You awaken in a grassy field, unable to remember how you got here.

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It was a good thing you were following at a distance. Someone jumps around the corner wearing a full hazmat suit and carrying a flamethrower. Without any hesitation, the person bathes the cat in yellow flames. Moments later, there's nothing but a pile of ashes and the smell of charbroiled cat in the air. It's not a bad smell, actually. You look at the person in the suit and...

_try to get on the person's good side by saying, 'Thanks, that cat was trouble.'
_launch a vicious attack. That person messed up your free wish!
_say 'Howdy do!' and wave.
 
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"Thanks, that cat was trouble."

"Absolutely, boss." It's a woman's voice, and you recognize it. There's a reflection on the clear face guard obscuring her features, but you catch a glimpse of her. It's the delivery woman. Wait, was that a dream? After all, you were rolling around in your yard naked. "Best we can piece out, the cat was Ward's idea. Did you have any contact with the cat, sir?"

Your thinking is muddled. Admitting you tried to pet the cat to get a wish seems like the wrong move here, but it sounds like it could be important information.

_Come clean and admit to wanting a wish and petting the cat. She needs to know the whole truth.
_Say that you aren't sure whether you came into contact with the cat because you were unconscious.
_Deny ever touching the cat.
_Tell her you aren't thinking clearly.
_Start at the beginning and tell her about your dream.
 
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"I'm not thinking clearly," you admit. "I seem to be having memory problems. Why is the cat important?"

The delivery woman hesitates for a moment before asking, "You don't remember what is special about cats?"

You think hard, but your brain won't cooperate. You say, "They grant wishes?"

The delivery woman moves her hand and presses something you can't see under her neck, "Johnson, the boss has lost his mind. I think we have to assume he had contact with the cat. How's the isolation going?"

She must have a speaker close to her ear inside the suit because you don't hear a response. You can think of nothing to do but wait. Finally she says, "Thanks. On our way," and turns her attention back to you.

"We've built a mobile isolation unit. The only thing we can do is hope that the microbial machine treatment you came up with last week works. You know, the treatment you developed before you thought cats granted wishes."

"I didn't think that answer was right, but there was a collar..."

"No time," she says and moves toward you. "We've got to get you out of here. Terrorists...pet food infested with nanobots...none of that rings a bell with you?" She reaches for your arm.

It's all a little much, and a bit too ridiculous to be true. You pull away and start running. No one is going to put microbial machines in you. You are the world's leading expert in nano-machinery (where did that thought come from?), and these people are dangerous.

You blast through the door and run past a shocked woman in a lab coat who couldn't get out of your way fast enough. "He touched me!" she says loudly.

You are outside now. There's a large white tent in front of you with people milling about. Some of those people have guns. You decide to run the other way, cutting through the grass to try to reach the street. There is shouting behind you. If you had to guess, they are probably chasing you, but so far no one has discharged a weapon. You get to the street. An ice cream truck has to slam on it's breaks. You find yourself staring at the angry driver as a chiptune version of Camptown Races plays loudly over the truck's speakers. You wonder if you have time to grab an Astro Pop.

"Excuse me, sir!" you yell.

_I'm commandeering your vehicle!
_Can I get one Astro Pop really fast?


(All right someone either pick up from here or start a new story if you want. Whatever floats your boat.)
 
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Brian Boru

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_Can I get one Astro Pop really fast?
You see half a dozen sprinting towards you and the lunatic who almost got himself killed, some with guns—are those tranq guns?—pointing. You slam pedal to the metal and get the hell out of Dodge—in the mirror you see the lunatic drop slowly to the ground, clutching his neck.

Damn. You went into witness protection to be safe, not caught up in the middle of the OK Corral. What the heck is going on?

_Go back to your—safe?—house;
_Stop to serve the gaggle of kids chasing you down the alley;
_Wait, alley? Where the heck are you now?;
_Call Stevie, she always knows what's best.
 

SWard

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"Now listen up." Stevie says in a firm tone. " I don't know why you thought the cat was a good idea, but you need to focus. We have provided a new safe house for you and identification. If anyone asks, you're Lord Newton of Fortniteshire. If MKnott manages to steal your tech. the microbial treatment machine is as good as his. Now are you going to play ball or not?"

- Look at cat
- "You son of a *****, I'm in."
- I have more questions.
 

Brian Boru

Moderator
- I have more questions
The blood drains from your face—from everywhere, it feels like—as you listen to "Stevie's" instructions.

"Ya, sure, I'll play ball" you manage to get out—was that squeak your voice, or is there really a cat?—and hang up pronto.

What the…???
They must have captured Stevie and got someone to impersonate her. Why else would 'she' think I was the lunatic the gun-happies were chasing?
What's this about a cat and some micro gibberish? And who is Mr Notshire from Fort Newton?

Oh FFS, why are there 15 kids surrounding the van?

_Switch off Camptown Races, scowl severely, and drive slowly clear of kids
_Open window cheerily—might as well make a buck while totally confused
 
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_Open window cheerily—might as well make a buck while totally confused

You love kids so you decide to sell them some ice cream and step out of the truck. This was the perfect job to take while waiting for the trial of the crime boss you used to...do things for. You absolutely adore kids. It's probably your Italian heritage. Try to take children into a restaurant in Germany or France and you are treated, often times, like a suspicious ne'er-do-well and sat far away from everyone else (if you are even allowed a table). But bring kids into an Italian trattoria, and you are treated like family. They make the kids the stars of the show, sometimes even going so far as to dance with them in the aisles. It's a great time.

These ice cream kids are your usual assortment. Some are hilariously serious; a few are outgoing; some are adorably shy. You are taking their orders when a beagle staggers into the alley behind them. It looks in your direction and starts coming your way. Of course it does. That's how your luck goes. Your heart starts to race. It's all over the news. People being quarantined because their pets had been poisoned with something. You didn't really understand it, but you knew it was very serious. With the beagle getting closer, you know you have to do something and do it fast. You...

_You have to safeguard the children. You need to get them into the ice cream truck somehow.
_You have to safeguard the children. You need to charge the dog yourself. Maybe it will run away.
_You think being a hero is overrated. You climb back into the truck and shut the door.

(Sorry folks. I'm getting a little confused on the story. If this doesn't make sense with what you all have written, I apologize.)
 
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Marine News Update: That ship has sailed… long, long ago :)

High Five Stevie, it's working!

Gonna leave this for some other poor sch adventurer to wander down this blind alley.
I'm sure our individual stories make sense to the writers. Maybe we should each choose/create a character, and we each only write that character's part of the story. Unless we're getting bored with it. Or we can just put it out of its misery. No one else is playing anymore (can't blame them hahahaha).
 
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The beagle suddenly grows hugely in size, devours all the children, burps, and turns to you.

_Offer it an Astro Pop
_Take a deep breath and leap into beagle's gaping maw
(You can't put it out of its misery and put options in. :ROFLMAO: )

_Offer it an Astro Pop

The beagle eats the Astro Pop. One by one, the kids fly out of his mouth, seemingly unharmed. The beagle begins to shake and shrinks down to normal size. He is completely back to normal. Somehow you know this is it, the answer to the pet terrorist attacks: Astro Pops. Somehow they destroy this bio-mechanical plague. The world is saved, and you are going to sell a lot of Astro Pops.

THE END!
 
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