[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You stay and try to ignore the man.

[Assistant]
You do your best to seem disinterested and confused, but the man persists in this one-way conversation of his.

"Does an even two million sound right to you?" he says.

Again, he seems to know more about what is going on than you do. You fumble for your phone in your pocket, desperately trying to maintain the illusion of disinterest and mild irritation, but the words two million are still resonating in your brain.

You have no idea what kind of mission Mr. Berringer wants to hire you for. Well, scratch that; you do have a very good idea. Your potential new employer in Boston is the type of person who desires certain items, and you are the type of person who can procure them. The only thing you don't know at the moment is what the item is in this case, and where you'll need to go to find it.

But if this guy with the bad hairdo and worse clothing is willing to pay you two million... .

Well OK, you tell yourself, let's not get greedy. You have no idea what Berringer's offer is going to be. On the other hand, though, here you are flying on the ticket he purchased for you, chilling near the rear of the plane in economy class. And next to you is a guy who seems eager to steal you away. He doesn't look nearly as well-heeled as your usual employers, but maybe he's just the messenger for somebody else. And to be frank, two million would be real money.

Assuming that we're talking dollars here, and not something idiotic like Bitcoins. The last thing you need is a bank account full of arcade tokens.

But working for Mr. Berringer is like playing in the big leagues — an opportunity that is likely to lead to others. That is worth thinking about, too.

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[User] You give in and listen to what this man has to say.

[Assistant]
"Now what's this job you're talking about?" you say.

"Oh, so you are interested," he replies. "Obviously, we shouldn't talk about it here. And at any rate, you'll want to meet my employer. I mean, our employer. When was your meeting with Berringer scheduled?"

Somehow you suspect he already knows the answer to that question — he seems to know everything else — but you tell him anyway. "I was supposed to meet him at 11:30 this morning."

"Well then. When we land you may want to call Mr. Berringer and reschedule. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Why should I?" you say. "I'm a free agent. I think I should be able to meet with whomever I want, whenever and wherever."

"True," Mr. Plaid Suit says, "but my employer has a tight schedule. I'm afraid that 11:30 this morning is the only time she can meet with you. Here, let me give you this address. When we land, I'll have another errand I'll need to run. Just hail a taxi or an Uber or something, and have the driver take you here. Your employer will be waiting for you. She appreciates punctuality."

He tears a corner off the front page of his New York Times and jots down the address, then hands it to you. There is no name, just a number for Beacon Street. It looks like it might be someplace near Boston Common.

"All right, I'll be there," you say. "But I have to admit, I don't like it when somebody knows all about me, and I haven't the slightest clue who they are."

"My name. You want to know my name."

"It's a start."

"Grant. James Grant. But you can call me Jimmy."

He seems a little old to be a "Jimmy," but whatever. You pocket the address, your mind swimming in unanswered questions.

As soon as the plane lands and you are able to use your phone, you arrange for an Uber driver to pick you up outside the terminal. You get the notification that your ride is approaching before you even reach the wall of glass doors leading out to the taxi stand. Fortunately you travel light, and so there is nothing to pick up at the baggage claim. Everything you brought with you to Boston is in your carry-on bag.

You step out into the taxi stand, looking for a red Prius being driven by someone named Lucy. She is not hard to find.

"Well hello there," she says. "Where are you going again?"

Lucy is a tall woman, almost too large for this small Prius, with a mane of red hair that is nearly as bright as her car.

"Beacon Street," you say. "Here is the address."

She looks at the note Jimmy jotted down on the piece of newsprint. "So I take it this is your first trip to Boston?"

"I'll admit I don't get here as often as I should," you say as the car silently moves into traffic under the power of its electric engine.

"I can give you the scenic tour if you like," your driver says. "The TD Garden, the Prudential Building, Faneuil Hall, Fenway. Well maybe not Fenway, because that's a very somber place when the Sox aren't playing in October. But I can give you a wicked good tour of the city, for a lot less than you'd pay for one of them duck boats."

You're not sure why she thinks you are a tourist, but you're in no mood to argue. Instead, you look at your watch. "What time is it? No, I have a meeting I need to make at that Beacon Street address. You can just take me there."

"A meeting, huh? Well, suit yourself."

The route Lucy follows takes you through a tunnel and out into Boston's sprawling downtown. You have no idea where you are until she emerges from a side street on the edge of Boston Common, at which point she turns right onto Beacon Street. About a block later, she comes to a stop.

"Here you are," she says. "Cheers."

And she's right. You recognize the site instantly: steps leading up into the hotel, more steps leading down below the level of the sidewalk to the bar in the basement, that place where everybody knows your name. In the TV show the place burned down, but here it looks exactly like it did thirty years ago.

You step out of the Prius in disbelief. Is this really the place where you're supposed to meet Jimmy's boss? There is one way to find out. You step around a group of tourists taking pictures, then descend the steps toward the entrance to the bar. When you open that door, will you be greeted by Ted Danson and Kirstie Alley?

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[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
But when you enter, you are greeted with a tiny cubbyhole that looks nothing like the version of Cheers you've seen on Netflix. The place is smaller than a delicatessen, with several overweight, middle-aged men taking up most of the stools. They look briefly in your direction before returning to their beers, having concluded that you are of no importance to them. None of them are Norm, and no one here cares what your name is.

A young and perky greeter steps out from behind a podium, clearly trained to intercept dazed and confused first-timers such as yourself.

"Just one today?" she asks, holding a menu.

"I'm here to meet someone, actually," you say.

"Ah, yes. We were expecting you. Follow me, then."

The greeter leads you out a back entrance, and then up a short set of stairs to another bar. A sign identifies this one as the "Set Bar," and indeed it looks a little bit more like the TV version of Cheers you remember, but not quite. The bar is a square island in the middle of the room, with faux studio lighting rigged up on the ceiling. But it is way too small, and there are too many windows. The cardboard cutouts of Woody and Norm aren't enough to assuage your disappointment.

"Don't worry, everybody thinks the same thing: 'This isn't the Cheers I was expecting!'"

This voice comes from behind you. You turn to see a large woman squeezed into a booth, a small planetoid of a human being nearly pulled into a spherical shape by her own gravitational force. In front of her is a platter of Buffalo wings.

"I see you found the place all right," she says. "Come on, sit down. Get something to drink if you like. Here's the tap list."

You take a seat opposite the woman — wondering what you're getting yourself into — and peruse the beer list.

"Um, how is this 'Green Monsta IPA'?" you ask the server who has come to take your order, not really sure you need a beer yet, but feeling obligated to order one since you are, after all, at Cheers. Again, you can't avoid that twinge of disappointment that this bartender isn't someone from the show. Like, maybe, Carla.

"It's an IPA," he says. "It tastes exactly like every other IPA."

"Uh, OK, I'll have that."

"You're an IPA person, huh?" the woman says between nibbles on one of her chicken wings. "I'm more a fan of the Wachusett Blueberry Ale myself. You should order some food, too. That way I won't be eating by myself."

"So, you're Jimmy's employer?" you ask, hoping to avoid any unnecessary chitchat and get straight to business. "The person he sent me here to meet?"

"How rude of me!" she says. "I didn't introduce myself. Yes, you could say I run things. My name is Diane Chambers. I'd shake your hand, but, you know... hot sauce."

"You run... Cheers?"

"Ha! No, not at all. I just like to hang out here and confuse the hell out of the tourists. I tell them my name, and then imply the aging process has been rough. I sign glossies of Shelley Long and sell them for a hundred bucks a pop. The way I see it, if a fool wants to part with his money that badly, I'm more than happy to help."

The server returns with your beer and sets it down in front of you. "Do you need some more time to look at the food menu?" he says.

Just then you notice that you and Diane are the only customers in this part of Cheers. "Just give me a cheeseburger and fries," you say.

"You should get the Giant Norm Burger," Diane says. "That's one of my favorites."

That sounds disgusting, actually. "Nah, just a regular cheeseburger."

"Very well," the server says. "And how would you like that cooked?"

"Medium well."

He rushes off to place your order, leaving you alone with your very large potential employer. You can smell the spiciness of her wings across the table.

"I'm sure you must be wondering why you're here," she says at last.

"I'm here because your guy, Jimmy, mentioned something about 'two million,'" you say.

"Ah, yes, the money. Don't worry, the sale of Shelley Long photos has been brisk lately, so I can pay in cash." She chuckles at the humor implied in her statement; you know from past experience with other such "employers" that the true source of their income is none of your business.

"But here's the job: I want the Stone of Vul-Kar."

The Stone of Vul-Kar... where have you heard that before?

"In fact," she continues, "quite a few people want it. But it just so happens that I want it more. Which is why I'm willing to steal you away from Walter Berringer. Your services in this field are in high demand, if you haven't heard — to the point where some people might decide that if you won't work for them, they won't want you working for anybody."

You feel a chill at the threat of bodily harm implied by that statement. The woman gnawing away at the messy Buffalo wings across the table from you seems like an ordinary (but overweight) person, but look around: she arranged to have this tourist attraction all to herself, right at lunchtime. You know better than to let appearances deceive you; this is power, hidden in plain sight.

"Vul-Kar," you say. "Wasn't that in the news recently?"

"Indeed it was," she says. "When Auri Island was discovered in the South Pacific two years ago, the stone-age natives spoke of a neighboring island that was even more mysterious, more inaccessible. They described a tribe of man-like beasts with three eyes, the Wobans. And on the highest part of Woban Island was a lost temple, from some forgotten culture that not even the collegiate folks over at Harvard had heard about. And at that temple, they said, was this enormous purple gem: the Stone of Vul-Kar."

"And that's it?" you say. "You want me to go to Woban Island and get this purple diamond for you?"

"Ah, direct and to the point, I see. That's not a bad trait to have. Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. I trust that two million dollars will be more than adequate payment?"

"Plus expenses," you say.

"Plus expenses," she agrees. "Although I wouldn't expect there would be many. It's not like there are any hotels on these islands."

Indeed, you have done similar jobs in the past: slogging your way through one jungle or another, looking for something that a particular wealthy person wants and that someone else would rather not part with. The details may vary, but the basic plot is always the same. It's easier when you see your objective as being one-dimensional — there is less room for scruples that way.

"I don't think you'd need a guide," she continues. "I hear the island is crisscrossed with trails, and an additional person would get in the way."

"I prefer to work alone, at any rate," you say.

"So then it's agreed, no guides. Just you and your wits. And your talent for acquiring things."

Diane continues, as if she needs to entice you to work for her, but you've already decided it's impossible to say no. If you did, she'd just eliminate you from the game.

"If you're on board with all of this," she says, "then you can speak with Jimmy here about making your travel arrangements."

She nods her head to the bar, and there beside the cutout of Woody Harrelson is your old friend from this morning's flight. You never even saw him enter the room, but now he's on the way over to your booth, bringing you that cheeseburger you ordered.

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[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
One week later, you are the sole passenger on board a commercial cargo carrier bound for Tahiti. It is hardly posh, but there are no other ways to get to Auri and Woban islands. Or at least, that's what you've been told.

Diane Chambers had been eager to send you off after your meeting at Cheers. "You need to get going!" she said. "The next boat heading past the islands will be leaving soon. It's not exactly Carnival, but it does have the advantage of belonging to me." Jimmy immediately booked the next flight to Honolulu for you, before you could even try another beer.

"Don't get too comfortable in one of them Hawaiian hotels," she said, sitting next you in the back seat of her BMW as Jimmy drove you to the airport. "You don't want to get spoiled for the jungle. And remember: I don't reimburse resort fees."

It didn't matter, anyway, because it was so late when you touched down at Honolulu that you didn't care too much where you slept. It had taken you two very long flights to get there — and of course Jimmy had accompanied you. It just so happened that he had other business to attend to in the Fiftieth State, your employer insisted, but you knew a handler when you saw one. He had at least swapped his plaid suit for one that was cleaner, but he still looked hopelessly out of place when you landed on Oahu.

The cargo ship that Diane Chambers owned was small and in need of a fresh coat of paint, but Jimmy assured you it was perfectly seaworthy. He followed you as far as the dock, where a crewman was waiting to show you to your berth. You couldn't help but notice the name painted across the bow of the ship: Sam Malone.

"Take this satellite phone," Jimmy said. "Once you've acquired the object, use it to call for a ride home."

"What kind of assistance can I expect if I get into trouble?" you asked. It was a reasonable question: you were heading to a remote island inhabited by savages, after all.

"None, of course," he said. "Someone with your skill set shouldn't need that kind of assistance."

And that was your farewell from civilization.

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[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
On the afternoon of your fifth day aboard the Sam Malone, as you are standing on deck and watching the blankness of the ocean pass by, the captain approaches you. He is a small man, Pakistani by birth, and until this trip the idea of a Pakistani ship captain never occurred to you. On this voyage you have apparently been an added responsibility for him — a draw on the ship's stores, but not a source of useful labor. While his crew has been scurrying about the ship to keep it functioning, you have been lolling around like an idle tourist.

"This is as close to Auri Island as we'll get!" he says.

"Really?" you say. "I can't even see it."

"Of course not. You're on the port side of the ship. Auri Island is to starboard."

You're about to walk around to the other side of the boat to see the island for yourself when the captain extends his arm to block you.

"There's no time for sightseeing!" he scolds. His fondness for efficiency seems almost British, as does his accent. "My men are preparing a small boat for you right now. You need to get your things so you can be on your way. Hurry now!"

You rush to the quarters that had been assigned to you below: a small room, yes, but comfortably furnished with a vanity, a queen-sized bed, and a wardrobe filled with women's clothing. You have been spending as little time here as possible, because you get the strong vibe that this is where the "female companionship" would normally reside... if you hadn't come along to displace that person, perhaps forcing the captain to leave her behind in Hawaii. Or maybe he just has some embarrassing dressing habits, when he thinks no one is looking. Either way, this would explain his impatience with you, and his eagerness now to get you off the ship.

It doesn't take long to gather your belongings, which are all contained in a single backpack. Then you rush back up to the deck, curious to see how the captain plans to get you ashore.

The crew is gathered at the stern of the ship, where they have just lowered a boat over the side. You look over the rails and see a sporty red Zodiac bobbing beside the hull of the cargo ship.

"Use this rope to lower yourself down!" the captain says. "Hurry! Hurry! Before she drifts away!"

Did they really lower the Zodiac down to the water's surface without tethering it to the Sam Malone? There's no use in arguing with the man if indeed that's what happened, so you grab hold of the rope and rappel down the side of the hull until you are safely in the Zodiac. The rope is immediately reeled back into the ship, as if to prevent you from changing your mind. The crew doesn't even linger to wish you a safe journey.

The Zodiac is essentially a raft with an outboard motor, with enough space for you and your pack, but not a heck of a lot else. This might be the perfect boat for tooling around some lake, but here in the South Pacific — with the cargo ship speeding away toward Tahiti — you feel tiny and vulnerable. At least you have calm seas in your favor.

Another boon: the outboard engine starts on the first try, and purrs as if it were brand new. Auri Island, with its gentle and verdant slopes, is a few nautical miles ahead of you; Woban Island is some distance beyond.

So off you go, piloting the red Zodiac across the waves, your next adventure about to start in earnest. Despite the odd and rushed manner in which you departed the Sam Malone, it feels good to be in the open air, alone and in pursuit of a clearly-stated objective — and hopefully with no plaid suits for thousands of miles around. Your only regret is not grabbing something to eat before leaving the ship.

You can't help but notice that the hour is getting late, though. There is only a short period of twilight at these latitudes, and darkness can set in quickly. It's going to take you a while to reach the islands, so you have a choice to make: Do you head to Auri Island, the closer of the two, and spend the night there? Or do you steer the boat toward Woban Island so you can get a head start on your mission?

Auri looks like a typical tropical island, with broad beaches and an inviting shoreline. Woban Island, of course, is where you ultimately need to be, but from this distance its coastline looks like a series of cliffs plunging into the ocean. Finding a suitable place to land might take time — daylight that you may or may not have at your disposal.

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[User] You spend the night on Auri Island.

[Assistant]
Those long beaches on the shore of Auri Island look so much more inviting than the steep cliffs on Woban. After getting rushed so rudely off the cargo ship you'd like a chance to get your bearings, and the idea of spending a night on a tropical beach sounds preferable to searching for a landing site in the dark.

Therefore you steer your small boat toward Auri, bumping across the small waves and never letting off the throttle until you near the shore. The Zodiac is a rubber craft, so you see no need to be gentle with the landing. You build up speed, cut the engine, and let your momentum carry the boat up onto the sand. Then you hop out and pull it by the bow as far up on land as you can — and hopefully beyond the reach of the tide.

You shoulder your backpack and carry it up to the treeline. Auri Island is supposedly inhabited, but you see no signs of people here, of the Stone Age variety or otherwise. Actually, the only sign of civilization is the great amount of plastic waste that has been pushed ashore by the waves: small buoys, empty jugs of laundry detergent, battered water bottles, and fragments of cellophane.

Woban Island looms across a wide channel, dark and foreboding. From here, it looks like a mountain range emerging from the ocean — and on one of those mountains is the Stone of Vul-Kar, which is worth two million dollars to you, and heaven knows what to Diane Chambers. You are glad you chose not to go there today; you will be in a much better mood to approach those steep slopes in the morning.

Just inside the edge of the tropical forest, you find an open space with flat ground. It is just the right size for your backpacking tent, so you unfurl the bundle of rip-stop Nylon and insert the poles. Fully erected, the tent is waist high: snug, but solid. It is something you picked up ten years ago at an REI as you prepared for a similar mission in Guatemala, and you have used it many times since then. The roof of the tent is still streaked with the dried specks of blood from all the mosquitoes you slaughtered that time on the Noatak River a couple years ago, collecting Inuit artifacts from the thawing permafrost. Alaska is so overrated.

Fortunately, there is more than just plastic debris on this beach; while it is still light out, you gather several armloads of dried wood and pile it up in front of your campsite. After digging a pit in the sand, you set a base of dried grass and place some of the smaller sticks on top of that. Using a cigarette lighter to ignite the grass, you find yourself tending a small campfire within minutes.

Then you pull out the first of your freeze-dried food packages. Ham and carrots — what a freaking odd combination for a backpacking meal. The expiration date has passed by a matter of years, so this must be a leftover from the Noatak trip. But why would anyone put an expiration date on freeze-dried food? You tear open the package. It looks all right and doesn't smell dead, so you boil up some water and let the tiny nuggets of meat and vegetables reconstitute for a few minutes.

The weather is balmy, and there are no bugs, so you lay a ground cloth on the sand and fall asleep right there on the beach, your fire dwindling out on its own.

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[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
You wake up to a cool morning. Standing up and stretching, the first thing you notice is your fireplace. All that is left of last night's campfire is a bed of powdery ashes and a few chunks of charred woods. There are no coals remaining, but you bury the ashes anyway by kicking sand into the pit until the entire space is filled.

Then you look up to see whether the tide is up or down. Actually, the water level doesn't look much different than it did last night. There is Woban Island across the channel, still dark even in the morning light; there is the ribbon of plastic flotsam, now with a few small crabs crawling over it; there is your tent, just inside the trees.

But isn't there something missing? Your boat! You look up and down the beach, and scan the distant waves, but there is not a red Zodiac to be seen anywhere.

Did the tide take it? You step over to the spot where you know you left it. What you find is alarming: a drag mark where the boat was pulled back toward the water, and many bootprints all around it. And about twenty feet to the right, you see where another small boat briefly landed.

Could it be possible that someone snuck ashore in the middle of the night to steal your only means of transportation? The marks in the sand tell you that is precisely what did happen. You are impressed they managed to do it without waking you. And perhaps that campfire wasn't such a good idea after all, if it signaled to the competition your exact location.

You scan the ocean more carefully to see what might be out there. Nothing. This leaves only one thing that you can do: call for someone to come and get you. What will Diane and Jimmy think of that?

The satellite phone that Jimmy gave you is in your backpack, which you left inside your tent — assuming no one absconded with that, either. You crawl inside the small dome tent and find your pack just as you left it. After unzipping the top pouch, your hand grasps the phone. Your mission successful, you begin to crawl backwards out of the tent.

Just then you hear a snapping sound behind you, like someone stepping on a stick. You continue your awkward crawling motion until you are clear of the tent's vestibule, then you stand up. Turning around, you are confronted with five dark-skinned men pointing spears in your direction.

It looks like you've made contact with the primitive tribe of Auri Islanders! But right now it's not looking like a positive development… .

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[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
The Auris surround you, their spears ready for action. You gently lower the satellite phone to the ground, then raise your hands to shoulder-level, hoping that this was the universal gesture for surrender even in the Stone Age. One of your captors responds by motioning with a sideways tip of his spear, which you assume means he wants you to follow. You wouldn't still be in this business if you weren't smart enough to know when to admit defeat, so you fall in line as the natives march you through the forest.

They lead you to the foot of a mountain where, in a small clearing, you find a group of grass huts huddled together. A wall of rock five feet high rises above the level of the village, and on top of this sits a larger hut — clearly the dwelling of someone significant. Above the village rises the bare, rocky slopes of the mountain.

When you hesitate, the Auri behind you gives you a firm shove. You feel as if you are being paraded through the village, with the inhabitants staring at you as you pass by. The two warriors ahead of you lead the way up a set of rough-hewn steps to the top of the rock wall, to what you presume to be the chief's hut.

However, this structure is even grander than you first believed. The hut turns out to be a mere foyer for a large, cavernous room set into the mountainside. At the far end of the chamber sits a man on an elaborate wicker chair — more like a king than a tribal chieftain. Several servants, both men and woman, serve as his retinue.

The five Auris who captured you at your campsite form a line behind you, blocking any possibility of escape, and the largest of them forces you into a kneeling position before the chief-king. This cave-like room is dimly lit, but not entirely dark; you suspect there is an opening in the ceiling above you, but you dare not look up lest it be seen as a sign of disrespect. This feels like a very deadly situation, so it is best to keep your wits about you.

The chief-king draws one of his woman servants closer to him. "E ninau no ka mea a keia malihini e hana nei ma ko makou 'aina. 'O keia mau 'opala i holoi 'ia ma ke kahakai?" he says to her.

The woman then turns to you. "The Chief of the Auris wishes to know why you are on this island." Her English is quite good, albeit uncertain, like someone who once knew the language well but has not had much occasion to speak it recently.

"Um, tell him I am merely passing through," you say, speaking to the woman but keeping your eyes on the chief. He is adorned with the bones and feathers of many creatures, but you are relieved to see that none appear human. There may be a way out of this yet.

"Passing through to where?" the woman says, before translating your statement to her chief. Her English has a peculiar accent, which you can't quite place.

"To Woban Island," you say.

She turns back to the chief. "Ua 'olelo 'ia he hiamoe wale no ia ma ka makou kahakai i ka 'mokupuni o Woban. 'Lelo ia e mihi a 'a'ole ia e hana hou."

The chief guffaws loudly. "E aho kahi e'au'au me ka pulu," he says.

"Ae, ku'u haku," she responds.

"'Ike like keia mea 'ano ia 'oe," the chief says, looking you up and down from his wicker throne. "Ma'ia paha he hoaaloha hou paha 'oe!" He laughs even louder, as if he has just told a great joke.

The woman sounds disgusted with whatever it was he just said. Turning to you, she asks in English, "What is your business on Woban Island?"

"I, ah, have been hired by someone to, um, conduct research." You know from past experience that native populations can be sensitive to the idea of Westerners plundering their cultural artifacts, so for the moment you feel it's best to remain cagey about your true purpose here.

But as it turns out, you have no need to be coy. "Let me guess," the Auri translator says. "You're after the Stone of Vul-Kar."

"Yes?" Your admission comes off more as a question, because you are hoping that honesty truly is the best policy in this situation.

"Of course you are!" she says. "Why else would an American be here?"

This woman's English is way too good. If you didn't know any better, you'd say she was from Michigan — like Mackinac, or someplace way up north.

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" you say.

"E hu 'oe!" the chief shouts, rising from his throne. "E ha'i mai i ka mea ana i 'olelo ai."

"Ke 'imi nei keia 'Amelika i ka pohaku o Vul-Kar," the woman says to him.

"Pela oe i hana ai," says the chief. "E hui pu me ia."

"'A'ole hiki ia 'oe ke ho'okau i kekahi o kou po'e," she says. "Pono 'oe i kela me keia kanaka no ka kiu."

"A laila noi ia ia e noho. 'A'ole malama wau i kau mea au e hana ai."

The woman sighs and shakes her head. Then she steps forward, closer to you, so that you can see her more clearly in the dim light of the chamber. This person is no Auri at all! Whereas the natives have the complexion of a mild tea, the translator is as white as her Midwestern accent.

"To answer your question: My name is Cynthia Bolt, and I once sought the Stone of Vul-Kar, just as you do now. But my boat sank, and I landed here. The Auri people took me in and accepted me as one of their own. I have been living here for the last year."

Cynthia Bolt! While you were on the plane from Boston, Jimmy had you reading up on all the past expeditions to Woban Island, and hers was one of the first. The report was very short, though, because Bolt disappeared almost instantly upon setting off. Otherwise, despite the fact the two of you seem to work in the same profession, you've never met.

"I'm glad to hear you're safe," you say. "But what do these people want with me?"

"The chief doesn't really want anything. He says I can go with you to Woban Island, since that was my original purpose for coming here, or you may stay here on Auri Island as I have been doing."

That last option takes you by surprise. "Why on earth would I want to stay here?"

"You'd be surprised," Bolt says. "Life here is very simple, in tune with natural rhythms in a way that modern life will never be. I have been very satisfied here. But at the same time, I feel like a failure for never completing my mission, so perhaps it's time I resume my old life."

You're not sure, but it sounds like you are being given the option to choose not only your fate, but hers as well. Her indecisiveness is puzzling, and it only inspires you to make your choice that much more firmly.

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[User] You go to Woban Island with Cynthia Bolt.

[Assistant]
You remember telling Diane Chambers that day back at Cheers that you wouldn't need any guides, but now it looks like that's exactly what you have.

"The Auris trade with the Wobans all the time," Cynthia Bolt tells you later that day, after the chief releases you to prepare for your journey. "We don't go too far inland, but yeah, in my time here I've had plenty of opportunities to scout the most direct route to the summit temple."

"That's terrific," you say, although you are secretly disappointed that she might make this job too easy if she really does know as much as she says she does. And is she going to expect a share of your two million dollars? "But there's one minor problem: someone stole my boat last night."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Bolt says. "The competition can be pretty cutthroat."

"And yet nobody has snagged the Stone of Vul-Kar yet?" you say.

"Strange setbacks always seem to befall those who try. Take me, for instance. At about the same moment I first laid eyes on Woban Island, my boat caught fire and sank. I blamed myself for the longest time, because I've always had the worst luck. Every venture I've ever touched has ended in failure — careers, relationships, you name it. I have a PhD in linguistics, but look at how much good that's done me. Which was why I was looking for the Stone of Vul-Kar in the first place: I really needed the money. So there I was, adrift in this tiny life raft, eventually landing on the same beach here on Auri that you landed on. I learned the language, and the chief made me one of his advisors because he wanted to know why all of a sudden there were so many outsiders interested in these islands. Life here really has been kind to me. I don't know why I let the chief talk me into going with you to Woban."

Your camping gear is still down by the beach, right where you left it; even though some unknown persons came in the middle of the night to steal your Zodiac, nothing else seems to be as tempting a target, apparently. You're not comfortable with the idea of mingling with the villagers, so you return to your tent for the evening. This time, however, you dispense with the campfire.

Early the next morning, Dr. Bolt awakes you inside your tent. "Come on!" she says. "I have boat we can use to get us across the channel."

She is still wearing her Auri grass skirt. And it's worth pointing out that on Auri Island, skirts are the only items in anyone's wardrobe; Dr. Bolt has clearly adopted the local custom of displaying her body with pride.

"You know, we'll get farther on Woban Island if we both blend in," she says as you pack your gear. "You won't last five minutes dressed like a Westerner. I have something I think will fit you perfectly! I'll be right back."

Before you can object, she is gone.

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
The boat she has procured for your use turns out to be a dugout canoe with a pair of outriggers. Instead of the outboard motor you had with the Zodiac, this beauty comes with a pair of paddles.

"How far is it to Woban Island?" you say, trying to calculate just how arduous this journey is going to be.

"Not quite three miles," Dr. Bolt says, concerned that you still haven't ditched your manufactured Western clothing in favor of her hand-woven grass skirt... which you understand is something she has made herself during her time on the island.

"How does this thing handle ocean waves?" you ask.

"Quite well, actually. We surf in canoes like this. But the weather is calm today, so we shouldn't have any issues."

It's not like you see many alternatives, so together you push the canoe into the water and climb inside.

The sun is not as hot as you expected, but it is still somewhat early in the morning. As it climbs higher into the tropical sky, however, there is no escaping its intensity. You're somewhat embarrassed to look at your half-dressed companion, even though she is sitting in front of you in the canoe and there is no real way you cannot look at her. Stare, actually. In her native state she is quite fair-skinned, despite all her time here on the islands; now, as you paddle the channel that separates Woban Island from Auri Island, she is turning pink right before your eyes.

"Those slopes look pretty steep over there," you say, trying to distract yourself by studying Woban Island's rugged shoreline. "Where does anybody make landfall in a place like that?"

"That's the hehi mu," Dr. Bolt says. "That part of the island is uninhabitable. No, we have to paddle around that headland on the left. That's where we land."

The canoe cuts through the water surprisingly well, and in just forty-five minutes you are turning the corner around the small point. You can now get a better look at the bulk of Woban Island, which is ruggedly mountainous at its south end, but tapers off into a long cape to the northeast. The jungle still seems thick and dark, but there are at least beaches on this part of the island.

But then you spot something bright red ahead of you on the shore.

"That's my Zodiac!" you say.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was," Dr. Bolt says. "Somebody else probably didn't like their own boat, so they took yours."

As you get closer, you can see the Zodiac has been beached directly ahead of you. There are no people around, but the dark object beside your stolen boat turns out to be a small dinghy.

Both boats are sitting right where Dr. Bolt wants to land, and the implication makes you nervous: the people who stole the Zodiac from you are probably nearby.

Your topless companion doesn't seem concerned at all. "Looks like it's a busy day on Woban Island!" she says. "Thankfully there are still plenty of parking spaces left."

As you near the shoreline she starts paddling faster instead of easing up, so you do the same. A wave picks up the canoe and floats it onto the sand, and you come to rest on Woban Island with a minor thud. The dugout is now parked right beside the dinghy and the Zodiac.

"Are you sure you won't change your mind about your clothes?" Dr. Bolt says. "Every adventurer on the island is probably dressed like a model in a Cabella's catalog, so if we—"

Just then you hear shouting coming from somewhere in the woods.

"What's that?" you ask.

"Someone's in trouble," Bolt replies. "Come on!"

And before you can discuss it any further, your companion — with her uninterrupted run of bad luck, and her apparently heedless optimism (among her other assets) — runs off into the woods, towards the sounds of trouble you just heard. Towards the people who probably stole your boat.

You follow her up a narrow trail, finding that it leads to a small campsite about a hundred yards inland. There are two young people, a man and a woman, standing in the middle, frantically waving sticks. "Go away!" the woman shouts. "Shoo! Our friends will be here any moment, and they have guns! You know: Bang! Bang!"

It's not you they're trying to frighten off, though. As Dr. Bolt pulls you to a hasty hiding spot behind a tree, you see three large figures steadily advancing on the two people.

"Wobans!" you whisper.

"Yes, trying to expel a few more outsiders from their sacred island," Bolt says. "These two people are toast, I'm afraid. Wobans show no mercy."

"If they aren't looking for us, then we should get out of here."

"What do you mean? We need to help them. They are such a cute couple!" she says.

You suppress a groan. "OK. How?"

"Those Wobans are very strong. I say we create a diversion, let those men run for cover."

"Then what do we do when they come after us?" you say. "If we're going to do something, we should make a frontal attack, use the element of surprise to overpower the Wobans. The advantage will be ours for only a moment, though."

__________________________________________________

[User] You create a diversion.

[Assistant]
"So tell me," you whisper to Dr. Bolt. "What kind of diversion do you have in mind."

"Wobans have good vision, but their sense of hearing is sub-par," she says. "Here, take this stone. On three, throw it over their heads into the woods. They'll hear it land and think there is someone coming from the opposite direction."

It seems like a weak plan, but the Wobans are advancing quickly on the couple in the campsite, so there is no time for debate. You take your stone, step out from behind the tree so that you'll have a clearer shot, and wait for Bolt's signal.

Your shot flies over the Wobans, just as you intended. But Dr. Bolt's run of bad luck rears its ugly head when her stone bounces off a tree and strikes one of the man-beasts in the head. She's managed to distract them away from the two young people, all right — now they're after you!

She at least has the presence of mind to run back towards the beach, just as you do when you see one of the seven-foot-tall, three-eyed figures splitting away from his companions to give chase to the two of you. She is running back for the boats, and you realize that is not a bad idea. You are a pretty good runner, and the odds look pretty good that you'll make it in time to get out to the relative safety of the water. Better yet, this will be your chance to reclaim the Zodiac.

But what you can't appreciate is just how much faster the Wobans are compared to an ordinary human. Even as you are starting to make plans for your next attempt to land on the island, your pursuer overtakes you. With one swipe of his claw-like index finger, you are cut down. The last thing you see is Dr. Bolt frantically trying to get one of the boats off the beach and onto the water.

THE END


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You disobey Mom

[Assistant]
You tell her no.

She slaps you. "What was that?"

You don't make anymore trouble, and do what you're told. Your sister's advice only got you punished, and what has her rebellious nature gotten her? She's been kicked out of the house. No, rules are made to be followed. To disobey invites punishment. You go to bed remembering that fact of life.

Another day arrives, and you feel nothing...


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You join Edgar

[Assistant]
Maybe Brenda's got a point; maybe you need to let go of your control a bit. Edgar has certainly proven to be a more capable leader than when you last knew him, and he seems to genuinely want you and Brenda to have an equal partnership. You're still a little skeptical of that, but you'll see how it goes.

There's also your unresolved situation with Brenda. She has feelings for you and you realize you do have them for her. If there is the potential for something deeper here, maybe it would be better if the pressures of potential war with the Eternal Dominion were eliminated. Plus she wants to join, and you feel as if trusting in her judgment would be a positive step in your relationship.

"Okay Brenda. I agree. Let's join the Eternal Dominion." You say.

Brenda smiles and gives you a hug added with a kiss, which startles you a little. You both very nearly make out in the hallway, but then you remember Edgar is still waiting for you.

You and Brenda return to the room where Edgar looks a bit on edge. You decide to let Brenda break the news to him.

"Edgar, we've talked it over and we accept your offer."

Edgar looks incredibly relieved and leaps out of his seat to shake both of your hands.

"Great! That's great! Whew! For a moment I thought you weren't going to go for it, but I should've known you'd see the wisdom in this! This is going to be the best thing for all of us! You'll see!"
"You realize, there's going to be a lot of things to sort out Edgar." You say.
"Oh yeah! I know we'll hammer out the details and we'll be equals in this. You don't know what this means to me! The rest of our family united again, nothing can stop us! Not even that traitor Warrick!"
"Warrick?" you and Brenda ask in unison.
"Yeah, he joined the Felkan Kingdom didn't you know? He joined a former enemy of the Empire! I guess you two probably wouldn't know being so far away from it and all. Oh well, doesn't matter we'll take him down like with did with Kane! Eh? Remember that?" Edgar says nudging you.
"Yeah I remember Edgar." You reply.

Edgar is so happy right now, you think he's almost about to cry. It's definitely not a side you've ever seen of him before.

"Ah, well I wish I could stick around longer to celebrate, but I have to return. Got some things to take care of and prepare before the great merging of our territories! But we'll be seeing a lot of each other soon enough!"

Edgar leaves in good spirits and biding you both goodbye. As you and Brenda see him ride off, you shake your head in almost disbelief after all that's happened today.

"It's been an overly emotionally day for you today I imagine." Brenda says.
"You're not joking. I guess I am an emotionless golem compared to the rest of you."
"Oh I wouldn't say that. You handled everything very well, for a golem."
"Heh. I just hope this is the right decision."
"You still think you and Edgar will clash?"
"After today, it's not really Edgar that I'm concerned about, there's still all those newer generation of Eternals to deal with. I hope Edgar really does have them under control."
"I'm sure everything will be fine. Odd news about Warrick though, thought he was dead."
"Yeah, that was just one of the many surprises today."
"Well enough about them, I think we've got us to discuss."

You and Brenda retire to your quarters at Fort Glory. After an hour or so of talking, you both decide that it's time to take it to the more physical side of things. The night of passion you spend with Brenda is just one of many you hope in the years to come.

Year 53

You and Brenda now oversee the Nalin territory as a married couple. The transition hasn't been a completely easy one, there was a lot of outright dissent when the announcement that Nalin was going to be annexed by the Eternal Dominion. Many of the citizens saw you and Brenda as their protectors against the ED, and then you went and joined it, and they had no say in the matter.

Multiple rebellions had to be put down, Edgar wanted to send in Eternals to take care of the problem, but you and Brenda disagreed with that idea as it would just reinforce the fears of the less rebellious population. You instead resorted to more traditional means using normal Nalin troops, though your soldiers weren't exactly happy about it as they felt betrayed as well.

While things in Nalin eventually settled down, the area feels like it could erupt with another rebellion at any time. You and Brenda haven't really been able to enjoy your newfound relationship with all the problems cropping up, though you do make the time when you can.

In the meantime Edgar has suggested that you and Brenda move into the royal palace and live there instead. He's wanted you to do that for some time. He's also been hinting and letting the Eternals go in and reinforce law and order at Nalin once and for all.

"We've already joined the Eternal Dominion why not leave and live in the palace? It is the capital after all and we are partial rulers." Brenda asks.
"Because there's still problems here and I'd like to fix them before traipsing off to some cushy palace." You reply.
"You're just stalling. We've done the best we can to get this place to assimilate, and at this point it really would be for the best to let the Eternals come in and maintain the order now. We've moved beyond this, and we deserve spending some downtime together. Besides, I would've at least thought you'd want to talk with Edgar about his battle plans to invade the Felkan Kingdom. Best way you can do that is to be at the palace."
"Because…ah shit. You're right. I am stalling. It's still hard to let go of personally managing this place I suppose. There's also the fact that I still don't like the idea of having to deal with those second gen Eternals on a daily basis."
"Oh come on, you've spoken with some of them when we visited the palace before. They all seem pretty respectful." Brenda says.
"Yeah, I suppose, I dunno…okay let's move to the palace. I suppose we do deserve the break of living on the edge of dirty peasants possibly storming the gates."

Brenda moves closer and hugs you in a loving way and kisses you. Despite all the shit you've had to deal with concerning Nalin, you've never felt happier than you have with Brenda. It is still weird to you that you can even feel this way. You never thought it was possible to feel so comfortable with another person on this sort of level, not even with another Eternal. Brenda has a way about her that manages to make you feel like everything is going to be okay. Safe even.

You and Brenda send word to Edgar that you're both making your preparations to move and he sends a letter back stating how pleased he is and will send one of his personal royal carriages to come pick you. You accept, what the hell, why not ride in needless luxury?

You both pack what you can and intend on sending for the rest of your things later. The pair of you board the carriage when it arrives and settle in for a long ride.

"See, told you the new Eternals respect us, you saw how polite our drivers are." Brenda says.
"Well these ones seem to be anyway. But I have been thinking more about it and I'm starting to accept the idea of making this change. I've been thinking of some ideas about Edgar's plans for the Felkan Kingdom invasion."
"I figured you'd see a bright side to it."
"Yeah, he's going to need my direct help on that plan. I'm just glad I managed to talk him out of invading Rask. That would've been a disaster."

You excitedly tell Brenda what you plan to tell Edgar for the Felkan Kingdom invasion, and she listens intently, but also gives her own input on some things. You take some of her ideas into consideration and generally enjoy this time you have. Later the pair of you begin to drift off together, not exactly the easiest thing to do in a carriage, but you've always been a light sleeper any way.

Times passes and then suddenly…

"SHIT! ATTACK!" you hear one of the Eternal drivers shout followed by the sound of a pistol shot.

You instantly wake up and Brenda does likewise. You look out the window on your side and see several people armed with bows firing at the carriage. You then hear a loud crash that sounds like it came from in front of you, then the carriage screeches to a halt. The sounds of dying whinnies of horses soon follow.

You grab your own flintlock and fire off a shot from inside the carriage; Brenda meanwhile loads up her bow and fires off arrows from her side. You can hear the two Eternal drivers jumping off and yelling about getting to cover and closing the gap on these attackers. That's exactly what you had in mind; you never did get the hang of these gunpowder weapons.

You step out of the carriage and head for the nearest tree to get some cover. You look over at the other two Eternals ducked behind a large rock and motion them to run around the other way to help Brenda, They seem to understand.

In the meantime you manage to dodge arrows by ducking tree to tree and when you finally close the gap, you cleave one of your attackers' heads clean off. The rest of them draw their own swords and axes to attack, but in close combat it's no contest. You dispatch all of them with ease. They don't appear to be the unwashed rabble you've been pissing off lately, they're too well armed and armored. You doubt if they're simple bandits either. These are probably mercenaries, but you don't have time to figure out right now who hired them, you turn around to go help Brenda.

By the time you get to the half destroyed carriage again, you don't hear anymore sounds of battle. When you see the Brenda's side of the carriage has been opened and some blood stain you begin to worry. Running over to the other side, you see several bodies of the attackers and then a few feet away, you see Brenda lying face down on the ground. Your heart sinks.

You run over to her and turn her over and your worst fears are confirmed, her eyes show no signs of life. Your eyes begin to water and a mixture of rage and sorrow causes you to cry out. As you hold her body you don't see any arrow or sword wounds, you do notice two gunshots to her chest though…

Upon the realization of who killed your beloved Brenda, you don't even get to face the treacherous dogs. The two Eternal drivers blast you from afar, one shot to your back and one to your head, killing you instantly.

Your deaths are blamed on an ambush by some of the disgruntled population of Nalin. To his credit, Edgar doesn't believe the story and has the two Eternals executed for suspicion and incompetence.

It's of minor consequence though, the real conspirators of this assassination remain uncaught and you're still dead.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You sit tight and make the best of it

[Assistant]
Finally you make it over the Sierra Nevada Mountains and begin to descend the far side. On the way you meet the Second Relief travelling out to those of the Donner Party still stranded in the mountains, this group is led by James Reed and William McCutchen. When Reed's wife Margret sees him she gives a cry of sheer amazement and collapses in the snow. The reunion is a moving occasion and Reed's children cry as they embrace their father. But one person's joy is another person's sorrow: McCutchen learns that his baby daughter Harriet died at Truckee Lake. Reed still has two children in the camps and is anxious to rescue them.

You part ways, the Second Relief going on up into the mountains while you and the others go down: coming to where a large stash of provisions has been placed. You are overjoyed to taste good food again and eat. One of your companions, William Hook (Jacob Donner's stepson) eats and eats until he can eat no more. You are tempted to stuff yourself too.

What do you do?

[User] You eat everything that you can

[Assistant] You over-indulge and that night your stomach is wracked by swift agonising pains. Moaning in agony this last pain is too much for your weakened nervous system. You die that night just a few miles from safety.


[System] Narrate a dark fantasy text adventure. The setting is harsh and morally complex. Describe scenes vividly, react to player choices with fitting consequences, and never shy away from the reality of the world.

[User] You zealots in the middle.

[Assistant]
You point forwards. "Let us obliterate the ten in front first, then move on to the sides. That is their main strike force, after all." Your mentor shrugs in turn.

"You're the boss, kid. Just make sure we both survive, alright?"

Grin. You crack your knuckles, hearing more nitrogen bubbles pop than you expected. Still, the implication that you're more than ready for battle is caught by Kelso, who laughs.

"Lead on, then."

As the lights on the side continue their march, you silently sneak around the dune, starting to walk towards the lights ahead. Slowly... then you break out to a run, then a sprint; you can hear Kelso on your side, like a shadow. You can't even see him, but he's there, following you. You approach the groups, them not noticing your pale body, regardless that you're wearing one of their own armors. Even from afar, you notice their elite-uniforms. Stygian black suits with flashy lining, and an  illuminating cross across their collective chests. Both of the groups have an obvious leader, with a horned helmet, reminiscent of the medieval ones knights used to wear. The rest just have simplistic, though futuristic, SWAT-team helmets with visors. The easily most intriguing thing is their tusked rifles, all huge and blocky. No doubt in your mind, those are the weapons you should watch out for most.

You continue your run, and you're very thankful they aren't the most perceptive bunch. Once your only 15 meters away, you hear a voice in your ear.

Make the first move

A nod. The moment one of them notices you moving forward, you leap at him, body-slamming him with all the momentum you've been buidling up. Even though you think they're higher-ranking than Sebastian was, your armor seems to be strong enough to send one of the flying with a clank, and falling on the ground with a thud. He twitches, but doesn't get up. By now, the nine surviving look at you. The leader eyes you from behind his helmet, "God has delivered you into our hands. All troops, move in!"

You here a crackle, no doubt from a walkie-talkie... Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a quick turn you swing your arm, desperate and angry. Your claws rip at his metal face, and it thankfully looks like you hurt him more than you hurt yourself. Your hand may sting and bleed from bashing metal, but the one leader staggers backward, as the rest aim their rifles at you. Suddenly, a cold wind passes, and blood squirts out from the leader's neck, his head suddenly missing. "Kelso!"

Shocked, the Zealots look around, and a storm of lightning shots are fired in many different directions. Eight of the Zealots are left, but... You pushed back as one of the shots hit you, the lightning burning your skin. You feel it growing back, but you're slowed. You jump at one of the closest ones, kicking at him with your ragged sneakers, and using that as leverage to leap at another one. After the push, you can feel him keel over with a gasp, but the other one stick his rifle right into you. You gasp, your mouth watering at the bloody sight. By now, the shadow that is Kelso has taken four or five of them, but even he was skewered by the other group-leader. More anger being built inside of you, you send a wicked, blood-felt punch at the Zealot who has you on the other side of his bayonet. The punch si probably the strongest one you've dealt, sending him and his rifle out of you. More blood squirts, and some even gets into your mouth (which feels good, gives you vigor). Kelso seems to disappear, no longer on the other C.E. Soldier's rifle, and in the confusion you forget that there are at least ten more Zealots coming in from all sides...

A tingling feeling is felt and you find yourself on the sandy floor, bloody and beaten. The Zealots take turns shooting at you, making sure the demon has been destroyed.

Your last thought is on why Kelso abandoned you...

You have been killed by the hands of the Church.


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You roll Around In Mud And Grass So You Smell More "Earthy"... Like The Monsters Do

[Assistant]
You reason that many of the monsters that come down from the mountainside smell a bit "earthy" so you try rolling around in the mud and grass to try and acheive that same smell for yourself.  Unfortunately, it doesn't mask the stench of the hog manure that still stains your pants and boots.  It isn't long before the humunculi are aware of your presence.  The villagers got to see their hero pounced on and torn apart before he even got out of sight range.  Too bad.

THE END


[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You agree to nothing and demand more answers.

[Assistant]
The man's eyebrows rise as you refuse to cooperate. He takes a step back and looks you up and down. He says, "You sure do think highly of yourself, don't you? Why don't you take a look around." He gestures around the large, empty, blank warehouse before continuing, "Do you know where you are? No, you don't, do you? You have no idea where you are, no idea how you got here, and no idea who I am. I don't think you are in a position to be making demands."

He walks up to you and pokes you in the chest, hard. He says, "I'm in charge here. You are no one. You are nothing. And this isn't about you, anyway. This agency is charged with making people safe, and we're going to make people safe, no matter the cost. And getting rid of you won't bother me in the least, we'll go find someone else who can help us."

He crosses his arms and looks at you one more time, saying, "So here's your choice -- you either agree to get some simple training before we send you out where you might get killed, or you get out now. This isn't the police, you don't have any rights. You simply have a choice to decide to cooperate with me and get a few skills, or I'll give you one last chance to wimp out and go home. Make your choice now."


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You refinement Training With Kelso (Optional read)

[Assistant]
It must be twilight by now... It's dark in the collection of sand-dunes, with several pillars of stone in the area, but the nearly full moon help your eyes adapt to the situation. You sit beside Kelso in a lotus position, waiting eagerly to here what he wants to say.

While we  may need to recognize our inner animal in order to fight, we need to also need to see what we actually are. Our limitations, our skills, both inherent and learnt.

Okay.

So, what are your main assets?

My claws and fangs?

Perhaps. What about your regeneration capabilities?

Oh, uh, right.

This is for you, not for me, kid. Use your newfound abilities wisely, and avoid situations where certain things won't help.

Like, my regeneration won't save me after my head is blown off, right?

Err, yes. But it will regenerate most limbs back, provided they hadn't been burnt to a stub. The body is interesting like that.

So basically I should stay away from explosions.

Indeed. We should tread carefully whenever dealing with the C.E. They no doubt have heavy-weaponry. But you should find out more about your abilities as time progresses, fairly certain your new genes are still stretching.

I'm not really sure what that means...

Neither do I, haha!


[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You stay at the house

[Assistant]
"I'm still not sold on the trailer park, Donna. I think I'll be fine here. I just need to get used to the new living situation." You remark to Donna.
"Hm, okay then. Well my offer will always still stand as long as I live there." Donna replies.
"Okay. Thanks Donna. So you said you're good? You don't need my help with anything?"
"Nah, not tonight anyway. Like I said, I'll come back and get all of my stuff proper, another day. Hopefully when the mess in town dies down."

Saying a few more goodbyes, you leave Donna to finish her hasty packing and you head back to your room and close the door. A few minutes later you hear the slam of the front door indicating that Donna has left, leaving you by yourself again.

You try to call Julie again, but once again there is no answer. Giving up on that particular concern you go back to amusing yourself on the Internet until you start reading erotic stories which puts you more in the mood to amuse yourself with your battery operated boyfriend again.

Having no distractions this time, you orgasm twice before having enough fun for the night. As you lie there in your afterglow, you briefly think about Bobby and how you sort of miss him, or rather his dick. Masturbation is fun and all, and it definitely gets the job done, but your time with Bobby has made you appreciate the human touch a little more. You really liked some of the tricks he did…

Since you still aren't one hundred percent sure about living here, you decide that you'll call Bobby tomorrow and see if you can't talk some sense into him and possibly make up.

With that goal for tomorrow decided, you call it a night and roll over on your couch to sleep.

At some point in the middle of the night, you hear a noise close by. You groggily open your eyes and see a figure standing over you with a large knife. Before you can scream or do anything, the person is on top of you and choking you with one hand. You can see his face right up to yours and he's recognizable now with your eyes wide with fear. It's Johnny.

"Fucking whore! I heard what you did in here! I heard the dirty thing you did! I'm going to punish you like I did your friend!" he snarls with a look of pure hatred upon his face.

You punch and struggle and just as you think you're having some success, Johnny proceeds to actually use his knife and stabs you repeatedly with it. With a last bit of strength you manages to push Johnny off of you and roll on the floor yourself, but your attempts to crawl away are short lived due to the combination of your wounds and the fact Johnny quickly recovers and begins stabbing you in the back.

As the life starts to fade from your body, you hear the heavy breathing of Johnny who is apparently starting to get aroused by your condition and begins ripping at your clothes.

Fortunately you die before you feel the pain of being raped on top of being murdered.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You forget about M and Sarah and be your own vampire

[Assistant]
Actually you do quite well as a vampire for many years. You evade the mortals at every turn and you hide the bodies from your hunts quite well too. You live for quite a while too until one day the prey you selected happens to be an experienced vampire hunter. Needless to say you are eliminated quite quickly, odd for living so long under the radar.

Ok now you know that leaving your sire behind is a really bad move, now are you going to go back and find out what happened or are you just going to end the game right here? This is the only time i will give you a retry in this storyline so be prepared for the minefield ahead.