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You are Kurt Qwan, a 60-year-old private detective living in a shack on the beach just south of Morro Bay, California. One fine evening as you toke up while tinkering on your Land Rover while waiting for your fish to cook, you hear someone stumbling up behind you. You turn to see a reedy younger man in a business suit with a briefcase slipping and sliding over the sand. You roll your joint back and forth between your cracked lips as you watch this dork. "Mr. Kurt Qwan?" he says as he mops sweat from his brow. "Demelza-- the lady from New Orleans-- said you were the best private eye on the west coast. She said you would recognize the name." "How much?" you ask. "How much?" he stares. "How much does what?" "How much loving money for the job, dipshit." He clutches his briefcase. "You don't even know what it is." You wipe the grease off your hands. "Will I have to kill anyone? Hundo-K down payment if I do, half that if I don't." "I-I-I-I- certainly hope not. But I brought twenty thousand in cash." The man fumbles with his case, opens it, and shows you the money, as well as a business card: Will Keebler, GloboCorp Inc. "My daughter went missing three weeks ago. She's an adult and the police said there are no signs of foul-play, so they are dragging their feet. Wouldn't you look into it for twenty-thousand dollars, at least? She's been hanging out with some odd people. Then one day her car was gone and half the clothes from her apartment as well, everything else in tidy shape. Her phone records show a text to a friend from Sacramento, and then nothing." You take a swig of rum and absentmindedly scratch your chest hair as you consider this. >Take the case >Refuse the case, close thread >Negotiate for more money >Blaze with Keebler >Do something else >_
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Sep 24, 2020 03:33
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"I will take all that money on one condition," you cough. "Put your briefcase in the sand over there, then suck down this whole loving thing," you say, as you roll a joint. "One breath." Keebler reluctantly sets down his case and takes the joint. ----------------- Ten minutes later Keebler is on his back with his shoes and coat cast off, blowing clouds of smoke. "Tell me your tale, Detective Kurt," he says. You down the last of your rum and toss the bottle away. "One time when I was young, I heard the sound of a man dying. It was because I was strangling him to death. He wouldn't help me finish my five-thousand piece puzzle. When I realized what I was doing, I stopped, and we went into a partnership, to solve everything we could. For money. We did some good and bad things. He did a ton of blow in the eighties and vanished, haven't seen him since." "Oh, that's too bad," Keebler mumbles. You put on a shirt. "Let's find some hookers and get our faces twerked, banker man." You throw the money into the Land Rover, stuffing a wad of bills in your pants, and drag Keebler into the car, then find a casa on a cliff overlooking the beach with which you are familiar. Afterwards, when everyone is drunk and passed out on the patio, you wander into the library of the house with a bottle of rum. There are shelves and a desk. Forward is the kitchen, and nearby a dining room with cupboards. You can hear what sounds like sex noises from upstairs. Your car is parked outside. You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 24, 2020 05:18
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You hear giggling and footsteps coming down a stairwell. You look around and stub your toe on a huge iron ring in the floor, which proves to be the hinge to a hatch in the floor. You open it, and flicking your lighter on, descend, closing the hatch above you. You slowly reach the foot of the stair as footsteps thump overhead. It seems you are in a wine cellar. A torch dimly lights an adjoining hallway, down which you hear soft moans. A ragged-clad drunk man is slouched against a wine rack, surrounded by empty bottles. >_
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Sep 24, 2020 08:09
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You slap the drunk dude's cheek, but he doesn't wake up. You paw through his pockets and find a key, a little pocket-knife, and his wallet, which contains a few bucks, some photos, and his license, showing his name as being Greg Roof, from Arizona. You leave the wallet with him, but take the key and the knife. You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 24, 2020 20:54
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You use the knife to cut the cuffs off of Greg's shirt, and stuff those into your waistband for later if need be. You use another strap of cloth to make a sling for a couple of fine vintages, and a few empty bottles as well. You prop Greg up on the wall and make sure his airway is clear and that he has a good pulse. You can still hear footsteps upstairs. You creep down the dank hallway toward the moaning sound, and come upon what looks like a jail cell. As you peek into it, you see a man and woman chained to the wall, unconscious, and a boy, handcuffed, being beaten with a baton by a man. You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 25, 2020 02:23
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William Henry Hairytaint posted:Only one thing to do as a PI: poo poo i forgot to include this. i will later dammit
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Sep 25, 2020 02:27
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The cell door is slightly ajar. You whirl a piece of cloth into a knot and soak it with wine, then slip inside, behind the baton-wielding man. You wrap it around his mouth, muffling his cries. He lurches backward, slamming you against the wall over and over. You feel and hear a crack in your right shoulder. The man turns around and you lash out with a solid left cross to his face, knocking him out. Your right arm feels like poo poo and isn't working right. The boy is in a bad way, face and arms bleeding and bruised. You ask him who he is and what is going on here, but he just stares, weeping. You use the baton to smash the chains, releasing the man and woman, but they remain unconscious. You hear voices and footsteps coming down the hall. You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 25, 2020 22:33
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You glance out of the cell and see four figures laughing and stumbling in the wine cellar. One of them, a man, drunkenly slaps the sleeping man around. When no response is forthcoming from Greg Roof, the man pulls a pistol and shoots him in the head. The drunk slouches over, his blood pooling on the stone floor. The others laugh and start uncorking several bottles. You look around. You can't possibly carry the man and woman, so you lurch the boy over your bad shoulder, which fires with pain. Mercifully he stays silent. As the murderers revel in the cellar you creep down to a stair that leads up to a trap which opens into the parking lot. You find your car and unceremoniously toss the boy into the back seat. To your surprise you find Keebler sleeping in the driver's seat. You shove him aside as gunshots ring out behind you, shattering the rear window. You slam on the gas, bash through the front gate of the casa and peel out onto the highway. You drive through the night as far east as you can get until you run out of gas at the town of Kanawyers, in King's Canyon National Park. You fuel up with a wad of bills, but the road ends here. Keebler begins to wake up and notices the boy asleep in the back seat. "What the gently caress!? Why is there a kid in here? Where the gently caress are we?? Is that blood on your arm?" You slap him. "You got me into some weird rear end cartel sex thing. You're lucky I brought you and not just the money." "I didn't get you into that, you said you knew the place." "Does the name Greg Roof mean anything to you?" You take out the key. "Or this?" His eyes widen. "Greg Roof was one of my professors at UCLA. I don't recognize the key, though. Why? And why do you have a bundle of wine bottles?" "Nevermind that. Let's blaze, and then you tell me a shitload more than you have." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Jessica was posting these things on instagram about Frank Holon," Keebler says with his head against the window. "How he was super cool and enlightened. She dropped out of college to...take a year off, to travel, you know...kids do that. She was going to Europe, she said. She spent a night with a friend in Sacramento, then went to the airport. Or so her friend said. Lisa. That is all I know, I swear." At that moment the boy begins to wake up in the back seat, groaning in pain, and a white pickup truck screeches to a halt fifty yards behind you. Six masked men with automatic rifles jump out and start jogging toward you. You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 26, 2020 05:21
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Sep 26, 2020 07:25
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"Do you have a pair of sunglasses?" You ask Keebler. "What? I-- yes, why?" "Give them to me. It is about to get bright." You put them on and step out of the Land Rover. You walk back to the cashier and pay for another ten bucks on pump two. Then you slice the gas hose with your knife and let it spill all over the pavement. You get back into the car, slam the gas and do donuts around the parking lot, burning up clouds of smoke. The gunmen start shooting, slamming bullets into your car. The boy starts screaming and Keebler thrashes around trying to put on his seatbelt. You whirl the wheel straight and drive through the smoke, running over three of the six men, then brake. "Keebler, get out and grab a gun," you shout. "And whatever ammo you can find." The reedy man half falls out of the car, and picks up a rifle and a few magazines from a half-dead man upon whom your front tire is parked, and lunges back into the Land Rover as you peel around and gun it. You fling your lit zippo out the window, igniting the gasoline. The explosion turns night into day for a brief moment as you speed away. Keebler screams even louder than the boy as you drive up a hiking trail, bottoming out a few times over the rocky ground. After about an hour or so, you realize a tire is busted. As you get out to swap it for the spare, Keebler fumbles with your weed, and tries to help you. "No way we are getting over these mountains, man. No way. Who the gently caress is that kid?" He starts laughing hysterically. You slap him with your good arm. "We camp here for a while. You take first watch. Help me with this tire first. Look for anyone coming up behind us." Keebler hefts his AK-47. "It's all good dude, I got this thing." As he mutters to himself, stoned as gently caress, you slip his phone from his pocket and search for Jessica's Instagram. You use your burner account to like all of her posts, and find one selfie of herself on a boardwalk with two men, one tagged as Greg Roof and the other as Mary Holon. The location isn't visible. You and Keebler finally finish swapping the tire, then drive on through the day and the next night until you reach the Onion Valley Campground, at which point you are out of gas. The boy has remained silent during this time. You can sort of go any direction. >_
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Sep 26, 2020 21:11
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ChubbyChecker posted:>inventory Inventory: clothes, three bottles of wine, two empty bottles, pocket-knife, half-pound of weed, rolling paper, Keebler's AK-47 and 60 rounds of ammo, sunglasses, Land Rover, basic repair kit, strange key Also Keebler's phone
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Sep 26, 2020 21:40
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At dawn you drive up north, along a rugged trail, crossing Independence Creek twice and climbing rocky slopes. As you slowly drive along a barren ridge, you roll a huge blunt and blaze. "Is there some loving reason why we are going north?" you ask Keebler as you puff and pass. "The goddamn hiking trail ended hours ago and if we get bingo for fuel we're hosed." Keebler closes his eyes and gestures at the sky out the window. "Shhhhhhh....Earth-Mother will show us the way. She will find my daughter." "gently caress you. Give me your loving phone." He does, but there is no reception. Near evening, you ford a small creek and come to a narrow valley bordered by high rocky mountains. You siphon a bit of fuel out of the tank. The boy helps you start a flame with a stick and a boot-lace. As the moon rises, the three of you have a decent fire going in the middle of nowhere. You toke hard and hold it until you think your eyes might explode, then exhale and drink an entire bottle of wine. The boy sits silently, leaning against the car. Keebler keeps loading and unloading the rifle with one eye shut. "Imma find us a stag." You gently take the gun from him and let him pass out in the grass. As you continue to smoke, the boy watches you. "Kearsarge Peak," he says at last. "The mountain there to the north. We're ten miles or so from the highway. My mom and dad used to take us camping here. My cousin and me, and friends sometimes." >Kill someone >Question boy >Whistle a happy tune >Do something else >_
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Sep 27, 2020 03:51
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During the night, you hear a dog barking. You take the rifle and look around, only to find a dude camping nearby. He has a greyhound, a tent, and a 1977 Triumph Stag convertible. It looks like it has been there for some time. You pat the dog on the head and hail the man, a scraggly fellow who eyes you warily. "I wont waste your time," you say as you hoist your rifle, "but I'd like to buy your car. 50,000 is enough?" "Are you some backwoods freak?" he asks. "I think we both are at this point. I'm Kurt Poon, PI. It's phonetic." You flash your badge. He looks at it for a bit. "Fine enough. What are you doing here?" "I'm looking into UFO sightings at Kearsarge Peak. Know anything about that?" He turns around and looks up at the peak. "Huh, well no, I don't know anyth--" You smack the back of his skull with the butt of your rifle, knocking him out. You walk back to your Land Rover, drive it up to the Stag, chain it to your tail, and tow it over tough ground down a narrow river valley. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A day later at dawn you blast through a farmer's fences dragging the '77 Stag onto Highway 395 just south of Blackrock, California, and pull into a gas station. The boy is asleep in the back seat. Keebler goes in to the station to get coffee while you pump gas. You notice Keebler's phone buzzing and pick it up because you don't give a poo poo. "This is Keebler," you say. "Motherfucker, you were supposed to get back to me a week ago. Where the gently caress is my money?" You stall a moment while you toke. "I needed to get the key first. And the boy." "The boy?? I don't want the kid, I want the man and the girl. gently caress the rest, throw them in the ocean. Listen bitch, get your rear end to Reno and unlock your poo poo, I want it by tomorrow, or else I will fist gently caress you to death." The man hangs up just as Keebler walks out of the store. >_
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Sep 27, 2020 09:29
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"Sup Keebs," you say as he slides into the car. "Were you, at some point, going to explain to me why you arranged your daughter's kidnapping?" He stares at you. "What I never...what?" You punch his teeth. "Who were that man and woman? Who is the girl? Who is this boy?" Keebler spits out a tooth. "I don't know what you're talking about. I gave you the money." You punch him again in the eye. "Shut the gently caress up. I'm no idiot. You got up to some shady poo poo and got your daughter involved, then you show up giving me a shitload of money to find her?" You punch again, breaking his nose. "What is in Reno? Why are gunmen chasing us? I've committed several felonies in the last forty-eight hours for this case so you better start giving me some loving answers." Keebler only whimpers and groans through this busted teeth. You turn around and shout at the boy. "Who the gently caress are you? Why were you in that cellar?" The boy is terrified, but says, "We were going to visit my sister, my aunt and uncle and me. In Sacramento. But those men came into our hotel room and put bags over our heads and said they would kill us if we shouted." As you look through the shot-out rear window you see two cop SUVs approaching and pulling into the lot. >_
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Sep 27, 2020 23:11
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The cops pull up to a diner about fifty yards behind you. Four exit the trucks and walk inside. "Kid," you tell the boy, "go into the mini-mart and see if they have any toys. Specifically a cop badge and uniform. Like a Halloween costume, you know?" He nods, and you give him some cash. "Get some matches too." You casually walk back to the '77 Stag and pop the hood, making a show of inspecting it while slicing the fuel line, and sucking on it to start a siphon. This you tuck down into the engine well so that it starts draining onto the pavement under the car. You shut the hood. The boy comes back out with a plastic package containing a comically small fake cop get-up complete with a plastic badge that says FIGHT COP USA. With fierce effort you manage to get the pants on, though they squeeze your balls like bike shorts and the shirt will not button. The cap fits well enough. "Keebler, get in the driver's seat and get ready to peel out." "What are you wearing?" he says as he stares with his good eye. "The hell are you doing?" "I'm not sure." You start toward the diner, lighting a blunt with a match. You toss the match onto the seat cushion of the Stag, and unhook that car from yours. Two cops are having a smoke outside the diner; you approach them. "Afternoon boys," you call out while blazing. "What are yall up to?" They look oddly at you, but one says, "Someone blew up a gas station at the state park after a gun battle." "Oh drat, was he driving a Land Rover? I already caught the bastard. Farmer called HQ this morning saying some lunatic towing a '77 Stag busted through his fence, I found it parked here. Driver looks beat to poo poo. Acting all crazy, talking nonsense." "Is that a blunt you're smoking?" says the other cop. "Oh, hell yeah son, I'm only a few days from retirement, what's a little RnR, know what I mean? Heh heh, yeah, been lettin myself go a bit the last few years. But let me show you the guy. He's passed out in the driver seat, I couldn't read him his rights. Waiting for the amby to show up-- oh poo poo, that car's on fire!" You sprint toward it and pass it just as it explodes, diving through the shot-out window of the Rover. Keebler starts gunning it while screaming as flames lick the back fender. You force the boy to the floor of the back seat while grabbing the AK and shooting indiscriminately out the back window into the wall of fire and black smoke. You shout at Keebler to floor it north up the highway. You can sort of go any direction. >_
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Sep 29, 2020 02:49
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California is so loving big I can't keep track of where you are. ------------------------ Keebler blasts up the highway through the increasing smoke of wildfires, darkening the skies. At Big Pine you have him turn east onto 168 and after an hour arrive at Deep Springs College.  You order Keebler to pull off the road into a little turn-around several hundred yards from the little complex. You see some buildings in the distance, cattle in the fields, and some people on horseback far away. "The fuzz are looking for my Rover now. Drive it into the trees as far as you can, then we'll ditch it. Kid, grab the money case." You ransack the Rover for anything valuable, and the three of you set out into the woods until you find a ramshackle shed where you bed down for the night. >_
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Sep 29, 2020 06:54
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You toke while leaning against a wall and flipping through Keebler's phone. The boy hugs his knees, while Keebler lolls his head back and forth. You look for any mention of Reno in the history or folders, but find none. It seems the businessman did a good job of wiping data. You long for the days when you had devices to get around that. You do find a short notepad file with nothing but the name Frank Holon and the sequence 2912. "Kid, my arm is still hosed up. Climb a tree as high as you can and tell me what you see about those buildings. I'm going to go take a turbo poo poo." The boy disappears out the door. Keebler stirs. "Mr. Qwan, please let me go. I will do anything. I don't care anymore, I just want to go home." "That doesn't surprise me. You know if I let you go the guys from Reno will find you and kill you. Or maybe I will first." He crawls toward you. "I'll suck your dick. I'll gargle your balls and finger your rear end. Just so you let me go." This you ponder. "I'll keep that in mind, but these tight pants are cupping my scrote quite nicely at the moment." "Am I your prisoner then?" "You still have poo poo in your skull that you haven't told me yet. I took the case and your money, and I mean to solve it. I've never taken a case I didn't solve. Now I'm going to drop a deuce. Stay here or I will kneecap you." You sling the rifle over your shoulder and wander out to find a suitable bush to poo poo behind. As you wipe your rear end with a strip of cloth, you hear rustling behind you. You hike up your cop shorts and see the kid emerging. "There is a stable and barn," he says, "a silo, and some other low buildings. Those are the ones with lights. There are a dozen or so people drinking around a bonfire. I think I heard music." You pluck a cork out of a wine bottle and take a swig. "I think it's time you told me your name. I'm not going to keep calling you 'kid'." He kicks at the dirt. "Tim Roof." He suddenly looks up at you. "Are you really looking for UFOs? What if one came and took us all away?" ".....You could say that, Tim. I suppose. Let's go back to the shed." You can go any direction. >_
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Sep 29, 2020 23:41
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You and Tim go back to the shed and collect Keebler, who mumbles as he resists. You and Tim gather up the remaining wine, bottles, weed, wrapping paper, ammo, and cloth you tore from the Rover. The matches and knife you tuck in your pocket, and keep the rifle over your shoulder. "Come on Keebs, we're adventuring," you say as you kick him. You all climb over the nearest fence and head to the lit buildings, worming your way among the docile cattle chewing their cud in the dark. By Keebler's phone, it is about 1:20AM. The ground is dry and crumbles underfoot. You reach a gate, walk through, and approach a group of ten or so young people, drinking from a keg around a large fire. You adjust your balls in the cop shorts. They all turn to look at you. An older woman approaches. "Who are you? This is private property." You tip your cop hat at her, and flash your badge. "Kurt Qwan, PI, ma'am. We had a breakdown on the road. Looking for this young lady." You show her the picture of Jessica on Keebler's phone. All in attendance look at the photo, but none claim to recognize it. A man walks out of a nearby building with a saddle-bag on his shoulder, and eyes the three of you up and down. "Are yall folks OK?" "Do we look like we're not?" you say. Keebler mumbles, "I've never been betterer." Someone turns up the music and the young people resume carousing. The woman says, "You can stay on campus until the wildfires die down. We won't go out of the valley until they do. But we have plenty of beer and weed." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For four weeks the three of you stay at Deep Springs College, Keebler healing his busted nose while you heal your arm. The sky is awash with the fumes of wildfires. Tim's bruises from his brutal beating at the hand of the cartel dude slowly fade. With the help of the students, you teach him how to ride a horse, shoot, and work on vehicles. As part of your morning routine you toke, drink some booze, then jog up the nearest hill and back with Keebs and Tim. You teach Tim some card tricks, and other sleight-of-hand. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_9FyTiq3SA After four weeks Tim seems to stand two inches taller. Finally, the fires abate. The college offers to drive you wherever you want, within a reasonable distance. >_
Zippy the Bummer fucked around with this message at 06:11 on Oct 1, 2020 |
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Oct 1, 2020 06:05
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You are here.  
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Oct 2, 2020 02:49
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You and Tim are hanging out around a fire listening to a dude strum a guitar under the full moon. Six students are sitting around, bashed drunk. You nudge Tim. "Ask them if they want an adventure." He does. "Why should we?" asks guitar dude. "We're fine here." You swallow half of your last wine. "I bet this boy here can get an ace of spades out of your guitar. If he does, you come with us. If he can't, I'll give you all my weed." --------------------------------------------------- Flip a coin
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Oct 3, 2020 03:40
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Thanks to the generous participation of GRINDCORE MEGGIDO, HGB and TheAardvark, a timely result has been reached. ------------------------------------------------------ Tim places his hand over the guitar, closes his eyes, and hovers it around. The group around the campfire grows deathly silent. Then Tim snaps his fingers and produces a two-of-diamonds. "Very impressive," says the young guitar player. "Now how's about that weed?" "gently caress!" you shout. Tim looks ashamed, while Keebler writhes in the dirt like an animal. "I'll buy the weed back for 50,000," you beg. "No way man," says one of the other students. "You know how often we see pot of this quality? It stays with us. You can have a twelve of Hamms though." You stomp off in a huff, trailed by Tim and Keebler. At the college hq, you meet a staff member and arrange for them to drive you south overnight to Death Valley. Your trio pile all your poo poo into the back and climb in. Keebler grabs your shoulder. "Why the gently caress are we going to Death Valley?" "Why not? No one will be looking for us there, and even if they find out we went there they will figure us dead. It's like crossing a stream with hounds on your trail. Now have a beer you dumb bitch." You throw all your weed out the window as the truck pulls away from Deep Springs College. The young man drives for a few hours through scrub desert with wildfire smoke obscuring the sky. After a while going down route 190 he drops the three of you off at the gate of Furnace Creek in Death Valley National Park. The driver laughs as he peels out and waves goodbye in a cloud of dust, finally dissappearing over the horizon. Your party stands on the baking hot pavement. No one is around. You hold the rifle and ammo, along with the money-case. Keebler holds the beer, and cracks one open. It is disgustingly hot and frothy, and makes him gag. You can go any direction. >_
Zippy the Bummer fucked around with this message at 02:53 on Oct 4, 2020 |
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Oct 4, 2020 02:50
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Oct 4, 2020 07:39
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"Holy God, it's hot," Keebler says, instantly soaked in sweat. "I think my shoes are melting." Tim uses Keebler's phone to look up a map of the village. "There's a golf course, a resort, a gas station, a Jeep rental, a bar and a taco place. And an airport. Plus some oth--" "What we need to do first is this," you say. "We need drugs, and I need some synthol. Tim, hot wire that golf cart and we'll jog along beside it like we belong here. Put all our poo poo on the seat. Except for the gun, I'm keeping that. Let's go to the gas station." Your party ghost rides the golf cart a short way down the road, hopping onto the cart just as it pulls up to the lot. You go in and find the teenage attendant asleep behind the counter, so you help yourself to whatever, including several ounces of weed from his pants pockets, and leave a hundo bill in his belt. As you walk out of the shop with an arm-full of water bottles, snacks, weed, beer, and cigs, you come face to face with a highway patrol officer. You nod to her. "Just confiscating some contraband, along with this gun," you say. "Been scoping this place out for a while now." She takes off her motorcycle helmet and looks at your cop shorts. "Seems like you would want something more breathable in this heat. As it happens, I was about to question this kid concerning a drug ring in the area, but it looks like you already did." "Oh, yeah, he spilled his guts. Said they were operating out of that Oasis Resort down the road. I was on my way there with my...confidential informants." "Might be they're bringing it in by plane," the officer says. "I think I'll come with you. drat, they gave you a loving golf cart? Budget cuts are a bitch." You dump your loot into the back of the cart and drive down a ways to the Oasis Resort. You tell Keebs and Tim to wait in the lobby while you and the officer have a look around. You slip away to the swimming pool near the outdoor bar and find some burly looking men with absurdly huge biceps, and score some synthol off them, which you inject into your scrotum until it looks like you are smuggling a pair of apples in your comically small child sized cop shorts. You pound a few shots of vodka, then find the highway patrol officer again. "I read the room, and I hear that the cartel is based way out in the desert, posing as a Borax-mining operation for cover." >_You can go any direction
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Oct 6, 2020 02:48
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loving hell that was difficult
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Oct 6, 2020 02:50
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"Alright boys," you sway as the booze starts to hit, "you hang here by the pool and have a nice time. Keebs, if you try to run I will hunt you down and eat your pancreas. Officer...woman here and I are gonna scope this place out more." "What is your name, anyway?" you ask her as you walk toward the bar. "Frocktom," she answers. "You're packing some heat for a man as old as you." "The AK is evidence." You order a full bottle of whiskey, and blaze, offering the blunt to Frocktom. "I could cuff you right now for this," she says, exhaling, "and I'm ninety percent sure you aren't a cop. But out here, who gives a poo poo?" You wake up in the middle of the night naked next to Frocktom in the golf course fairway. A half-moon floats overhead. You grope around for your clothes, pull them on and shake her awake. Keebler and Tim are sitting in a sand-trap nearby, playing cards and drinking wine. You stumble over. "Give me that fuckin wine. You give wine to kids you freak?" You kick sand in Keeb's face while a naked Frocktom tries to cuff a nearby shrub. The night is almost pleasant. Tim drunkenly announces that he has downloaded Dipshit Diamonds 2020 onto Keebler's phone. You blaze and take the phone from him. "This rear end in a top hat Noloh2592 keeps sending me on rat quests," Tim slurs, "and asking me if I know Roddy. I tried to block him..." "What username do you have?" Tim squints at the phone. "KeebLore47." You jerk on your tiny cop shirt, slap your cap on, and sling your gun over your shoulder. You can go any direction. >_
Zippy the Bummer fucked around with this message at 05:26 on Oct 7, 2020 |
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Oct 7, 2020 05:24
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mexican willie posted:>open sarcophagus i dont undeerstant what this refers to
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Oct 8, 2020 05:23
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"Keebs, Frocktom, help Tim build a sand castle. That should keep you all occupied. I have important work to do." You walk a hundred yards away into some trees and fire off a few rounds to test the gun, while taking a nice long piss. You spend a half-hour doing some serious doxxing to discover this Noloh2592's identity. You find a few things: He claims to be a male teenager He's had an account on Diamond Dipshits 2020 for six months, and has a diaperfur account on DeviantArt There is a reddit account noloh2595 that mainly seems to upvote posts in since-banned incel subs. This account claims to live in Marigot on the island of St. Martin. Noloh2592's Diamond Dipshits 2020 account profile simply lists Wyoming as his location. You search Keeb's phone for cross-references, but nothing comes up. You go back to the sand trap and see an expertly crafted sand structure that looks very much like the hacienda in Morro Bay. Your party is passed out in the grass. It is 3AM, 10/11/20. You can go any direction. >_
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Oct 10, 2020 23:36
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i forgot google maps had a satellite image feature
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Oct 11, 2020 23:02
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You make a note on the phone to save the two usernames, and kick everyone to wake them up. You give the phone back to Tim and tell him to keep playing the game. "See if you can get any more info out them, but don't give any away." He nods. "Frock, put your uniform back on. Keebs, gather up the wine in the sack. We're going to the airfield." The three adults blaze while Tim plays on the phone. Your party makes its way to the Airport Road. Its a bit of a hike but at least it is cooler in the night, and there is no traffic at all. "Can you commandeer an airplane?" you ask Frock. "Can you fly one? Yes I can, the manager at the field is a Park Ranger and a little bitch, he won't stop me." You arrive at the small airfield complex. Only a few security lights, and the runway lights, are on. The four of you walk in and find an office that seems to have some official capacity. Through the glass, you see a man jerking his hog in the glow of a computer screen. When you tap the AK on the glass, he looks up in a panic and hikes up his shorts, then opens the door. Before he can say anything, Frocktom flashes her badge. "Officer Frocktom, California State Police. This is..." "Special Investigator Kurt Qwan, and two confidential informants. We're taking an airplane. In pursuit of...suspects." He looks back and forth at all of you, then at your giant nutsack. "I'll have to check with HQ--" "No," you say as you light a blunt. "Your communications are tapped. These are crafty ones." "I've never felt better," mutters Keebs. The ranger fiddles with his hands. "I have three Cessna Skyhawks here, fully fueled. I suppose I could give you the keys to one," but Frock has already retrieved a set from the office. Your party walks out to the nearby single runway where three planes are parked. Keebs jogs up to keep pace with you. "Do you know how to fly a plane?" he coughs. "No, but I bet Tim does." Tim doesn't look up from the phone. "I've played Microsoft Flight Simulator a lot." "Good. The three of us are too high to figure it out anyway. Keebs, help Frock stow all our poo poo in the baggage thing," you say as you unlock the door and hand the key to Tim. The kid starts the plane easily, before anyone else is on board, and begins to taxi. As he wheels it about and guns it, the three of you sprint alongside grab the door handles and leap inside. The Cessna takes off into the pre-dawn darkness. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Barring any trouble, this is how far you can fly with your weight load.  >_
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Oct 12, 2020 23:30
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Tim flies toward Vegas through a clear southeast night. Your party is challenged by several air traffic control officers, but you ignore them. Tim falls asleep, so you take the controls from the co-pilot seat. Keebs and Frock are passed out in the back. After a while the glow of Vegas is unmistakable, and you angle toward it. Keebs wakes up from time to time to ask you if you know what you're doing. "Shut up, I know what's up and down, fucker." You tune the radio to a country rock station. Tim wakes up, and stares at the phone. "Noloh2592 has challenged me to a tournament at Mandalay Bay," he says. "Has he said who he is?" you ask, as you roll a blunt. "No. He just wants me to fight him at the Diamond Dipshits 2020 tourney." You toke hard and do a barrel roll as you descend toward the Vegas strip. You slip between several tall buildings, then point to I-15. Frock and Keebs wake up and retch as the plane rolls over and over. You slow down and dip to one hundred feet over the highway, which blessedly is mostly clear of traffic. "Take over and land this bitch," you shout to Tim, as you smash open your window and start firing your AK into the dry Nevada night. Tim lands the plane on the highway, and drives it into the parking lot of the Mandalay Bay, where he parks it. "Keebs, Tim, stay with the plane," you say, "Frock, come with me." Frocktom walks in front, holding out her badge. No rent-a-cop or actual police officer confronts you, even though they eye your automatic rifle and costume. Furries, cosplayers, larpers, and nerds of all sorts are swarming about in a huge convention hall. You see a big banner with "Diamond Dipshits 2020" draped over one path, and head that way, muscling to the front of a line of diaperfurs. At the opposite side of the table is an unassuming man with a pickachu hat. You can go any direction. >_
Zippy the Bummer fucked around with this message at 05:29 on Oct 15, 2020 |
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Oct 15, 2020 05:26
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You slap a bundle of money on the table, 2,000 dollars. "I want in the tourney." Pikachu man looks at the cash. "You don't have to buy in, you just had to have won in the meets." "Whatever. I'm bribing you, you dumb bitch." Pikachu man takes the money and stuffs it in his costume. "Take this name tag. You'll be taking Ryoku555's spot in the first round. Go down that hall, there. It's about to begin." Someone in a fox fursuit begins to rage in indignation as you and Frock walk down the hall and into a large open room with rows of tables and computers. You find Ryoku555's place-card and log in as KeebLore47. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I need to look up how this works so I'll post part 2 later
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Oct 16, 2020 22:54
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You take your seat, with Frock behind you. The first round begins in ten minutes. The stench of sweat and Mountain Dew is palpable. You look around and listen for someone claiming to be Noloh2592, but everyone is in costumes, eyes locked on their screens.
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Oct 16, 2020 23:22
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 With round one over, Noloh2592 and ImpossibleBurgler move on to face DoggoPupper and PropaneProducts, respectively. You notice a woman dressed as a mermaid and someone in a smiling Simba costume hooting in triumph. Meanwhile you begin your battle with Frank. It's coin flip time. Flip a coin and post the result. Or I or the mods will do it for you. >_
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Oct 17, 2020 00:11
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 DeMonGrrl defeats Rick(fromNudeweb) to advance against Noloh2592, who knocks out DoggoPupper after a long fight. ImpossibleBurgler prevails over PropaneProducts to advance to the semifinals. You and Frank are in a knock-down drag-out brawl.
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Oct 17, 2020 01:13
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Frank goes up by three points after completing a quest before you. You engage his party in battle and notice his character replicating over and over. You stand up and shout "which of you is Frank? Show yourself you loving cheat!" A balding man in spiked goth armor approaches through the crowd. "Frock," you say, "go buy some gin from the bar and bring it back." The big man picks up a folding chair and smashes it over your back. Your numb shoulders bear the brunt of it well as you bring up your rifle and smack him in the face with it. A gimp with a bondage apple in his mouth trips over a table while the mermaid and the simba furry wrestle with each other. Goth dude spear-tackles you to the floor. Somebody smashes a light fixture over his back. Pikachu man runs in and is immediately punched in the face by the mermaid. The whole room erupts into chaos as you struggle up and press a button on your keyboard that kills Frank's character. You win the match while kicking him in the throat. The gimp body-slams Pikachu man through a table, smashing a computer in the process. Tim returns with a bottle of gin, which you start swigging. Frock is nowhere to be seen. You shatter the empty bottle over goth-dude's head, crumpling him to the floor. You notice the Simba furry hurrying out of the room. You grab Tim. "Follow that freak, but don't get noticed." Tim nods and sneaks out. Frocktom comes back with some security gaurds and arrests a few people. You fire your rifle into the ceiling to restore order. Apparently DeMonGrrl, the mermaid, defeated Noloh2592, who you assume is the Simba furry, so you are up against ImpossibleBurgler, who appears to be the gimp with a bondage apple. You look toward the exit, wondering if you can slip away, but a crowd has formed, shouting "KeebLore! KeebLore!" You light a blunt and toke. 
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Oct 17, 2020 05:07
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 ImpossibleBurgler narrowly defeats you, then easily beats DeMonGrrl to win first place. You win bronze, awarding you an all expenses-paid three-day trip to Atlantis Resorts in the Caribbean. As the rewards are being announced, you run out of the room to the exit through which Simba-Guy and Tim left, Frock hot on your heels. You go down a short stairwell that opens into a parking garage, which is mostly empty. You and Frocktom scan the place briefly, then walk out into the darkness. The plane is very obvious under the parking lot light, with Keebs standing next to it. You approach him. "I didn't do anything," he says immediately, plainly drunk. "Tim came by and told me to tell you he was following a lion man. He ran off that way," he says gesturing to the east. "I tried to stop him...." You can go any direction. >_
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Oct 17, 2020 05:58
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Escape from Vegas Part 1 ----------------------------------------------------- You tell Keebs and Frock to stay with the plane, and sprint through the vast Mandalay Bay complex to the east. Your artificially enlarged scrote and rifle prevent any cops from accosting you. Any furries or cosplayers that get in your way to stiff-arm or clothesline. Passing through The LIGHT Vegas Nightclub you order a bottle of bourbon and swig it as you jog along, finally reaching the Ruby Blue lingerie store, where you stop and retch up the entire contents of your stomach. The bored young woman staring at her phone behind the register says, "I'm not cleaning that up." "Did you see a furry and a kid in here lately?" you ask, as you take another drink. She continues tapping on her phone. "I've seen lots of furries in here. There was a kid, I had to toss him out. No-one under 18." "Which way did he go?" "How the gently caress should I know? I getting ready to close up." But for the two of you, the store is empty. You stagger outside across several curving roads to Las Vegas Boulevard, where you encounter a trio of bearded young men discordantly pounding on bongo drums. "Any of you fucks see a dude dressed as a lion, or a kid, running by here?" "Nah man. Got any weed?" says one, "I like your costume." "Yeah, I got weed," you say as you light a blunt, then punch him in the face. "Dude, you totally punched Brian," says another, right before your upper-cut breaks his jaw. The third drum player runs away. You are at the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Mandalay Bay Road. You can go any direction. >_
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Oct 17, 2020 23:42
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Escape from Vegas Part 2 --------------------------------------------- You belch a stench of stomach acid, and turn back toward Mandalay Bay, wandering for a while until you arrive at the Eyecandy Lounge. The doorman asks for ID, so you head-butt him and blow up his nose. There are many people dancing on a flashing psychedelic floor with videos of writhing women on the walls. You make your way to the bar and order a huge refillable daquiri, then down it while looking around. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGMwmY_RaRI A pale young man with heavily studded lips and thickly painted eye-lashes approaches you and strokes your rifle with a finger. "Need any ammo for this big boy?" "Do you know where to get any?" you ask, as you gesture for another refill. "I know where to get all sorts of things." He looks you up and down and laughs. "I think you do, too." "Show me." You take your glass as he leads you to a back room behind the club floor. Several people are passed out on couches or stoned as gently caress. Before he even asks, you have a bundle of cash in your hand. You ponder as you roll the remains of your blunt back and forth in your lips. "150 rounds, in mags of 30. Do you have any NVGs?" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UpHK69PYZXw Transaction completed, you hang the goggles around your neck and stuff the mags in your belt. "You seen someone dressed as a lion around here? Or a kid?" "Lots," he says. "Furries come through here all the time when there is a con. No kids, though." You get a third refill and wander out down to PRESS takeout restaurant and cocktail lounge. You place your rifle on the counter and demand all of their food, to be dumped into a garbage bag. This they do. You wander back to the boulevard and sit on the curb, drinking your booze and eating a combination of sushi, pretzels, and caviar. A young man in a white top is playing "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" at a nearby bus stop. You listen for a while as you drink and eat, then lurch to your feet and toss some money into his guitar case. Then you punch him in the face. Someone grabs you by the shoulder. It's Tim. "You should have given me money for fare. The Simba-guy, or girl, got in a taxi. They drove up the strip. I couldn't keep up." "drat, yeah, I should have thought of that." >_
Zippy the Bummer fucked around with this message at 02:38 on Oct 18, 2020 |
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Oct 18, 2020 02:35
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You flash your fake badge at the next cab to drive by, punch the guitar player again for good measure, and pile in with Tim. "Follow that cab!" you shout at the driver, who is obviously high. "My man, what cab?" the driver coughs. "Just go north." You blind-toss the phone to Tim. "I bet Simba is still hooked into the tourney network. See if you can track them. Facebook or whatever." You climb into the passenger front seat and roll down the window. "Man, I don't think you're supposed to be up here," the driver says, as he drives north along the boulevard. "Simba just placed an order at Fatburger's for takeout," Tim says, "a couple kilometers north, on the right." "Kilometers," you say as you finish your daquiri, "this ain't England, mate. But you're doing good kid. Keep on our prey. We'll get a pelt tonight." At your command the driver weaves in and out of traffic and squeals into the lot of Fatburger, where the headlights illuminate a tall person in a lion suit, holding a take-out sack. "POLICE FORCE," you shout out the window, waving your rifle. Simba holds a hand up to shield their dead plastic eyes, gazing at you over a rictus smile, then turns to run. "RUN THEM DOWN! RUN THEM DOWN!" Tim yells. "I dunno little man," the driver says as he tokes, "I might get in trouble for that." Simba tries to dive into the back seat of another cab which is pealing out of the lot. You fire a burst at the back right tire, causing the cab to swerve to a halt. That cabbie scrambles out and runs terrified into the night. The lion abandons the cab and starts sprinting east toward the brightly lit parking lot of the MGM Grand. Your cabbie gives pursuit weaving through parking lots, over curbs, and across the grounds of MGM Grand, throwing up gouts of dirt in the grass. Simba goes in and out of trees and parked cars, just out of reach of the headlights, one of which has smashed. "His phone just placed him at Topgolf Takeout on Kovan Lane," Tim says. "Tim if you keep this up, I might have to start paying you." The cab gets mired in the wet grass and mud of the lake on the golf course. "You better tip me good, man," the cabbie says. You toss him a few hundos and jump out with Tim, who outpaces your old rear end. At Topgolf Takeout the two of you quickly look around. Up the street, you see Simba climb onto a bus, several hundred feet away. Tim quickly looks it up and finds that the bus is bound for Crystal Springs, Nevada. >Try to catch bus >Find another cab >Try to contact Frock >Shoot at bus >Some combo thereof >Something else >_
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Oct 19, 2020 21:19
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 08:14 |
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Inventory check, because I can't remember: clothes, POLICE FORCE badge, PI cert, pocket-knife, a few ounces of weed, rolling paper, matches, Keebler's AK-47 and 149 rounds of ammo, sunglasses, strange key, strips of cloth, $67,200, briefcase, cert for Caribbean vacation Also Keebler's phone
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Oct 20, 2020 01:59
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