Anime Age of DICKadence: Codexian Romance CYOA

[Lithium Flower]

All characters are fictional, consenting adults that are above the age of 18.

When you received an email from your favorite developer Vin-e inviting you to meet up with him in Tarant, the crown jewel of the Worker's Republic of Canada, you were so ecstatic that you almost chopped off your right hand. Fortunately, your own dense flesh and bone did much to prevent you from succeeding in your task, and bloodloss did the rest

"You've served me well for so many years, but soon I will have the real thing, and then I won't need you!" you remember exclaiming with great pathos shortly before passing out.

You came to hours later, your mangled hand dressed in bandages, with a tourniquet applied to your right arm. A small token wrought from metal that was much like flesh (yet was not flesh) lay on the floor, inscribed with a symbol which hurt to look at. It was clear that you have been saved by an unknown benefactor, but you had no opportunity to ponder this mystery as it was almost time for your journey to WRC.

The transit haunts you still. You were shoved into the back of a truck packed with sweaty, scared people, by guards who had rudely ordered you not to look at their faces. The truck would stop frequently and each time you would be blindfolded and led somewhere for hours, then instructed to stay still and wait to be picked up. Sometimes you heard sounds of pleasure coming from the darkness around you. Other times, you heard the sounds of pain.

Now your journey is almost over, for you stand in front of the Last Meal Inn, a high-society club where Vin-e is expecting you. The midnight Tarant street is surprisingly busy. A flock of transsexual prostitutes preys outside the club, flashing their lady-bits at potential customers. They are quick to pull their skirts back down, though, as their genitalia is lined with nickel-sized growths which pulsate with their every breath. If one is quick and astute, it is possible to see skittering of something evil just below the folds of their skirts.

Your elation turns to frustration, however, as you spot two blackguards (who also happen to literally be black guards) flanking the entrance to the club.

"Members only. No loitering. Fuck off," one of them barks at the gaggle of cocksluts, forcing them to disperse into the dark and terrible night from which they came.

Damn. Vin-e didn't tell you anything about the club being members only...

You are Lurker Kang. This is your story. And this is your inventory:
- Evening wear (an elastic midnight blue bow-tie, white cotton crew cut shirt, white cotton boxer briefs, black leather chaps, sleeveless blue denim jacket, a pair of black synthetic Nike LeBron Soldier XI basketball shoes)
- Homemade Eye of Thor-Agoth amulet, fashioned from plaster and anal beads

But first, how do you get past the guards that are denying you access to your beloved Vin-e? (choose 1)

A) [reputation] "I am the praetor of House Aurelian!"

B) [critical strike] Approach the men and sink a dagger into each. The wide-bladed Sefet should be ideal to disembowel the guard on the left as the other takes your Imperial Pugio through the heart.

C) [streetwise] [lore] [crafting] Use rhetoric and artistry in order to trick the bouncers into thinking that your homemade Eye of Thor-Agoth amulet is proof of membership.

D) [metagaming] Reload to try all the options and choose the one requiring the most optimal skill point distribution.

E) Do something else, please specify what

Why the fuck am I doing this

...when I have a CYOA that I haven't updated since the beginning of July?

Well, this took me very little in terms of effort to shit out and, more importantly, I expect that this is not going to get any votes, so it is unlikely to be a time commitment going forward.

As for TonS, currently I am wrapping up the tabletop campaign that I am running, which should take a few weekly sessions. Afterwards, I will probably have the creative juices to continue that adventure. Hopefully that's good news for the two of you that care.

Also, because I'm a failure with no structure in his life.

 

[lukaszek]

deterministic system > RNG

 

[Grimgravy]

Choose Your Own Adventure Land has been too quiet of late.

C

 

[Wyrmlord]

Wyrmlord already showed us the way. You need to go back dressed as tranny/feminist

Hahaha, lol

What he means is that once I tried getting into a fetish club dressed normal, and the bear looking bouncers instantly said no. That was during midday.

At 3pm, I came back dressed as a semi-transvestite. Like, an open button shirt, torn up black jeans, and a transparent black woman's blouse underneath. They were shocked and impressed, and said yes.

The trick was to look fucked up enough to belong there, in a place where people are doing "mantrains" and some men walk as dogs with a woman holding them by the leash.

 

[zwanzig_zwoelf]

Dis gon b gud.

 

[Lithium Flower]

Thanks Wyrmlord. If my friends ever need to get into a place where people are doing "mantrains" and some men walk as dogs with a woman holding them by the leash, I will be sure to tell them to use a semi-transvestite disguise.

I'm just going to count that as two votes for that option, then.

All characters are fictional, consenting adults that are above the age of 18.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of a solution to your predicament that did not involve acting as if you were in a video game. Unfortunately, most of your knowledge of the real world consisted of the sagely wisdom you gathered from the General Discussions forum. You ultimately decide that you need to acquire attire that is more appropriate to Canadian high-society.

Yet all you have on you are the clothes on your back and the amulet. The latter holds much sentimental value, so trading it for clothing is out of the question. How, then, will you acquire your disguise?

The clitter-clatter of high heels coming from the nearby alley lets you know what you must do.

Your heart sinks as you realize you must hunt the world's most dangerous game.

---

"Twenty-five for a handy fifty for a bee-jay hundred for a quickie," muttered the prostitute endlessly, drool running down its chin.

For the past fifteen minutes you moved from one dumpster to another, stalking the hermaphrodite streetwalker and trying to find the right opportunity to strike. The translut's mantra has not ceased from the moment that the thing was in your earshot, the words worming into your brain and making you have unpleasant thoughts about your parents.

Skill Increased: Stealth

"Twenny-five fora handy fifty fora beejay hundred fora quicky," the whore repeats for the upteenth time and flicks its prehensile tongue in your direction.

You press yourself against a filthy mound of trash. Something moves inside the squirming pile and the squealing from within makes your nose bleed, but you ignore it and grab a broken bottle to defend yourself with.

Item Acquired: Broken Bottle

Besides the far-off sound of traffic, the agitated clicking of the translut's mandibles is all you can hear. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and that is when the transsexual leaps at you, bony spurs on each limb ripping through the pile of trash and the eviscerating psychic wonder which dwelt within.

"Twenntyfiveforhandyfiftyforbeejayhundredforquicky!!" the murderous slut ejaculates, its spit melting asphalt where it lands.

You scramble away just in time as its horns impale into the ground where you had just been crouching, penetrating as far as a meter in. You probably only survived due to the amulet's protection.

Skill Increased: Dodge

Its hooved feet beat the ground as it struggles to free its horns, which you take as an opportunity to jam the broken bottle into its second abdomen. The prost proves more than hopeless, however, as its third arm lashes out at you, the spurred hand spinning thanks to an extra joint. You duck and swiftly counter-attack, breaking the remnant of the bottle against the hooker's bulbous, prolapsed cloaka.

Skill Increased: Glassmanship
Item Lost: Broken Bottle
Item Acquired: Glass Shard

You quickly follow up by kicking it between the heads, jamming an ovary into the brain and tearing the brain, killing it instantly.

Your hands shake uncontrollably as you quickly take the corpse's prized clothing, pausing only to vomit.

Lightning splits the heavens. Rain pours a crack of thunder later, yet you know that there will never be enough rain to wash away the blood.

---

Item Acquired: Whorish Clothing (brown leather loafers, beige cotton dress socks, beige cotton chinos, white cotton short-sleeved dress shirt with a chest pocket)

You walk towards to the doors of the Last Meal Inn, wearing your hard-won disguise. The bouncers stare at you with muted disgust. They do not know of all the sacrifices that you have made to get here. No one can ever know.

Surprisingly, the guards do not open fire as soon as you are within spitting distance.

Skill Increased: Disguise

You feel an almost manic bout of happiness come over you as you nearly cross the club's threshold...until the bouncer's massive hand grips your shoulder like a vice, keeping you in place.

"Don't tell me you are here to *work.*"

You see fear fill your own eyes in the man's reflective shades.

"You are Vin-e's friend, right?" he continues after another merciless moment, to which you only manage to nod awkwardly in response. "Gotcha. We've been expecting you. Why didn't you just introduce yourself when you swung by the place the first time?"

"I...f-felt like, you know, taking a walk, yeah," you manage to squeal.

"Whatever. Ask the janitor to take you to the third floor, VIP balcony. Oh, and here," he says and slaps a plastic bracelet on you. The text on it reads: TEMPORARY MEMBER - VIP ACCESS.

You begin to feel a little bit retarded.

Item Acquired: VIP Bracelet

With that and a pat on the shoulder, the bouncer sends you through the revolving doors and into the club. "They're doing mantrains in a few hours if you are interested!" one of the guard shouts after you, his tone ominous.

"What the fuck is a maintrain?" you wonder aloud.

The lobby is clean, almost sterile. The decor reminds you of an office building, with minimalist furniture in muted colours and many fake flowers. The only thing that betrays the Last Meal Inn as being a club is the dull thumping of muffled music that you can hear. The only other inhabitant of the lobby besides yourself is a bald man with a long gray beard, dressed in an immaculate jumpsuit, sweeping the floor with all the enthusiasm of a Bill Gates impersonator.

"H-hi sir, hello. Uhm...VIP balcony, third floor? Please take me there?" you say, holding up the wrist with the bracelet on it.

The old man ceases sweeping and stares at you with senile, doll-like eyes. Some snot hangs form one of his nostrils, like a curious creature peeking from its burrow.

"Uhghm," he grunts, sluggishly turns around, and walks...somewhere.

What follows is the most excruciatingly slow and awkward walk to the elevator in your entire life. Some frustrating minutes later you arrive and idly finger the bracelet on your wrist as the elevator doors close behind you. To your surprise, there does not appear to be any space between the plastic of the bracelet and your flesh...perhaps the guard tightened it as some sort of practical joke?

"Listen to me!" the old man exclaims suddenly, and grabs you by the shoulders.

The old man's eyes appear strangely lucid.

"Listen to me!" he repeats, "things are not what they seem. Your encounter with Vin-e will lead you to a choice: become a man, or something else...but if you stray from this path, attempt to alter your fate, you will be subjected to a fate worse than death!"

"W-what do you mean by this?"

"The self is a relation which relates itself to its own self, or it is that in the relation that the relation relates itself to its own self; the self is not the relation but that the relation relates itself to its own self," the old man explains.

You continue to question the old man and he continues to reply in Kierkegaard quotes. It becomes obvious to you that he has reverted to being senile.

Although the janitor's words are strange and frightening, you do not have time to ponder them as the elevator doors open into the cacophony of the club. You step onto the balcony and, trying to ignore the madness on the dance floor below and the flashing lights above, look for Vin-e's table. It doesn't take you long to find him and you feel butterflies in your stomach as you do.

Now that you have finally made it to Vin-e, how do you decide to approach him?

A) LARP as an average Age of Dickadence NPC in order to impress him.

B) Act modest, natural, and let Vin-e seduce you.

C) Intrigued by the mysterious old man and the equally mysterious mantrains, you decide to explore the club before meeting Vin-e.

D) Actually, none of this seems right. Things haven't really been...normal, exactly, ever since you came to this country. Perhaps it's time to go home?

E) Do something else, please specify what

 

[lukaszek]

deterministic system > RNG

 

[Grimgravy]

Yeah, this is bizarre.
C

 

[Commissar Draco]

A

 

[Nutria]

C

We risk losing xp if we don't thoroughly explore the area before progressing with the story.

 

[Nevill]

OhGodWhy. As if one Sweden Yes LP wasn't enough.

A) LARP as an average Age of Dickadence NPC in order to impress him.

 

[Lithium Flower]

MercantileInterest this is just an erotica man, I think you are reading too much into it.

All characters are fictional, consenting adults that are above the age of 18.

Vin-e has not noticed you yet. In fact, he is preoccupied with getting to the bottom of his glass, with half a dozen full ones and as many empty ones littering the table. You feel uneasy; you thought he'd be someone pure, not a hard drinker...then again, the thrill of being with an older, experienced man turns you on.

Still, he waited for you for this long, so surely he can wait some more.

"There is mystery ahead and I shall solve it!" you exclaim to yourself, an excuse to keep you from meeting the person you admire most.

You wait for the elevator to arrive back up and step inside. Since you've already seen the first and third floors, you decide to take the elevator to the second, as it seems to be the most likely place to find mantrains and other interesting sources of lore and XP.

The doors open into darkness. This is a far cry from the clinically illuminated first floor and the colorful club. You step out of the elevator uneasily, and its doors close behind you almost instantaneously.

Your heartbeat quickens as you spin around, your hands frantically searching for the button to the elevator. They find only the rough texture of stone and not at all the smooth, metal surface of the elevator doors.

Your knees begin to tremble. You turn and sit against the cold wall, taking deep breaths, which is all you can do to wade off an anxiety attack.

A minute passes as you calm yourself and take in your surroundings. At first there is only a strange sound coming from your right, like wind howling in irregular gusts.As your eyes adjust to the darkness, however, you can make out the outline of a long corridor, running from left to right. You stand up, intending to get out of this strange place. The sound is probably an air current, so clearly the exit must be to the right.

You follow the corridor slowly and carefully, heading towards the noise. The darkness around you appears to be still, and you can't hear much besides the howling up ahead and your own echoing footsteps. After a few minutes, the corridor does not appear to end, although you do seem to be coming closer to the sound.

Then you see it: an outline of something like a door. You reach for it and feel coarse wood. Anxiously, you try to open it, and that is when your fingers touch the cold metal padlock, but not before you push the locked door, producing a loud Clang!

"LET ME OUT, YOU BASTARDS!" something screams from the other side of the door and pummels it uselessly.

As if in response to the noise, the gusts of air become more loud and frequent, punctuated by heavy thumps coming from the same direction. No, not gusts...breaths.

And footsteps of something huge, growing louder.

You run like mad in the opposite direction, ignoring the spreading wetness at your groin. It follows, picking up the pace.

Thump, thump, thump, thump thump, thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

Crying and screaming, you throw yourself against the first door that you make out in the darkness. It opens and you tumble to the floor, then get up and close the door behind you with desperate speed. All you can do now is press yourself against the door and wait.

With terror gripping you mind, you listen as It comes closer, its footsteps and ragged breathing becoming almost unbearably loud...before decreasing in volume as it stalks past the door you took cover behind.

You vomit once more, horror and adrenaline leaving you, replaced by a strange calm. You stand up on weak, uneasy feet.

You can make out something like a table less than a meter away from you, so your reach for its surface. One of your hand finds a tube, a finger tracing over a button which you press. A heavy-duty flashlight lights up the room.

The room you are in is very large, perhaps twenty by ten meters in size. It is outfitted like a workshop, with tables and racks of equipment lining the walls: you see huge tubes of industrial adhesive, rivet guns, wrenches, saws, etc. Opposite of the door you used to enter is another, a metal one with a high, narrow viewport, simply labeled "Storage."

White scraps on the wall above one of the tables catch your eye. You approach and point the flashlight, revealing them to be newspaper clippings. More than a dozen are taped to the wall. Your read a few, confused as to what their significance might be:

"February 26, 2016: coup d'etat leads to formation of Worker's Republic of Canada"

"January 22, 1987: Pennsylvania state treasurer Robert Budd Dwyer commits suicide during news conference"

"September 12, 2004: cat dies in house fire"

You shrug and turn to the metal door. Perhaps you can find something useful in the storage room, like a weapon to defend yourself with, a useful contraption that could aid your escape, or explosives to blast your way out. You approach the door and shine a light through the viewport. You only get a glimpse of the ceiling due to the latter's height, but you see that it extends very far; the storage room should be even bigger than the workshop...what do they need all this space for?

You twist the large handle and push the heavy door open. You point the light at the room, then-

You let out an alarmed shriek, once more gripped by the cold tendrils of fear. Your light had just passed over what must be a massive, barn-sized scolopendra, its surface a strange, clammy white...you drop the flashlight to the floor and turn, as you cannot bear to look at the monstrosity. You face the workshop just in time to see one of the bouncers behind you press the button on the remote in his right hand. In response, a micro-injector hidden in the plastic bracelet that had already fused with your hand stabs into one of your veins. You lose control of your body and crumple to the floor.

"Another man for the mantrain," you hear the bouncer say with a strange reverence just before you lose consciousness.

---

You awake in the workshop, parts of which are now illuminated by massive spotlights hanging from the ceiling. A naked fat man is lying on his chest in the middle of the room, motionless.

For some reason, you are sitting down...you think so, anyway. You try to move but you can't. Not even the muscles on your face - your own eyelids appear to be held up by something like tape.

A white-haired man steps into your field of view, dressed in a white silk suit, the type a circus showman would wear. He leans in close to you, so that his grinning face almost touches yours.

"You have been injected with a very specific kind of paralytic substance. I'm afraid that you will not be able to move any part of you - not even your eyes - for another hour or so....which gives us just enough time to get ready, hmm?"

You find it hard to focus on him as your vision is completely static, but you see the blur of his hand reach out towards you...and then you feel it, too.

"Oh, and you will be able to feel absolutely everything," the man continues, chortling so hard that his spit lands on your face.

His hand cups the side of your buttock.

"My, you dress like an absolute slut, don't you?" he whispers in your ear, rubbing your ass through your cotton slacks. "You will make an excellent sacrifice to the Fleshmonarch..."

You are more afraid now than you have ever been in your entire life.

Mercifully and suddenly, the man disengages from you and walks out of sight.

"Assemble the mantrain!" you hear him bark.

You hear a door swing open, then the footsteps of many men and the pleading of many more.

"Please, I have kids at home, you gotta-"

"Lemme go, I won't tell anybody..."

"I thought this was just a club, for Christ's sake!"

Two bouncers drag a screaming, sniveling, naked man with a beard in front of you. They push him down on top of the fat man, lining up the old man's upper chest with the fat person's pelvis. A third guard enters your field of view, carrying a huge rivet gun with both hands.

"You better stay still now," one of them instructs the scared old man, "we make sure to miss the vitals. You won't bleed out that way...not a for a long time."

"Besides, you are lucky. Rivet gun don't work on some body shapes. That's when we make adjustments with the other tools," another adds, then laughs like a hyena.

As the bearded man twists and turns, his eyes meet yours. You recognize him as the janitor.

"You're here, too!?" he shouts, his eyes widening with surprise, "I told you not to stray from the pa-"

His words turn to a piercing shriek of pain as a massive rivet impales him and the man below.

"Got the demonstration, pal?" the bouncer that greeted you at the door says, turning to you. "Good, 'cause you are next!"

No.

No, no, no...

As you are quickly stripped and lowered over the impaled, writhing bodies, you try to convince yourself that none of this is actually happening to you. Perhaps this is just a dream. A really bad dream that started ever since you got that email from Vin-e. After all, nothing since made sense, right? Life can't be this strange or cruel...

Can it?

A rivet through the shoulder is the only answer you get.

---

"Are you ready for the mantrain!?" the white-haired man shouted into the DJ's microphone.

The crowd answered him with an enthusiastic roar.

A massive chute opened and security guards corralled the riveted men through it and onto the dance floor, forcing them to keep moving with shock prods.

Holding a man-sized steam whistle in both hands, the white-haired man leapt from the DJ's nest and landed on the fat man that formed the front of the mantrain. With a sickening crunch he stuck the bottom of the steam whistle, which had been sharpened into a metal stake, through the man below him.

"CHOO CHOO! ALL ABOARD THE MANTRAIN!" he shouted as he pulled the whistle's lever.

Men and women, children even, entire families climbed on top of the fallen pillar of flesh, laughing and screaming in ecstasy. Meat and bone strained under the weight of a hundred people, but held and continued to crawl.

The sounds of the passengers' joy and loud music drowned out the cries of anguish and the snapping of bones below.

On the balcony above, lonely Vin-e watched the mantrain. He was bitter and sad for Lurker Kang stood him up, at a time in Vin-e's life when he desired companionship. As tears welled up in his eyes he looked curiously at a frail young man forming one of the segments of the mantrain.

I wonder how he ended up in the mantrain, he thought sadly.

>ENDING 3A: FAILURE - MANTRAIN

>>You ignored Kierkegaard's warning and fell to the clutches of the Fleshmonarch before getting the chance to meet Vin-e. As a result, you missed out on a subplot involving micromachine politics and died in the mantrain.

>>>EXTRA LIVES REMAINING: 1

>>>>CONTINUE? [Y/N]

>>>>> _

 

[Commissar Draco]

Shamefur Dispray Comrades.

 

[lukaszek]

deterministic system > RNG

 

[Nevill]

...do continue.

Y

 

[Grimgravy]

Could your next project be weirder than this? Respawn that we might die again.

Y

 

[Lithium Flower]

Do blame my dudes above.

All characters are fictional, consenting adults that are above the age of 18.

Oblivion doesn't last.

Silence dies and children burn. First the sounds, then the smell of it all. Later, a rape of an entire planet, experienced backwards in a fraction of a second.

Is this hell? It cannot be; this place is far too merciless.

A voice booms, like one belonging to an obese man whose esophagus is stuffed with snot, coming from everywhere at once. You see his sign before you comprehend the words. His sign, the glowing sign. You see it, though it hurts to see. It hurts to look at it. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

"YOU CHOSE TO DISMISS A WARNING GIVEN BY A PHILOSOPHER. I HAVE SAVED YOU ONCE, AND I SHALL DO SO ONCE MORE, BUT THERE WILL BE NO THIRD REVIVAL. YOU WILL FIND YOUR DESTINY THROUGH THE SUBJECT OF YOUR ADMIRATION OR YOU SHALL NOT FIND IT AT ALL."

---

You awake in the workshop, parts of which are now illuminated by massive spotlights hanging from the ceiling. A naked fat man is lying on his chest in the middle of the room, motionless.

For some reason, you are sitting down...you think so, anyway. You try to move but you can't. Not even the muscles on your face - your own eyelids appear to be held up by something like tape.

A white-haired man steps into your field of view, dressed in a white silk suit, the type a circus showman would wear. He leans in close to you, so that his grinning face almost touches yours.

"You have been injected with a very specific kind of paralytic substance. I'm afraid that you will not be able to move any part of you - not even your eyes - for another hour or so....which gives us just enough time to get ready, hmm?"

You find it hard to focus on him as your vision is completely static, but you see the blur of his hand reach out towards you...and then you feel it, too.

"Oh, and you will be able to feel absolutely everything," the man continues, chortling so hard that his spit lands on your face.

His hand cups the side of your buttock.

"My, you dress like an absolute slut, don't you?" he whispers in your ear, rubbing your ass through your cotton slacks. "You will make an excellent sacrifice to the Fleshmonarch..."

You hear a suddenly door swing open.

"Rest in piss, fleshmonger," an authoritative voice barks.

Three ear-splitting cracks later, the white-haired man acquires two holes in his upper torso and one in his head.

You breath out in relief, sensing intuitively that you have been saved. By whom, you wonder?

You hear someone quickly approach you, then feel a pinprick and...find that you can move again. You immediately leap from your chair and begin enjoying your body's (admittedly limited, as your sedimentary lifestyle has not exactly made you flexible) range of motion. Afterwards you turn to your savior and find him to be Vin-e. He has the attractive, chiseled yet slightly worn face of an older alpha male, perfectly complimented by his salt and pepper hair. He is wearing a bespoke double breasted suit in medium gray, whose charcoal check-pattern accentuates his broad shoulders and six feet four inches of height beautifully. His sharp look is only slightly ruined by the tell-tale bulk of a type IIIA bulletproof vest under his jacket, as well as a tactical rig stuffed with handgun magazines on top of it.

A smirk graces his face as he has noticed your awe, just as his right hand is graced by an FN Five-SeveN semi-automatic handgun. With only three rounds in the magazine, he ejects it and feeds the gun twenty 5.7mm high-velocity rounds, enjoying the extra round in the chamber.

"Vin-e, h-how did you-"

"You were an hour late, so I decided to look for you," he says matter-of-factly.

God, he is so fucking hot.

Your gray god approaches you and puts a strong hand on your shoulder.

"I understand that you must feel overwhelmed right now," he says, his piercing gray-blue eyes looking straight at yours, "but in a few minutes the cult of the Fleshgod is going to start missing their mantrain, and they've got two dozens of those identical-looking bouncers ready to investigate."

"R-right," you say after swallowing hard, "so we need to sneak out of here."

"Not exactly," he sighs and steps away from you.

Just now you notice a large suitcase that Vin-e must have set down on the floor after shooting your captor. He goes to stand over it and motions you to do the same.

"I brought some extra equipment. Put on everything that's on top, then take a pick of the hardware at the bottom of the case."

Vin-e swings the case open, revealing a heap of tactical gear. You anxiously make your way through the pile. At the very top are a pair of sound-muffling headsets with internal earpieces that faciliatete communication during firefights, which both of you put on. They lay on top of another IIIA vest and tactical rig, which you strap on over your slutty button-down (unfortunately both are too big of you, leaving a slight gap between the vest and your body even after you've tightened the straps). Below the vest, you are surprised to find two firearms: a matte black FN P90 submachine gun, a light, compact, and ergonomic marvel of technology chambered in armor-piercing 5.7mm rounds, and a shiny, tactically-accessorized LWRC-PSD, essentially a carbine based on the M4 series that is designed to fire the powerful 6.8mm cartridge.

You salivate a little, feeling like a kid during Christmas as you decide between the two weapons. You ultimately settle on the P90, for its ambidextrous, low-recoil design, as you can only imagine what the heavy kick of the 6.8mm will do to your shoulder. Besides, its curvy, futuristic look is so cool, and you always wanted to fire this gun since your Counter-Strike days.

"Good choice," Vin-e comments, grabbing the carbine, "that SMG is unconventional, but shooting it is a breeze. Just stick to short bursts unless I tell you to lay down suppressive fire - you hold that trigger down for more than a second and you will hit nothing but the ceiling. Oh, and watch out for the spent brass - the ejection port is at the bottom."

The realization that you are about to engage in a gunfight finally sinks in.

"Vin-e, are we actually going to be fighting those bouncer dudes? Th-this is, like, crazy, I mean, there are so ma-"

"It might be crazy, but it is the only choice we have," Vin-e interjects, slamming a magazine into his carbine and pulling back the charging handle. "The way I see it, we are trapped in a fucking dungeon made up of several improbably long hallways. No place to run and hide, and they know this building a hell of a lot better than we do. Besides, those security guards may be many, but they are trained to break up fights and offer human sacrifices, not to engage in firefights. Besides, they don't even have any automatic weapons. Sometimes, volume of fire and proper tactics make all the difference."

His confidence is contagious (not to mention sexy) so you get on with familiarizing yourself with the P90. You slap an unusual magazine - a transparent rectangle holding 50 rounds - on top of the gun where it belongs and pull back the charging handle, chambering a round. You check the gun's integrated holographic sight and find it perfectly functional, a single red dot showing you exactly where a bullet would go. Then you notice Vin-e remove a magazine from his tacticool weapon and insert another one. "I want to have an extra round in case I need to kill an extra thirty-one people today," he explains. You watch in awe as he proceeds to slide an M203 underslung grenade launcher onto his carbine's bottom Picatinny rail.

"How's your throwing arm?" he asks.

While your left arm is lanky and underdeveloped, your right is a club of hard muscle, its strength rivaling that of a trebuchet's limb. You unwrap the bandage from your right hand. The wound has healed into a nasty scar, which you try to hide from Vin-e.

"Don't," his authoritative tone stops you, "I like it."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. I think it is kind of hot. Here, take this," he reassures you and, after reaching deep into the case, pulls out a bandolier of grenades.

Your eyes widen as they run over the green, pineapple shape of a Soviet F1 defensive grenade and two gray cylinders.

"That classic green's a frag," Vin-e explains, "the gray cylinder marked with red is a high-explosive - that's for blasting through armoured targets, so don't waste it - and the one with the white marking is a smoke grenade."

He straps on a bandolier of his own, his own loadout more focused on utility: two 40mm canisters (a frag and a smoke) for the m203, a flashbang, and a red cylindrical grenade - probably incendiary. Thermite, maybe?

Finally, you grab all the ammunition Vin-e brought with him. In total, you've got three magazines for each of your primary weapons, plus two for Vin-e's Five-SeveN.

"Almost forgot. That 5.7 cartridge your P90 uses is a fast little round that will go straight through soft body armour those goons are wearing, but if you need to drop something unarmoured and tenacious really quickly..." Vin-e pulls out a chunky Taurus snubnose and hands it to you. "This is loaded with five .44 hollowpoints. Use it if you're ever cornered."

Having equipped yourselves, you burst out of the workshop, almost tripping over the corpses of five men in black suits, each killed in the exact same way: two shots to the upper torso and one to the head.

"Jesus Christ, Vin-e..."

"I fucking love the Mozambique Drill," he replies, lost in a world of his own, "know what that is? Two taps to the chest followed by a headshot. You watch Michael Mann movies? They're like porn, but better."

You find the hallway well illuminated, with the peculiar stone walls and floor giving away to a typical concrete ceiling with long, office-style strips of fluorescent lights. Vin-e seems to have an idea of where he is going, so you follow him. Eventually the hallway splits off to the left, and Vin-e stops, hugging the corner. He takes out a telescopic mirror and carefully positions it so that he can see around the corner without exposing himself.

"Typical," he whispers, his voice now fed through your earpiece, "a corridor about thirty meters long terminating in a metal door. Some side doors at the end of the hallway, too. More importantly, there are convenient pieces of chest-high cover lining the walls. And slightly over dozen lightly-armed thugs, of course, evenly dispersed throughout the corridor. On my command we proceed to the closest pieces of cover while firing on targets closest to us."

He flicks the fire selector of his carbine from SAFE to BURST and lets it hang on its sling, then takes out a flashbang.

Your heart sinks.

Vin-e pulls the pin and throws the pale cylinder around the corner. Clanking turns to a loud BANG which turns to a dozen men crying out in confusion.

"Go, go, go!"

Vin-e enters the corridor and braces himself against one of the walls, immediately opening fire, giving you enough space to do the same. The two of you advance simultaneously, mowing down the guards closest to you. Unfortunately you didn't realize that you had the P90 set on full auto, so you end up squeezing a six-shot burst the first time you fire it, dropping just one guard whom you hit in the shoulder. Vin-e, on the other hand, kills three men with one burst each.

The corridor is just as generic as Vin-e described, and it isn't long before you dive behind the first set of equally generic chest-high walls. The remaining concussed men have done the same, while others pulled some of the side-doors at the end of the hallway open to use as cover. You are forced to keep your heads down as a dozen handguns return fire, the guards dumping their entire magazines in an effort to suppress you.

"Motherfuck! We need to push them as far back as possible," Vin-e barks into your ear, popping a a 40mm shell into his M203. "Throw a smoke as far down the hallway as you can, then wait for my order to start moving!"

Cautious of the bullets whizzing past your piece of cover, you pull your smoke grenade's pin and throw the gray cylinder. It is not an ideal throw, with your low crouch, the ceiling, and the pressure you feel at being under fire all impeding it, but you manage to put the grenade at about the half-way point down the corridor.

Seconds later the enemy fire thins out as the smoke begins to fill the hallway. Vin-e adopts a low stance and leans out of cover where he is less likely to get shot, pressing the trigger of his M203 and sending a 40mm frag down the corridor. He gets back into cover just in time for fragments to whip past your positions.

"Move!"

You vault over your piece of cover and run to the next, careful not to trip over dead bodies and blown-off limbs. Vin-e covers you with quick, semi-automatic tap-fire into the smoke. After getting behind cover you enter a high-crouch so that only your head and gun stick out. "Move," you tell Vin-e.

You put a full-auto burst of at least twenty rounds into the smoke as soon as you hear Vin-e cease fire, covering him. He soon leaps behind the next set of cover.

"Don't stop shooting, I gotta reload!" he tells you and proceeds to put a nearly-empty magazine into a pocket on his tactical rig.

Instead of emulating Vin-e's tapfire, you make the mistake of pissing away the rest of your magazine in less than a second, adding another second to your reload as you are forced to pull back the charging handle, which leads to three whole seconds after the end of your burst and before either one of you is able to fire completed reload. This proves to be more than enough time for the enemy to seize initiative and once again fill the hallway with lead, forcing you to cease firing and duck down behind cover.

The enemy fire is not accurate as they are forced to shoot through the smoke cover, but it is very consistent.

"The bastards must be staggering their reloads so that there are at least two guns going off at a time," Vin-e comments.

To make matters worse you hear a a low, loud hum of the ventilation system going into overdrive mode, most likely triggered by one of the goons in order to dissipate your smoke cover. On the other hand three fresh corpses lie between you and the smoke, and a score of disembodied limbs litter your side of the hallway. All in all, you've advanced about ten meters into the corridor.

As the two of you ponder your next move, a gunshot cracks from behind. You had twisted your body to take advantage of your cover, so the bullet enters right between it and your loose vest and impacts the front pocket of your whorish office shirt, just barely stopped by the dozens of pens contained within.

You shriek, put your back to the piece of cover, and dump half a magazine into the men behind you. With incredible speed Vin-e rips a red cylinder from his bandolier, primes it, and throws it the way you came. The intersection where the two corridors meet erupts into flame with a bright flash.

"Chemical flame ought to last as a few minutes," he says, breathing heavily. "You alright?

"Y-yeah," you squeak in response, "the prostitute's garb saved me."

"Listen, we need to finish these suckers before the fire burns out," Vin-e is now loading his M203 with a smoke canister, "divide and conquer and all that. Their fire is pretty dense, and we've got no time to wait for them to run out of ammo, so you gotta crawl until you reach the smoke, then throw a frag as far as you can. Got it? Make sure it lands way back, so that the explosion nails the assfucks that are taking cover behind those doors."

Perhaps its due to adrenaline, but you feel almost no hesitation at the task. You drop to the blood-slick ground and proceed to crawl towards the piece of cover closest to the cloud of slowly dispersing smoke. Vin-e covers you with repeated tap-fire, sending an occasional burst in the direction from which you came to deter your ambushers from putting out the fire. Bullets whiz just above your head and the five or so meters that you need to crawl feel like five hundred.

At some point, Vin-e's magazine runs dry.

Just then enemy fire thins slightly and a man rushes through the cover of smoke, covering his mouth and nose with his collar. A gunshot marks his shoulder; this is the man you had failed to kill. The guard almost trips over you and raises a revolver in his right hand so that you get a good look down its barrel...

...just before being ventilated by three shots from Vin-e's Five-Seven. Even more high-velocity rounds are sent towards the enemies, giving you enough time to scamper towards cover.

You let your P90 hang on its sling and that is when the smoke thins to a haze, the enemy concentrating its fire on your position. You grab your P90 as bullets hit the walls and cover around you, blind-firing the rest of your magazine down the hallway without exposing yourself. Just over twenty rounds at just over a second at such a short range gives the enemy pause, a pause just long enough for Vin-e to finish reloading his carbine and resume cover fire. Finally given the time and space to throw the frag, you do so, and manage to put it at the very end of the corridor.

Even muffled by your ear protection, the resulting blast is almost deafening, the shockwave shaking you to the core through the cover. You hug your precious chest-high wall but no shots come from the enemy's position.

"Moving!" Vin-e barks and advances, his rifle shouldered.

A single figure steps into the roaring fire behind him and takes slow, deliberate shots at the two of you.

"Christ on a cross!" Vin-e shouts and spins around, sending a 40mm smoke canister down the corridor behind him, just before a low-caliber round hits him in the chest. He falls backwards, landing next to you.

"VIN-EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" you screech, eyes welling up with tears.

"Urgh," he grunts, "it's fine, I don't think it broke any ribs. What did that limp-dick cockfucker do, shoot me with a .22 long rifle?"

With that Vin-e jumps to his feet and takes the lead, his handgun out and his rifle dangling on its sling. You move to the end of the corridor quickly, despite the inaccurate gunfire coming through the smoke behind you. You encounter no opposition as the few guards left alive by your assault are mangled wrecks dying on the ground, whom Vin-e executes with his pistol. Having finally made it to the door at the end of the corridor, you swing it open and peak inside.

"Shieeeeet," Vin-e says and sends a juicy loogie hurtling to the ground.

All of the rooms connected to this hallway are bare cells, barely four square feet in size. The sporadic gunfire from behind forces you to take cover in one such cell.

You are down to one magazine for each of your weapons, with the exception of Vin-e's carbine which has eleven rounds left.

There is no exit in sight.

Vin-e is breathing heavily and muttering curses under his breath. After a few seconds of manic pacing around the room, he suddenly grabs you.

"I've got it," he says excitedly, his face red and hair sweaty under the headset, "I've fucking got it. Listen to me. I've been around the back of this club so many times with the previous owner for...reasons, and, unless my sense of direction is failing me, I'm sure that this particular corridor sticks awkwardly out of the building, s-"

"W-wait, what?" you babble, cutting him off. "Why would that be, I mean, w-why would anyone..."

"Because urban design in Tarant is fucking horseshit, alright? All the good architects were ritually cannibalized by the Party. Listen to me. We knock one of the corridor's walls down and we are out of here...but we gotta do it right, you understand? The fire died, yet those cocksucks outside haven't pursued us, 'cause they think we are trapped in here. And they'd be right, if we didn't have any high-fucking-explosives, but we do. So they're waiting for the smoke to thin out so that they can move in and take us out, but if they hear a goddamn explosion go off, they will probably put two and two together and chase our asses down... so we lay a trap for them before the smoke clears out and we take them AND the fucking walls down in a single mothershitting BANG!"

"H-how are we gonna do that?!"

"With the help of a little holdover from my business days," a cruel smile spreads across his face as he pulls out a small glob of a white, malleable substance, "Semtex, baby. You put some in an office phone, make a call, and suddenly there is one less bitch secretary in the world. It ought to be enough to set off an HE grenade. Give it to me, I'm gonna go set it up right now. Meanwhile, I'm gonna leave you my carbine - transition the rounds from this nearly-empty magazine into the one that's in the gun, got it? I have a feeling that we are going to need every single bullet here."

With that Vin-e ducks out of the room, HE grenade and a bit of Semtex in hand. You get to work transitioning bullets from one magazine into another, bringing the carbine's supply of rounds to fourteen, but worries gnaw at you. Will Vin-e be mad at you for standing him up after all of this is over? Has this dangerous adventure killed the mood completely? And why is Vin-e swearing so much?

A bullet ricochets off the far door, followed by Vin-e leaping inside the cover of the room.

"Fuck my mother, I almost took one in the balls! But I've got it," he says, grabbing the loaded carbine and producing a small detonator from his jacket pocket.

After a quick brass-check, you listen for the enemy's approach with hushed breaths. Soon you hear the footsteps of at least a dozen men. Vin-e's mouth moves without making a sound, probably counting off steps.

click

BOOM

This shockwave is even more severe, despite the two walls separating you from the explosion. The goons don't even have time to scream before they are blown to pieces and sent hurtling towards the walls, covering them with streaks of red gore.

Yet neither of you breathe easy, instead pointing your guns at the door and waiting for any survivors.

The door to your cell is kicked open, a single man occupying the hallway. Identical in features to the white-haired man, he sports a red, glittery jacket and a scarlet mane. That explains his apparent immunity to fire and explosive damage - it is good, then, that Vin-e didn't try to freeze the white-haired man to death. The red-haired man has a gilded Desert Eagle in each fist, which he is now raising up.

The two of you dump your magazines into the red-haired man. He falls down before your guns go click.

You rush into the corridor with sidearms drawn. The walls have thankfully collapsed around the area of the explosion. For the first ever time, you feel relief in the filthy, stinking night air of Tarant.

As you cross the gore-filled ground, eager to leave, the red-haired corpse croaks behind you. It says something in an instant, in a language you don't know, yet you understand everything.

"FLESHMONARCH, LEAVE YOUR KINGDOM ABOVE

COME HERE, TO YOUR KINGDOM ON EARTH"

The broken bodies around you begin to bubble and shift like melting cheese, if melting cheese could scream.

Vin-e blows the corpse's head off, but the mantra does not stop.

"PREPARE, PREPARE, ALL OF YOU SCUMS

BEWARE, BEWARE, THE FLESHMONARCH COMES"

The flesh around you congeals into an amalgamation of meat whose thirst for blood may only be measured in dimensions. It reaches for you with a myriad of teeth and tendrils.

The two of you can do naught but scream and fire your handguns. With no time to fire your revolver single-action, every trigger pull is agony for your trigger finger and every shot is a blow to your wrist.

Your fire bursts the thing's womb, releasing a litter of gibbering babes. Many die, cracking their egg-like heads upon the hard ground, each dying scream a psychic blow that sends you reeling. Bitter blood runs from your nose.

Darkness spreads from the edges of your vision, threatening to consume all. Your knees give in and you lean into Vin-e, and to your surprise he, too, is shaking and pivoting towards the ground. It is so hard to breathe... as you loosen your jacket and vest your fingers brush against your amulet. Its face is now hard and gentle all at once, like that token wrought from fleshsteel, inscribed with the Sign that Hurts. Perhaps the two have also merged?

A moist, meaty tendril coils around your knee and eleventy-two sets of jaws snap by your ear. You know it's over for you; all you want is to show Vin-e the amulet you've made, so that he may be proud of you in your final moments. Suddenly, the walls of muscle surrounding you screech and recede. The Fleshmonarch's eye looks at the Sign and explodes, showering you in its viridian lifeblood. At first the stench of burning flesh surrounds you, then nothing at all.

After a period of time you can't remember, you come to with your head resting atop Vin-e's powerful chest.

"Hey," he whispers, softly, "Lurker Kang, are you alright?"

"Yeah," you answer. "Vin-e, I think the recoil sprained my wrist."

---

Vin-e's downtown condo isn't exactly opulent, but it is cozy enough. It was also one of the few pieces of property he could keep after his decision to quit the business world in favor of becoming a full-time indie game developer forced him to file for bankruptcy. The significance of his bankruptcy, however, disappeared entirely after the Party took over the country and ate the old white men in charge of the economy. Then they ate all of the money.

You sit on Vin-e's comfortable couch and idly examine your swollen right hand surrounded by a simple cast. You hear the older man's bold footsteps as he approaches with a pack of ice and gingerly holds it to your wrist.

"Thanks," you say.

Vin-e replies by putting his mouth over yours.

Oh god. It's happening. After everything, it is finally happening.

Where do you take things next? (choose 1)

A) Nowhere, actually. As the man's tongue invades yours and you feel the bristle of his beard against your acne-marked skin, you realize that you are not gay. Apologize and leave before things get even more awkward.

B) You would love to be Vin-e's submissive fuckman.

C) A bratty power bottom makes for the best kind of bottom.

D) Still nervous and shaken, you find yourself reluctant to go "all the way." Besides, aren't you supposed to wait until marriage? Fool around with Vin-e, but stop short of penetration.

E) Do something else, specify what

 

[Nutria]

E - Pretend to be straight... for now. It's the best way to play hard-to-get.

I'll be shocked if I don't see this story serialized in the New Yorker soon.

 

[Nevill]

E - Pretend to be straight... for now. It's the best way to play hard-to-get.

The tragedies must continue. We shall not rest until our left hand is as sexy as the right one.

 

[Grimgravy]

D - wait for marriage. Yeah, that's the ticket.

 

[lukaszek]

deterministic system > RNG

 

[Lithium Flower]

While this CYOA is most certainly low-effort, I do not want people to think that zero research went into this. In fact, I did a lot of research.

For instance, to provide insightful commentary on the business world, I had to watch all seven seasons of Mad Men.

The stunning and exciting gunporn shootman action sequence from last update was a result of binge watching Heat, Collateral, and The Way of the Gun.

Now, I am the very epitome of masculinity and heterosexuality in real life, so I am quite unfamiliar with how the gay is made. Fortunately, I have a friend who consumes something called a "yaoi hentai" and they provided me with much valuable information. This part of the story was made possible thanks to their knowledge.

NOT SAFE FOR WORK:

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

Appropriate music:



All characters are fictional, consenting adults that are above the age of 18.

You think it would be just so damn hot if Vin-e was more assertive, so you decide to offer a little bit of feigned resistance.

You pull away from the kiss but continue looking into the older man's piercing eyes.

"Uhm," you start, "m-my loins do not burn with the kind of passion for you that I had expected..."

"I am going to fuck your loins, you cocktease," Vin-e growls, seeing through your bullshit and deciding to play into your fantasy.

"N-nani?!" you utter as he grabs your ankles and spreads your legs, "S-senpai..."

Your idol stares at you in utter confusion. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" he mouths, almost saying it out loud, but a second passes and his indecision disappears, replaced by his massive, erect fuckstick which bursts through his impeccable worsted wool suit trousers in medium gray. Vin-e gathers your ankles up in the air with one strong hand, while the other dunks his humongous sexrod into a jar of lube he happened to have concealed under the couch.

You bite your lip in sweet anticipation as Vin-e positions the tip of his mancarrot at the entrance to your asshole, still concealed by two layers of cotton garments. Time seems to stay still as Vin-e recites the Ode to the Tighthole, consecrating your union:

"They call me Asspounder, for I am of the night. I come in peace and leave you in pieces - a hot, quivering mess. Tonight it is your most tainted hole that I shall ordain in the ways of faith-fucking with my divine cockmonster. Indeed, I will make it your holiest hole, for I am the blessed champion of buggery. It shall be the sacred sewer which my white hot angels will NOT fear to tread and through which my liquid love shall seep, my dude."

With a single thrust, your lover punches his ploughstaff through your clothing and into your rectum. Your eyes well up with tears of pure joy as you throw your head back and scream "HHHHHNG, my shithole, my shithole, Senpai is fucking my shithole!!" at the top of your lungs, straining as you do.

You whimper and writhe in pleasure as the penetrator's poundage proceeds, reaching deeper inside you with every thrust. You strain your anal muscles, milking Vin-e's pocket invader, which feels so hard and smooth inside you that it had to have been wrought from pure rockflesh. An androgynous singer on TV makes you feel one with the universe.

"Oh yeah," Vin-e gasps, "you are loving this, aren't you? You like it when I fuck your lovely shitbox?"

"Yes, yes, ye-ah-s!" you strain, the overwhelming feeling of being stretched out from the inside rendering you almost incoherent.

"Then watch this..."

Suddenly you feel as if you are pulled upwards and the sofa's surface, slippery with sweat and lube, disappears. Yet Vin-e is no longer holding your ankles...eyes widening, you realize that you are being held up entirely by Vin-e's stiff colossus, the entire length of which has entered you, save for the testicles. Not for long, as pressure forces the squirming balls inside you, who rush up the rod and nestle deep within your ass.

All you can feel is the awesome tightness of being filled up by your lover. Your own hotrod is now rock-hard, barely contained by the ripped chinos. You reach out and touch Vin-e's chiseled face, smiling dumbly as you stroke him lovingly, and the man kisses you once more. His tongue invades your mouth like a fat worm, red and bloated, tiny bones within flexing hard to wrestle your own tongue to the roof of your mouth. Its tip pushes deep into your mouth, mixing your saliva with his own, stroking your tonsils, playing with your pendulous uvula...

The meatrod inside you spasms like a dying animal as Vin-e cums, the force of the ejaculate pushing you off him and sending you crashing onto the sofa. The spermcannon drenches you, the sofa, and the wall behind in a thick white like a Rolling Stones parody, even managing to splatter some cum onto the ceiling in the shape of arcane runes, which strengthen the magic potential of your lovemaking.

"I gave your ass nice cum enema, didn't I?" Vin-e says, panting, his magnificently, perfectly marvelous wool double-breasted suit jacket in medium gray untouched by his own gooey ejaculation.

"Y-yeah..." you say, exhausted, "I loved it."

You proceed to involuntarily fart cum out of your gaped asshole, spraying the carpet and Vin-e's brown leather captoe oxfords with his white wonder. Suddenly hot in the face, you feel flushed and embarrassed at having done such a lewd thing, and turn your face away from your beloved.

Suddenly, Vin-e's cool hand frees your cockadoodle and grips it, hard.

"I think you deserve a reward for being so good," he says with a smirk, now kneeling in front of the sofa.

You moan as his right hand strokes your shaft, his thumb rubbing your frenulum. His index finger dips under your foreskin and scoops up sticky smegma, which he ferries to your mouth.

"Yum," you manage approvingly as you taste your own salty dickcheese.

"I could make the best goddamn aligote out of this stuff," Vin-e whispers, tasting some, "or some excellent cervelle de canut. Or mac & smegma..."

Vin-e's thumb and index finger move as if inspired by a higher power, plucking your banjo string. You jump at the sensation, a wave of delight flowing through your body. Vin-e responds by strumming your frenulum like a literal banjo string, intensifying your pleasure.

"Aaahmmm," you moan, the overwhelming sensation forcing your tongue out of your mouth, drool dripping from your chin, "I-I can't believe Vine-e is playing my dick like an instrument with his pleasure fingers..."

Sweet tension builds up in your gut, your dick, your balls, everywhere. You shiver as Vin-e grasps your banjo string between his fingers and pulls it back a foot or so from your dick. The tension is almost unbearable, and after a few seconds he releases the string, which comes snapping back like an elastic band. This happens to be the last straw and you are almost deafened by the loud snapping sound produced by the hypothetical camel's breaking back as you orgasm.

"I'm CUMMING!!" you shout, a spreading sweetness replacing the tension in your body.

Vin-e's wet mouth muzzles your cock, catching every drop of your lustage. Before you are able to appreciate it, however, you find yourself in motion Vin-e's throat is a black hole and you find yourself sucked straight in, your body bending impossibly to fit inside him.

You scream, unable to comprehend what is happening as Vin-e's mouth closes above you and you slide down his throat.

---

Slippery flesh pulsates around you. Liquid rushes all over, on and through the rainbow-colored meat, from scarlet knobs to translucent membranes which rustle in a strange, barely-audible whisper. The latter block your way, trapping you in the warren's of Vin-e's body. Large bio-luminescent clumps provide the only source of light.

At the center of the meat-chamber you are trapped in is a large, contracting thing, something growing within it. It moves like a heart.

No... not a heart.

A womb.

"WELCOME PILGRIM TO YOUR JOURNEY'S END," a familiar obese voice assaults you from every direction.

"What are you?!" you demand to know, your voice steeled by the tribulations you overcame to get here.

"I AM AN OTHERWORLDLY FACILITATOR. THE FULFILLMENT OF YOUR DESTINY IS IN MY INTEREST. ALL YOUR LIFE YOU HAVE WORSHIPED A GILDED IDOL THAT BROUGHT YOU AN AGE OF DICKADENCE. THROUGH GRAVE TRIAL AND ERROR YOU HAVE FINALLY REACHED HIM AND ENTERED A UNION, THE STRENGTH OF WHICH CREATED LIFE WHERE THERE HAD BEEN NONE. NOW, CHOOSE: WILL YOU BE SATISFIED WITH HAVING MADE AN OBJECT OF YOUR GREATEST ADMIRATION AN INCUBATOR FOR YOUR SEED, OR ARE YOU FINALLY READY TO MOVE ON FROM HIS SHADOW AND BECOME A MAN OF YOUR OWN, OR SOMETHING EVEN GREATER THAN A MAN? WILL YOU SACRIFICE A LIFETIME OF SERFDOM TO YOUR LOVER-GOD TO SEIZE THE PATH OF LIFE AND EAT IT, ASCEND IT, GRASP RAW POWER WITH YOUR VERY WILL?"

Silence lies heavily for a few moments as you consider your response. Boldly and bravely, you respond to the eldritch creature:

"What? Look, I'm flattered by your bizarre interest about my personal admiration for some developers. If you want to get a kick out of it, be my guest. Whatever. People tend to have a superficial view of things. It is not because I have a particular admiration for some developers, that I’m stalker. I also have admiration for some movie directors, writers, mathematicians, scientists, philosophers, athletes, chess players, and even some codex posters. In other words, I’m just like everybody else. People made threads about Avellone that look like a shrine and I don’t see you or anybody else accusing his fans of being stalkers. Maybe it’s because you don’t understand why someone would be so enthusiast about ITS games without being deranged. It’s a failure of imagination. Moreover, my obsession about discussions involving the design of AoD it’s motivated by the same reason I obsess with discussions about PoE design. Intellectual curiosity. But since I happen to also endorse AoD system, the whole thing is dismissed as fanboysm, which is a superficial caricature of my motivations. I’m not a poor wretched who idolize other people’s work, because I also have my own work, mind you. You know what? I take it back. It is not a failure of imagination, it’s double standards and intolerance towards other people’s tastes. It seems that you have this absurd notion that I need to be crazy and fanatic to show the same appreciation to some developers that most people here already express towards other developers. Probably because you think this is unwarranted. So you need to mock and punish me because I should not be allowed to have a different taste, or at least not allowed to openly express this taste. Meanwhile, everybody else can do the same thing with the "right" developers."

Yet there is no response but the squirming of the womb-thing.

What do you do? (choose 1)

A) You attack the horrible creature and the womb it spawned inside of Vin-e, seeking to break from its manipulation and undo whatever unnatural changes it made to your lover. You will not be manipulated by this entity!

B) Defy the entity by refusing to make the choice. Instead, attempt to escape Vin-e's body on your own.

C) Choose a future with Vin-e: he is what you truly wanted this whole time, and you've endured so much for him...

D) Choose ascension: the entity is right. Vin-e is wonderful, but you are too weak, too reliant on him. You must harness the power of your will and ascend your bond with him.

For thesoup:

 

[Nutria]

With a single thrust, your lover punches his ploughstaff through your clothing

My suspension of disbelief is blown at this point. Such a thing just isn't possible.

I choose B. When I was in basically the same situation in Elmal's heroquest in King of Dragon Pass, that was the right answer.

 

[Grimgravy]

YOU SACRIFICE A LIFETIME OF SERFDOM TO YOUR LOVER-GOD TO SEIZE THE PATH OF LIFE AND EAT IT, ASCEND IT, GRASP RAW POWER WITH YOUR VERY WILL

Whatever option this is. Vin-e ate us, clearly we must eat our way out.

 

[Lithium Flower]

YOU SACRIFICE A LIFETIME OF SERFDOM TO YOUR LOVER-GOD TO SEIZE THE PATH OF LIFE AND EAT IT, ASCEND IT, GRASP RAW POWER WITH YOUR VERY WILL

Whatever option this is. Vin-e ate us, clearly we must eat our way out.

Physically or metaphysically?

Physically speaking, trying to eat your way out of Vin-e would be B because you are not engaging with the dichotomy this entity set up.

Metaphysically speaking, the entity wants you to eat your way out of the path of serfdom to Vin-e by transcending your bond with him through the very power of your will, which would be D.

Pretty simple and straight forward, I think.