When I was asked by Junior to visit his gang's base of operations, there were a number of images I pictured. I had these images sorted into the standard categories; a most likely, second most likely, and most dangerous. The most likely was a decently sized but amateurish operation. Less of an organized force with a clear goal and chain of command and more of a loose collection of personalities who had come together for the sole purpose of protection via strength in numbers, and a hideout to reflect this. Nothing extremely defensible, but large enough to house a large number of people who came and went as they pleased with little in the way of security. The second most likely was similar, but with some key differences. Still a loose collection of individuals and not at all an organized force, but one of the much smaller variety. After all, I haven't actually seen very many of Junior's gang members. I would have to say I've seen roughly 15 or so people who have shown him any deference, at the most. The second most likely image would reflect this, with this loose collection of individuals being a size small enough to fit at a high school lunch table. The most dangerous, of course, was that I [i]was[/i] walking into a heavily armed, structurally organized and formidable fighting force. Chain of command, operating procedures, doctrine. A group that heavily borrowed from military organization protocols, with a central command that had delegated control over all logistical and tactical procedures. For obvious reasons, this most dangerous possibility was also the least likely. Still, have to take into account and have at least a part of me expect and be prepared for it. In all my years of experience, I've had the most dangerous possibility be the reality on four separate occasions. After the first time, I never slipped on expecting the worst case scenario ever again. *page_break Next The route that Junior leads me down takes us through more run-down parts of the town than anywhere I've been so far since being adopted by Daniel. For the most part, my guardian has kept me in the residential and commercial parts of the town. This section, in contrast, appears to have very little being done with it. Given the abandoned state of the buildings that we pass buy, nobody appears to live or do business in this section, and we come across very little in the way of foot traffic. The police presence is also considerably less noticeable. Despite this, we don't really run into any trouble on the way through. We did come across one group that [i]looked[/i] like they wanted to start trouble but a stern look from everyone else on the street was enough to intimidate them into submissiveness. It seemed that in the absence of law enforcement, the 'residents' of this section took to using mass intimidation in order to maintain the peace. Nobody wanted random violence in their streets, after all. Funny, even the most run down area of this small town was more peaceful than the most civilized city in my old residence. *page_break Next "I know it's not as appealing as where you're probably from," Junior opened up conversation after we'd made some decent headway into the section. "But it's home. I've been down this route so many times, I could walk it blindfolded." "Useful skill to have." He chuckled and gave me an aside glance. "You know, I can never tell when you're joking." As he finished that last sentence, him and Tobs took an abrupt turn right into an alleyway. Following them, we traveled down it until it emptied out into what appeared to be a run down convenience store. It was decently sized for a convenience store. From the outside I would estimate it would be able to house two platoons along with their gear and rations. The occupants I see in the building appear similar to Junior and Tobs in terms of dress, though very few of them appear to be high school age. I'd estimate the age range of the twenty or so individuals that I can see in and around the building to be between 19 and 26 years old. "This is your base." "Observant." Junior says with a grin. "Yeah, used to be one of those ma and pop stores before the old couple had a fatal accident. Inheritor didn't want to run it but also didn't want to sell it, so she for the most part just ignores it and has probably forgotten it by now, it's been about a decade. Meanwhile, the city still runs electricity through here, and since nobody else it doing anything with it, we figured we'd keep the old place company until someone decided to. Pretty clever, huh?" *fake_choice #Yeah, clever "Very resourceful." "I think so." Junior says with obvious pride in his voice. #Not very well hidden "Not very well hidden. Your group is easily found." "Don't really need to be well hidden. Nobody comes around here anyway." Junior says while waving his hand dismissively at my criticism. "Anyway, let me show you around for a bit. Pretty sure after all we've built, I have the right to be pretty proud of myself." [i]"Make no mistake, Cockroach. There's nothing more important to a man than what he's build. Literal or metaphorical, if he build it then its his, and he'll die fighting for it. Nothing else in the world, not women nor money nor God, will ever be higher in his mind." When he gave me that lesson, we were in South America visiting one of the local warlords. It was my first time working under these types of people, these dictators and rulers, and he wanted to be sure I didn't do anything to damage the contract and get us killed. One of the main things he told me was to never insult, not even unintentionally, something a man had built. Of course, there were exceptions. If you wanted that man enraged and not thinking clearly then go for it. But if you wanted friends, and especially if you were on their territory and at their mercy, you never insult something that a man has built if you valued your life. That applied to everywhere I went. East, west, north, and south. I saw no reason why it wouldn't apply here. Junior may not be a warlord, but he's still a man. Or at least, a young man. *page_break Next The interior of the convenience store has obviously been through some remodeling. Shelves have been rearranged into improvised chairs that people sit on while watching TV or eating, or otherwise wasting time with each other's company. From where we stand at the entrance, I can count around a dozen people doing just that. None of them really standing out from any of the others. In the area behind the counter are a few mattresses lying on the floor. Only one is occupied at the moment, by a man who appears to have been in a fight recently, given the state of his bandaged torso. If I had to guess, blunt force trauma from a weapon applied to his lower abdomen resulting in broken ribs. Given the lack of actual privacy, that area is probably just a place for people who need to rest and for one reason or another can't go home. Nearer to the center of the store there's a space that's been completely cleared out, with what appear to be dining tables on the outside of the circle, creating a semi-enclosed spot. The floor is stained with small patches of blood. An arena. "What is it you do here?" I ask Junior. "Well, what do you typically do in a group home?" He probably didn't want an answer to that. "We chat, we play cards, we roughhouse. Basically anything we can do to distract ourselves from our slow progression toward the grave." "And the arena?" He grins. "That's the roughhouse part. Sometimes people have beef. Sometimes they just wanna have fun. Reasons vary, though you can always count on there being betting." *page_break Next Roughhousing. I suppose I'm familiar with the concept. I remember fights occasionally breaking out in the barracks, usually over something petty. Stolen alcohol. Poorly chosen words. Stupid things. Very rarely resulted in a death, though that wasn't unheard of. For the most part, nobody ever saw it odd whenever people would fight. It happened. It was bound to happen, whenever you put people in the same room and had them living together for an extended period of time. *if (female =true) *choice #That might be a way to get respect here... Groups like these respect physical strength and little else. The primary way to gain their respect and admiration would be to prove that you possess physical strength above that of the average member. "Is anyone allowed to fight?" You ask Junior as you're passing by. "It's not exactly organized. If you wanna fight, just call em out." "Very well." I look at him, establishing eye contact and making sure I have his full attention. My next statement will lose some of its effect if I have to say it twice. "Will you spar with me?" As expected he seems a bit taken aback by my sudden request, though not upset. "Why? Something I did to piss you off?" As the conversation has gone in this new direction, several on-lookers have turned their attention to us. Some silent and watching, others grinning and encouraging. "I merely wish to see who is better. You said that any reason is valid." "That I did." Junior laughs and shakes his head. "You sure about this? I won't pull any punches, even if you are a lady." "I can live with that. Can you?" A few females in the audience cheer me on. "Alright, I'm game." His grin has not faltered. "Let's see who's better." *goto fight #No, I don't need that kind of attention I'd rather avoid drawing too much attention to myself too quickly. While I'm sure defeating Junior would likely improve my standing with the gang, it may have other consequences that I'm not aware of at the moment. Better to wait and see before rushing into action. There will be time later to choose how I wish to mold my relationship with this gang, and with Junior. *goto gohome *if (male =true) My scan of the room complete, I look at Junior to see what he has planned to do next, and quickly find us making eye contact. There is an expectant look in his face. "Well?" "Yes?" "Are we goanna spar or not?" He asks casually while gesturing to the stage. "Come on, they'll love it." As the conversation has gone in this new direction, several on-lookers have turned their attention to us. Some silent and watching, others grinning and encouraging. "You said that the sparring ring was for settling differences. Have I offended you?" He shrugs. "Maybe I just wanna see who's better. Do I need a better reason?" Seeing as how this is his territory and his gang that is currently surrounding me, any reason that he decides is valid should probably be taken as such. "Very well. Let us see who is better." *goto fight *label fight *page_break Next It doesn't take long for a crowd to form around the small 4ft radius arena. Something about a newcomer and their leader fighting it out, most likely. Some are taking bets, though from what I can overhear, very few actually think there's a chance of my victory. Not surprising, considering I'm the newcomer and my skills are unknown whereas they know the capabilities of their leader. Instead, most of the bets are on how long it will take for Junior to defeat me. The highest is three minutes, the lowest is ten second. After we've both separated to our respective corners Junior removes his shirt, much to the delight of our female observers. This allows me a look at his muscular structure and how he is built. From what I can tell, elbows and forearms appear very scarred and leathery, likely from frequent use, indicating a grappling and very close quarters style. There are other heavily scarred places, such as the torso and abdomen, indicating he's used to taking a hit. I can also tell from the way he is built that he is a fighter, not an athlete. One can usually tell the difference based on which muscle groups are the most developed and frequently used. It's clear from his structure that he won't be winning any long-distance running or hurdles, but he's very used to fighting and has practiced it. Junior also evidently isn't above playing to the crowd, and he grins at his supporters (which is almost everyone in the room) and bounces on his toes to psyche up both them and himself in preparation for the upcoming battle. *fake_choice #Follow his example *set junior_beach %+5 The goal of this battle isn't just to win. It's to improve my standing with Junior and the members of this gang. As such, it seems prudent to mimic the behavior of the person whom I am trying to impress. The energy of the audience seems to improve as my own shirt is removed from my person and laid casually on the edge of the ring. *if (male =true) My action had the desired effect. This action seems to have been taken as a declaration of my confidence, which has done more to psyche up the crowd. "Shit, given how scrawny you were, I honestly didn't expect you to be so ripped." Junior says with a hint of admiration. "Well, metaphorical [i]and[/i] literal. Not goanna lie, you look like you've been ripped apart and put back together a few times. Shit, is that a bullet hole?" You shrug. "Heh, you're something else." As he speaks, he gives my body another look, and doesn't suppress his grin that appears to indicate internal sexual admiration. It seems I've 'turned him on' as they say in this part of the word. Excellent, arousal slows the reflexes. *page_break Next *goto begin *if (female =true) My actions were evidently not at all expected, given a few "holy shit"'s and "did she seriously just-"'s that I overhear among the mumbling. I suppose it is good that Daniel made sure to instruct to me the importance of wearing a bra. Though that garment of modesty does not seem to diminish the amount of sexual innuendo I hear. "Heh, not bad. Nothing like a full frontal first impression, am I right?" Junior laughs. "Ripped, too. Well, metaphorical [i]and[/i] literal. Not goanna lie, you look like you've been ripped apart and put back together a few times. Shit, is that a bullet hole?" You shrug. "Heh, you're something else." As he speaks, he gives my body another look, and doesn't suppress his grin that appears to indicate internal sexual admiration. It seems I've 'turned him on' as they say in this part of the word. Excellent, arousal slows the reflexes. *page_break Next *goto begin #There's no point I have no intention to play to the audience. The only person in this entire room I give my attention to is the opponent in front of me. Everything else is white noise. Empty space. Irrelevant. *goto begin *label begin After about twelve seconds or so, Junior enters what appears to be a fighting stance. His hands are open, knees slightly bent and torso leaning forward as he remains on the balls of his feet to allow for quick movements. It occurs to me, we never did agree beforehand the limits of what each of us are allowed to do. I can assume that killing and crippling is forbidden, but beyond that, I'm in completely unknown territory. Given the personality of the group, I can assume this is far from an organized and formal match up. But that can't mean complete free reign, could it? Before I have time to contemplate it, Junior is already moving forward toward me. *temp finish 0 *choice #End it quickly *set finish 1 Fast and deadly. The only way I really know how to fight. As Junior is approaching, he keeps his body low and his arms wide. The standard approach for a tackle. A move that's pretty easy to see, but surprisingly difficult to counter. It doesn't help that Junior has a bit of a size advantage on me. Not a large difference, but a potentially dangerous one. Which is why I make sure that I am absolutely nowhere near his front when he comes charging. Instead, I choose to pick something up from the nearest flat surface, anything would do, and throw it at his head. That 'something' turns out to be a half-full can of root beer, which works out perfectly. Between the impact and the sudden spray of the liquid all over his face and clothes, he's distracted enough to where he stops his charge and allows me to step out of his immediate field of vision. When broken down like that, it sounds rather fluid and neat. Though I doubt it looked that way from an observer, it was enough to get me to his side. After a brief half-second, he wipes off his face and looks around for my location. "Where the fu-" He's cut off by my arms wrapping around his neck and my knee pressing irritably against his inner thigh, causing him to stumble backward and into my grip. With him at my mercy, I pinch down on either side of his neck, into the blood vessels, and hold down for six seconds (careful not to do so for a second longer, in order to avoid causing permanent damage). After six seconds have elapsed, I swiftly let go, allowing him to drop onto the ground unconscious. *page_break Next Satisfied with my victory, I look out over the crowd and see their reactions. Half of them are still cheering, evidently not caring who was the victor. A few are calling fowl play, either for the root beer can or the blood choke. After a time, though, they seem to die down and start erupting a more curious sound. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." A single sound, said in unison and starting off low and barely perceptible, but as the cry continues on it begins growing louder and louder. Then, you start to hear shuffling behind me, and quickly turn around to see Junior supporting himself on one knee, breathing heavily, but very much conscious. As he slowly regains his footing, the chant grows louder and louder, until it reaches its peak upon Junior standing up on his own two feet and resuming a fighting stance. I have used that choke on numerous people. Soldiers, mercenaries, professional killers, and people who were [i]really.[/i] [i]So how the hell did this 18-year-old high school boy manage to just shake it off?! "Nice trick," he breaths out with a cocky grin. "Let's try this again!" *page_break Next *goto con #Draw it out The whole point of this is to gain prestige with the locals. A fast and anticlimactic fight wouldn't do well toward achieving that goal. If I defeat their leader in single combat, I am someone to be respected. If I do it in such a way that it humiliates him, however, then I will have humiliated the gang and will thus be an object of disdain. There is a careful middle ground to aim for. As Junior is approaching, he keeps his body low and his arms wide. The standard approach for a tackle. A move that's pretty easy to see, but surprisingly difficult to counter. It doesn't help that Junior has a bit of a size advantage on me. Not a large difference, but a potentially dangerous one. Which is why I make sure that I am absolutely nowhere near his front when he comes charging. Instead, I choose to pick something up from the nearest flat surface, anything would do, and throw it at his head. That 'something' turns out to be a half-full can of root beer, which works out perfectly. Between the impact and the sudden spray of the liquid all over his face and clothes, he's distracted enough to where he stops his charge and allows me to step out of his immediate field of vision. When broken down like that, it sounds rather fluid and neat. Though I doubt it looked that way from an observer, it was enough to get me to his side. After a brief half-second, he wipes off his face and looks around for my location. "Where the fu- oof!" He's cut off by the impact of my elbow slamming into his ribs. And as long as I'm close by and my center of gravity is low, I might as well do some damage to the legs. I quick kick to the back of the knee generates a moderate amount of pain and temporarily disables him. Ordinarily, this would be a good time to finish the fight, but that's not the objective. So, instead, I take a few steps back while maintaining a fighter's stance, and cautiously observe for the two seconds it takes for Junior to get back on his feet. An impressive time for someone his age and size. *page_break Next *goto con *label con After Junior's back on his feet, it doesn't take long before he's moving for another offensive. Again, he prefers to utilize a straight charge toward me. Though not a tackle. Once he is approaching the maximum effective range of his arms, his shoulders twist to indicate an incoming punch. A strong one, with the force and momentum of his charge reinforcing it. Judging by angle, I would assume his target is my upper torso or facial region. *temp lose 0 *choice #Finish him *set finish +1 It's a strong move. However, when attacks are telegraphed so clearly, a battle becomes more like a game of chess. With every possible move having an appropriate reaction. Theoretically, every possibility could be mapped out and coordinated, if the fight were between two such opponents who fought the way that Junior fights now. This is a game I have been playing for a very long time. So as he approaches, I know exactly what I should do in reaction before he reaches me. Just as he is about to reach me, I take a rapid step forward, jabbing my elbow quickly across his jaw followed by a knee to the lower abdomen in quick succession. Sensory overload creates confusion as to which area to protect, and the most resistance he puts up is trying to push against me to stop me from driving forward. With so much forward momentum, however, it does little to stop him from falling onto his back. Several kicks to the head for good measure. Though I relent from getting down to ground level and doing permanent damage to the eyes and throat, and I especially avoid striking the back of the neck. It is unnecessary anyway; most people are unconscious after a single solid, powerful strike to the head anyway. Four should be more than enough. Such is my thought process as I step back to take a breath. But before I've finished, I see Junior move again. He presses his arm into the ground, and uses it to support him as he stumbles back up to his feet. But...that doesn't make any sense. A few more and he'd be dead. Yet here he is, standing up a little wobbly, but with a fighting stance that seems to have not worn down at all since the beginning of the fight. Clearly, I underestimated just how durable this kid is. I might have to rely on more than raw skill if I actually intend to win. How long has it been since I had a real fight? *page_break Next *goto con2 #Move out of the way With that much force, being in the way would be an easy path toward unconsciousness. Luckily, with such a telegraphed move, it isn't difficult for me to maneuver my body to move underneath his arm and take a few extra steps away to break contact. Junior ends up running into one of the desks, jamming into his stomach, but he barely acknowledges that aside from a slight grimace. Clearly he's accustomed to more damaging impacts. I consider moving in for a counter attack but he turns too quickly to make that viable. From what I was able to tell from that, Junior is an opponent who prefers strong and uncontrolled attacks. I see no pattern or discipline in his form. Lack of formal technique makes him somewhat more difficult to predict, but also easier to lead. Even without making an attack, one can gain from every move if they know how to make the most out of everything the enemy gives them. *page_break Next *goto con2 #Take the hit, and counter *set lose 1 To gain ground, sacrifices must be made. A moment of pain in exchange for progress is a bargain in my business. So I don't move from my spot as he charges forward with his fist raised. Instead, I remain positioned, ready to strike back the moment his fist passes. That's the plan. But then the fist connects, with so much more force than I had been expecting. I was prepared to recoil from the beating and rise back up with an attack of my own. I did not expect to be sent sprawling onto the ground, head connecting against the marvel floor. After falling onto the ground, I quickly scramble to my feet and turn around to face him, expecting a follow up attack. Though it seems in this case Junior had the courtesy of waiting the second it took for me to regain my footing. As I'm regaining control of the situation, I feel blood drip from the side of my head. *page_break Next *goto con2 #Attempt to lose *set lose 1 While many leaders try to appear reasonable and open to criticism, the reality is that very few people want to see their own failings. Especially leaders of criminal groups. No matter how his mannerisms may portray him, experience makes me think that while putting up a fight will ingratiate me to Junior, actually defeating him will likely have a drastic inverse effect. So I don't move from my spot as he charges forward with his fist raised. Instead, I remain positioned so that when his fist makes contact, I'm able to avoid serious injury. That's the plan. But then the fist connects, with so much more force than I had been expecting. I was prepared to recoil from the beating and rise back up with an attack of my own. I did not expect to be sent sprawling onto the ground, head connecting against the marvel floor. After falling onto the ground, I quickly scramble to my feet and turn around to face him, expecting a follow up attack. I realize immediately afterward that this probably didn't help achieve my goal of losing, but after a hit like that, instinct took over. It seems those muscles of his aren't just for show. Anyway, despite my attempts, it seems I'm still in this fight. Unfortunate. *page_break Next *goto con2 *label con2 Junior's breathing hard but doesn't appear to be slowing down. Level of endurance is impressive. Not sure if I should credit it to physical ability or willpower. More practically, there's patterns in his moves. Direct, brute force. Has the power to back it up. Uses brief moments of explosive power followed by short rest periods in between, exemplified by these pauses between conflicts. Tactic for playing the long game. He knows his limitations in fighting style, form doesn't carry any finality to it. Doesn't know how to finish a fight. Attacks lack the decisiveness to permanently disable an opponent. Therefor, he intends to wear me out. Logical solution would be to counter with the finality he lacks. However, his natural endurance would allow him to power through the majority of my non-lethal take-downs. Could attack nerves or disable limbs, might be permanent though. Unless I'm willing to rely on that natural endurance to help him recover without permanent damage. Before long, the rest period ends and Junior's on the offensive again. As before, lack of grace or form or finality. Just typical high punches in quick succession. *choice #Finish him *set finish +1 His punches are fast and wild. But to my eye, he might as well be moving in slow motion. Finding a gap in his offense isn't difficult. Thing about wild punches is that it relies entirely on the enemy being too on the defensive to peak for vulnerabilities, and doesn't make any effort to cover up said vulnerabilities. It's easy, then, to spot an opening in his arms that I can exploit. When one arm is coming up for an attack, I exploit the opening given to me, and quickly grab hold of the joint connecting the arm to the torso. Increased leveral allows me to control his direction, so I guide his forward momentum toward the hard surfaces behind me. His head makes violent contact with the hard plastic surface. There's a crack somewhere. Some female in the background gasps. Unnecessary concern, the impact doesn't leave him down for very long and he's already struggling his way back to his feet. As he does so, I grab him by the hair and slam his face back into the hard plastic surface. Bent nose indicates its broken. Multiple facial fractures probable. Stitches required. Haircut recommended. Continued movement. Rectify with kick between legs. Shout indicates high levels of pain. Possible sterilization. Check for blood in urine. Pain causes target to fall on the ground for 3 seconds. Continued movement. Rectify with kick to face. Move to side of target, grab neck and side to flip over. Something goes wrong. Sudden attack from the target. Let guard down and was hit across the face in a sudden motion that came unexpectedly from his lying position. Force of the punch was enough to knock me onto my back. Able to get up in time, narrowly avoiding being grappled by the target on the ground. Brief retreat to a safe distance. The target also takes the opportunity to stand up. Target is in clear pain. However, I do not see the usual indications of a target ready to give up. *page_break Next *goto con3 #Counter force with force *set lose +1 Extreme aggression and overwhelming force. Many foes are vulnerable to a tactical application of extreme aggression. Meeting Junior's head-on charge with one of my own seems like the most logical decision at the time. Unfortunately, this logic is almost immediately proven flawed upon impact. It seems in the rush of adrenaline, I momentarily forgot one of the most important rules of combat: Never attack a larger person head-on. Without the proper use of tactics and cheating, it comes down to a battle of strength. But raw power has never been my primary talent, whereas his fighting style relies on it. As such, I'm quickly overwhelmed and suffer some minor damage to the chest and face before I'm able to break out of Junior's line of assault and get some distance. *page_break Next *goto con3 #Evade Sometimes, simply not getting hit is the best you can get out of an encounter. Such is usually the case when someone larger than you is charging straight on at less than 10 feet away. One of the keys to my survival has been knowing when to cut my losses and live to try again from a different angle. One could say I'm quite adept at it. With so much experience of avoiding pain, it isn't difficult to simply relocate myself before Junior reaches me and get some distance from my attacker. I may not have hurt him, but he didn't hurt me. Thus, I can try again. *page_break Next *goto con3 #Take the fall *set lose +1 This has gone on long enough. The crowd is more than enthusiastic. Losing now would do nothing to harm my reputation after having lasted this long. There's a great deal of pain as I'm run down and forced onto the ground in a powerful assault, followed by several closed-fist strikes to the face and chest as my opponent straddles my mid-section, putting pressure down on my stomach and making it difficult to inhale. Overall, an unpleasant position to be in. Even if I wasn't trying to lose, this would be a problematic scenario. Good thing pain is an old friend. One more fist strikes my face. The horizontal force causes my head to turn in the direction of travel, blood pooling up in my mouth and vision blurring from the blunt force trauma. As the assault continues, my thoughts become slower and less efficient. Becoming more difficult to put up resistance. Arms are pinned. Attempts to wriggle out are hindered by his assault. Movements becoming slower. Breathing labored. Options diminishing. I...lose consciousness. *page_break [i]Next [i]The room is poorly lit. A single light-bulb in the center of the room creates shadows on the walls. The only thing the light source manages to make clearly visible is the blood stains. [i]The mattress I lie down in is ragged and stuffed with low quality cotton that is falling apart, making the bed lumpy and uncomfortable, incapable of supporting weight. [i]"Awake. Excellent." My dreary eyes look over to the figure sitting in a stool beside my bed. "They put you on so much anesthetic I was beginning to worry you'd never wake up. And after I specifically told the incompetents to not bother with the stuff." He shakes his head making multiple 'tsk' noises in quick succession. "Well, you didn't bleed out on the bed, so there's a silver lining." [i]His face is partially hidden by the shadows cast by the light bulb, making his facial features difficult to discern. Nonetheless, by his vocal patterns, I can tell that he is smiling. A hand reaches down onto my body and traces a spot on my chest that appears to be a surgical scar. This action makes me aware of two things. \ [i]The first: I have recently been shot. [i]The second: I am undressed. [i]"Another for the collection, eh?" He jests. "Your skin is beginning to develop quite the story. And look at this," *if (female =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and begins fondling my developing breast. "You're starting to grow up." *if (male =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and grips between my legs. "You're starting to grow up." *page_break Next I wake up, for the second time. This time, the mattress appears to be in a slightly better quality, the room is well lit, and there isn't nearly as much blood. "Well, takes a lot to put you down, doesn't it?" I hear Junior's voice somewhere out of my field of vision. "And after all that effort, didn't even do for a full hour." I look over and see that he's not in much better shape than I am. Several bandages and wounds dart over his body. He winces every time he moves around in his bed, bed it to adjust for comfort or reach for the bottle of water lying next to him. "That sure got...intense, didn't it?" He laughs, which causes him to wince, though he didn't seem to mind all that much. "You really tore into me out there. Got some real nasty instincts up in that brain of yours. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were some natural born predator. Took everything I had to knock you out for, what, twenty minutes? Hot damn, it's been awhile since I hurt this bad!" He grins. "Anyone who can scrap like that one-on-one is a person I'm willing to trust." He shoots a friendly grin toward me. "You're welcome on my team anytime, kid." *page_break On the way home... *goto gohome *label con3 After distance has been re-established once again, we enter another rest period. *choice *if (finish =2) #Finish him I approach the target while he is still catching his breath. Target sees what I'm doing and swings a fist in my direction. Respond with a jab to ribs. A target on the ground would be easier to deal with. I grab the target by the collar as he is recovering from my previous light attack. Target makes an unexpected move. After I've grabbed him, he headbutts me. Top of his skull makes contact with the bridge of my nose. Crack indicates it is now broken. Vision temporarily becomes blurry. Target takes advantage of the situation to charge me, forcing me to the ground in a tackle. Target is mounted at my stomach, making breathing difficult. Arms are pinned to my side by his legs. As I attempt to remove myself from the situation, he continues to assault my face with punches. As the assault continues, my thoughts become slower and less efficient. Becoming more difficult to put up resistance. Arms are pinned. Attempts to wriggle out are hindered by his assault. Movements becoming slower. Breathing labored. Options diminishing. I...lose consciousness. *page_break [i]Next [i]The room is poorly lit. A single light-bulb in the center of the room creates shadows on the walls. The only thing the light source manages to make clearly visible is the blood stains. [i]The mattress I lie down in is ragged and stuffed with low quality cotton that is falling apart, making the bed lumpy and uncomfortable, incapable of supporting weight. [i]"Awake. Excellent." My dreary eyes look over to the figure sitting in a stool beside my bed. "They put you on so much anesthetic I was beginning to worry you'd never wake up. And after I specifically told the incompetents to not bother with the stuff." He shakes his head making multiple 'tsk' noises in quick succession. "Well, you didn't bleed out on the bed, so there's a silver lining." [i]His face is partially hidden by the shadows cast by the light bulb, making his facial features difficult to discern. Nonetheless, by his vocal patterns, I can tell that he is smiling. A hand reaches down onto my body and traces a spot on my chest that appears to be a surgical scar. This action makes me aware of two things. \ [i]The first: I have recently been shot. [i]The second: I am undressed. [i]"Another for the collection, eh?" He jests. "Your skin is beginning to develop quite the story. And look at this," *if (female =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and begins fondling my developing breast. "You're starting to grow up." *if (male =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and grips between my legs. "You're starting to grow up." *page_break Next I wake up, for the second time. This time, the mattress appears to be in a slightly better quality, the room is well lit, and there isn't nearly as much blood. "Well, takes a lot to put you down, doesn't it?" I hear Junior's voice somewhere out of my field of vision. "And after all that effort, didn't even do for a full hour." I look over and see that he's not in much better shape than I am. Several bandages and wounds dart over his body. He winces every time he moves around in his bed, bed it to adjust for comfort or reach for the bottle of water lying next to him. "That sure got...intense, didn't it?" He laughs, which causes him to wince, though he didn't seem to mind all that much. "You really tore into me out there. Got some real nasty instincts up in that brain of yours. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were some natural born predator. Took everything I had to knock you out for, what, twenty minutes? Hot damn, it's been awhile since I hurt this bad!" Looking back, I might have gotten a bit carried away in my attempts to incapacitate him. Not that it did any good. The fact that he actually beat me, legitimately and despite my best efforts, still hangs uneasily in my mind. He won because I didn't take the threat seriously. If I had been focusing and taking the fight more seriously, of course I would have defeated him. But the fact that I wasn't, and that he beat me as a result, is unnerving. "Anyone who can scrap like that one-on-one is a person I'm willing to trust." He shoots a friendly grin toward me. "You're welcome on my team anytime, kid." *page_break On the way home... *goto gohome #Attack while he's resting From what I've analyzed, these brief rest periods are vital for his ability to continue fighting with the absurd level of endurance he's demonstrated thus far. So the moment we've broken contact, I move in again. He sees me coming and attempts to attack, though between the surprise and the exhaustion, the move is comparatively weak. Easily avoided, and easily turned against him by grabbing the extended arm and pulling him off balance. We spin around for a bit from momentum and a fight for control over the other, until I've ended up behind him and force his arm to the back at an awkward angle with my other arm jamming into the joint between his arm and torso. From here, I have full control over him and use threat of pain to force him to his knees. He squirms and tries to fight, but from here there's nothing he's in a position to do. I have the superior position and control. He'd be hard pressed to do anything right now without breaking his own arm. After almost a full minute, he finally comes to terms with this. "Alright...you win." *page_break Next I release Junior, briefly stumbling to regain his step as he exhales the adrenaline out of his system. The audience has had their thrills and are satisfied with the display of violence. After a few seconds of celebrating the winner, a couple independent individuals step into the ring with water for the combatants. One of these water bottles is offered to me, as well as a wet washcloth. *fake_choice #Accept the aid A little help is a rare gift that one should not squander. I intake some water, swish it around for a bit, then spit it out to the side in order to wash out the blood that lingers in my mouth from what appears to be a tooth that got knocked out when I didn't notice. The feel of the wet washcloth dripping down my face is similarly soothing to my damaged skin. *goto 2quit #Reject them I'll make it by the way I always have. On my own. When they come up with their water and clothes, I wave them away, making clear my preference for self-treatment. I only ever really trust myself to fix me up. Nobody else has the same investment in my body and health. Nobody will ever care about me as much as myself. *goto 2quit *label 2quit "Phew," Junior lets out of breath as he's getting his own drink. "I'm beat. You really know what you're doing with this stuff." I nod my head in response, not quite sure what verbal reply he's expecting, nor wanting. "Anyone who can scrap like that one-on-one is a person I'm willing to trust." He shoots a friendly grin toward me. "You're welcome on my team anytime, kid." *page_break On the way home... *goto gohome #Wait for him *set lose +1 Caution and aggressiveness must be weighed carefully during a fight in order to avoid failure. Against an opponent like this, who runs on endurance and raw power, caution seems especially right to me. I'm not waiting for very long before he's moving again. Same tactic as before, a charge and a wild swing. *if (lose =3) I'm able to avoid the swing with relative ease and move to get out of his range. Somehow, though, he seems to see this coming and when I move, I meet a kick to the leg that sends me toppling to the ground. He goes down with me, and the next thing I know, he's straddling my mid-section and raining close-fist punches down on my face. Arms are pinned to my side by his legs. As the assault continues, my thoughts become slower and less efficient. Becoming more difficult to put up resistance. Arms are pinned. Attempts to wriggle out are hindered by his assault. Movements becoming slower. Breathing labored. Options diminishing. I...lose consciousness. *page_break [i]Next [i]The room is poorly lit. A single light-bulb in the center of the room creates shadows on the walls. The only thing the light source manages to make clearly visible is the blood stains. [i]The mattress I lie down in is ragged and stuffed with low quality cotton that is falling apart, making the bed lumpy and uncomfortable, incapable of supporting weight. [i]"Awake. Excellent." My dreary eyes look over to the figure sitting in a stool beside my bed. "They put you on so much anesthetic I was beginning to worry you'd never wake up. And after I specifically told the incompetents to not bother with the stuff." He shakes his head making multiple 'tsk' noises in quick succession. "Well, you didn't bleed out on the bed, so there's a silver lining." [i]His face is partially hidden by the shadows cast by the light bulb, making his facial features difficult to discern. Nonetheless, by his vocal patterns, I can tell that he is smiling. A hand reaches down onto my body and traces a spot on my chest that appears to be a surgical scar. This action makes me aware of two things. \ [i]The first: I have recently been shot. [i]The second: I am undressed. [i]"Another for the collection, eh?" He jests. "Your skin is beginning to develop quite the story. And look at this," *if (female =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and begins fondling my developing breast. "You're starting to grow up." *if (male =true) [i]he says as his hand moves down from the fresh scar and grips between my legs. "You're starting to grow up." *page_break Next I wake up, for the second time. This time, the mattress appears to be in a slightly better quality, the room is well lit, and there isn't nearly as much blood. "Well, takes a lot to put you down, doesn't it?" I hear Junior's voice somewhere out of my field of vision. "And after all that effort, didn't even do for a full hour." I look over and see that he's not in much better shape than I am. Several bandages and wounds dart over his body. He winces every time he moves around in his bed, bed it to adjust for comfort or reach for the bottle of water lying next to him. "That sure got...intense, didn't it?" He laughs, which causes him to wince, though he didn't seem to mind all that much. "You really tore into me out there. Got some real nasty instincts up in that brain of yours. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were some natural born predator. Took everything I had to knock you out for, what, twenty minutes? Hot damn, it's been awhile since I hurt this bad!" Looking back, I might have gotten a bit carried away in my attempts to incapacitate him. Not that it did any good. The fact that he actually beat me, legitimately and despite my best efforts, still hangs uneasily in my mind. He won because I didn't take the threat seriously. If I had been focusing and taking the fight more seriously, of course I would have defeated him. But the fact that I wasn't, and that he beat me as a result, is unnerving. "Anyone who can scrap like that one-on-one is a person I'm willing to trust." He shoots a friendly grin toward me. "You're welcome on my team anytime, kid." *page_break On the way home... *goto gohome *else Predictable. He punches. Easily avoided, and easily turned against him by grabbing the extended arm and pulling him off balance. We spin around for a bit from momentum and a fight for control over the other, until I've ended up behind him and force his arm to the back at an awkward angle with my other arm jamming into the joint between his arm and torso. From here, I have full control over him and use threat of pain to force him to his knees. He squirms and tries to fight, but from here there's nothing he's in a position to do. I have the superior position and control. He'd be hard pressed to do anything right now without breaking his own arm. After almost a full minute, he finally comes to terms with this. "Alright...you win." *page_break Next I release Junior, briefly stumbling to regain his step as he exhales the adrenaline out of his system. The audience has had their thrills and are satisfied with the display of violence. After a few seconds of celebrating the winner, a couple independent individuals step into the ring with water for the combatants. One of these water bottles is offered to me, as well as a wet washcloth. *fake_choice #Accept the aid A little help is a rare gift that one should not squander. I intake some water, swish it around for a bit, then spit it out to the side in order to wash out the blood that lingers in my mouth from what appears to be a tooth that got knocked out when I didn't notice. The feel of the wet washcloth dripping down my face is similarly soothing to my damaged skin. *goto 3quit #Reject them I'll make it by the way I always have. On my own. When they come up with their water and clothes, I wave them away, making clear my preference for self-treatment. I only ever really trust myself to fix me up. Nobody else has the same investment in my body and health. Nobody will ever care about me as much as myself. *goto 3quit *label 3quit "Phew," Junior lets out of breath as he's getting his own drink. "I'm beat. You really know what you're doing with this stuff." I nod my head in response, not quite sure what verbal reply he's expecting, nor wanting. "Anyone who can scrap like that one-on-one is a person I'm willing to trust." He shoots a friendly grin toward me. "You're welcome on my team anytime, kid." *page_break On the way home... *goto gohome *label gohome I spend a few more hours in the hideout, resting up and interacting with the members of the gang, until it's almost sundown and the streets become more difficult to see clearly. I take that as my cue to start the walk home. *if (jason_name ="Classified") The place seems more dangerous when walking alone at dusk. Shadows stretch a bit further. The people seem a bit rougher, though none of them give me any trouble as I'm passing through. It isn't until I'm almost out that I pause, hearing a conversation up ahead just around a corner. Someone who seems very annoyed. Very tired. Potentially violent. "Yeah, I heard you." Off to the side, somewhere unseen, I overhear another voice. This one close enough to be recognizable. "You don't have to be so...look, I get that, but...will you just..." Cautiously, I trace the voice to somewhere around a corner. I look around for something to use as a reflective surface, and have to make do by breaking a corner of a window. "Hm?" The voice pauses immediately after my action, though quickly becomes distracted. "No, I'm not distracted, it's just...yes, I'm still listening..." Using the piece of glass, I'm able to use the reflection to get a decent look at the person talking. A rather tall young man, broad shoulders, a clear athletic build. Clothes, casual. *if ((annoyjessy =true) or (male =true)) He's easy to recognize. This was the boy who chased me in the hallway earlier, while I was trying to go to lunch. *goto thissystemissodumb *else I try to think about whether or not I recognize him, and come up with nothing. *goto thissystemissodumb *label thissystemissodumb *page_break Next "Hey kid!" Someone screams at me from across the street. I shoot an annoyed glance at whoever it is, and spot some raggedy man standing nearby what appears to be a newspaper stand. "What do you think you're doing, skulking around like that!" I try my best to ignore him, though that just makes him get louder. "Hey kid! I'm talking to you! Over here! Are ya stupid or something?!" Nothing for it, I look at him with a sharp stare. He doesn't seem intimidated so much as annoyed, and with a complaint about younger generations, he goes on his own way. As he does, I can see out of the corner of my eye as the boy move around the building, his phone now hanging at his side, the call ended. *page_break Next *if (foughtjason =true) *set jason_name "Jason Stave" *set jessy_name "Jessy Stewart" "Oh, hey there..." He glares at me, his face still bearing the marks from our earlier confrontation. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" He says this, knowing full well who I am and what happened earlier. "I remember." He gives a rather bitter sigh, never breaking eye contact. "Look, here's the thing." He explains. "My name is Jason, Jason Stave. My girlfriend, Jessy Stewart, wanted me to beat you up. For reasons, I don't even remember right now, I kind of forgot the moment you bashed my face. I don't care about that right now. What I care about is how we plan on dealing with each other from here on out." He pauses, probably to invite a response. Though it's pretty obvious that he has more that he wants to say, so I don't bother and just wait for him to continue on. Which he does after a few seconds. "Right. So, here's the deal. Jessy and I don't get along all the time, or even most of the time, but she's still my friend. So leave me, and her, alone. Got it?" *choice #I can agree to that A cease fire. Non-Aggression Agreement. Treaty. All these words mean the same. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you. A contract made to ensure one's safety, and in exchange, promising to not endanger the other person's safety. One could say that society operates entirely off of these deals. Every law, and agreement between everyone to conduct certain hostile actions against others, under the promise that others will extend the same courtesy to the other. Agreements such as these are essential to one's survival. One must be careful to manage the number of wars they are fighting carefully. The lower the number, the less divided your attention, the more likely you are to succeed in the battles that you don't have a choice in. "Stay out of my way, I stay out of your way. These terms are acceptable." "Great." He says tensely. "Now get the hell out of here." I nod. He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome #Too risky. I choose violence instead *set jasonhostileforlife true As he's waiting for a reply, I look him over once more. His hands are now in his pockets, and he's looking at my face. His overall body positioning leaves him completely unprepared when I place my fist into his throat. The sudden violence and lack of oxygen forces Jason off balance, and he falls onto his back. Once he's like this, I reclaim the shard of glass that I had previously been using to spy and stab it into his side. "That shard is blocking the blood that wants to leave your body." I inform him as he shouts and clutches at the newly made wound. "You have not been stabbed anywhere vital. If you leave the blade alone, you will live. The same policy applies to me; stay out of my way, Jason Stave." He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome "So, uhh..." He says while scratching his head and standing a little awkwardly. "Is this just a hobby of yours? Listening in on people's conversations?" He pauses, inviting me to say something. And he coughs rather awkwardly when I pass up that invitation. "Don't tell me you're another freak like Myrtal, the school has enough of those." "What do you want?" It quickly becomes evident that the point of this conversation isn't going to get any closer unless a direct route is taken. "What do I want? You're the one who was spying on me." His arms cross as he speak, a way to indicate indignation. Not a good position to attack from. Advantage, mine. "Though hold on...you're the new kid, right? The one Jessy has third hour with." *if (jessy_name ="Classified") *set jessy_name "Jessy Stewart" "Who is Jessy?" "Jessy Stewart. She mentioned seeing you in her third hour." I see. Jessy, the girl from third hour who threw paper at me. "Are you connected to her?" *set jason_name "Jason Stave" "You would think so. People usually do when they're dating." He answers, half-way. There is a hint in his tone that there's more to the story than that. Perhaps inviting further questioning. Their relationship, however, is of no importance. What is more important is my following question. "Jason Stave, by the way. You probably haven't heard about me, but Jessy told me a lot about you." "What did she tell you of me?" *if (nojessy =true) "Well, she didn't have to tell me much. You broke her arm." His voice is disapproving. Bordering hostile. "I see. You intend to attack me in retaliation." *if (male =true) *if (annoyjessy =true) "I know you were some kind of asshole to her. She [i]really[/i] doesn't like you." Acceptable, seeing as how I'm not all that fond of her either. "I see. You intend to attack me in retaliation." *if (annoyjessy =false) "I know she's been trying to feel you up, get you going crazy about her, probably to hurt me in some way. Probably making you her latest boy toy." His tone is disapproving, though tired. "I see. You intend to attack me in retaliation." *if (female =true) *if (nojessy =false) "I know she doesn't like you. Probably saw you as some competition for attention when you first walked up. Not for looks, no offense but you really don't have much going for you in that department, more because of how much attention you've been drawing and how...bizzare you are to everyone. Only part you really need to worry about, though, is that she [i]really[/i] doesn't like you." Acceptable, seeing as how I'm not all that fond of her either. "I see. You intend to attack me in retaliation." *page_break Next "Nah, I'm not going to fight you now." He waves his hand to the side while looking away. Leaving his chest and neck open to attack briefly, before looking back at me. "Might have earlier, but right now I'm just tired and ready to go home." So he says, though I maintain my defensive positioning. "Is that so? Will your mate be upset by that?" *if (nojessy =false) "My what?" He questions, and then abandons thinking about it. "Uh, yeah, sure. Probably. But I'm kind of used to that. Let's just stay out of each other's ways, yeah?" *choice #I can agree to that A cease fire. Non-Aggression Agreement. Treaty. All these words mean the same. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you. A contract made to ensure one's safety, and in exchange, promising to not endanger the other person's safety. One could say that society operates entirely off of these deals. Every law, and agreement between everyone to conduct certain hostile actions against others, under the promise that others will extend the same courtesy to the other. Agreements such as these are essential to one's survival. One must be careful to manage the number of wars they are fighting carefully. The lower the number, the less divided your attention, the more likely you are to succeed in the battles that you don't have a choice in. "Stay out of my way, I stay out of your way. These terms are acceptable." "Yeah, great." He sighs, and goes back to leaning against the wall. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow then. See you." I nod. He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome #Too risky. I choose violence instead *set jasonhostileforlife true As he's waiting for a reply, I look him over once more. His hands are now in his pockets, and he's looking at my face. His overall body positioning leaves him completely unprepared when I place my fist into his throat. The sudden violence and lack of oxygen forces Jason off balance, and he falls onto his back. Once he's like this, I reclaim the shard of glass that I had previously been using to spy and stab it into his side. "That shard is blocking the blood that wants to leave your body." I inform him as he shouts and clutches at the newly made wound. "You have not been stabbed anywhere vital. If you leave the blade alone, you will live. The same policy applies to me; stay out of my way, Jason Stave." He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome *if (nojessy =true) "I don't need her to be mad. I'm already plenty mad." His voice carries the same hostility, and his stance is aggressive. "Jessy and I don't get along all the time, or even most of the time, but she's still my friend. So leave me, and her, alone. Got it?" *choice #I can agree to that A cease fire. Non-Aggression Agreement. Treaty. All these words mean the same. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you. A contract made to ensure one's safety, and in exchange, promising to not endanger the other person's safety. One could say that society operates entirely off of these deals. Every law, and agreement between everyone to conduct certain hostile actions against others, under the promise that others will extend the same courtesy to the other. Agreements such as these are essential to one's survival. One must be careful to manage the number of wars they are fighting carefully. The lower the number, the less divided your attention, the more likely you are to succeed in the battles that you don't have a choice in. "Stay out of my way, I stay out of your way. These terms are acceptable." "Great." He says tensely. "Now get the hell out of here." I nod. He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome #Too risky. I choose violence instead *set jasonhostileforlife true As he's waiting for a reply, I look him over once more. His hands are now in his pockets, and he's looking at my face. His overall body positioning leaves him completely unprepared when I place my fist into his throat. The sudden violence and lack of oxygen forces Jason off balance, and he falls onto his back. Once he's like this, I reclaim the shard of glass that I had previously been using to spy and stab it into his side. "That shard is blocking the blood that wants to leave your body." I inform him as he shouts and clutches at the newly made wound. "You have not been stabbed anywhere vital. If you leave the blade alone, you will live. The same policy applies to me; stay out of my way, Jason Stave." He doesn't interrupt me when I pick up my bright green backpack and start heading home. *page_break Next *goto goinghome *label goinghome It doesn't take long to get some distance from the hangout. I already have Daniel's authorization to leave, so I don't need to worry about anyone trying to get me when the tracker shows me moving away from the designated area. It shouldn't take more than 45 minutes so long as I maintain a brisk walking pace. The area between the hangout and my new home is uncomplicated and doesn't take me through any urban or commercial centers, allowing me to travel with open space and rural fields all around me and relatively few hiding places. Which is why I'm able to see the man standing in the sidewalk, watching me approach, well before being forced to confront him. It's evident that he is here for me specifically, he is making no attempt to hide that he's watching. He must have observed what I just did about the local surroundings and their inability to serve as cover, which means that whatever he wants with me, it doesn't require an element of surprise. The way that he is dressed indicates a professional work environment. CIA is my first thought. "Hello, ${fullname}." He says after I stop in front of him, a decent 10 feet away. "It's good to see you after you missed my class," I take a moment to more thoroughly examine him. There's a discomforting evenness in his voice, his smile is unwavering, his stance is still. Something about him is...familiar. *page_break Next "Identify." "Very well. My name is Professor Patel. I am to be your point of contact whenever you are within the walls of the school building. Someone to approach if you are in need of advice, and to apply the whip if you get out of line." He says calmly. Unnaturally so. "I was also supposed to be your psychology teacher today, before you quite rudely decided to skip my class on the first day. Poor form." It hasn't been enough time since I left the school for them to know that I've left. Even if Daniel informed them, which is unlikely, there is no possible way for this man to know what path I would take home unless he did his own independent research on me. If he knows what path I would use to go home, what else might he know about me? Tread carefully. *page_break Next "I suppose Agent Daniel Decker didn't inform you of me? Well, no matter. I will be your point of contact whenever you are on school grounds, as well as your supervisor whenever Agent Daniel Decker is indisposed. Now then, I'm sure you have questions." *temp questions 0 *label questions *choice *disable_reuse #So you work with the agency? *set questions +1 "So you are with the CIA, like Daniel." "Not quite like Agent Daniel Decker," he admits. "Our skillsets are quite different. I'm not the search-and-destroy type like him. I'm more of a profiler. I analyze people." "Is your name really Professor Patel?" His expression doesn't change in the slightest at my question. "Is your name really ${fullname}? People in [i]our[/i] world have little use for such things." Funny. [i]He[/i] said something very similar once. *goto questions *disable_reuse #Have we met? *set questions +1 "You seem familiar," I tell him. "Where have we met before?" "You don't remember." He nods, "Not unexpected. I'll refresh your memory for you. I was one of the psychologists brought in to examine your mental state when Agent Daniel Decker first brought you in." He continues with the same even tone. "The third one, I believe." "So you helped get me into this school." He chuckles softly, "Oh no, I think you have the wrong impression of me." He shakes his head, "My recommendation had been to see what information we could gain from you, then send you to Hell." My fist instinctively clenches at his shamelessness. "I see. Fortunately you did not have the final decision." "Fortunate for you," he agrees, nodding his head. "I suppose time will tell if it is fortunate for the rest of us." He chuckles and continues on, almost as if remembering something. "And considering you couldn't even be bothered to go through one whole day..." *goto questions *disable_reuse #Have you researched [i]every[/i] student in this school?? *set questions +1 "Of course," he nods. "This school really is quite curious. In my studies, I've taken brief glimpses of the backgrounds of the student body and discovered that over 70% have been diagnosed with either PTSD or similar traumatic mental illnesses. Quite the statistic, and my evaluation of the principal tells me that it is most likely not accidental. He seems to be deliberately reaching out and fighting for children of these backgrounds to be sent to his school, even those who fall outside his jurisdiction. And with his remarkable talent for background politics, he's been quite effective in that goal." "Do you know what his motivation is?" "I'm not quite sure," he admits. "I've evaluated him extensively, but I cannot possibly see any gain he has from these actions. His salary and standard of living have actually decreased since he was assigned as principal of this school, and I have not observed him obtaining any other material goods on the side as payment. I'm beginning to suspect he might [i]actually[/i] be a true altruist, though my profile is still under development and I'm not quite comfortable making that far of a leap just yet." *goto questions *disable_reuse #What can you tell me about Daniel? *set questions +1 "Tell me what you know about Daniel." "Ah, Agent Daniel Decker," he laughs. "What a turn his career has taken. He's managed to turn himself into quite the pariah among the community. Your existence has put him in quite a bit of trouble." He seems to ponder for a minute, "In fact, with how quickly things have changed for him in recent developments, I have to wonder if perhaps my analysis of him might be out of date. You seem to be in a better position to learn about him than I am at the moment." "You have not answered my question." "And I'm not particularly sure that I should. This time around, I think it would be better for me to let you form your own opinion of the man. I can tell you, however, that he burned quite a few bridges to get you in the position you're in. I would suggest you learn why as soon as possible." *goto questions *disable_reuse #If you are my point of contact, why did it take so long for us to meet? *set questions +1 "I would have thought that my supervisor during school hours would have introduced himself sooner. Why did you wait so long?" "Put simply, I wanted to observe you for a period of time before our first meeting as teacher and student." He chuckles, "The information I've managed to gain has been quite informative. I am very sure that I made the correct choice of action." *goto questions *disable_reuse #No questions. *if (questions =0) "Nothing at all?" He seems confused for a moment. The first expression I've seen him make other than condescending cheerfulness. "Nothing gnawing at the edge of your mind that you just have to know?" "Nothing at all." "Hmm, well then, it seems our visit will be much shorter than expected." And as soon as the confusion has been resolved, he's right back to where he started. "I'll just be out of your way then." He steps out of my way, opening up the sidewalk for me to walk by. "Be good," he adds, with a glint in his eye, "Otherwise, you'll be going to Hell." *page_break Home... *goto_scene 1-13Home-1 *if (questions !=0) "Then it seems our business is concluded," he says, stepping out of my way and opening up the sidewalk for me to walk by. "I'll just be out of your way then. I wordlessly push past him, eager to leave as soon as possible. I've had quite enough of his analysis. "Before you go," he adds right as I'm passing by him, "You should know that I'll be keeping a close eye on your activities for so long as you're here." "I assumed." "You don't need to be so tart," he grins. "Admittedly, I didn't see much hope for you when you were first brought in and was quite the strong advocate for your termination. But now, I'm content with how things turned out, and quite eager to observe how Agent Daniel Decker's little experiment will carry on." He adds, with a glint in his eye, "It should provide quite the source of interesting data." *page_break Home... *goto_scene 1-13Home-1