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>>4566575
You find yourself exactly where you left off a few minutes ago--hanging like a pinata from a redwood tree branch trying to suss out why a deer carcass is cooked and partially melted onto the forest floor below you. That’s not the kind of thing you see every day.

“Don’t forget the BOOT PRINTS!” Croons Ly with his nails-on-chalkboard voice. Yea, don’t worry, that’s pretty high up on the ‘Uh Oh’ list, just under the fact that your hometown is being overrun by skeletons and the very high possibility that you probably don’t have a job anymore. This economy, man.... Right, there are huge boot prints below where you slept last night, too. That’s not good either.

“Focus, cupcake.” Ly says in his teacher voice. “First thing’s first--we gotta come up with a plan.”

He’s not wrong. You’ve managed to get out of your deathtrap of a workplace without being forcefully de-boned, but now that you’re out things kinda opened up a bit. No, Ly’s right--we need a next move.

“You’re going to do that ‘three to four options’ thing in your head, aren’t you?”

Is there any better method?

What IS the plan? Short term, at least.
>Head home. You’ve got stuff to pick up.
>Track down your pals. They might be able to help out!
>Information. You need to find out more about this skeleton dude and he seemed pretty old.
>WRITE-IN

>>4566578
>>Head home. You’ve got stuff to pick up.

>>4566578
>Information. You need to find out more about this skeleton dude and he seemed pretty old.

King seemed unable to mention his real name, might be a good thing to find out. This guy is playing on old-school rules so I bet if we know that we can control him at least somewhat.

>>4566578
>Information. You need to find out more about this skeleton dude and he seemed pretty old.

>>4566606
>>4566768
>>4566785
Looks like knowledge is power! Writing!

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>>4566606
>>4566768
>>4566785
You sway in the air for a moment and consider your options. Yes, you could use a shower, but there are bigger things at stake here--namely the fact that your skeleton acquaintance from earlier ended your conversation with something along the lines of ‘today this place, to[i]marrow[/i] the woooorld.’

Whoever he is, he seems pretty ambitious. Good for him, bad for everyone else. California’s a loss anyways, but the [i]rest[/] of the world? You don’t think so.

“So… What do we do about it?” Ly asks, uncertainty in his voice.

That’s just it. You don’t know.

But this guy sucks.

You pound your fist into your palm to drive the point home--the force causing you to spin a bit in your belt-turned-harness. Oookay, getting dizzy.

You grab the branch to steady yourself, then think. There’s gotta be something here, but you just can’t imagine what! You don’t know anything about this guy--who he is, what his goal is, hell, you don’t even know his NAME!

“It’s Tim, right?”

No, Ly, you were just going along with that because you wanted to be nice! It’s something else and it’s bugging the hell out of--

Then it hits you. Names! Your pal Sybil did a podcast on names not too long ago--you can’t remember much because you had a few drinks, but she DID mention something about how names have power for certain beings--spiritual or otherwise. That right there has got to be a clue. It’s gotta be!

Ly taps your foot. “You sure? You just mentioned you were drunk. Seems kinda flimsy for a lead, cupcake.”

It’s a start, and that’s what you need right now. That and some coffee. And some french toast--man, that marrow really wore off after that nap! Wait a minute… THE BOOT PRINTS!

You look downwards once more at the still-toasty deer carcass. That settles it--you have a goal, but before you do anything you need to get back to town. Maybe once you get back you can meet up with Sybil, hit up the library, something like that. But first, tree.

You flip over and grab the branch you were sleeping on, wincing as your back cracks. It was an interesting idea, sure, but you don’t plan on sleeping in a tree again anytime soon. As you clamber onto the branch and unfasten your tool belt, your eyes catch the horizon again--smoke and ash covers the morning sun bathing the town in a crimson hue--not an uncommon sight living in wildfire territory, but the lightning’s kinda new.

The climb down the tree takes much less time than you spent climbing it--turns out if you grip the trunk juuuuust the right amount, you can slide down like a fireman pole! Your boots hit the forest floor with a muffled squeak, and with that you adjust your hat and look around.

The first thing that catches your eye, of course, are the boot prints. Sure, the charred deer corpse is pretty crazy, but you’ll get to it. You need to gather the appropriate level of shock and horror for THAT.

>CONTD.

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>>4566927
So the boot prints. They’re big. Very big. Big enough that you can fit both of your feet inside, and you’re not lying when you say you have small feet! You squat closer to the mud, examining the prints and scooping up a bit of mud with your finger. These are fresh. You taste the mud. Fr-PPFFFFT!!

“Find anything out, ace detective?”

Shut up-real detectives do that all the time. Pfft! Still damp! Satisfied with your investigation, you take a few steps away from the crime scene, then focus on the other star of the show--the deer.

Or…. What’s left of it.

You’re no stranger to deer corpses--when rutting season happens you get somewhere between six to seven work requests asking you to unclog them from the drain pipes around the factory. This thing, though--this was no drain.

This deer, you wager, was COOKED. You poke at the lump of charred flesh and wince as crumbs of ash tumble off its body and onto the forest floor. Quite a way to go.

“You can say dat’ again, cupcake. Any theories?”

You take a few steps back and grin. It’s not concrete, but you have some ideas.

You might be dealing with a Frankenstein.

Ly doesn’t respond. You wait, but nothing comes.

Come on. Huge boots? Skeletons everywhere? It isn’t impossible!

“It’s definitely not PROBABLE, Stan. Besides, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the mon-”

Yea yea, we all read the book. You’re just lucky you didn’t sleep down here last night--you would have woken up with bolts in your neck and pointy hair.

“Yes, of course. C-could I share my theory?”

Sure, why not. You idly kick at the deer pile and stretch your neck.

“You think this might have been that SPECIALIST those guys were talking about?”

Not ringing a bell, Ly. A sigh.

“Those two guys in the steam tunnels mentioned a SPECIALIST. Human Hybrid? Coming for US.”

Nope, you don’t remember. You heard a lot of things yesterday, but nothing about a Specialist. You like your theory more--fits in with the theme.

“Fantastic. Well now that the theme is established, what’s next in this grand tale?”

>CONTD.

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>>4566929
You blink. Well, it’s a lot easier to see now that it’s daytime. Granted it’s still pretty dark what with the demonic clouds and all, but in all honesty you were never a big fan of the sun.

You look at the drainpipe you came out of and frown. No way you’re going back in there. Now the hill above it… That’s a maybe. You remember seeing the road leading to and from your work up there past a fence or something--you might be able to head back into town that way.

Then again, who knows who or WHAT else is using the roads these days?

Downhill leads into a canopy of redwood trees. You remember seeing a stream last night--you’re pretty sure that thing heads all the way into town along a hiking trail. You wouldn’t know--you’re not exactly the outdoorsy type. Still, it might be more peaceful than walking along the road like a drifter.

You huff, crossing your arms across your chest for warmth as your eyes drift back to the boot prints on the dew-covered forest floor. Now that you think about it… Your gaze drifts from print to print, the set heading past the drainpipe and along the length of the hill. You could always head the way Frankenstein was coming from… Maybe there are some clues? Useful stuff?

“Here’s hoping whoever those boots belong to didn’t double back.”

Yea… You don’t really wanna think about that. You look around once more--Hell, at this point you could also just pick a direction and walk. You pause. The hum of large vehicles approaching comes from the direction of the factory.

What DO you do, anyways?
>Head for the roads! Maybe you can hitch a ride?
>Call me Red Riding Hood--we’re going through the forest!
>Follow the footprints!
>WRITE-IN

Sorry, but last update of the night. Much more tired than I thought I was gonna be today--I'll resume tomorrow!

>>4566933
>Follow the footprints!

split between this and taking the forest. And lets not forget that we are absolutely insanely suited for forest navigation. We can literally just jump from tree to tree using the legs, and gripping and climbing with the claws. We have no reason to stay on the ground at all, especially while being stealthy.

>>4566933
>Follow the footprints!
Forest after tho

>>4566933
>Call me Red Riding Hood--we’re going through the forest!

>>4566933
>>Head for the roads! Maybe you can hitch a ride?

>>4566933
>Head for the roads! Maybe you can hitch a ride?
I don't know if we're ready to deal with Frankenstein's Monster (or The Specialist) just yet.

>>4566933
>Head for the roads! Maybe you can hitch a ride?

Wanna play safe for once

>>4566942
Hey, that's using the old noodle! Yes, you can definitely try the treetop express with your new claws!
>>4566961

>>4567144


>>4567211
>>4567231
>>4567253 >Safe
Looks like we're hitting the road in a close vote! Writing!

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>>4566942
>>4566961
>>4567144
>>4567211
>>4567231
>>4567253
You take a hard glance at the massive boot prints, then the direction they’re coming from. Yea, no thanks. You’re curious, sure, but you know what they say about curiosity and cats. Adjusting your tool belt around your waist, you head for the hills--er, hill, and start climbing.

And slide down. DAMN, this is mossy!

“Try using your claws, too.” Ly says, trying to be helpful.

Right, almost forgot. You dig into the soft, muddy hill with your claws, smiling at how easy it becomes to climb the incline. You'd bet that when you put your Parkour skills and these claws together, you'd get one hell of a pancake mix. You make a mental note of that as you scale the hill, the top of which is covered by a thick copse of trees and ferns. Pushing past the dew-covered foliage, you crane your neck and listen for any sounds.

“It’s weird, huh? No birds or anything.” Ly whispers, as if trying not to disturb the silence.

You nod. Eerie. You can’t decide if that means the woods are safe, or… Your thoughts return to the boot prints the size of your torso. Yea, no way.

The trees and plants give way to a weathered chain link fence--a paved road sitting beyond. You grin. NOW we’re getting somewhere! You look up and smile--no sign of barbed wire or anything. As you begin to scuttle over the top, you instinctively freeze as you hear the dull hum of vehicles from before, albeit louder. You pause and stare through the fence down the way--in the distance you see what appears to be a convoy of fou-no, THREE black trucks.

You’re pretty sure they’re speeding, too. That’s not cool.

“Who do you think they are?” Ly asks, craning your neck to get a better look.

Good question. They don’t look like the trucks from the factory, but you dunno.

What do?
>Wave them down
>Observe from the trees.
>Toss some debris in the road to get them to stop
>WRITE-IN

>>4567480
>Observe from the trees.

>>4567480
>Observe from the trees.

>>4567487
>>4567516
Trees it is! Writing!

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>>4567487
>>4567516
You hunker down between two ferns, watching the convoy approach. Hey, this gives you an idea! Before the vans get too close, you scamper into a tree using your claws like a squirrel. Peering through the needles and branches, you manage to get a better look at the vehicles. Naturally they don’t slow down as they approach your position--besides being a Parkour Master and Evening Sanitation Coordinator, you’re also something of a ninja if your GHOST RUN of the factory is any indication.

“Here they come!” Ly exclaims, pointing your head in the direction of the vans. As the convoy passes by you get a glimpse of what you’re dealing with--armored vans with thick, tinted windows colored black rolling by on some of the biggest wheels you’ve ever seen. On the side are some stenciled white letters--G.B.C.S.

That and the [i]Good Boy[/i] logo. Wait, wha?

The convoy speeds by, clearly not noticing you in the trees. You frown--are they headed for the factory, or are they headed to the city? You lick your finger and raise it in the air--the wind blows to your left.

“You have no idea how to use that information, do you?”

No clue whatsoever. But this does raise some questions. First, where the hell are those vans going?

Secondly, why does [i]Good Boy[/i] have ARMORED VANS? You were lucky if you were able to drive a floor buffer around--the hell is all this? You frown. These guys might be headed for the factory, but they might also be heading into town too. Whatever you want to do with them you’d better make a decision FAST!

What do?
>Follow the convoy through the trees!
>Nah, these guys seem like bad news. Let’s go the other way.
>QUICK, LEAP ON A ROOF AND RIDE ALONG!
>WRITE-IN

>>4567586
Also apologies--looks like my formatting isn't working because I'm on a different device from what I started the thread on? Weird.

>>4567586
>QUICK, LEAP ON A ROOF AND RIDE ALONG!

Is this dumb , yes very much ,is my attention span that of a golden retriever very much yes ,

>>4567592
No prob , this qst is fun !!

>>4567480
>Observe from the trees

>>4567586
Obviously it's Good Boy Corporate Security, and we're witnessing a High Threat Response team. Didn't you ever play cyberpunk vidya, Stan?
>Nah, these guys seem like bad news. Let’s go the other way.
Lest we get silenced as an inconvenient witness.

>>4567586
>Nah, these guys seem like bad news. Let’s go the other way.

>>4567586
>>4567650
+1

>>4567592
It's based on IP addresses. If your IP address changes midthread, you're screwed out of formatting.

>>4567586
>>Follow the convoy through the trees!

>>4567586
>QUICK, LEAP ON A ROOF AND RIDE ALONG

Oh hell yeah, we are built for this shit, lets go

>>4567586
>>Observe from the trees

>>4568577
>>4567596
>Spider-Man that shit
>>4567650
>>4567867
>>4568855
>Follow in the trees
>>4567856
>>4567799
>Nope on outta there

Looks like we're watching from a distance! Writing!

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>>4567596
>>4567650
>>4567799
>>4567856
>>4567867
>>4568363
>>4568577
>>4568855
You leap to the treeline as the convoy rolls by, the legs you got from your disagreement with King launching you like a shirt from a t-shirt cannon. As you begin your descent, you reach out for the nearest branch with your claws, slicing through it like a knife through butter.

Uh oh.

Flailing like a cat falling out of a tree, you manage to cling to the thicker part of another branch as your previous attempt goes crashing to the forest floor. Good thing no one was hurt! The branch dips, but holds as you use your forward momentum (and Parkour expertise) to leap forwards towards another tree. And another. And another! And ANOT--OW, WASP’S NEST--And ANOTHER! Hey, this is pretty easy! Ow.

Ly responds with a gleeful YEEHAW as you dip between branches and keep pace with the convoy below. You almost join him, but pause when you remember your mission--OBSERVE FROM AFAR! And observe from afar you do. For a while. Frankly you don’t mind if you observe forever--you haven’t had this much fun since that beach party last Summer--and unlike then you probably won’t almost drown doing this!

That being said, you’ve got good news and bad news--which one do you want to hear first? Good news? Alright. Good news is that the convoy stopped. Bad news?

You’re back in front of your god DAMN WORK. YOU LEFT ALREADY! You watch from the trees, shaking your fist in anger, as the front doors open, revealing a host of animal boned freaks--holy crap, there’s a lot of them! A phalanx forms in front of the lobby wielding factory parts as shields and spears, while the rest of the group, you assume, lingers inside the building.

For a moment you expect somehow to shout over a bullhorn or something, but all you get is the slam of van doors and the sound of boots hitting the ground.

“Where’s the popcorn when ya need it?” Whispers Ly.
SHH!

>CONTD.

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>>4569319
The situation explodes almost immediately. Operators wearing full combat gear file out of the vans, arming and aiming their rifles at the shield wall with practiced efficiency. One of them primes a grenade and sends it sailing through the air into the crowd of bones.

To their credit one of them picks it up to toss it back, but with a CRACK the grenade explodes, sending bone and metal flying against the walls of the building. OW, you felt that in your TEETH!

Shots ring out from the windows of the lobby, peppering the area with dust and holes. The operators fall back behind concrete dividers, but one of them takes a bullet to his vest and falls. The others leave him where he falls and continue taking shots through the windows.

In between the hail of bullets, a cluster of… Something… Flies through a lobby window and lands behind the operators, who dive out of the way instinctively. Instead of a boom, however, the ball unfurls into what looks like a small cluster of… Bones?!

The bones slither over to the nearest operator, slipping between his collar protector and constricting. Another operator moves to free him with a knife, but it’s too late-- a chunk from one of the phalanx members rises from the ground and stabs through his gas mask’s eye lens.

As the line breaks down, more clusters arc from the windows and through the air like tennis balls, dotting the area with more and more bones.

Hey Ly, you wanna bet on who wins?

“Stan, disturbing lack of empathy aside, should we uh… Should we do something?”

What, you mean help them? The skeletons are our ENEMY, Ly.

“Racist.”

Hey, woah, hold on--you have a lot of friends who are skeletons--

“And I meant helping THOSE guys. Or…” Ly pauses, borrowing your skull to scan the area, “We could check out those vans while they’re… Occupied.”

I mean you ARE an employee. It wouldn’t be stealing, right? You stroke an imaginary beard on your chin--then again, maybe you should help them? They seem pretty hardcore, but they’re also technically your coworkers…

Man, this is that workplace ethics seminar all over again!

What do?
>Help em out! Maybe you can get the attention of one of the ops? Or the van?
>Borrow some ‘office materials’ while the ops are busy.
>Grab a van and go for a joyride. Far away from here.
>Nope, this is too dangerous. Time to swing on outta here, Ly.
>WRITE-IN

>>4569325
>>Grab a van and go for a joyride. Far away from here.
(We are secretly a high Labrador )

>>4569325
Corp-employed armed people in black vans are never your friends.
>Grab a van and go for a joyride. Far away from here.

>>4569356
>>4569358
You'll bring it right back, honest! Writing.

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>>4569541
>>4569356
>>4569358
You watch the carnage unfold a while longer and sigh. Yea, looks like these guys are having a hard time. While you’re sure you could lend a hand somehow, you’re really not sure HOW. I mean, theoretically these guys are trained for this… Then again you’ve seen BBSoft players dress and act like this before too. More importantly, this is clearly THEIR job. Your job is to clean stuff, and technically you clocked out a few hours ago.

Another operator hocks a grenade into the lobby, sending bits of bone and debris flying like confetti.

Yea, they’ve got this covered.

You creep down from your tree perch like a spider, careful not to make TOO much noise. There’s still a lot of gunfire going on, sure, but you’ve got a reputation as a NINJA to uphold.

Also you really don’t feel like getting shot today.

Landing on the forest floor with a squeak, you crawl low to the ground in the direction of the closest van--with luck you can pop in and get out before anyone notices. MAN you should have brought that traffic cone with you--you’re a sitting duck out here… You speed up your journey across the asphalt to the nearest van, doing your best to stay out of sight from the other van’s mirrors. Reaching the driver door, you peer upwards at the window--yep, still tinted. Damn it.

You take a breath, then flex your fingers a little bit. Hopefully the keys are still in there. Remember, get in, get started, get OUT. No dilly dallying!

“Remember, this thing looks armored! Let’s just whip it around and juice!” Ly whispers.

Ten four, buddy. You take one last deep breath, then stand up and whip the door open.

And come face to face with an operative in the driver’s seat.

CONTD.

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>>4569594
You freeze. You try to come up with an excuse, a fake name, ANYTHING, but all you can come up with is:

“Uh Ohhhhh.”

The op continues staring at you through his red eye lenses, no words coming out of his mask’s filter. Then you notice what he’s holding.

Hey, you have the same type of phone! And he’s looking at a--

Oh. You uh....

You think you’ve seen that anime character before, but never in a situation lik-

“It’s uh.. I-it’s research.” Says the op, covering the screen with a glove. It’s too late though. He watches you for a moment longer, doing his best to stammer an answer, then pauses.

And flops out of the seat and onto the ground.

“OH NO!” He says. “You’re STEALING the van! Oh man, and there’s NOTHING I can do! You got away SO FAST you didn’t have time to ASK ME ANY QUESTIONS! Man, look at you go!”

You blink a few times. Wha? No you didn’t.

“Yes!” He says, louder this time. “You pulled me out of the driver’s seat and uh… KNOCKED me out! With Judo!” He glances erratically between you and the open driver’s door.

You don’t know Judo. I mean you might have learned some martial arts from your brother, but that’s another style entir-

“YEP! Too bad I was KNOCKED OUT and couldn’t be interrogated! And wow, that person who I DIDN’T GET A GOOD LOOK AT just zoomed out of here! Whoops, that’s what I get for LEAVING THE KEYS in there! Crazy!”

Okay, you think this guy might be coming on to you.

“Just get in the car, Stan.” Ly hisses, taking control of your legs and moving your into the driver’s seat.

You take a step upwards, then notice the door of the van in front of you opening up. Your van’s driver goes limp, tucking his phone into a pouch on his rig.

What do?
>Let’s JUICE! FLOOR IT OUTTA THERE!
>Frisk the guy you just ‘robbed’ for anything.
>No dice, actor of the year. You’re coming with me! Pull him in.
>WRITE-IN

>>4569597
>No dice, actor of the year. You’re coming with me! Pull him in.

I already like this guy, lets take him

>>4569597
>No dice, actor of the year. You’re coming with me! Pull him in.
We need him to tell us what the situation is outside, as a fellow Good Boy Doggie Bones employee. I also want someone to show off our cool bone superpowers to.

>>4569597
>>No dice, actor of the year. You’re coming with me! Pull him in.

>>4569635
>>4569666
>>4569701
You know what they say--a friend is a gift you give yourself! Writing!

>>4569710
( I just read this and my sides hurt now )

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>>4569739
Glad you're enjoying yourself! We aim to please.

>>4569635
>>4569666
>>4569701
You look back at the operator flopping on the ground like a beached trout and frown. You don’t know what he’s planning, but it won’t work on you--You’re too smart. You grab him by the waist and chuck him into the driver’s seat and hop in after--at least, that’s what happens in your head. Turns out lifting a grown man lying on the ground is a lot trickier than you thought. Man, he’s all dead weight too! It's like carrying some sort of BOWLING BALL MAN! Get UP!

You kick the operative in the ribs, causing him to curl up and groan in pain. Oh right, emu bone legs. You KNEW you should have read that post at the top! Getting a better angle, you do your Up + A launcher and kick the operative into the front of the van, sending cardboard cups and fast food bags tumbling all over the cabin. As you hop in after him the driver of the van in front of you leans out of his open door, then draws his rifle.

“Contact at the vans!” He shouts, grabbing at what you assume is a helmet-mounted radio. “REGROUP! HOSTAGES!” No, it’s okay-- you’re just borrowing thi-

A salvo of bullets buzzes by your head and cuts your explanation short. Alrighty then. You slam your door shut, turn the key with a satisfying roar, then stomp on the gas!

Aand you don’t go anywhere, but you DO make some impressive skidmarks! Whoops, parking brea-

Shifting gears launches you forward like a bullet. The other drivers get out and riddle the front of your van with ammo, but they of all people should know it’s BULLETPROOF. DUUUUH.

You whip the wheel around and skid through the parking lot, skeleton and operative alike barely leaping out of the way in time. As you take a moment to adjust your seat (everything’s so HIGH UP) the operative next to you dives for the passenger door. You growl and mash the door lock, chuckling with grim satisfaction at his futile attempts to escape.

You feel the thud of a projectile hit the van as you finally get your mirrors and seat right--good thing too, this would have KILLED your upper back--and as you peel out of the parking lot you’re rewarded with the flash of an explosion. The chaos outside of your workplace vanishes in your mirrors as you speed down the winding forest road.

“Remember, hands at 10 and 2!” Ly quips. Yea right, Ly. Chicks dig it when you drive with one hand on the wheel, one resting outside the window. You would know. You’re a chick, after all.

Your hostage watches you warily, breathing heavily through his mask filter, one hand over where you kicked him, the other hovering over his sidearm. He seems a bit… Confused. Also, what a wuss--you didn’t kick him THAT hard.

>CONTD.

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>>4569759
Talk about an awkward drive. This is worse than the time your brother picked you up from the police station. Er.. Times. Your vision jumps between the road ahead and your shaky hostage--clearly you need to diffuse the situation a little bit.

“Don’t worry, cupcake, I can take the wheel.” Ly says, taking over for your legs and right arm--your left sitting outside the rolled-down window. Like you said, chicks dig it.

So let’s clear the air a little bit! What do you say to your newest capt-errr, friend here? Remember, you need to make him feel at ease! We’re all pals here!

Choose 1 or More:
>Emphasize how this is definitely NOT a hostage situation
>Exchange names! Not numbers, though, don’t want to give him the wrong idea
>Ask about what he was doing on his phone. You like anime!
>Shoot the shit about jobs
>WRITE-IN

>>4569765
>>Emphasize how this is definitely NOT a hostage situation
>Exchange names! Not numbers, though, don’t want to give him the wrong idea
>Shoot the shit about jobs

>>4569765
>Shoot the shit about jobs

"Don't you just hate when bone monsters fuck up your workday? I sure know I do, names Stanley. You come round these parts often?"

>>4569765
>Emphasize how this is definitely NOT a hostage situation
>Exchange names! Not numbers, though, don’t want to give him the wrong idea
>Shoot the shit about jobs
I wonder if they read our employee file

>>4569801
>>4569816
>>4569833
Okay, okay, we've got this. Writing! Also I'm back on my primary rig, so prepare for all sorts of ITALICS.

>>4569801
>>4569816
>>4569833
“So,” you begin, like a parent about to ask their kid how their day at school was, “Just to be clear here: this is NOT a hostage situation.”

The operative stares at you for a moment. You can’t exactly see his face, but you’re pretty sure he bought it! Score one for Stanley!

Nope, he’s just raising his sidearm at you. You poke a finger in the barrel just like in the cartoons and continue. Like you were saying, this is definitely not a kidnapping, nor a ransom, shanghai, or snatch, just two co-workers using work materials!

Your passenger pauses, but he doesn’t fire the gun. See, you’re communicating!

“I basically threw this van at you, no strings attached. You kicked me in the ribs, forced me into abandoning my squad, and have now spent the last ten minutes talking to yourself about why ‘chicks’, he says, making finger quotes on one hand, “like guys who leave one arm hanging out the car window.”

You stare at him, waiting for some sort of conclusion. It doesn’t come.

“I can’t decide if this is a kidnapping, if you’re mentally challenged, or a little of column a and b.”

You’re not mentally challenged, why does everyone keep saying that?

Achievement Unlocked: Actually Mentally Challenged

Hey, put that away! Plus you’re pretty sure the more PC term is differently abled?

Achievement Unlocked: Actually Differently Abled!

Much better. Wait, hold on!

You pause, then change tack. Whatever condition your mind is in, you work for the same guys, right? So this is all done with the best intentions! Plus you’re really sorry about making him abandon his squad. Though to be fair, they were probably gonna lose, so really you’re doing him a favor. He snorts.

“Yea, thanks.”

Besides, it’s not like he was actively participating, or anything. He stares at you, then looks out the window.

Oof. Is it awkward in here again, or is it just you?

“See, there you go again talking to yourself.” Mutters your passenger.

>CONTD.

>>4570001
A few moments that feel like eternities pass by. Ly swerves to avoid some fresh roadkill as the operative finally breaks the silence.

“I knew I recognized that hat. You’re a janitor, right?” You feel his voice relax a bit after saying that last word. Then again it IS pretty muffled.

“Evening Sanitation Coordinator,” you correct him, “But don’t let that intimidate you. We’re like two workers at the water cooler shootin’ the shit!” You grin again. He probably doesn’t return it.

“Don’t you just HATE it when bone monsters fuck up your workday?” You say, nudging the operative in the chest with your elbow, causing the van to veer to the right. “I sure do. Name’s Stanley! You come around these parts often?”

The operative scans you up and down. “You’re a girl.”

Yes, you get that a lot. You’re also a Parkour expert and a Ninja, but you don’t like to wear labels. The operative cocks his head for a moment appraising you. Makes you kinda uncomfortable, to be honest. A few seconds pass before he snaps some gloved fingers.

“Parble. I KNEW IT.”

Ah, your reputation precedes you!

“You’re wanted by the company. They think you’re responsible for this shitshow.”

You’re really nice once people get to know you, though! You were framed! The operative sighs.

“From what I’ve seen in the past few minutes I have no idea what to think. You don’t seem like the erm… The Mastermind type.”

Well that’s sweet of him to say. He glances out the window again, scanning the trees for activity. You clear your throat. He didn’t mention his name.

“Do you really care, or is this some weird tidbit of info you’re going to take and forget about?”

Yes.

“Alright then. Officer Berry--”He stops for a moment, absorbed in thought, then deflates. “Probably just ‘Berry’ now, though, since my squad is probably dead. And they saw me speed away in a van with Public Idiot #1.”

That’s got a cool ring to it, actually. But okay, Officer Berry. BERRY nice to meet you! TWO things. One, why haven’t you ever seen him at the factory? And TWO: what exactly did his boss tell you about this whole shitshow?

Berry shrugs. “Why should I tell you? I’m the one with the gun.”

Fair enough.

“And to answer your first question, you’re an Evening Sanitation Coordinator. Our division works off-site. Blumenkrantz is paranoid as hell like that.”

Oh god, the head of security. He’s gonna be pissed about his coat. Berry glances at you.

“What about the coat?”

Ohhhhhh boy.

>CONTD.

>>4570003
You start with a summary of your life, then gently ease into what you were doing last night when all of this got crazy. You talk about the Parkour, the fights, the stealth, and all of the nasty business with Tim. To be honest you don’t think he was too interested in your personal biography, but he seemed to become more interested when you brought up Tim. And your powers.

“So wait a minute… You GAINED powers from eating marrow from those things?”

That’s what you’ve been saying! You extend a claw as a demonstration, causing Berry to stumble backwards in his seat. You retract it before he can shoot it off--it was just a demonstration! Chill!

“That’s…” He begins, regaining his composure, “... This is like something out of my Japanese animes…”

You blink. What was that?

“Nothing! Listen, Parble… I don’t want to freak you out because you seem volatile and you’re driving, but that ability you have?” He gestures to your hands.

“No one else has been able to do that.”

Big deal--you guys have been fighting these guys for a few hours, tops. Berry shakes his head.

“Still... And the whole ‘talking to skeleton’ thing?”

His name’s LY, bitch.

“Sorry, ‘Ly’,” The operative responds, making a plaintive gesture, “That might be really helpful. We’ve been shooting these guys all night, but sometimes they don’t stay down. And we haven’t seen any glowing marrow when we do.”

You’ve gotta shoot them in the head! Haven’t you ever played the Rotten Flesh games? Berry lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Of course I have! Anyways, it doesn’t matter. The point is…”

He pauses, searching for the right answer.

“Look, I can’t reveal much because there’s still a chance for me to reconnect with security, but I will say this: Blumenkrantz wants us to track you down. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to have a friendly chat with you, either.”

You huff. Figures, after everything you’ve done for this company.

“As for the city--I didn’t see much, but from the looks of things it’s basically lost. Skeletons everywhere like a big Halloween store or something. Pretty sure your ‘Tim’ guy got to the graveyards, so they’re basically parading through the streets.”

You frown. That’s not exactly ‘groovy’.
“Nope, no it isn’t.”

Ly starts whistling ‘99 Bottles’. Oh god.

Anything else?
>Ask about your new pal! You’re pals now, right?
>Does he have any questions about YOU?
>Ask about Berry.
>WRITE-IN

>>4570004
Shit, sorry for the double post.
>Ask about Berry
should be:
>Ask about Good Boy Security.

>>4570004
>Ask about Good Boy Security.

Kinda wondering what interest they have in us

Got work early in the morn, but I will check in tomorrow after that! Thanks as usual for participating and feel free to leave any questions, feedback, or critiques you might have!

>>4570168
>Ask about Good Boy Security.
>Does he have any questions about YOU?

>>4570004
>Ask about Good Boy Security.
>Ask whether he's seen anyone with boots the size of our torso.

>>4570282
+1
Also
>>4570004
>Ask about your new pal! You’re pals now, right?

>>4570282
+1

>>4570168
>>4570260
>>4570282
>>4570345
>>4570427
Bones Quest LIVES AGAIN! Work is basically done and you know what that means: INFO DUMP CONVOS. Writing.

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>>4570168
>>4570260
>>4570282
>>4570345
>>4570427
In a sad attempt at ignoring the shrill singing of your skeletal system, you turn your head towards your road trip companion and start interrogating him. So pal--we’re pals now, right? What made you become a corporate tool?

Berry mulls the question over in his mind, fiddling with the sidearm in his hands like he’s weighing his options. “I have a gun, remember? And you’re wanted.”

Yea, but you doubt he’s actually gonna use it. He probably has Stockton syndrome for you now or something.

“Stockton? You mean Stockhol--Alright, you know what? Screw it.” He says, shoving his sidearm back in its holster. “Fine, you maniac. I’ll play ball. I’m… I’m not exactly a hard-ass.”

Yea, he didn’t strike you as one when he gave you a van because you caught him looking at porn. He winces as you say that last part--as to how he manages that with the helmet on? A mystery….

“Yea... Anyways, the truth is I’m not like those other guys. Hell, I didn’t even want to fire a gun--all of my dumbass friends at Clearwater U said security would be a chill side job--sit at a desk, eat donuts, watch cameras. Simple!”

He’s in college? What for?

“You’d just laugh if I told you.”

Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.

“Alright…” He says, shifting around in his seat. “I’m an… Art major.”

You laugh. You’re sorry, you couldn’t help it!

“It’s a valid reason to go to school! You can only go so far with self-teaching and internet tutorials--I wanted to really expand my horizons!” Aw man, he’s mad now.

You reassure him that you didn’t mean to laugh--it just came out. He crosses his arms and huffs, looking out the window indignantly.

“Anyways, I was just regular old ‘Arthur Berry’ before all of this crap happened. That’s the honest truth as to why I don’t know much about security--I thought it was weird when work orientation involved clearing rooms and stuff, but I just assumed they took security seriously or something!”

Wait, they taught you to clear rooms? You didn’t learn squat. They just gave you a mop and told you to go at it.

“No, I’m pretty sure they taught you stuff. Don’t you remember your employee orientation?”

Employee orienta--yes, you think you do. You remember it like it was yesterday…. Yesterday… Yes--

“What the hell are you doing?”

Triggering a-OW!

You feel a sting in your head as the car swerves to the left for a moment.

“Stop tryin’ to induce flashbacks every time you forget something, Stan.” Ly snaps.

>CONTD.

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>>4571079
You regain control of the van and rub your head. Ow. Okay, fine, no flashbacks. So before we move on you gotta ask:

“Yes?”

Do you go by… Art? Art shakes his head slowly, clearly unamused.

“Ha ha. Been getting that one since High School. You’re a real visionary.”

Hey, yea! What High School did he go to? You know a couple of people on staff from your old Alma Mater. A lot of them work in the factory or as security--go figure.

“Weston High. It’s the uh… The school in the west of town. Hence the name.”

Oooh, the Westies. You remember them kicking your football team’s ass several times. Until he came along. That gets Art’s interest.

“He?”

Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. You also leave out the part about you being the Clearwater Cod Mascot. No need to give the man any ammo. He leans back in the chair, seemingly satisfied.

“Yea, I wasn’t really a sports guy. I saw a couple of games, though--your mascot got into a lot of fights.”

HA HA! THAT’S SO WEIRD! Hey, speaking of weird, why don’t you take off your helmet? Isn’t it hot or something? Art looks at you, then out the window. “It uh… It’s stuck.” He whispers.

Wait, what?

“It’s STUCK, okay? Some zipper got caught in there and now I can’t take it off. It’s hot as Florida’s nutsack though, so thank you for asking.”

You shrug. Fine by you--adds some MYSTERY to the art student-turned action hero.

>CONTD.

>>4571079
The trees around you grow thinner as you continue down the road towards town. You clear your throat a few times, but no one says anything.

You reach down and click on the radio for some tunes, but quickly jerk your arm back when you remember you’re only using one to steer. Close call!

“-questing reinforcements at the factory! Squads have been wiped out--we’re down two vans and several operatives--” A panicked voice leaps from the radio into the van’s cabin.
You frown. Great, talk radio. You move to change it, but Art intercepts your hand. DAMN HE’S GOOD!

“Wait a minute, this is my team.” You resume steering as Art draws closer to the radio.

“To anyone who can hear this, we are cutting our losses and pulling out! Many hostiles are still active in the factory and there’s something else. Something BIG.”

Now the radio has YOUR attention. Something with big boots, perhaps? The radioer continues.

“Recommending more explosive ordnance--this thing shrugged off regular ammunition. Repeat--explosive ordnance and ammunition if you can source it--we can take the factory, but we need more me-oh SHIT, it’s on the ROA-”

Then nothing. You flick the radio dial a few times, but you get nothing. Art sits back quietly, processing what he just heard.

“Shit.” He says, a resigned tone in his voice. Oh man, you’re terrible at cheering people up… Ly, you got anything?

“Driving, cupcake. Just uh… Distract him!”

Yes, that should work. Just push those emotions in a corner, right? Straightening your posture, you glance at Art and tell him that the big thing they mentioned might be coming for you. He responds with a half-hearted shrug.

“Of course. It’s all about the janitor.”

Uh, Evening Sanitation Coordinator. You begin to correct him, but hesitate. He doesn’t seem to be taking the news too well. Did uh… Did he know those guys well?

“Not really, but they were nice. I know it didn’t look like it, but those guys were mostly regular Rent-A-Cops. They did the day shifts at the factory--a lot of the tactical guys are contractors that Blumenkrantz found, but not all of em.

Art looks down at his lap. "Hell, I was woken up last night and told I had to report to the station, gear up, and get ready to drive a van to the factory--was too asleep to really understand what was going on during the drive to work.”

Oof. Rough. That’s uh… That’s rough. Art nods.

“Part of the job, I guess.” Yep, so it goes.

>CONTD. (Sorry, lots of info!)

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>>4571086
You frown. Didn’t it seem a little weird that security for a dog bone factory had so much hardware? I mean, his squad members looked like they were ready to invade a small country! Art nods, staring downwards at his kit.

“Yea, I just assumed they really cared about company secrets. I’ve heard some rumors, though. Some of the guys say that Good Boy has some dirty laundry. Like… Stuff that they don’t want the public to find out about.”

Yea, like how they’re one giant walking OSHA violation?

“Well yea, but other stuff too.” You shudder to think. “It’s on a need-to-know basis, though--my squad leader knew exactly where to go and what to do to get our gear, for example, but he wouldn’t say anything about HOW he knew.”

Art sighs, rubbing the side of his mask in frustration. “I think if anyone knows, it’s Blumenkrantz. He was WAY too prepared for this to happen. That’s what worried me when he declared open season on you.”

You grin.You’re just special like that. Art shrugs again.

“Anyways, if my movie knowledge tells me anything, I think Good Boy hasn’t exactly been a… Good boy.”

He waits for a reaction. Nah, you aren’t gonna grab it. Oh boy, another uncomfortable silence.

>CONTD…. FROM A NEW PERSPECTIVE!

( can we help the poor guy with the mask )

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>>4571088
Your name is Sta-Wait, no, that’s the name of the gremlin sitting next to you with one arm out the van window. Your name is Arthur Berry--Officer Arthur Berry when it suits you. You just finished dishing basically all of your knowledge about your job and your career aspirations to the person your superiors told you to ‘apprehend with extreme prejudice’.

You glance at her again. She’s a bit off and the whole skeleton thing is weird, sure, but could she be responsible for all of this?

She steals a glance at you with her tired raccoon eyes. The jury’s still out on that one. She might be in cahoots with that sorcerer, sure, but right now she just looks like a fidgety girl with… Uh…

It’s kinda embarrassing, but your helmet’s lenses make it hard to discern colors sometimes.

What color eyes and hair does she have?
>WRITE-IN

Moreover, she’s been asking you questions like a detective for the last hour. Do you have any for her?
>WRITE-IN

>>4571092
>What color eyes and hair does she have?
Green!

Moreover, she’s been asking you questions like a detective for the last hour. Do you have any for her?

"Can you try and help me with this zipper?"

>>4571092
Brown and Brunette

>>4571092
>What color eyes and hair does she have?
Green eyes brown hair
>Moreover, she’s been asking you questions like a detective for the last hour. Do you have any for her?
"Can you try and help me with this zipper?"
"You said the big thing might've been after you?"

>>4571092
>What color eyes and hair does she have?
Purple eyes... wait purple?
Brown hair
>Moreover, she’s been asking you questions like a detective for the last hour. Do you have any for her?
“Why are your eyes purple?” (Stanley is confused as she has had green eyes her whole life)
"Can you try and help me with this zipper?"

>>4571092
>Brown hair
>Green eyes
>Ask where she's driving to

>>4571097
>>4571181
>>4571278
>>4571291
>>4571450
Looks like we're leaning towards Brown hair, Green Eyes and a whole lotta questions! Writing!

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>>4571097
>>4571181
>>4571278
>>4571291
>>4571450
That’s right--green eyes and BROWN hair. These helmet optics can make things so difficult--who the hell designed them anyways? Stanley watches you as you fiddle with your eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Sorry, it’s these damn lenses! You wipe them a few more times, then give up. You’re definitely going to ditch this mask when you get the chance--what are the skeletons going to do--gas you to death?

Best not to think about it. Anyways, she’s gotten enough info about you--time to grill HER for a bit. There’s gotta be SOMEthing important about this janitor, right? Why else would your superiors want her so bad?

“That’s stupid, Ly--everyone knows a hummingbird would win.”

The mind boggles.

“So…” You begin. “What exactly was your plan after stealing a van?” Stanley glances at you and blinks. “Borrowed.” She corrects, adding an eye roll for good measure. You suppress the urge to shoot her for a little longer, then amend your previous statement.

“Okay, what was your plan after BORROWING the van? Got a place in mind, or are we just going to drive the van through town like a parade?”

The girl looks at you, then down at her lap, almost as if reading through an invisible list. The response comes minutes later. “Information.” She says it with a grin like it answers all of your questions. It doesn’t, dammit!

“Okay, care to elaborate?” You ask. She huffs again, then continues. “This Tim guy’s in charge, right? I need to learn more about him so we can solve this whole thing. I was thinking we hit the library or my friend Sybil’s. She’s big into the occult. A real ghost geek.”

You blink. So she isn’t planning on running or hiding. You can’t decide if that’s impressive or stupid. Then again, those two aren’t mutually exclusive. Then a thought hits you--maybe the security station in town has some info.

“There’s also the Good Boy security station. Blumenkrantz has a computer there--might be some info on it that we can use.” You say, playing it cool. Stanley glances at you.

“We?”

Oh CRAP.

“Uh, or you. I might slow you down. I can probably get you in, though.” Close call. Are you really trying to stick with your hostage-taker all day? Shit, is this how Stockholm Syndrome works??

Stanley gives a noncommittal ‘hm’ and focuses back on the road. These decisions seem to take time for her. In any case, you at least have some places in mind--The Library, Her friend’s place, or the security station. You shrug to yourself. At least you won’t just drive down main street.

>CONTD.

>>4572405
You settle back into your seat, glancing through the tinted windows at the rapidly-thinning rows of trees--looks like you’re almost back to town. Weird--the drive up here always felt so fast to you! Your mind drifts back to the radio--from what you heard, Donnie and the rest of the guys didn’t make it. You frown--could that ‘big thing’ be what Stan was talking about?

“Say, you said that big thing might be after you?” Stan shrugs, remaining silent. You’re about to follow up with another question, but like a video buffering on MeTube she adds to her answer after a few moments.

“He can’t hear you, Ly.” A frown. “Fine, let me do the talking. As usual.” She turns to you, visibly frustrated.

“Ly says that when we were escaping the Steam Tunnels at work a few skeletons were talking about their boss sending in a ‘Specialist’” she says, adding finger quotes to the end. She continues.

“I don’t really remember it much, but when I woke up from a nap later on there was a charred deer stuck to the ground below where I stepped and footprints about the size of this:” She pauses to gesture to her entire torso. She’s pretty petite, but you’ll agree--those would be some big footprints. She grins, then returns her eyes to the road.

“So yea, I guess I live a pretty dangerous life.”

That’s an understatement. Your mind drifts back to what Donnie said on the radio--some large thing that shrugged off ammunition? A charred deer? You glance back at Stan who gives you another polite smile.

She’s toast.

>CONTD.

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>>4572410
“You ever consider the fact that it might not be a skeleton?” You ask, trying to prolong the conversation. She nods.

“Personally I think we’re dealin’ with a Frankenstein, but Ly doesn’t think that ‘fits’.” Another frown. “No one calls them FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTERS, Ly! Get with the program!”

You sigh. “I meant that it could possibly be something non-skeletal? Maybe… I don’t know… Robotic?” You don’t get a response, but you do get a look from Stan. A look of pure fear.

“You think I’m being hunted by robots too?!” Oh no, now you’ve done it.

“I mean, it’s not impossible.” You say, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “My squad mate mentioned bullets didn’t work on it. And the torched deer sounds a bit weird.” You look back at Stan, who’s already staring holes into you.

“You’re the big security man--if it WAS a robot, what would you use to get rid of it?” You let out a ‘hmm’ and adopt a thinking pose. “If Fatal Error taught me anything, I would use electricity. Or explosives. She nods, clearly accepting your answer. You continue: “There might be some stuff to do the trick at the station. We had an armory there and everything if it hasn’t already been looted.”

As for getting in, well… You’ll figure that out when and if you get there. You were never given an armory key and sure as hell didn’t bring any grenades with you--Perry took them all for himself.

“When the time comes,” Stan starts, “We can set up a little fireworks show for whoever it is.”

You hate to say it, but you’re almost excited. Stan smiles, showing off an elongated canine.
Wait, she’s not a vampire, right?

>CONTD.

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>>4572414
You treat yourself to a few deep breaths to re-center your chi. Calm down, Art, vampire janitors are the last thing you need to worry about right now. You feel relative calmness return to you, but your heavy breathing caused the edges of your eye lenses to cloud up with condensation. Damn it. Stan looks over at you again.

“You’re pretty moody, you know that?”

You sigh again. You want to say that being kidnapped does things to your mood, but you decide against it. You won’t win with reason over this gremlin.

“Listen… Can you try and help me with this zipper?” Stan shoots you an incredulous look. “I just met you, dude--and uh, the whole ‘anime’ thing didn’t impress me.”

No, you--Damn it, PHRASING.

“I meant my helmet. It’s stuck on the rest of my kit and… And I can’t seem to get it off.”

Stan shrugs. “That’s okay--it looks pretty cool on you for what it’s worth.”

You blink. It does look pretty cool, doesn’t i-

No, wait. “Stan, I need to eat food eventually. It sounds lame, but I really need to get this thing off.”

Stanley ponders for a moment, bringing her window-dangling hand to her chin. Without warning she swerves to the side of the road and slams on the break, yanking both of your forwards. You avoid hitting your head, but she takes a bump on the wheel. Are you okay?

She raises a thumbs up, then pops open her door. “Come on, I have a plan!”

You can hardly wait.

You exit the vehicle and shut the door behind you, scanning the shrubbed side of the road for any movement. Stan walks to a small clearing, then stretches her back. You follow, your hand gripped tightly around your sidearm’s grip. It’s still quiet--too damn quiet. Your surveillance is interrupted by Stan clearing her throat.

“Okay, you want that helmet off, right? Lemme take a look.” You point her to the back of your neck where your neck guard meets your coat, rigging, rifle sling, helmet, rad-well, a lot of stuff. You’re honestly surprised you got it all on in the first place. You hear Stan behind you making various ‘Hms” and “I sees”.

As for what she sees? You haven’t a clue.

She reappears in front of you, emerald eyes gleaming with mischief. You’re almost afraid to ask.

“So here’s the plan, Artie--you stand still, I cut that part of the zipper with my claws! Easy as one two!”

Sure, it sounds easy when she says it that way. Stan grins.

“Great! Give me a sec.” With that the janitor disappears behind you once more. The tunnel vision on these things is AWFUL.

“Ly, it’s FINE. I know how they work now, didn’t you see me on those trees?”

A lump settles in your throat as you realize you might die here.

>CONTD.... WITH STAN!

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>>4572421
“I’m just sayin’, it’s much safer if you just pop em open and cut when they’re out…”

And YOU’RE saying that it’s much COOLER if you pop your claws and sever the zipper in one go! Artie will love that!

“Since when do you care so much about what dis’ guy thinks, Stan?”

Wow, green is NOT a good color on you, Ly. Besides, you’re just helping another human out! He’d do the same for you, right?

“I think he would knock you out and give you to his deranged bosses, but who cares what I think, right?”

You know what they say, Ly. It’s a doggie dog world out there, but no dog lives on an island.

“Whatever. Just cut the stupid zipper.”

Touchy!

>Welcome back to Stan! Let’s roll a 1d100 to see how much of Art you cut! I’ll take the best of 3, but no pressure, right?

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4572424
>Welcome back to Stan! Let’s roll a 1d100 to see how much of Art you cut! I’ll take the best of 3, but no pressure, right?

Lets hope we dont sever a vertabrae

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>4572424

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>4572424

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>>4572545
>>4572551
>>4572560
>Lets hope we dont sever a vertabrae
>https://iasip.link/?U3RhbiBTZXZlcnMgYSBWZXJ0ZWJyYWU=
Writing

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>>4572545
>>4572551
>>4572560
You position yourself behind Art and take a deep breath. To his credit, he’s standing VERY still! You sure as hell wouldn’t let some random person cut something loose with claws they’re still learning to use. He’s either very trusting or very dumb.

“You know, I can hear you when you talk to yourself.”

Shush, you’ll spoil your concentration! You take aim with your claws at the section you THINK connects Art’s helmet and neck thingies. He pointed here, so… Yea.

X marks the spot.

“Pleeeaaase just extend them and cut! For his sake, Stan!”

Ly, you don’t shout at a golfer before they tee off. But FINE.

You lower your hand.

We’ll do it how LY wants to do i-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a flash of movement from the bushes in front of you!

A DEER!

Art gasps and steps backwards while you flinch and stumble backwards!

Aaaand trigger your claws.

Which, with a satisfying tear, cut through Art’s rig, thankfully missing his body!

Though his holster isn’t so lucky.

In one quick movement, his sidearm and holster fall to the ground--impacting with a loud CRACK on a partially-buried boulder. Your vision is splashed with red for a moment, then you feel yourself toppling onto your back.

GAME OVER! Score: 0 out of 500 Points.
Restore
Restart
Quit

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>>4572663
Wait, wait, hold it. Everything’s fine. You were just startled and you aren’t even bleeding! You chuckle to yourself as you rise back on your feet. Fucking DEERS, man! See, you’re fine! How can you get blood on your face and not fee-

Oh. Uh oh.

Art glances downwards at the small, yet substantial, hole in the back of his calf. He reaches down and taps his leg a few times as if trying to wake up, and then the pain catches up with him.

“DAAAAAAAAUUUUGH, FUUUUUUUUCK!”

Your new party member drops to the ground, smacking the back of his head on the boulder. Luckily his helmet was still on! He rolls around for a few moments while you scan the ground for something, ANYTHING to help! Tree bark, right? That works!

Beads of sweat and maybe a tear or two trickle down your face. It wasn’t your fault, Art! It was the deer! It was the DEEEEEER!

“Gggnhgh!” Art growls through the pain and points to the back of the van. “FIRST AID!”

Right, that’ll probably work better! You scamper to the back of the SWAT van and throw the doors open revealing a cabin with seats, racks for storing weapons, and several wall-mounted containers--one of which is marked with a red t--the universal sign for medical things!

“It’s a cross-”

No time to argue! You’ve got a friend to rescue! You yank the kit off the wall and take it with you!

Or you try, but you’re so worried about screwing up that you trip and screw up. Told ya. The kit’s contents fall to the floor of the van, scattering under the seats and into the corners. As you let out a noise resembling a deflating squeaky toy, Ly’s voice booms through every corner of your skull!

“Stan, quick! Grab the stuff to remove a bullet!”

Oh man, you don’t remember First Aid training--you were too focused on people practicing CPR--it was like they were kissing the mannequin! Get a roo-

“STAN, COME ON!”

As you drop to your knees in preparation for SCOOPING, your ears catch the sound of something faint over Art’s pained groans--

Is that… VROOMING you hear?

Whatever they are, they seem far off and YOU have bigger issues! What do you grab from the van floor?! What the hell IS this stuff? WHO CARES? HURRY!

You can only carry 3 of the following:
>A green goo canister with a sad skull on it
>A small bag with a tweezers and needle decal
>A pad with wires and an electrical symbol
>A red goo canister with a red drop on it
>A blue goo canister with a split bullet on it
>A cold canister with a snowflake on it
>A syringe labeled “Epinephrine”
>A capsule full of purple pills
>A bag filled with green fluid and a doctor smiley face
>A bag of half-eaten Skidoos, bite-sized candies
>A roll of gauze
>A soda-like can marked with a Hazardous Materials sign. Hey, you know that one!

>>4572669
>A blue goo canister with a split bullet on it
>A bag filled with green fluid and a doctor smiley face
>A roll of gauze

>>4572669
>A small bag with a tweezers and needle decal
>A blue goo canister with a split bullet on it
>A roll of gauze

We need some stuff to actually treat this stuff

>>4572669
If it hit his calf it probably just went through...
>A red goo canister with a red drop on it
Bleeding stoppage gel? Maybe?
>A bag filled with green fluid and a doctor smiley face
Healing gel?
>A roll of gauze
Will help stop bleeding

>>4572669
>A small bag with a tweezers and needle decal
Just in case the bullet is still in there, we’re not bulletologists we don’t know
>A bag filled with green fluid and a doctor smiley face
Its smiling, that’s gotta help right?
>A roll of gauze

>>4572669
STAN, FOCUS:
Despite what Hollywood wants you to believe, it's actually better to leave the bullet in the wound until a professional can extract it. Some people live years with bullets inside of them.

Anyway,
>A roll of gauze
>A red goo canister with a red drop on it
>A small bag with a tweezers and needle decal

>>4572692
>>4572697
>>4572854
>>4572901
>>4572955
Doctor Stan to the rescue! Writing!

>>4572692
>>4572697
>>4572854
>>4572901
>>4572955
>Last update of the night, but I'll check in again tomorrow around 12am UTC!

You scamper around the floor of the van like a dog that dropped a tennis ball and collect some gauze to dress the wound, a bag with some tweezers decals on it, and a bag filled with green fluid because you thought the doctor smiley on the side looked kinda cute.

As you speed out of the van you hear whatever’s driving down the road getting closer--no time to waste--chances are it could be Art’s squad mates.

“I thought you were on HIS side now, cupcake.” Ly spits.

Well they might be alive, sure, but then they’ll be really mad about that whole ‘kidnapping’ thing. You’d rather not address that chapter of your life if you can help it.

“Fair enough. Anyways, you got what we need?”

You gawk at the pile of supplies in your arms as you approach Art. I mean yea, you’ve certainly found supplies!

Art looks up at you from the ground as you approach. “F-first aid… Good…”

Now that you think about it, aren’t you supposed to leave the bullet inside the wound? This isn’t a movie, Art.

Art responds by tossing a pebble at your head. OW!

“Stop being dumb for a second and HELP ME!” He leans forward to accentuate the last part of his sentence, flexing his leg and causing him to double-back in pain. Yea, serves YOU right!

You kneel next to the fallen security guard and dump the veritable mountain of supplies next to him. He glances at the pile for a moment, then grabs the back of his leg.

“You’re… You’re gonna have to do it…” You gulp. You’re not into the whole ‘touching a boy’s calf’ scene… Art gathers a cluster of pebbles from the ground in his hand and you quickly reconsider. Hokay, Doctor Stanley to the rescue. Let’s see, how does this go again?

Um, where does it hur-A pebble hits your forehead. OW!

“Quit wasting time before it has to get AMPUTATED. AGH!”

>CONTD.

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>>4573007

No need to be a diva about it, jeez! How do we do this crap anyways? Art cranes his neck forward, getting a look at the supplies.

“Use the tweezers… NNgh… To remove the bullet if it’s still there..” He says, in between deep breaths. You peer down at the hole in his leg. Doesn’t look like anything went through....

“Damn… Alright, after that you can drip the salve in the hole.” The green stuff, right? Would it kill you guys to LABEL this stuff?

“Pretty sure it’s… Experimental. Never seen it before in a Pharmacy… NGh..”

Art lies back on the ground, the distant vrooming looming closer. Experimental?

“Y-yea. Heard it from Eddie, one of my buddies… Made in house.”

Well next time it can be Made in English. How the hell are you supposed to figure this crap out?

“Tweezers, please.”

Yes, your majesty. You fish the tweezers out of their bag and look at them, clanking the ends together a few times. Yep, those should work. As you get closer to Art’s leg wound he motions for you to pause, then tears the fabric off of his pants around the wound.

“After you, Doc.”

You frown. Couldn't he have used his knife to do that or something? Art pats the empty sheath on his lower leg.

"Think it fell off when you kidnapped me. We can look for another later, for now ju-NGH!"

You pause as Art writhes in pain again. Okay, now you're 80% sure he's hamming this up.

"Please, Stanley. Just do me this favor."

Well, can't argue with good manners! You lean in closer and prepare to operate!

>Roll 1d100 to successfully remove the bullet!
Also,
>What do you do or say to soothe the patient? (WRITE-IN)
Good bedside manner is key in situations like these!

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>4573011
>"Oh don't worry, its only just a teeny pellet of metal. Just crouch behind cover for a couple seconds and you'll be back to normal, just like in those video games."

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>4573011
Anon was right about leaving the bullet in, you know.

>"Turn your head and cough!"

Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>4573011
>It’s just a flesh wound, you’ll be fine!
Can’t go wrong with Monty Python

>>4573033
Yep--I used to be an EMT myself. Stan's impressionable, though, and it's hard to argue with a guy in pain throwing pebbles at your head.
>>4573017
>>4573033
>>4573065
I might have an early update for you guys today! Writing!

>>4573348
The pebbles of mind control!

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>>4573017
>>4573033
>>4573065
You peer into the bloody hole in the back of Art’s leg, clicking your tongue. Yep, that’s a wound, alright. Art groans, but doesn’t say anything. He’s learning!

You bring the tweezers closer and look for signs of the bullet. It takes you a minute, but a chance flash of light, red and dim though it may be thanks to the ashy clouds above you, shines onto your tweezers and reflects into the wound--a pellet of metal winking back at you. You smirk. Gotcha.

Of course being a good doctor means keeping your patient calm, and if you’re being perfectly honest Art is being what we in the medical world like to call ‘a little bitch’. Art retorts by tossing another pebble at your head, but you dodge. You’ve learned his tricks.

Clearing your throat, you lean in closer and wrack your mind for something a doctor would say in this situation. Maybe something about anesthesia? No, you don’t have any of that. You think.

Then it hits you! Of course!

“Turn your head and cough!” You bark, bringing the tweezers to the wound.

“That’s not going to hel--”

Or IS IT!? With your naturally speedy bones and ninja-like composure, you deftly reach into the wound with the tweezers, grasp the bullet, and extract the metal in one quick sequence of movements. You give Art a smug grin as you hold your tweezers aloft, trophy in tow. He lies there on the ground for a moment, speechless.

“How--when di…. No way.”

What can you say? You played a lot of Malpractice when you were a kid. Fingers like a HAWK.

Art glances at the back of his leg and sighs in relief. “Okay, you know step two.”

Is this guy joking? He can totally do the GOO part. Art grabs another handful of pebbles--oh shit, you think you see a WORM in there too!

Picking up the green package, you flop it around in your hands until you find it--a small nozzle with a cap. Popping it open with a satisfying ‘thok’, you take the pouch and squeeze its contents directly into the hole. Art hisses through his mask-covered teeth as the wound bubbles and fizzes, the smell of something… Mediciney… Tickling your nostrils.

As the last few bubbles pop, Art leans over and grabs the roll of gauze. Oh, NOW he’s able to fix himself. The operative gives you a look, then wraps the spool of gauze around his wound, finishing it off with a tight knot. Operation successful?

Art checks the field dressing, then sighs in relief and shoots you a thumbs up.

“Yep. Operation successful, doc.”

You grin. Say, maybe you could become a doctor after all of this! Art shrugs.

“You could probably specialize in bones. Then again, we probably all could.”

“Ha ha. Good one.” Ly quips. Hey, that sounded like sarcasm, mister. “I would never, Stan.”

>CONTD.

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>>4573379
Art groans as he rises to his feet, using his rifle as a temporary crutch. As he reaches his full height again he tests his leg, hissing as it flexes. He turns to you and shrugs.

“Looks like it might take a little longer to fully heal. Good thing that bullet didn’t hit my trigger finger.”

You can say that again! As you and Art head back towards the van, you pause. Weren’t you forgetting something?

And then it hits you. Well, your eardrums, mostly. The roar of a large car’s engine approaching from around the bend.

And what sounds like… Rockabilly?

You glance at Art, who’s already raising his rifle, then at the bushes behind you, then back to the van.

What’s the plan here?
>Have Art take up a firing position near the van. We can ambush them!
>Hide in the bushes! We can form a plan from there!
>To the van! It’s armored, we have gas--done deal!
>WRITE-IN

>>4573381
>Hide in the bushes! We can form a plan from there!

Going back to work now so I might not update until later--as usual thanks for playing along and see you around 12am UTC! Keep on keeping on!

>>4573381
>To the van! It’s armored, we have gas--done deal!

>>4573381
>>To the van! It’s armored, we have gas--done deal!

>>4573418
Bushes
>>4573426
>>4573625
Car Chase

Never change, /qst/. Writing!

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>>4573418
>>4573426
>>4573625
For a moment you consider hiding in the bushes, but you frown as a realization dawns on you. You motion Art towards the van as the sound of the vehicle rapidly approaches--for a moment it looks like he’s about to protest, but he drops it.

The two of you rush for the van’s doors--you running, Art hobbling. After hopping into the passenger’s seat you turn around and help him into the cabin. Art gets himself situated in the passenger’s seat, then pulls out his rifle from the sling on his back.

“You alright with driving, Stan?” What? You’ve been driving the whole time--why do you have to-

Art points at the bandage around his right calf. Oh. That. Art sighs, then unholsters his sidearm and holds it out to you. “Just in case you get bored driving. The bullets come out of that end.” Yea, yea, you’ve played shooters before. You go to stuff it in your toolbelt, but the operative reaches out and flicks a small switch on the side of the handgun.

“Works better with the safety off.” WoOrks BEtur Wif der SafEdY AWf! This guy just shot himself in the leg because of a deer--he doesn’t get to play ‘Action Hank’ right now. Art ignores you and slaps the roof of the cabin. Alright alright, you’re going.

Well, sort of. Ly’s going to do the honors. You feel a presence inside you stir to life. “Oh, Stan. Was wonderin’ when you’d need my expertise again.” Man, he sounds whinier than usual. You turn the key and step on the gas, catapulting the van onto the road.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, cupcake. I’m totally fine.” You’re a girl and you know for a fact that when someone says they’re FINE, they definitely aren’t. Ly doesn’t answer. Art gives you a sideways glance, then peeks his head out of the passenger window.

“Did you want something or not, Stan?” Ly growls, his voice lacking the usual chipper twang. Well you were GOING to let him take the wheel for a car chase, but if he doesn’t want to, the-

You feel your body jolt into position. Right hand on the wheel, right foot on the gas, left near the brakes, not that you’ll need ‘em. You feel your left arm hanging loosely out the window--looks like he left you something to shoot with.

Hopefully you won’t need it!

>CONTD.

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>>4573809
It only takes you a few minutes to realize that yes, maybe you will.

As the treeline thins and you begin to see the outline of burning buildings and roads in the distance, you hear the shrieking of tires behind you along with the roars of several engines, horns, and…

Tunes!?
>CLICK FOR IMMERSION: https://youtu.be/t49wMk97Tkk

That’s when you see them in the mirror. Hot rods, at least three of them--each one stuffed to the brim with hooting and hollering skeletons wearing leather jackets, frayed jeans, and somehow sporting some of the best pompadour haircuts you’ve ever seen.

“SCREAM, BABY, SCREAM!” Howls one of them as jets of fire shoot from the souped-up car’s exposed exhaust pipes. You might just do that, but first...

You turn to ask if Art sees what you see, but you don’t get a response. The operative sits like a gargoyle leaning out of the passenger window--you’re sure if his helmet wasn’t stuck he’d be picking his jaw off of the asphalt right now.

“Stan…” Yes, Art?

“Don’t. Stop.”

You heard him, Ly.

“Ten four, cupcake.” Ly pumps the gas pedal a few times, fighting their roaring engines with his own. Two of the cars inch closer and give you a better look--all of the skeletons are packing knives, chains, and other implements of pain, but you see a guy in the back hunched over and mixing something together.

Shit, aren't greasers supposed to sing and race cars or something? They're a bit scarier when they're coming after you!

What do?
>Keep your distance, have Art fire a few shots.
>Ram ‘em! You have a VAN!
>Fire a few shots from your side--Ly’s got the driving covered!
>WRITE-IN

>>4573814
Oh shit, they have the power of style!
>Keep your distance and have Art fire at them, while you keep your eye on the skeleton in the back messing with something.

>>4573814
>Keep your distance, have Art fire a few shots.

>>4573914
>>4574013
Looks like we're socially distancing. Writing!

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>>4573914
>>4574013
Oh god, they’re all snapping in unison! What does that mean?! ART, WHAT DOES THE SNAPPING MEAN?!

“I don’t know, but it’s probably not good! What should we do?”

You glare at the image of hot rods in your mirror. You should have known driving a big-ass van into the hornet’s nest would attract some attention, but… Still.

Shaking your head, you turn to the operator and give him a look of determination.

Art, do you think those guys eat a lot of fast food?

He ducks back in from the window to look at you. You can’t see it through the mask, but you’d like to think you know him enough by now to recognize confusion.

“N.. I mean... Maybe when they were alive?”

Too bad.

Because they’re about to have an ART attack.

Your companion gives you a long, hard stare as he decides whether or not to punch you. You shoot him a smile, then mime the shooting of a gun with your non-driving hand. You add a few ‘pew pew’ noises too, what the hell. He nods.

“Alright, just move over to the left so I can get a better shot. And promise me you won’t make dumb jokes like that again.”

No.

A muffled sigh. “Don’t know what I expected.” You switch lanes as Art leans out of the car, raising his rife to his cheek.

The greasers howl with excitement as their drivers mash their gas pedals causing the rods to rapidly gain on you! Ly, put some space between us!

“I’m tryin’, this thing ain’t made for drag-racin’!”

You shoot a nervous glance at the rapidly-approaching objects in your mirror--oh NO! They’re closer than they appear!

Art better do something or they’ll be right on top of you!

>Roll a 1d100 to fire! WRITE-INS mentioning where Art should aim will give you BONE-USES! I’ll take the best of three!

>>4574039
Speaking of shooting, you all have permission to shoot me if I forget my damn Trip again.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>4574039
Aim for the tires, Art! That'll slow 'em down!

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4574039
The tires!

>>4574045
>>4574097
Writing!

Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>4574138

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>>4574045
>>4574097
>Last update of the night--starting to feel a bit sleepy. Thanks for participating, though and see you around 12AM UTC tomorrow!

As the greasers rapidly approach, Ly’s driving finally takes you to the outskirts of Clearwater--pretty flashy if you like industrial warehouses and storage. The tail-end of the van buzzes a weathered ‘Welcome to Clearwater’ sign, sending it flopping over the hot rods behind you.

You steal a glance at your hostage-turned-bodyguard: Art’s aiming, but not firing. WHY ISN’T HE FIRING?! His rifle and his upper torso are outside of the window, but one of his hands is making an ‘away’ gesture.

Okay, one word, two syllable--

“GET ME CLOSER, I’LL TRY TO HIT THE TIRES!” He yells, his voice barely registering over the roaring engines!

Okay, wow--no need to yell at you if he’s tired.

“I think he said he wants to get closer to the tires, cupcake!” Ly shouts!

Oh, that makes a bit more sense. You swerve a bit closer to the left side of the road and feel the rumble of the van’s tires touching the curb. Art flashes you a thumbs up, then lets loose as you watch through the mirror!

Some of the bullets go wide and impact on the pavement with a flash! The greasers in the hot rods hoot with derisive laughter and toss bottles at the van, but another report from the rifle is rewarded with the loud POP of one of the pursuing vehicle’s tires!

To his credit, the driver does a pretty good job trying to redirect the car, but it’s no use--a handful of passengers leap to the two remaining rods as the vehicle with the shot tire swerves off of the road and into a gas station a stone’s throw away!

You hear a faint “Stay golden, PoneyBone--” as the gas station erupts in a shower of pump bits and plastic--Ly swerves to avoid the bigger chunks of debris, but almost loses control on the next turn! Art grabs the top of the door and braces himself.

“Keep this thing steady!”

You’re TRYING! Or, well… LY is trying! And doing a GREAT job of it!

“Thanks, cupcake.”

Praise later! Driving now!

Unfortunately the hot rods took that last turn a little better than you did, and as you drive past rows of warehouses you notice the two remaining cars flanking the van! With a chorus of YOWs a handful of greasers leap to the van, clinging to the side with one hand, combing their hair with the other.

What do!?
>Have Art pick ‘em off--he’s been doing a good job of it so far
>Swerve and shake ‘em off!
>Slow down and ram these jokers off the road!
>Take a few shots of your own! You’re not left-handed, but...
>WRITE-IN

>>4574160
>Have Art pick ‘em off--he’s been doing a good job of it so far

>>4574160
>Take a few shots of your own! You’re not left-handed, but...
Get Ly to shoot em!

>>4574160
>Graze a wall and grind the skellies to dust!

>>4574245
This looks like a fantastically stylish plan, surely nothing can go wrong!

>>4574245

Style Points count for all

>>4574160
>Graze a wall and grind the skellies to dust!

>>4574601
This anon gets it

>>4574179
>Have Art shoot em
>>4574219
>Have Ly shoot em
>>4574245
>>4574247
>>4574601
>>4574618
>CRUSH AND GRIND

Writing!

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>>4574179
>>4574219
>>4574245
>>4574247
>>4574601
>>4574618
You turn to let Art know about the recent developments on your side of the van, but he’s too busy taking potshots out the window like a rabid secessionist. “KINDA BUSY ON THIS SIDE TOO!” He yells in between shots. His work is rewarded when you hear a pained “YEOW, BABY” and the sound of bones clattering to the pavement on his side. Right, you can do this. You’ve got a gun, right?

As you reach for the sidearm in your tool belt, you notice the large, flat walls of the warehouses you’re passing, then at the skeletons clambering along the side of the van in your mirror.

Eureka.

You borrow the wheel from Ly’s control for a moment and yell something along the lines of “HAAAANG ONTA SOMETHIIIIIING” in Art’s direction. Gripping the steering wheel in your hands, you start spinning the wheel to the left just as a skeleton’s pompadour peeks in through the open window followed by a switchblade. Or is it a switch comb?

SHHK!

Nope. Blade. Definitely a blade. Eek, by the way.

>ROLL A 1d100 to see how well your plan works! Will it be SMOKIN’ SEXY, or will it be SHAMEFUL?! I’ll take the best of three!

File: car wrestling.webm (2.02 MB, 1600x900)

2.02 MB WEBM

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>4575169
rolling for car-nage that will ensue

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>4575169
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuJDhFRDx9M

Lets fucken go

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>4575169
JUDGEMENT TRUCK

>>4575178
>>4575293
>>4575324
Don't know where you keep getting these wild rolls, but I don't really mind! Writing!

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>>4575178
>>4575293
>>4575324
>98

The world tilts as you twist the wheel to the left, causing the whole van, yourself and your knife-wielding pal to lurch sideways. The greaser next to you mutters a quiet “Ain’t that a bite…” Before being crushed into bone meal by the concrete wall of the warehouse next to you.

Sparks fly as the side of the van connects, but you quickly regain control and maneuver back onto the debris-laden road.

Art fires off a few more shots at the other side of the van, then ducks back through the window to reload. He gives you a nod. “Keep doing stuff like THAT, Stan!” You fully intend to!

“Good moves, kiddo. Want me to take over again?” Ly asks, sounding a little less terse than before.

Good question! You’re just as you’re about to set up a few more mental choices when you spot a large object RIGHT in the middle of the road! It looks like some sort of shack with strange plants held in baskets…

“FRUIT CAAART!” Art yells, pointing at the strange structure. Oh yea, was RIGHT on the tip of your tongue. Channeling everything you’ve learned from Style Project Racing, you drift around the cart with surgical precision!

And by that you mean you pump the brakes, pretend to mess with the e-brake, and drive around it.

“Sweet drift!” Art hoots. You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

Peering out the window behind you, one of the remaining hot rods apparently couldn’t see the cart coming due to the size of the van. “BAIL!” shouts one of the skeletons, signaling the rest of the riders to dive out of the sides.

The driver has no such luck, however, as he seems to have been the only one to put on a seatbelt. His ride smashes through the cart, peppering the interior and the driver’s face with pieces of various produce.

The skeleton driver shrieks as he tries to scoop watermelon and plum out of his pompadour, releasing control of the wheel and sending the whole car skidding into an open warehouse marked with a sign that started with… Acetone?

It doesn’t take long for you to find out that whatever was in that warehouse, it was FLAMMABLE! The whole thing lights up like a science fair volcano, spitting bits of hot rod, warehouse, and what looks like paint buckets all over the block.

A soot-covered skull sporting the charred remains of a pompadour lands on your windshield and starts chattering like those wind-up teeth.

“Come on, fuzzy duck--let’s tang-”

You let your windshield wipers respond, sending your challenger onto the asphalt below and under the remaining hot rod’s tires with a nasty CRUNCH. Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!

The remaining vehicle and its riders back off, disappearing down a side street leaving behind a trail of tire tracks and outdated insults. You turn to Art and give him the beginning of a smile. Did we get ‘em?

>CONTD.

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>>4575387
Art scans the warehouses through the window, then shrugs. “Didn’t think they cared about self-preservation.” You remain silent as you snake through chunks of debris in the streets--scanning the buildings and warehouses for any sign of life. Nothing.

Your passenger lets out a tired sigh as he lays his rifle flat across his lap. “That was good, but there’s bound to be more. The van’s nice, but I’m worried about the sound.”

The hell are you talking about? We’ve been doing alright so far! Art points a thumb backwards towards the now towering inferno that once was the acetone warehouse. Okay, but that was a distraction. Totally planned.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should--”

“Hate to interrupt, kids, but uh… You might wanna look ahead.” Ly states, apprehension in his voice. You look ahead of you and stomp on the brakes, sending you and Art lurching forward. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna have a puke-filled helmet stuck to my… Oh.”

The last hot rod waits before you at the end of a long straightaway--a bridge over the concrete eyesore known as the Sequoia river. The car’s occupants cackle and holler at you as the driver revs the car’s throttle. One of the greasers stands howling in the backseat holding a bottle aloft. You’re no expert, but this looks like a challenge. Art shifts his view between the car, then you, then the car, then you again.

“Stan, let’s think about this--we don’t need to stoop to their level--we have brains.”

Where’s your manhood, Art?

“I-in my pants..”

No, I mean your SPIRIT. You’re just going to let these wrench jockeys show you up? Art shrugs.

“I mean, they can’t ‘show me up’ if they’re shot.” He says, hefting his rifle in his hands. “Could probably blast them right off the bridge if I hit a tire.”

Point taken, but come on--they’ve tossed the gauntlet here! Where’s your pride?!

Art stares at you for a moment, trying to discern your motives.

“You’re excited, aren’t you? You’re excited to possibly die proving a point.”

You grin. Art shrugs, sinking back into the passenger seat. “Fine, you make the call here--seems like your decisions haven’t killed us yet.”

Will do, Negative Nelly!

“I still don’t trust him, but I agree. Let’s just shoot ‘em.” Ly says. Man, you’re travelling with a bunch of wet blankets!

What do?
>CHICKEN! Rev those engines!
>Go with Art’s boring plan and shoot them.
>Go with Art’s slightly LESS boring, yet STILL pretty boring plan and hit the tires.
>Write-In

>>4575389
This'll be the last update of the night--I'll check in tomorrow, but I'm also moving to a new apartment this weekend and might get a little busy--I'll leave an update tomorrow here and on my Twitter.

>>4575389
He can shoot the tires if we start losing, for now. Lets fry this chicken.

>>4575389
>>4575402
>CHICKEN! Rev those engines!
forgot my vote

>>4575389
>Go with the utterly UNBORING and MISCHIEVOUS plan of ramming the skellies off the bridge.

>>4575424
Destiny calls us to this, the true choice. Art may shoot if he wishes, but he may wish to hold on to something more.

>>4575389
>Go with Art’s slightly LESS boring, yet STILL pretty boring plan and hit the tires.
Let’s not waste ammo here but also listen to art.
I think we owe it to him for shooting his calf. It’s his life we’re risking too.

>>4575389
>Write-In
Tell Art to shoot the bottle!

>>4575404
>>4575424
>>4575435
CHICKEN (Consolidating votes, apologies if this steps on anyone's toes!)
>>4575540
Shoot out the tires, Vice Cop Style!
>>4575616
Shoot the bottle--this has got to be achievement-worthy

Writing!

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>>4575404
>>4575424
>>4575435
>>4575540
>>4575616
On one hand, these two knuckleheads have a point. It would probably be safer and easier to just drop those malt-swigging morons from afar. Hell, it would certainly save time too.

You adjust your cap and drum your fingers on the steering wheel, testing the gas pedal with your booted foot. Sometimes, though… Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Art and Ly let out a sigh at the same time, the former wordlessly fastening his seatbelt. And since the men PRESENT don’t want to step up, it looks like it’s up to the woman. Figures.

If you’re being totally honest with yourself, though, this isn’t about gender--you just know this is probably the first and last chance in your life you’re gonna have to play chicken with skeleton greasers. DAMN, you need a camera! You tell Art to get his phone out, but he doesn’t move. Probably waiting to get a more candid shot.

The greasers across the bridge rev their engines in response to you, and soon the air is set ablaze with roaring engines and shouting. The greaser with the bottle tucks a handkerchief into the neck like a wick, then lights it with a zippo lighter. That’s probably the best signal you’re gonna get.

As you caress the gas pedal with your foot, Ly pipes up: “Listen cupcake, if we’re gonna do this then we oughta do it right.” You’re listening. “Let’s give ‘em a little help in moving out of the way if they don’t feel like doin’ it themselves.”

You grin. See, this is why Ly’s your favorite.

“You know I can’t hear what he says, right?” Art groans. Whatever, the point still stands.

Time slows to crawl for a second as you press the gas pedal against the floor--you, Art, the van, and the greasers charge forward through the ash and smoke towards a winner-takes-all joust straight outta the history books. Do or die time, baby.

>Roll 1d100 to help these goons get out of your way! I’ll take the best of 3!

And now Update Time: I’m packing up my PC and moving things to my apartment today after work--Unfortunately my new place doesn’t have internet yet and probably won’t until December 24th. I might be able to get some small posts, answers to questions, etc in using my phone, but otherwise we might not see an update until then. Thank you all for playing along and I hope to see you when I’m settled in to my new place! If you want more accurate updates on the situation you can check out my twitter:
>https://twitter.com/DemBonez3

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4575866
Congrats on your new place!

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>4575866
RATTLE THEM BONES!

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>4575866

>>4575874
>94
Judgment Truck END

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Hey everyone! Good news and Bad News! Good news is that my internet is go and that means I'll finally write a response to these sweet rolls you're getting.

The bad? It's Christmas and I'm gonna be busy for most of the day. I might be able to pop in an update later this evening or Dec. 26th around 6PM UTC. Until then have some BONE-US art , thanks for being patient, and happy holidays!

>>4583044
Merry Christmas!

>>4583044
Merry christmas skeleton man

>>4575874
>>4575882
>>4575896
You waited, and guess what? Santa checked his list and decided you were ALRIGHT. Writing!

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>>4575874
>>4575882
>>4575896
>Highest Roll: 9fucking4

Your chariot charges forward along the bridge, its monstrous tires screeching on the pavement only matched by those on the skeleton’s hot rod. Flecks of ash, pavement, and debris bounce off of your windshield as Art leans back as far as his helmet and kit will allow into the van’s seat.

You and Ly lean forward, reveling in the nippy wind beating against your face and the rush of adrenaline shooting through every part of your body. Your face adopts a manic grin--too late to back down now, not that you would. Amidst the roar of engines and squeal of tires you barely make out Art’s quivering voice--

“Stan, seatbe--”

You ignore him as the hot rod rapidly approaches your vehicle--its exhaust pipes belching smoke and flames in the air like a dragon, its riders swinging and hooting from any handhold they can crowd onto.

The greaser with the lit bottle pulls his arm back preparing to toss his payload as your vision is flooded with his rides’ headlights. Exhaling, you drum your fingers again on your steering wheel as Art’s fingers wrap around the door handle.

Next thing you know, you’ve passed each other. The greasers stand agape, toothpicks and smokes dropping from their mouths. Art grips the door handle with what you assume to be white knuckles (the gloves make it hard to judge), panting like a dog after a long game of fetch.

Ly sits frozen in your body afraid to move an inch. You smirk. It’s over.

The hot rod speeds by, but not before you grip your seatbelt in your left hand and snap it into its socket. The world around you shifts like inside a bubble as your van leaps sideways, connecting with their flank with a resounding CLANG.

Like a sped-up movie, the hot rod and its riders careen off of the bridge, into the air, and down to the paved monstrosity below. You regain control of the van and screech to a halt on the other side of the bridge, shifting your trusty steed into park with the now-familiar scent of burning car drifting past your nostrils.

Your two companions sit agog as you remove your cap and run a hand through your sweat-riddled hair.

Scum!

>CONTD.

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>>4583367
You and your pals sit silently for a moment as the crashed hot rod slowly transforms into a bonfire. Looks like that guys’ fire bottle didn’t help much, did it? Art shakes his head and sputters, ruining the moment as usual.

“Th-the hell was THAT, Stan? We should be-”

Dead? You’ll admit that once upon a time, yea, you might have thought so too. You learned from the best, though, and now no one, and you mean no one can beat you in bumper cars.

Art starts to say something, but knows better by now and just shrugs.

“Well whoever you learned from, remind me to thank them if we get out of this in one piece.”

You nod, your mind drifting back to memories of Summers at the Clearwater Pier--your brother taking you on all of the rides, winning all of the games, partnering up and dominating in Laser Tag. You smile. If only he was here now.

What else did he teach you when he was still around?
>He schooled you how to handle the go-karts--you’ve applied those tips to driving ever since.
>He was an ace at the light-gun games and showed you how to shoot.
>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure.
>WRITE-IN

>>4583369
>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure.
The captcha was about bridges

>>4583369
>>He schooled you how to handle the go-karts--you’ve applied those tips to driving ever since.

>>4583369
>>He was an ace at the light-gun games and showed you how to shoot.

>>4583369
>>He was an ace at the light-gun games and showed you how to shoot.

>>4583369
>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure

Stans got a mean hittin arm

>>4583369
>>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure.

>>4583369
>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure.
We did bat Terry the Terrible after all

>>4583369
>He took you to the batting cages--you learned how to swing things around, that’s for sure.

>>4583369
>>He schooled you how to handle the go-karts--you’ve applied those tips to driving ever since.

>>4583431
>>4584336
>>4584445
>>4584490
>>4584619
>Batting Cages

>>4583550
>>4584761
>Go-Karts

>>4583577
>>4584088
>Shootin!

Looks like a home-run to me! Writing!

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>>4583431
>>4583550
>>4583577
>>4584088
>>4584336
>>4584445
>>4584490
>>4584619
>>4584761
You continue driving, careful not to go FULL flashback this time as you ruminate aloud about the ‘old days’. Things were different back then--no worries about the future, no brother running off with art bitches named HEATHER, and most importantly, a sense of contentment--like every piece of the jigsaw was falling into place. It was nice.

Oh, and also no skeleton apocalypse. That’s a pretty big bullet point too.

Art shifts in his seat, alternating between listening and scanning outside for more aggressors. Ly takes control of the driving for a bit in what you assume is a silent ‘nudge’ to continue.

And continue you will! You’ll never forget that day four years ago… Or was it three? Okay, maybe you might forget that day four years ago. In any case, you remember being angry. About what? Eh. Point is, you were pissed about something. You remember coming home, knot in your chest, your dad making some joke about gargoyles or something, shambling up the stairs to your room, and finally faceplanting on to your bed.

Your bro didn’t even have to knock--he had this way of appearing when he was needed, and when you turned around, there he was--bomber jacket slung over his shoulder and waiting in the doorway like you were making him late for something.

“Grab your coat.” Yep, always the wordy one. You did, of course, and once you were properly dressed for the cold weather you went downstairs to the front door to perform your ritual: he would be sitting on his bike, you would hop on the back, and with two rings of the bell to signal to your parents you were leaving, the two of you were off.

You still remember your cheeks stinging from the cold, salty sea air and how fast your brother went. He would take corners like a maniac and hop on and off the curbs as easy as you brush your teeth, but you never felt worried about falling over or hitting anything--he rode that bike like a painter wields a brush.

You never tried to make conversation. Sure, you tried when you were younger, but you learned not to when you never received an answer. Your brother was never really a big speaker--bike rides were no exception. One day you just stopped trying to talk on the rides and it just stuck.

You knew you were close when you passed vey’s Crab Shack. It was actually called HARvey’s Crab Shack, but thanks to a wayward frisbee it adopted a new name and never really changed back. Past that you were greeted by the spectral glow of lights along the pier--the telltale signs of carnival rides, greasy food, and a reprieve from all of the crap a kid deals with growing up. Cheaper than therapy, that’s for sure.

>CONTD.

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>>4584918
Arriving at the Clearwater Pier was like flicking a light switch. While the ride over was frigid, nippy, and quieter than a funeral home, the boardwalk was a sensory overload of neon lights, heat from food stalls, and chattering park goers. It always took you a minute or two to readjust--just enough time to almost lose your bro in the crowd. He never came back for you, but he didn’t need to--somehow he always managed to hover just close enough for you to catch up. You wish your parents were the same way. That was not a fun day at the airport.

Art gestures impatiently for you to continue as Ly steers the van around the burning remains of a milk truck. Cool, still not full flashback.

Anyways, your brother always took the lead. He knew which attractions were the least crowded and always paid, even after you got that part-time job in High School.

“We get it, he was pretty great.” Art sighs, idly flicking bullet casings out of his window. No, you don’t think he DOES. Ly politely shushes Art. Thanks, Ly.

That night you guys hit up the batting cages. You took the cage farthest to the left--your brother grabbing a red, aluminum bat for you, a wooden bat for himself. You remember beginning to ask him to trade, but he gave you the look and you suddenly realized your bat was just fine.

Your brother set the pitching machine to the hardest difficulty, of course. Needless to say you didn’t hit many--that didn’t do wonders for your mood. The machine fired ball after ball, and though your swinging became faster and faster you only managed to whiff one into the side of the cage. In between panting and sweating you wheezed a request to lower the difficulty, but your brother shook his head.

“If you train to be normal, that’s all you’re gonna be.”

With that he dropped a few more coins into the machine and pointed in the direction of the pitcher. You remember the cold air creeping into your pores, rapidly chilling your sweat and your brother’s stare burning holes in the back of your head. The mechanized pitcher let out a speech-synthesized “PLAY BALL” and with that, you got ready to swing.

>Roll 1d100 to train! I’ll take the best of 3, don’t let your bro down!

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>4584922

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>4584922

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>4584922

>>4584924
>>4585006
>>4585032
>Highest roll: 76
Writing!

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>>4584924
>>4585006
>>4585032
You squared your feet, choked up on the bat, and hummed the most appropriate training montage song you could think of.

Needless to say, it didn’t make things much easier.

You slowed down, though--started watching the balls fly past, feeling the weight of the aluminum bat in your hands, listening to the cranks and clacks the pitching machine made. You whiffed, missed, and struck out more times than you could count, but finally, FINALLY, your swinging bat got a reply in the form of a loud CLANG.

You watched the ball sail towards the pitcher, then over it, then into the center of the large, red target on the far end of the cage. Lights flared and sirens blared as one point was added to your score--1 out of 10! Hey, not bad!

You remember glancing at your brother, eyes wide with childish mirth. In typical fashion he didn’t respond much apart from a sideways smirk. What more needed to be said? With that he pulled the cage door open for you like a chauffeur, waiting for you to walk through. You did, of course, grinning like a moron. Did he see? He totally saw, right!?

“It’s a start.” He mused, stuffing his wallet back into his bomber jacket pocket. You started to wonder just how much cash he spent letting you hit balls, but your thought process was interrupted by him lightly tussling your sweaty, unkempt hair.

“Feel better?”

You blinked. Holy shit, you had completely forgotten what had made you so upset! Your brother did that singular ‘hm’ laugh of his, then set off in the direction of the arcade.

“Come on, we have time for a game or two.”

>CONTD.

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>>4585118
And that was that. You ended up coming back to that cage every time you got mad, even when you got older. Sure, it got a bit harder when you tried to sneak alcohol in, but you still went!

You let your tale sink in for a bit, then smile. Good, didn’t go full flashback that time. Art shifts in his seat as Ly bumps the van against an ice cream truck, causing it to roll backwards into a fire hydrant. Whoops.

“Sounds like you guys were pretty close.” Art says, breaking the silence.

Sure, you could say that. That was how he was, though--he barely talked, but always had this weird guru thing going on. Probably why he ended up becoming a martial arts teacher.

Art shrugs, then tosses another bullet casing at a nearby mailbox.

“So uh....” He says, voice trailing off out the window.

“Where is he now?”

Right, Art wasn’t there for the flashback. You briefly relate to him the story of your brother meeting HEATHER at her dumbass art show, his dumbass wedding, and them moving to the dumbass East Coast. Art lets out a low whistle, then speaks up.

“That uh… That sucks. Sorry, Stan.”

He didn’t cut all contact with you, so what the hell is he apologizing for? You take control of the van from Ly and plow it through another fruit cart.

Art catches a plum in his gloved hand, bumps it against his mask a few times, then tosses it out the window.

“Changing topics… Do you remember what you were so pissed about back then?”

You blink. You know, your bro did such a good job distracting you with carnival games that you barely remember. Hell, you barely remember a lot of things, now that you think about it.

You drive the van through a large pane of glass being carried by two skeletons--they shout something at you, but you don’t listen. You’re headed to Rememberville.

What WERE you mad about back then?
>You were humiliated at football practice. Being the mascot was TOUGH.
>Your teacher had some things to say about your grades, none of them good (WRITE-IN the subject or I’ll make it random!)
>Something happened with your crush (WRITE-IN Male or Female or feel the wrath of RANDOMOR)
>WRITE-IN

>>4585119
>We found out that our favorite Youtuber is VIRTUAL, and not really a cute alien boy who came to Earth to study human videogames.

>>4585119
>Your teacher had some things to say about your grades, none of them good (WRITE-IN the subject or I’ll make it random!)
Random is cool

>>4585119
>Something happened with your crush (Male)

>>4585119
>We found out that our favorite Youtuber is VIRTUAL, and not really a cute alien boy who came to Earth to study human videogames.
In the interest of breaking the tie

>>4585119
>>4585128
+1

>>4585119
>>You were humiliated at football practice. Being the mascot was TOUGH.

>>4585119
>Something happened with your crush (Male)

>>4585119
>Something happened with your crush (Male)

>>4585128
This

>>4585128
>>4585482
>>4585505
>>4585774
>VIRTUAL!?!
>>4585248
>Grades
>>4585249
>>4585629
>>4585642
>Crush (Male)
>>4585560
>Trouble at the practice!
I sat up thinking about this last night and honestly this DOES seem like a thing Stan would be pissed about, so we writing, baby!

>>4585847
I though I was proposing something obviously IC...

>>4585870
You did good, kiddo. Didn't mean to sound like you did otherwise. Love these write-ins

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>>4585128
>>4585248
>>4585249
>>4585482
>>4585505
>>4585560
>>4585629
>>4585642
>>4585774
It takes you a moment and some prompting from Ly, but when you remember it explodes like an IED in your mind--yes… It was Gamugo.

Art shoots you a look. Hard to say what it is with the mask, but it’s definitely a look directed at you. You take a corner a little too quickly and roll the van over a curb and Ly politely takes over driving again.

You were sixteen when you made first contact. It had been a rough week at school as usual--teachers were giving you the usual crap like “France is in Europe, Stan” and “Why haven’t you met with the school counselor, we’re worried about you yada yada yada”. If that wasn’t enough someone let slip that you were the Clearwater Cod Mascot and APPARENTLY that weirded people out, including DREAMBOAT Derek in your Spanish class. Talk about nicht gut.

Luckily your parents were out at one of their comedy dinners and your brother was… Who knows where, so you had the entire house to yourself and Mr. Wine Cabinet. Maybe it was intentional, maybe the 5 or 9 glasses of cabernet caused you to blend your searches of ‘cute dudes’ and ‘video games’ together on MeTube, or maybe… Jusssst maybe, it was interstellar interference. Whatever it was, your search brought you to your new obsession: Uchuujin Gamugo.

>CONTD.

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>>4585970
With pale turquoise skin and a regal outfit covered in jewels and epaulets, he almost looked human. His crimson eyes, pointed ears, and blue hair topped with a simple jeweled circlet told you a different story--well, that and the MeTube description.

Originally a scientist from planet Game (pronounced Gameh--weird coincidence), Professor Gamugo (yes, he had a DEGREE) was in a self-imposed exile until he could find the ULTIMATE game. Turns out Earth had a lot of possible candidates.

He was playing Blood Sucking Freaks 3: The New Batch, one of your favorites, and was stuck on the subway level with all of the annoying crawling enemies. His voice was soft, yet deep like a cup of dark coffee, and as he stumbled through the puzzles he took the time to respond to his users in his strange, yet enchanting alien language.

You were floored--not only was he an alien playing one of YOUR favorite games, he even had English subtitles set up to translate!

You’ll never forget the first time he responded to you--you’re pretty sure you typed out the solution to the track power puzzle, the one that trips everybody up. As you took another swig from your drinking glass of cab, a response came! DIRECTLY TO YOU! You still have wine stains on your monitor from the spit-take.

Rubbing the screen with some tissues, you squinted past the droplets of wine on the monitor to see what the professor said…

“@gamercatstanny: Please no spoilers! You have been muted for 10 minutes! (´･ω･`)”

The rest, they say, is history. You stayed up for the entire stream that night, at least… You think. You woke up in the morning tucked in bed, wine bottles put away and the computer turned off, so you assume you took care of things before going to sleep.

From that day on it was ALL GAMUGO ALL THE TIME. Sure, school was still rough and Derek still refused to acknowledge you even after your bitchin’ book report on sharks, but you didn’t care anymore--you had someone who cared about your input. Someone… Different.

>CONTD.

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>>4585972
As you learned in Middle School, however, all good things must end.

“Wish this story would…” Art murmured. Nope, you asked so you’re getting the whole thing!

It was a day like any other. You had just finished your school lunch of ‘meatloaf’, corn-off-the -cob, and 2% milk and had just pulled out your phone to catch Gamugo’s stream. You had been waiting for this one for a long time--he was going to spend the whole week playing the Stab series. Truth be told it was a bit too scary even for YOU back then, but you figured the professor would make it bearable. And bearable it was--despite getting tense at times, Gamugo kept his cool even when the killer had him cornered in the abandoned house chapter! You still remember blushing hoping that should the day come, Gamugo would be there to lead you to safety.

Art makes some sort of snorting noise. Bless you.

But yea, things were good! Until HE showed up.

“Who, me?” Ly asks, steering the car around a tipped-over truck. No, you’re cool.

It was Garth Mathers. That motherfucker.

You had noticed him making eyes at you in Math. He had long bangs, but you always knew because of his huge glasses. Sometimes he’d talk to you about math after class, sometimes games, sometimes movies. Real chatterbox. Today he happened to track you down at lunch.

“Whatcha watching?” You remember him asking, and naturally you answered. Hell, you even let him watch with you for a moment! That’s something! Things were going so well until he said it.

“Said what?” Ly asks. See, Art, LY’S an active listener. Art grunts and fiddles with his pouches.

“Oh yea, Gamugo. Mikoko’s a pretty cool VTuber too, reminds me of you!” You remember almost dropping your phone. Come AGAIN?

“Mikoko. She’s a virtual MeTuber like Gamugo is. He’s pretty good, though--I like Mikoko because her English is a little better. And she’s… You know. A girl.”

You remember huffing and explaining that Gamugo didn’t HAVE that choice--he was an alien and had to rely on translation software.

“Stan, uh…” Garth began, his voice barely stifling a laugh, “that’s just Japanese.”

Your life would never be the same again. You spent the rest of the day crying and eating grape-flavored Mintos in the bathroom. Even that jerk Boris asked why the mascot was sobbing during football practice. Art knows what happened next. Shit, you’re getting mad just thinking about it no-

STOP LAUGHING, DAMN IT! DON’T MAKE LIGHT OF MY LIFE!”

>CONTD.

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>>4585973
Nah, that didn’t do it. Art howls with laughter, slapping the dashboard until he loses his breath. Good, maybe he’ll suffocate. This is what happens when you open up to people. Art’s laughter turns into a coughing fit, and with that he slowly regains his composure. To his credit, Ly remains silent.

“That’s…” Art wheezes, “That’s terrible…. That’s terrible, Stan…” Yea right. You take the wheel again from Ly and shut up for a bit--that’ll make Art feel bad.

Nope, he’s still laughing. GOD you hate this apocalypse.

After Ly stops you from driving the van into a few buildings, you eventually come to a crossroads. The roads seem to be more familiar now--yep, that’s Gooseberry Avenue, and that road with the bullet-riddled police barricades must be Esther. You frown. You didn’t really think about it before, but this is kind of a big deal you’re in! Art nods in assent.

“We’re still flying blind here. I think you’re onto something with collecting info, but we need to figure out where to get that stuff now that we’re actually here…”

Thanks for repeating the obvious, Art. How’s your leg, by the way? Art flexes it a bit and lets out a wince.

“I mean, I could walk, just don’t expect any Parkour.”

He can leave that to YOU. Your thought process is cut short by a loud SCREECH from overhead. You and Art instinctively duck as a large winged skeleton soars overhead, somehow staying aloft with punctured wings. It banks to the right, giving you a view of the chunks of police chopper sticking out between its teeth.

Hooooo boy.

Art readies his rifle and turns to you, shakiness in his voice.

“So uh, what were our information options again?”

Right, we need info on how to defeat this Tim guy. Let’s see…
>We can head to my pal SYBIL’S APARTMENT. She’s big into the occult.
>The LIBRARY’S a good bet. You don’t have a library card, but…
>Wait a minute, the MUSEUM might have something!
>Let’s visit your SECURITY STATION. You mentioned a computer there?
>WRITE-IN

>>4585974
>Wait a minute, the MUSEUM might have something!

>>4585972
Very Leiji, much Matsumoto. 10/10 would have a crush on too.

>We can head to my pal SYBIL’S APARTMENT. She’s big into the occult.

>We can head to my pal SYBIL’S APARTMENT. She’s big into the occult

You know there's gonna be some luigi's mansion shit in there

>>4585974
>We can head to my pal SYBIL’S APARTMENT. She’s big into the occult.

Lets get Spooky

Seeing a consensus, but I'm wiped for the evening. Will update tomorrow--hope to see you all then!

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>>4585979
>>4586018
>>4586050
>>4586307
Psssh, is this even an OPTION? You hang a left at Gooseberry Ave and head in the direction of Syb’s apartment--skeleton apocalypse or no, you’d never forget the route to your best friend’s place--hell, you’ve managed to get there blackout drunk more times than you can count! Art taps his gloved fingers on his rifle, laughing uncomfortably.

“Uh, Stan? You didn’t answer my question--you just sorta turned and.. “

Whoops, you thought he heard you. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s being said and what’s being narrated, but no one’s complained yet besides Art, so that’s the way it’s gonna be!

“Frankly I think it adds to your character.” Ly quips, letting you handle the wheel for a bit. Art shrugs.

“So where are we going, captain?”

To your pal Sybil’s, of course! She’s big into the occult. Art nods in recollection.

“So you keep saying. You sure she can help us out?”

Sure as you can be during all of this crap. Syb’s been dragging you into paranormal shenanigans since you guys were in Elementary school--hell, on your first playdate she showed you what a Weejo board was and introduced you to her dead convict friend. Apparently he blew up a saloon or something.

You hang a right at the playground… Or rather the flaming pit where the playground USED to be. About time--that swingset was dangerous. Art adjusts his helmet a bit and sighs.

“So she has a Weejo board. Any other tricks up her sleeve? I still say we should hit up the security office.”

Seeing is believing, sure, but Art can trust you when you say she’s done research on this crap. She’s constantly making you tag along as camera girl for her podcast, That’s The Spirit, an-

You don’t get to finish. Art’s eye… Lens… Things... LIGHT UP in recognition of the title, and like a reflex the security guard sits up straight, waves his hand in the air like a ghost, and recites Syb’s closing line for each episode:

“That’s all for today! Until Tomborrow!”

He glances at you expectantly, eyes still glowing.

>CONTD.

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>>4586958
You are Officer Arthur Berry and it just dawned on you what you just did. Warnings were going off in your body, sure, but you did it anyways. You couldn't help it--you’re a FAN! You keep your eyes locked on the janitor gremlin to avoid showing any weakness, but the damage is already done. She stares at you like one would regard a piece of mold in the shower, and as the mortifying realization of what happened sinks in, you realize that any sliver of respect she had for you has now been flushed down the toilet. That’s all. Back to Stan.

>CONTD.

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>>4586965
You are Stanley Parble and the sliver of respect you had for Art has now been flushed down the toilet. Even Ly agrees that it was pretty weird--almost as weird as the phone fiasco. The remaining drive to Sybil’s apartment goes off without a hitch until, that is, you turn the corner onto her street.

“Stan, stop!” Ly shouts, jolting you out of your driver’s trance. You slam on the brakes, causing you and Art to lurch forward against your seatbelts. Safety first! Okay Ly, we’re STOPPED. Art stretches his neck and raises his rifle, scanning the surroundings for enemies.

“Goons in the parkin’ lot!” Ly whispers. He points your head in the direction of Sybil’s apartment and sure enough, a trio of greaser skeletons are posted there sitting on now-empty beer crates, tossing dice, and drinking as rockabilly music blares from their hot rod’s speakers. Great, more of em.

You stealthily kill the engine of the van and hunker down in the driver’s seat. Art glances at you, then at the apartment building.

“Which room is hers?!” He whispers.

205, second floor in the back. Not gonna be easy to get there while these goons are in the way, though… Art readies his rifle, waiting for your word.

“Hold on, slick, maybe we can be smart about dis.” Ly whispers, borrowing your arm to lower Art’s rifle. He shoots you an odd look, but relaxes when you relay Ly’s words.

“Maybe you’re right--who knows what will come running if they hear gunshots… I can’t really run around, though--should we sneak by?” Art asks, pointing at his leg wound. Oh boo hoo, that was like an hour ago!

“We COULD run a distraction!” Ly says, excitement in his voice. “Why don’t we put a brick on the gas and let the van drive by? That oughta get their attention.”

You relay the idea to Art again, who shrugs. “It couldn’t hurt, buuuut we’ll have to track the van down again afterwards...”

You adopt your signature Thinking Pose and weigh your options. What should you do? For all you know Syb might be in danger!

>Art, you support, I’ll take em’ out. They want a RUMBLE, we’ll give them one!
>Let’s be sneaky about this. We should be able to CREEP BY without ditching the van.
>Ly’s on the right track here. That DISTRACTION is exactly what we need.
>Wait a minute, are they playing DICE? Let’s see if we can CHAT these guys up…
>WRITE-IN

>>4586958
Have we ever told Sybil that we think her podcast catchphrase is stupid?
>How about we call upon our ninja powers and stealth game experience and quietly ASSASSINATE the skellies?

>>4586970
>Wait a minute, are they playing DICE? Let’s see if we can CHAT these guys up…

How do they have greaser hair if they're skeletons? Did they glue wigs to their heads?

Also try and shake them down in a game of dice. What could possibly go wrong?

>>4586970
>Wait a minute, are they playing DICE? Let’s see if we can CHAT these guys up…
If things go south, the backup plan will be
>Art, you support, I’ll take em’ out. They want a RUMBLE, we’ll give them one!

>>4587210
They're greaser-type skeletons, that means they automatically gain any greaser-type traits. It's basic necromancy.

>>4586970
>>Wait a minute, are they playing DICE? Let’s see if we can CHAT these guys up…

>>4587210
>>4587252
>>4587271
>Diplomacy
>>4586989
>GHOST RUN
Looks like we're Speechcrafting this shit. Writing!

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>>4586989
>>4587210
>>4587252
>>4587271
You weigh the options in your head, making sure to make the appropriate amount of ‘hmm’s before moving forward with your plan. Yes, Ly makes a good point about distractions, but on the other hand…

Games. And Beers.

You kick open the driver’s side door with your rubber boot and drop to the pavement with a squeak. As you stroll without a care in the world towards the greasers, Art fumbles with the child lock on his door and kicks it open.

“STAN! PLAN! THIS IS NOT A PLAN!” He hisses through his non-visible teeth. What’s the worst that can happen? They gonna do-wop you to death? Worst comes to worst you’ll give him a sign or something, chillax.

“WHAT SIGN?” He hisses again. It’ll be obvious! Hey, you promise to grab him a beer if he’s good! You wink and continue in the direction of the greasers as Art replies with a strangling gesture.

“So you really think these guys will uh… Play nice?” Ly whispers as the rockabilly music grows louder. You’re not sure, but it doesn’t hurt to try. You’ve noticed a lot of these guys are pretty chatty and generally not that smart, so you shouldn’t have a problem. Probably.

You cross the threshold into the parking lot just as two of the three greasers, both wearing leather jackets with skull motifs, holler in disbelief. The third, a stout skeleton with a jean jacket chuckles, shoveling a small pot of petty cash towards his weathered sneakers.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Rocky takin’ over is da bee’s knees.” The stout skeleton leans back on his makeshift seat, taking a swig of beer as he goes. One of the other leathered skeletons wearing a red-striped shirt scoffs, jostling the toothpick sitting loosely between his teeth.

“Rocky’s an alright guy, don’t get me wrong--but whatever happened to honor, huh? Guy’s runnin’ down skinnies in his rod like it’s a game and handing out pieces to everyone. Whatever happened ta fists and blades?”

Jean jacket chugs the rest of the beer and tosses it behind him. “Listen, we all gotta adjust for the times. In case ya didn’t notice,” he says, flipping a coin between his bare knucklebones, “Things have CHANGED. We answer ta Rocky, Rocky answers to Da Big Guy. Gotta grow wit’ the times or croak like the dinos, right?”

The remaining skeleton with a white t-shirt under his jacket nods. “I don’t give a hoot who’s in charge, so long as we get to hang like dis all day.”

The three of them grunt various affirmatives and clank their beers together.

Absolutely.

All three skeletons simultaneously drop their beers to the ground. Turning towards you, the greasers eye you up and down, not exactly sure how to respond.

Awkwaaaaard!
>CONTD.

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>>4587826
Clearly the one with initiative, the jean-jacketed skeleton fishes a switchblade out of his pocket and points it at you.

“We-he-hell, look what just dropped into our laps, boys! Ain’t this the dolly the boss is lookin’ for?”

The jacket brothers each pull out their own implements of destruction--a tire iron for red stripes, a chain for white shirt. The latter hops to his feet and saunters over to you.

“Hey toots, looks like you cruised into the wrong janitor closet.”

All three get up and circle you like vultures. Your nerves tell you to move, but Ly keeps you frozen in place. Stripes flicks the handle of your TELESCOPING MOP and chuckles.

“Hey hey, whaddaya doin’ here anyways? Come to detail the wheels? It caught a couple dings from the last skinnies we creamed.” He jerks his iron in the direction of their hot rod--the dashboard still ablaze with rockabilly music. I mean, you weren’t planning on it. This gets the skeletons laughing.

“In that case, what da hell ARE you doin’ here? Besides makin’ our jobs easier?” Jean jacket steps in front of you and lightly pokes the bridge of your nose with his blade. “You know you’re wanted, right? Dead OR alive.”

You sigh. You just saw a game going on and wanted to play a little--no harm in that, right? Unless… They’re scared of losing... Jean jacket holds his knife against you for a moment longer, then retracts it.

“No, no harm yet, dolly. And hey, consider it your last request, or somethin’.”

The trio backs off and returns to their seats. White-shirt nudges a beer crate over for you to sit on while Stripes cracks a beer open on his eye socket and hands it to you. You take a swig as Jean jacket stows his knife in his pocket and runs his boney hand through his immaculate pompadour.

“Ain’t nothin’ taste quite like da last beer of your life, huh sis?” You shrug. Might not be the last. This makes him grin. Scooping a weathered pair of wooden dice from the pavement, Jean jacket juggles them in between his fingers and stares you down.

>CONTD.

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>>4587827
“Game’s HIGH-LOW. Even a spaz like you oughta be able to grasp the basics. Everyone bets whether the bones are gonna roll HIGH or LOW, winners each get a piece of da pot.” Stripes explains, grabbing another beer for himself.

White T flicks a cigarette out from a pack in his pocket and lights it, his eye sockets never leaving you. Take a picture, it’ll last longer!

“High is EIGHT and up, LOW is SIX and below. Seven is SEVEN--we just call that one a draw. Easy-peasey.” Stripes continues.

Jean Jacket leans closer. “I think I’ve got a great wager for you, dolly--you lose, you come with us. No fuss, no struggle. None-a dat crocodile tears crap either, can’t stand cryin’ chicks.” The rest of the trio shakes their heads. You grin. Works for you--you aren’t going to be losing, so who cares? Jean jacket shrugs.

“Your funeral, toots. And lemme guess, if you win we gotta leave you be, right? Treat ya like a ghost or something?”

Good question!
>Yes, those are good terms. Good going.
>Yes, but I’ll RAISE YOU... (WRITE-IN)
>No, Here are MY TERMS... (WRITE-IN)
>Actually, this was a mistake. Turns out I’m SHOOT on cash. (Signal Art)

Getting kinda sleepy over here--will continue tomorrow!

>>4587830
>No, Here are MY TERMS...

Greaser rules: if we win, they gotta join OUR gang. If they win we join THEIR gang. Leave the big guys outta 'dis!

*finger snap*

>>4587830
>Actually, this was a mistake. Turns out I’m SHOOT on cash. (Signal Art)
50/50 lose chance is too high for me.

>>4588053
We can still shoot them if we lose ;)