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[NRDL]

B

[Fniff]

Note: taking her along with me will make it risky, requiring a roll. I'll still get out, but whether she will is up to chance.
Do you still want to do it?

[RoseHeart]

Yup.

[Dustan Hache]

Note: taking her along with me will make it risky, requiring a roll. I'll still get out, but whether she will is up to chance.
Do you still want to do it?

Affirmative. Try to get her out of there alive and relatively intact.

[Fniff]

[1]

I part the cardboard and look out the window. Middle of the street a muscle car revs, headlights on. No-one pops out, so I watch. Seconds pass and there's no-one leaving, no-one going, what is this, are they messing with me? Then a pink-mohawked teen jumps out of the car and I hear the squealing of tires and I realize, they put a brick on the accelerator.

I pull open the sidedoor. She steps out of the kitchen, two coffees in her hands, just as the musclecar ploughs through the front wall like a bulldozer. She's knocked to the ground, mugs smashing, sliding across the room.

I'm leaving, I'm about to leave, when I look back at her and
mom
I can't leave.

I run and lift her up, supporting her as we stagger to the back. Ahead of me a hammer breaks glass and I take out the pistol, firing wildly at the noise. Behind me, a girl giggles. I turn around just in time for the hockey stick to break my face open.

Dreams, stagnant stolen memories flitting around my head. My face is stitching itself together, the pain stings.

I smell the coffee grounds and burnt toast before I wake up in a booth at Jack's Diner, laying on the vinyl seat. I push myself up and look around. The pink-mohawked teen is sitting next to a girl with a wolfish grin and beside me is a chick with a spider tattoo and a leather jacket. I'm enclosed. They're all drinking coffee.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"What do you want?" says the spider chick.

"I want to get out of here," I say, reaching for my pocket, but the radio and the pistol are gone.

"She meant," the grinner points at the menu in front of me. "What you eating?"

I stare down at the menu. I don't eat here, but my stomach is rumbling. I never knew hunger until this all kicked off. Looks like what biomass I robbed from the agent I spent on fixing myself up. The mohawk assures me that they're paying.

A. Burger Bud and fries, $10.99. Well-balanced meal.
B. Just a coffee, thanks, $1.50. I can eat later.
C. Challenge Steak, $45.99. If you eat it all, it's free. I'm not gonna eat it all.

[AoshimaMichio]

A followed by B.

[S34N1C]

I would say to get the challenge steak to spite them, but I dunno. C if other people want to do it, otherwise

A followed by B.

+1

[TankKit]

I would say to get the challenge steak to spite them, but I dunno. C if other people want to do it, otherwise

A followed by B.

+1

+1, if also followed by C

[RoseHeart]

C

[Fniff]

Rose walks over, the waitress. Peroxide-blond hair, grey eyes like flawed diamonds, a lost look that only lifts when she meets my gaze. She smiles, and for a moment I wonder why she hasn't asked about why an eight year old is hanging out with kids ten years older than her. Then I remember she knows me as twelve.

"Sleep well?" she says to me as she refills their mugs. "Your friends said you were pretty pooped out from baseball practice."

"Today was rough," I say. "You mind if I order?"

"That's my job," she says, flipping her notepad open.

"I'll have a coffee," I say. The teens nod. "And a Burger Bud," I say, and the teens shrug. "And a Challenge Steak," I say, and the teens stare. Rose stops jotting and looks at me. I look back, eyebrows raised. She shrugs and repeats my order to the chef, who curses under his breath and starts cooking. I don't break eye contact with the teens until my meal arrives. I polish off the burger and move onto the steak, lubricating my throat with coffee. When there's only a square of steak left, I put down my knife and fork. I'm half-full.

Or half-empty, depending on perspective.

"Now that's an appetite," Spiderweb says, pats me on the back, smirking. "You remember Percy Dalton?"

I shake my head.

"Now, that's odd," Spiderweb leans in, grin spreading. "Cos you ate him. Back in Los Dice."

I bite my lip. "If it helps, it wasn't personal," I say.

"It doesn't," she growls. The switchblade pokes my ribs. She bares her teeth. "Not one bit."

A. Make a scene. Push her off, run out of the diner. Problem is, they expect that, and I can't dodge the knife.
B. Wait it out. They won't cause a scene. Even this late at night, I count six other diners, and if they try to start a fight someone has to intervene... Then again, maybe they'll finish me before then.
C. Shift into the agent and kill them. There's three of them and they're real close, but I stand a chance. Not a great one, but a chance.

[TankKit]

B

[NRDL]

B

[S34N1C]

B

[RoseHeart]

b

[Fniff]

[5]

She sees the look on my face, leans in closer. "You think I won't do it? You think I'll just let you slip the net?"

I shake my head. Better to appease. The bravery is enough. There's five seconds, where I'm not sure if they're going to be my last. Her eyes dart to her friends. I follow her. Their eyes are wide and wet, hands shaking. They were confident. Now they're nervous, nervous as all hell. Afraid I'm going to lash out? Afraid I'm gonna wipe them out?

No. Afraid she's going to hurt me.
Interesting.

She hisses "Shut your eyes or you're fucking dead."

I duly yawn, lay my head down, and snore. A minute passes. She lifts me up and carries me out. I hear Rose remark how sleepy I am. Spiderweb says it's been a big day. The doors squeak as they're pushed open, the Link Wray playing on the jukebox fading off into echoes. The night air is cold on my face.

Mohawk pops the trunk on a Mustang, one of the few cars I know. I look down at the piles of little white baggies (so they could afford the meal). Spiderweb throws me into the boot. I shake my head but she slams it shut. The car roars onto the road.

Through the slits I can see the sodium-orange glow of streetlights. As quietly as I can, I kick against the lock. I hear murmurs from the front, the kids chatting. Something about a bonfire, someone's house, the beach. I've almost got the trunk open when an unfamiliar voice breaks through the muttering:
"I didn't sign up to kill kids."

It takes me a second to realize: Mohawk. He hadn't spoken up during all my time with them. I get the feeling we're real close to the destination...
What exactly did he sign up for?
No, no, no, just leave, think about it later. When you're safe.
But... Hell, my curiosity got me into this mess we call my life and if it ends it, wouldn't that be poetry.

A. Stay. Let's see where this is going. Know thy enemy.
B. Leave. I've got opportunity, let's just leave.