In A Fog

(text-style: "shadow")[In A Fog] (text-style: "shadow")[by Gunslinger] (t8n-arrive: "dissolve")[You are [[walking]]...] (Or, you know, you could always simply [[give up right away]].) [[Skip to Cat|"Call me Cat."]]

<img src="IAF/Fog001.jpg"> ...and walking, and *walking*... The fine white mist swirls around you, muffling the click of your shoes against the stone cobbles underfoot. You sigh, and continue to [[trudge]] onward. Onward - as in the same straight line as before. Just for the variety of it, part of you wants to pick a different direction - [[left]], [[right]], [[up]], [[down]], it doesn't matter; as long as it [[is NOT boring]]!

<img src="IAF/Fog002.jpg"> You feel more than a little relief as a bench beneath a lamp-post materializes out of the fog. Not that you particularly feel like taking a break; it is simply nice to see something other than the featureless white expanse you have been plodding through for the last... ...well, ever since... Realization strikes like a lightening bolt, and [[you|StartPlayer]] stop dead.

<img src="IAF/Fog003.jpg"> You have absolutely no idea *how* long you have been walking.(text-style: "subscript")[[[(...or do you?)|SubA]]] You have no idea how you got here.(text-style: "subscript")[[[(...or do you?)|SubB]]] You have no idea where *here* is.(text-style: "subscript")[[[(...or do you?)|SubC]]] You have no idea who (text-style: "underline")[YOU] are.(text-style: "subscript")[[[(...or do you?)|SubD]]] [["Hey".]]

<img src="IAF/Fog004.jpg"> You whirl, and gape in shock at the apparition in front of you. Leaning casually - almost negligently - against the rather peculiar lampost is the figure of what you are almost certain is a young woman. You have *no* idea what to make of her clothing and demeanor; in general, she appears worse off than the average hobo, yet carries herself like the scion of an aristocratic family. "Bein' [[nuked]] suck, or what?" She asks, with the tiniest hint of a shrug.

<img src="IAF/Fog005.jpg"> "Nuked...?" You repeat, dumbly - and then, in a flash, it all comes rushing back to you. You are Vittorio Alessandro Giordino - Vito Giordino, a twenty-five year-old grad student at Miskatonic University... ...studying (text-style: "underline")[advanced Nuclear Physics] under Professor Schmidt. At least - right up until that 'little' lab accident, which - now - is the last thing you can clearly recall. You swallow, thickly. "Does... Does this mean I'm....?" [["Dead?"]]

<img src="IAF/Fog006.jpg"> She manages the most decidedly unlady-like snort you have ever heard in your life. "Nah," she informs you with another miniscule shrug of the shoulder not busy supporting her weight. "You got Schrödingered, that's all." You blink, brain spinning. "Erwin Schrödinger?" You finally hazard. "Came up with that theory on quantum probability about thirty years ago...?" She chuckles. "That's the dude," she informs you, "but it's been a tad longer than thirty years he came up with his theory. You got nuked in 1961, right?" You open your mouth to reply - and then stop dead, eyes widening as the implications of she said comes to your stunned mind. "When... when *is* this?" You ask. "(text-style: "bold")[Where] is... [[here?]]"

<img src="IAF/Fog007.jpg"> She actually laughs. "Dude, you could be *anywhere*. Or anywhen. Or any(text-style: "underline")[one]." Your mind boggles at the implications - and then it brings your mind to something a little closer to hand: "Whoa, wait a sec - you are YOU?" "Me? I'm the anthropomorphic personification of the chaotic nature of non-Newtonian physics on the quantum level." She pauses, and although she is wearing a handkerchief over her lower face, you are certain she smiles. [["Call me Cat."]]

<img src="IAF/VitoShirtBasic.jpg"> (set: $VisitCount to it +1) "Holy counting crows - what are you; some kind of Gigantor, or something?" You have to bend your neck quite a bit to look down at Cat, where she'd come half-way from the bench to meet you. "I'm only 6-foot-two," you say defensively - and shaving an inch and a half off your height. You clear your throat, nervously. "So - now what...?" Cat shrugs. "Well, you have to wait for something/one/where/when to alter the percieved reality in some way," she 'explains'. "What does that even *mean*?" You demand. Cat shrugs again. "Okay, so, you are in 'limbo', waiting for something - some outside force. If it helps, maybe you can imagine that there is somebody, sitting in front of a computer, - like a gamer, say - making a choice that would..." She catchs the look on your face. "Right. Imagine you are a self-aware character trapped in a story. You're waiting for the soi-mythical being known as a 'reader' to 'turn a page'. Better?" ...not really; somehow, you refrain from saying it aloud. Instead, in silence, you wait for the unknown and unknowable shift in quantum state that is your current version of psuedo-reality. However, as you wait, you can't help but find yourself wondering; if you had a chance to do it all over again, would you do the same things - or would you have been less of an egg-head, and focused more on building a [[social life]]. It certainly isn't if you hadn't had a wide variety of choices, you muse. After all, you had been offered a [[sports scholarship]], to play football; you had also been 'headhunted' by the [[Business School]] - mainly because your dad is a big-wig businessman, you admit. For that matter, you could have done something completely [[off the wall]], if you'd wanted. Of course, you could simply decided to do it it all over again, (if: $VisitCount is not 2)[[exactly the same]](if: $VisitCount is 2)[[exactly the same|BreakLoop]].

<img src="IAF/VitoBeachwear.jpg"> You feel a strange sort of tingling sensation brush across your skin - almost like a breeze, but one somehow laden with static electricity. Then it passes - but that doesn't mean everything returns to *normal*. "What the...?" You gasp. "Beachwear, dude!" Cat carols cheerfully. "Bitchin'!" "But... why?" You plaintively ask. "Just a guess...?" Cat says, with a chuckle; "You're going to [[the beach]]." (set: $Motive to "social") (set: $Player to "VitoBeachwear")

<img src="IAF/VitoSchool.jpg"> You feel a strange sort of tingling sensation brush across your skin - almost like a breeze, but one somehow laden with static electricity. Then it passes - but that doesn't mean everything returns to *normal*. "What the...?" You gasp. "Oh, classic letterman jacket!" Cat carols cheerfully. "Bitchin'!" "But... why?" You plaintively ask. "Just a guess...?" Cat says, with a chuckle; "You're going [[back to school]]." (set: $Motive to "popular") (set: $Player to "VitoSchool")

<img src="IAF/VitoShirtBasic.jpg"> You sigh, getting bored waiting for reality to reassert itself in some - *any* way. "Huh - guess somebody decided somthing." Cat mentions, casually. "What? How... I mean..." You stammer. "Hope you end up somewhere nice..." Cat says, waving. "But...," you start - and then [[vanish]]. (set: $Motive to "money") (set: $Player to "VitoShirtBasic")

(set: $Player to "VitoCowboy") <img src="IAF/VitoCowboy.jpg"> You feel a strange sort of tingling sensation brush across your skin - almost like a breeze, but one somehow laden with static electricity. Then it passes - but that doesn't mean everything returns to *normal*. "What in tarnation...?" You gasp. "Yee-haw!" Cat carols cheerfully. "Howdy, Tex!" "But... what'm I gonna do?" You plaintively ask. "To quote Greeley...?" Cat says, with a chuckle; "Go West, young man, [[Go West!]]." (set: $Motive to "crazy")

<img src="IAF/VitoShirtBasic.jpg"> "EXACTLY the same," Cat inquires archly. "EXACTLY," you emphasize. ...and then realization strikes like a lightening [[bolt...|StartPlayer]]

<img src="IAF/Beach001.jpg"> Warm air, enhanced by the radiant energy manifesting as heat where it interphases with your body. A refreshingly cool breeze, redolent with the salt scent of the sea, laden with the sound of surf on sand. The lonely cry of a seagull as it circles overhead. You, however, are a bit too distracted to fully appreciate the sight, sounds and sensations of a beautiful beach on a sunny summer's day. After all - you are busy trying to cope with the fact that you now appear to have two completely full, cohesive, and intact sets of memories. They are very similar, at least when you were very young - yet, the older you got, the more your memories insist on two steadily diverging realities; one, in which you are a studious and somewhast introverted person; the other, memories of being consideriably less studious, but considerab;ly more socially active. It is only in the immediate past that the two become mutually exclusive of each other; for, in the first you... 'sort of' died. The second set of memories, which seem every bit as equally real and true as the first, has the benefit of also being supported by all the available evidence. Your clothing, location and current situation are in complete agreement with the memories of Vittorio Alessandro "Call me Al" Giordino... but you (text-style: "underline")[feel] like Vito Giordino! Strill struggling to cope with this strange psycological dichotomy, you manage to regain enough self-possession to look around and take conscious stock of your situation. You are standing on a roughly trampled path in the sand that leads to the water behind you. About ten or fifteen yards in front of you, the path splits into two, better defined ones; one, leading to the right, has a wooden sign reading '[[Beach Party]]'; [[the other path]] is unmarked.

<img src="IAF/Office001.jpg"> (text-style: "upside-down")[Confusion] and (text-style: "blur")[uncertainty] wash through you as you stare around the office, struggling to cope with two completely seperate, yet apparently equally 'real' sets of memories. You are still trying to get a handle on it when you hear the door to the open office, and someone enters; an attractive young woman who smiles warmly at you. <img src="IAF/Secretary01.jpg"> "Good morning, Mr. Jordan..." She says, a slight smile playing on her lips. Still struggling to comb through conflicting memories, you stare at (text-style: "blur")[the unfamiliar secretary]/Joan. "Er, good morning, Joan," you manage to get out. (text-style: "blurrier")[The secretary]/Joan smiles even more coquettishly. "Ready for your morning pick-me-up?" She inquires. You could [[say "yes"]], or you could [[say "no"]].

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(set: $Ending to "Trapped in the Matrix") Out of nowhere, with no logical reason, you simply decide you aren't going to do... anything. You simply give up. Coming to a stop, you simply stand there. Waiting. A nobody. A nothing. From nowhere. Going nowhere... You [[gave up|GameOver]].

(if: $Ending is "Trapped in the Matrix")[<img src="IAF/EndingMatrix.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Things Are Looking Up")[<img src="IAF/FogRed02.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Not So Tough")[<img src="IAF/NotSoTough01.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Power Pussy Penis Party")[<img src="IAF/ToughEnough01.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Kept On Ice")[<img src="IAF/LongTime.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Not Possible")[<img src="IAF/NotPossible.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "Little Lady Lost")[<img src="IAF/LadyLost.jpg">] (if: $Ending is "(un)Happily Married")[<img src="IAF/RetroWife.jpg">] Congratulations! You have come to your new fate: (text-style: "shadow")[$Ending]! If, however, you are unsatisfied with your fate for any reason, GunnyCorp™ is happy to provide you with the option to [[Start Over|Start]].

Your decision to veer off at random seems to have paid off - almost immediately, the swirling fog begins to thin. The hard cobbles upon which you have been treading gives way to a softer surface; one from which every step sends forth the rich scent of loam and last season's leaves. Looming out of the fog like ghostly sentinels, the trees loom all around you as you trudge forward through the trackless, misty woods. <img src="IAF/FogTrees.jpg">

Your decision to veer off at random seems to have paid off - almost immediately, the swirling fog begins to thin. Even in the failing light, it is clear that the previous broad openess through which you had been trudging is giving way to more confined locales. Looming out of the fog like a ghostly sentinel, a brooding stone building takes form before you - but it is the rather... *intense* young man striding in your direction that draws the bulk of your attention. <img src="IAF/FogRight01.jpg"> He is stalking toward you. [[He has a sword]].

(Set: $Ending to "Things Are Looking Up") Your decision to veer off at random seems to have paid off - almost immediately, the swirling fog begins to thin. The hard cobbles upon which you have been treading gives way to another surface; the familiar, slightly gritty texture of asphalt. There is a strange, rythmic thudding, deep and heavy, coming through the ground. Looming out of the reddish-tinted fog like ghostly sentinels, the buildings lining the streem begin to take form... ...and it is just beginning to dawn on you that there is something wrong with those forms when you spot the woman huddled against the wreck of a car. <img src="IAF/FogRed01.jpg"> "Are you *nuts*?" The young woman gasps, staring at you in shock. You have no chance to answer, as something [[looms out of the fog|GameOver]]...

Your decision to veer off at random seems to have paid off - almost immediately, the swirling fog begins to thin. The hard cobbles upon which you have been treading gives way to a softer surface; one from which every step sends forth the rich scent of soil and recently-mown grass. Even as the fog thins, the light fades; the purpling tones of sunset settling into the bluer shades of evening. Stabbing out of the fog like angelic presences is the unmistakable steady glow of electrically powered lights... <img src="IAF/FogElectric01.jpg"> ...but there seems to be something (text-style: "underline")[strange] about some of those lights. Even as you notice that fact, you also become aware of movement on the foggy, dimly-lit road at the bottom of the hill on which you stand. Someone - some(text-style: "underline")[thing] is moving around [[down there]].

Your decision to veer off at random seems to have paid off - almost immediately, the swirling fog begins to thin. The hard cobbles upon which you have been treading gives way to an even harded surface; cracked and hard-used concrete, littered with trash. Harsh electric light banishes the last of the fog as your footsteps suddenly seem to double and redouble in number and intensity. You're walking through some sort of underpass or tunnel, grafitti-bedecked and brightly lit - when you come to a sudden, dead stop in the face of the person who strides briskly forth to confront you. <img src="IAF/TunnelBitch.jpg"> You have absolutely no plans of doing absolutely (text-style: "shadow")[anything] that the monumental mass of muscle standing before you might find the *least bit* objectional. There is a very long pause, during which se coldly examines you - and then, she lets out a low, deep, yet unmistakably feminine chuckle. "So - you think you're [[tough enough]] to take what I can dish out?" She rumbles, clearly amused at the thought, "...or would you like to take your chances [[further down the tunnel]]?"

<img src="IAF/Alien01.jpg"> Oh, shit. Your pause to try and get a better look at whatever is in th evalley was a mistake - because whatever it might be, it certainly isn't *human*. It makes a strage, trilling cry and - hefting what you can only assume to be a weapon - starts in your direction. You have a scant instant to decide whether to [[run]] or [[hide]].

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<img src="IAF/TunnelBitch.jpg"> "(text-style: "rumble")[Tough Enough]." Even as you think it, the words seems to echo and resound somewhere deep within you, embedding themselves into the very fabric of your existance. For an instant, you feel (text-style: "shadow")[extremely] strange, and your thoughts and memories go (text-style: "blur")[hazy]. Then reality snaps back into it's usual sharp focus, and you smirk. "I can take anything you can dish out, bitch," you announce confidently and without rancor. "Yeah, I'm (text-style: "rumble")[Tough Enough]." "Well, okay then..." She says with another rumbling chuckle, turning. You fall into step beside her, matching her swagger for swagger. "Where we goin', anyway?" You casually ask, eyeing some the local yokels gaping at the immortals striding through their midst. "[[The gym]], of course," your powerful potential partner informs you. "I was thinking [[somewhere more private]], if you catch my drift," you say, layering your tones with enough dripping induendo to ensure she does.

<img src="IAF/Tunnel2.jpg"> Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, you force yoursel to smile, and sidle past the massive mountain of musculature. Once fairly certain she isn't going to tear you limb from limb for shits and giggles, you sigh in relief and consider your options. You can either head [[into the city]], or you could go [[into the park]].

<img src="IAF/ShelbyGym01.jpg"> With a strong, confident stride, the muscualr platinum-blonde goddess struts out of the change room and into the main area of the gym she's brought you to. By the greetings called out to her as you entered, you have determined that this amazing Amazon is named 'Shelby'. Stopping in the middle of the weight rack alcove, she looks you up and down with a slow whistle. "Well, well, well - [[look at you]]..." Shelby says, appreciatively.

Given how quickly she heards you to her apartment, you are pretty sure it was the answer she was looking for. "Go ahead and... 'make yourself comfortable'," she suggests, leer evident in her voice. Without breaking stride, she herself continues deeper into the apartment, heading for the bedroom. Without so much as turning her head, she continues; "I'm Shelby, by the way." Your hands already eagerly reaching to strip away your own clothing, you nevertheless pause briefly at her clear invitation to [[introduce yourself]].

<img src="IAF/YouGym01.jpg"> "Hey, soak it in while you can..." You smirk back, posing. Shelby laughs. "What's your name, fireball?" Hmmm... You could always tell her that your name is [[Vikki]]; but truth is, for some reason you've never really felt *comfortable* with that name. Maybe you should insist on her calling you "[[Fireball]]" from now on. Then again - maybe you should let her choose [[your new name]]. She'd probably like that.

(set: $Player to "Vikki") "Vikki. The name's Vikki." You tell her. "[[Nicetameetcha|Gym01]]".

(set: $Player to "Fireball") "Ya know - now I kinda like 'Fireball'. Go ahead and call me that." You say. Shelby [[laughs and nods|Gym01]].

(set: $Player to "SlutBitch") "Hey - why don't you pick something to call me..." You say, trying to make it sound like an off-hand suggestion. "Sure, why not... [[SlutBitch|Gym01]]." Shelby agrees, with a grin.

<img src="IAF/Vikki00.jpg"> "Vikki," you inform her with a smile, your strong-yet-feminine hands returning to their briefly interrupted task. "Nice to meet you..." she calls - her voice floating out the gap between door and frame in the instant before she latches it completely behind her. Tingling with anticipation, you [[drop onto the couch]].

<img src="IAF/Vikki01.jpg"> You smile, eagerly anticipating whatever is to come next... at first. With each passing second, however, there grows stronger a (text-style: "shudder")[nagging] feeling that there is something wrong about this situation. Part of you feels you should take control and join [[Shelby in the bedroom]]. Diametrically opposed to that is the urge to just [[get out of there]]. ...or, you could simply [[continue to wait]].

(set: $Ending to "Power Pussy Penis Party") Making up your mind to simply go take what you want - as always - you uncoil from the couch and stride for the bedroom door. An hour later, you follow Shelby back into the livingroom. You really had all this shit leading up to what you *really* want, but you know it is necessary. "Okay - selfie time!" Shelby calls. "Whatever," you sigh, nevertheless posing for the photo. <img src="IAF/ShelbyYou.jpg"> Yeah, you hate this time-consuming shit of getting all made up, and having to take time to *look* for what you want *right now*... but, at the same time, you have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that [[you will succeed|GameOver]].

(set: $Motive to "fear") (set: $Player to "Victoria") The feeling that there is something 'off' about the situation continues to grow more pronounced, and it is with something approaching panic that you hurriedly dress. Fearfully, you creep to the front door of Shelby's apartment, and let yourself into the hall beyond. Very carefully, you silently close the door - and then take off, all-but-sprinting down the hall and thundering down the steps. Headlong, you burst through the door of the building, and plung bvlindly into the dense fog beyond. Comforted by the concealing cloak of fog, you slow down. Settling into a steady, long-term pace, you begin to trudge determinedly through the fog. Quite some time later, you feel more than a little relief as a bench beneath a lamp-post materializes out of the fog. Not that you particularly feel like taking a break; it is simply nice to see something other than the featureless white expanse you have been plodding through for the last... ...well, ever since... Realization strikes like a lightening bolt, and [[you|StartPlayer]] stop dead.

(set: $Ending to "Not So Tough") So, you wait... ...right up until the door swings open, and Shelby steps out. Gloriously nude. Gloriously nude... ...except for the huge, strap-on dildo strapped to her crotch. "Ummm....," you say, licking your lips. "I, er... just changed my mind..." "Oh, no..." Shelby purrs from where she is now *looming* over you. "There's [[no turning back|GameOver]]."

(if: $Motive is not "fear")[(set: $Ending to "Kept On Ice") Wandering the always perfectly-comfortable hallways of The Shelter, Maggie792 idly decided to stroll down the old GeneMatStor corridor. There is no real need for her to do so - no real needs of anysort, in The Shelter - but for some reason, Maggie792 is drawn to one CryoBox over all the others in the Genetic Material Storage Corridor. After all, it was from this genetic sample - this... 'man', outre as it is - that Maggie Alpha originally sprang; and thus, all the others of the Maggie line, including Maggie792. But, of course, that had all been [[a very long time ago|GameOver]].] (if: $Motive is "fear")[You gaze in hopeless hope, hand extended, at the people who pass by you. It hads been... many years. You don't know how many, but it as if time itself rejects a claim on you, instead leaving you to chaos. <img src="IAF/Vetrano.jpg"> Congratulations! You have come to your new fate: (text-style: "shadow")[El Veterano]! Enjoy! (text-style: "outline")[The End].]

(set: $Ending to "Not Possible") You feel (text-style: "blur")[dizzy] and (text-style: "rumble")[confused]. "How... How did I get here...!" You demand, struggling. Your eyes seem strangely reluctant to focus on the form of your arch-nemisis, standing so close. "Ohhh... Good question, Kim!" Your hated enemy laughs; then continues, "A better question is, [[what happens next...?|GameOver]]"

(set: $Ending to "Little Lady Lost") Heart catching in your throat, you begin desperately looking around, eager for the sight of *any* landmark your recognize. [[You fail|GameOver]].

You feel a wave of relief wash over you as memory returns; you are Vittorio Alessandro Giordino - Vito Giordino, a twenty-five year-old grad student at [[Miskatonic University|back to school]]... (set: $Motive to "selfish") (set: $Player to "VitoSchool")

<img src="IAF/Beach002.jpg"> You head down the path indicating a Beach Party - and from the growing sounds, it is clear the sign was telling the truth. You watch the game come to an end, and then one of the guys spots you, and waves. "Yo, Al - come for the '[[talent competition]]'?" Calls the stranger/Steve. "Oh, Steve..." the unknown blonde/Janet chides him, "maybe Al's come to [[play DJ]], or something! Honestly, you shouldn't just assume everybody wants to be the center of attention!"

(set: $Player to "VitoBeachGood") "Hey, yeah - sounds like fun!" You assure Steve. Following the foursome, you make your way down the beach to where a stage has been set up. As the strangers/your friends peel off to join the crowd forming in front of the stage, you quickly sign up and mount the steps to the stage. <img src="IAF/BeachParty.jpg"> For your 'talent', you decided to saddle up your vast collection of lewd, crude and rude jokes and ride them through the soon-howling crowd at a gallop. All in all, you think you did pretty well - but, on the other hand, the person you are competing against happens to be a pretty hot red-head... <img src="IAF/BeachContest03.jpg"> Given a hot babe demonstrating some pretty damned good dance moves, you don't feel bad when she's voted to move on to the next round. In the meantime, you think to yourself, there's a party forming up behind the stage, alcohol flowing freely. You are just heading off to grab a drink... ...when you find yourself being pulled [[back into the fog]].

(set: $Player to "VitoBeachBad") "Yeah - being helpful in the background sounds more my speed," you agree with Janet. "Let's go see if they need a DJ, huh?" Leading the foursome, you make your way down the beach to where a stage has been set up. As the strangers/your friends peel off to join the crowd forming in front of the stage, you quickly talk to one of the organizers, and are soon mounting the steps to the stage. <img src="IAF/BeachPartyDJ.jpg"> The 'contest' is simple; contestants are randomly paired, and the volume of cheers decided who wins and is allowed to move on to the final rounds. The first contestant up is a blonde who, completely dead-pan, reels off a list of the filthiest jokes you have ever heard in her life. <img src="IAF/BeachContest01.jpg"> The second contestant is a petite Asian who performs smoothly flawless gymnastics across the stage. In any sort of *real* talent show, she would have been the clear winner. <img src="IAF/BeachContest02.jpg"> As it is, the blonde wins the round handily, and is paired up against some cute red-headed babe. In the meantime, you think to yourself, there's a certain Asian girl who could probably use some... comforting. You are just heading off to find her... ...when you find yourself being pulled [[back into the fog]].

<img src="IAF/Hide01.jpg"> You dash quickly along the path, desperately looking for someplace to hide - and, even in your fear, realizing that, from somewhere just upahead, there is a light of some sort. It turns out to be coming from a cave; a cave bathed in the eerie blue glow from deep within. You could [[enter the cave]]; but that might not be a good idea. You might consider [[moving on|run]].

<img src="IAF/VitioCity01.jpg"> You stop, turning in place, a sinking sensation growing inside of you. "Great, just great...," you mutter to yourself. "Mama Giordino's little boy Vito, lost in the Big City." You wait a beat, then finally ask the question that is really worrying you: "...but WHICH Big City?" Somehow, impossible as it seems, you can't recall coming to 'the city', or what you would be there for. Maybe you should [[look for a hospital]]. Of course, if you feel up to it, you could always explore the city some more: head into [[the shopping district]], head to a [[nightclub]], wander around this [[midtown district]] a bit, or just [[get a room]] for the night.

<img src="IAF/CityNight01.jpg"> As there is obviously something wrong with you, the only rational choice is to seek professional help. Almost aimlessly, you begin to wander the streets - and quickly spot signs that, when followed, lead you several blocks to the nearest hospital. <img src="IAF/Hospital02.jpg"> As you gaze in disquiet at the less-than-appealing building in front of you, you remind yourself that this is important. With that firmly in mind, you enter the [[hospital waiting room]].

<img src="IAF/CityNightclub.jpg"> You have to head toward where midtown edges into uptown, but you find what you are looking for - a brightly-lit nightclub, walls practically shiverring under the barage of deep-base dance tracks from inside. Looking at the building, you note that aside from the main [[club entrance]] there is also a [[private entrance]] through the stairs at the side of the building.

<img src="IAF/CityNight01.jpg"> Feeling decidedly out of sorts, you decide you don't need a hospital - just a good night's rest. Which means finding a hotel room you can actually *afford*. You begin to wander slowly through the streets, hoping to find something in a moderate price range - and quickly discover that in THIS district, the hotels are dirt-cheap... and yet, given their condition, still overpriced. You are tired, and unwilling to wander around all night, hoping for 'moderate'. Looming over the skyline a few scant blocks away is a building with the brightly-lit lettering identifying it as the '[[Ball Style Hotel]]' - which you are sure won't be cheap. If cash is your main worry, then it'll be a [[flophouse]] for the night.

<img src="IAF/Hide02.jpg"> [[head deeper into the cave]] [[leave the cave]]

Deciding to splurge, you set off down the street toward your brightly-lit destination. You are nearly there whene the most unusual-looking person you have ever seen suddenly darts out of an alley to block your way. <img src="IAF/CityNight03.jpg"> Undeniably female, the stranger is wearing an odd mask that hides a good portion of her pace - and she's carrying a gun. "Come with me - before its too late!" She says, in a low-yet-urgent voice... ...and then she heads for the alley she emerged from, not botheing to look back. You can either [[follow the masked woman]] or [[go into the hotel]].

<img src="IAF/FlophouseHall.jpg"> You wrinkle your nose as you gingerly make your way down the creaking, mildew-scented hallway to room 21. Just as you arrive outside the door of your room, you hear a short cry that seems to come from the room directly above yours. You could go [[check it out]], or you could decide it is none of your business and just go in to the [[flophouse room]].

<img src="IAF/FlophouseHall.jpg"> [[kick down the door]]

<img src="IAF/Hospital01.jpg"> As little confidence as the exterior inspired, the interior of the hospital is even worse. The buzzing flourescents illuminate desolute scene; the air ripe with antisceptic cleansers that do little to mask the underlying stench. You seat yourself on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. Given that you seem to be the sole patient in the entire building, it takes an unconsciousably long time for annoyed-sounding female voice to call your name... sort of. "[[Mister GeeORdano]]! Victor Giordano!"

<img src="IAF/VitoBeachwear.jpg"> "What the...?" you gasp, head feeling like it is about to explode. "Have a fun time, Vito?" Cat asks, snark in her voice. "Al," you correct her, absently. You still feel... confused. Your previous interactions with her, being here, seem more like a particulalrly vivid dream, rather than the memories they clearly must be. "What's going on?" You want to know. "Why am I back... here?" "Oh, don't worry - I'm sure you won't be here for long," Cat assures you. "When realities begin intruding here, the effects of your choices begin to snowball quickly." "Wait, what? Effects of my choices? What does *that* even..." Then, all of the sudden, you feel a strange tingling sensation - in your *brain*. You remember the beach party; but now you ALSO remember what happened *after* the beach party. After the *ILLEGAL* beach party... You swallow heavily; remembering the arrest, the hearing, the sentence: (if: $Player is "VitoBeachBad")["[[Six months in jail]]."] (if: $Player is "VitoBeachGood")["[[Military service]]."]

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<img src="IAF/ShelbyGym02.jpg"> "All right, $Player - let's get to work. See if you can keep up." Shelby taunts you. You are (text-style: "rumble")[Tough Enough] not to let it shake you in the least - you simply jump right in on your own routine. Sweat quickly forms a shiny slick on your hard, taut body as you work out - and by the time you are done, you are certain all that hard work definately [[had an effect on you]].

(if: $Player is "Vikki")[<img src="IAF/YouGymVikki.jpg">] (if: $Player is "Fireball")[<img src="IAF/YouGymFireball.jpg">] (if: $Player is "SlutBitch")[<img src="IAF/YouGymSlutBitch.jpg">] Finishing your respective work-outs, you shower and change. "So, $Player - ready to [[come back to my place]]?" Shelby asks with a grin. "Or were you planning to [[stay at the gym]] all day?"

Returning home with Shelby is the beginning of your life-long partnership, both in bed and outside of it. In very little time, you have joined Shelby in the hobby she was indulging herself in when you met: Hunting for your next (text-style: "strike")[victim] volunteer. (if: $Player is "Vikki")[<img src="IAF/VikkiTough.jpg">] (if: $Player is "Fireball")[<img src="IAF/FireballTough.jpg">] (if: $Player is "SlutBitch")[<img src="IAF/SlutBitchTough.jpg">] Congratulations! You have come to your new fate: (text-style: "shadow")[$Player]! If, however, you are unsatisfied with your fate for any reason, GunnyCorp™ is happy to provide you with the option to [[Start Over|Start]].

For some reason, Shelby herself just can't compare with the urge to make sure you are (text-style: "rumble")[tough enough]for whatever may come. Focused on increasing your own physical power, you barely register the blonde's departure... or the momentary look of confusion that preceeded it. Evrything becomes subordinate to the need to be (text-style: "rumble")[tough enough]. Whether food tastes good or bad is, at best, a secondary concern next to nutrition and the building of muscle mass. <img src="IAF/Tuffend1.jpg"> So focused are you, that your memories begin to grow (text-style: "blur")[hazy]. Not that any of that matters, of course - it has nothing to do with making yourself (text-style: "rumble")[tough enough]. Just bulking up isn't nearly enough, though - oh, no. People might *think* you are (text-style: "rumble")[tough enough], but you need to *test* it. To (text-style: "outline")[PROVE] it. You begin to haunt the shadowed niches and crevices of society, looking for challenges to test your power. Your days of being (text-style: "blurrier")[Vikki] receed further each day. <img src="IAF/Tuffend2.jpg"> You begin experimenting with your appearance, changing make-up schemes, clothing, and hair-color. Somebody you encounter in one such cramped, dimly lit space refers to you as a "Tunnel Snake", apparently a reference to some video game. It's a good a refernce as any. It is an eveniong like any other when you swagger confidently toward one of your favorite 'hunting grounds'. You happen to notice a classic 'muscle car', and pause briefly to admire it's brutish, (text-style: "rumble")[tough enough] appearance. <img src="IAF/ShelbyCobra.jpg"> Mind rather indifferntly considering the car, you make your way down the steps, enjoying the looks of respect(text-style: "subscript")[(fear)] the local yokels give you. Smirking slightly, you position yourself in the center of the grafitti-bedecked pedestrian underpass near the park. Standing tall and proud, you watch some pathetic loser slowly materialize out of the fog that has rolled in... <img src="IAF/TunnelBitch.jpg"> Congratulations! You have come to your new fate: (text-style: "shadow")[Shelby the Tunnel Snake]! Enjoy! (text-style: "outline")[The End.]

<img src="IAF/HospitalNurse01.jpg"> "I'm Vito GiorDINO," you reply annoyed. The nurse - her nametag reads 'Pratchett' - rolls her eyes. "C'mon - the doctor will see you now." She informs you in a bored-yet-superior tone of voice. She turns without bothering to wait for you to rise, and begins walking toward the door. "Follow me." With little option, you [[follow the nurse]].

<img src="IAF/HospitalNurse02.jpg"> You follow Nurse Pratchett down the hallway, internally grimicing at the sights and smells that greet you at every turn. So, it comes as an extremely pleasent surprise to be led into a relative clean, functional office where a competent-looking doctor waits. "Thank you, Theresa," he says to Pratchett, who nods choppily and heads away. The doctor turns his attention to you. <img src="IAF/DoctorWhom01.jpg"> "So, Mr... Giordino, is it? I'm Doctor Whom. What seems to be the problem...?" You explain, quickly and succinctly. As you speak, Dr. Whom's face grows steadily more grave. After you fnish explaining, he nods and informs you that he would like to have you stay for the night for observation. You agree, and he has Nurse Pratchett escort you to a private room fro the night. <img src="IAF/Hospital03.jpg"> As Pratchett leaves, you consider your options - do you simply [[go to sleep]], or do you decide to [[explore the hospital]].

<img src="IAF/Hospital04.jpg"> Well, if nothing else, you managed a good night's sleep. After a marginally edible breakfast served by a surly Nurse Pratchett, you are escorted back to speak to Dr. Whom. While you are still rather concerned by you mental state - memory lapses combined with occasional confusion - Dr. Whom insists you are perfectly fine. Almost over your objections, he as Nurse Pratchett drive you to [[your office|vanish]].

<img src="IAF/Hospital05.jpg"> Waiting for silence, you silently open the door to the room and slip into the hall. You've removed your shoes, so your stocking feet are silent on the cool floor - but given some things you see on the floor, you choose to walk carefully. Turning the corner of the hallway you are in, you enter the next corridor - and find yourself faced with a choice. <img src="IAF/Hospital06.jpg"> You can [[take the elevator]], slip through the [[open door]], or [[try the closed door]].

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(set: $Player to "VictorJordan") <img src="IAF/Secretary02.jpg"> With a soft susseration, the dress slithers to the floor. "I was hoping you would say that..." Joan purrs, wickedly.

(set: $Ending to "(un)Happily Married") <img src="IAF/Office001.jpg"> "Not this morning, Joan," you reply, although not without regret; still, having *just* come from your doctor, not following his instructions to cut down on coffee (and smoking) would seem petty. "Of course, Mr. Jordan," Joan says, briskly professional. "Here's the agenda for this morning..." So, like every day, you put in long hours in a barely rewarding job before finally [[heading home to the wife|GameOver]].

Stepping into the confines of the stainless-steel elevator, you glance over the control panel. To your surprise, you notice that somebody must have forgotten their security key, as it is still inserted in the slot that allows the elevator to reach the lowest basement level. Presented with this opportunity, you take it - firmly, you press 'B4'. The machine hums into motion. Smoothly, it decends into the bowels of the earth. With an electronic chime, the doors to the elevator slide open. <img src="IAF/HospBasement01.jpg"> You lick your lips nervously at the sight of the dim, damp corridor, almost involuntarily glancing down at your sock-clad feet. Do you dare [[push onward]], or should you give this up as a bad idea and go back to see how comfortable that [[hospital bed]] is?

<img src="IAF/Hospital03.jpg"> You look around the room, but (if: $GotHairpin is not "yes")[you find nothing more interesting than a hairpin](if: $GotHairpin is "yes")[you find nothing more of interest].(set: $GotHairpin to "yes") Of course, you could always [[take the elevator]] or [[try the closed door]]. Unless you decide to answer the call of the [[hospital bed]] and give up on exploring.

You approach the closed door and quickly check the handle. Locked. (if: $GotHairpin is not "yes")[You give a quick look around. Seeing nothing, you lean back and, with one mighty kick, break open the door. All for naught. The room is empty of anything even remotely interesting, and you step back out into the corridor... ...only to discover that the noise of your entry has alerted *something*. <img src="IAF/Cthulhu.jpg"> Congratulations! You have come to your new fate: (text-style: "shadow")[Called by Cthulhu]!] (if: $GotHairpin is "yes")[You give a quick look around. Seeing nothing, you lean back and, with one mighty kick, break open the door. All for naught. The room is empty of anything even remotely interesting, and you step back out into the corridor. You can either [[take the elevator]] or go back to your [[hospital bed]].]

<img src="IAF/HospBasement02.jpg"> To your surprise, the basement - carved out of living rock - is brightly lit, if clearly not entirely finished. On one wall is a security door; a highly secure door, one which you cannot break through, and which requires a key to open. Inspiration strikes, and you pad back to the elevator. Retreiving the key from the panel, you return to the underground chamber and try your luck with the security door. It slides open, and you hesitantly pass through the [[open security doors]].

<img src="IAF/Hospital03.jpg"> Returning to the hospital room assigned to you, you finish undressing, climb into the bed, and [[go to sleep]].

(text-style: "shadow")[INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!] <img src="IAF/Zapped.jpg"> The... woman's? ...(text-style: "fade-in-out")[ray beam] hits you, and [[everything goes black]].

You wake slowly, in darkness. You are laying on a very firm, but slightly giving surface... and you are strapped into place, ankles, wrist and forehead. (if: $GotHairpin is not "yes")[You struggle, but in vain - the restraints are designed for exactly this purpose. You can do nothing but [[helplessly wait]] to find out what they want with you.](if: $GotHairpin is "yes")[You struggle, but in vain - the restraints are designed for exactly this purpose... ...but not if you have a hairpin still in your hand. You [[manage to escape]] the restraints.]

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