Our adventure with human-eating roaches and the military encampment around our office continues this week. Our choices were to admit to the examining physician that we ate some Jack's Link Human Jerky or to lie our pants off. The advancement of the plot goes to borntobealoser. Had we chosen to lie, lie, lie to save our lives, this would have happend:
There’s no way you’re going to tell them about the Jack’s Links, they’ll arrest you and throw you back to the roaches, or worse, they’ll think you’re weird. “No sir, no banana, and no meat. I’m actually a vegetarian with a deep phobia of bananas.”
The small balding man looks back at his scanner, then gives you a concerned look, before deciding that it’s not worth the trouble to follow up on whatever his scanner detected. “Very well, move along.”
Phew, that was close! Now to speak to Angeline, maybe an insect apocalypse might be enough to convince her to go out with you. “Hey, Tankerbell! How’s about we ditch this place and go for a dri- Oof!” A sharp jab to the stomach with the butt of her gun is enough to knock the wind out of you and stop your attempt to hit on her in its tracks.
“Shut it, Pencil Pusher, I haven’t got time to deal wit- What’s wrong with your stomach?”
Sheesh, wasn’t she paying attention? You told them you hadn’t eaten the Jacks Links, how long is this going to go on for? “Nothing’s wrong with my stomach, the bald guy agreed, remember?” Judging by the fear in her face, you don’t think she does.
“That doesn’t explain why it’s rippling…” You look down. Your stomach is indeed rippling. Quite vigorously, in fact. Perhaps you should’ve told them about the Jack’s Links, after all. There’s no time to ponder this, though, as hundreds of tiny insects rip through your stomach, and an entire squad of soldiers starts to pump lead into you. It looks like your adventure, and your life, ends here.
Luckily we were smart enough to be honest and truthful, possibly for the first time in our lives. Thus:
You might as well tell them, he’s probably only asking because the scanner says something freaky is going on in your stomach, and you don’t want to die of infection, you’ll miss out on all the action, including a chance to hit on Miss Tankerbell. Besides, they probably wouldn’t believe you anyway.
“Why, yes I have. One suspicious banana, and a whole bag of human jerky. That isn’t a problem, is it?”
The man looks at you in horror. “You bet it’s a problem!” He turns to the other white coats and yells “We’re going to have to pump his stomach, NOW!”.
In a matter of seconds everybody else in the tent has launched themself on top of you, pinning your puny body to the ground. After successfully restraining you with minimal effort, they set you down on a table, and the small balding man pulls out a terrifying piece of apparatus from a drawer. You try to scream out and suggest that this might not be all that necessary, but it just provides the bald guy with an opportunity to shove the pump into your mouth. With a flick of the switch, the contents of your stomach is sucked back up the way it entered. From the corner of your eye you can see it all: the banana with the lump, check. Several pieces of dried human, check. A small army of baby roaches, che- wait, what?! The critters sprint off in every direction, attempting to make a bid for freedom, but Angeline and her squad are easily able to pick off every last one with their machine guns.
After being released from your restraints, you shriek “What the hell just happened? I don’t remember eating any bugs recently!”.
“Relax, Pencil Pusher, you’re not the only one that this has happened to, we’ve wasted half of our supply of ammunition on those things. You’re fine, for now.” says Angeline, matter-of-factly. “Now report to the civilian lodgings, or follow me to Captain Hook. You were the last one to leave that building, we could use any information you may have.”
Awesome! You managed to get away with eating human unpunished, and now Miss “Tankerbell” Angeline has just invited you to stick around. Your charm is rubbing off, after all.
Do you:
A: Head off with Tankerbell to find Captain Hook, OR
B: Report to the civilian lodgings
So have at it, folks! If you have an idea for what ought to happen in either situation, feel free to post even if it's not a fully finished scenario. Maybe someone else will get inspired by your concept!
The main challenge is for you to write up the results of both choices, one leading to death in classic CYOA style, the other to a furthering of the adventure, presenting us with two new choices at the end. As an added bonus, at least one of the write-ups must include the word "weasel", because weasel is a fund word to say.
Good luck!
Head off with Tankerbell to find Captain Hook
Captain Hook? Seriously? This day’s getting better and better! The thought of grabbing a weapon and kickin’ some exoskeleton is enough to make up for having your stomach pumped.
Captain Hook is everything you imagined. He has both his hands, but you can see where he got his nickname from. Not only does he have a hook on his right arm, it looks to be about a foot long and serrated. He has a face like a weasel with a toothache, and treats you to a scowl so intense it could fry an egg.
“That piece of dirt get stuck to your shoe, Tankerbell?” he growls. She shrugs. Hook turns back to you. “So… ya wanna be a big hero huh? Think yer a big man, do ya?”
“Sir, no sir!” you reply, trying to cram as much bravado as you can into the syllables, “I just want to squash some bugs sir!”
Hook raises an eyebrow and grins nastily. He indicates another tent with his hook. “Take him there, Tankerbell. Get him situated.”
Angeline grins at Hook and leads you away. She shoves you inside the tent. You see stacks of crates with labels like “food”, “water”, and “ammunition”. It’s a supply hut.
“Alright Pencil Pusher! Tally it all up, and hand me the report when you’re done!”
A clerk? Running the supply tent?! That’s hardly any different than what you just walked away from! You can hear the Angeline’s barely suppressed laughter trying to get out. You’re about to come back with a brilliant and stinging retort when screams erupt from somewhere by the civilian lodgings. Tankerbell is gone in a wink, running towards the noise.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice there’s also a crate of body armor, and one for guns next to it. So, what’s it going to be?
A: Accept your position and start taking stock, or,
B: Take some stock from the crates and head out to glory baby!
Head to the civilian lodgings
You feel pretty shaken from the stomach pumping ordeal, and you know that’s not a good thing to be on a battlefield. Probably best to rest up for now and stomp some roaches tomorrow when you’re feeling better.
The lodgings are little more than cots arranged in rows with a roof over them, and still seem to be under construction. A haggard woman behind a table gives you a blanket and tells you that you’ll have to put your own cot together. You head down to where the cots are kept and begin rooting through them. You tug on one of the bundles and hear a rustling not normally associated with fabric. Dozens of little roaches come scurrying out of the pile of cots, and everyone, including you, screams and starts to run. One of the larger of the baby bugs takes the opportunity to jump into your mouth and down your throat. You should have saved your breath for running.
I’ll follow you. I’m just looking down because my neck’s tired. “I should try to tell your Captain anything that might help. I might be a little slow right now, but I’ll follow you.” That sounded manly. Angeline’s eyebrows actually go up. She leads you around the corner and into a tent. Man! You were hoping for a longer walk with her. She looks annoyed as she turns to you. “Wait here; I’ll make sure he knows you’re here.” She points to a chair. She glances around. “Don’t touch anything.” She trots out. You do check out the gun rack and that actually looks like a case of REAL grenades! You’re wondering how many you could sneak off with when you hear the tent flap opening. You turn, saying, “Captain Hook, righ–” and are run through by a roach claw. Your last thought is that this is obviously NOT Captain Hook–
Show me my new digs, baby! That magazine you read last week said you should try as early as possible to get your date to see you in the same room as a bed. To get her used to the idea. You fake a stagger and lean on her. “If I think of anything important,” you say, “I’ll tell you on the way. Dizziness is normal after stomach pumping, right?”
She rolls her eyes, but says nothing. You actually wish you WERE dizzy instead of nauseous and sore and achy. But at least not saying THAT is less wimpy.
“PRIVATE!” She bellows. A big guy trots over. “Show this guy to quarters, then get back to work double-time.”
“Yo!” The big guy cradles you against his shoulder, actually looking concerned! Angeline ‘Tankerbell’ must be pretty busy. You ‘recover’ halfway there and he shows you to a local college dorm. Your temporary roommate looks like a biker. With body odor, torn leather, piercings, multi-color hair, and an actual SWASTIKA on his arm. There aren’t actually Nazis any more, are there? You don’t try to stick around. The army bunks here too, right? Maybe Adolf here is good for something. “Hey, man, where do the soldiers sleep?”
He looks at you like YOU’RE the Nazi weasel and points out the door to a sign you hadn’t noticed taped to the wall. It says ‘Cafeteria’ at the top with an arrow to the right and ‘Barracks’ at the bottom with an arrow to the left. WOW! They name military living quarters after the president? Good to be the king! But your stomach feels a little funny–do you:
A. Go to the left, hoping to beg some saltines or something?
B. Go try to figure out where Angeline sleeps?
Oh, and congratulations to ‘borntobealoser’ for — uh — failing to live up to your name?
Ha! Thanks, dude. I’m going to wait until I have enough time to sit and think before I enter this time. I still think this is one of the best things we’ve ever done!
I can’t seem to edit my post. A. should read “Go to the RIGHT. . . “