When last we left our intrepid and tragically incompetent Freeway Warrior, we had decided to raid the short bus for a fan belt, chucking out our trusty altimeter. We better hope we don't find ourselves clinging desperately to the burning skin of a dirigible at any point in this little outing or boy will we be sorry!
That decision leads us to talking. Lots and lots of talking. Because when I think "Adventure", I think endless paragraphs of prose. To whet your appetite, however, we eventually end up here:
So keep reading!
I hope it's something to do with stripping naked and hanging off the front of the bus, screaming like banshees! What, no? Fine.
Oh Cutter, you cruel bastard. I bet he flung that car at us on purpose, knowing that instead of heavily investing time and energy into learning how to drive better than a knock-kneed, pimple-faced fourteen year old, we were hiding out in our pillow fort reading.
Sure enough, we get a pathetic "4" on our roll, resulting in a little something we like to call TPK:
Wait, us? DEAD?! Never! My old man always told me, when the going gets tough, the smart get cheating. And that's exactly what I did, "accidentally" shaking the table until the die rolled over onto something more reasonable.
Much better! We're used to getting slapped around at this point, a little more Datsun in our dentures won't even faze us. Now what do I have to roll to get us a cheeseburger and some fries?
Which brings us, at last, to a long-awaited decision point! I knew there was something in the rules or the title that led me to believe we'd be choosing some parts of our adventure, and here it is:
OK, kids, it's time to drive or get run over. What'll it be? I have to admit, the name "Carswell" intrigues me. I imagine some sort of automotive hospital, run by self-aware cars brought to evil life by the power of the atom, swelling in self-righteous indignation.
Or at least some sort of rec center. Guy needs a Kit-Kat from time to time, knowwhatImsayin'?
OK, we’re down four end, but I say we check out the base. Hell, we’ve already died twice, we might as well do some exploring instead of staying with the convoy and listening to Uncle Jonas mangling the english language.
So…both times we’ve died it’s been because of our driving skill. As long as we’re cheating, would a better long-term solution be to change our original driving skill number to something higher, rather than re-roll five times every time we come to a choice that involves it?
Oh, also, I voted to go to the base; maybe they have a few more bullets for our gun, or some gas, or something…
The Base! Maybe we can find a helicopter or a plane, since we can’t drive for poop 🙂 Might as well try flying. Less stuff to run into up there.
Cutter wants more guns, and here we have a military installation. Clearly, it’s fate. Or a trap. Or a fateful trap. Let’s check.
IT’ A TRAP!
I say we check out the base! After all, why waste time watching Cutter fixing the bus? May as well check out the base and possibly run into a pack of hungry wolf-zombies! (tehe) Kidding. Or am I?
Thank you for that Admiral Ackbar. What we need to do is be cautious while investigating the base/snatching some weapons and ammo from this big installation. Even if we get close to a guard, we can take the pistol from his holster and knock him out thus wasting no ammunition or killing needlessly. As Jeff has stated, “pistols are for pistol whipping, not shooting.”
Sooo, um. Did we kill all of the thugs guarding the bridge? Or did they just not bother with us because we are now on the other side of the bridge, and that would require walking, since we trashed all of their cars? The damage to our bus could have been avoided if we had a billy goat with us.
We cheated again and got away with it. What is this, the WWF?
Am I the only one who wants that pic of the car coming at the windshield as a Background for HeroMachine?
Yup, we’ve died twice and both times come back for more. -2 on Karma and go us!
Clearly we need to investigate the Air Force base. Perhaps they’ve got an F-14 we could borrow?
Check the base, see what we find. Maybe we find a humvee or a tank.
Since we voted to toss our altimeter, that would be pretty ironic…
I missed something. Who did we attack and why? Yeah, we get to a bridge with cars piled to prevent crossing. With no assessment or hail to the guards, we just go crashing through? Aren’t we supposed to be “the good guys” here? We kill ’em all or what?
We’re at 33 to 0 in favor of the base. I’m just going to go with the flow. There’s gotta be at least one friggin’ bullet in that whole military base.
Good Guys? In a post-Apocalyptic environment? There are no good guys, just us versus them! Yeah, it’s kind of sad…
How can there not be guns at the base? Isn’t that the reason why Mad Dog Michigan (or whatever that guy’s name was) is heading there? For lots and lots of guns?
Oh, come on, Punk. They started shooting when we were still fifty yards away. They didn’t know at that point that we wouldn’t stop–we weren’t even in range for a civil conversation. We’re still safely within the parameters of good guy behavior.
What I want to know is, why are we the only guys in Texas without enough guns and ammo?
No, you’re not.
I voted to stay with the convoy. This is obviously a trap. Military bases have undoubtedly been thoroughly scavenged by now. Survivors from the roadblock are now massing to retaliate. The convoy will need every able man it can get, and us too.
Yeah, I know there’s no such thing as “good guys” along the post-apocalyptic freeway. I missed the part where they shot first. Just not paying attention. But it’s so hard.
I’m sorry. I read quite a few “Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” books when I was younger. They are definitely neither Hugo nor Nebula Award material, but sheesh! This story has the smooth consistency of a teenage boy’s face.