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[RoseHeart]

Never claim a character as plot armour, lest the DM debunk it immediatly.

B

[Dustan Hache]

Never claim a character as plot armour, lest the DM debunk it immediatly.

B

A, but be prepped to make a run for it.

[S34N1C]

B

[TankKit]

A

[AoshimaMichio]

B. We have been to trying avoid them this whole time.

[NUKE9.13]

We have been to trying avoid them this whole time.

And failing. How are they able to find us? What do they really want (If they just wanted us dead we would already be in the ground)? We need to know more about what's going on.

A

[Cain12]

A

[RoseHeart]

We have been to trying avoid them this whole time.

And failing. How are they able to find us? What do they really want (If they just wanted us dead we would already be in the ground)? We need to know more about what's going on.

A

How did they find us? The cop.
What do they want? Revenge, they're dead friend.
Why didn't they kill us already? To torture us.

We are definitely the most interesting thing around. Not these meatbags. I promise we're not going to find a flying ship unless it's ours.

(just acknowledging things have come full circle. I voted for the nut punch so we could go into custody)

[Fniff]

I linger in the trunk, foot ready, waiting for the first sign of trouble.

"It's not a kid," says Spiderweb. "Kidkiller, maybe. But not a kid."

"Sure looks like one," Mohawk says.

"Quit being an asshole, Donnie," says Grinner. "We hand her over, we walk out, we don't even need to see it happen."

"How the fuck is that thing any different from her?" says Mohawk. "Something's wrong, guys, I think we're being duped."

The car screeches shut, banging my head against the trunk. I watch as it opens. "Donnie," Spiderweb says. "Did you leave your balls back at the diner? Cos we can go right back and-- the fuck is the trunk--"

I leap out of the trunk and start running down the cliff highway. If I can make it onto a path down to the beach, I'll hide in a cave and sleep, make a plan, then enact it. All I need is another form, I've clung onto this one for far too long and if I don't change I'll be dead.
If I can just make it down this road I'll be okay.
If.

A sharp pain stabs me in the calf. I fall over, meeting hard tarmac. I squirm around and see a dart embedded in my leg, stinging like a wasp. But with each wave of pain my vision dims a little more. Grinner saunters over, playing with a miniature blowgun. I try to crawl, but my hands are like jelly, and my muscles burn, and soon I return to unconsciousness.

And for the first time in a while, I remember something that I know.

It's college, years ago. Chatting up girls, getting drunk, playing videogames, no plan and no intent to make one. What lectures I don't miss, I turn up hungover or stoned. The vaguely academic activity I enjoy are the campus experiments that pay you five bucks for participation. This one's some vague crap, a list of psudeoscientific adjectives smushed together. However, I was bored, so sign me up.

Well... There were other reasons.
A. There was this girl. Not like the other ones, beautiful. Couldn't get close to her, but a little birdie told me she was a researcher on this.
B. A drunken bet made at a frat party. People said the experiment drove people nuts, FOAF stuff, so I made some big claims. The others asked me to back it up. So I did.
C. There was this guy. I did some shit, he reacted badly, we split. He wouldn't answer his phone but I heard he was on the subject list, so maybe I could...
D. Genuine curiosity. Despite the jargon bullshit, there was some intriguing concepts in there. College didn't engage me on the level I wanted, but this... This was something else.

[S34N1C]

A

[Dustan Hache]

D, unless you want to imply that our crazy motherly person is the girl in question?

[RoseHeart]

D.

(great SG! I'm really enjoying it.)

[Cain12]

C

[Fniff]

She smiles, watching me sit down on a foldout chair. I'm freezing in this room, missing the spaceheater back at my dormroom. The scientist is prim and proper, even though this is what the professors call the 'asylum for halfwits with tenure'.
Professors oughta work on their nicknames.

"Sign this please," she hands me a clipboard.

"Institute for Orgonic Advancement," I raise an eyebrow. She doesn't seem like a quack to me. "Oh man, that brings me back. Is this Wilhelm Reich?"

"No, we're an offshoot group," she says. "Are you a student of his?"

"Nah, I just like beat authors," I kick back. "Burroughs tried an orgonic accumulator. Said it was an aphrodesiac, like good strong weed."

Instead of laughing, she nods her head. "Orgone accumlators are known to have that effect. We aren't studying that, though," she says.

I lean forward, trying to find humor in her face. I don't find jack. I ask her what it is. She tells me, orgonic accelerators.

...

And you know what? I signed. And I guess I'm telling you this because I just can't figure out why I did it. I know she is somewhere among you, in the choir. A neverending muttering behind my brain, all the souls I stole from their bodies and hoarded in mine. But you have to tell me.
Why did I sign?

A. Maybe, deep down, I really believed in this. A particle unifying life itself, unseen to all but those who knew where to look. Can you imagine?
B. It was an easy five bucks and I needed the money.
C. She was kinda sexy.

[S34N1C]

C A