NUMBER 0: Is everybody hydrated?
NUMBER 4: Yessir.
NUMBER 1: If hard as a fucking rock counts as hydrated, absolutely.
NUMBER 2: I’m ready to go next.
NUMBER 3: I disagree. I think actually I will be coming next.
NUMBER 1: If we’re talking about “coming next,” that’s definitely going to be me.
NUMBER 0: If anybody’s curious, I drank a whole bottle of Gatorade on break. There were like six different blue flavors when I went shopping, and I definitely bought the wrong one, because that blue cherry bottle tasted like flu medicine.
NUMBER 2: And you drank the whole thing?
NUMBER 0: That’s right. I’m a thirsty guy.
NUMBER 3: So am I going next?
NUMBER 2: Wrong. I’m going next. Tell him, Grand Master.
NUMBER 0: So… Number 2—
NUMBER 2: What did I tell you?
NUMBER 3: Dang. Can’t believe Rob is getting snubbed.
NUMBER 0: Number 2, roll a muscle mass check for me.
NUMBER 2: Huh? Come again? What for?
NUMBER 0: Why don’t you roll and see?
NUMBER 2: I don’t trust this.
NUMBER 0: Your muscle mass is 9. Just don’t roll a 1 and you’ll be good.
NUMBER 2: Fine. Middleburg Nickelhead, introduced via strength roll. Give me the D10.
Number 4 hands the D10 over. Number 2 quickly rolls out a 9.
NUMBER 2: I super win. What now?
NUMBER 0: Middleburg Nickelhead, you wake up to the shock of pain from your hands crunching hard on the edge of a large steel beam. You just barely managed to land a grip on this thing, and are direly dangling off of it. And as you look around, you see what looks to be the bottom side of a bridge right above you—and a large river below you.
NUMBER 2: Oh.
NUMBER 0: Yeah. So you were just falling off of this bridge, and just barely managed to catch yourself, at the horrendously painful expense of your probably-broken fingers. Like, the rush of pain as you were caught was so extreme that you can barely feel your hands anymore aside from an uncomfortable tingling.
NUMBER 2: Wait, then I didn’t want to do that. What the fuck? I’d rather have fallen in the water than destroyed my fingers. I need those.
NUMBER 0: Unfortunately, that wasn’t the choice you were making. In the second that you woke up, you were already committed to trying to grab that steel beam.
NUMBER 2: How did I make that stupid decision while I was unconscious?
NUMBER 0: I can’t say, unfortunately. That’s just not known at this time.
NUMBER 2: So was the only way out of that by rolling a 1?
NUMBER 0: I mean, if you rolled a 1, you still would trying to grab the steel beam. I guess you would have just slammed your hands against the beam and definitely broken them. That wouldn’t have been nice.
NUMBER 2: So my choices there were to break my fingers or break my fingers?
NUMBER 3: Poor Nickelhead, handicapped from very start.
NUMBER 1: I’m glad I’m not the one losing my digits.
NUMBER 4: I think I should also be glad.
NUMBER 2: Ridiculous. But I’m safe, at least.
NUMBER 0: Yes. You are safely held on to the edge of the steel beam.
NUMBER 2: I’m pulling up. How’s the water?
NUMBER 0: The water is… quite a ways down. Mind me asking for a depth perception roll to judge that?
NUMBER 2: I do, but I’ll oblige. I have to roll a 6.
Number 2 lobs the D10 to a face value of 7.
NUMBER 2: That’s a win. What am I looking at? And while we’re at it, what do the rest of my surroundings look like?
NUMBER 0: Well, it’s not a small river. I’d pin it at about 500 feet wide. And as you look around, you can see that it’s going through a pretty rural farming-based small town. There’s all kinds of hills, plains, pastures in the distance, lots of grass, and a handful of big barns scattered around. Not too many trees, except for on the right end of the bridge, where a narrow pocket of trees beside the road unfurl out over a couple hundred feet into this forest wall. As for the river below, you can see some eroded land along the coasts that imply that the river is a couple feet below its usual elevation, but it’s still flowing strongly enough and the view under is obscured enough that it seems safely deep to drop into.
NUMBER 4: Do I spy the scenery of Lyman right now?
NUMBER 2: Just how in bad shape are my fingers right now? Were they cut deeply?
NUMBER 0: That catch definitely left visible black and purple dents on your fingers and tore up your skin, but it doesn’t seem to be bleeding. Your fingers are surely fucked up, but it hasn’t turned into an open wound, so long as you don’t play with it. Your iron and wood-laced skin has prevailed. Water might make the marks sting, but likely nothing more.
NUMBER 2: And there’s no solid underbridge infrastructure that I can climb back up?
NUMBER 0: Not without using your fingers.
NUMBER 2: Well. One loud gulp later, Middleburg looks down and trembles a bit at the large body of water below him.
NUMBER 3: Oh dear.
NUMBER 4: Oh wait, I remember, Middleburg is afraid of water!
NUMBER 1: Damn. You’re in the shitter now.
NUMBER 2: Middleburg is not afraid of water. He has wood literally built into his physiology, and water makes him soggy. It’s not hydrophobia, it’s an actual weakness.
NUMBER 1: Copout. Middleburg is afraid of swimming.
NUMBER 2: What’s a potential path to climbing to land?
NUMBER 0: Well, there isn’t really a path to walk up. There are beams to either side of you that you could climb up like a pole, but I wouldn’t wager doing that without using your hands.
NUMBER 2: But I’m assuming I landed on an arch under the bridge, which should arc back down to land.
NUMBER 0: You actually landed on a pillar of beams going straight down to the river. There is no path but up or down.
NUMBER 2: What is a complex bridge like this doing in farm country? Don’t we build cities around rivers this large?
NUMBER 1: Which way are you going, western man?
NUMBER 2: I’m thinking.
Number 2 thinks.
NUMBER 2: Okay. So, climbing down the beams requires hands, so that’s off the table too. Then it’s down we go.
NUMBER 0: You’re jumping?
NUMBER 2: It’s a rough choice, but it’s necessary. Middleburg is worried more damage, but has nerves of steel and will always make the hard choices between saving his own life or ending somebody else’s.
NUMBER 0: Did you just suggest to me an integrity check?
NUMBER 2: No.
NUMBER 0: According to my notes—Checks papers—you have an integrity of 5.
NUMBER 2: This is just about character. I’m not talking about stats.
NUMBER 0: Just saying, if you wanted a character with more willpower, you should’ve given them more integrity.
NUMBER 2: What are you even checking for? I don’t have a choice but to jump here.
NUMBER 4: Integrity is literally your ability to make hard choices.
NUMBER 2: So what am I going to do if I fail the check? Sit up here until I'm a skeleton?
NUMBER 1: First character death, baby!
NUMBER 2: No. Be serious here.
NUMBER 0: Any number of things could happen. But it’s a 50/50 roll, so why don’t we just see how it goes?
NUMBER 3: What if a bird knocks you over the edge?
NUMBER 2: You’re full of shit. But I’ll do it.
Number 2 begrudgingly grabs the D10 and gives a spirited roll. He gets a perfect 10.
NUMBER 2: There. A 10. Now can I do this?
NUMBER 0: Go ahead.
NUMBER 2: Alright. Here goes. I swallow all my misgivings, take a deep breath, and slide right off the beam and pencil-dive into the river.
NUMBER 3: Wow.
NUMBER 4: Congratulations. Fear conquered.
NUMBER 1: My guy Middleburg fucking destroyed his fingers saving from a fall into the river just to jump in minutes later.
NUMBER 2: Well I’m the one making the decisions now. And I’m not fucking stupid.
NUMBER 3: But you are jumping into a river without checking it for sharks, though.
NUMBER 2: GM, am I landing in a river full of sharks?
NUMBER 0: You go—Mimics falling off the bridge into the river with his finger, making whistling sounds—for about three seconds right into the river water, not hitting the floor or any sharks. The water is very musty though, and definitely not safe to drink. And yeah, your finger wounds are stinging with the contact.
NUMBER 2: Then I’d better get the hell out and swim to shore.
NUMBER 0: Yes. It takes a second to swim back to the surface, but you make it up, with the river dragging you downstream.
NUMBER 2: I’m swimming. Swimming like mad. I'm using the momentum from the river current to point me to the closest coastline.
NUMBER 0: That is certainly an excellent idea. Does Middleburg have the brain activity to match?
NUMBER 2: Come on.
NUMBER 0: We aren’t in D&D territory, my friend. This is quite different.
NUMBER 4: We’re roleplaying, Dickelhead. Play your role.
NUMBER 2: Nickelhead’s brain activity is 4.
NUMBER 0: Then go ahead and roll a 6.
NUMBER 2: I should be allowed to have good ideas.
NUMBER 0: It is a good idea. Can you translate it through the game, though?
NUMBER 2: You’re gonna keep jerking me around, and I'm going to keep rolling dice to satisfy you.
NUMBER 1: What’s this about jerking?
Number 2 makes a lazy D10 roll with one hand, landing a 2.
NUMBER 2: I should be allowed to have good ideas! Let me have this!
NUMBER 1: The amount of L’s being taken today is unfathomable.
NUMBER 0: Middleburg unfortunately doesn't have your same epiphany of using the river current to his advantage, and swims in a frenzy to the left riverbank, whereas the river could have directed him to the right much quicker if he had known that.
NUMBER 3: He’s gonna be like an angry little wet cat when he gets out.
NUMBER 4: We’re all being humiliated in our own ways today, Number 2. Don’t take it personal.
Number 2 is blankly staring into space.
NUMBER 0: After little over a minute of scratching at the water, Middleburg washes up on the eroded coastline, crawling through gooey sand and papery scraps of garbage to safety.
NUMBER 4: I wasn’t even able to sit up in a car. This is far less embarrassing for you.
Number 2 remains silent.
NUMBER 0: The good news is that you’re safe…!
NUMBER 1: Middleburg was in need of a bath anyway. I see this as a win.
NUMBER 2: I feel my body creaking as I stand up.
Number 4 snorts.
NUMBER 0: There’s a grass hill just ahead, leading to a small field surrounded by the forest with a couple houses chilling by the trees. You can see the full bridge to your left, which is apparently a covered bridge with a wood structure. There are small windows in it that you must have fallen through—or, maybe, got thrown through.
NUMBER 2: I suspected foul play here. I’m going to investigate that bridge. And wipe all the fucking garbage off of me.
NUMBER 0: Unfortunately the garbage here is reliant on paper instead of plastic, so trying to wipe it off just breaks it apart and mashes it, creating an even worse and drippy mess.
NUMBER 3: Eeeew.
NUMBER 1: You’re fucking narsty.
NUMBER 2: Can I just walk to the bridge?
NUMBER 0: You trod off of the coastline and up the hill before you. You shake off copious amounts of water walking through the field, your limbs creaking and jamming the whole way. It’s not exactly a short walk, the river pulled you back quite a ways.
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NUMBER 2: Hell.
NUMBER 0: But you make it. Dripping and slightly cold from the wind, you march out onto the road leading to the bridge, entrenched in the forest. Under the bridge cover, you see a shady-looking gang of seven scrawny and obnoxious young guys, roughhousing around like teenagers. They don’t seem like people of high moral character. Perfect suspects for the crime of throwing a man off of a bridge.
NUMBER 1: You got cleaned out by a group of teenagers. I would be terribly embarrassed if I were you.
NUMBER 2: I’m not fucking around anymore.
NUMBER 0: As you’re staring at these guys from a distance, you hear a car horn behind you. You’re standing in the middle of the road.
NUMBER 4: Oh my gosh, is that me driving by?
NUMBER 0: It’s a pickup truck. Unfortunately no.
NUMBER 1: You didn’t drive through Lyman.
NUMBER 2: We still don’t know that this is Lyman. But I’ll move out of the way.
NUMBER 0: You move, and the truck goes past. It also stops to honk at the gang in the bridge, which makes some of them turn and look in your direction.
NUMBER 3: Oh boy.
NUMBER 2: I’m going to start walking to them. Just to chat.
NUMBER 3: I’d be shitting my pants right now if I was one of them.
NUMBER 0: The guys who saw you, start nudging at the others and pointing at you. With every step closer to them you take, the more panic instills in them collectively. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you know they’re the ones who threw you off.
NUMBER 1: Can we get a popcorn machine in here?
NUMBER 0: All of a sudden, one of them screams out, "Oh fuck! That is him! Run!!"
NUMBER 3: Aaah!
NUMBER 0: And they fucking scatter.
NUMBER 2: I’m getting answers from at least one of them. I’m chasing their asses down.
NUMBER 3: Get ‘em!
NUMBER 0: Just as quickly as they had bolted away, you start charging towards them. And if we could roll body stability to check how much the water damage impacts you.
NUMBER 2: That’s a 4 or higher. Alright.
Number 2 rolls a 1.
NUMBER 2: Give me a fucking break.
NUMBER 0: Yeah, I guess wood does not dry fast. Your problem with creaking limbs has not subsided just yet, and the joints in your left knee completely jam as you start running. You cannot bend it at all, making your running much more awkward and ineffective. But luckily for you, the guys running away aren't quite athletes. You're able to keep pace, even while jammed. Outside of the bridge, the road forks off down three paths into town, and the gang divides down all of them. One of them breaks off to run right towards the forest. So it’s two down each road.
NUMBER 2: I’ll chase down the right path.
NUMBER 3: Get their asses!
NUMBER 0: Making the most of your terrible running posture, you sprint off of the bridge and follow the two guys on the right road. This one veers downhill for a couple hundred feet and next to a field of stalks for a fruit you don’t recognize. It’s like a cornfield, but with more leaves making it bushier. On the left, just a field of hay with a few barns in the center. And as you sprint after these guys down the hill—actually, roll body stability one more time for me.
Number 2 sighs and gives another quick D10 roll. It lands a 3.
NUMBER 2: Can I do fucking anything right?
NUMBER 0: Yikes. With your left leg still jammed, you make a little jump down the hill to gain speed, but your right leg locks up too. You trip upon landing and start rolling down the hill very quickly and violently. You crash on the road, go flying through the air, crash on the road, flip through the air, crash on the road, it’s fucking rough. And when the guys look behind them, they just see you bouncing and failing down the hill towards them, going much faster than they can run.
Number 4 quietly laughs, covering her face.
NUMBER 2: So I’m inadvertently catching up to them by this?
NUMBER 1: You’re going fucking Hot Rod on these guys.
NUMBER 0: As the downhill levels out, you slow down to a more controlled rolling on your side, and can bring yourself to a stop. But you’re way too disoriented to stand up just yet. But as you look around at the spinning landscape, you see the two guys seemed to have scattered off the road. One is running through the hay field towards a barn, while the other must have disappeared in the stalk field.
NUMBER 2: Shit. I’m not testing my luck in a corn maze. I’m chasing the guy in the field.
NUMBER 0: Once you’ve taken the moment to rebalance yourself, you get a clear lock on the guy running across the hay field and take after him. And wouldn’t you know it, your knee has unjammed and you can run normally again!
NUMBER 3: Get ‘em!
NUMBER 0: So you go sprinting after him as fast as you can go, kicking up clouds of dust behind you. He’s fucking scrambling like mad trying to get away, flailing his arms about like a fucking ragdoll. There’s about a hundred-so feet between you, and he has roughly 20 seconds to the barn. You’re within striking distance. Try rolling me stamina + muscle mass.
NUMBER 2: That’s a combined 18. Give me the D20.
Number 4 hands Number 2 the D20, and he gives it a roll. On its face, an 11.
NUMBER 2: Easy.
NUMBER 0: You go full fucking throttle at this guy. You shrink the gap between you and him at dramatic speed, and just as he’s rushing the barn door to get inside, suddenly you’re right there.
NUMBER 2: I’m tackling him through the door.
NUMBER 3: Yeah!
NUMBER 2: As he fumbles with the door knob in a panic, you just fucking leap and body slam him and take that door down with you. The inside of the barn is devoid of all life, though it looks like animals used to be kept here. There’s worn down wooden pens with open gates about a couple meters wide and long, a bunch of rusty tools, messed up hay bales barely held together and scattered on the floor—about what you’d expect.
NUMBER 2: I’m gonna pick this guy up by his shirt, whirl him around, and throw him into one of the pens.
NUMBER 4: Oh my god.
NUMBER 1: I’m sorry, did I just hear you say “meters”?
NUMBER 0: Okay, so you tackled this guy onto his stomach. He just got the wind knocked out of him, and is both gasping for breath and trying to scream for help. You climb off him, flip him the fuck over so he’s looking you dead in your deep-red face, pick him right up by the shirt collar, spin him in circles like a toddler with his legs flying out, and just launch him into a pen full of hay and crusty dirt. He fucking splats against the wall and quietly groans in pain.
NUMBER 4: Holy shit.
NUMBER 3: Holy shit.
NUMBER 2: I throw the gate shut and wait for him to get up.
NUMBER 0: Yup. He’s now locked into this foul-smelling animal pit. After about five seconds of not moving, he suddenly jolts back into action and scampers about before seeing you hanging out there and kicks back against the wall. “—Breathing heavily—Wha-wh-what the fuck do you want?”
NUMBER 2: I lean over. “—In grumbly, almost Russian voice—You threw me off of a bridge.”
NUMBER 1: Huh?
NUMBER 4: That’s the voice?!
NUMBER 0: Oh boy. The guy whimpers back, “Lo-look, we thought you were fucking dead, man! Some other guy told us to do it! It wasn’t our fault, I swear!”
NUMBER 2: “Who’s ‘some other guy’?”
NUMBER 0: “Fu-fi-fuck! I don’t know, man! I’m not the one to ask! I don’t know shit! I fucking swear!”
NUMBER 2: “Who is the one to ask?”
NUMBER 0: “Fucking—uh, fu-fucking—Andrew! Just ask Andrew! I don’t know, man!”
NUMBER 2: “Was he the one you were running with?”
NUMBER 0: “No, n-no, he—he was somewhere else, I don’t know! Just leave me the fuck alone! Jesus!”
NUMBER 2: I stare at him silently. I know what I need to from him, but… he is still conscious. Middleburg sees that as a problem.
NUMBER 0: Oh?
Number 3 gasps.
NUMBER 4: Middleburg! Listen to your better angels! You have places to be!
NUMBER 2: I’m gonna tear this fucking gate down, grab his foot, and throw him to the other side of the barn.
NUMBER 3: Ack!
NUMBER 0: Dear god. So, I’m just going to say you’re plenty safe to do all of that without needing to check for muscle. You’re strong enough as is.
NUMBER 2: But not smart enough as is to do the smart things that I tell Middleburg to do?
NUMBER 0: So you grab the side of the gate next to the hinges and fucking break it off without much fuss, given how ancient the material already is. And you’ve just scared the shit out of the guy. He starts screaming mixtures of “No!” and “Stop!” and “HELP!” as you throw the gate aside and grab for his kicking feet. You pin his leg down with one hand, grab his foot with the other, drag him across the hay as he kicks and screams futilely, and fucking pull him into the air, over your head, and throw him headfirst at a bundle of hay. The top of his crashes against it without bending his neck, and he just sprawls flat on the ground. He is not moving, and you don’t anticipate him to start to.
NUMBER 2: Now that’s what sugars my coffee. Let’s get moving.
NUMBER 1: I can’t wait to meet this guy.
NUMBER 3: I most certainly can.
NUMBER 4: You’re going to be Middleburg’s personal demolition dummy, Pastamoose.
NUMBER 3: Nuh uh.
NUMBER 0: Okay, you leave the barn and go looking across the field where those other two paths are that the others fled down. The four guys are nowhere to be seen in the expanse of farmland and grass.
NUMBER 2: Can I get the brain activity check out of the way so I can properly deduce where they most likely ended up?
NUMBER 0: Do it. Sherlock me up.
Number 2 rolls… a 2.
NUMBER 2: Whatever. Middleburg is fucking stupid.
NUMBER 4: You poor thing.
NUMBER 0: Looks like there’s no Sherlock today. Sorry.
NUMBER 2: I had a whole process in my head. If the guys looked behind before they got very far down their paths and saw that I was chasing someone else, then in all likelihood they took shelter somewhere close to the fork. And now I have to scrap it all. I guess I’ll find whatever house or barn is closest to me and go looking there.
NUMBER 0: Yes. And for future reference, as it was with muscle back there, if your brain activity stat is high enough, you can freely do smart things like that without bother, or if you don’t think of it yourself, just roll a check preemptively and then brainstorm ideas with us. But as I understand it, none of you have brain activity above 5. So I guess forget the first part of what I just said.
NUMBER 4: It’s great to know we’ve assembled the perfect squad of fucking dumbasses to run this campaign.
NUMBER 2: For the moment. We’ll all be dead before it ends.
NUMBER 0: Who’s to say it ever will end?
NUMBER 3: Yeah, we got to make a rocket flight to Earth before the campaign can end!
NUMBER 0: Alright, anyways—Middleburg, out across the fields before you, beside the middle road from the bridge fork, there’s a farm complex with a small half-acre plot where these small bushy crops are growing. If you’re aiming for the closest hiding spot, that would be it.
NUMBER 2: Alright. Pedal to the metal, let’s hit it.
NUMBER 0: You’re gone. You run like the wind. And not just because it’s an especially windy day out here in hilly fields. As the farm comes more into focus, you see a truck parked in front of the main house. You’re not sure if it’s the one that drove past you earlier, but you aren’t sure that it isn’t.
NUMBER 2: Somebody is home, I take it. Or perhaps, hiding in the truck.
NUMBER 0: It could be. And you are now on the property lines to check.
NUMBER 2: Alright. Time to commit a crime. Let’s… let’s look under the truck first.
NUMBER 0: You drop on all fours and spy underneath the pickup. There is nobody there.
NUMBER 2: And inside?
NUMBER 0: You peak around every nook and cranny inside the truck, but it also empty. As is the trunk.
NUMBER 2: Are there any farm tools close by?
NUMBER 0: There’s a large storage shed close by. The gate is shut though.
NUMBER 2: How does it open?
NUMBER 0: Handle on the left side. It seems to slide open.
NUMBER 2: I’m gonna slide it.
NUMBER 0: You struggle to get it moving for a second, then gradually scrape the gate open across the gravel until you can fit inside. It’s dark inside, but enough daylight is creeping in to illuminate the basic surroundings.
NUMBER 2: I need a hoe.
NUMBER 1: Me too.
NUMBER 4: Shut up.
NUMBER 0: A pretty large tractor sits in the center of the shed, with small storage rooms along the walls, two on each side and two in the back. There’s all kinds of construction tools lying around, bundles of tarp, crusted mounds of dirt, wooden boards and poles, a couple cans of water, some small metal cabinets and drawers, but no large farm tools.
NUMBER 2: First storage room on the right. What’s in it?
NUMBER 0: You maneuver to the first room against the right wall, and find a switch to turn on the light bulb dangling from the ceiling. There’s a box of those water cans, a lot of personal mementos, a bunch of small labeled boxes on shelves—basically, no tools.
NUMBER 2: Next room.
NUMBER 4: We’re gonna be here a while.
NUMBER 0: You flick on the light of the second room on the right. And this one… looks like a makeshift office space. But it’s really dusty. There’s a table saw being used as a desk, stacked full of binders and pamphlets and stapled bunches of paper and a couple old solid-color hardcover books that look like they’re used as filler for bookshelves. This is not a room for tools.
NUMBER 2: Goddammit. Go back and look at the first room on the left wall.
NUMBER 0: Course reversed. Going to the first room on the left wall.
NUMBER 4: We’re gonna be here a while.
NUMBER 2: It’s been one minute. Calm down.
NUMBER 0: You flick on the light of the third of six rooms in this shed. This one has a handful of obscure gardening tools, excluding the obvious ones like a hoe or a shovel. There are a couple rakes hanging up, a pitchfork, handheld spades, some gloves, a bucket—
NUMBER 3: Who makes a hoe this hard to find?
NUMBER 2: I just need to keep looking. What’s in the other room on the left?
NUMBER 0: Fourth time’s a charm. You flick on yet another light. And in this one, you find the ultimate surplus of fishing gear. There’s at least a dozen shiny poles of varying colors, a couple tubs of worms, all kinds of specialty baits and lures and tackles, and some kinds of obscure tools and/or weapons for hunting some of the weirder brands of fish out there.
NUMBER 4: What do fish on this planet even look like?
NUMBER 0: Evil.
NUMBER 4: Ah.
NUMBER 2: Alright. Left room against the back wall.
NUMBER 0: We are at room #5, scouring for a hoe for undisclosed reasons. The two doors on the back wall have doors, and you pull open the left one. Inside, there are shelves full of board games, a large wooden stick with a flag and a teddy bear dressed like Rambo attached, and about a half-dozen tent bags and sleeping bags.
NUMBER 3: Rambo teddy bear?!
NUMBER 4: You need to steal that flagpole, Middleburg.
NUMBER 2: I’m busy with something else.
NUMBER 4: Not anymore! That teddy bear takes priority now!
NUMBER 2: There’s no hoe in this fucking room. Show me the last one.
NUMBER 1: Man, we’re really playing Dungeons & Dragons now.
NUMBER 3: I would play the shit out of a dungeon game just exploring farms.
NUMBER 0: The last storage room in this storage shed, still yet to find the hoe you’re looking for.
NUMBER 4: Just give it up, man, it’s not in there.
NUMBER 3: Yeah, if there was gonna be a hoe anywhere, it was in that gardening tool room. Just grab the pitchfork or something.
NUMBER 2: Open the last room.
NUMBER 0: You grab the doorknob of the last room in this shed. The door is locked.
NUMBER 1: Aw.
Number 2 ponders for a moment.
NUMBER 3: How badly do you want this hoe?
NUMBER 4: Just take the teddy bear. You’ll be okay.
NUMBER 2: Somebody is hiding in this room. I’m breaking in.
NUMBER 3: Oh.
NUMBER 0: Well, the wood in the door is pretty sturdy, and the latch is metal. You’re not sure you’d be able to brute force your way through it.
NUMBER 2: Well I’m going to try. Let’s pull it open.
NUMBER 0: So it is. Roll me muscle.
Number 2 gets an easy roll of 7.
NUMBER 0: Hm. You lock an iron grip on the knob, kick a foot up on the door, and pull back with the full force of your body. However, it is a rounded knob, and the tighter you grip it, the more sweat rubs off, and the slippier it becomes. You inevitably lose your grip and fling back, but still keep your footing.
NUMBER 2: Is there a hammer somewhere?
NUMBER 0: There’s a table full of tools next to the shed gate with a hammer.
NUMBER 2: Good. I’m gonna grab that and the pitchfork.
NUMBER 3: Uh oh.
NUMBER 1: Violence chosen.
NUMBER 0: You are wielding a weapon of brute force and a weapon of stabbing. You are armed and dangerous.
NUMBER 2: Take the hammer and start beating the handle.
NUMBER 0: It’s a knob, but sure. You fucking go to town smashing on that knob with—No, hold on. I feel like a round knob would be a hard hit with a small hammer. Roll depth perception first.
NUMBER 2: So be it. Roll me a 6.
Number 2 rolls a 3.
NUMBER 2: That’s not a 6.
NUMBER 0: That’s not a hit. You send that hammer charging down with the force of a missile, but can only land it on the side of the knob and slide off, with no meaningful damage. You try blow after blow against this thing, either missing the knob entirely, grazing the side of it, or hitting the door instead.
NUMBER 2: I’m going into a rage and throwing this hammer across the shed.
NUMBER 0: You turn around, wind up the hammer, and chuck it out to the open gate, missing by a foot an old man holding an iron baseball bat.
NUMBER 3: Fuck!
NUMBER 4: There it is.
NUMBER 1: You done goofed.
NUMBER 0: And… now that we’re at a cliffhanger moment and seemingly nowhere near this bit ending, does a bathroom break sound in order?
NUMBER 1: Oh yeah. I’m going pissing.
NUMBER 4: I might have to do that too.
NUMBER 3: Come on! Not right now!
NUMBER 2: It’s too late. The gang is disassembling.
NUMBER 0: We’ll be back in 10 minutes. Go wash your hands or something.
•••••