MaddAddam Final Project v.4

Where are you? [[Scales and Tails]] [[Martha Graham Academy]] [[CorpSeCorps]] [[CorpSeCorps: Katrina]] [[The Pleebs]]

Your bullet train shudders to a stop at the CorpSeCorps building looming over the horizon. The cameras both on-board, in the station, and at the front doors positively identify you as Echo-Minus, an entry-level Corpsman. This is not the name you were born with, of course, but it's the only one you have any use for now. [[Head inside.]]

You wake up to the sunlight seeping in through the blinds of your dorm room. Staring at the concrete ceiling, you ponder what to do next. [[open the blinds]]

Melanie is a professional dancer and sex worker at a Scales and Tales franchise. She has worked there for two years, since she was expelled from Martha Graham University for accidentally setting her dorm room on fire. She doesn't hate her job at Scales and Tales, but she doesn't love it, either. At the start of the Waterless Flood, Melanie is quarantined in the Sticky Zone. Why? During a particularly aggressive plankwork assignment, her Biofilm Bodyglove tore in a sensitive spot. She was exposed to the semen of her client (this is known in her line of work as a “wet rip”), and is awaiting testing and/or treatment for the hostile bioforms she may have been exposed to. Unfortunately, Melanie never gets the chance to find out whether she's caught any bugs from the anonymous client. While she is waiting in quarantine, a very contagious and lethal virus kills nearly everyone else on the planet. Ironically, the mandatory isolation of the Sticky Zone keeps her safe from the rapid and violent death spreading across the country. [[Wait around in Scales & Tails]]

A CorpSeCorps building is at the heart of every Compound, or so you're told; you've never strayed far enough to see for sure. But you're in the Corps, so they have no reason to lie to you now. Out in the pleeblands, no one trusts the Compounds, the Corps, the scientific machines that power the world. You were raised to do the same and you see the folly of your ways now. The Corps offered you a life that you couldn't even dream of in the pleebs. You make your way to your cubicle, complete with desk chair and computer - not the latest model, but close enough. When you cross the threshold, a soft little mechanical voice chides you for being three and a half minutes late to your shift. You'll have to wake up earlier tomorrow. [[Talk to Uniform.]]

You can't talk to Uniform because she's not here. Uniform shares a cubicle wall with you and is a few ranks above you, not enough to be your boss, so you consider her a friend. Considering you're still new, it's good to have someone like her looking out for you. It'll help you integrate more and, hopefully, get upgraded from a Minus a little faster. Uniform advised patience last time you complained about it, and you almost told her she sounded like your mother, but you didn't, because Uniform is too young to be your mother, and because you don't talk about your family anymore. As far as you're concerned, they no longer exist. Considering how things go in the pleebs, your mother and sisters could easily be dead, and better off for it. Uniform is never late and her computer's screensaver is on, so you know she arrived at some point. You wonder where she is. Come to think of it... [[Look around.]]

Your office is unusually quiet. It's not a fun job, but it is a busy one, and usually the sound of footsteps on the carpet behind you is incessant. Today, though...nothing. It's like everyone's stopped in place. You shake off your bad feeling. If something was wrong, you would know about it. You're with the Corps, after all. The Corps sees everything, knows everything, is everywhere. The others you're used to seeing are probably out on assignment. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Speaking of the ordinary, it's time for you to get back to your routine. You boot up your computer. There's a notification already waiting for you from the internal messaging server. Probably your day's assignment. You suppress a groan. You can only hope they're not sending you out in the pleebs again. But you probably are, and knowing that makes your stomach lurch. [[Hit the notification.]] [[Check the news.]] [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]] [[Have some coffee.]]

No, you don't want to do that yet. [[Check the news.]] [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]] [[Have some coffee.]]

You studiously ignore the flashing notification and instead open a Web browser to check the news. Obviously the Corps has a designated newsfeed for current events, one you can only access from your desk. It's sensitive information, things that everyone doesn't get to see, but that's what Corps certifications are good for. One of the many things Corps certifications are good for, you remind yourself. Nothing of note is happening as far as you can see. Good news from the Compounds: new technologies, new pills, ads with flashy colors and jaunty logos. Everyone's buzzing about this BlyssPluss pill. It hasn't been circulating that long but it's a big hit, especially with SecksCorps. It's not one of the pills you'd have much use for - your love life is often the last thing on your mind, certainly not as important as your career - but still, good news. The news is always good, or at least, the news you read is. [[Check that notification now?]] [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]] [[Have some coffee.]]

Your cursor hovers over the MaddAddam database and you double-click it. It prompts you for a username and password; you enter ECHOMINUS and CSCORPS in quick succession. This is sensitive information. Extremely so. The Corps keeps databases on all the roving communities of weirdos who cause trouble out in the pleebs - the placidly nutty God's Gardeners, the reactionary Wolf Isaiahists, the elusive Asian Fusion gangs and a dozen others you can't name. When you're not out in the field, you're responsible for maintaining the information flow. Your assignments tend to rotate; Uniform said it was to keep you informed in all corners of the world, but your other friend Kilo-Minus muttered something about how it was to keep one person from knowing everything. You don't really care why. You just want to do your job. [[Consider MaddAddam.]]

You slide your chair over to the instant HappiCuppa machine on the far side of the desk. Everyone has one within arm's length, and at first you thought it was mere convenience. But one of your other co-workers, Kilo-Minus, said it was more to discourage everyone at the office from mingling and wasting time talking, and Uniform told her to settle down and that was the last you heard of it. Kilo-Minus's words planted themselves in your head no matter how hard you tried to discard them, and you suppose she had a point, but it's not necessarily such a bad thing. The Corps has a lot to manage, after all. Nothing wrong with productivity. The HappiCuppa hits your tongue too fast and burns your mouth, as usual. You haven't yet learned how long to wait for it to cool off, and you're suspicious it never does as some kind of special feature. You don't really like coffee and never have. Growing up everyone drank tea, especially once HappiCuppa really started taking off and coffee became more and more of a luxury item. It was easier to get tea in the pleebs, and it was easier to drink without additions. Coffee, you find, needs more cream and sugar. Tea's tolerable with less. Naturally the Corps doesn't stock tea bags over HappiCuppa for a number of reasons. You finish your coffee. You take it black through gritted teeth. Someday you'll get used to the taste. You know it. You have to. [[You should probably hit that notification now, shouldn't you?]] [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]]

No. Hold off on that a little while longer. [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]] [[Have some coffee.]]

Okay, you should hit the notification, but you won't. Not yet. It's fine if you wait a little longer. No one will mind. [[Pull up MaddAddam files.]]

You won't admit it, but the MaddAddamites scare you the most. The Gardeners, the Isaiahists, the Fusions - you know them all pretty well. They each roved through your old neighborhood in turn, in daylight and in darkness. You know the famous Painballers, the best gang assassins, the horror stories about street warfare. You know where most kids in the rundown public schools you attended until you were allowed to drop out ended up. You know fairly little about the MaddAddamites because they're cowards who hide behind complex Web pathways and usernames, lurking in dark digital corners and going about their days in the real world as someone else. But you think that's why they scare you. These usernames you track, the activity you catalogue, the dates and times and messages you decrypt and put into neat spreadsheets at the end of the day - it could be anyone doing these things. And considering it's still unclear what, exactly, the MaddAddams are up to behind the guise of their stupid role-playing game, it could already be happening, and you'll never get a step ahead, because you're starting out so far behind. The database presents you with the last profile you were working on and you open it just for something to do. [[FILE: "WHITE_SEDGE"]]

This one goes by White Sedge, which, according to external research, refers to an extinct kind of plant that disappeared into the ocean along with the state of California. It's possible the individual who chose the handle is from California, which is the basis of your identification attempts. It's extremely dull work and your eyes glaze over lists of Californian refugees, some earmarked as potential threats, some flagged as presumed dead. Since MaddAddam only exists online, or at least as far as anyone knows, it strikes you as rather pointless to try and track their physical movements. For all you know, White Sedge is still playing Extinctathon under the ocean. For all you know...you know nothing of MaddAddam. You've been told they're elite intellectuals, computer geniuses who threaten Compound life, constantly trying to steal Corps secrets. You didn't even think that was possible. For all your life the Corps has been untouchable, and yet here's MaddAddam, nipping right at your heels. They're invisible, and therefore much more dangerous than the pleebland gangs. Exponentially so. You haven't been tracking MaddAddam very long, but they've been quieter lately. Sparser postings, easier decryption patterns, less meaningful messages. Almost like they're only maintaining a presence to prove they're still alive. Maybe they know they're being watched. You close the White Sedge file. You can't justify working on it when that notification keeps blinking at you. [[It's time to hit the notification.]]

You grit your teeth and open the message. Your tongue is numb and heavy in your mouth from the HappiCuppa burns. The message is marked as High Priority and the contents are as you expected. [[Read "ASSIGNMENT - HIGH PRIORITY"]]

ECHO-MINUS: INCIDENT IN PROGRESS AT "SCALES & TAILS" ESTABLISHMENT. INVESTIGATE & REPORT BACK; MAINTAIN ORDER. FULL-BODY ARMOR HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. RISK LEVEL: ORANGE. TIME FRAME: IMMEDIATE. PERMISSION TO RETREAT IF OVERWHELMED: GRANTED. [[Consider.]]

You sit back in your chair and press your palms over your eyes, blotting out the fluorescent lights above and the glow from your computer screen. This isn't anything new. There's some kind of incident in the pleebs every day, but it has to be getting out of hand if they're sending you. Probably some Compound egghead got in trouble squabbling over a dancer with a Painballer or a gangbanger, and you've got to get him out. But in full-body armor? And they call this an orange risk level? And why are they telling you it's okay to leave? This must be a test, you decide as you scrutinize every word in every line. Or maybe only a show of force. Must be some really important egghead to warrant all this. [[Get ready to go.]]

The office is just as empty as you prepare to leave it as it was when you came in, and your concern about that is a constant murmur in the back of your mind, like static blaring in your ears. But you have more pressing concerns. CorpSeCorps standard issue body armor is, unlike the office computers, top of the line. There's nothing better anywhere; when you're suited up, you can walk through fire and come out unscathed. Literally. The fire resistance is built in, along with smoke filtration and a whole host of other protective features. You appreciate the all-covering masks most. It'll stop anyone from recognizing you. Going to Scales and Tails puts you right back in your old neighborhood, and the thought of being there again makes your skin crawl. Most of the girls you grew up with ended up as dancers at the club, if they were lucky enough to be employed by SeksMart, or else they're selling their bodies on the streetcorners. Call it independent contracting, if being a slave to some gang pimp counts as independence. Maybe some of the boys you grew up with worked their way through the ranks to be gang pimps. Maybe some of them are Scales dancers themselves. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Every bedazzled and bescaled and befeathered dancer on the trapezes could be your mother and it wouldn't matter. They're nothing to you now. They made their choices, you made yours, and that's how it is. You wish you weren't going out there alone. [[Look to your left.]]

You look. Your left side is empty as you leave the silent office. Usually another Corpsman would stand beside you. It's weird that they've sent you out alone for an orange-level situation, but it only reinforces your idea that this is either a test or not actually all that important. You've been sent out with Uniform a couple times before, and she's good at keeping a cool head. The Corps, quietly, doesn't approve of real friendships in the ranks, nor should they. This is work, you all have jobs to do, and you shouldn't go around distracting each other. You're pretty sure they're lenient, though, because they know it's impossible to avoid such things. Especially not when most of the Corpsmen you've met have overcome the same obstacles as you, "obstacles" of course meaning the smothering influence of the pleebs. You all came from the same sort of neighborhood. All that ever changes are the names and faces; no matter where you go, the pleeblands are all the same. Or at least as far as you've been told. There's an unspoken respect there, between you and all your co-workers. You all made it out. It's so easy to forget how hard that is. The least you could do is acknowledge it for each other. None of that matters right now. You make yourself aware of two facts: one, you're alone, and two, you can handle this. [[Retreat...?]]

That message didn't tell you anything you didn't already know or expect. Except that part about retreating, and it haunts you as you depart. There's a special Corps rail line that takes you into the pleebs and you get in; again, all the cameras read you and tell the world who you are. The "minus" beside your name burns to see, but it'll be lifted with time. It will. It will. You've never been approved for retreat before. Retreat is code for failure; it means you were overwhelmed, and Corpsmen should be better than that. Like hell you'll be retreating from routine crowd control at Scales, of all places. You'll get in, tell the pleeblanders to settle down, rescue the poor egghead from becoming a SecretBurger or an Asian Fusion house special or whatever else, and be out in no time. This is a really weird test. What are they trying to prove here? Somewhere within the static, another question emerges: Why don't they think you're good enough yet? [[Arrive.]] [[Turn back?]]

The pleebs are exactly how you left them, you note with disgust. Dirty, rundown, reeking of desperation. Like your office, though, it's unusually quiet. But, then again, it's still daylight. The real scum, they move like shadows in the night. Only starlight pries them from their gutters. You're armed, of course, but for now you only have a stun baton. Hopefully you won't need anything worse; you have the opposite of an itchy trigger finger, as shameful as that is to admit. Part of you is unwilling to kill pleeblanders. Deep down you're afraid of seeing a familiar face turn into a corpse at your hands. This weakness, it plagues you. No wonder you're only a minus. The rail line left you a few blocks from Scales at the outskirts, the strange no-man's-land between the Compound walls and the pleeb borders. They can't have the rail line too close. It'd encourage those who didn't belong. [[Walk.]] [[Turn back...]]

You can't turn back. [[Arrive.]]

Your steps are loud on the street; the riot gear comes with heavy boots. The CorpSeCorps has no need for subtlety. You have nothing to be afraid of, no reason to hide. You flex your fingers against the stun baton and roll your shoulders. Your breath echoes loud in the helmet. The pleeblanders should hear you coming. They shouldn't be surprised. They should hear your footsteps and fall back in line. They should hear your footsteps and know they went too far. They should hear your footsteps and behave for once, and maybe their lives wouldn't turn out so empty. The streets are so quiet. You have never heard them this quiet. Your palms sweat in their reinforced gloves and if you were holding it barehanded, the stun baton would slip from your grip. [[Turn the corner.]] [[Turn back!]]

Weren't you listening before? You can't turn back. [[Walk.]]

You're getting closer to Scales now and you're starting to hear something, finally. You pick up the pace and your footsteps hit the street even louder, an irregular screaming beat that matches your heart pounding away in your chest. You are not nervous. The way your heart’s racing, it’s just from running. You have no reason to be nervous. You left the pleebs behind and they can't hurt you now. Let them try. The closer you get the louder the noise becomes, dozens of voices yelling over each other. You grit your teeth. Whatever you've gotten called in to do must have gotten worse. Just what you need, some huge gang war at Scales to manage. [[Keep going.]] [[Retreat?]]

You made your choice. You made your choice a long time ago. You can't turn back. [[But...]]

If you turn back now, you will never stop being one of them. [[Turn the corner.]]

You finally reach the right street and your jaw drops open in your helmet. Scales and Tails is at the end of the street and what looks like a full-scale riot is mobbing its front doors. No wonder the streets were so quiet; it seems everyone in a five-mile radius is here instead. You keep your hold on your stun baton but your hands are shaking. What the hell is going on? You've seen Scales bad before, but never this bad. It's practically apocalyptic. Why did they send you here alone? [[Enter the fray.]] [[TURN BACK.]]

Retreat is code for turn back and you know it. No. You will not retreat. You will not hide. You will not fail. You can't turn back here, not like you did before when you joined the Corps. You turned your back on the dilapidated streets you called home. You turned your back on your sisters, who grew up to be SecksMart whores if they were lucky and arm candy for Painballers if they were unlucky. You turned your back on your mother, drinking tea because there was nothing else; tea was medicine, she didn't trust Corps pills. She could have joined the God's Gardeners for all you know, and the next time you have to investigate them you'll have to see her face and the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. She always looked so much older than she was. You turned your back on your father, or rather he turned his back on your family first, working for gangs until he got caught, ending up inside-out and strung up in a tree in a Painball arena. You turned your back and the pleebs stared after you, boring holes in your shoulder blades, passing judgment, and there is no home for you to come back to, there is no future here amidst the dirt and the drugs and the death, always death, every day someone on the block met some grisly end, or from the next block, or from some other family tree. No. You can't turn back, no matter who you may see walking forward. [[Keep going.]]

You stride forward, calling commands and waving your baton. There's a conspicuous lack of cameras in the area; you suppose the Corps doesn't want this all over the news so they told the media to back off. It can't be that bad if they can keep prying eyes away, right? Or maybe nobody cares about a pleeb riot. This is hardly headline news, after all. The crowd doesn't respond to you whatsoever. They just go on screaming, running around in a frenzy. Now you can see that the front of the mob is shoving on the front doors, begging to be let in and trampling each other in the process. What the hell? You grab a man's shoulder and turn him around. [["You!"]]

Enough of that already! You're not running away, even if it is a riot. [[Enter the fray.]]

The first word comes out as a command, authoritative and impressive. But further words die on your tongue. The man is melting. There's no other way to describe it. Skin and muscle are slipping off of him and his bones are stained pink and he's screaming, screaming, screaming. He seizes at your sleeves, blindly, but you can't discern any words. At least none that make any sense. His fingers are wearing away and bones are poking out and he's pulling at you, clawing, desperate. The woman next to you screams in a different pitch as the same thing starts happening to her. The crowd is absorbing you. You flail your stun baton but that pain is nothing to them now. [[Maintain order.]] [[Run away, run far away, run as far as you can.]]

The pleeblanders are crumpling around you, folding in on themselves as they decay. You have never, never in your life seen anything like this before. Your nightmares have never shown you anything like this before. It's beyond comprehension. All you can do is stare through the tint of your helmet and feel the fingers pawing at you through your riot gear. Dying people thrash around you in hysterics. It's a snuff film rave, or something, you don't know, you can't think straight. You make eye contact with a skeleton face just as the eyes melt away in their sockets. You start to slip and catch yourself, and your boot is sunk deep in a puddle of skin and blood and tissue, abandoned by some hollow husk with no further use for it. Most of them are just screaming. Some get words out, pleas for help. But you have no way to help them and you don't think they even know you're here, not really. What do you see and feel before you die? What is real, and what is lost to the beyond? What is life after death? Does it even exist? These people, they're not real to you either, not really. They're a horror movie happening around you. If you start thinking of them as people, you start seeing too close. Suddenly they become your elementary school teacher, the crazy drug addict down the hall, the kids you played with in the summertime, the woman at the supermarket counter, the man your father worked with who wore sunglasses inside. They become your father. Your mother. Your sisters. You see a body still clad in a Scales bodysuit with a skull poking up at the top and for a moment you hear her singing. This isn't real. This can't be real. [[Leave.]]

There is nowhere to run now. You're lost in the mob. [[Maintain order.]]

It's not shameful to retreat from this, you assure yourself over and over. There has to be a way out of this crowd. You're looking, searching, planning, when a corpse's arm smashes into your helmet. Someone has seized your head, curled their dying fingers around it; the body clinging to you is melting too fast for you to discern gender. All you know is it's screaming and hanging onto you, as if you could do anything. You beat it with your baton and it falls, but it takes your helmet as it goes. [[Breathe.]]

You gasp and air fills your lungs in a rush. Without your helmet the colors around you are thrown into sharper relief. You've never seen so much red. It's so much louder than you thought. Something thick is curling in your throat, something caught in the air. The virus. The disease. The plague. The whatever it is, it's in the air. Blood splashes your cheek. You can feel it. It's almost immediate. You breathe in again but you're choking on something flooding your throat. It's you. You're flooding your own throat. You're already falling apart and gargling on the pieces. [[Stay calm.]]

The static from the back of your mind, it's roaring in your ears now. Your knees buckle and you feel yourself fall. Your skull cracks on the pavement and the pleeblanders, writhing as one, leave footprints on your body. You can't feel anything. Or perhaps the pain is so great you can't even fathom it. Your cheeks are starting to sag, flesh peeling away from bones. You put a hand to your throat and try to cough. A spray of blood from your mouth catches the sunlight and glows orange for a split second. The disease is touching all of you, even the parts left unexposed. You feel your skin ripping in your riot gear and lose sensation in your fingers, toes, arms, legs, everywhere. Your heart is running so fast, trying frantically to keep you alive. You're dying. You know it. You're dying in the pleebs. You did everything to stop yourself from dying in the pleebs, and here you are. You're dying in Corps gear, sure. But you're still dying in the pleebs. Your brain runs the phrase on repeat, maybe to torture you, maybe because it's decaying too and all it can do is repeat. [[Who are you?]]

They called you Echo-Minus. You never did lose that suffix. You're Echo-Minus and now the Corps is minus you. Ha. Funny. You wonder if they'll notice, how hard it'll be to fill your desk. But no. That's not who you are. You had a name before that. Your mother, your father, your sisters, they never called you Echo-Minus. [[What's your name?]]

You tried to forget it. You assured yourself you were someone else now, and it made you feel good. It made you feel like you belonged somewhere better, with better people. That you could be someone better. But Echo-Minus was never anyone at all. Just a title. Just a designation. Your body rolls. You're mostly gelatin wavering in a thick suit now and you're starting to lose your vision. At least you won't have to see any more of this. You have a name. You tried to forget it, but you could never shake it. It's still your name. The name your parents gave you. The one they said with love. The one your mother called after you when you left the apartment for the last time. [[Say your name.]]

You can't say anything anymore, your tongue just slipped out past your cracking lips. The emptiness it leaves is heavier than what was lost. Everything hurts. It hurts so much. You can't say your name but you can think it. You can die as yourself. It's better than dying as no one at all. [[Say it!]]

You can't say anything, you can't say anything, you can't say anything. Your chest heaves. Your brain stutters. You can't do it. You can't remember. [[Let go.]]

Melanie has been trapped in Scales and Tails for two months. There is no more television, but from what she watched before the news stations went down she knows that the world outside of the Sticky Zone has been radically altered. She has enough food to subsist for several more months, maybe even a year if she rations carefully. However, Melanie has an additional problem. Though she fortunately avoided catching any hostile bioforms from that plankwork contamination incident, she determines she is pregnant. [[Uh Oh, that's bad]]

If Melanie tries to leave the Sticky Zone, she might catch the plague! If she doesn't, she will eventually starve and very likely die in childbirth. What does she decide to do next? [[Try to figure out a way to escape the Sticky Zone.]] [[Stay in the Sticky Zone]]

Melanie investigates the door of the Sticky Zone. It is thick, heavy and sealed up tight – at first, it seems there must be no way out. But then she remembers a rumor she'd heard once (from who?) that there was a failsafe in the Sticky Zone… just in case someone in Scales and Tails management (in other words, a man) managed to get himself stuck in there in an emergency. Melanie must now look for the hidden failsafe. Where does she look? [[Melanie looks behind the refrigerator.]] [[Melanie looks under the carpet.]] [[Melanie looks under the treadmill.]]

Melanie runs out of food more quickly than she anticipated, in the fifth month of her pregnancy. She is miserable, bored, and exhausted. She kills herself rather than live a few more months in suffering and have to endure a slow, painful death by malnutrition and/or childbirth. You chose the worst ending, congratulations.

Melanie finds nothing but dust and old bits of food. [[Try to figure out a way to escape the Sticky Zone.]]

Melanie finds nothing but stains. [[Try to figure out a way to escape the Sticky Zone.]]

Melanie heaves the treadmill from its spot, dragging it inch by inch. (She's a professional dancer, so she's pretty strong.) Underneath, she finds a keypad, just like the one outside the Sticky Zone! What code word does she try? [[PASSWORD]] [[SCALESNTAILS]] [[MORDISRULES]] [[BOOBS]]

Alas, Scales and Tails security isn't quite this stupid. Try again. [[Try to figure out a way to escape the Sticky Zone.]]

That would be too easy! Try again. [[Melanie looks under the treadmill.]]

It used to be this, but Mordis works at a different Scales and Tales franchise now. Or he did, until he got killed by the Waterless Flood. [[Melanie looks under the treadmill.]]

Good job thinking like someone in Scales and Tales management! Across the room, the lock clunks, and the door swings open. [[Go through the door]]

Melanie ventures forth cautiously, not sure what she's going to find. She's immediately hit with the stench of decay, and the brutal reality of her situation sinks in. Melanie was never exactly close with her family, she's not even sure where they live anymore, so she doesn't feel their absence. But her friends and co-workers must now all be dead. This fact is difficult to register, at least until she steps over the first body. What does Melanie do when she sees the body? [[Turn the body over.]] [[Leave the body.]]

Melanie recognizes the decomposing features of one of of her co-workers, another dancer. She is horrified, she has never seen someone she knew personally as a corpse. She struggles to remember this woman's name, and realizes she can't. Even though Melanie had seen her every day for at least six months. Somehow, this is the worst part. Melanie will spend the rest of her life trying to figure it out, and she never forgets the woman's face. [[Leave Scales & Tails]]

Melanie decides to spare herself some trauma – she thinks there will be plenty in her future that won't be so easily avoided. [[Leave Scales & Tails]]

Melanie heads straight for the outside world. She knows she can always shut herself back in the Sticky Zone if she needs a secure place to stay with a stash of food and a lock on the door. Melanie finds the front doors of Scales and Tails are already wide open, as clients and workers alike had tried to flee. The light outside is so bright in comparison to the dingy flourescence of the Sticky Zone, and Melanie squints, disoriented. It's a repulsive scene: the hot summer streets littered with trash, abandoned possessions and bodies in various states of decay. Melanie wonders if she is only person left alive. Probably not, she thinks, I can't be the only person lucky enough to weather the virus in a safe zone. Now it's time for Melanie to take stock. [[Take stock]]

Melanie knows she needs to find alternate food sources. She hopes to find other survivors as well, but knows they may well be dangerous and desperate, so she must be cautious. However, she knows her most urgent priority right now, the most imminent threat to her survival, is her pregnancy. Melanie has no interest in bearing or raising a child – she didn't before the apocalypse, and now she's even more against it than before. She has never been pregnant before, and has idea what to expect – but she is pretty sure that pregnancy would make traveling and self-defense much more difficult. Even if she were to carry to term, and then survive childbirth, what kind of awful life would this hypothetical kid have? She imagines trying to take care of a kid she doesn't even want – going hungry so it could eat, trying to keep it healthy without any medicine or practical experience... [[Make a decision!]]

The best course of action, she decides, is to obtain an abortion. And the sooner the better. She is about 7 weeks into the pregnancy, so she still should be able to abort non-surgically – that is, if she can get her hands on an abortifacient. Melanie remembers that Scales and Tails sometimes referred their workers to a women's clinic across town. (Bodily Autonomart, she thinks it was called.) Hopefully the clinic hadn't been destroyed or looted, and Melanie would be able to find something to help her out! [[Set out for the clinic]]

Melanie begins walking in the general direction she thinks the clinic was located – she'd been there once before, for the mandatory STD screening that all Scales and Tails dancers must undergo before being hired. She'd taken the bus, then, and it had only been a forty-minute ride. Walking (assuming she remembered the location correctly) might take hours. The only sounds she hears are those of wild animals, scavengers in the streets. Still, she feels watched. Melanie has been walking for twenty minutes, when she spots what looks like three human figures in the distance, walking her way. Other survivors! What should she do? [[take a detour to avoid them]] [[Approach with caution to see who they are]]

Melanie continues on her way to the clinic. As the sun begins to set, Melanie grows increasingly nervous about the wild animals roaming the streets. She wishes that she had a weapon. Sometimes she thinks she hears a person weakly calling out for help, but she never investigates – they might be sick. Melanie knows she must avoid the virus. [[continue walking in general direction of clinic]]

Melanie can now see that they are a group of survivors, two men and one woman. They don't look sick, and even appear to be well-fed. They don't seem physically threatening, though they are armed. Both men have pistols at their sides. One calls out to her, a friendly hello. Melanie meets the strangers in the middle of the street, and shakes their hands. They explain that they are scientists, Ed and Alec, who had the foresight to seal themselves into a quarantine area in the early days of the virus's breakout. The woman is introduced as Alec's wife. She looks at the ground when she shakes Melanie's hand. “Where are you headed?” asks Ed. “There are some scary guys running around these days, and you don't have a weapon. Maybe you should come with us!” [[Lie and say you're just wandering, and you don't need any help.]] [[Explain that you are trying to find a clinic.]]

“Geez sorry to offend, lady,” says Ed, rolling his eyes. You part ways, and continue on your journey. [[take a detour to avoid them]]

“A clinic?” says Alec, suspiciously. “What for? You sick?” “Come on, she looks healthier than we do,” says Ed. “Tell us,” says Alec. “Well actually,” says Melanie, “I'm pregnant.” Ed and Alec look shocked. “You're trying to kill it?!” says Ed, “After you survived the virus?” “What's wrong with you,” says Alec, “There are so few of us left. How can you be so selfish?” “I don't have to do anything with my body that I don't want to,” snaps Melanie, as she tries to push past them. Alec grabs her arm. “We won't let you,” he barks, “Ed, get some rope, we're going to take her with us.” Melanie can't fight them both off, and soon her hands are tied at the wrists. “Don't worry,” says Ed, “We'll protect you. You don't have to kill your baby.” “It's not a baby, it's a fetus!” says Melanie. [[Now Melanie is a prisoner]]

Ed, Alec, and Alec's wife, take Melanie back to the apartment where they have set up camp. Inside, they have stores of nonperishable food, water, and medicine. “Just think how happy having a little baby will make you! You'll be saving the human race!” says Ed, as he ties Melanie to the radiator. Melanie spits on him. She is already plotting her escape. [[Plot escape]]

Melanie watches Ed and Alec play checkers. She tries to make eye contact with Alec's wife, but the woman always looks away. Later that night, Alec's wife brings Melanie her dinner, a can of spam sliced into fifths and a can of beets. “What's your name?” Melanie asks her. “Corinne,” says the woman. She is older than Melanie, in her early or mid thirties. She has shoulder-length sandy colored hair, and she looks exhausted. “Help me,” says Melanie, under her breath, “Cut me loose.” “I can't do that,” says Corinne, “because then what will happen to your baby?” As she speaks, her gaze never diverts from Alex and Ed. “Fetus,” says Melanie, “and why do you care?” “Don't you want the human race to survive?” says Corinne. “That's not my job,” says Melanie, “How would you like it if they were keeping you prisoner?!” Corinne looks suddenly uncomfortable. [[Question Corinne]]

“Wait,” says Melanie, “Are they? Are they keeping you prisoner?” Corinne glances over towards Alec and Ed. They are three beers into their checker game, having a loud conversation. Corinne nods. “You're not even his wife, really, are you?” whispers Melanie. “I am,” says Corinne, her voice suddenly so quiet it's nearly inaudible, “I agreed to be his wife four days ago so he wouldn't shoot me in the face.” “Holy shit,” says Melanie, “That's scary.” “They never take their guns off,” says Corinne, “They lock me in the bedroom at night, so I can't sneak out. I can't help you.” [[Come up with a plan]]

“Okay, this isn't a very good plan,” whispers Melanie, “But it's all I've got. Is there any liquor in this place?” Corinne nods. She's still staring at Alex and Ed, but they clearly aren't paying any mind to the women's quiet plotting. “Get them drunk, knock them out, steal their guns. Maybe not in that order. Then cut my ropes and we'll get out of here.” Corinne looks nauseous, but maybe a little bit hopeful. She silently leaves the room, then returns with a huge, unopened bottle of white rum. She places it on the table in front of the two men, along with two glasses and a bag of potato chips. Alec thanks her, “How considerate, honey!” and gives her a kiss on the forehead. Corinne looks down. [[implement plan]]

Melanie and Corinne wait in silence, at opposite ends of the room, while the two men drink. Melanie decides to start telling depressing stories, awful things she claimed she'd heard from her co-workers at Scales and Tails, in the hopes that it will make Alec and Ed want to drink faster. Many of her stories are made up, and they are all pretty transparently maudlin, but the tactic works! Corinne silently picks up a heavy flashlight. She sneaks up behind the two men as they drunkenly bemoan the state of the world. Then in rapid, brutal strokes in quick succession, she smacks Alec and Ed in the skull. They both crumple to the ground, and Corinne drops the bloody flashlight. She fumbles in a drawer in the dark for a knife, and uses it to cut the ropes that hold Melanie. [[escape]]

“I still think you should keep the… the fetus.” says Corinne. “Still no, but thanks for the advice,” says Melanie. Corinne clearly doesn't like this answer, but she doesn't voice any more objections. The two women find bags and pack supplies before they leave the apartment (nervously checking every minute to make sure Ed and Alex are still immobile) and head into the night. They decide to part ways – Melanie wants to continue to the clinic, while Corinne wants to seek out the house where her family had lived, before the Waterless Flood. [[continue walking in general direction of clinic]]

Melanie is hesitant to stop to sleep for the night. She's not sure where might be safe from wild animals and desperate people, so she continues on foot. She begins to grow concerned that she misremembered the way to the clinic. She should have been better prepared for this trip, found a map somehow, looked for a weapon at Scales & Tails. Maybe she had been too impulsive. Melanie spots far-off lights down a cross street. She decides to investigate, and possibly seek shelter or directions. [[Approach the lights]]

She approaches, and sees that the lights are lanterns, hanging around a courtyard in an apartment complex. It seemed as though the apartments, though once upscale, had been abandoned since before the Waterless Flood. Most of the windows are gone, and even in the dark, Melanie can see moss and vines creeping up the building's exterior. Several bowls of dry cat food sit around the courtyard, and strays mill about, unconcerned by Melanie's presence. Melanie notices that much of the courtyard has been turned into a garden, mostly full of herbs, root vegetables and leafy greens. Melanie wonders if the person who built this place survived the Waterless Flood – and if so, where were they? They must have lived, or who would have lit the lanterns, she supposed. Melanie feels the sharp edge of an object pressed gently against her back. “Who are you?” says a voice. “What do you want?” [[Explain where you are going and why.]]

Melanie doesn't have time to come up with a false story: she explains that she is looking for the Bodily Autonomart clinic. “Oh,” says the person behind her. “You can turn around, I see you don't have a weapon.” [[turn around]]

Melanie turns to see an elderly woman, wearing denim overalls and an apron with many pockets. Her gray hair is woven into thick braids, and she's holding a long and very sharp knife. “I can give you a place to stay for the night,” says the woman. “These old buildings have a bomb shelter in the basement, I was smart enough to know when to use it. Now I live down there.” “Did you… build this garden?” says Melanie. She's not sure whether 'build' is the right word to use for a garden. She's never even seen a garden before. “Sure,” said the woman, “I used to sell my herbs at the Tree of Life Natural Materials Exchange. Everybody knows not to get medicine from HelthWyzer. They make you sick. And look what happened.” She gestured out at the ruined city, totally dark except for the little lanterns in the courtyard, and what few stars shone through the smog coating the night sky. “I'm Adelaide,” she says, slipping her knife into the big front pocket of her apron. [[Follow Adelaide]]

Melanie follows Adelaide into the building, through a locked door and down a staircase, into the bomb shelter. Inside are stores of canned food and plant fertilizer, bottled water and many drying herbs. It seems pretty clear that Adelaide had made this her home long before the Waterless Flood. Several large cardboard boxes filled with blankets sit on the floor around the room. “The cats come here to have their kittens,” says Adelaide, by way of explanation, “It's warmer, and they know the little ones won't get eaten by one of those big awful pigs or wolves.” Sure enough, three of the boxes contain a mother cat, nursing small kittens. Cats, it seems, weren't affected by the Waterless Flood. Adelaide retrieves some thick blankets and lays them on the floor for Melanie to sleep on. Melanie is grateful, and very, very tired. [[Curl up and go to sleep]]

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun is even up, Adelaide is already up and about. Should Melanie offer to help her, or get more much-needed rest? [[Melanie helps with chores.]] [[Melanie sleeps in.]]

Melanie blearily gets up off the blankets, and asks Adelaide if she needs help. Together, they care for cats and tend the herbs. “I should get going soon,” says Melanie. “Can you help me find the clinic?” “Certainly,” says Adelaide,"It's not far from here at all... but you know, I might have something here for you. Who knows what nasty things you might encounter at that clinic?” “What do you mean?” asks Melanie. “I grow some very useful herbs in my garden,” says Adelaide. “If I brew you some Pennyroyal tea, every four hours, day and night, for four days, that should do it. It might also poison you.” She shrugs. [[Melanie says, "Okay, I'd like to try it."]] [[Melanie says, "No thanks, I think I feel safer looking for a pill at the clinic."]]

“I should be going,” says Melanie. “Can you help me find the clinic?” “Certainly,” says Adelaide, “But, you know, I might have something here for you. Who knows what nasty things you might encounter at that clinic?” “What do you mean?” asks Melanie. “I grow some very useful herbs in my garden,” says Adelaide. “If I brew you some Pennyroyal tea, every four hours, day and night, for four days, that should do it. It might also poison you.” She shrugs. [["Okay, I'd like to try it."]] [["No thanks, I think I feel safer looking for a pill at the clinic."]]

Melanie stays with Adelaide for the next few days, drinking lots of Pennyroyal tea and hoping she isn't being poisoned. On the fifth day, she begins to bleed, and finally miscarries. Adelaide stays by her side, but Melanie does not need comforting. She feels no regret, only an overwhelming sense of peace and wellbeing. The pounding anxiety that had never been far from her mind or body ever since she first realized she was pregnant was gloriously absent, and slowly replace with a confident new hopefulness. Now Melanie has the freedom to make a life for herself. [[Epilogue: what's next for Melanie?]]

Adelaide looks both judgmental and concerned. Her brow furrows. She draws Melanie a map to the clinic on a torn-out magazine page, and Melanie sees where she took a wrong turn. She says goodbye to Adelaide, thanks her hospitality, and continues on her journey. [[approach clinic]]

Adelaide offers to let her stay indefinitely, to help care for the cats and plants, and become her apprentice. Melanie accepts, and under Adelaide's tutelage, she learns much about natural medicine and caring for feral cats. Over the years, they meet more survivors of the Waterless Flood, and their children, and eventually start a small schooling program to educate the next generation about medicinal plants. She lives happily ever after, never regretting her decision.

Using the map that Adelaide drew, Melanie is able to locate the clinic. As soon as she spots it, even from a block away, she knows it has been looted already. Maybe people thought they could find the cure for the virus, she thinks. Still, she has hope that she'll find what she came so far looking for. [[Walk up the concrete steps.]]

There are bodies everywhere inside the clinic. Sick people seemed to have come here to die. Melanie feels sick and scared. [[Look for pharmacy]]

She looks at a little plastic map of the facility, bolted to the wall. Helpful. The third floor is indicated “Pharmacy,” so she finds the staircase. The staircase, too, is littered with bodies. [[climb staircase]]

Melanie begins to worry: how will she know which pill to take? And how much? She doesn't know anything about medicine. She could wind up accidentally killing herself. She reaches the third floor, and tries the door to the pharmacy. It is locked. Through the panes of shatter-proof plexiglass in the doors, she can see the rows of aisles, stocked with boxes of pills, but the doors are very heavy and securely locked. Melanie bangs on the doors in frustration. She's so damn close! For a moment, she considers throwing herself down the staircase. It might end the pregnancy, and at this point, she's desperate. [[Peer through the plexiglass window in the door]]

But then, she sees a frightened face peering back at her from behind one of the shelves inside the pharmacy. “PLEASE HELP,” Melanie shouts at the door in desperation. The person shakes their head no and ducks down, out of sight. [[Find a way to communicate!]]

Melanie runs back down the stairs and finds a thick black marker. She writes on the back of a brochure, “NOT SICK. PREGNANT AND LOOKING FOR HELP. DO YOU WORK HERE.” Then she runs back up the stairs and holds the paper against the door. [[Wait for response]]

After what feels like forever, the person comes to the door. Melanie can now see that it is a young woman with shiny black hair and dark eyes, gaunt and starved, terrified-looking. She is wearing the uniform of clinic staff. She stares at Melanie, evidently trying to make up her mind about whether to risk letting her in. Melanie underlines the phrases “NOT SICK,” and “PLEASE.” The clinic worker vanishes into the aisles – then returns with her own piece of paper and message. “DO YOU HAVE FOOD?” “I KNOW WHERE TO FIND IT,” writes Melanie, thinking of the remaining stores at Scales and Tails. Resigned, the young woman opens the door. [[Speak with her]]

“Thank you so much,” says Melanie. “I'm starving,” says the young woman, “I wouldn't have done it otherwise. I locked everybody else out. They all died.” She looks angry, defensive. “Okay,” says Melanie, “I'll take you to food. But first, I need you to give me medicine. Anything you have that can abort it.” “How far along?” asks the clinic worker. “Maybe two months?” says Melanie. “That's a little bit late for a non-surgical abortion. I suppose it's your best available option, still.” The clinic worker sways as she walks, evidently weak with hunger. She moves through the aisles, with Melanie trailing behind her. [[Follow the clinic worker.]]

“Here,” says the clinic worker. “This is Mifepristone. It'll break down the lining of your uterus. You can take it right now.” [[take Mifepristone]]

Melanie grabs the pill and swallows it dry. “And about 24 hours from now, you have to take this one, Misoprostol. Then you'll have cramps, they're normal, they mean it's working. That should do it.” Melanie stashes the Misoprostol in her pocket. “Thank you so much,” she says. She is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. She feels that this woman has saved her life and her future. “What's your name?” she asks. “Valerie,” replies the clinic worker. In that moment, Valerie's gaunt, troubled face and emaciated frame are utterly heroic in Melanie's eyes. She awed by her resolve (to shut herself into the pharmacy, and not ever open the door for the dying outside!) and her kindness (to finally open those doors, after all she'd seen, to take the risk of helping a stranger!). [[Take Valerie back to Scales and Tails]]

They travel together, back in the direction of Scales and Tails. At first, Valerie is silent and distant, but eventually the two women begin to tell each other their stories. Melanie learns that Valerie was born into the Asian Fusion gang, but was too pathologically squeamish in her youth to be a successful gang member. Her family supported her, though, recognizing that she was sensitive and smart. They helped pull strings to arrange a scholarship to one of the smaller scientific colleges. Valerie got her degree and had only recently started working at the clinic when the Waterless Flood hit. [[Continue towards Scales and Tails]]

Now that Melanie knows the way, the journey to Scales & Tails from the clinic takes much less time. But along the way Valerie grows much weaker. She is severely malnourished. Melanie finds some peanuts in a ravaged storefront and gives them to her. By the time they reach Scales & Tails, Valerie can barely walk, and Melanie carries her into the Sticky Zone. [[give Melanie food from the Sticky Zone]]

Valerie eats the food gratefully, and almost immediately falls asleep, curled in a ball on Melanie's mattress. Hours pass, and it comes time for Melanie takes the Misoprostol pill. Valerie is still asleep, evidently physically exhausted. Meanwhile, Melanie begins to bleed. It is frightening, and she worries that she might die. She desperately wants to consult Valerie, but she can't bring herself to wake her up. [[Wait]]

But the pills work. The abortion is successful, and eventually the bleeding stops. Melanie feels no regret, only an overwhelming sense of peace and wellbeing. The pounding anxiety that had never been far from her mind or body ever since she first realized she was pregnant was gloriously absent, and slowly replace with a confident new hopefulness. Now Melanie has the freedom to make a life for herself. As she watches Valerie sleep, she begins to feel hopeful – perhaps she will have a good life, even after the Flood. Now she can make plans for the future. [[Epilogue]]

In the weeks that follow, Valerie regains her strength, and they begin to fall in love with each other. Valerie teaches Melanie everything she knows about medical science, and Melanie proves to be a quick learner. Together, they travel to abandoned hospitals and clinics, scavenging for pharmaceuticals and medical equipment left over from the world before the Flood. As more and more survivors begin to come out of the woodwork, they hear tell of a cobbled-together hospital being run by two women, the last vestige of modern medicine. Melanie and Valerie help keep the survivors of the Waterless Flood safe and healthy, and preserve practical scientific knowledge. They both live to be very old, very wise, and very happy.

You are Katrina Woo Woo, captive of the CorpseCorps. Struggling captive. You are in their isolation chamber for having roughed up some guards - trying to get some core workouts into your routine of imprisonment - and you have nothing to do but wait until they give the order to release you. There is nothing but cinder blocks surrounding you, and a solid metal flap nailed shut for when you crawled in. Stale dehydrated food packs line the walls beside you. You lie against the cold wall and try your best to doze off… [[You deserve some rest. Sleep off the bruises.]]

You are tossing and turning in your sleep. Your dreamscape pixelates out of focus only to sharpen on blurry brown and gray blotches. You blink, half asleep. [[Wake up.]]

You are a seven year old girl in a lab room with three pedestals. A spotlight shocks you into sitting. You are illuminated in a dark lab, trays knocked askew and chairs littering the ground. Some scientists must have left in a hurry. The three pedestals seem to be lights, softly glowing onto the objects above them. You stand and walk closer. There is a young python or a cobra on one pedestal, her eyes locked with yours, her skinny body undulating as if flirting with you. In the second pedestal, there is a pink ribbon. It looks even softer and brighter under the light. You immediately know it is worth more than it looks. You immediately want to touch it. In the third pedestal is a sword, a righteous and straight rod. Katrina. A disembodied voice calls her. Katrina. Choose one. [[Choose the python.]] [[Choose the ribbon.]] [[Choose the sword.]] [[All or nothing baby. I'm taking it all!]]

Python, I choose you! Excellent choice. You step closer to the python and gingerly rest your hand on the pedestal. The python looks affronted, then forks her tongue and tastes your air. She likes you, and tenderly wraps herself around your arm. You walk out of the laboratory with her and find yourself in New New York, outside a seemingly abandoned warehouse. You disappear into the crowd, lucky to have a companion. You approach a street circus made up of young children. The older child watching cocks their lifted spraygun at you, and you are about to leave when one of the other children holds up a hand at barrel of the gun. "The snake. Can you do something with it?" The child looks at you through narrowed eyes, oily dirt smeared over their cheeks, for protection. "I-I-I just received it." You stutter, and hate yourself for it. "Ha! You're dead, girl." The child snorts and makes to grab the python. The python lunges forward and winds herself around the child's wrist. You hear a cracking noise. The child screams, attracting bored looks of passerby. The older child holds the gun tighter in their grip. You take a chance. "This snake is bonded to me. It's me and the snake or neither." You lift your chin. The child whines, pleading with their eyes. You keep talking, "Think about your profit margins. You will catch everyone's attention with a snake in your act!" The child's eyes almost bug out of their head, and they give. "Okay, okay!" You gently pet and speak to the snake, and it slowly untangles itself from the child, who looks reproachfully and fearfully at you. The older child squints, and makes you an offer. Room and board for performing, but you have to figure out a routine. If you can dance with the snake, you will get to eat. If you cannot get the snake to cooperate, you will not. [[Looks like you have no choice.]]

Ribbon, I choose you! You grab the ribbon, with a last lingering look at the weaponry. You walk out of the laboratory and find yourself in New New York. You look around, unsure of where to go. You try to make friends with a group of children performing in a street circus, but an older child watching over them cocks their lifted spraygun at you, and so you leave. You weave the ribbon in your hair and wander down the street. A man walks up to you. [[He clears his throat to talk.]]

Phallic object, I choose you! You could become an assassin, best of your trade. You swing it around a few times, in awe of your mighty life-taking powers. You are a strong seven year old. Immediately, as you step outside the laboratory and find yourself in New New York, a strange woman approaches you. She is broad-shouldered and covered in grease and sweat. She wears ragged clothing in what looks like a camouflage print, and her teeth are sharpened. You take a liking to her immediately. She asks you where you got such a nice looking sword. You tell her the truth because frankly, you wish she were your mother. She laughs a little and invites you back to her hut. You happily comply. Bad news – she is a notorious child-eater and she uses your sword as a toothpick. Luckily, she is eradicated in a routine CorpseCorps cleanse of New New York the next day, but by then it is a bit too late for you. Don't talk to strangers, especially if everyone in the whole world is a stranger you.

You pick up the sword and twine the ribbon in your hair. You gently pick up the python and make to go out the doors. Katrina. Don't be greedy. You hesitate at the door. ` [[Leave anyway. Why doesn't the voice come and fight me?]] Retrace your steps. [[Wake up.]]

You step out the door, because who cares about disembodied voices. Immediately, a bullet enters your temple, and you drop all three choices. Your life ends before the python has time to hiss. The sword clatters and the ribbon drifts down into the muddy ground. Your body is left for the street scavengers while the items are discreetly collected by a shadowy figure.

"Hello, Katrina. That is a lovely ribbon in your hair. I think we could make each other very happy. And I have many sisters and brothers that are interested in meeting you. Will you come with me?" He extends a hand to you. You notice a shiny watch around his wrist. You want to be saved. You want to be among the others. You... [[Spit at his hand and turn away.]] [[Take his hand.]]

Unfortunately, that's endzo for you. This would be a lesson for tact if you were still around to learn it.

You begin your employment in a dormitory of children. Your ribbon is stolen by the other children as soon as you arrive, but your eye is drawn to a thin, slight girl. She is prettier than the rest, and leaves your dormitory, full of stained mattresses and stale air, for hours at a time in the evening. You hear through whispers that she spends her evenings with Uncle En, who is teaching her to become more valuable. You hand flowers to others in the city until one day, Uncle En is found bloated in a river. The CorpseCorps, eager to clean Uncle En's record being that he was a high-ranking official, euthanized all the children. You choose to dive off the bridge, smashing your body among the rocks. Don't talk to strangers, especially if you are young with a pink ribbon in your hair.

A few years later, you are performing as Miss Direction on a magician's gig you get after you get a little too old to elicit sympathies from a child circus act. Your python comes with you. So do a few hearts. The new gig is okay, although the new recruit was an unwelcome addition. He looked like the kind of boy who couldn't play chess. One month, your booth gets many visitors that were clearly trying to evade capture of some kind. You could tell in the way their eyes constantly shifted toward the nearest exit. They annoy you. One man, an Uncle En, walks up to you as you affix an imitation of the original pink ribbon in your hair. [[He clears his throat to talk.]] [[Before he enters, you smoothly turn away and saunter on stage, a few minutes early, but no one complains.]]

Onstage, you are a magician’s assistant, but the crowd loves you, and one group in the very front begs you to perform a goyang ular to Dangdut music, a pop fusion of folk, South Asian film music, and rock and roll. You can also imitate an old pop star famous for a python performance, whining and belting lyrics like her. You are flexible. And smart. You learn quickly, and know you will probably leave New New York soon. Today, you and your python give them a show. People tell you that you must have come from Indonesia, where these snake dances are popular in rural regions. You do not like this, because you are destined for greater things. That evening, you emerge from the stage flushed and sweating. The python does not like the noise, but tolerates it for you. Snakes, a symbol evoking both Medusa and Eve at once, are your preferred animal to perform alongside. You are the desired apple and the rage-filled fuse at once. In the dressing room, a man with eyes like beetles waits for you. It is a different man. You turn, thinking you can change into street clothes backstage. “Katrina?” You affix a face of unimpressed skepticism and turn. [[Get lost, loser.]] [[Yes?]]

Surprisingly, this works. He leaves, and you live a long and promising life as Miss Direction. Jokes, a street gang runs you over in a car heist a few days later. Your snake is sold at a phenomenal rate to Rarity.

He takes off his bowler hat and bows. “Are you Katrina Woo Woo?” You cock your head and look down at him, crossing your arms. Your python is getting restless. You let her slide off your body onto the ground, where she tastes the air around the man, bent at the knee. “I have a proposition for you, Katrina.” He is soft spoken and straightens with a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “What is it?” You snap, checking your cuticle beds. “A business proposition.” “Go on.” “I need a woman’s touch.” “Tch!” You turn in disgust, and he fumbles, realizing he has said something wrong. “I mean - I need you to run a business. I heard about your amazing stage presence and intelligence, and had the privilege of seeing it tonight. We need someone to train our girls and handle our politics. I am thinking SeksMart but high end, where the girls will be treated well, provided they have talent. I’m thinking a 60-40 cut.” “Who do you work for?” You hiss, and your python lazily rests it’s muscular body on the man’s foot, “What do you really want.” “It’s true! 50-50 cut!” The man yelps as your python casually winds around his ankle, but does not squeeze. Yet. You pace. “Okay.” You say thoughtfully. “I need to get out of this place first.” You size him up, measure his trustworthiness. You shoot a look at your python, who seems content. You decide to trust him. “Excellent. My name is Mordis. I have interested investors in an armored car out front. They have sent this as a token of their genuine interest.” He holds a cage with a plump, furry cat. For a moment, you consider that this is an insult. Then, you realize this is a clue for who sent him. Someone with the luxury and capital to offer an animal in the age of disease and germs. You make up your mind and tsk, waving your arm dismissively as you turn toward the wardrobe. “Very well. But keep the cat. My python is hungry enough. Don’t torture her.” You laugh as you pull off your gloves. Mordis bows out. “Meet you out front.” [[Well, that was quick. Scales and Tails is born!]]

Congratulations, you have a thriving business, cheekily named Scales and Tails. *Nudge, nudge* You are networked to no end, but in the end, you play the CorpseCorps like a puppet master. Unfortunately, there are several puppet masters playing against you, and so you get very good at three-dimensional chess. A special visitor comes every few days, and you think you might be in love. You arrive at your weekly, underground roundtable meeting with other CorpseCorps agents humming a bit. You wear your modified scaly Biofilm pantsuit, because it makes sense to advertise to these top dogs. You stretch out on the conference room chair and survey the room. A CorpseCorps head executive comes into the room and sits next to you. You straighten your posture, sensing a verbal sparring match coming on. “Katrina?” He clears his throat. “Yes, Marks?” “I was just in a meeting with the higher-ups.” He mimes pulling his collar and rolling his eyes. You stiffen. “They want to make a private deal with you, before the meeting starts. We have some interests in Painballer fame, I trust you have heard. We need to mellow them a bit every now and then. We need a place. Can we count on you? Commission will be double, and I hear they tip extraordinarily well. I will even send my own security detail to supervise and protect your girls.” You mull this over for a few seconds. [[Sure, why the heck not?]] [[You’ve heard things about the Painballers. Grown men with a battalion of security detail quake in their shoes at being in the same room as them. Hell to the no.]]

One evening, it is particularly rowdy when a Painballer mistakes your python for a phallic compensation for another man and grabs a CorpseCorps man’s spraygun. Drunkenly, he makes a mark out of the snake. Seeing him shoot your snake, and her spasms before her ultimate death, breaks your infamous cool. You grab your own contraband spraygun and shoot him in the face. You choose lethal injection because Painballers have no touch for delicate political maneuvering.

You underestimated the importance of this deal, and soon after, you get word that the CorpseCorps is interested in displacing you. You need to go dark. You choose to not tell Mordis, who is across the country at the time. [[You escape in the dead of night, feigning a toothache about to be on your way to the hospital.]]

In the back of the car, you have packed nothing in anticipation for going dark. The driver has been with you for years, and so you trust him with the first address, before you need to trek alone. He turns around and with a jolt of horror, you realize that this is not your driver. You are taken to a CorpseCorps prison, where you find a maximum security confinement. You await your farce of a trial here. This is where you are, in the solitary confinement cell, on the Day of the Flood. [[We’re all caught up now.]]

You awaken and dig into a dry food pack of something that could have been 100%SoyJerky. You wait, carving the days into a powdery cinderblock based on when you become hungry. When no one comes to get you after several weeks, you are concerned that this was the cruel form of execution. You kick at the metal window. “Help!!!! In here!!!” After your voice has gone hoarse, you expect no one to hear you. [[Suddenly, the metal window creaks open and there is a hideously scarred face]]

“Sister! I found someone! Maybe she’s tasty!” The person licks their lips and you shudder, looking coldly at the face. Another face joins the one at the window. “Excuse me, I would like to come out. There are plenty of dry food packs in here. I would like to know how you got past all the security.” You say, waving a pack in front of them. They grab it, their eyes widening. “We are Asian Fusions, fuckface.” They tear open the packaging and somehow unscrew the window. They are holding a metal tool burned into the contours of a screwdriver. They crawl in and help themselves to armfulls of the dry packs. “There’s no one here. Didn’t you hear? The whole world is dead!” The first one cackles. “You! Come back with us. And help us bring that food.” The second one looks appraisingly at the packs. You snort. [[It seems you a prisoner again.]]

You are getting quite sick of this. You pick up as much food as you can and return to their headquarters. You are introduced to Grand Master. She is wrinkled, and sits on her throne. She is heavily scarred, and plays with a piece of glass in the abandoned restaurant dome. The place used to be quite grand, but the tablecloths have long become rags, and the silverware was looted soon after. You watch her take the glass, make a cut on her arm, and lick it. She does this again and again until there are small, shallow cuts on each arm. She nods at you, and you are ushered away. Someone tells you that you have just joined the Asian Fusions, who needed to repopulate after the Waterless Flood. [[Welcome, kid.]]

By virtue of your Asian-ish face, you are introduced to the customs of scarring yourself, taking on an “older sister,” and killing your first rapist/murderer/wrongdoer. The gang was insistent on these requirements, although they made an exception for you, having joined after most people were dead or dying. Scarring yourself was all right. Beauty was pain in a patriarchal world, and this was just another kind of beauty. Luckily, your python is accepted as a strange housepet. The Asian Fusions were well past their glory days, and there were few vigilantes left to slaughter, and little to no business for drug deals. It feels like you are all just waiting to die. Now, you spend most of your days catering to the every whim of the Grand Master, delivering and scavenging for peanuts, fanning her esteemed self. She has a sadistic sense of humor, demanding you and your sisters cut each other with sharp glass, watching the blood flow from your reopened scars and scabs every day. What to do, what to do? [[Bide your time]] [[Get sick of waiting and knife the Grand Master, because honestly you are an impatient and uncultured ingrate.]]

This is a dead end. Glitch in the system. Sorry. [[Get sick of waiting and knife the Grand Master, because honestly you are an impatient and uncultured ingrate.]]

You become Grand Master. Your two “little sisters” are not so much in awe of you as sullen that they did not think of this themselves. You send them on scouting missions, just so you can sleep safely at night. You and your python spend your evenings alone, training with glass knives and slingshots made from knotted black hair and rubber bands from Grand Master's old stress ball. [[You hear reports of the Crakers.]]

Crakers! Young and trusting, guileless and childlike. Something in your shriveled and scarred body beats for the nostalgia of maternal care. Plus, you are kind of into the vigilante deal, and think this mission will make the sisters easier to handle. You tell your “little sisters” that you will become protectors of these Crakers and destroy all that threaten them. Just on a whim. Your littlest sister, a fearsome ten year old girl with purple stained teeth filed into sharp points, wrinkles her nose while chewing her favorite betel nuts. "They are boring, Katrina. Can't we just play pretend?" "No. Have you forgotten why you are part of this group in the first place? You were with a cruel man, who one of our sisters killed. Remember that. Go scout the western forest for me." She huffs and stomps her way out the door. [[Soon, littlest sister returns with reports of strange, violent men skirting the edges of the Crakers.]]

You and your sisters go to investigate. [[There is a wisp of smoke coming from the forest. You hike toward it.]]

Hiking through the forest is hard. Your python catches a ride on your for most of the hike, disdainfully surveying the forest floor. You roll your eyes. You're out of shape, but you and your sisters make it to the clearing. Hiding in the bushes and branches, you see two large men, slaughtering and skinning a small fluffy animal that you think is a rakunk. Your python hisses beside your ear. Definitely a rakunk. They are laughing and planning to kill others that were hiding in a tower, a mile or so back. Not nice. You turn to see if you can spot it, but the foliage is too thick. You hate to admit it but the vigilante tenets of Asian Fusion sisterhood have seeped into you. No longer the selfish entrepreneur, you are a benevolent and generous goddess among men. Okay, so your ego hasn't changed, but what were you expecting? You are a Grand Master with a python. In your reverie, you almost miss their mention of the Painballer arena, and your worst nightmares come true. You signal to your sisters. These are dangerous. [[Doesn't matter if they're your mother's cousin's butthole, you can take them.]] [[Run!]]

You decide to go for the larger of the two men, and tilt your chin to your sisters to assign them the other one. You want to tell them that they are dangerous, but likely they would not care in a show of bravado, and you do not want to risk talking two feet away from the prey. You take two pieces of glass, and lightly cut your forearms in preparation for battle. The adrenaline rushes through your body and you see your sisters stepping back to quietly tie their lengths of rope in a lasso that doubled as a noose. They both stuff leaves into their cheeks. The juice would dull pain, and if they swallowed, would kill them instantly. You stuff the same leaves into your mouth. At the count of three, you think, making eye contact with your sisters. One. Two. [[Suddenly, a bullet enters the scene.]]

In your haste, the Painballers hear your rustling. You struggle with them, but... [[Suddenly, a bullet enters the scene.]]

A large, bearded man enters right after. The bullet has pierced the arm of the larger Painballer, who howls in pain, but begins to laugh. He sucks at his wound, and spits out the bullet, still laughing, his teeth stained crimson with blood. Shocked, you do not move, only to find that your python has encircled the Painballer, who groans through the laughter, his fingers twitching above the spraygun in his pocket loop. The other man is clawing at his neck, and her two sisters have hung him from a tree. He is clearly losing oxygen, but his eyes are alert, looking for weakness. He grabs the tree branch above him and pulls the end. The branch cracks with a thud and he rolls to standing. Her sisters scatter while another large man barrels into him. You are confused, but you know you must act. The bearded man takes the spraygun from the python-wrapped Painballer, and nods to you. It seems he has decided to trust you. You are annoyed and immediately want to eliminate him too. He looks familiar, but before you can put your finger on it, the other Painballer is throwing the large man's body off of him and wielding another gun. He walks toward you, menacingly. He passes under the branches of another tree, where your sisters had been hiding. They fall on him with glass knives and with a howl, he goes down. But not for long. You grab your own glass knives and quickly stride over. Efficiently and methodically, you slit his throat. You glance over at the other Painballer when a blow to the side of your head reddens your vision. The other Painballer had somehow pried off your python and flung her against a tree, where she wobbled, dazed. The Painballer grabs his spraygun and smiles at you. "Hello, bitch. Put your hands up and call your stupid brats off." You do nothing. One of your sisters scream. The Painballer has shot your littlest sister, and she falls. You say nothing. You slowly raise your hands over your head when the bearded man shoots the Painballer in the back. As he falls, you look at the bearded man and remember him from a past life. You hope he does not recognize your face. "Thank you." You say, breathing hard. "You're welcome." He says. The Painballer, crumpled on the ground between you opens one eye, exhales a roar, and presses the trigger. Quickly, you step on his wrist and take the gun, kicking him in the chest. You bend down and check for a pulse. There is none. But at your sister's cry of dismay, you see that the bearded man is dead on the ground. You turn and walk into the forest, numb and bloody. You walk until you are back at the headquarters, when you turn, and see your sister trailing behind you. You do not care. You go into the Grand Master's room, shut the door, and vow to kill all Painballers left in this world. The Year of the Flood may have ended, but the Crimson Wave has just begun.

Okay, now they’re open. Happy? [[boot up your computer]]

Where to? [[Extinctathon]]

EXTINCTATHON, Monitored by Maddaddam. Adam named the living animals, MaddAddam names the dead ones. Do You want to Play? You click Yes, and enter your codename: Insular Cave Rat Extinctathon, a game of endless tedium and inscrutable rules. What motivated you to start playing it? Boredom with the most popular games of your generation, mostly. You’ve never been captivated by tits and ass or gunplay. You’re kind of gameplay ends once you’ve figured out the rules. Anyway, you didn’t come here to play extinctathon. You find the familiar gateway in the left pinkie toenail of Anna K. It takes a minute to locate, as she’s still in bed when you open At Home with Anna K.. Finally, she stretches and yawns loudly, kicking her feet out from under the fleece blanket. She winks cheekily at the camera, as if waiting for you to make your move. [[Anna K]] [[Click through]]

You’ve always been fascinated with Anna K. In a way, she’s a lot like you. She spends a lot of time on her computer, typing away at poems or stories, or playing video games, just like you do. But where your life is as closed and insular as your online handle, Anna’s is an open door. You can’t imagine the confidence and self love needed to broadcast your every move. You read on Anna’s website that she had stalkers, people sleeping on her front lawn. Sometimes you saw glimpses of them in the windows, through her webcam. [[Click through]]

You leap-frog to the MaddAddam homepage, taking a minute to erase your path. You can never be too careful. The MaddAddam webpage, once a veritable catalogue of man-made natural disasters and cataclysmic events, has gone dead. This happened when you were just a small-fry gamer, not that you’re much better now. But you’ve read far enough through the backlogs of MaddAddam to know that they were into some deep shit- pandemics, riots, the kind of things you never heard much about on the news. And yet, you find yourself drawn to it for the same reason you were drawn to the most mind-numbingly dull game on the internet. That impulse is also where you got your name: Insular Cave Rat. It seemed fitting for someone happy to stay in their dorm room, mastering game after game. Exctinctathon was the greatest challenge, but it also brought the greatest payoff. You start to check MaddAddam for any possible lilypads- could any of the other maddaddamites still be out there, doing the same? Suddenly, you hear a scream. It’s coming from just outside your window. [[look outside]]

Oh god. You back away slowly from the window. There, lying in the quad, is what looks to be a mannequin covered in grape jelly. You look again- it’s still moving. The thing lurches forward, slowly losing it’s shape. Through the window, you can see other students running out to help this person. Some seem to be hanging off to the side, coughing, or falling to the ground. [[go outside]]

It’s the right thing to do. You leave your room and run down the stairs to the quad. You can see other people doing the same, joining the stumbling group of people on the campus quad.. When you get to the part of the campus you saw from your window, you can see a small party surrounding what you now recognize as a body. A member of the group staggers back, and begins to scream. Before your very eyes, her clothes darken with blood. She’s headed straight for you. [[ask if she needs help]] [[run back to your dorm room]]

She lurches towards you and puts her bloody hands against your face. Uh-oh. She starts to collapse, and, you begin to realize, dissolve. You let the bloody mass fall to the ground. You start to cough.

That was close! Whatever those people have, it seems to be catching. When you get back to your room, you stand at the window and look out at the scene you just left. More and more students are beginning to cough. Other bodies have joined the first one. Just when start to consider calling for help, you hear the wail of an ambulance. You are frozen in your position, watching the scene. Three emergency responders exit the ambulance and run out to the group of writhing, bleeding students. They are wearing no protective gear, only black uniforms. One stoops to help a frantic, bloody man, who flings his hands at the first responder’s face. The student’s gestures become weaker and weaker until he collapses in a pile of goo. The medic staggers away, and begins to cough. The other medics, who have dragged a gurney out of the ambulance, stand there in shock as their coworker falls to the ground, her skin darkening with blood. One of them drops his end of the gurney runs for the ambulance. The other follows, and they drive away. Well, shit. What now? [[check the news]]

You type in the name of your favorite alternate news source and hit enter. “The following areas are on high alert.” You look at the television. It’s displaying a map of the continent, with red dots scattered here and there. A horrible, repetitive beep is coming from the television, a sound that brings back memories of your childhood on the OrganInc compound. The same sound played over your radios one morning, and your mother ran out to the laboratories where the animals were kept. You followed her, tripping over your too-long nightgown. The pigs were lying on their sides, their sides heaving with the effort it took to breathe. Your mother watched them for a long time, facing away from you. When she picked you up to bring you back home, her face was wet with tears. She loved those animals. The voice on the television is still droning on. Suddenly, the image on screen changes to a map of the world, speckled with red dots. As you watch the screen, more and more red dots appear. “This virus appears to have reached pandemic status. According to the CorpsMedCorp all continents have been effected since the illness first appeared last night. Symptoms include coughing blood, bleeding from the pores, and the disintegration of muscle and tissue. If you or a loved one begins to show symptoms, contact the CorpSeCorp immediately.” They’re not going to have much time to make the call. You glance out the window again- the group on the quad has turned into a bloody soup. What now? [[OrganInc]] [[check MaddAddam]]

Your mother was a veterinarian. At OrganInc, she cared for the genetically modified animals, mainly the pigoons. The job was hard on her- she hated to see any creature in pain, and the pigoons were not engineered for their own happiness. Their bodies were grotesquely swollen with borrowed tissues and organs. Sometimes, at night, when the hum of machinery present in the compound had died down, you could hear the pigoons whimpering. Your mother rarely let you see them. The pleasure you took from seeing the animals upset her, as she knew how much they were suffering. [[check MaddAddam]]

This might seem like a strange thing to do, but it stands to reason that MaddAddam would have something to do with this. In fact, the specifics of the illness- bleeding from the pores, quick transmission- ring a bell. You seem to recall a MaddAddamite writing a post about such an outbreak, albeit on a much smaller scale, which is as good as taking credit for the event. Where should you look? [[recent posts]] [[older posts]]

Possible Weaknesses in the Gateway Black Rhino This isn’t it. Let’s keep looking. Missing MaddAddamites White Sedge Hmm… interesting, but not quite relevant. You should look farther back. [[older posts]]

Outbreak at HelthWyzer Red-Necked Crake An isolated viral incident has occurred at the HelthWyzer compound. One fatality. The virus manifests as a weakening of the blood vessels, leading to bleeding through the skin and orifices. There is no cure. Crake- an interesting figure in the MaddAddam world. A short-lived but prolific user, he began by posting about incidents at the HelthWyzer compound, before shifting to reports on new research at the Watson-Crick Institute. A few years ago, he stopped posting. He was the first of many to leave, leading to posts like White Sedge’s. Anyway, you learned what you needed to. This outbreak is no accident. You hear coughing coming from across the hall- more than one person, by the sound of it. You need to get out. [[open the door]] [[let’s think this through]]

You open it gingerly, and step outside. The hallway is worse than you could have possibly imagined. Blocking the path are several huddled bodies. You recognize your best friend Gloria from her green silk bathrobe, now spotted with blood. You can’t stop yourself from falling to your knees and grabbing her hand. It’s horribly soft and wet, and you realize that she is already dead. You start to cough.

The scene out there will not be pretty, and any corpses are likely infectious. You hear someone knocking on the door. [[open up]] [[stay inside]]

You open the door just a few inches, and peer out. A fluffy pink slipper slides through, keeping you from shutting it. “Help me, Nadia, please!” The voice is short of breath and interrupted by coughing. The woman it comes from is so covered in blood that you have trouble recognizing her. Finally, you look at her green silk bathrobe, and realize that it is your best friend, Gloria. She starts to cough harder, grabbing your shoulder for support. You wrap your arms around her instinctively, and feel her breath fade out. You begin to cough.

You can’t risk it. “Nadia, please! I need your help.” Oh fuck. You recognize that voice- it’s your friend Gloria. “Nadia, something is happening out here. Something bad. Everyone is dead, or dying, and I need you to let me in!” She begins to cough. “Oh no, please, not me. Nadia, let me in!” Her pounding on the door is becoming weaker, her voice slurred. Finally, the knocking stops. You hear an ominous thud just outside your door. Oh shit. You can’t open it now, can you? Your dead best friend is blocking the way, and is probably still contagious. Fuck. You turn the news back on. “We’ve received report of a violent incident at Scales & Tails. The number of casualties has not been reported. Stay tuned for more coverage of this event and the pandemic- Mark? Are you-” The video feed cuts out. Fuck. What now? [[Wait it out]]

Wait for what, exactly? Gloria to decompose enough for you to safely leave? You have no food, and very little water. If you wait, you die. So you wait. What do you do? [[Watch At Home with Anna K]] [[Play Exctintathon]]

Anna K is biting the fingernails of her left hand and typing madly with the right. Her mascara is smeared, as if she has been crying. Through the open window of her bedroom, you can see flames. Anna looks at the camera, her eyes wild. “I’m not really sure what’s going on- people are dying, there are riots outside. If you’re watching this, you’ve survived so far. Congratulations.” She laughs bitterly. “If you are watching this, shut your fucking computer. Call your family. This seems like it’s shaping up to be the end of the world, and that shouldn’t be a public spectacle. I’ve broadcasted my life for the past 14 years, but this isn’t life.” Anna’s hand reaches for the camera, and your computer goes dark.

You open Exctinctathon. You start to type in your codename. Insular Cave Rat. No. It’s too late for that now. Humanity has extinguished so many other species, it’s only fitting that they, we, would kill ourselves. You erase your codename and start to type again. Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

It has been a long night for Taz. You saw another client, the fourth for the day. In total, you made enough to buy some ChickieNobs for the next week. You wish you could find other work, but nobody will hire you with an accent and reputation like that. [[You're famished. It's time for some dinner.]] [[Your friend Courtney worked a double today at Scales and Tails. Check on her on the way home.]]

[[ChickieNobs seems the easiest. Go buy some.]] [[Thriftiness means less work. Time for a SecretBurger.]] [[One of those weird religious cults is having a bake sale. Bizarre bazaar time!]]

[[Sit down and eat those Nobs.]] [[Best to get out of here. Grab some BBQ sauce and head back to the hideout.]]

You enter SecretBurger and smell the mystery meat. It's repulsive, as always - artifical flavoring and scents couldn't possibly make up for its contents. [[Sit down and eat your burger. You've earned a seat.]] [[Take-out time!]]

You go to the God's Gardeners for some jam and honey, and are greeted with some of the freshest produce you have ever seen. [[Buy some and eat it by a nearby tree.]] [[Buy some and go home.]]

While eating, you start thinking about your childhood. You're not quite sure where you were for most of it, but it was somewhere in Southeast Asia. You were shuttled around a lot - such is the life of a boy being sex trafficked. Never being in one place very long and usually only being spoken to in the native tongue when with particularly verbal, sickening clients, you never learned the language. [[Time to leave. Enough reminiscing.]] [[Stay a little longer. Better to avoid the evening patrols.]]

Loitering in the Pleebs is always a bad idea - good choice. You spot some Wolvogs, sniffing deviously. Maybe the CorpSeCorps is coming - better be quick. [[Return to your squat immediately.]]

While eating, you start thinking about your childhood. Your life started off well enough. A small blip of land in the ocean, Japan was still beautiful until the day it disappeared. Of course, you never got to see that - an American had captured you as a young boy, too young to even remember your own name. The American showed you old cartoons during down hours. One in particular - Toony Lunes, was it - left a strong impression. The American never found out, but you took on the name Taz because you wanted to bite a huge chunk out of his leg. Shuddering at the thought that real human legs might be in this Burger, you end this line of thought. [[Time to leave. Enough reminiscing.]] [[Stay a little longer. Better to avoid the evening patrols.]]

Loitering in the Pleebs is always a bad idea - good choice. [[Needing some fresh air, you walk the long way home.]] [[Return to your squat immediately.]]

Bad, bad move. As you approach the forest edge, you're jumped by a pack of Bobkittens. That'll teach you not to walk around with smelly meat! ... Or not, because you're eaten.

You get on your way, taking in the sights, thoughts absorbed in the past. You notice that there's less people around and more sirens than usual. You see a CorpSeCorps agent and turn sharply to avoid them. [[Start running.]] [[Slip into an alleyway a few buildings down the road.]]

[[Return to your squat immediately.]]

Painballers enter the establishment. [[Wanting to avoid them, you scamper.]]

It's too late. You didn't know it at the time, but one of them brushing against you as he entered was the beginning of the end. You continue on your way home and make it there - but you are consumed by the Waterless Flood during the night. Goodbye.

Hidden from view, you aren't exposed as the CorpSeCorps descend from a chopper and murder the God's Gardeners working the sale. [[Wait a while, then grab all the goods and run to the forest refuge.]]

[[Return to your squat immediately.]]

Good job! You made it. Suddenly, you start noticing that it's eerily quiet. Where have all the other people gone from the neighborhood? They'd normally start trickling in at this time... [[Pack up and go to the forest. Something seems off.]] [[Mo'Hair, now. It's time to get disguised - that CorpSeCorps encounter was too close.]] [[You're tired - you deserve a rest. Think about it in the morning.]]

You're greeted with a spraygun to the face. Did you think evading the CorpSeCorps was going to be that easy?

[[You make it to the forest refuge.]]

[[Rapid treatment - it's the fastest way to get going.]] [[That's a month's worth of wages. The extensions can set for an hour.]]

You hear a loud shuffling in the middle of the night. Banging, everywhere. [[You duck into the secret spot.]] [[The door bangs down too quickly.]]

The kettle whistles and you curse, furious. Someone's footsteps approach the entrance to the tunnel, but they don't seem to see it. Safe, for now. You stay in hiding, with plenty of food for two months, only ever going to the surface for extra water. Congratulations - you have survived the Waterless Flood ... but alone. Your psyche takes months to recover after witnessing the carnage above ground, but you hold out until you find others and establish a small community outside the remains of New New York.

The next day, you are awakened - Courtney has arrived! You don't have many friends, so you're happy she is here. You ration your food well, surviving a month without leaving the tunnel. [[You set off in search of food towards the end of the month.]]

You don't have enough money for long now, so you find a SexMart establishment and [[pick up a well-dressed client.]] Or maybe you stick around longer and grab that [[low-class gentleman who's been waiting around looking at you.]]

While the extensions are setting, your old trafficker walks in. The curls haven't finished setting and you're sure he hasn't forgotten that you burned down his home. [[He definitely recognizes you. Time to run.]] [[You look pretty different already. Maybe he won't.]]

[[You make it to the forest refuge.]]

An underground tunnel insulated with cement, built a little at a time with materials smuggled from the Corporations. You smile, thankful for your contingency planning. [[You start to boil water for tea]] [[You immediately go to sleep]]

Unfortunately, some Snats had the idea of using this for their home. The End.

You did not survive the Waterless Flood. Looters wanted your things, but they left you with the contagion in place of your possessions. Before this time today, you are consumed by the disease.

Running when someone isn't sure if you are who they think they are is a bad move. The Spraygun is fired before you can get out of the room. Nice try.

Smart move. You finish your process then pack your things and escape to the forest refuge. [[You make it to the forest refuge.]]

It's a disguise! Your friend Courtney from Scales and Tails sent you a warning - something seems off and she is leaving for the forest. She hasn't gone to work and seen Melanie lately and is concerned she won't make it, but there isn't time to track her down. You grab everything you have with you and... [[You make it to the forest refuge.]]

You find a supply of canned food, but so have the animals that have been feasting off of the dead humans. [[Fight]] [[Flight]]

Unfortunately, you also pick up the contagion, since all of the other people he's paid for sex lately have been using BlyssPluss. You did not survive the Waterless Flood.

Don't fight Bobkittens. Ever. Game Over.

You search for days, passing out a few times, but you eventually find some mushrooms you recognize. They tide you over for a while. [[Months later, you find a group of others. Weird greenies, unsurprisingly.]]

You see an old client of yours as you enter Scales and Tails - the good kind. You catch Courtney's eye and she seems to be doing okay (despite the elaborate, glittering disguise she's wearing.) You can [[go home with him.]] Or you can [[wait for Courtney.]]

It's always nice to [[pick up a well-dressed client.]]

You misread her eyes before - "There's been lots of commotion today," she says, "with murmurs of an epidemic breaking out in multiple cities at once." You two go to her home - a little nicer than yours, but hey, she works for SexMart. You hear the sounds of people fleeing outside. [[You peer through the window to get a closer look.]] [[You and Courtney give each other a frightened glance. Without a word, you start enacting the plan.]]

Someone sees you and decides to loot your home before leaving. Courtney reaches for her spraygun and he's dead before he walks past the end of the front door, but now it's serious. [[Time to go.]]

Bags are packed quickly, and you leave for the forest immediately. "Wait!" you say, realizing that you should protect yourselves first. "About two months back, one of my clients said something bad was going to happen soon. 'The Waterless Flood,' he called it. He said this would help," you say, extending two syringes with a clear fluid inside. Courtney seems uneasy about this. [[You both take one and inject yourselves.]] [[You chicken out. Courtney doesn't use it either.]]

Well, past time. The dead man's body carried the contagion into Courtney's home. You won't know you're sick until you're both in the forest refuge you two had built, and by then, it will be too late. Game Over

This saves you both from succumbing to the contagion. Good choice. After a month of searching, you find an area to establish a new home together. Inspired by the old cities of Kyoto and Tokyo, you suggest the name Okyot for your new home, and it sticks. Welcome to a new world.

Unfortunately, BlyssPluss users - aka, both of you - are almost all infected. Despite making it into the forest, you never make it to the refuge because Courtney starts convulsing before you make it. Wolvogs, with shreds of CorpSeCorps uniform in their teeth and blood dripping from their mouths, make quick work of you two. Game Over

After a month of searching, you find an area to establish a new home together. Inspired by the old cities of Kyoto and Tokyo, you suggest the name Okyot for your new home, and it sticks. Welcome to a new world.