistake again.”



“Enough small talk. Give me Gillian.”



“Tsk, tsk.” The Boss waves his finger. “You know how this goes. Show me the money.”



You groan and unzip the duffle bag halfway. You reach inside to show him the money.



The Boss’s smile widens. “Wonderful,” he says. “I’m so glad we could come to an agreement. And please don’t take my little threats personally. I simply can’t have my employees doing whatever they want. That’s just bad for business, and I’m a businessman at heart. Now,” he reaches out his hand. “The money please.”



Before you take your hand out of the bag, you subtly pull the pin on one of the <span data-tooltip="Sly +8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;grenades.@@</span>



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>One Mississippi.</i>@@



You drop the bag and slide it to the Boss.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>Two Mississippi.</i>@@



“Lovely,” the Boss says, pushing Gillian toward you.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>Three Mississippi.</i>@@



“There’s something you should know,” you say.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>Four Mississippi.</i>@@



You grab Gillian and sprint for the stairs. “I’m an assassin at heart.”

<<if $ragnossComments is true>><p class="introComment">This is one scene where I tried to use font color to create an emotional reaction. It’s very subtle and deliberately unintrusive.</p><<endif>>

<span data-tooltip="Damage Cost: $95,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;<b>BOOM!</b>@@</span>



You hear the <span data-tooltip="Infamy +20, Force +10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;explosion@@</span> and a cloud of dust fills the exhibit. Gillian coughs and stumbles.



“Stay down,” you say, pushing her behind the concrete railing.



You grab the assault rifle from the wall and point it toward the smoke and fire. You pull the <span data-tooltip="Kills +2, Guns +4, XP +8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;trigger,@@</span> taking out two of the thugs. Part of the ceiling collapses, obscuring the Boss. You reposition the rifle and take out the second set of <span data-tooltip="Kills +2, Guns +4, XP +8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;thugs.@@</span>



Three more shoot through the glass of the front entrance. You duck behind the railing.



Gillian shakes with terror.



“Everything’s going to be alright,” you reassure her. “You just need to trust me.”



You peek over the railing and take out another <span data-tooltip="Kills +1, Guns +2, XP +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;thug.@@</span> They should have a good idea of where you are now and reinforcements should be entering the building any second, which is exactly what you wanted.



You pull out the clip and replace it with blanks. You flip a switch on the gun. It’s a little mod you had installed a few years back. It will make the gun <span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;auto-fire@@</span> in controlled bursts until the clip runs out. The thugs will think you’ve bunkered down. It should buy you at least ten minutes, which is more than enough time to get out of here.



“Come on,” you tell Gillian. “And stay low.” You set the rifle behind the railing, then both of you <span data-tooltip="Sly +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;sneak@@</span> around the corner.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>Blam. Blam. Blam.</i>@@



“Get them,” you hear one of the thugs shout. “They’re still up there.”



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>Blam. Blam. Blam.</i>@@



You open the window at the end of the hall and jump down onto the dumpster. She hesitates. You help Gillian down and squeeze her hand. “We’re going to make it,” you say firmly. “I promise. Now come on.” You point to the car. “Get in.”



She gets in the passenger seat as you start the engine. You put the car in gear and drive out through the alley. With all the explosions and gunfire, the cops should be arriving soon. They should slow down the Boss’s thugs even more.



You glance at Gillian. Her arms and hands tremble. It’ll be awhile before the adrenaline and shock wear off, but she’s alive. The hardest part is over. Starting over won’t be easy, but she’s safe <i>...Finally.</i>



You keep the car just a little under the speed limit. The Boss will have the airport and train station under surveillance. The harbor will be harder to watch. You turn left onto the bridge toward the harbor.



Suddenly you feel <span data-tooltip="Luck -4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;something@@</span> cold against the back of your neck.



“Hello,” Alana says. “That cold metal against your neck is my gun.”



You see her smile in the rearview mirror.



“Did you think we didn’t know about your car, or your stash?” She lets out a soft laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill you.”



You’re as good as dead. You need to do something...



[[Provoke Alana]]

[[Swerve the car into traffic]]



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<<endnobr>>You kneel down and draw a rectangle on the pavement.



“You’re breathing, right? Is something else supposed to happen?” Jazelle asks.



“I don’t know,” you reply. “Nothing feels different.”



“Maybe that thing was lying.” Jazelle points at the campfire.



You shrug. “Why would it? It seems convinced we won’t make it to the exit.”



“It could still be lying.”



“I’m not saying I trust it. I’m not saying I trust anything in Hell, but we need to try something... Unless you’d like to keep walking.”



“Obviously not. You don’t trust <i>anything</i> here... does that include me?” Jazelle demands.



You hesitate. “I trust you more than I trust it,” you point at the demon head. “But honestly, I don’t even trust myself. I’m still not 100% sure this is Hell. Drugs, a concussion, delirium – those aren’t off the table yet.”



Jazelle glowers at you. She’s about to speak, but you interrupt her, “Wherever we are, we’re in this together.”



“Even if I’m just a figment of your delirium?”



“Yeah” you sigh. “But that would be worse than Hell. If you’re in my head, how am I supposed to get rid of you?”



Jazelle glares at you. “Very funny. Now what about this door?”



You glance down at the rectangle. “It’s still missing something.” You lean down to <span data-tooltip="XP +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;draw a doorknob.@@</span> As you push yourself up, you cough and try to keep the gash across your stomach from splitting open again. Your breath causes part of the outline to sparkle.



“Did you see that?” Jazelle exclaims. “The chalk, it started to—”



“I saw,” you say, leaning down to <span data-tooltip="XP +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;breathe@@</span> on the rest of the outline.



The rectangle shimmers and, oddly enough, resembles a door. You grab the chalk doorknob and pull open part of the pavement. It’s too dark to see inside, but you’ve obviously created some kind of doorway.



“It worked,” Jazelle says with surprise.



“We still don’t know where it leads,” you say matter-of-factly.



“I guess that means you want me to go first.”



You shrug. “Why not?”



“If this goes wrong, I’m blaming you,” she says, stepping down into the chalk doorway.



You give the demon head a quick wink. It winks back.



You have the sudden and sick feeling you’ve been tricked.



“Jazelle,” you say in a panic, but she’s already through the darkness.



You slide in after her.



The darkness tingles your skin and makes your head swim. You can’t tell if you’re falling or swimming or standing still. Suddenly you feel something tangible.



The ground.



It’s dry and hard. You’re on your belly, <span data-tooltip="HP -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;feeling sick.@@</span> You vomit and try to keep everything from spinning. You focus, take a deep breath, and re-examine your surroundings.



You’re in some kind of city. It looks barren and old. You can’t see any people or plants. The buildings are spotted with beige and white. Aqueducts of lava twist between the buildings. The walls flicker with red and orange as the lava sloshes against the aqueducts.



You grab your head, still disoriented. “Jazelle? Jazelle?” You glance around, but there’s no sign of her. “Jazelle?” Somehow you must have gotten separated when you went through the doorway.

<<if $hellComments is true>><p class="introComment">In several other plotlines in Hell, the main character and Jazelle have trouble remembering what they’re doing and why. The natural tendency in Hell is for people to be mentally enslaved and tortured. The longer a person stays in Hell, the more that force takes over (and their clarity fades).</p><p class="introComment">In this case, the main character forgets that they’re in Hell and restarts the Hell sequence. I hoped this “déjà vu” moment would show the elastic nature of Hell and be a meta-joke for CYOA readers.</p><<endif>>

You stop mid-thought as a mixture of laughter, screams, and shouting echo off the buildings. The demons must have snagged her before you made it through, and judging from the shrieks, they aren’t interested in making friends.



You shake off the nausea and slink around the buildings, hugging the shadows. You follow the sounds to the center of the city. Crowds of monstrous creatures dance around a giant fountain of lava. They laugh and shout at one another as if they were drunk.



You sprint to the next building and sneak through the shadows to get a closer look. You almost can’t believe it, but there are bodies in the fountain, and they’re alive. They scream and writhe against the burning lava. It’s as if they’ve been snared like caught fish.



One of the creatures snatches a body and tosses it to the ground. It rolls and convulses with pain. The creature rips open the person’s chest and pulls out the bones one by one.



The other creatures jeer and laugh. They grab at the bones and suck out the marrow.



The person screams and pleads for mercy. Even as part of their spine is torn lose, they stay conscious and alive.



If this is your subconscious, you’re more disturbed than you thought. You glimpse a woman floating in the aqueducts. Her head bobs below the lava before you can get a good look. It could be Jazelle. You have to go after her before she reaches the fountain. There’s no way you could save her if she's surrounded by those creatures.



You sprint for the aqueduct and grab her arm as it bobs in the lava. You just hope it’s attached to her body, assuming there’s anything left of it. You pull hard and try to avoid the splashing lava.



It’s a woman, but not Jazelle. The expression on her face is pure agony. You’ve already got a hold of her, you might as well pull her out.



“No,” she gasps. “I won’t leave him.” She helplessly reaches back toward the lava. She’s not strong enough to grab him – whoever he is. You glance over your shoulder. The creatures still haven’t noticed you...at least not yet.



You reach into the lava a second time and help her take hold of him. The lava burns your arm and shirt, but you manage to free the two of them. They reel in pain and tremble on the ground.



You can’t leave them in the open. The creatures will see them. “Quiet,” you whisper.



Their ears are mostly burned. They may not have heard you. And it’s even less likely they’ll be able to move on their own. You’ll have to drag them someplace out of sight. You take a quick look around.



There’s a fair amount of shadow in an alley on the other side of the aqueducts. It’s a long way to drag them, but it has at least four escape routes if you get seen.



There’s also a building nearby. It’s closer than the alley, but who knows what’s lurking inside. If it is empty, it’ll probably be the best place to interrogate them.



You hear the two of them moan. They’re bound to start screaming soon. You need to move them now.



[[Drag the two bodies into the shadows of the alley]]

[[Drag the two bodies into the adjacent building]]



<<nobr>>

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<<set $force = $force +5>>

<<endnobr>>These Blue Wizards are conniving and devious. They’ve already used poison, and now they’ve trapped you in the darkness, waiting for you to slipup. They could have had this trap...or game...planned for weeks or months. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to outsmart them on their home turf. You’ll need to be <span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;cautious,@@</span> even cold and calculating.



You grab one of the soldiers and shove him toward the light. <span data-tooltip="Infamy +8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;“Go@@</span> check it out,” you <span data-tooltip="Force +5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;demand.@@</span>



The soldier hesitates. His arms shake with fear. He glances at Avengral with pleading eyes. Avengral uses his sword to point at the light in the distance.



The soldier is barely brave enough to draw his own sword, but he manages. The sword shakes in his hand as he wearily shambles toward the light.



“What do you see?” Avengral shouts.



“I-I-I,” the soldier swallows nervously. “It looks like a mirror.”



“Mirror?” Avengral says under his breath.



The soldier seems somewhat relieved. “It’s only a mirror. I don’t think we--”



“Wait!” Avengral yells. “Do not look into it.”



It’s too late. The soldier gazes deeply into it.



“No,” Avengral gasps. “Weapons at the ready!” He commands.



Suddenly, the soldier screams. He stumbles backwards, trying to retreat. He screams again more frantically. The mirror jumps into the air, morphing and bending into thousands of reflective glass scales. The pieces twist and contort into a shape...something large and animal like.



The soldier shrieks even louder and sprints back toward the group. His panic causes him to stumble and slide against the stone floor.



A creature rises up from the mirror shards.



“What is that?” You shout to Avengral.



“The Dread Mirror of Slabaz IV. Whoever gazes into the mirror shall see their nightmares realized.”

<<if $ragnossComments is true>><p class="introComment">The Dread Mirror of Slabaz IV is connected to the elfin king, Slabaz, mentioned earlier in the book. The Mirror is one of several magical artifacts that were left over from the Old Ways when magic was accepted and embraced.</p><p class="introComment">If you re-read the Ragnoss segment several times, the larger history of Ragnoss and Sarrejiinn will be clearer. No single story branch reveals all of the mythology. Dividing and dispersing the lore was my way of rewarding readers who were willing to re-read the story several times.</p><<endif>>

“Nightmares? You mean...” You don’t bother finishing the sentence. The mirror shards have formed into a colossal and ferocious dragon.



“Great,” you groan. Sending the most terrified person to investigate a nightmare mirror, in hindsight, was probably a bad idea.



“Spread out,” Avengral bellows to the soldiers. “Remember to avoid its tail.”



“How do we stop it?” You shout.



“I do not know. I have never encountered such a creature.”



The glass dragon steps around the terrified soldier. It screeches wildly as it spreads its wings wide.



“Hold your ground!” Avengral demands.



One of the soldiers drops his sword and flees in the opposite direction. The dragon leaps into the air with a single flap of its mighty wings and lands on the retreating soldier. The soldier screams as the talons crush his back. The glass dragon jerks down and bites off the soldier’s head. Blood squirts from his ragged neck.



The other soldiers are paralyzed with fear. You notice the dragon growing larger. A second set of horns jut from its head, its snout grows longer, and more razor sharp teeth fill its mouth.



<span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;“It’s fear,”@@</span> you shout to Avengral. “The dragon, or mirror, its power comes from fear.”



“Yes,” Avengral agrees. “The fear of whoever looks upon it. It has been enchanted.”



The glass dragon uses its razor sharp tail to slice through the next closest soldier. His body splits apart effortlessly and falls to the floor in two pieces. The third soldier runs at the glass dragon with his sword.



The dragon jolts forward, clamping its fangs into the soldier’s stomach. The soldier screams for half a second then goes limp as the dragon snaps his spine.



The dragon is powered by the fear of those that look upon it, that’s what Avengral said. You glance back at the one remaining soldier. He’s curled on the stone floor, crying and begging for mercy. If the dragon is an enchantment, the terrified soldier could be the source of its power. If you ended him, then maybe the spell would end too.



It’s not like you know anything about this world’s magic. Killing the soldier might not do anything to stop the glass dragon, and killing him for nothing would just add one more horrible thing to weigh your conscience.



[[Fight the glass dragon]]

[[Kill the terrified soldier]]



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<<lvlChecker>>

<<endnobr>>You told Gillian you would be good from now on. Maybe the old you would chop the soldier’s head off without thinking twice, but you’re not a killer anymore...you’re not an assassin. You’re a <span data-tooltip="Infamy -8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;good person.@@</span>



“You’re a good person,” you say the words under your breath, trying to reassure yourself.



The soldier might die, but it won’t be by your hands.



You turn to Avengral. “What now?”



“I’ll draw its attention. You attack its belly. That should be its weakest point.”



“Maybe for a real dragon. This one is all glass.”



“What other choice do we have?”



<i>Kill the terrified soldier...</i> <span data-tooltip="Sly -4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;No...@@</span>



You take a firm grasp of the green speckled blade. “Fine,” you say <span data-tooltip="Force +8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;sprinting@@</span> right.



Avengral nods and sprints left. “Ugly beast,” he shouts and waves his blade in the air. “I wish to slay you! Fall into my blade if you wish your death quick!”



The glass dragon twists its head around and screeches at Avengral. It thrusts its tail forward.



Avengral rolls to avoid it and shouts more insults at it.



The dragon turns away from you. Now’s your chance.



You sprint forward, ducking under the dragon’s serrated tail. You <span data-tooltip="Melee +4, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;swing@@</span> your sword across the dragon’s stomach. The metal grates against the glass sending little sparks into the air.



The glass dragon staggers back more surprised than hurt. It shrieks at you and unfurls its sharp wings. The glass wing cuts your <span data-tooltip="HP -2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;face@@</span> and <span data-tooltip="HP -2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;chest,@@</span> sending you into the air. You slide across the stone floor. Your sword slips out of your hands and slides in the opposite direction.



It’s out of reach.



You spit out blood and little shards of glass. A modeling career is probably out of the question now. You try to roll to your knees, but the pain in your <span data-tooltip="HP -8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;chest@@</span> is too intense. You cough up more blood and glass.



Avengral tries to lure the dragon away, but its vacant eyes are fixed on you. It slams Avengral away with its massive wing. It shrieks at you again and tilts its head, taking time to enjoy the kill.



You try to crawl away, but it bites into your <span data-tooltip="HP -18" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;leg@@</span> and flings you in the air. You feel weightless for a moment, then a set of razor sharp teeth clamp down on your <span data-tooltip="HP -50" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;stomach.@@</span> You scream as the pain surges through you. The dragon shakes its head wildly like a dog with a chew toy...unfortunately you’re the chew toy.



You feel something inside your body <span data-tooltip="HP -30" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;snap.@@</span> Then you fall. You see your legs fly in the opposite direction as you hit the ground hard. The last bit of life slowly drains from your upper half.



You always knew your life would end violently, but being bitten in half by a giant glass dragon didn’t even make it in your top fifty. You think about Gillian...how you failed her. Who knows what horrible things have happened to her...or will happen to her since you abandoned her?



She deserves better than you...you’re literally torn up about it.



You try to laugh, but only blood spits out.



From the corner of your eye you see the glass dragon stomp the life out of Avengral. If only there was some way you could go back and make better choices...if only you could somehow learn from your fatal mistakes...If only you could start over.



The darkness swirls around your head, and then you suddenly feel nothing.



[[I'm not quite dead yet...]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 627>>

<<set $melee = $melee +3>>

<<set $xp = $xp +4>>

<<lvlChecker>>

<<endnobr>>You help Jazelle up and slip under her arm. The damage isn’t too serious, just painful. She can barely walk. You lug her to the boulders and nod toward the first one.



Ayporos scrawls the door on the stone and lightly blows on the outline. The chalk glimmers.



“Why do you blow on it?” Jazelle groans.



“All good doors are built with a lock. In Hell, demon’s breath is the key.”



“Gross,” she retorts.



“If germs are a concern for you while in Hell, you should reevaluate your worry.”



“That’s easy for you to say. It’s your breath.”



Ayporos shakes his head and opens the door.



You follow him through.



You step onto an orange desert with long thin, black blades of grass jutting out of the ground. “That wasn’t so bad. Where to now?”



“Wait for it.”



“For what?”



The ground begins to move – not shake, move. The whole desert rises and tilts. You grab a blade of grass with one hand and Jazelle with the other.



“Hey,” you shout at Ayporos. “What’s happening?”



“Slight detour. They must have remapped some of the passageways. We are at least,” he looks like he’s calculating something in his head. “A little bit off.”



“How much is a little bit?” You bark.



He points down. “Enough to be a problem.”



You look down and barely hold back a scream. You see a giant head missing its features. You follow the head to the neck, to the shoulder, to the arm which is what you’re barely holding onto.



It’s not a desert at all. Suddenly you realize the blade of grass you’re tightly gripping is actually a follicle of hair.



“I thought you knew how to get out of here.”



“I do,” Ayporos says. “But it might be slightly more complicated than I anticipated.” He grabs onto a blade of hair as the arm tilts further up. “You remember earlier when I said that whichever rock you chose did not matter?”



“You mean half a minute ago,” Jazelle yells.



“Correct. It is possible I may have been wrong about that.”



“And don’t tell me,” you growl. “Things are about to get worse.”



Ayporos raises his eyebrows helplessly. “That is one way of putting it.”



You pull Jazelle up, and she wraps her arms over your shoulder and around your chest. “I told you not to trust him.” She shouts in your ear.



“Yeah,” you groan. “But look at the bright side; it’s not like we need to worry about dying.”



“I kind of wish that option was still on the table.” Jazelle looks down. “I mean that guy doesn’t even have a face. They probably cut it off and threw it on a stove to burn for eternity or something.”



Ayporos laughs. “I wish it was that simple.”



“What is that supposed to mean?”



Before he can answer, the giant arm twitches. It’s all you can do to hang on. A scratching sound comes from below the skin. The surface cracks in a multitude of places as thousands of giant ants climb out the openings.



You <span data-tooltip="Melee +3, XP +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;kick@@</span> one away as it gets a little too close for comfort. It has a face – not the face of an ant. It’s a human face. You glance around. All of the ants have the same face.



The ants rush toward the featureless head. They bite and claw at the skin as they travel. The body reels with pain.

<<if $hellComments is true>><p class="introComment">As a child, one of my most terrifying recurring nightmares was being covered in angry, biting ants. Several of the other torture chambers in Hell are based on nightmares I’ve had.</p><<endif>>

“Grab on. Now!” Ayporos shouts as he grabs the back of an ant.



If you don’t grab an ant now, you’ll lose him. He was already wrong once. You could do worse without him, but not by much. Now could be the time to part ways. It’s not like you have time to deliberate though.



[[Jump on the back of an ant]]

[[Climb up the arm]]



<<nobr>>

<<remember $makingFriends = true>>

<<endnobr>><b>Making Friends</b>

<i>Meet Jazelle</i>

<span> </span>

<center><img src="unlocks/covers/Cover_0.01.jpg" width="500" height="667" align="center" hspace="6">

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<img src="img/sevenBulletsCover.jpg" width="500" height="750" align="center" hspace="6">

<br>

<img src="img/SevenBullets_1020x680.png" width="100%">

<<back>></center>

<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 246>>

<<set $sly = $sly +8>>

<<set $force = $force -5>>

<<endnobr>>You take a deep breath and let it out slow. “Alright,” you say. “The <span data-tooltip="Sly +8, Force -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;old formula’s@@</span> been working for me so far. Let’s give it a try.”

<<if $montanaComments is true>><p class="introComment">I never specify the main character’s age for two reasons: I didn’t want to alienate any potential readers and I wanted to keep potential plotlines open (such as when the old formula was created).</p><p class="introComment">Some details about the main character’s age can be assumed. The main character is old enough to drive a car and Gillian is the younger of the two siblings.</p><<endif>>

“Very well,” Clark says a little disappointed. “I suppose it’s your life that hangs in the balance.” He opens a small refrigerator and removes a tiny green vile. He slides it into a needle gun and abruptly shoves the needle tip in your arm.



“Ow,” you grunt. “How about a little bedside manner.”



“I’m not that kind of doctor.”



“Obviously.”



Clark returns to the console and carefully examines the monitor. “The formula appears to be bonding as it should...” he hesitates. “Wait...”



Your arm feels like it’s on fire... so does your neck and chest. “Ahh,” you scream.



“Something’s wrong,” Mason says.



“Yes,” Clark says sharply. “I’m aware of that.”



“Fix it,” you growl.



“I’m trying.”



Your veins feel like they’re full of molten lava instead of blood. Your arms and legs spasm.



“Your immune system is rejecting the old formula” Clark says “And in turn, your entire organic system. The new formula is proliferating through your body at an incredible speed, but without something to bond to, it’s ripping apart your cellular structure.”



You want to scream. You try to scream, but your lungs are already liquefying.



“Get back,” Clark says, pulling Mason behind the console. “There’s nothing we can do.”



You slip from the chair. As your body hits the floor, it scatters into a thousand gooey pieces.



[[I'm not quite dead yet...]]

[[Epilogue 40]]



<i>Slap Sound Effect</i>



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 1033>>

<<set $force = $force +10>>

<<set $sly = $sly +10>>

<<set $xp = $xp +15>>

<<lvlChecker>>

<<endnobr>>Screw this.



You’re used to doing things your own way. That’s <span data-tooltip="Force +10, Sly +10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;how you work best.@@</span> This Ayporos guy is rubbing you the wrong way. He’s obviously hiding something, and you shouldn’t trust him. He’s a demon, and this is Hell. You can’t forget that.



Messing with reality here is just the kind of thing you should be doing. And like Ayporos said, existence is a constraint you must unlearn. This seems like as good a time as any.



You sprint around the corner and <span data-tooltip="XP +15" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;grab your other self.@@</span> Before you can explain what happened to Gillian and how you died, your head swirls with delirium. The other you mirrors your painful expression.



Your vision blurs and darkens around the edges. You stumble backwards and collapse to the ground. The ceiling whirls above you.



You suddenly feel very sleepy and the darkness overtakes you.



[[Open your eyes]]



<<nobr>>

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<<lvlChecker>><<killsAchieveChecker>><<damageCostChecker>>

<<endnobr>>It’d be foolish to rush the room. You can’t be sure where they’re keeping Gillian. It’d be better to flank them, and maybe, if you’re lucky, catch them off guard.



You move to the study and force open a window. You <span data-tooltip="Sly +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;crawl@@</span> out onto the ledge and inch your way toward the back room. You peek through the window.



Gillian is sitting in a chair. One thug is beside her. The other is behind a dresser on the other side of the room. Both of them have their guns pointed at the door.



You’ve only got one shot at this. If they realize what’s going on, Gillian is dead.



You climb up the building and move to the other side of the window. You work your way around the corner to the south facing window.



You <span data-tooltip="Kills +1, XP +2, Guns +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;shoot@@</span> the thug behind the dresser. His body slumps forward. The other guard shouts something. You hurry back around the corner to the first window and <span data-tooltip="Kills +1, XP +2, Guns +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;shoot@@</span> the remaining guard in the back. His body falls onto the bed. Gillian screams and falls out of the chair.



Luckily she isn’t tied down.



You tap on the window glass. She turns and, for a brief moment, she looks relieved. She opens the window and helps you inside.



Her arms tremble. Her eyes look frantic. She’s not like you. She’s not so comfortable with death.



You grab her hand and squeeze until she acknowledges you.



“We need to get out of here now. Gillian, Gillian? Hey,” you lightly shake her, “We’re going to get through this, but you need to be strong for a little while longer. Can you do that?”



She pushes you away. “Of course I can you idiot. Why’d you have to kill them?”



You look at her dumbfounded.



She hits you in the arm. “I bet you killed all the guards in the lobby too.”



You shrug. “Maybe.”



“Oh,” she shouts. “Unbelievable. You <span data-tooltip="Infamy +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;killed everyone?”@@</span>



“Just the ones that got in my way... which I guess was most of them... okay, maybe all of them.”



She hits you in the chest. “You idiot! We’re going to die now.”



“Didn’t you hear what I said? They’re all dead.”



“No, no. You don’t understand. They were protecting me.”



“Ha,” you laugh. “They weren’t doing a very good job.”



“Yeah, no thanks to you.”



You scowl. “You’re my little sister, I’ll protect you.”



“You can’t protect me from this.”



“From what?”



She shakes her head and turns away from you. “It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than anyone. I don’t even think your Boss can stop it.”



The Boss being powerless? The thought gives you chills. Whatever’s coming, it’s obvious your sister is terrified – terrified enough to get mixed up with the Boss. “Why him?”



“I-I,” she sighs and lowers her head. “I needed someone with a global reach, and with his...history, I knew I could trust him.”



“Trust <i>him</i>?”

<<if $introComments is true>><p class="introComment">This is another scene where I tried to make the reader rethink their relationship with the Boss - is he a good guy or bad guy? What’s the real situation involving your sister?</p><p class="introComment">The questions aren’t answered in this section. I thought of these scenes as having malleable meaning - a dozen future endings (with drastically different outcomes) would add and explain the significance of this situation differently.</p><<endif>>

“Sometimes the enemy you know is safer than the one you don't.” She takes a step closer. “This thing, it’s so big most people don’t even know they’re a part of it. It’s in everything. Don’t you—” Her face is distorted in pain. She looks down at her chest. Red spreads across her shirt. She looks back at you in horror.



You sprint to her, pulling her down as another bullet flies past.



“Sniper,” you snarl. “Stay down.”



She grabs your arm and coughs up blood. The bullet must have hit her lung. She doesn’t have much time. Moving her is only going to make it worse.



“Hey stupid, where are the shots coming from?”



You turn. Alana, one of the Boss’s top assassins, is hiding in the hallway.



“South window. Adjacent building.”



Alana smirks then ducks out of sight.



You try putting pressure on Gillian’s wound, but it doesn’t seem to help. She’s starting to drift. “Hey,” you shout. “Stay with me.” You squeeze her hand. “You’re going to be fine.”



Alana just barely steps into view. “I need a distraction.”



You grab your pistol. “I’ll be back.” You let go of Gillian and crawl to the window. Two bullets burn past your shoulder. You prop your gun on the windowsill and <span data-tooltip="Guns +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;blindfire@@</span> toward the shooter.



Suddenly Alana stands over you with a giant rocket launcher.



Uh oh.



You plug your ears as the rocket hisses out of the cradle. It spirals through the air and blows a <span data-tooltip="Damge Cost: $3,200" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;chunk@@</span> out of the distant building and, with any luck, the shooter.



Alana tosses the launcher on the bed and rushes to help Gillian.



You try to stand, but your strength is gone. You look at your hand and follow a trail of <span data-tooltip="HP -50" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;blood@@</span> to your chest. The bullet must have done more damage than you thought.



You <span data-tooltip="HP -40" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;slump@@</span> forward.



Your vision blurs and the last thing you remember is the blank and empty stare of your dying sister.



[[I'm not quite dead yet...]]



<<nobr>>

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<<endnobr>>The money is important, but it’s better to do this right. Gillian is counting on you. You can’t let her down. You keep your <span data-tooltip="Sly +5, Force -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;distance@@</span> and let the drug deal go through. The moving vans pull into the warehouse and the twelve thugs exit with two duffle bags. The bags look heavy with cash. They toss them into an SUV and drive off. There goes your retirement plan. You grit your teeth and try to control your anger.



Time for plan B.



If you do this right, no one will ever know you were at the warehouse, and it’ll be months before the Boss realizes the safe is empty. At most, he checks it every two months.



You sprint and <span data-tooltip="Infamy -4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;duck behind@@</span> a stack of crates.



Dodging the cameras and the guards will be tricky. You peek over the edge of the top crate. The guards are locking up and leaving. Quitting time is early today – must be a baseball game later. You smirk. Lackeys just aren’t what they used to be.



This will be easier than you thought, but you still need to hurry. Gillian can’t wait.



You climb the crates, jump to the lamppost, and do a few wall steps to reach the window. You <span data-tooltip="Sly +5, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;slip@@</span> the lock with a magnet and slide through the small opening. You climb down some shelving and drop silently to the ground. The warehouse is empty and dark. Luckily you’ve been here enough times to have the floor plan memorized. You make your way to the back office where the safe is kept.



You kneel down next to the keypad. You’ve seen the Boss use it before, each time you made certain to catch a glimpse of the next number in the code. It took you months, but you managed to learn it all. You never planned on stealing his money. You just know the value of owning someone else’s secret.



You enter the code and the air tight seal hisses <span data-tooltip="XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;open.@@</span> You pull a bag from the adjacent shelf and put the money in it. There are only four stacks, not as much as you had hoped, but it’ll have to do.



You also see a manila folder. You don’t recall the Boss ever putting it in the safe. It must have been there before you started working for him. You pull it out and open it.



A photograph of your mother slides out. It looks old. It must have been taken before you were born. You can’t understand why the Boss would have it. You look at the other documents in the folder, but they’re in some kind of secret code. You’ll need a cipher.



This information complicates things. Your mom disappeared a long time ago. Everyone told you she was dead, but Gillian was too stubborn to believe it. She never stopped searching for her. Maybe it wasn’t the Boss who found Gillian. Maybe it was Gillian who found the Boss.

<<if $introComments is true>><p class="introComment">The main character’s mother is only briefly mentioned in this section. Her disappearance is never fully explained in <i>Seven Bullets</i> (although it’s alluded to at the secret facility in Montana).</p><p class="introComment">This section offers a “false” choice. Checking out the address doesn’t reveal any new information about the mother. The reader must re-read the story from the beginning (making different choices) in order to learn more about the mother.</p><p class="introComment">I use “false” choices in several other areas (with Mr. Wong, the Boss, Alana, and others). I hoped these false choices would encourage readers to re-read the story.</p><<endif>>

You swallow hard. Maybe this whole thing is not about you at all...But what would the Boss want with your mother or your sister. It doesn’t make sense.



There’s an address on the back of the photo. It might be worth checking out. Then again, whatever the causes may be, Gillian is still in danger. If you don’t get to her soon you may lose your chance. Plus, she may have dug up some answers on her own.



[[Check out the address]]

[[Burn the warehouse and rescue Gillian]]



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<<endnobr>>“Gillian,” you shout. “Gillian?”



You hear a faint reply.



You keep the gun ready and glance into the overturned van. The other guard is out cold. “Gillian?”



“Yeah,” she groans.



You sigh with relief. “Are you alright?”



“Just a little bruised.”



You reach in and unbuckle her seatbelt. “We need to go. The rest of them will be here soon.”



She slips down, and you help her out of the van.



“You need a doctor?”



She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”



You take off the helmet and hand it to her.



She puts it on and limps toward the motorcycle. “They wouldn’t tell me what this was about.”



“It’s complicated. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”



“No, not yet, but they were trying to intimidate me. I had a feeling you were the one they wanted.”



“It seems like I’m always the one getting you into trouble.”



“That’s because you usually are.”



You sigh helplessly. “All that’s going to change, I promise. I’m done with that <span data-tooltip="Really?" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;life.”@@</span>



She glares at you. “Then why are you holding that gun so tightly?”



“That old life isn’t quite done with me yet.”



She shakes her head. “You’ll never escape it.”



“It doesn’t mean we can’t try.” You get on the motorcycle. “Come on. It’s time for a clean slate.”



She gets on the back of the motorcycle. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”



You toss the gun on the pavement. “How’s that for a start?”



She wraps her arms around you. “It’s a start.”

<<if $hellComments is true>><p class="introComment">Of the 80+ endings in the book less than 15 are “happy endings”.</p><p class="introComment">Why so few?</p><p class="introComment">I felt if readers were able to reach success too often, they would be less inclined to re-read the book.</p><<endif>>

You turn on the motorcycle and <span data-tooltip="XP +25" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;drive@@</span> until the city is a tiny spec in your rearview mirror, and then you drive a little further. You can’t be sure if anyone else will come after you, but that’s why you hid that extra pistol in the bike satchel. You can never be too careful, right? It’s not like you’ll even need to use it.



You laugh and hope you remembered to pack that extra clip.



[[The End|Buy the book]]



The landlord of the apartment complex was a middle-aged, potbelly man by the name of [[Jim Long]], who went by James. He made every effort to remind young [[Karen Ward|Karen]] that he was single.



He didn’t care that she was into witchcraft or whatever it was because, as he often shouted from his doorway, she had a great rack and an even better ass.



The other tenants of the apartment complex had grown accustom to his rude, though harmless, outbursts and had given up filing complaints. For despite his vulgar demeanor, he was a diligent and caring landlord.



The apartment complex was in perfect condition, and he addressed complaints or requests almost immediately.



The other tenants got along well with [[Karen Ward|Karen]] and her [[roommate|two]], but they felt the two girl’s interest in witchcraft and magic was a foolish endeavor, though they never made their feelings known.



After hearing sounds of a struggle, the occupants below and beside [[Karen's|Karen]] apartment immediately contacted [[Jim Long]]. They did not hear shouting per se, but the loud commotion was unusual and very disturbing.



Ever since [[Karen|Karen]] had conducted her strange [[experiment|experiments]], the neighbors had grown suspicious of her behavior and began to question the safety of their home. It was as if a discomforting presence or some unseen [[entity|spirits]] had settled within their well cared for apartment complex.



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<<endnobr>>You’re stuck here <i>...forever.</i>



The trolls and giants flee too, smashing whatever creatures are in their path. The Blue Wizards have no choice but to run. The purple mist slowly evaporates, staining the ground and plants a faint shade of purple.



The peasants cheer and shout with victory.



You’ve pushed the monsters back. You’ve won, for now, but the King and the Prince are dead, and the castle is in shambles ...not to mention the lab. You have no idea how to rebuild Quintus’s machine.



“Earth, Earth, Earth,” the peasants chant. They look up at you eagerly. “Earth, Earth, Earth!”



You’ve earned their respect. You’ve saved them. With that little spectacle you put on, they probably think you’re some kind of <span data-tooltip="Infamy +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;supernatural@@</span> being.



There’s nothing you can do for Gillian. She’s on her own now. And if you’re going to be stuck here forever, it’s better to be giving the orders than following them.



The King's crown glimmers on the battlefield. You’ve got a feeling it’s going to fit you perfectly...



[[The End|Buy the book]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 835>>

<<set $luck = $luck +2>>

<<endnobr>>You never thought rescuing Gillian would be this troublesome. Not only did you screw things up with the Boss, but now you’re not even on Earth...You have no idea how this day could get any worse, but you have a feeling you're about to find out.



You let out a sigh and look at Quintus. “You know, I haven’t done any fishing in awhile...this’ll probably be the closest I ever get to a vacation.”



“I would hardly call it a vacation,” Quintus says skeptically.



You shrug. “If only you knew my line of work... So, how do I catch this fish?”



“Right, yes,” Quintus says eagerly. “I had hoped you would choose to pursue the Cetorix. It is the safer choice...in the long run. Go to the harbor and speak with Taz Moir. He has a ship and a crew. Mention my name and he will be agreeable.”



“Agreeable?”



“Yes,” Quintus says with a slight hesitation. “He’s a gruff man...a mercenary and pirate by trade. He lives in a very grey area of the law, a place I assume you’re quite familiar. Taz Moir owes me a favor for the work I did on his leg. Here,” Quintus takes a bracelet off his wrist and gives it to you. “If he questions your relation to me, which he is likely to do, show him this bracelet. Once he knows I have sent you, he will be...agreeable.”



You take the bracelet and slip it around your wrist. “Okay, so this Taz Moir guy will take me south on his ship and then what? Does he have equipment to catch the Cetorix?”

<<if $ragnossComments is true>><p class="introComment">The original concept of the Cetorix was a composite of three stories: <i>Pinocchio, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,</i> and <i>The Adventures of Baron Munchausen.</i></p><p class="introComment">As a child the monstrous whale in Pinocchio terrified me, but the notion that people could live inside its belly also fascinated me. I decided if I was going to write a whimsical fantasy adventure there needed to be a giant sea monster that could swallow boats whole.</p><<endif>>

“The details of the Cetorix still elude me. I know that Taz Moir has enough cannons and munitions to destroy an entire fleet. If nothing else, you should be able to kill the creature with little difficulty. You may think me a cold and vicious person for saying such a thing. I value all life, I truly do, but we have little time, and the survival of our entire planet has fallen to us. We must be bold and unyielding.”



Avengral steps forward. “Two traits I have in abundance. You will need a knight if you are to travel past the King’s blockade.”



“Oh,” Quintus grits his teeth. “I nearly forgot. The King has issued an embargo against all ingoing and outgoing ships until higher taxes are agreed upon.” Quintus puts his hand on Avengral’s shoulder. “I have not given you all the details of my experiments, but you know the realm is in grave danger.”



“Yes,” Avengral nods. “Your sorcery is still a mystery to me, but I am a knight, and I know when I am needed.”



“Good,” Quintus says. “Then you will help?”



Avengral formally kneels. “Your quest is my quest. I swear it on my honor and the name of my ancestors.”



“Yes, yes,” Quintus says, pulling him back up to his feet. Quintus takes a green hooded cloak from a hook on the wall and hands it to you. “Disguise yourself with this and hope that you remain unnoticed. You must go now before it gets any later.”



You wrap the cloak around your shoulders and fling the hood over your head. At a casual glance, you could pass for a native. You’ll still need to keep a low profile.



“As wizard Quintus has said, we must make haste.” Avengral pauses at the doorway, expecting you to follow.



“Go,” Quintus says. “And <span data-tooltip="Luck +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;good luck.”@@</span>



You have a feeling you’ll need it. You give Quintus a slight nod, and then you follow Avengral out the door. He leads you through the courtyard, past several rows of stone cottages, down a long set of steps, across a large oak bridge. You keep the hood and cloak tight to obscure your face and Earth clothes.



Avengral leads you through another neighborhood of cottages. The further you get from the castle, the poorer the houses become. The people pay little attention to you. They’re too busy staring at Avengral. You travel further down the hill through several more markets and neighborhoods before you reach the harbor.



“There,” Avengral whispers. “The ship.”



You see an enormous wooden vessel with three large sails. You count at least fifteen sailors on deck. You and Avengral approach the plank leading up to the deck.



You suddenly feel something sharp between your shoulder blades.



“That’s me knife,” a gruff voice says. “Tell me why yer boarding me ship or I’ll send this steel through yer heart.”



That’s probably Taz Moir. When he says he’s willing to kill you, you can tell he means it. You could show him the bracelet. That should make him more agreeable, but he’s likely to think you’re a wimp. He may not respect your authority later on.



If he’s anything like the Boss, he respects strength and toughness. This is your chance to show him the kind of person you really are, the kind of person who doesn’t like having a knife to their back.



[[Show Taz Moir the bracelet]]

[[Force Taz Moir to respect you]]



<center><b>Dead Sexy

Afterward</b></center>



And there it is ladies and gents, that’s the end, bikinis, babes, nukes, zombies and the apocalypse. Not bad for a short story...especially a free one.



You may be wondering how such a tale came to be woven into the words before you. It began as a challenge. I had gotten a silly notion in my head that all of my stories should be written for specific people, and so I started taking requests.



I required three details: genre, setting, and the main character’s name.



My cousin requested: horror, the Playboy Mansion, and the name Michael (which incidentally is identical to his name).



I wrote the story in five installments and posted them online over the course of a week. I can only hope you enjoyed the story as much as my cousin did.





Why zombies?



In recent years, zombies have become the definition of horror (...and action, and entertainment in general). I’ve wanted to write an apocalyptic zombie novel for a long time, but as you’ve probably realized by now, this short story is more satire than suspense.



If you’re reading this, then I’m sure you’re as much a zombie fan as I am, so you know most of the great zombie stories make a point of avoiding the origin of their undead apocalypse.



I’ve spent many nights pondering possible zombie genesis stories (which, I’m sure, will appear in future books). “Dead Sexy” grew from one of my more ridiculous ideas.



The idea came about as a result of two questions:



How does the zombie epidemic spread?



And does the zombie virus occur naturally, or is it engineered?



In a sense, the first question answers the second and with a setting like the Playboy Mansion, it doesn’t require a mental leap to reach a one word conclusion: sex.



Zombies are driven by a singular and overwhelming urge. Typically that urge is hunger or blind aggression, but (if you believe Freud) sex is just as potent as any human drive, so why shouldn’t a zombie be motivated by sex?



A zombie more interested in a nightcap than your brains is a scary thought. And the irony that sex, an act which creates life, is the same process that kills and distorts humanity should be equally as scary. It might be the only time you’ll want to skip the foreplay...





What’s different in Edition 1.1?



I’ve made several major changes to “Dead Sexy” in this edition. The style, which was originally third person, is now second person (with a gender neutral protagonist). The story was intended for my cousin, but in this form (as an ebook) it’s intended for you loyal reader, whoever you may be.



The second major update is the addition of the four Found Documents: Stew’s Diary entry, the CDC excerpt, Hef’s Science Log, and the government memo. I hope they’ve helped to immerse you in this fantastically ridiculous story.



Lastly, I’ve revised dozens of sentences, removed some grating words, and generally made the story easier to read. I’ve done all this for you loyal reader. Enjoy!



Cloud Buchholz

1-20-2014



<center>[[Unlocks]]

[[Table of Contents|deadSexyTOC]]</center>



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 425>>

<<set $luck = $luck -25>>

<<endnobr>>You grab the tan key and head out the door. You click the security button on the keychain. The lights on a Jaguar flicker.



Nice.



The car seems vaguely familiar like you’ve seen it somewhere recently – a restaurant maybe. No, that’s not it.



You shake your head. There’s no time to worry about that now. You open the door, toss the bag of guns in the passenger seat, and get inside.



You need to put some distance between yourself and the Russians. If they saw you driving off with their car, you’d have some serious explaining to do.



You turn the key. The alternator clicks, but the engine doesn’t start.



Crap.



The car could be busted. This is a repair shop after all. You take a deep breath and turn the key again. The alternator clicks twice and the engine revs.



You sigh with relief, put the car in gear, and pull out as silently as possible.



The thought is still itching at your brain though. Why is this car so familiar? You’ve seen it before. Was it parked? No, but it wasn’t moving.



A photograph – that’s where you saw it – in the Boss’s files. The car belongs to <span data-tooltip="Luck -10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;John Davis,@@</span> the senator. But what would the Russians be doing with the senator’s car?

<<if $introComments is true>><p class="introComment">John Davis is a character that appears in <i>The Last Darling,</i> one of the first books I wrote.</p><p class="introComment">If you read my books carefully, you’ll notice some characters have small cameos throughout my writing.</p><<endif>>

The senator made some bold statements about cracking down on crime recently, and he already allocated more funds to the police.



The Boss thought about having him killed since he couldn’t be bribed. The Russians were probably thinking the same thing. They may have even worked it out together.



You’re struck by a sudden pang of fear. You reach under the seat.



You sigh.



Luckily there’s no bomb.



You better check under the car as well. You pull to the side of the road and tap the <span data-tooltip="Luck -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;brakes.@@</span>



The car doesn’t slow down. You tap the brakes harder. Instead of slowing down the car <span data-tooltip="Luck -10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;accelerates.@@</span>



You swerve left to avoid a car. Then right to avoid another. The car keeps accelerating. You jump past 50mph than 60mph.



The Russians must have rigged the brakes.



You try grinding into the cement divide. It barely slows you down.



The car hits 90mph.



You veer right to avoid a semi. The Jaguar breaks through the metal railing and crashes into the river below.



You hit your head hard on the door. By the time you come to, the car is full of water. You fight to get your seatbelt free, but it’s too late.



You feel the water seep into your lungs and then—



[[I'm not quite dead yet...]]

[[Epilogue 14]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 878>>

<<set $infamy = $infamy +22>>

<<set $kills = $kills +1>>

<<set $force = $force +7>>

<<set $xp = $xp +20>>

<<lvlChecker>><<killsAchieveChecker>>

<<endnobr>>On the other hand, what good is a conscience if you’re dead? You need to survive this. If you don’t, Gillian is as good as dead. Doing the bad thing now means you can do the right thing later...at least that’s what you tell yourself.



“Close your eyes!” You shout to Avengral.



“What? Have you gone mad?”



“No,” you shout. “Just crazy. Now close your eyes. You have to trust me.”



Avengral begrudgingly closes his eyes.



You sprint to the terrified soldier, swinging your sword as you near him. The green speckled blade <span data-tooltip="Infamy +20, Kills +1, Force +5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;severs@@</span> his head at the base of the neck. The soldier slumps forward, instantly dead.

<<if $ragnossComments is true>><p class="introComment">This scene was a way for me to contrast Avengral’s honor-bound code with the main character’s heritage. While Avengral views the world in absolutes, the main character lives in a grey area.</p><p class="introComment">Avengral’s strict code made him one of the more enjoyable characters to write. I thought of him as Captain America with a sword.</p><<endif>>

The glass dragon twitches and yowls. You look away as the shards of glass tumble to the ground, <span data-tooltip="XP +20" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;inanimate@@</span> once again. You wait until the loud clatter of glass has stopped.



“Earth Wizard?” Avengral asks while swaying his sword left and right blindly. “Are you dead? What was that noise? Can I open my eyes? Earth Wizard?”



You think about letting him sweat a little longer, but decide against it. “You can open your eyes.”



“By the Seven,” Avengral gasps. “The dragon is slain. How did you accomplish such a task?” He turns to you. He sees the decapitated soldier beside you and the blood on your sword. He frowns.



“It was necessary,” you assure him.



“You may be right, Earth Wizard, but it does not bring me any relief.”



“It’s the one thing the wizards knew you wouldn’t do, so I had to do it.”



Avengral hangs his head in shame. “And we are saved.”



Suddenly the wall slides apart and a bright light illuminates the room. “Come on,” you say. “We can’t let his death be in vain.”



Avengral nods.



You both keep your blades drawn and ready as you walk through the light. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust.



The old wizard, Kailvo, stands in front of you. His beaming smile makes you sick. Kailvo applauds fervently. “Quite a show,” he cheers. “Quite a show indeed. I truly did not believe you had the resolve to see it through. Your viciousness surprises even me.”



You give him a <span data-tooltip="Force +2, Infamy +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;menacing@@</span> stare and point your sword at his chest. “We played your game. Now give us what we came for or the next game we play is <i>how many cuts does it take to get to the center of an ugly wizard.”</i>



“Oh,” Kailvo coos. “Name calling is hardly necessary. You have proven to be more entertaining than we could have imagined. We are already prepared to give you what you want. See,” Kailvo holds up a small round compass. “The compass has been enchanted to find your Prince. Follow the compass and there he will be.”



“And what of my soldiers?” Avengral’s eyes burn with rage.



“Well, they are dead of course.”



“What!?!” Avengral growls. “You said they would be fine.”



“I lied. Consider it a reminder of what doing business with us costs.”



“Trust me wizard,” Avengral grabs the compass. “I will not forget.” The words come out ominously dark with a vileness you did not think Avengral capable of.



“Good,” Kailvo grins. “Then our business is concluded. I trust you will see yourselves out.” Kailvo turns and leaves the room as if your interactions were inconsequential.



“Foul wizards,” Avengral grunts.



The two of you walk through the courtyard and out the large oak drawbridge. You stand in a field of grass. A small dirt road winds its way toward the horizon.



You glance at Avengral. “I guess that portal thing is off the table?”



“It would be unwise to trust such liars. We might end up at the bottom of the ocean.”



“So how long will it take us to get back to the castle?”



“Several days,” Avengral says, walking along the path.



You jog to him and tap your wrist as if he would know what it means. “My timetable requires something a little faster.”



Avengral holds up the compass. The needle points right. Avengral shakes the compass and examines it again. It points the same direction.



Avengral growls with frustration. “Even the compass they give us is broken. They would have me believe the Prince is on this island? Treacherous wizards.” Avengral turns right, following the compass’s direction.



“If the compass is pointing the wrong direction, why are you following it?”



“I must prove, without a doubt, that the compass is broken. Then, with the King’s approval, the Blue Wizards will be removed from the Accords and dealt with accordingly.”



“I’m sure that’s a great plan,” you say scratching your head. “But don’t you still have a prince to save...not to mention the ride I need to catch.”



“The Prince?” Avengral says with surprise.



“Yeah,” you nod. “That’s what I said, the Prince.”



“No,” Avengral grunts. “The Prince!” He shouts louder and sprints forward.



You glance up. In the distance you see a man on his knees, tied to a wooden stake. Avengral runs to him. “Prince!” He shouts again.



The Prince?



If the Prince was kidnapped on the other side of the continent, how did he end up over here? And isn’t this supposed to be neutral territory? Why would he be tied up? You’ve got a bad feeling about this.



[[Try to stop Avengral from doing something rash]]

[[Stay back and let Avengral spring the trap, if there is one]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 388>>

<<set $force = $force +10>>

<<set $sly = $sly -5>>

<<set $infamy = $infamy +5>>

<<set $luck = $luck -8>>

<<endnobr>>Before you can do anything, Cecil <span data-tooltip="Sly -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;shoves you@@</span> into the street. The moonlight blinds you. The creatures turn in unison. <span data-tooltip="Luck -8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;They stare@@</span> at you with beastly hunger.



You glance back at Cecil and Sylvia. They gawk at you full of lust and excitement. Cecil waves you on while Sylvia blows you a kiss.



You’re about to call them traitors, but you realize using your words on them is a lost cause. They passionately kiss and then climb up the side of the building to get a better view of your soon demise. You’ll have to get payback later, assuming you’re still in one piece.



A creature lunges at you.



[[Roll under its arm]]

<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 1395>>

<<endnobr>>“Come on,” you say. “Let’s search the second floor.”



She steps behind you. “How come you get to hold the sword?”



“Because I’m going first.”



She nods. “Yeah okay, that’s fair.” She holds the metal vase tighter. “So, do you think everyone in Hell has to relive their worst nightmare?”



You push open the door and walk into a large study. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”



“I mean, I was trapped on the beach trying to save my son, and then there was that thirsty guy.” She shudders at the thought. “It was like something was forcing us to keep replaying our most painful memory, like we didn’t have control of our body, but we could still feel the pain.”



“What’s your point?”



“How’d you get free?”



“I didn’t.”



“What?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”



“Let’s just say I never made it to orientation.”



She looks at you with surprise. “How is that even possible?”



You examine the books. They’re hand stitched with leather binding like something you’d find in a museum, but they look and feel new. You push open another door. “Come on.”



“Aren’t you going to answer the question?”



“No.” You sigh. “I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t know.”



“Maybe someone’s looking out for you.”



“Like who? This is Hell remember.”



She examines one of the paintings on the wall half-heartedly. “Well, if someone isn’t trying to help you, then maybe they’re trying to use you. There’s obviously something different about you.”



You laugh. “So what, is it like a demon conspiracy or something?”



“I don’t know,” Jazelle shrugs. “I’m just saying it’s weird, that’s all.”



“Everything here is weird.”



“Yeah,” she nods. “That’s true, but aren’t you at least curious?”



“Curious about what?”



“Your nightmare – the memory you’d have to keep reliving.”



You think about Gillian and how she’s still out there, in danger. You couldn’t protect her and now she’s alone. She’s alone against overwhelming odds. You let her down. You failed her. You shake the thought and glance back at Jazelle. “I have no idea what it could be.”



“I guess you’re lucky then.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I miss my son, but I don’t want to relive that moment ever again.”



“Do you hear that?” You whisper.



She listens carefully. “Is there something in the wall, like a rat maybe?”



“It sounds more like chewing to me.”



“Chewing?”



“I think it’s coming from that room.”



Jazelle grabs your shoulder. “Let’s not do anything hasty. Maybe we should leave it alone.”



“Would you rather keep wandering aimlessly?” You whisper. “We finally have a real lead. We can’t leave it alone.”



Jazelle lifts the vase for action. “Fine, but you go in first. You have the sword, remember.”



You push open the door with the sword, tense, and ready for a fight. Instead, you see an extravagant dining table set for a banquet of twenty people. There are at least a dozen platters of steaming meats and exotic dishes. You don’t see anyone – not a guest, a waiter, or a cook.



“That’s not exactly what I was expecting,” Jazelle says, scratching her head.



“You still hear that chewing noise though, don’t you?”



“Yeah. It sounds like it’s coming from—”



“What?” You ask, glancing at her.



She stares at the ceiling.



[[Follow her gaze.]]

<i>“Dead Sexy” (A Short Story)</i>



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 270>>

<<set $force = $force -5>>

<<set $guns = $guns -2>>

<<set $luck = $luck -20>>

<<set $kills = $kills +13>>

<<set $xp = $xp +26>>

<<set $infamy = $infamy +15>>

<<set $hp = $hp -10>>

<<set $damageCost = $damageCost + 500000000000000>>

<<lvlChecker>><<killsAchieveChecker>><<damageCostChecker>>

<<endnobr>>You hit <span data-tooltip="Force -5, Guns -2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;<i>Disengage</i>.@@</span>



Nothing happens.



You hit it again. And again.



The screen flickers.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i><em>Disengage initiated...</em></i>

<i><em>Power exceeding upper limit...</em></i>@@



You scream in <span data-tooltip="HP -4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;pain.@@</span> Your arm shakes uncontrollably, as if it’s being stabbed by thousands of tiny needles.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i><em>WARNING...</em></i>

<i><em>Organic tissue exceeding safety parameters...</em></i>

<i><em>WARNING...</em></i>@@



You stumble against a wall. Blood <span data-tooltip="HP -2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;drips@@</span> from your nose and eyes. Your chest feels tight.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i><em>Synaptic Interface exceeding heat limit...</em></i>

<i><em>Bandwidth <span data-tooltip="Luck -10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">failed</span> to meet minimum requirements...</em></i>

<i><em>Data <span data-tooltip="Luck -10" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">corruption detected</span>...</em></i>

<i><em>Shutdown initiated...</em></i>

<i><em>ERROR...</em></i>

<i><em>Power discharge imminent...</em></i>@@



The tip of the arm cannon ignites with a blinding light. Your vision blurs from the pain. Your arm droops against the wall.



The light expands. The floor vibrates. You feel a sharp pinch in your shoulder. The arm cannon bursts with energy, blowing a hole through the floor. It’s so powerful you can barely see.



The light fades slightly – enough for you to glimpse the destruction. The beam of energy travels down through the building, <span data-tooltip="Kills +13, XP +26, Damage Cost: $500,000,000,000,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;tearing@@</span> a hole through at least seventeen floors.



You can hear faint <span data-tooltip="Infamy +15" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;screams.@@</span>



Your shoulder <span data-tooltip="HP -4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;rips@@</span> in three places. The pressure is too much. It feels like something in your brain is being squeezed.



Finally the beam stops. Steam erupts from the vents on the side of the arm cannon.



You collapse and cough up black goo.



Your vision gets hazy around the edges. The hole reaches down to the lobby. If you weren’t aching from every part of your body, you would probably be impressed.



Your head swims with pain, and you don’t have the strength to lift it. You can barely keep your eyelids up. And then the darkness takes you.



[[I'm not quite dead yet...]]

[[Epilogue 11]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 451>>

<<set $hp = $hp -8>>

<<endnobr>>You pry open the doors to the elevator shaft. It’s a long drop. You shouldn’t have looked down.



Gillian grabs your shoulder. “You can’t be serious?”



“We don’t have a lot of choices.” You lean into the elevator shaft and grab a thick metal cable. You turn back to Gillian. “And don’t worry about the fall. From this height, the impact would kill us instantly.”



She scowls at you. “That’s really comforting.”



You smile. “Hold on to me as tightly as you can. It’s fourteen floors so we might be sliding for awhile.” You slip the cable between three hooks around the frame of the shotgun. “Just remember not to let go.”



“Like that’s something I would forget.” She locks her arms and legs around you. “You know what you’re doing, right?”



“Don’t I always?”



She rolls her eyes. “We’re going to die.”



You grin and jump into the elevator shaft. Sparks erupt from the points where the shotgun and cable intersect.



You tighten your grip and bound off the wall to slow down.



The cable is shorter than you thought. You fall the last twenty feet.



You do your best to absorb the brunt of the <span data-tooltip="HP -8" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;impact,@@</span> but Gillian’s leg hits hard. She yelps in pain.



The impact has you seeing stars. It takes you a minute to realize Gillian is crying. You didn’t hear the bone snap, but there’s a good chance her leg is broken.



You push yourself up. Your vision is blurry, and it takes you a moment to orient yourself. You slide under Gillian’s arm and help her up.



“It hurts. It hurts,” she pleads.



“We can’t stay here.”



She grits her teeth and fights the pain.



Part of the elevator shaft is busted, and there’s enough room for you and Gillian to get through. You lower her into the stairwell and then drop down behind her.



You slip back under her arm and guide her to the lobby. You kick open the door.



The Boss and his five most menacing killers are patiently waiting for you. You’ve still got the arm cannon, but using it would mean you’d have to drop Gillian. She’d be as good as dead.



The Boss tilts his head, “Fascinating,” he stares at the arm cannon. “Most test subjects didn’t survive the binding process. Even fewer were capable of firing it.” He sighs. “At least some good will come of your childish tantrum.” He raises his cane and points it at your sister. “If you want her to live, you’ll give her and the weapon to me.” The Boss calmly removes his hat. “You have one minute to decide. By that time your sister will pass out from the blood loss.”



[[Give him your sister and the arm cannon]]

[[Use the arm cannon on the Boss]]



<<nobr>>

<<set $wordcount = $wordcount + 680>>

<<set $force = $force +2>>

<<set $sly = $sly -2>>

<<set $guns = $guns +6>>

<<set $xp = $xp +12>>

<<set $infamy = $infamy +4>>

<<set $kills = $kills +5>>

<<set $damageCost = $damageCost +45300>>

<<lvlChecker>><<killsAchieveChecker>><<damageCostChecker>>

<<endnobr>>You slip open the box and count eight grenades. That should be enough to do some damage. You put the car in gear and slam down the gas pedal. The tires screech as you turn through a few corners. You pull onto the main street and turn the car so it faces the Boss’s penthouse.



You look at your watch. One minute and forty seconds. Gillian should have reached the first basement level by now. Time for a diversion.



You toss your bag on the sidewalk, put the car in neutral, and shove the box of grenades onto the gas pedal so the engine revs.



At this distance, with a 2.0L engine at full RPMs it should take less than eight seconds to crash into the lobby of the Boss’s building. You take one of the grenades, shift the car into drive, pull the pin and <span data-tooltip="Sly -2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;toss the grenade@@</span> into the passenger seat.



You pick up your bag and count backwards from ten.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5,</i>@@



The car <span data-tooltip="XP +2, Damage Cost: $1,300" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;shatters@@</span> the glass entrance and demolishes part of the inner wall.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>4, 3,</i>@@



You casually walk to the adjacent building.



@@color:#B2B2B2;<i>2, 1...</i>@@



Nothing happens. You scratch your head and glance at the lobby.



Then <span data-tooltip="XP +2, Damage Cost: $32,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;<b>BOOM</b>@@</span>. Eight small <span data-tooltip="XP +2, Damage Cost: $12,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;explosions@@</span> go off in unison. A cloud of smoke thrusts the shattered windows into the street and obscures the lobby.



Now that’s a <span data-tooltip="Infamy +4, Kills +3" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;distraction@@</span>.



You enter the building and double time it down the stairs.



Due to his overwhelming paranoia, the Boss had a secret passageway built connecting his building with the office across the street. Only the Boss’s most trusted employees know about the passageway and you happen to be one of them.



It’s hard to say why the Boss turned on you and kidnapped your sister. Guess he just has a hard time saying goodbye.



You sling the bag onto your other shoulder and kick open the door to the parking level. You walk through two maintenance doors and pull up a metal drain cover. You hop down and walk in the dark for about a minute until you reach another metal cover. You take your silenced pistol from the bag and lightly push open the drain cover.



You’re in the other parking garage. It should be empty except for Gillian, but one or two of the goons may have followed her down.



“Gillian,” you whisper into the phone. “Where are you?”



Silence.



“Tap the phone twice if you can’t talk.”



You hear two taps.



Well that’s just perfect. You open your bag, disconnect your sniper scope, toggle it to thermal and scan the parking garage. Three heat signatures. One of them is horizontal. At least she made it to the SUV.



You slide the bag over your shoulder, keeping the scope in one hand and the silenced pistol in the other. You walk to a cement pillar, keeping out of the goons’ line of sight. You toggle the scope to x-ray, angle your pistol around the pillar, and <span data-tooltip="XP +6, Guns +6, Kills +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;take down@@</span> both of them. Normally you’d hide the bodies, but there’s no time.



You open the SUV door, toss your bag in, and embrace your sister.



“We have to go.”



Her body shakes from the adrenaline, or maybe from the sight of the two men you just shot. It's hard to tell. At least she’s alive, and you’re almost certain the blood on her clothes belongs to someone else.



You take a bottle of pills out of your bag and give her two red ones. “These will calm you down.”



She takes them without thinking.



She might be able to drive.



“Hey,” you take her by the shoulders, “I need you to focus. The exit to the parking garage is guarded. I won’t be able to shoot him from the car. I’ll need you to drive so I can sneak up to him on foot. Do you understand?”



Her eyes are glazed, but she nods.



You know she’s tough, but she’s been through a lot today. Maybe she’s not up for it. You can’t afford to make a mistake now.



[[“I’ll drive; just keep your head down.”]]

[[“Gillian, I need you to be strong for a little bit longer.”]]



<<nobr>>

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<<endnobr>>An old man stands in front of a computer. His long beard sways as he turns.



Mason pushes past you. “Clark,” he says. “Thank God you’re alive.”



“Just barely. What about the patients?”



“Dead,” Mason says.



Clark sighs. “It’s a shame, but what else could be done. We’d best hurry. The others will be returning any moment.” Clark steps toward you then stops abruptly when he sees your face. “You!?! But how? What are you doing here?”



“Aside from saving your life, you mean.”



“No, no. You’re supposed to be dead,” Clark says franticly.



“I hear that a lot. You’ll have to be more specific.”



“You were one of the first... You shouldn’t be.... But... I suppose it could be possible... at least given the right conditions.”



You glance at Mason. “I think your buddy must have hit his head or something.”



“The formula had to have worked... or perhaps it’s something specific to your genetic code,” Clark rambles. “Tell me,” he asks, “Do you have a sister by any chance?”



You grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall. “What did you just say?”



“A sister... Do you have a sister? Is she alive?”



[[Tell him about Gillian]]

[[Force him to talk first]]



<b>Lazy like the Tips of Her</b>



Sometimes, when I think of you,

I feel like a towel full of sand

that's shaken into the shore,

idling on the beach until the ocean rises

to carry me to some far off place.



I am complacent to watch the days graze

the edges of me, to leave me placid

and self-contained, but sometimes,



when I think of you,

my thoughts are dismantled and shipped

to all the places you might go.



I am like a wave that has been kicked

into one thousand tiny pieces,

hoping just one droplet reaches you

before returning.



Sometimes, when I think of you,

you are like the heat of a fevered forehead,

pulling back an open palm of sweat

and I am waiting like a child-

proof bottle of pills.





3-17-2011



<<back>>

<<nobr>>

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<<endnobr>>“What do you know about my sister?”



“So she is alive... astounding. Trust me,” Clark says. “No one has a right to worry about your sister more than I do. Gillian was my crowning achievement.”



You’re ready to punch him in the face, but his words seem <span data-tooltip="Sly +5, Force -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;genuine.@@</span> “Speak plainly,” you growl.



Clark sighs. “What I’m about to say will be difficult for you to accept or perhaps even understand. It’s important that you keep an open mind.”



“Get to the point.”



“You and your sister were part of an experiment... a truly remarkable experiment. The experiment, or incarnations of it, have existed in various forms for nearly eighty years; first backed by the government and later by intuitive investors. It began as an initiative to create a hardier human...a <i>perfect</i> human you might say. My superiors often used the term. But you see, <i>perfect</i> is a rather arbitrary term. Skin color, height, build, gender -- how can any one variation of those be deemed perfect? And in truth, why should they?



“Perfection, as you can imagine, is a pathetically short-sighted concept for our strength as a species is in our diversity... our genetic variation. The <i>perfect</i> human does not exist, nor should it. Unfortunately, my superior officers did not share my perspective. To them, 'perfect human' and 'soldier' were interchangeable.”



“How does this concern Gillian?” You demand.



“Yes, yes,” Clark assures you. “I’m getting to that. You see, the formula I created changed the nature of humanity on a genetic level. It made the body stronger, but at the cost of the soul. The early experiments produced an unusual kind of emotional detachment that often led to aggression, self-mutilation, and in most cases, stark insanity. In essence, the perfect soldier. The only drawback was the disappointingly short shelf-life. Most subjects did not survive more than five years. So, you can understand why I was so surprised to see you here now... alive.”



“Whoa, what are you saying?”



“Isn’t it obvious? You and your sister were among the first test group. While the other subjects drifted between bouts of delusion and masochism, you and your sister seemed to remain... normal... or at least sane. While you excelled at killing, your sister excelled at empathy. She was, or I should say is, the culmination of years of work, and my best hope for humanity.”



“Great story, but I think I would remember something like that.”



“We have the ability to manipulate the genetic code. How difficult do you think it is to tweak a few memories?”

<<if $montanaComments is true>><p class="introComment">Dr. Clark’s big speech is the climactic scene of the secret facility segment. I had three goals:</p><p class="introComment">1) Connect the intro segment with the secret facility segment</p><p class="introComment">2) Provide a context for why Gillian was kidnapped</p><p class="introComment">3) Validate this segment as an independent story arc</p><p class="introComment">Given the main character’s unique fighting abilities and snarky disregard of morality, I thought the “super-soldier” concept was a fitting way of tying the story together.</p><p class="introComment">I didn’t want to overuse the super-soldier plot device which is why it only appears in 14 sections of this segment.</p><<endif>>

You scratch your head. “Alright, fine. Let’s say I really was the subject of your weird experiment. How come I’m not in a test tube right now?”



Clark scoffs and shakes his head. “The same reason any revolution falls flat, a lack of funding. The government had a difficult time comprehending our vision. A new administration, a new budget, and a new concept of justice. You and your sister were the only subjects that had yet to go insane. The administration thought it was only a matter of time, so they shut the project down and ordered us to destroy the research which included all organic forms from the study, meaning you and your sister. I was under the assumption that the two of you had been eradicated with everything else, but obviously, since you’re standing before me, that is not the case. Now tell me of your sister. Is she alive?”



“She’s alive, but she’s sick.”



“Yes, I imagine so. We were in the process of stabilizing the system when the experiments were terminated. It’s a miracle she’s survived this long. We’d best get to work. I’ve come a long way since the first formula. You’d be surprised what I’m capable of now. I have a secondary lab not far from here. We should go there so I can analyze your DNA.”



“I hate to interrupt,” Mason says, interrupting, “But the others are counting on us. And we need to get back.”



[[Take Dr. Clark back to the others]]

[[Stay and let Dr. Clark run the tests]]



<center><img src="img/trophy.png" width="100%" align="center" hspace="6"></center>

@@color:#B2B2B2;For reaching Level 11, you earned this amazing trophy and the title of <i>World's Best Assassin!</i> (If it's engraved on a trophy then you know it must be true.)@@



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<<endnobr>>Keeping your distance and being able to monitor every angle means you’ll be able to <span data-tooltip="Sly +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;control@@</span> the situation, at least you hope. Every plan has its weaknesses, but you can’t worry about that now.

<<if $introComments is true>><p class="introComment">I used this choice (taking the sniper rifle) as a guide for creating future choices in this section. The kind of person who would prefer a sniper rifle might be emotionally distant, more comfortable working alone, more plan oriented and less rash.</p><p class="introComment">I tried to tilt the main character’s internal monologue toward those traits, and I offered choices that would be more in line with that kind of personality.</p><p class="introComment">If the reader chooses the shotgun instead, most of the choices in that section are emotional, rash, and directly confrontational.</p><<endif>>

You slide the sniper case into your bag and walk to another crate. You open it and sling the bazooka over your shoulder. You fire a rocket at the distant wall, <span data-tooltip="Damge Cost: $33,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;blowing@@</span> half the warehouse into the ocean. You hurry through the opening, reload the bazooka, and fire another rocket into the multitude of crates.



The warehouse <span data-tooltip="Damage Cost: $40,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;explodes@@</span> into a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke. A handful of smaller <span data-tooltip="Damage Cost: $30,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;explosions@@</span> occur as the other ammunitions catch <span data-tooltip="Damage Cost: $30,000" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;fire@@</span>. The warehouse and its contents are <span data-tooltip="Infamy +4" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;destroyed@@</span>.



You double time it to the street and take a left into an alley. Given what’s about to go down, it’s best not to be seen. You’ll have to steal a car and dump it near the penthouse. The cops won’t find it for a couple of days and by then you and Gillian should be out of the country. You should pick something discreet, but it’s not like you have a lot of options.



An old Honda will do the trick. You take a thin wire from your bag, slide it between the window and the door, then lightly tug until the lock pops <span data-tooltip="XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;open@@</span>. You toss your bag into the passenger seat and get in.



You don’t have much time. It looks like John Two Toes is already calling the Boss. If you factor in traffic and set-up time, that gives you less than 30 minutes.



You put the car in gear and drive, staying a little under the speed limit. After years of covert assassinations, you’ve learned to push fear and paranoia out of your mind. You’ve learned to stay calm under the most deadly of circumstances. Running and gunning will only get Gillian killed.



You take a long breath and try not to think of what the Boss might have done to her. Either way he’ll get what he deserves soon enough, but right now Gillian is your priority.



There are two good vantage points to the Boss’s penthouse: the top story of a parking garage or an adjacent office building. The parking garage provides easy access to an escape vehicle and gives you a better view of the streets if the cops get involved. The only problem is that twenty percent of the penthouse is obscured.



The office building provides better visibility which means fewer surprises, but getting in and out will take time, leaving Gillian unprotected while you try to exit the building. You’ll have to decide before you get too close.



[[The parking garage]]

[[The office building]]



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<<lvlChecker>>

<<endnobr>>The man looks at you <span data-tooltip="Sly -5" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;wide eyed.@@</span> “You’re one of them. You’re going to bore your drills into my brain and steal my thoughts. Never! I’ll never let you.” He jumps back into the room, grabs an iron statue from the desk, and wields it like a cudgel.



You duck under his swing and <span data-tooltip="Melee +4, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;pivot@@</span> around him. “I guess some people don’t get sarcasm.”



“You can’t have my brain juice. It’s mine,” he raves. “I only brought enough for me, and I’m not sharing!” He screams, swinging the statue at you wildly, just barely missing your cheek.



You sidestep and <span data-tooltip="Melee +4, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;jab@@</span> him in the kidney. His legs falter, and he stumbles into the wall.



This is crazy, you think to yourself. It has to be the drugs.



Of course that doesn’t explain—



You duck and roll behind the desk as the businessman takes another swing at your head.



You have no idea what this businessman could be a manifestation of... unless he’s not a manifestation at all. Either way, he really doesn’t like you. And if you let him keep swinging that cudgel, he’s eventually going to hit you.



He comes at you again. He’s resilient. You have to give him that. It won’t do him any good though.



You <span data-tooltip="Melee +2, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;parry@@</span> the statue with a hardbound book then <span data-tooltip="Melee +2, XP +2" data-tooltip-position="top" style="margin-top: 0px;">@@color:#000081;slam@@</span> the book into the businessman’s face. He tumbles backwards into the wall and slides to the floor.



He could be one of the thugs that drugged you. But why would he have been standing h