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It's been a while since the last Choose Your Own Adventure, so I'm starting up another one, inspired by a certain popular television series that aired some years ago. Rules:- Vote for the letter choice you want to see happen.
- As per usual, write-in options are allowed though I may request further elaboration.
- If there is a tie, try to resolve it among yourselves first. If you can't I'll flip a coin or choose arbitrarily.
Scenario:Our story begins in the United States at the turn of the 21st century. You are Balter Black, a 50 year old high school chemistry teacher going through some tough times. Your teenage son is handicapped, recent budget cuts have cut your salary in half, and your stay at home wife is pregnant with another child. To make matters worse, the doctor has diagnosed you with testicular cancer, estimating that you have only a few months left to live. There's a surgical operation that might increase your lifespan, but it's not covered by your insurance. The bottom line: You're going to need a lot of money, and fast. How are you going to get it? A. Take up a second job B. Start selling drugs C. Better Call Paul!
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D. Go to Thailand for a sex change and plastic surgery and become a teenage pop idol.
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C
Gotta meet our old friend Paul first
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C wins. Better Call Paul! You know just the person to call: Paul Hoodman, Esquire – Attorney at Law. You’ve seen his cheesy TV commercials hundreds of times, and if there’s any truth to them he’s a top notch lawyer who can get people out of the stickiest situations. You pick up the phone and dial the number. A bored sounding woman picks up, probably his secretary. “You’ve reached Paul Hoodman & Associates. Mr. Hoodman will be with you in a moment, please hold.” Hold music starts playing, which you recognize as Paul’s signature jingle, a lo-fi guitar beat that cuts off abruptly before repeating. You can almost imagine a 3D model of his face zooming in and out in your mind. After a short wait the music stops and you hear a man’s voice, a bit rough but very friendly in tone. “This is Paul speaking, what can I do for you?” You explain your situation, and Paul is very understanding. “Jesus, that’s rough buddy. And you’ve got cancer where? Oh, your wife must be devastated.” Actually, you haven’t told your wife or anyone else about your diagnosis yet. But that’s not important right now. “Don’t you worry Mr. Black,” Paul says, “I can help you solve your money troubles. All we need to do is file a lawsuit against someone who wronged you in the past. Once we win the case, the court will order them to pay out the big bucks to you in damages. Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve won suits for my clients worth millions of dollars. Millions!” “The only catch is, it might take some time to get that payout. I know time is a concern for you, so if you’re just looking to make a quick buck, I can hook you up with some odd jobs instead. More like gigs, really. Short time commitment, big payoff. So what’s it going to be?” A. lawsuit sounds good Paul, but who can I sue? B. Give me an odd job!
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C. Inquire about more creative, accident/insurance based "solutions".
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C. Time to get rich quick, thats always worked out well for everyone.
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C wins. Should be F for fraud. Paul’s voice picks up. “Oho! I didn’t take you for that kind of guy, Mr. Black. I don’t normally provide these ‘solutions’ to my clients, but I can make an exception for you. Now, before we can discuss the details further, you’ll want to put me on retainer for that attorney client confidentiality. You know, just in case something happens. My uh, standard fee is $1000. Francine can set up an appointment in my office sometime next week, and you can bring a check or money order made out to Fire Station Lion Associates. That’s the name of my loan-out.” You can probably scrounge up $1000 with some budget cuts in other areas. A. Sure, let’s set an appointment. B. It sounds like you’re trying to run a ‘solution’ on me right now, no thanks. [Hang up] C. That’s too expensive for me, can you go any lower? D. o you take American Express? I get 5% cash back on all purchases. E. If your ideas are that good we’ll make way more than $1000, why not just waive the fee entirely?
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F.ear that I'm low on cash right now. Can I pay you $100 to establish the confidentiality on record, and then work off the remainder by helping you solve a problem or two?
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F. This is the best I can do.
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F-mega! “Hm, you’d be doing more work in that case but if you’re okay with that, we have a deal.” You’re transferred back to the secretary and make the appointment. ------ The next week, Balter was in jail you show up bright and early at the address you’ve been given for Paul Hoodman’s office, but it’s not quite what you expected: It looks like a store in a middle of a strip mall, with bright, garish signs all over. Besides the big red “Better Call Paul”, you can’t quite make out what they’re supposed to say. Entering through the front door, you find yourself in a small, dingy waiting room with faded wallpaper and wood paneling on all sides. It’s filled with all sorts of folks: a harried mother trying to calm her crying baby, a large tattooed man in a black leather vest, an emaciated couple with ratty hair and bags under their eyes. You try to ignore their stares as you make your way to the secretary, who sits in an enclosed booth with a glass window. This must be Francine. She’s a plump lady wearing bright red lipstick, loudly chewing some gum as you announce yourself. “Mr. Black? You’re right on time,” she says, continuing to chew. “I’m afraid Mr. Hoodman is still busy with another client, but I’ll let him know you’re here. Why don’t you take a seat while you wait?” You turn back, only to find that all the chairs are currently occupied. “Oh, uh, I guess you can’t,” Francine says, blowing a bubble. “We don’t have any more chairs, sorry for the inconvenience.” A. sk the tattooed man to give up his seat, you need it more than he does. B. Ask one of the emaciated couple to give up their seat. C. Ask the mother to give up her seat. D.emand to see Hoodman immediately, how dare he keep you waiting?! E. Just stand, no need to make a fuss.
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F. Slavic squat, we're squatters now.
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G. et on the ground and simply lay there in front of the receptionist, face-up spread eagle. Laugh, relishing the thoughts of how it's come to this, Balter Black has sunken to talking shop with the infamous sleezy Paul Hoodman and can't even get a chair to sit in. Should've gone to Dripp'n Timmy instead.
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F. Start drinking some vodka as well to get rid of jitters.
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H. Keep standing and talking with Francine, hoping to glean some more information about Mr. Hoodman through casual conversation
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F is for the fatherland. You decide to neither stand nor sit, but take a third option – the squat. You’ve always held a great admiration for Eastern European culture, hard men making do in harder times, and their signature pose is simple yet elegant allowing one to rest without touching the floor or needing a chair. You lower yourself into a crouch. Unfortunately you didn’t bring any vodka to drink, and instead of a black and white track suit you’re only wearing a plaid shirt and khakis. Nevertheless the other occupants of the waiting room continue to stare at you, except for the baby who continues to cry. After about 10 minutes, the door at the back of the room opens, and a young man with spiky hair walks out, giving you only a brief glance before exiting the building. He looked vaguely familiar, but before you can think on it further Francine calls your name, telling you that Paul is ready to see you now. You stand up with a bit of difficulty and walk through the back door. Paul Hoodman’s office looks a lot more respectable than its exterior. The floor is carpeted and bookshelves line the walls. The man himself sits behind a rich mahogany desk. A giant copy of the US Constitution is plastered on the wall behind him, and a giant smile is plastered on his face. “Welcome, Mr. Black, and sorry again about the chair situation. We used to have more before some psycho cut them up with a knife. Something about being an eyesore. Here, let me make it up to you.” Paul pulls out a cushy leather armchair and pats the back. You take a seat, though you might have preferred to continue squatting. “Alright, let’s get down to brass tacks,” Paul says, “You have my fee?” You hand him $100 in cash, split into several bills. Paul counts it up and pockets it quickly. “Fantastic. From here on out our conversation is privileged. Now what you’ve been waiting for: the solutions.” You lean forward, listening attentively. “We’ll start off with a classic, what I like to call the Slippin’ Timmy. We have a mark, that’s our victim, target, whatever you want to call it, a person of wealth. While they’re driving, you suddenly pop out into the street and pretend to be hit by their car. The injury will look totally real, I can make up a pretty convincing broken leg. You’ll moan and groan on the ground in pain, and guilt trip the mark into doling out some cold hard cash for your trouble. I’ll do the work of finding a suitable mark, you just need to show up and follow my instructions.” “Although…” Paul looks over your aged frame. “No offense, but you might not be able to handle a fall, even a fake one. Is there someone younger that could do it?” A. Yes, I have a teenage son. B. I can squat for 10 minutes straight, I can handle this. C. I don’t like this one, what else do you have?
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B.ut also bring up the possibility of concealing pads / head protection to soften your fall
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B. Even better, I'm a little tired of this whole "living" thing, and if I go I can cash on life as well.
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B. Nothing can go wrong with this plan at all.
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B is the winner. You most certainly take offense to Paul Hoodman’s comment on your physical ability, offering to get up and demonstrate it right here and now. Paul backtracks quickly, hands in the air. “Okay okay, there’s no need for that, sir. I see now that you’re fit as a fiddle. If you’ll just sign this personal injury waiver we can get started.” This would be a good time to recall that you currently have no life insurance policy of any sort, and with your cancer diagnosis the premiums would be through the roof. If you were to die in the near future your family would be left destitute. But that’s why you’re doing all this, right? You ask about protective gear, and Paul tells you he’s got it covered. He pulls open a drawer in his desk, revealing a massive collection of cell phones. “Woops, wrong one.” He closes the drawer and opens another. “There we go.” Paul pulls out a full set of roller skating ‘armor’ including knee pads, elbow pads, gloves, and a helmet. “See, you’ll actually be riding a scooter, giving you a perfect reason to be wearing this stuff. Here, try them on.” The sound of ripping Velcro fills the office as you put on the gear. It’s a little tight and looks rather silly, but you’ll be well protected from a fall. A car crash, on the other hand… Paul explains the plan to you. “You show up at the street the mark will be driving through with three things.” He points at you. “Number One: your protective gear. Obviously you should already have put it on.” “Number Two: the scooter.” He takes out a “Blade” brand children’s scooter. “Number Three: this cell phone.” He hands you a glittery pink flip phone with a small sunflower charm. “That’s so we can keep in touch, take it home with you.” “As for me, I’m Mission Control, monitoring the situation. I’ll call you when the mark is approaching, give you a 2 minute warning. Once you spot their vehicle, roll out into the middle of the street on a collision course. Right before the car is about to hit you, jump off and throw the scooter out in front of them. It’ll sound like they hit something, and what they’ll see is you on the ground. That’s when you squeeze them for all they’re worth. If you think they’re holding out, threaten to call the cops. You can pull out the cell phone and start dialing, but you’ll actually be calling me.” Paul holds up a finger. “I have to reiterate that you should wait until the verrry last second before it hits, gotta make it look real. Don’t worry about the scooter getting totaled, I can get another one on the cheap. Sound good so far?” It sounds very dubious to you, but in for a penny, out for a pound as they say. You return home without incident and are having dinner with your family when a ringtone plays from your pocket: it’s the cell phone Paul gave you. You excuse yourself and answer in another room. “I’ve found a mark,” Paul says. “Can we do this tomorrow?” Wow, that was fast. Unfortunately, tomorrow is a school day and you’re a teacher, so you ask if you can do this another time. “Well, I only know for sure that they’ll be in the right place and the right time tomorrow,” Paul says. “If we don’t do it then, I can’t say when the next opportunity would be. It might not be convenient for you then either.” You think of your family back in the dining room. They need this money, and the sooner you can get it the better. You tell him you’re in. ===To Be Continued ===>>
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The next morning, you’re back in Paul Hoodman’s office after having called in sick to work. You’re not the only one to have made sacrifices for this to happen, as Hoodman apparently cleared out his entire morning of clients. You start putting on the protective gear while the lawyer explains the remaining details, practically buzzing with excitement. “The mark is a middle aged Caucasian woman, driving a silver Rolls-Royce. You know what those look like? The car, I mean. I assume you know what a woman looks like, ha ha ha.” You don’t laugh along with him. He pats you on the back. “Lighten up, that was a joke! Anyway, it’s a four door sedan with a big square grill on the front, painted all silver like my suit here.” Paul is dressed up nicer than usual, his suit jacket indeed bearing a shiny silver pattern. “You’ll be intercepting her at Broad Street, right before the intersection with Daisy. It’s only a few blocks from here, you can walk. One last thing: here’s my secret ingredient to making a realistic looking injury.” He takes out a few plastic packets filled with red liquid. “This here is fake blood, got it straight from the same people that supply Hollywood. Movie magic! You slip this under your knee pad, then when you fall, make sure to land on that knee. It’ll instantly burst and squirt ‘blood’ everywhere!” After securing the blood packets in your right knee pad, the two of you leave the office and go your separate ways: you to Broad Street, and Paul to watching the mark, wherever that is. Your nerves are at an all time high as you push the scooter along on foot, thinking about all the things that could go wrong. You feel the blood packets pressed against your knee. What if they burst too early, and you’re left walking around with a fake bloody mess? What if the car hits you and breaks your leg for real? You can’t even walk then. You arrive at the intersection of Broad and Daisy, thankfully without any issues. It seems pretty quiet, not too many people around. The pink flip phone rings, and you answer. “Two minute warning,” Paul’s voice chimes. “Get ready.” Oh boy. You put one foot on the scooter and look down the road where the mark will be coming from. After what seems like an eternity, you spot a silver Rolls Royce sedan rounding the corner onto Broad Street. The tint on the windows obscures your view of the driver, but this must be it. Your heart is racing as you scoot out into the road, the tiny wheels rattling along the pavement. HOOOOONK! The car’s horn roars as it rushes towards you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. Huh, it doesn’t look like it’s slowing down at all. Do you... A. Stick to the plan and try to stop right on the edge of the car’s path. B. Lunge forward into the path, gotta make it look real. C. hicken out and run away. This isn’t worth risking your life over!
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03-27-2024, 08:55 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-27-2024, 08:57 AM by Xenoe.)
D. Balter ain't a physics teacher, but its time to put the practical applications to the test. Start screaming like a lunatic, and jump up and towards the direction of the impact to do a SICK 360 as the car flings Balter over. ![[Image: image.png]](https://i.ibb.co/1Zq3Qq1/image.png)
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E. nter a fetal position on the ground and start laughing/crying.
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B) even if I die my family can sue this rich person.
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B wins.
HOOOOOOOONK!!! As the silver sedan races towards you, so too does your mind race to figure out what to do. The road is pretty empty. What if the driver intends to swerve aside at the last moment, completely missing you? That would ruin the plan. A grazing blow might not provide enough force to have knocked you down and broken your leg, either. No, you need to make absolutely certain there’s a direct collision. You lunge forward, boldly putting your entire body in the car’s path. In your haste, you neglect to consider how this might hurt you. Crunch! The grilled front of the Rolls-Royce slams into your body, sending you flying away. The world spins as you hit the pavement, bouncing several times before rolling to a stop face down. Splitting pain racks your joints and indeed your entire body as you struggle to gain your bearings. Your hands make contact with the harsh grit of the black asphalt that fills your field of view. Warm red liquid seeps into your pant leg. The packets definitely burst, but you fear there might be some real blood mixed in with the fake. The car… where is the car? You don’t see it, nor anyone else nearby for that matter. They must have just kept driving after hitting you, the bastard! You try to get up, or at least sit up, but it hurts just to move. Your vision blurs, and you feel woozy. You’re no doctor, but you suspect that you might be seriously injured, and soon lose consciousness. A.ccept your fate B.etter call Paul! C. all 911 D. Ignore the pain and try to find the driver. They have to pay!
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C.all 911 first, to get the ambulance coming.
Then B.etter call Paul to see if he can get there faster. If he shows up first, then it might be alright to trust the shady lawyer. And you'll save money on the ambulance ill.
After that, inspect yourself and see how bad the injuries are.
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Going with whatever the SilkScarf is having
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Same as SilkScarf but A.lso lay down and stare into the sun.
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The accursed combo option wins. Trying to move as little as possible, you reach into your pocket and take out the glittery pink cell phone Paul gave you. Miraculously it still seems functional after the collision, perhaps it’s a Nokia brand. You manage to dial the three digits needed to contact emergency services, and the call goes through. In between pained breaths you explain the situation, taking care to describe the car and how serious your injuries are, but leaving out any of the questionable context. Once the operator confirms an ambulance is on the way, you hang up and dial Paul Hoodman’s number, which is no trouble as he had it stored on the phone’s speed dial. You try to tell him how the car got away and you’re bleeding out on the ground, but another wave of pain goes through your body, slurring your words. It’s unclear how much gets through before the phone slips from your grasp and everything goes dark. “Balt? Balter?! Baallteeeeer!!!!” Later…. *beep* *beep* *beep*You open your eyes to the light pastels of a hospital room. The bed you’re lying on is raised at the head, giving a good view of the rest of your body. Gone is your protective gear, your shirt and pants, even your underwear, replaced by a green gown and several white bandages. Your leg is in a cast, suspended in midair by a thick strap hanging from the ceiling. How ironic. A plastic tube is attached to your wrist, feeding a clear liquid into your body from an IV bag hanging from a stand. On either side of the bed are various pieces of beige colored medical machinery, producing the beeps and boops that roused you to consciousness. The door opens, and a brunette nurse pokes her head into the room. “Ah, you’re awake Mr. Black. How are you feeling?” Mentally, you’re not doing so hot, but you report that your physical pain is a lot less than it was before. “Good, that means the painkillers we administered are working. Welcome to Mercy Hospital, sir.” You know that to be the name of the public hospital in this town, and the nurse confirms that you were brought here by ambulance. “You’ve suffered a concussion, internal and external bleeding, and a few broken bones. We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but any vigorous motion might open your wounds so please try to avoid that. You’ll need to stay here overnight, possibly longer if the situation doesn’t improve.” You look out the window to see the afternoon sky. Well, there’ll be plenty of time to lay down and stare at the sun now. “Is there anyone you’d like me to contact at this time?” the nurse asks. A. Yes, my wife and family. B.etter Call Paul! C.an you release me early? I can’t afford a hospital stay.
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04-08-2024, 11:19 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2024, 12:08 AM by Kaede.)
B. Better call my lawyer, if only to figure out how to get out of paying for this hospital visit.
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B wins. You decide to contact Paul Hoodman to get some answers and figure out your next course of action. The nurse doesn’t bat an eye at your request. About half an hour later, Hoodman shows up at your hospital room, looking pretty flustered. The nurse leaves to give you two some privacy. “I came as soon as I heard,” Paul says. “How bad is it?” You relay what the nurse told you, and what happened on the street earlier. He winces. “Ouch. Well, I didn’t tell you to jump out in front of the car. But man, I also did not expect her to just hit and run you like that. You’re a very lucky man Mr. Black. Not just for surviving, you can thank my protective gear for that, but that I was able to reach you before the ambulance did to remove the blood packets and other evidence that would make this anything but an open and shut case. That’s right, I’ve already started a lawsuit against the driver.” Paul takes a file out of his briefcase and shows you a photo of a woman with a black bob cut in business attire. Her features which might once have been considered attractive are locked into a cold, almost cruel expression. “This is the woman who hit you: Getsy Mettleson. She and her husband are in, hah, let’s call it the financial industry. You might have read about them in the paper.” You vaguely recall the name being mentioned in some story about an alleged scandal, though none of the details as you never found such gossip interesting. “The public opinion will be heavily against her, and that’s not even including the criminal charges. They’ll be able to pull her license plate from the traffic cams at the intersection, she’s not getting away with this. Her lawyers might try to drag things out but they know they won’t stand a chance in court. We’re looking at a six-figure settlement, minimum. Cha-ching! I see this as an absolute win.” He smiles and holds his hands out. Six figures, huh. $100,000 alone would cover your hospital bill with plenty left over for your family. Maybe you could even try that procedure for the cancer. Paul’s not finished talking, though. “There’s just one small matter left: remember that favor you owe me for waiving the majority of your retainer fee? The $900 discount?” He looks over your bedridden body. “I don’t see how you can keep up your end of that now.” A.gain with doubting my physical ability? Looks like you need a demonstration. B. Your plan nearly got me killed, I don’t owe you anything. C. You can take it out of the settlement. D. Perhaps my wife or son could do it instead.
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E. Ask Mr. Hoodman how much a story like "famous businesses woman nearly kills cancer ridden man while driving" would be worth to the tabloid media, and more importantly how much said business woman would want to keep such news out of the tabloids.
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Hm, I'm tempted to follow along with E, but would releasing this story to the media too early weaken the case/settlement?
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04-15-2024, 08:45 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-15-2024, 08:45 AM by Xenoe.)
F. depends on what you want to get done right? tell me first and I'll see if I can make any "arrangements", personal or otherwise.
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Nah. it's blackmail them with going to the media about this. that way there might not be any court cases or waiting for the money.
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04-18-2024, 05:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-18-2024, 05:31 PM by WeedWagon.)
P. retend to faint but not before ripping a smelly gas cloud from your cheeks (not the mouth ones)
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E is the winner. You suggest the possibility of threatening to go to the tabloid media with your story. Paul Hoodman puts a hand on his chest. “Mr. Black, you are a man after my own heart! That was just what I was thinking. That will really put the squeeze on her. The only drawback I can see is that if she holds out and we have to make good on that threat, you and your family will undergo some media scrutiny and be in the public eye for a bit.” He holds out his other hand to the side. “I suppose I also owe it to you to explain what kind of favor I need done. Here’s the gist of it: another client of mine has some, well, important equipment that they don’t want to be found for a while. All you would have to do is pick up the stuff and keep it in a safe, secure location until he can take it back. Oh, and obviously don’t tell anyone about it. Even better if you don’t know what it is for that plausible deniability.” “But you seem like my kind of guy, Mr. Black, and you’ve already been through a lot, so I’m not going to force you to do anything. How do you want to proceed?” A.ctually, I can make arrangements for that favor. B.lackmail it up, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. C. Porque no los dos? D. Let’s just proceed with the lawsuit as normal.
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E.nquire how big this equipment is.
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C. We are men of our words.
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Cool factor:
CE wins the day. Your lawyer’s eyebrows go up at your desire to both blackmail Getsy Mettleson and carry out his favor. “You’re very ambitious for a man who’s bedridden. I’ll get started on the media threat after I leave. As for the equipment, it’s gonna be all packed into one box about yea big.” He holds his hands out about 3 feet apart. “Make sure you’ve got plenty of space in the car. The box’ll be on the heavy side, but the stuff is also a bit delicate so handle with care. I shouldn’t need to say this, but don’t expose it to extreme temperatures, hot or cold. I can tell my client to have it out to be picked up as early as tomorrow afternoon.” “As for who’s going pick it up, that’s up to you. Just let me know when you figure that out and I’ll give you the exact location. Or if you change your mind, that’s fine too. You know how to reach me.” Paul takes his leave. At this point you decide to notify your family of your situation. Half an hour later your hospital room receives three visitors: First through the door is a teenage boy with a dopey face hobbling in on a pair of crutches: your son, Balter Junior. Unlike you he doesn’t have a broken leg but has had difficulty walking since birth. “Hi Dad,” he says in his slow and slurred manner. “Whoa, did you turn into a mummy?” he remarks on you being covered in bandages. Next is a middle aged woman, her plain blue blouse stretched thin around her pregnant belly: Myler Black, your loving wife of two decades. “Honey? We came as soon as we heard, are you alright?” Her eyes widen as she looks over you, and she holds a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god, what happened to you?” The last is a tough looking bald man in a police uniform with a bulging belly of his own, though his is due to a steady diet of doughnuts rather than being pregnant. This is Shank Raider, your reliable brother-in-law. “He got hit by a car, Myler, that’s what happened to him.” Your family crowds around your hospital bed with worry as you tell them the events of today, with some alterations. Shank shakes his fist in the air. “It’s not in my jurisdiction, but if it were I’d make sure the guy who hit you never saw the light of day again!” “If there’s anything we can do for you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Myler says. “Yeah Dad, we’re here for you!” Balter Junior chimes in. Anything, hm? Looks like you have three potential candidates to do the pickup right here. A.sk your wife. B.alter Junior is up for the task. C. Shank can take care of it. D.o it yourself.
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Fixing Good CYOA
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