December 15th, 2033. It was a humid night, silver lined clouds floating like ominous warships, blockading the moon save for scant few beams of moonlight shining from the sky. The cool air was unusually warm for such a late month, but for a long time now things have been like that. In the stead of sub zero temperatures stood a cool respite against the blistering summers. Not that you cared much for meteorology or corporate geopolitics, you had something more important on your mind…
Mothman. It had been exactly 66 years since his last major sighting, and reports of him were cropping up left and right. Your private eye office was getting calls from left, right, and center about that red eyed freak, and while most of the leads were bullshit at even a precursory glance you couldn't help but shake that some of them had some credence. Especially that one dame in the black dress…
A truck screamed past, almost throwing the car you were driving off the road. Luckily, however, it was strong enough to cling onto the pavement like a man coursing with adrenaline hangs from a cliff. A retrofitted rocket 88 engine still had what it took, even so many years after the fact. With that jolt came another jolt, however. The sudden realization you were getting distracted like you always did, that you were forgetting my true calling. What you needed to focus on was the object of my obsession, the thing you had been hunting for so many years…
[[Mothman]]
Yes, mothman, the thing that had captured your intrigue for most of your life. You had read about many alien sightings, from mundane green men and lizard people to impossible beings that more resembled modern art than living beings, but this was the only story that seemed at all plausible to you. Multiple sightings that line up with each other and a tinge of government conspiracy helped make this a story that hooked you in better than any dusty novel or film-reel movie could. One could say you were a “fan” of mothman, but it was more than that. You wore your favorite mothman t-shirt underneath your trenchcoat, and mothman socks under your iron-toed boots. Hell, you loved mothman more than you loved old detective movies, and you loved detective movies.
This love is why you were heading to Point Pleasant on this date, hoping to find proof of this legend. You had rented out a nice little campsite so you could think over what you had seen without having your senses assaulted by the noise inherent in a hotel. You had heard more “Mothman Festival Babies” being conceived than you had ever wanted to.
[[At Said Campsite->Campsite]]
This campsite gives you an overview of the whole town, which isnt saying much. The mothman festival gives it a flourish of life once a year, but just like a desert touched by rainfall, it withers soon after. If you want to find anything of substance (and fried twinkies don’t count as much of substance in this instance)
The town proper stands in the distance, its darkened buildings squatting in the distance… [[Investigate->Village]]
A lone country road winds into the woods, cutting a rough path into the wilderness… [[Travel->Old Country Road]]
The sounds of the festival blare in the distance, the harsh loudness of the music being paradoxically inviting… [[Party->Festival]]
(if: $drunkness is 0)[Tacky decorations are strung between the trees and garish stands flanked with bright lights form a visual overload that compliments the auditory overload from the music. At least 2 concerts are going off at much, each with their own cheering fans and batteries of subwoofers. Combined with the overwhelming smell of sweat and greasy food and it becomes a completely uncomfortable experience you’re sure to tell other people you enjoyed, for god knows what reason.
[[What about the booze?->Drink?]]
[[Make like a tree and get the hell out of this shithole->Campsite]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 1)[Nothing has changed except for the festival being louder and brighter. You can’t tell though, it was too loud and bright when you first arrived.
[[Booze->Drink?]]
[[Leave->Campsite]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 2)[The festival is a disorienting mess of lights and colors now. There’s no way you’re even getting back to the drink table with your stomach intact.
[[Leave->Campsite]]
](if: $drunkness is 0)[
Suddenly you remember why you keep coming to these festivals (besides the siren’s song of Mothman). The beer may taste like piss, but they give it away for free. Dozens of kegs of the vile ichor are lined up, ready for a sip. It wouldn’t be wise to take a drink…
[[But you never were one for wisdom->Drink!]]
[[Yeah no the stuff probably tastes like piss anyhow->Campsite]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 1)[
You already feel slightly fuzzy, but something tells you that you might need a bit more drink to survive this ordeal.
[[Take the Shot->Drink!]]
[[God no the stuff tastes like piss->Campsite]]
](set: $drunkness to it + 1)
(if: $drunkness is 1)[
You pour yourself a cup and down it in one gulp. It burns your throat and a chaser is nowhere in sight, but at least it calms your nerves.
[[Head back, there’s work to do->Campsite]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 2)[
Okay that was way too much. You’re probably gonna have a hangover in the morning.
[[Damn it->Campsite]]
]Besides the Mothman festival, the village of point pleasent isnt much to look at. A flurry of life once a year that leads to a harsh dormant state, much like a desert rain. It seems like the town has atrophied even more than the previous years, the coal mines which offered any employment for the common man drying up one by one. Now all that's left is rotting wood and those too destitute to be able to leave.
[[Loud noises come from a building surrounded by various cans and bottles of beer. The windows and door are boarded up, but a charred hole is burnt into the side... wide enough for you to crawl in.->Hopskinsville House]]
[[An old lady sits on her rocking chair, petting a cat with one hand and gripping a shotgun in the other.->Old Lady]]
(if: not ((history:) contains "Phone Call"))[
[[A pay phone sits in the middle of the scene, screaming for attention with its ringing.->Pay Phone]]
]
(else:)[
[[A pay phone sits in the middle of the scene, a silent observer to the pathetic state of the town.->Pay Phone]]
]
[[The bridge which collapsed during the original sightings was eventually rebuilt, but none dare to cross it due to its ill omen.->Bridge]]
[[Go back to the Campsite.->Campsite]](if: $drunkness is 0)[
You see 3 burly men rambling about, shouting (You think you hear something about goblins), and throwing various objects. They’re definitely drunk, but that’s the only thing you can get a bead on before a crowbar flies straight over your head. Only a drunkard would stay in there long enough to check anything out.
]
(if: $drunkness is 1)[
You see 3 Burly men surrounded by flying wisps tinted a strange off yellow. They attempt to hit them with various objects and fists, but to no avail. One floats above your head, but a vase thrown at it causes it to change its course.
[[Talk to the Men.->Hopskinsville Interview]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 2)[
You see 3 Burly men surrounded by strange goblinlike creatures, battling back their sharp claws with whatever they have in their hands.
[[What the hell is going on.->Hopskinsville Interview]]
]
(if: (not ((history:) contains "You Got It!")) and (not ($drunkness is 0)))[
[[Scrounge Around.->You Got It!]]
]
[[Leave.->Village]](if: $drunkness is 1)[
The men drunkenly mumble at you about goblins and bright lights. You're gonna need a bit more drink if you want any hope of understanding this drivel.
]
(if: $drunkness is 2)[
The men talk to you about the goblins. According to them they fell from space in a shooting star and are trying to take them back to it. It sounds like a rotten situation but you cant help but wonder what is going down in that star... (set: $hopkins to true)
]
[[Leave.->Village]]You scrounge around the house while the men are distracted and manage to snag a burlap sack and a crowbar. These could come in handy!
[[Leave.->Village]](if: not ((history:) contains "Phone Call"))[
The phone is ringing, an unusual thing given the nature of a pay phone. You feel drawn to it…
[[Pick it Up.->Phone Call]]
[[Leave it be.->Village]]
]
(else:)[
She's not going to call you twice, you know.
[[Better to be proactive anyhow.->Village]]
]The old lady stares at you with an expression that you almost can't describe, but it feels like a schraudenfreudian combination of smug and somber. "I wouldn't stick around long. The suits are crawlin all over, and anyone who asks too many questions is getting abducted.
(if: not ((history:) contains "Old Lady Interview"))[
[[Interview Her.->Old Lady Interview]]
]
(else:)[
[[Wait you still have some questions->ENDING 1 BRAINWASHED]]
]
[[Go Back.->Village]]"Alright, I'll tell you this much if you're so nosy, but ya better watch yourself. This big flyin critter spooked all of my goats and drove em towards the cliffs. Mosta em fell off, but somea the more coordinated ones managed to hang on long enough for me to come around with my shotgun. I missed, though I saw him fly further through the ridge."
Tell you what, if you can catch him and bring him to me, I can set somethin up that'll be worth both our while."
Something tells you you know exactly what this creature is...
[[And not just because of a strong sense of confirmation bias->Village]]"Told you." she says as a burly hand covers your mouth in a cloth...
You wake up tied up in a chair, a lanky gray man with wide black eyes standing before you. He stares at you blankly before touching your forehead with his finger. "Sorry, but we can't have anyone complicating our plans. This whole mothman thing is just a coverup for something greater, and we aren't gonna let some obsessive lunatic ruin this."
...
You find yourself driving home, unaware of how you got in your car. You only care about one thing, however. Solving your next big case. You see a pamphlet for a Mothman festival in your car and throw it out in disgust. You have no idea how that got there.
You've always hated mothman.(if: not ((history:) contains "Homunculus Lab Interview"))[
The bridge exists as a gristly reminder of the mothman drama so many years ago... and as a way to get across a river.
[[Go to the village.->Village]]
[[Go to the Country Road->Old Country Road]]
]
(else:)[
(goto: "TRUE ENDING MOTHMAN")
]You rush to the bridge, expecting to see the object of all your hopes and dreams, but instead see a swarm of governemntal agents. A grey, lanky figure with huge black eyes comes up to you from the crowd. "If it isn't the little snoop, poking around where he doesn't belong. You're in too deep. This whole mothman thing was just a ruse to distract people from the real conspiracies. Lizard people, chupacabra, aliens... It's all real. Mothman? Noone in their right mind would truly believe it."
No.. It can't be real. All the evidence, all the facts and interviews...
"We made it all up. It's truly easy to make something that sounds real, even when it isn't."
You sulk as two burly men walk towards you, arms outstretched, almost across the bridge... Then the world explodes.
A flash of bright light and a noise as if God himself slammed his fist into the earth and the bridge is gone. Nothing of the suits or the grey man is left except for a splattering of charred visera. On the other side of the bridge you see bright red eyes staring at you, before swooping off into the distance. It's task was done and it was time for it to go.
[[Wait... was that...-->HOLY SHIT ITS MOTHMAN]]This old road stretches for miles into the forest, with little to see but a dense covering of trees. Some places of interest exist on it however.
[[The bridge which collapsed during the original sightings was eventually rebuilt, but none dare to cross it due to its ill omen.->Bridge]]
(if: ((history:) contains "Pry Them Off"))[
[[The TNT plant stands in the distance, and you may come and go as you please.->Homunculus Lab]]
]
(else:)[
[[An old TNT plant stands in the distance, a monument to Mothman. Usually its very well guarded, but with the festival going on those in charge of protecting it should be distracted...->Tnt Area Door]]
]
[[The road winds yet further into the distance...->Dirt Path]]
[[Go back to the Campsite.->Campsite]]You arrive at the, a building clad in sturdy yet splintering planks of wood. The door is boarded up with less sturdy wooden planks, but still strong enough to resist any attempts to pry them off.
[[Go Back->Old Country Road]]
(if: (history:) contains "You Got It!") [
[[Hey what about the crowbar->Pry Them Off]]
]You enter the building and find a man dressed head to toe in green plastic, his face utterly concealed by a heavy gas mask. More bizzare are his surroundings, hundreds of test tubes full of green slime and wriggling forms. You always knew that the government didnt want people snooping around here, but you never could have guessed for what reason.
[[Interrogate the strange man.->Homunculus Lab Interview]]
[[Leave.->Old Country Road]]The strange man seems shifty about any and all human conversation. His speech is muffled and hard to decipher, but after asking him to repeat himself around 10 times per sentence you start to catch some info.
Apparently this man is working with the government to create life, and is working here because of the rich amount of chemicals and particularly vapid wildlife. However, some beast flew away with quite the bushel of TNT, something that had even him confused. It wasn't one of his specimens, he didnt work in black fur.
You run off, already knowing what's going to happen next...
[[Let's get to the bridge, quick!->Old Country Road]]The dirt path leads further, but something of interest catches your eye...
[[Is that a crashed meteor?->Meteor Crash Site]]
[[Continue your travels->Winding Road]]
[[Back.->Old Country Road]]
Of course! You forgot you had the damn thing. You easily pull off the splintery boards, giving you free access into the building.
[[Go inside.->Homunculus Lab]]
[[Leave for now.->Old Country Road]]A strange monolith sits in the middle of a crater, emitting a soft green light.
…No signs of Mothman around here!
[[Go back->Dirt Path]]
(if: $hopkins is true)[
[[Wait... isn't this the meteor those men were talking about...->ENDING 5 METEOR]]
](set: $winding to it + 1)
A long road winds ahead of you.
(if: $winding < 6)[
[[Travel it ->Winding Road]]
]
(else:)[
[[A small clearing sits in the middle of the forest.->Clearing]]
[[A rocky cliff face runs to the side.->Ridge]]
]
[[Head Back->Dirt Path]]An empty clearing (if: (history:) contains "I'm Sorry")[and an empty, broken heart]. (if: (not ((history:) contains "I'm Sorry")) and ((history:) contains "Phone Call"))[That's not what catches your eye, however. A stunning lady in a black dress stands in the middle, waiting for you as a hawk waits for prey. She comes up to you, real close, and tells you that ever since she came to your office she knew you were her type. She drew you here with a ruse she constructed, knowing that you'd be attracted to mothman like a mothman was attracted to light, and she wanted you to give up the chase and settle down... with her. (if: not ($drunkness is 2))[
[[You're Sorry...->I'm Sorry]]
](else:)[
[[Wait a minute...->ENDING 2 FLATWOODS]]
]
]
(else:)[
[[Leave.->Winding Road]]
]The cliffs around this area made for lucrative mining business back in the day, but now it only makes for interesting terrain and the occasional gory death. Maybe there's something on the other side, however. Something... mothy.
[[Try your luck climbing.->Climbing Ridge]]
[[Hell No!->Winding Road]](if: $drunkness is 0)[
A rocky path winds along a cliff face, rocks jutting out as if they wish to push you down into the pit.. There’s no way you’re getting past this without something to boost your already massive, manly, definitely manly courage. Preferrably in a liquid form.
[[Back->Winding Road]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 1)[
You travel along the ridge, easily climbing it with your superior mountaineering process. You even righted yourself all those times you nearly (or basically but clung to something) fell off.
[[You finally see the end of the ridge - a small openning in the cliff face...->Chupacabra Cave]]
]
(if: $drunkness is 2)[
Being too drunk does not help your navigation skills, especially in such a precarious enviornment. You slip and fall a relatively short distance, but still well enough to break many of your bones. Your screams and swearing are only interrupted by the sound of velvety wings…
[[Oh no->ENDING 3 SUCKED DRY]]
]You see a leathery beast sleeping in the middle of a cave, surrounded by bones. Steam emenates from its nostrils...
This isn't mothman at all! This is the chupacabra!
...What a sham!
[[Leave, in disgust->Winding Road]]
(if: ((history:) contains "You Got It!") and ((history:) contains "Old Lady Interview") ) [
[[That burlap sack gives you an idea...->ENDING 4 CAPTURED CHUPACABRA]]
]You can't give up the hunt. You've been doing this your whole life, and you won't stop now. Not until you've found mothman. No lady, no love, nothing will stop you until you've succeeded.
[[You wonder if it had to be this way...->Winding Road]]You're about to reject her and continue the hunt until you notice something. Her black dress, black like mothman... Her wide luminous eyes... The fact that she's actually hovering slightly off the ground...
Living in the backwaters never was your style, but you made sure to visit very often. She very much appreciated your company, and generally was everything a man could ask for.
You never thought you'd have married the Flatwoods Monster, however....
As soon as you caught wind of the body, you knew you had to rush there before the fuzz could get to it. This type of news could go nationwide and get you out of this hellhole.
You were'nt prepared for what layed before you, however. A completely withered husk, not a drop of blood inside of it. The stench was unimaginable, and it looked completely dry even though it was only there for a day. Claw marks surrounded the ground by it, but wether it was from whatever beast did this or from the victim writhing in agony.
...Whatta scoop! The words are already flowing in your brain on how to write a thriller headline...
...
A small paper drifts out of the body's coat pocket. A pamphlet for a mothman convention...Snagging the Chupacabra was surprisingly easy, what with it being fat on the blood and guts of goats. You really just slipped him in the bag and he went pathetically without a fight.
The old lady was right about it being worthwhile. Not only did the display of the Chupacabra bring tourism to Point Pleasent all year round, it brought money to your collective coffers. She used it to buy a comftorable condo that she could live in for the rest of your days, but you did something you thought was a better use of your money - funding a paranormal investigation team. Your success was such that you went national, then international, digging up cryptids, urban legends, fairy tales and youkai of all kinds.
You never did find Mothman though...(set: $drunkness to 0)
(set: $winding to 0)
(set: $hopkins to false)On the other end of a phone you hear a voice, the same sultry voice of the girl in the black dress that waltzed into your office and gave you the lead that took you here. Her voice comes out almost as if she’s whispering into your ear, standing right next to you “Meet me in the forest clearing. Oh and try not to be too drunk.”
Part of you is freaked out about how she even knew you’d pick up at that time, but another part of you knows this is destiny.
[[That or she just knew you were the only one who would be interested enough to pick up the phone->Village]]
You knock on what you assume to be the "front door" of the meteor, but given the amount of geometric shapes on the thing you can't be fully sure. Next thing you know you're strapped to a table and sitting in front of a pair of floating things that look like they sauntered out of a 50's diner themed modern art exhibit.
Apparently they did some sort of surgical procedure that needed a human specifically as the subject, and humans weren't usually the type to say "yes" to this sort of thing. Since you were apparently so eager, they thought they'd reward you by giving you any wish you wanted.
Your greatest desire...
...
The procedure was a massive success but you can't help but feel bad. your compatriot doesn't really care, but Voronezhians aren't really ones to be the most empathetic. Sure, he was super pleased with it and got a lot of photos...
...But you can't help but feel bad about fooling someone with a hologram of Mothman.HOLY SHIT ITS MOTHMANSpecial thanks to Derb for help with the stylesheet and some coding advice!