The Hunt in New York

I used to think that hunger was a mortal weakness; the aching pain of desire something only we lesser beings of flesh and bone know. I wish I could have remained so ignorant. It would be more accurate to say that only mortals suffer hunger temporarily. A god, existing forever, hungers forever. Now imagine what happens when a god is denied its food. [[And we wonder at the flood.->Passage2]]

DAY ONE [[Blood->Blood]]. The word keeps coming to the front of your mind, impossible to ignore. [[Blood->Blood]]. You've never seen so much of it before, even in your ten years on CSI. [[Blood->Blood]] spattering the walls, turning the garish pink wallpaper deep crimson. Your feet squish into the [[blood->Blood]]-soaked carpet; even through the protective full-body suit your partner Manson gave you at the doorway. The door itself was found halfway down the hall, broken in half. It smells different this time, too. Usually, [[blood->Blood]] this fresh has a sharp tang to it, like lemons squeezed over steel. This time though, you could swear it smelled... sweet? A tap on your shoulder brings you back to your senses. Or rather, [[it focuses you back on the matter at hand.->MomTalk]]

When you get out of the subway the wind has picked up; it's probably going to snow again soon. You pinch your nose, frustrated to think about all the people who're in denial about the world changing for the worse. As you approach your building, a familiar creeping feeling slithers up your spine. Someone's watching you. You don't break stride, you don't even look around. Don't give the creep the satisfaction. Something feels different about this though. [[Something thrilling in a way that makes you want to vomit.]]

You head to the bathroom to take off what little make up you feel like you need to make it through the day. You close your eyes and rub furiously. After you open your eyes your vision's a bit blurry. You pick up your toothbrush and begin to brush, but in the discolored light of your bathroom... your teeth look different. Sharp, wide, powerful. Numerous. You splash water on your face and look again. Nothing out of the ordinary. You shake your head. "C'mon Evelyn," You say, flicking yourself on the forehead. "Let's get some [[sleep.->Dreams!]]"

DAY FOUR It's been a few days since that night in the Village. Almost a week of frustration and near endless fear. Each day at work you tap on the door of the forensics team to see if they have anything for you yet. It feels like it's taking forever, but each bit of information that you get makes you feel more and more worried. Forensics came back with a match on the kid. He was an NYU student named George Beaker, second year, Tisch acting school. He stopped going to classes maybe a week before the murder. The call to his parents in Chicago went about as well as could be expected. They're in town now to take the body back to Chicago for the funeral. If you're careful, you could ask them some questions about their son. (if: (history:) contains "Video2")[Whatever did this to George, you conclude privately, it wasn't human. You don't tell Manson or your superiors this, but after what you saw in that video... you're sure you saw it, you can't ignore the signs. The busted down door from the inside, the lack of a forced entry on the fire escape. The position of the body. It's like it was all planned. On top of everything else, your dreams keep getting more and more disturbing. You've started to see the world differently, like a song that you can't get rid of the idea of predator and prey has started to invade your waking hours.] (else:)[Things just keep getting more and more confusing. The cleaned kitchen keeps bothering you, why would the murderer make sure to keep the kitchen so clean? How did the blood only stay in a certain radius around the kill? None of it makes sense.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchBed")[You got a call from forensics only a few days after you talked to Ulid about the hairs. They don't match the hairs of the victim that they found around the rest of the apartment. The only problem is that the hairs belong to some wall street whoever, no one who'd have a connection to the victim. Still, it's something.](else:)[You get a phonecall from the federal office. They're finally ready to release their report to help you with the search. They found some hairs on the body that they think is a dead-end since it belongs to some wall street somebody, but it's worth checking out.] Even if things were going great at the office, you start to feel dread each time you [[make your way home->Stalking1.]].

You decide to meet up with Mr. Weiss. Even if the feds think it's nothing, his hairs were found on the scene of a murder. As you rise through several dozen floors in a compact elevator, you wish for nothing more than for this whole [[mess to be over]].

You decide to go personally to speak with George's parents, thinking that it might be an opportunity to learn more about the victim. They agree to meet with you in Bryant Park. On your way there, you see a coffee shop. You figure it might be a kind gesture to bring them something, but if you do you might end up a bit late. [[Get them coffee.]] [[Get there on time.]] (set: $emotion to 2)

You rush out of the station and jump into a squad car. You turn off the radio, you know where you're going. You turn on your siren and begin to plow your way through the streets of New York, heading up into the upper West side where Mr. Weiss and his family lives. (if: (history:) contains "Video2")[As you weave between cars and ignore both safety and traffic signals, you feel an exhiliration similar to the one you found before. ]It only takes you a half hour to get to the building. It's an old style high rise, maybe one hundred floors to them. All it takes is a badge flash and you're through the front door and into the elevator. You grin, no one's going to question you when you look this ready for action. You press the button, 88. The Weiss family owns that floor and the two above it as well. Rich bastards. Ding! [[You step out cautiously, ready for anything.->FinalEncounterScene1]]

DAY TEN You learn to ignore the itching feeling on the back of your neck each time you head home. You begin to accept that that's just the way the city is. The world, for all its dangers, makes sense to you again now that you're back in the crease. You go home, watch some TV. Apparently the FBI is having trouble with the case. Another victim's been found. Another murder in what people are calling the Shark Bite Killings. It's a dumb name but nothing could be more appropriate, all of them have their upper torsos missing. You've taken a few days of vacation at Manson's recommendation. He stopped responding to your calls a few days ago, but you're not worried. Lately, your dreams have been filled of the warm sensation of being swallowed. It's strange, but the thought of being eaten is starting to excite you. Maybe you got a bit too deep into the investigation after all. It isn't long before an e-mail from realwolves shows up in your inbox. You smile. Isaac accepted his fate without question. So do you. [[You're found dead three days later in your apartment with your upper torso missing.->EndingD]]

[[Don't think about it.->Passage2]]

"Who's our friend?" You say, trying at banter to keep your mind focused and away from the smell. "Haven't heard back from the landlord yet." Manson replies, checking his notes. "But we haven't touched the body yet so we might get lucky and he'll have an ID on him." "Thanks." "Shit, Ev," Manson says, breathing as slowly as he can manage. You can tell he's trying not to vomit and contaminate the scene. "What the hell happened here?" You close your eyes, focusing. You remember what your mother told you: "Imagine your goal is at the top of a mountain. You wouldn't jump to it all at once, you can't. Just take it one step at a time." Nodding to yourself, you take out your camera and begin to [[canvas the room.->CrimeScene]] (set: $search to 3)

(if: $search is 0)[You hear several hard-heeled shoes quish onto the carpet behind you. [["The hell do you think you're doing Detective?"->FBICaught]]] (if: $search is 1)[You hear an organized chaos begin to intrude into your investigation. You might be able to look into something else, but there's no telling if you'd be able to make it out without being caught. [[You've pushed it enough, best to wait now.->FBINotCaught]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchBed")[The bed contained several dark, blood-soaked hairs.](else:)[There's a double-sized [[bed]] in the corner with the remains of the victim.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer")[The computer had all its keys missing and a weird website was open on it.](else:)[On the bed, next to the body, is the kid's [[computer]].] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCarpet")[There was a bunch of gore underneath the bed... you don't want to think about what else you thought you saw down there.](else:)[The [[carpet's]] thick and wall-to-wall and half covered by clothes thrown around but not in the hamper.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchKitchen")[Pizza is probably ruined forever for you now, but otherwise, nothing special.](else:)[The [[kitchen]] is small, with only enough room for a stove, fridge, and sink to stand. Some shelving's there too. Strangely, very clean.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCorpse")[You found the kid's wallet with a bunch of cards under different names.](else:)[Finally, there's the [[corpse.]]]] (if: $search is 3)[The room is a mess. It is, was- no one's gonna want to live here now... especially after the news gets their hands on this- a studio apartment. Lower Manhattan, the Village. Hipster district. Through the viscera piled up on the walls and floor, you can see framed posters from movies and Japanese cartoons. Kid probably lived alone. This is made all the more obvious by the double-sized [[bed]] where the body is sitting upright, what's left of it anyway. On the bed, next to the body, is the kid's [[computer]]. No telling if it'll still work after all this, but might be worth bagging it. The [[carpet's]] thick and wall-to-wall and half covered by clothes thrown around but not in the hamper. The [[kitchen]] is small, with only enough room for a stove, fridge, and sink to stand. There's some shelving above the stove but that's about it for storage. Very strangly, the kitchen is almost entirely devoid of contamination. Finally, there's the [[corpse.]] Or what's left of it. Your eyes shift away from it, trying desperately to ignore its profound "wrongness". Manson whispers into your ear, startling you. "You've got ten minutes, tops. Some asshole called the FBI. They're gonna be here like rats on shit." "Flies." You say, distractedly. "What?" "It's flies on shit, Manson." "Whatever." He shakes his head, marveling. "Just hurry." [[You think it might be best not to risk it. You decide to wait for the feds to arrive.->FBINotCaught]]] (if: $search is 2)["C'mon, Ev." Manson intones, serving only to irritate you rather than anything helpful. "They're almost here." [[You think it might be best not to risk it any more and decide to wait for the feds to arrive.->FBINotCaught]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchBed")[The bed contained several dark, blood-soaked hairs.](else:)[There's a double-sized [[bed]] in the corner with the remains of the victim.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer")[The computer had all its keys missing and a weird website was open on it.](else:)[On the bed, next to the body, is the kid's [[computer]].] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCarpet")[There was a bunch of gore underneath the bed... you don't want to think about what else you thought you saw down there.](else:)[The [[carpet's]] thick and wall-to-wall and half covered by clothes thrown around but not in the hamper.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchKitchen")[Pizza is probably ruined forever for you now, but otherwise, nothing special.](else:)[The [[kitchen]] is small, with only enough room for a stove, fridge, and sink to stand. Some shelving's there too. Strangely, very clean.] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCorpse")[You found the kid's wallet with a bunch of cards under different names.](else:)[Finally, there's the [[corpse.]]]]

It's an IKEA bed, nothing special. With the amount of force it would have taken to mess up the body this badly though, you're amazed that it's still intact. There's usually tons of biological material on beds that really help with murder cases. But, at the same time, looking through the whole sheet without disturbing the body for forensics might end up taking too long. [[Search.->SearchBed]] [[You're not sure about this...->CrimeScene]]

After getting closer to the bed you're able to make out a telltale silver sheen on the laptop that wasn't visible from across the room. Underneath all that goop is a Macbook. Of course it's a Mac. You shake your head. Unfortunately the computer's not open, so it's not exactly protocol to get any info from it right now. Although, if you were quick, you could at least take a quick look before the feds got here. [[Search.->SearchComputer]] [[You're not sure about this...->CrimeScene]]

You get down on your knees to examine the thick, sticky, gross carpet. You wonder where your life went so wrong that it came to this, and then the smell from under the bed hits you through the Vick's. Might be worth a look. [[Search.->SearchCarpet]] [[You're not sure about this...->CrimeScene]]

You head over to the kitchen unit, glad to not be neck deep in [[blood->Blood]] for a moment. "How long ago did we get the call, Manny?" You ask Manson. "Patrol responded to the downstairs neighbor complaining about a loud noise maybe two hours ago." "They got here fast?" You start running the numbers. "I mean, it's New York, Ev. Ten minutes or less or your money back." "Manny I swear to God if that joke ruins pizza for me I'm coming for you." He laughs, safely back against the door watching for the feds. Something doesn't add up though. You eye the fridge and a million bad horror movies come back unbidden into your thoughts. Might be worth checking out. Then again, might just be a bunch of nothing. And why is this whole area so damn clean? Do you [[search?->SearchKitchen]] [[You're not sure about this...->CrimeScene]]

You've never seen anything like this. The entire top half of the victim's body is missing. All that's left is the lower torso and legs. The lower torso left behind explains the smell. Whatever did this to the victim burst the guts, and all that bacteria's been going to town for however long the kid's been like this. [[Definitely worth it to look at the body more carefully.->SearchCorpse]] [[You're not sure about this...->CrimeScene]]

(set: $search -= 1) You carefully pick apart the folds of the sheets, paying special attention to the area around where the victim's body has pooled blood into the mattress. The fluids have started to coagulate, but you see something else in the sticky mess. Taking a pair of tweezers from a pocket in the body suit, you extract several hairs. This'll give your friend Ulid in forensics something to work with. Could even belong to the killer. You pull back and hand Manson the bag. He grunts in approval. [[There's still more to this...->CrimeScene]]

(set: $search -= 1) Fuck it. You've been doing this too long to let potential evidence slip through your fingers. Telling Manson to keep an eye out, you carefully begin to open the laptop. You blink, confused. All of the keys on the keyboard are missing. Every single one of them. You look around quickly, but don't immediately see them around the bed or on the floor. Despite the missing keys, you could try to [[boot->SearchComputer2]] the computer up to see what the victim was looking at. [[There's still more around.->CrimeScene]]

(set: $search -= 1) It's dark underneath the bed, and unfortunately you don't have time to grab your phone out from under the protective suit. You squint your eyes and try to focus through the smell. It's almost overwhelming, the blood and shit must have fallen through the slats of the bed. [[Closer]]

(set: $search -= 1) You give the kitchen as careful of a once over as time affords you, but you don't find anything out of the usual. Which, honestly, is pretty unusual given the circumstances. If there's blood everywhere, the victim or the killer must've been soaked in the stuff. They would've wanted to clean themselves off at least a little... You open the fridge and frown. Beer and... yup, leftover pizza. Great. Thanks Manny. [[Better keep looking around.->CrimeScene]]

(set: $search -= 1) It's like a shark bit him clean in half. A shark that can climb up three flights on a walk up. In Manhattan. You roll your eyes. Right. There's not much you can find out about the body before forensics has a look at it, but you do notice what looks like a [[wallet]] poking out from the victim's front jeans pocket.

(set: $search -= 1) Throwing caution out the window, you press the power button and are greeted with the ever-calming Mac tone. The normalcy of it sends a shiver down your spine. The computer boots up and you're greeted with a website that looks like it's from the early ninties. Moving star backgrounds, a custom cursor, the works. In the middle of the page is an embedded video. The website is called something stupid, realwolves.realjournal.com. You're too deep already to back out now, so you reach over to start the video. A hand comes from behind and firmly grips your wrist, sending your heart into your throat. [[Busted.->FBICaught]]

You turn around to see the perpetually sour face of Agent Luis Roath staring you down. He doesn't look happy. "Now, I know I sent a call down to your office. Told them we were on our way to this particular crime scene, Evelyn." [["Must've missed it."->FBICaughtScene1]] [["Fuck off, Roach."->FBICaughtScene1]] [["Oh, FBI figured out how phones work now?"->FBICaughtScene1]]

You move closer, you're almost underneath the bed yourself now. It's a tight squeeze, and you feel your breathing become constricted. You finally make out a shape from the darkness and you stifle a scream. A mouth, gaping with rows and rows of teeth, dripping dark blood. You bang your head on the hard slats as you scramble and pry your way back out, panting. Manson looks at you, worried both for you and for time. You try to compose yourself. [[There's still more to this...->CrimeScene]]

You carefully pull out the wallet and open it to a mess of credit cards. There must be at least five in here. The kid was either a con artist or had no idea how money worked. As you pull the cards out though, you notice that each card has a different name on it. On top of that, there's no ID. "Manny, take a look at this." Manson comes over and looks over your shoulder. "Stolen?" He asks. "Maybe." You reply, thinking quickly. "Maybe he didn't want people to be able to track him down?" "It's a possibility..." Manny shrugs. "But who'd want to hurt a student like this?" You give him a long-suffering look and he capitulates, taking the appropriate photos before you return the wallet to its owner's pocket. [[There's still more to this scene...->CrimeScene]]

You pull away from the evidence at the last possible moment, turning to face Luis [[Roath]], FBI. He doesn't look happy to see you here. "Detective." He accuses. "Roach." You reply, smiling. "I told you not to call me that." [["But it suits you so well!->FBINotCaughtScene]] [["Sorry, sir. I hear banter lightens the mood."->FBINotCaughtScene]]

"Watch it, Detective." [[Roath]]'s hair is thick, grey, and coarse, like an old boar. You've always thought that his face matched that description equally well. "I could take you off this case right now for what I saw you doing." He enjoys this, you think. He enjoys having something over me. Ass. [[Tell him about what you found.]] [[Keep your mouth shut about it.]]

Agent Roath has been a thorn in your ass since you got your promotion to Detective. You've never been sure if it was pig-headedness, the FBI/CSI rivalry, or if he just couldn't stand a woman doing well in the boys club he prizes so much, but he's always been in your way. Any time you had a chance to bag something interesting, something really spectacular... Roath was there to snap it up for "national security". Plus, he always smells like old milk for some god awful reason. [[You wonder what he's got cooked up now.->FBICaughtScene1]]

"There's something fucked up about this, Roach." You say. "Told you not to call me that, Detective." Roath says, irritated. "Sorry sir." You reply, blithely. You prepare yourself, saying too much might get you knocked off the case. But if you tell him something juicy, he might let you stay on. You grit your teeth, hating the situation. You'll tell him one thing, but you better make it good. "I didn't have much time to look around before you got here, but I did find... (if: (history:) contains "SearchBed")[[["These dark hairs in the bed."->GoodWorkHair]]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer")[[["This weird website on his computer."->FBIGameOver]]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCarpet")[[["... maybe you should check under the bed yourself."->GoodWork]]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchKitchen")[[["Nothing special in the kitchen. Just weird that it's so clean..."->GoodWork]]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchCorpse")[[["A wallet on the victim with credit cards under different names."->FBIGameOver]]]

"There's something fucked up about this, Roach." You say. "Told you not to call me that, Detective." Roath says, irritated. "Sorry sir." You reply, blithely. "But I didn't find anything useful." "That right?" He says, archly. "Maybe you shouldn't be on the case at all then." "No!" The reaction surprises you. The thought of losing access to the case, this case in particular, rankles you in a way nothing really ever has before. Both Roath and yourself are surprised to find your fists clenched. "Well..." He says, flaring his nostrils. "We'll see. Get some rest Detective, we'll take it from here and give you a report tomorrow." He gestures you and Manson to the door. You've been at this long enough to know when to quit. [[Time to go home.->Home1]]

Roath's eyes widen for an instant before he sighs. "Detective... you know that you're not supposed to move or remove technology or anything from the victim until the leading Agent arrives." "But-" "This has happened one too many times, Detective." He continues, and although his expression doesn't change, you can tell he's enjoying this immensely. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you off this case for your own good." Your body tenses up, your teeth bare and you cry out: "No!" The reaction surprises you. The thought of losing access to the case, this case in particular, rankles you in a way nothing really ever has before. Both Roath and yourself are surprised to find your fists clenched. "I see I've made a wise decision." He says. "Get some rest, Evelyn. Maybe come back when you're ready to work with the FBI instead of contaminating crime-scenes." You walk out of the door, head low. There's nothing you can do. The case is locked from you now, and you'll never know why you felt so strongly about that blood-soaked room. [[Two weeks later, you're on the news as the next victim of the Shark-Bite Killer.->EndingA]]

Roath frowns at you for a long while, wondering what information you've left out of your story. "You'd better be telling the truth, Detective." He says, taking a step towards you just so you remember for the millionth time how big he is compared to you. You'd kick his head off if it wouldn't land you in Rikers. "Of course, sir." You say instead, a thin smile crossing your lips before you look away towards Manson. "Have fun looking around." You turn to go, but before you can leave Roath stops you. "Detective." He coos, "Those hairs will need to stay with us." You freeze. Damn it. "Of course, sir." You say, handing over the evidence. "Head on home, Evelyn." He smirks. "We'll be in touch." [[It's time to head home.->Streets1]]

Restart(click:"Restart")[(reload:)]

Roath grunts in reply, clearly not pleased that he can't find anything discernably wrong with what you're doing. He cracks a menthol cigarette in half and shoves them up his nose. He looks ridiculous, but then again, Roath has a habit of removing CSI from cases if they get too "uppity". Best not to say anything. "Get a look yet?" He asks, eyeing you suspiciously. "No, sir." You reply, not looking at him. Instead, your eyes fall to the victim's body. You gulp. "Nothing yet." "Well, get out of here then." He says gruffly, waving you and Manson away. "You've cleared out the surrounding area so we'll take it from here." "Sir." You say quickly, before he can dismiss you from the case entirely. "Sir, this happened in our backyard. It would help you if I stayed on the case." "Like I said," He replies, putting on gloves and starting to pry apart the sticky sheets. "You'll receive a report. That will be all, Detective." You've been at this long enough to know when to quit. You motion to Manson and together you [[leave the apartment.->Streets1]]

"Well that was fun." Manson laments, stretching now that you're both back in your street clothes. "Always good to know we're doing something right." [["What do you mean?"->Streets2]] [["He's an ass, alright."->Streets2]] [[You shrug, not really in a mood to talk.->Streets2]]

Manson walks with you for several moments in silence before continuing. "I mean, if we weren't on something important, he wouldn't bother fucking with us, right?" "I guess so." You reply, suddenly very tired. You need to get home. The rest of the walk passes in relative quiet for lower Manhattan. The unseasonable cold that's been part and parcel with life here lately makes everything feel just a bit more raw than normal. You look over to Manson. Normally on nights like these he won't shut up, cooking up theories about the case. He's a damn good detective, but a real chatterbox. Before you know it, you've reached the subway stop. Normally you'd have used a patrol car, but this came out of the blue. No time to get to the station, so you Uber'd over. "Hey," Manson demurs, "You really spooked me back there." You look over to Manson and you see that he's avoiding looking at you. You realize now why he's been so quiet. You sigh. [["I don't want to talk about it."]] [["I'm sorry Manson."]] [["Don't let it worry you."->"I don't want to talk about it."]]

"Suit yourself." He shrugs, "You looked like you wanted to bite Roach's head off, is all. Never seen you like that before." With that, he heads down into the subway without you. You follow several moments afterwards, more ready than ever to be [[home->Home1]].

"Nothing to be sorry about." He waves his hand dismissively, "Just er, don't look at me like that if it's all the same to you." He chuckles, "I only have the one uniform right now." You smirk, and follow him down into the subway; ready more than ever to be [[home->Home1]].

Your apartment is actually remarkably big for what you're getting for it. A solid one bedroom unit with brick and big bay windows. That's what you get for living in Brooklyn. You shake your head, wondering at how easily growing up around real-estate shaped the way you think at the world. You settle down onto your couch, burying yourself in it. You breathe for what feels like the first time in hours. You need this. God you need a cigarette(click-replace: "God you need a cigarette")[It's been a while since you've needed one, but damn it if you don't tonight. You exhale the clean smoke and feel your whole body relax. Definitely worth a few minutes off your life]. You're feeling parched in the worst way(click-replace: "You're feeling parched in the worst way.")[You head to your bar which consists of one very nice bottle of Bourbon that you bought and several bottles of untouched limoncello that your friends and family seem to think you like. You pour yourself a very tall glass of the Bourbon and enjoy the burn]. You could look through your [[computer->YourComputer1]], maybe watch something on Netflix. Play a game. (if:(history:) contains "SearchComputer2")[There's also that website the victim visited that you could look at.] Could watch [[TV, might be something on.->News1]] (if: (history:) contains "SearchBed")[You should probably look at that [[evidence]] you swiped.] [[Then again, I should probably just head to bed.->Dreams?]]

You trawl through the Internet for what you would probably agree is too long. You don't really do anything, just meander through site to site, letting your mind unclench. After everything you've seen tonight, it's nice to let go, if only for a little bit. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2")[After a little while, you're ready for bed. But before you go, you find your mouse hovering over the address bar. realwolves.realjournal.com. Assuming you took all the right precautions, security, incognito mode, you could watch the video and no one would be the wiser. Besides, it's not like this is your work computer. [[Give into your curiosity and watch the video.->Watch the video.]] [[Don't watch the video.]]] (else:)[After a little while, you're ready for bed. You stretch and put the computer away. [[You get up and head to the bathroom.->Dreams?]]]

Your heart begins to race and you put your keys in between your knuckles as a precaution. As you near your building: a brownstone with a gate you grimace. You usually love that gate, but tonight, it's just an extra obstacle between the outside and safety. You flip your keys around and in a single smooth motion unlock the gate and make your way inside. The gate closes with a loud clang, and you look behind you for the first time. [[Nothing.]]

Heart still pounding, you climb up your two flights and unlock your door to blissful central heating. You immediately remove your coat, work clothes, and bra before running to your wardrobe for a T-shirt. You take several minutes to collect yourself. Try to breathe. What was that? It's not like you to get freaked out like that. You're not someone who fears being hunted. After you've put yourself back together you look at the clock. Should probably head to bed in a little bit, but you've got [[time for something.->Home1Scene]]

You turn on the local news, because nothing relaxes you more than hearing about the system of your city falling apart around you. No, you turn on the news because right now, you need to know that the world is a normal and real place. And, unfortunately, news does help with that. It's the usual stuff. People don't trust cops because, yes, the system is broken and, yes, there are some good ones. You do what you can on the inside but recognize fully that you're part of the problem and you're too cowardly to leave. You're not sure you could adjust to life outside of being in Homicide. Maybe you could go home after this, get some perspective. You're sure your parents would love to have you. Nothing on the murder yet, but that's not too surprising. Feds are probably still finishing up in there. After a little while, you're ready for bed. You stretch and turn the TV off. [[You get up and head to the bathroom.->Dreams?]]

You pull out the baggy of coagulated blood and shift the few dark hairs around inside. You'll need to wait until tomorrow when you can get Ulid to look at it before you can get any real information out of this. You smile, "Let's see that asshole get ahead of me on this one." You've even still got time to do something [[before bed->Home1SceneHair]].

Your finger hovers over the play button for what feels like several minutes, but eventually, you surrender to your [[curiosity->Video1]].

Of course, you would never do such a thing(click-replace: "would never do such a thing")[coward]. Your finger hovers on the play button for what feels like forever before you shake your head. Something feels weird about this, and you've not gotten to where you are in life by taking reckless chances. Despite your curiosity, you don't watch the video. Instead, you put the computer away and head into the bathroom to get ready for [[bed->Dreams?]].

The video is shot on a hand camera. It's somewhere in Manhattan, you're sure of that, you recognize parts of the blocks but not all of them. The camera is too shaky to make out street names, and on top of that, some of the storefronts that you recognize as next to each other in the video are actually dozens of blocks apart from each other. The person holding the camera is breathing heavily and methodically, their tone gutteral and deep. They pause in their pursuit, for that's the only word for the urgency of the camera-holder's movement, to take a deep inhalation. They exhale, you realize that you exhale with them. [[You don't realize that you've stopped blinking.->Video2]]

You lumber down the streets, feeling the power of your limbs, exaltant in your strength. You own these streets, nothing can harm you here. You hurtle down alley after alley, coming closer and closer onto your prey. You look up and see a fire escape. Here. You can smell them. Smell their anticipation. The ritual of it thrills you. You leap up to the third floor and enter into an apartment that feels like it should be familiar to you. Sitting on a bed, looking terrified but expectant, is a boy in his early twenties. His shirt is off and he has his arms lifted over his head in supplication. You both know your parts in this play. You engulf him. [[He provides.->Video3]]

When you come to, it's already morning. The website doesn't show a video embed anymore. Instead, it shows a gaudy blood style countdown. Something that a teenager in the nineties might make. It's scheduled for Five days from now. Your head is killing you, and you want nothing more than to go back to sleep. But you've got to head into [[the office->The Office]].

You settle back down onto your couch. You could look through your [[computer->YourComputer1]], maybe watch something on Netflix. Play a game. (if:(history:) contains "SearchComputer2")[There's also that website the victim visited that you could look at.] Could watch [[TV, might be something on.->News1]] [[Then again, I should probably just head to bed.->Dreams?]]

You fall asleep almost immediately. You dream of the ancient world of your people. Of Israel. You remember the story of Isaac and Abraham. A sacrifical lamb before God. In your dream you are both Isaac and Abraham, sacrificing yourself to something greater. You look up from the mountaintops and, instead of seeing the smiling face of God almighty, you see a gaping, careless maw. It does not stop you like in the stories. You kill yourself, gleeful to satisfy your god. You wake up in a cold sweat just in time to vomit over the side of your bed into a trash bin. It's going to be a [[long day->The Office]].

The ten minute walk from the subway to your apartment has started to feel like torture. You feel that awful creeping feeling of being watched, and to make matters worse, each day that feeling takes longer to go away. You could ask your friends in the office to help, but then they might take you off the case. Might think it's getting too personal or involved for you. You can't let that happen. Manson waves at you from behind his computer; the two of you share a desk. He's been a real peach through all of this, you think. Maybe you should buy him dinner after it's over. Might be nice, you can't remember the last time you went out. You drink your coffee, trying to decide your next move. [[You could go down to Wall Street to interview the DNA match: someone named Richard Weiss.->Lead 1]] [[You could go and talk to the parents. They're in town today to identify the body and might have some information for you.->Lead 2]] Whatever you decide. You'd better make your choice quick, the parents are only in town for the afternoon. They want to get gone as quickly as possible.

"Mr. Weiss will see you now." A no doubt carefully chosen blond secretary waves you in from the waiting area. You rise from an over-stuffed armchair and cross the cubicles into a much smaller private office than you'd anticipate from someone who probably swims in hundred dollar bills. Mr. Weiss is a small, unassuming looking kind of man. Balding, older, probably in his sixties. Looks like everyone's favorite uncle in a slightly too tight suit. Either he's gained weight recently or he needs a better tailor. He nods as you come in, but doesn't say anything more as he returns to his spreadsheets. [["Mr. Weiss?"->Lead1Scene1]]

Mr. Weiss looks up and sighs, folding his hands over each other. He begins to fiddle with an enormous class ring. "Can I help you, miss?" He says, obviously intending it to be polite. "Detective Evelyn Fleisher, Mr. Weiss." You say, sitting. Your eyes flit to the wall of thick books behind him. Most of them look like they haven't been read in years. You pull out some papers for Mr. Weiss to sign, standard procedure and his understanding that he has a right to ask for a lawyer. Something he doesn't do, which is surprising. "So," You say, after everything is signed away. [["Mr. Weiss, where were you on the night of March fourth between the hours of six and eight PM?"->Lead1Scene2]]

Mr. Weiss looks at you carefully before answering. His voice is slow, with a thin Ohio accent. "I was at home with my wife." You tilt your head, looking at him carefully. You take down his statement. "Can anyone besides your wife corroborate that?" "My driver." Mr. Weiss replies calmly. He provides the appropriate information, all very clean. He adjusts the photo of a young boy on his desk. Most likely his son. It looks like an older photograph. You pull out your notebook with the information you've found already. "I'm going to ask you some questions," You begin, "Will that be alright?" "Of course." He says, nodding. Again, his actions seem so slow. Everything is slow, except his eyes, which are dark and alert like an owl's. You decide to ask him about the hairs(click-replace: "You decide to ask him about the hairs")["Your hairs were found on the scene of a murder, Mr. Weiss. Do you have any comment about this?" He arches an eyebrow. "I think I'd like to have my lawyer present for that one, detective." You take down notes and continue]. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2")[You ask him about the website(click-replace: "You ask him about the website")["Does the website realwolves.realjournal.com mean anything to you?" There! For a moment in his eyes there was something. Recognition. "I'm afraid not." He says, shrugging. "I'm not very er... tech savvy. I usually have my secretary or my son Robert take care of the computers." You stare at him for a long moment before a thought comes to you. "Your son, Mr. Weiss. How old is he?" "I... well he's twenty two, if it matters. Acting student." He smiles. "Going to set the world on fire someday, boy's a shark." You nod thoughtfully before continuing]. ] "What did you eat that night?" Mr. Weiss looks at you oddly. "Is this pertinent?" You keep your expression straight. "Answer the question sir." He rolls his eyes, "If you must know I didn't eat much of anything. I've been under the weather for the past few days." "You don't look very sick to me." You say. "Are you a doctor?" He counters. You frown, then put down your notes. (if: (history:) contains "SearchCorpse")[Ask about the credit cards(click-replace: "Ask about the credit cards")["You're better with business than I am, Mr. Weiss, so I was wondering..." You begin, shuffling your notepad around. "Why would someone take out five different credit cards under five different names in the span of a week?" That surprises him. You can see his eyes widen a bit and he frowns. "Well." He says haltingly, "Well, in my opinion, such an action would be the sign of a criminal or someone looking to evade paying his credit. It's standard practice of the beleaguered to take out one card to pay for another." You smile and nod. "Very interesting, thank you."]. ] You put away your notepad and stand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Weiss. [[We'll be in touch.->Decision]]"

You walk back to the station, mulling what you've over what you've learned. After you arrive back at your desk and have made all the necessary calls to confirm what you've learned, you start to make your report. You've learned that Mr. Weiss has a son who may or may not have been in contact with George. (if: (history:) contains "Prey?")[George got involved in something weird, maybe a roleplay gone too far? All the same, his parents cut him off right when he needed them the most. Maybe he turned to Robert instead and it cost him his life. ] (if: (history:) contains "cult")[George wasn't acting alone. It's possible, given what you've learned, that there may be more potential victims out there in the city. More prey. Your heart skips a beat. ] (if: (history:) contains "Lead1Scene2" && "SearchKitchen")[According to Mr. Weiss, he was at home sick the night of the murder. The driver confirms it, so either he's telling the truth or pays the man to lie to the police. ] (if: (history:) contains "Video2")[On top of everything else though, Mr. Weiss definitely knows about that site. It's no coincidence that his hairs were found on a murder. You'll have to do something more drastic if you want to pin him down though. ] With everything you've learned you can put forward a full investigation on the whole Weiss family. (if: (history:) contains "cult")[But that won't solve the whole problem.] (if: (history:) contains "Video2")[You need to keep tabs on that website and figure out this group's next move.] (if: (history:) contains "cult")[You have enough information to get a warrant to go to the Weiss' home. Alternatively, this case seems to be taking a toll on you. Maybe you should pass it off to the feds after all. [[Get a warrant.]] [[Let the feds take care of it.]] ](if: (history:) contains "Prey?")[You have enough information to get a warrant to go to the Weiss' home. Alternatively, this case seems to be taking a toll on you. Maybe you should pass it off to the feds after all. [[Get a warrant.]] [[Let the feds take care of it.]] ](if: (history:) contains "Lead1Scene2")[You have enough information to get a warrant to go to the Weiss' home. Alternatively, this case seems to be taking a toll on you. Maybe you should pass it off to the feds after all. [[Get a warrant.]] [[Let the feds take care of it.]] ] (if: (history:) contains "StrangeBehavior")[You don't have enough to get a warrant from a judge. But, if you're quick and careful, you might be able to get to Weiss' home and confront him anyway. You'll probably get chewed out for going against protocol, but you've got a hunch. [[Go to Weiss' apartment.->FinalEncounter1]] [[Let the feds take care of it.]] ] (else:)[There's not enough to get a warrant unfortunately. You decide to let the [[feds handle it from here.->Let the feds take care of it.]] Manson'll be disappointed, but at least you can get your life back.]

(if: $emotion is 2)[It takes much longer than it should to get your drinks, but that's midtown. You arrive at Bryant Park maybe fifteen minutes later, running to try to make up time. Thankfully, the parents catch your eye as you look around with your badge pinned to your jacket. They appreciate the gesture of the coffee, given the weather. Mr. and Mrs. Beaker seem like nice enough people, although they're still in shock. You can tell that they're barely keeping themselves together and wish that you didn't have to ask them about such a raw, open wound. You make pleasantries for several minutes while you drink, but then you place your cup down and take out the notepad. "Please try to answer these questions as best as you can, Mr. Beaker, Mrs. Beaker." You say. They nod, ready. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2" && "Prey?")[](else:)["Did your son ever speak to you about... wolves? Or um..." You hesitate, worried you might seem too eager. [["Prey?"]] ] (if: (history:) contains "StrangeBehavior")[](else:)[[["Was your son a part of anything strange lately? Any strange behavior, strange purchases? New friends? Anything out of the ordinary?"->StrangeBehavior]] ] (if: (history:) contains "KnowAnyone")[](else:)[[["Did your son have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge against them? Anyone... unstable?"->KnowAnyone]] ]] (if: $emotion is 1)[Mr. and Mrs. Beaker look at you hesitantly, ready for more questions. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2" && "Prey?")[](else:)["Did your son ever speak to you about... wolves? Or um..." You hesitate, worried you might seem too eager. [["Prey?"]] ] (if: (history:) contains "StrangeBehavior")[](else:)[[["Was your son a part of anything strange lately? Any strange behavior, strange purchases? New friends? Anything out of the ordinary?"->StrangeBehavior]] ] (if: (history:) contains "KnowAnyone")[](else:)[[["Did your son have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge against them? Anyone... unstable?"->KnowAnyone]]]] (if: $emotion is 0)[Mr. Beaker begins to sob. You think it might be time to go. You pick up your things and express your sincerest condolences. [[It's time to head back.->Decision]]]

(if: $emotion is 2)[You make it there with several minutes to spare, and because you're early, you spot the Beakers before they see you. You get a small thrill from knowing that you can see them but they can't see you. It's a small power, but it warms you up. They're arguing, each one saying that it was the other's fault that their son got mixed up in a cult. You stand up and wave to them. The Beakers look quickly at each other before greeting you warmly and sitting down. Mr. and Mrs. Beaker seem like nice enough people, although they're still in shock. You can tell that they're barely keeping themselves together and wish that you didn't have to ask them about such a raw, open wound. You make pleasantries for several minutes, but eventually you decide it's time to take out the notepad. "Please try to answer these questions as best as you can, Mr. Beaker, Mrs. Beaker." You say. They nod, ready. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2" && "Prey?")[](else:)["Did your son ever speak to you about... wolves? Or um..." You hesitate, worried you might seem too eager. [["Prey?"]] ] (if: (history:) contains "StrangeBehavior")[](else:)[[["Was your son a part of anything strange lately? Any strange behavior, strange purchases? New friends? Anything out of the ordinary?"->StrangeBehavior]] ] (if: (history:) contains "KnowAnyone")[](else:)[[["Did your son have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge against them? Anyone... unstable?"->KnowAnyone]] ] (if: (history:) contains "cult")[](else:)[[["Forgive me, but I overheard you two earlier. You said your son was involved in a, cult?"->cult]]]] (if: $emotion is 1)[Mr. and Mrs. Beaker look at you hesitantly, ready for more questions. (if: (history:) contains "SearchComputer2" && "Prey?")[](else:)["Did your son ever speak to you about... wolves? Or um..." You hesitate, worried you might seem too eager. [["Prey?"]] ] (if: (history:) contains "StrangeBehavior")[](else:)[[["Was your son a part of anything strange lately? Any strange behavior, strange purchases? New friends? Anything out of the ordinary?"->StrangeBehavior]] ] (if: (history:) contains "KnowAnyone")[](else:)[[["Did your son have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge against them? Anyone... unstable?"->KnowAnyone]] ] (if: (history:) contains "cult")[](else:)[[["Forgive me, but I overheard you two earlier. You said your son was involved in a, cult?"->cult]]]] (if: $emotion is 0)[Mr. Beaker begins to sob. You think it might be time to go. You pick up your things and express your sincerest condolences. [[It's time to head back.->Decision]]]

(set: $emotion -= 1) After a moment of collecting themselves, Mrs. Beaker responds to you. "There was someone," She says, her voice shaky. "A new friend of his. George wouldn't stop talking about him." "He was scum." Mr. Beaker growls, folding his arms. "Left right when my boy needed him the most, some friend." "What do you mean? Who is this person?" You ask. "He was another Tisch student in George's year. Robert... something." "Weiss." Mrs. Beaker says quietly. "Robert Weiss." You thank them for the information and take note of what you've found... Weiss, where have you heard that name before? [[But maybe you can find out more.->Get them coffee.]]

(set: $emotion -= 1) The Beakers look at each other, frightened. "We don't think so." Mrs. Beaker says, "he always was so good at making friends. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt my boy." She closes her eyes, trying hard not to cry. [[Maybe you can find out more information.->Get them coffee.]]

(set: $emotion -= 1) The pair goes very quiet and hold each other's hands. You hear someone off on the lawn of the park begin to play guitar. It strikes you as odd that music can exist in the same world as the one the Beakers live in. "His-his new friend Robert." Mrs. Beaker whimpers. "He did something to our boy. Made him different." You've heard this argument before. [[Do you tell them their son might have found a lover?]] [[Don't mention it.->matter at hand.]]

(set: $emotion -= 1) "What?" Mrs. Beaker looks shocked. "What are you implying Detective?" "Maybe she's saying that our boy deserved this?" Mr. Beaker looks at you with a hard look in his eyes. "I knew cops around here were heartless." You want to ask more, but maybe a more indirect approach is the way to go. [[Maybe you can find out more information.->Prey2]]

Before you can ask another question, Mrs. Beaker speaks up. "Wait, no I do remember something." She says, trying to think through the fog of despair. "He called a few days before he stopped going to school. Said that... he was happy to be needed. That he found his calling." She shakes her head, disappointed. "Of course we did what any parent would do after hearing that." "You cut him off." Mr. Beaker says, his head in his hands. "What did you think was going to happen?" "He should have come home!" Mrs. Beaker retorts, panic and misery filling her voice. You let the two of them argue it out for several minutes before they're ready to [[talk again.->Get them coffee.]]

"Mrs. Beaker," You say as delicately as you can, "Is it possible that your son might have been gay?" The parents look shocked. Of course. You endure maybe five minutes of 'not our boy' talk before you can get back to the [[matter at hand.]]

"Regardless," You continue. "You believe that this Robert Weiss may have introduced your son into dangerous activities?" "That's right." Mr. Beaker says, "Last time he talked to us, before my wife cut him off financially..." He glares at his wife. "He mentioned a hunt." "We thought it was just a game." Mrs. Beaker says defensively, "Nothing dangerous, but all the same. Dropping out of Tisch." She shakes her head. "Ridiculous." You nod and take your notes, thankful that both of your parents are okay with who you are and what you do with your life. [[You give them a moment before checking to see if they're okay for more questioning.->Get there on time.]]

You make the call. The judge is skeptical, doubtful. Infuriatingly, they refuse to give you the warrant on grounds of circumstantial evidence. You hand up the phone with a growl. "What's wrong?" Manson asks from behind his screen. "Pissant district's getting in the way again." You say between clenched teeth. "That sucks." He says, shrugging. "Honestly, it's probably for the best. You've been a mess since this whole case started Ev. Maybe it's time to take some of your vacation days and actually use them for a change?" You glare at him hard enough to set him on fire if you could. He blanches and hides back behind his screen. "Anyway." He whimpers, "Even if you wanted to do something about it. What can you do now that the judge has denied you? It's not like you can just break into the guy's- hey, Ev, wait!" He calls after you as you stand up, grab your coat and dash out of the office. Your grin is wide and your teeth are showing. A voice somes through your head: [["it's time to hunt."->FinalEncounter1]]

You sigh, folding the papers together frustratedly. "There's something here Manson." You say, "Maybe if I had dug more or made people talk..." "Hey, hey it's alright." He says soothingly, "You did your job. Now let the feds do theirs." He shakes his head, "CSI doesn't have to get in the way of the FBI all the time, Ev. Just when it's funny or on TV." You laugh. It feels good. Maybe he's right. The world works the way it does for a reason. Maybe it's not a great idea to question it too hard. [[You make the phone call to Roach and let him know what you've found out.->FinalEncounter2]]

The first thing that hits you is the stench of blood. Its intoxicating smell, the same sweet aroma from a week ago, fills you up like heady wine. The home is as guadily decorated as Mr. Weiss' office. Furniture that's been in the family for generations when it should've been in the junk heap for as long fills the space. It clutters. However, you don't see the source of the blood-stench. You feel something hit the top of your head with a soft 'plop'. You look up. Blood is seeping from upstairs. Some of it catches in your nostrils and dribbles down your cheek. [[You head upstairs, feeling a force guiding you.->FinalEncounterScene2]]

There are three doors on the landing, but only one of them matters to you. It's the one that the blood is coming from. You try the doorknob but it's locked. You're prepared to bust it down when it unlocks and swings inward. Mr. Weiss' face pokes out from the sliver of open frame and nods. "Ah," He says quietly. "So that's what I was feeling when you visited earlier." He sighs, exaltant. "Come in, please." You step inside before he can finish, you don't need his permission to do anything. You both know where you stand with each other. The room is like something out of a nightmare. Torture implements line the felt-decorated walls, each of them spattered with dry and fresh blood. In the center of the room is a chair. Tied to that chair is a young boy in his early twenties. You can only assume that he's Mr. Weiss' son, Robert. The boy looks drunk, his eyes glazed over and his hands held up as though in prayer. It strikes you as odd that only his legs are tied. He could easily escape if he wanted to. "I suppose you want to know..." Mr. Weiss begins, fiddling with various implements. "What you're doing here." [[You close the door behind you.->FinalEncounterScene3]]

"People," He begins, finally deciding on a rather cruel looking spiked hammer and walking over to his son. "People aren't meant to live this near each other. We're meant for small communities, Detective. Small... contained. We're meant to be a part of this world. We eat, and are eaten." He sighs, "We were never supposed to be so safe." Without warning or ceremony he swings the hammer down hard on his son's knee caps. Two swings, and the boy will never walk again. He won't need to. "You're sick." You say, barely noticing how hungry your eyes are for that hammer. "You killed George Beaker." "Hm?" Mr. Weiss looks up, confused. "Oh, oh no that wasn't me. That was my son. It likes it more when there's an emotional attachment, you see." "What likes it?" You ask, stepping closer. "The Hunt." He replies. Suddenly the feeling that's been in the back of your head all week has a name. The Hunt. Mr. Weiss hands you the hammer. [[You take it.]]

"The bible talks about Abraham and Isaac, the first sacrifice of man to god." He smiles wistfully. "Except, that was written far after its time. We were already in cities then. Already killing each other to satisfy, not God, but The Hunt." He takes off his shirt, and you see what looks like a stitch-marking all the way down the front of his chest. "It happens everywhere. Even now. We're just closer to it than others. We who Hunt at night." He strokes his son's cheek, who moans ecstatically. "Are you ready, son?" He asks. His son nods vigoriously. Then reality shifts, and everything becomes wrong and right at the same time. Mr. Weiss' whole front opens up into a mass of teeth and bone. It spreads, crackling and breaking unnaturally. The massive maw descends onto Robert Weiss' upper body and snaps shut with a loud sickening crunch. Suddenly, it's all over. Mr. Weiss stands over his dead son and begins to mutter a prayer. [[The hypocrisy of it boggles you.->FinalEncounterScene5]]

Mr. Weiss shifts his son's remains into a corner of the room and stands in the center. He holds up his arms, waiting. "What's going on?" You ask. "Humanity." He replies. "It's beginning and end. I was a predator, but now I am prey. I cannot fight it just like I cannot stop the sun rising. We all feel it, in some way or another." He laughs, and in doing so spits up some of his son's blood onto his pale cheek. "We all know what it's like to be both. We just know better than most." He continues to laugh. It rankles at you. How can he possibly be laughing? His son just died. No, he just ate his son. How can he... You look at the hammer in your hands. The world has always been like this, you think to yourself. You can only accept it. [[Do it.]] [[Walk away.]]

You smile, releasing control of your body to The Hunt. You swing mightily at Mr. Weiss' skull, shutting him up. Then, as his jaw breaks, you start to see his flesh and bone fly apart. That is the final signal you needed. That The Hunt needed. You take off your shirt. Your bra. You stand over Mr. Weiss, your prey. You feel your body expand; it is amazing. Better than any sex you've ever had. This is better than anything. You eat Mr. Weiss entirely. Clothes and all. You stand there in the dripping felt-lined room for a while before leaving. You take clean clothes from Mr. Weiss' wardrobe, it doesn't fit very well, but it'll do. Too much blood will scare away the prey. Or hint to other predators that there's a frenzy going on. You take the squad car back to the station before heading home on your own. For the first time in a long while you feel at peace walking down your street. You are among fellow predators. This is the way the world works, after all. [[Maybe you should give Manson a call for dinner after all.->EndingB]]

Your mind screams at you. Screams for you to give in, to do it. Engage in this primal, bloody act. But you don't. You don't give in. This is not the way the world should be. You throw the hammer at Mr. Weiss' feet and instead place handcuffs on the older man. He looks at you, confused. You read him his rights. He will go to jail for murder. That's the law of the world. Of your world, anyway. You do wrong, you get punished. You take him to the station and call Roath to let him know that he's got a lot more work to do. So do you. Something's going on here, something beyond what you were trained for. But you know that only you can handle this. The Hunt needs to be stopped. No one has any right above anyone else. There is no predator or prey, only humans. If you don't fight for that, who will? You go home. You don't feel entirely safe, but that's okay. The world is broken right now, it shouldn't be the way it is. You don't have a choice right now but to walk in public streets, even with your badge. You firmly believe though, that there is a future out there where you and others will have a choice. It'll take a while, it might even take longer than you have. But eventually, eventually people, women, everyone, will be able to walk home without fear. You've got to climb the mountain one foothold at a time. Eventually we will forget Abraham and Isaac. [[It was a stupid story, anyway.->EndingC]]

Ending C [[The Binding of Isaa(c)->GameOver]]

ENDING B [[(B)loody Winter->GameOver]]

ENDING A [[E(a)ger To Please->GameOver]]

ENDING D [[Waking (D)ream->GameOver]]