Fascinating, usually, but that mode of thought and action has worn on you. That's what's found you in this situation you're in now: your sentimentality. After deflecting your foxy neighbor, you ran your captive basement woman's car back to the lake to dump. Finding her longboard and her juicy private diary in the trunk of her now sunken hatchback, you decide skating home will be quicker than walking and less suspicious than ordering a cab.

Despite being in shape and dextrous, you are no skateboarder. You get hung up on several small cracks and bumps, sometimes rocket-launching the board meters away from you, sometimes slamming you onto the concrete or asphalt harder than a fattened pig in a factory farm slaughterhouse. You ditch the broken board in the street after a Jeep Grand Cherokee runs it over and honks at you, but you can't ditch the bruises and road rash scrapes, or the baseball-sized black eye. Have fun explaining that to the guys at the station tomorrow.

For now, your sweet Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith awaits in your lovely, lonely basement, with no ability to ask if you're O.K., or shower you with kisses on your boo-boos, what with her jaw duct-taped around her head two dozen times or more. You smile and bolt the locks on your door, shutting out the pitch black night and her
gentle winds with a solid grin; bathing yourself in lamplight and hot furnace fumes. Mmm, cedar chips. You inhale bigly. Clicking on the radio mid-song, you pump up the stereo it's hooked up to and fall into the paradise of your corduroy couch. Goosebumps.

https://youtu.be/GDGaultyNIk

You stand up, light-headed, and saunter to the kitchen and gulp down the entire half gallon of freshly lukewarm milk that you had set out on the counter before disposing of Mandie's car. Ahhhhhhhhh, you raspily relay your satisfaction, to no one - perhaps yourself, with an exuberant exhale. No more time to waste. Grin returned, you crank up the stereo another few notches and head straight from your toasty foyer into the dank, dark cellar, slamming the heavy door behind you, music only softly penetrating the door and floors. You float down the creaky wood stairset and sidle up to the dirty visage of your cherie amour.

Blood thickly and slowly leaks down over runny, crusted snot from Mandie's nose-breathing holes, which you made generously large for an unworthy, dumb, college feminist brat like her. She looks like a million bucks hooked up to your rope system like this. No escape attempt this time. No submission either. Just sleep, and strappado. Hrmmm.
(Choose one option and roll 1d20!)(All rolls evaluated as a set, the more players, the merrier!)
>Let sleeping beasts lie. You're going to give yourself some first aid and stop your bleeding before you start anyone else's. Make yourself a snack and take a shower. Decompress. (Give her a kiss on the forehead before going upstairs? Choose Y/N)
>Burn a cigarette out on her ribs to wake her, cut off her tape, take a seat and question her about the diary you found in her car. (Optional: ask what?)
>After that frustrating skateboard journey, you have an urge for a midnight torture surge. She's in for a smackdown. Just... A brutal one. Ugly. But you can't let her see you like this. You'll fashion a mask and cover your wounds with something. (Optional: what?)
>Write in - ???

Welcome, inquisitive innocents; and welcome back, depraved deviants. Let's play ball.
Part 1 https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2021/4819167/
Part 2 https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2021/4880552/
(Not super necessary to read the old stuff. Jump on in!)

Journey home was a pain in the ass, I want to blow off steam. Pillow case with eyeholes will do for a mask the urge for release is becoming uncontrollable

>>5183048
+1

>>5183048
+1

Rolled 3, 8, 20 = 31 (3d20)

>>5183048
>>5183067
>>5183091
Welcome. Don't forget your dice rolls, they're integral to the writing.

I'll roll for these 3 posts and in the future if posts get left without rolls I'll just roll them myself prior to update so I can include more events/dimensions.

Looks pretty solid in one direction but voting is still open for ~12-24 hrs.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>5182920
>Burn a cigarette out on her ribs to wake her, cut off her tape, take a seat and question her about the diary you found in her car. (Optional: ask what?)
Ask her about her taste in music. She's mentioned going to a concert at least once...

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5182920
>Burn a cigarette out on her ribs to wake her, cut off her tape, take a seat and question her about the diary you found in her car. (Optional: ask what?)
What sld said.

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>5183278
+1

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>5183091
>>5183188
Oh shit yeah

Split between mask up and tape off, three votes each.
>Still time for input!!
I'll announce the end result of the vote immediately prior to writing, and do a tiebreaker roll if necessary.

I'll begin writing this afternoon or tonight. Thanks for joining everyone. Some interesting rolls. This trip is gonna be a doozy.

https://youtu.be/hpsTRJnWdWE

>>5183458
Unless someone changes his vote last second, I'll forfeit my vote and let the other side win to keep things going

File: dcc0bf3fea707aca4e49d1b2d(...).jpg (20 KB, 207x365)

20 KB JPG

Apologies for delay, let's continue (vote locked, writing)

>>5184212
Thanks/sorry/my bad.

>Roll 2d10!

Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith is fast asleep in your basement, tied to the floor up above, hitched and fastened by rope and chain.
Like a tetherball you want to copulate with.
Love is in the air.

The sight that first widens your smile's gape is her still arms, still contorted behind her back, still limp and near-paralyzed, looking like sticks of sweet, brittle cinnamon, ready to snap.
Then it's her messy, blood-clumped and teased hair that frays out and over and down like dull, wispy, ebon fern leaves in the dark, dank, primal jungle that is your cellar.
All over, her skin is the peeled-off skin of a flesh-colored grape after you roll it around in your fingers too long and flatten it back out.

Being genteel, you lift her head with a firm fistful of hair so you can see her grimy, broken face. A ball gag is at the ready as you gently cut through the tape around her mouth with your surgical/bondage scissors.
Disturbingly, she looks almost peaceful in her "rest": still sleeping, eyes nestled not-too-tight, forehead lax and supple, a corner of a smile on her still-plump lips.
A... Smirk...?

You feel ridiculed.
Your grin is POW/MIA.
Your head begins pounding rhythmically around your forehead.
Your black eye swells in frustration.
You can feel the cool air passing over your scrapes and cuts like a stormwind.
For a second you consider tending to the wounds, but your train of thought screeches off the rails.
You've gone through a lot of trouble for this cunt and she's laughing at you, telling you to bring it on.
After all your leg work she still doesn't seem to be shattered.
At least that's how you feel in your crankiness.

You disgustedly release her head from your bony fingertips and let her chin bounce down to her sternum. She begins to make waking noises: a snort and an audible saliva withdrawal.
You want to begin immediately, but you don't want her to see you all diced up like a rotten tomato; she needs to think you're invincible.
Turning around, you bring your bumpy, knobby skeleton hands to your face, at first to hide it, and then finishing with a wipe downwards in a frustrated motion. Your right elbow is still really sore from all your falls off the skateboard.
Looking back at the doubly-rousing Mandie for a split second, then forward, gritting your teeth, you march up the stairs heavily and once again slam the door behind you.
You are greeted by a calm, cool, bone-chilling serenade on the stereo you just don't want to fucking hear right now.

Finding yourself in your foyer again, or rather losing yourself in the foyer; in pure frustration, you drive a falcon punch into the campy, blabbering radio; drawing blood and further injuring your hand, but delightfully changing the station. Err... You're not sure what station is on or what song is playing now, in fact you probably just broke your system, but you're glad that happy shit is off. In fact, is music playing at all, or is it just in your head?

https://youtu.be/eYxu2G8zdEw

File: Django-Unchained-baghead-(...).jpg (52 KB, 432x310)

52 KB JPG

Adrenaline circulates your veins like a derby horse on crack cocaine. A fucking Appaloosa. Racing up the stairs, you start searching for a costume to conceal your hideous, bruised skeleton face and other pre-scars. You rip off your torn sweater and tattered black jeans and throw them against the wall near your trashcan. Then you take off your sweat soaked t shirt and wipe your face and body down it, and throw it, too, against the wall. You scan your room, frantically looking through and evaluating hoods, blankets, plastic bags... Then you set your eyes on your pillows. You quickly throw on another set of pants and another jacket, then abruptly wiggle your pillow out of its case, jumping giddily the whole time, Mandie B. in mind.

You begin gnawing and tearing at the material with your dirty fingers, but it's 1100-thread count Egyptian cotton! Darn your tasteful sensibilities! Feeling even more frustrated and incensed, you rip with your teeth and claws even more, STILL to no avail! With all your strength, you tug until you let out a pathetic meep of desperation, fall to the floor and feel your vigor running out of you like sunbaked snakes out of an amateur charmer's wicker basket. The pillow case flutters down like a bird feather or butterfly onto your abdomen.

...

Minutes pass. The distorted speaker still plays downstairs or in your brain. You haven't blinked once. Your breaths are short and fast. You stand up quickly, go to your mattress and sink your head into it so no one hears, and yell at the top of your lungs, once. twice.

Pulling your head up from the softness, your eyes bulge, your teeth bend from each other's pressure. You pull out your knife, cut out holes in the pillow case with your trembling-with-anger hands, and don your new mantle, trying to ignore the last few minutes. You exhale furiously and look in the master bathroom mirror and realize it's quite difficult to make out your form through the tiny eyeholes. You've got blinders on, literally. Tunnel vision. Whatever, good enough...

You romp down the stairs with your braided leather cat of nine tails from Slappy's Sex Shop and your concealing outfit. You pass by your malfunctioning sound system, and this time, rather than slam, you sneak into your basement quietly. Stepping down the stairs, the first story light of your house illuminating your entrance, then slowly shutting itself, leaves you and Mandie in near utter blackness.

"-eEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! Wh-Who ARE YOU????????"

She doesn't seem to recognize you from your new silhouette.
Nyih heh.
>Silent treatment: "..."
>Laugh maniacally: "Neeeee heeee hee he he heh hee nyeh hee heh"
>Shut her down: "Quiet, harlot. Not a peep from you. Don't make yourself do something you'll wind up regretting."
>Entice: "It's me, my love. Why, who else could it be? Don't tell me you were... Expecting someone... Else?"
>Throw on a hick accent: "Just one of yer Daddy's friends, missy. Tell 'im I said herllo. A-hyuck. Sooooo-weeeeeee!!!"
>Tell the truth: "The newspapers... They call me The Velton Violator. Haven't you heard of me?"
>Mock: "Just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. You still want that free puppy? *unzip, reveal and shake your erect junk and sweaty testes at her, then cock your head at her* I've got lots of other offers, you know!! Times TICKING!!" *point to it*
>Write in - ???

You answer, she doesn't. You knee her in the stomach and grab a fist of hair again, she pleads with a scream and you level her eyes on a diagonal plane with yours. She's looking up at you from a height of 4'. She's taller than that of course, but she's in a cramped and hutched position due to il tormento della corda.

Your pillow case flush against your sunken cheeks, pointed chin and bald noggin, you must look like the Grim Reaper. Good thing Velton County Journal didn't get a description of you, or else they'd probably dub you the Grim Raper. Just thinking of all the Skeletor jokes you put up with since middle school telepathically drives your knuckled fist into female ribs. You didn't even control that one. Or the next one in the liver. Or the seven after that. Or the umpteenth whippings from the cat's tail. Or when you threw an empty metal pail at her head. Her protests and cries basically all but a foreign language to you.

Eventually you regain control when you saw you were inches, seconds away from stabbing her in her tight, cute midriff with your surgical scissors. No, no you say to yourself, cold shakes enveloping your body. You put the scissors and the idea down and ball your fists. With a strong gait and strengthened resolve, you fall upon your victim with a hard left elbow to the side of the head, then a knee to the vagina, and when her head falls limp into your gut, you choke it in a guillotine headlock, both arms pulling through her larynx and pharynx and into your solar plexus. She comes back shaking with a grisly, guttural, inhuman-sounding plea, a struggling froglike croak, for you to stop. Fighting all she can. You continue choking her to sleep, almost sure her head is about to pop, then you throw her body from you, and she has trouble grabbing the ground, so she just rebounds, clangs and dangles from her ropes and chains, like a swingset you jump off of at the peak of its trajectory. Metaphorically, you are soaring through the air. You can't feel your limbs through all the joy. You defile the bitch until the morning sun comes up, in delirium.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake, and wipe your mouth of the dried saliva, but your pillow case is still on your head. You recognize that you are still in the cellar. You look to your side and see Mandie, sleeping, no tape or ball gag, again with relaxed facial muscles and a corner of a smile. What the fuck?

*BEEP*

You glance at your watch and realize it's already 7am. YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE TO WORK!

You stand up and try to run up the stairs, but unceremoniously smack your already bruised forehead on the fourth stair of the set. Throbbing again. You slipped on your trousers, which are still around your ankles! You tape her mouth and:
>Leave your pants around your ankles. Hell, take em off. Take the whole day off. Fuck it. Nothing like a "Mental health day" spent with a "loved" one. "Oh Mandieeeee..."
>Ow, fuck. Gotta tend to these wounds, put on a little foundation and makeup to cover these scars, eat a small breakfast. You can be a little late to Pell University today, so long as you make a point to be seen actually investigating your case.
>You're steaming, but you've got obligations. With no more sick days or vacation days, you'll get written up for an unexcused absence! That could have untold consequences for your career and possibly your "hobby". Better just head to work. But that Lon Lemmings case can wait, you've got paperwork to catch up on at the station. Better jet over there, stat.
(Continued)

>Ask Comm'r Higgins over the phone for a day off and/or a new case to work on. Probably won't look good on your record, but if you plead just right, you'll get extra time and opportunity to clean up your mess and lower any suspicions from last night with your neighbors. Shouldn't be too hard, you're adept in the art of bullshitting everybody.
>Write in - ???
(One roll goes to this!)

Tonight, you're scheduled to execute yours and Jimmy's plan to spy on Donavan over a meal. Can't forget to show up to that.

Whatever you decided, you find time to check your mail from yesterday that you ignored.

Utility bill.
Utility bill.
Car bill.
Supermarket ad.
Utility bill.
Real estate ad.
Velton County Journal, from the office of Jenny Jenkins?

Well, well, well, what do we have here?

In beautiful cursive handwriting:

"Dearest detective,

From the entire Velton County Journal team and the community of Velton as a whole, we would like to extend our heartfelt gratitude for your rescue of little Suzy Quackenbush from the only Amber alert in Velton County in the past 8 years.

Heroes like you stand out in our community and make deep, lasting impacts. We wanted to run an interview with you about that story and other aspects of your job, if that's okay with you.

From our last meeting on site at the Quackenbush house, I know you were quick to humble yourself and give glory to your department and chief, but we've been unable to get comment from Commissioner Higgins as of yet, and we want to run a story to ensure the county that these types of things never happen, and when they do...

We've got brave, strong, tall, cool glasses of water like yourself to help us out! ;-)

Give me a call back at 555-XXX-4101 or write me if you're interested! We can run the story on the front page, or even on local TV with our affiliates, VelTV News. Thanks for your consideration and all you do for Velton.

Sincerely,
Jenny Jenkins~",
With a heart dotting the "i" in Jenkins.

(Feel free to expand upon any of these choices)
>Don't respond.
>Write back, saying you'll do it on VelTV.
>Write back, saying you'll do it for the paper.
>Write back, saying you won't do it, make it sound good and remain professional.
>Call her and flirt as yourself
>Call her with a voice changer and creep her out
>Write in - ???

~

Suspicion Check: 3.29 (Very Low)
(One roll goes to this!)(The averages of your dice rolls as a group must be higher than this number, or you'll be under investigation for one or more of your disappeared damsels!)

Rolled 9, 8 = 17 (2d10)

>Silent treatment: "..."
>You're steaming, but you've got obligations. With no more sick days or vacation days, you'll get written up for an unexcused absence! That could have untold consequences for your career and possibly your "hobby". Better just head to work. But that Lon Lemmings case can wait, you've got paperwork to catch up on at the station. Better jet over there, stat.
>Write back, saying you'll do it for the paper.

Rolled 6, 9 = 15 (2d10)

>>5184531
>Tell the truth: "The newspapers... They call me The Velton Violator. Haven't you heard of me?"
>>5184533
>>Leave your pants around your ankles. Hell, take em off. Take the whole day off. Fuck it. Nothing like a "Mental health day" spent with a "loved" one. "Oh Mandieeeee..."
>>5184537
>>Call her and flirt as yourself

Woops, realizing I meant to switch to d20. All good for now though.

Voting ends + update in ~5-10 hrs.

Rolled 2, 9 = 11 (2d20)

>>5184531
>Silent treatment: "..."
>Ow, fuck. Gotta tend to these wounds, put on a little foundation and makeup to cover these scars, eat a small breakfast. You can be a little late to Pell University today, so long as you make a point to be seen actually investigating your case.
>Write back, saying you'll do it for the paper.

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>Silence
>Paper interview

Rolling - vote closed
1 - Take day off
2 - Investigate Lon Lemmings case
3 - Paperwork at the station
Rolls all over the place

Suspicion check passed and reduced through high rolls

Writing

>Roll 3d20!!
>Roll 3d20!!
>Roll 3d20!!

Fresh in mind, you quickly pen a response to Jenny with your stationery set. Your quill writes:

"Dear Ms. Jenkins,

I'd love to contribute to the Journal"

Again, and this time not in magazine clippings, you think to yourself. You dip your feather pen in the inkwell, then scrawl below the intro:

"send me the questions, I'll answer anything you like. Consider myself your's," you chuckle as you write. As a delayed forethought, "proud to protect and ser-" yada yada yada.

"Dutifully yours,
Junior Detective #89, VPD"

The letter is then pinched onto your mailbox with a clothespin, awaiting the postman's retrieval.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's a beautiful day. Actually it's really overcast and muggy, but still you inhale a full chest, and as you exhale, decide you don't really want to do the detective thing today.
You might expose yourself by snooping around Pell University too much. For all you know, the P.U. campus could be on a search-and-rescue for your Mandie.
Going into the station with all those rowdy idiots and snoopy bitches - gawking and barking at you more intensely because of your elephant-in-the-room injuries...
Not only would you have to make another lie to remember forever, you'd have to probably say something like you got mugged and didn't have your piece, or you were assembling Aeki brand furniture and couldn't figure it out, and got your ass whooped by a Scandinavian coffee table named Naapfthørflåggen.
And would anyone really notice you were absent from work? If confronted, perhaps you can say you did investigate, just that... No one can corroborate your story... And you have no new leads or info of any kind... And no alibi...
Anyway It's what those in the business call the "new 72", as "first 48" is misleading. You actually have another day than most people think. But... C'mon. A varsity water polo ends up face down in the university pool with obvious signs of foul play. Are people really that invested in the story? Hazing gone wrong, it's a teammate or roommate or coach or rival water polo kid or college administrator... It's so obvious. Who the hell cares?
It's a hell of a rationalization, but hey, your mental gymnastics allow you an excuse to use what you've got while you got it.

The prisoner.

It's been a little over half a week of (mostly) enjoying her company in your basement. What exactly do you plan to do with her? (Can pick multiple if they make sense together)

>You want to keep her as long as possible, then snuff and dispose of her when it gets unfeasible to keep her.
>Get some friends for her. (Optional: who?)
>She's proven herself boring and indignant. Not who you thought she would be. Kill her, today.
>She's absolutely perfect... enough. Well, she'll do, anyway. You've always wanted to be married, and now you have a worthy bride.
>Attempt to breed and nurture a spawn with her. This is an arduous task, to say the least.
>Begin the special ritual you have planned for her body, something the other corpses would be jealous, but proud of.
>Try to re-socialize her, and take her out of the basement. Keep her housebound for now, but maybe she can be molded and trained into being around others in the future. Maybe help you lure more victims.
>Don't know yet... Just need to keep her alive in the basement while you play...
>Write in - ???

Whatever you do, you decide to hose her down, because she's starting to smell again. Or maybe that's just the cellar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you push Mandie out of your mind, readjusting is easy. You go to clean up your mess in the foyer. Your stereo is in pieces, unable to play anything, but your 00's boombox radio's speaker still works when you disconnect the banana plugs from your vintage Pioneers. You change the channel to 99.7 FM, the EDGE.

https://youtu.be/LpC0SKU6O00

You finish cleaning in a few minutes, then wander to the kitchen. With a yawn, you crank 4 sausage links and 3 eggs out, and scarf them down while scoping Craigslist for a quick kick. A little slow on the hunting grounds, but not barren. Nyeh heh. After eating, you drink some of the milk you left out, but it's still too cold for you, so you put it in a mug and microwave it for 38 seconds, then drink it. You get three more glasses the same way.

Upstairs, you brush your teeth, tidy up, take a shower, change clothes, and treat your wounds thoroughly the best you can. You look at your watch: 10:23am. About time to go to the basement. You heel click and scurry down your stairs. You put your hand on the door knob. Flashbacks of last night and this morning come back.

You remember being near entirely silent the entire time you abused her in the mask. You were fervent, hardly stopping to enjoy each attack. Continuing with brutal swings even when she was completely out of it and not responding. You're amazed you didn't put her in a coma, in retrospect. You remember... These lovely little noises coming from her...

You've got several hours to use any way you like. Hand still on the knob, you decide to: (Pick one or two)
>Mask up again, enter your lair.
>Mask off, fuck it. Greet Mandie.
>Post or respond to something on Craigslist (What?)
>Talk to your hot married MILF neighbor Carolina Smith.
>Actually, we really need to try to put in some work at Pell University.
>Go buy something from Slappy's Sex Shop
>Go somewhere else (Where?)
>Write in - ???
(One roll goes to this)

After all your adventures, you coop up in home, sweet home by 4pm. You tidy up once again and begin making dinner, tonight is sun dried tomatoes, capers and olives on pasta, slathered with an oily sauce. Mandie doesn't get any.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Distant but clearly roaring, loud country-rock music rumbles to a halt alongside a hot rubber squeal in your driveway. A few dozen seconds later, a barrage of heavy wooden thuds - not quite knocks - from your porch area. Announcing himself, "Open up, it's the police! Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh." Jimmy laughs at his own joke.

You pat your mouth with a paper napkin and rose from your dining table, double check the cellar door lock, then push the front door a few inches open and look Jimmy face to face. Hushed, "go away, Jimmy! Not here, I told you I'd meet you in the parking lot of the restaurant! You're an hour early! What are you doing?!?" You pipe swole through the peep hole.

"Aww c'mon Skeletor. What gives? I gotta use the bathroom!! And can't we just plan the finishing touches here at your place?"

"Absolutely not. Go away," looking dead in his eyes. He's arousing suspicion, you feel. Maybe just paranoia, but who knows.

"Well at least let me use the bathroom since I'm already here! The next public toilet is 6 miles back at the Chicken Hut!"

"So? Just go there."

Whispered, with a clammy, sweaty thick hand on your shoulder, "I don't think I can make it that far..."

You let out a sigh, then say:
>"Okay, come on in, but make it quick! You need to use the upstairs bathroom, the downstairs has some issues with flushing. And clean up after yourself, I don't need a paint job in my toilet. Then it's straight the fuck out the door, chum."
>"How did you find out where I live? I guess you are a detective after all, or at least competent enough to run some google searches. Whatever, get in here, we'll hatch a plan inside. Just stay out of my cellar - toxic fumes, inspector says. Getting it fixed next weekend. And don't touch my stuff, capische?"
>"Read. My. Lips. Abso. Fucking. Lutely. Not. 'Kay? 'Kay. Go to Chicken Hut and get yourself another tub while you're at it. Nee hee hee. *Slam door in his face, still speaking:* I'll meet you at the rendezvous point in 45 minutes! Don't be late!"
>"Ask my neighbor Carolina, one to the left of my house. She's a nice woman, I'm sure she'll let you use her commode if you ask her. Now scram, Jimmy, we can't be seen together. And DON'T mention me to Carolina!"
>"What do you mean you can't hold it? Just let me get my coat and supplies, and we can go to Chicken Hut together. Besides, I wanna eat before our mission. Go crank up your truck again, I'll be out in a sec and we'll floor it over there so you can poo."
>"Suuure, come on in, PAL! You can shit on my porcelain throne annny tiiime you'd liiike." As soon as he steps in your foyer, ambush him by pushing him down the cellar stairs. Introduce him to your lovely. This also sets up Donavan to be easier to ambush if you wish to do so. +3 to rolls due to fitness advantage.
>" I, uhh, forgot to charge the spy gear, yeah!! A-and I'm a bit sick, uhh, and behind on my laundry! ...And my 2018 tax return... That's uh, that's important, gotta get that done tonight! And Wheel of Fortune is on tonight as well, so I think I'll have to take a rain check on the espionage. Sorry, tubby. We'll postpone it for later, maybe. Also, fuck you, you're not stinking up my house like you do the station. Smell ya later, fartso!" *SLAM* and now you have Mandie all to yourself again.
>Write in - ???
(One roll goes to this!)

How and why Jimmy Waters chose the path of the detective, you'll never know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suspicion Check: 4.01
Jimmy's Continence Check: 11.01

Rolled 19, 18, 17 = 54 (3d20)

>>5185219
>>Write in - ???
Train her into our murder assistant. Start by breaking her will.

>>Mask off, fuck it. Greet Mandie.

>"What do you mean you can't hold it? Just let me get my coat and supplies, and we can go to Chicken Hut together. Besides, I wanna eat before our mission. Go crank up your truck again, I'll be out in a sec and we'll floor it over there so you can poo."

Rolled 12, 11, 13 = 36 (3d20)

>>5185215
>Begin the special ritual you have planned for her body, something the other corpses would be jealous, but proud of.
>Actually, we really need to try to put in some work at Pell University.
>"What do you mean you can't hold it? Just let me get my coat and supplies, and we can go to Chicken Hut together. Besides, I wanna eat before our mission. Go crank up your truck again, I'll be out in a sec and we'll floor it over there so you can poo."

Would you guys prefer shorter updates, or is this length okay?

(next update coming tonight in ~8 hours)
(Voting is still OPEN)

Rolled 4, 12, 10 = 26 (3d20)

>>5185219
>>>Write in - ???
>Train her into our murder assistant. Start by breaking her will.

>>>Mask off, fuck it. Greet Mandie.
>Actually, we really need to try to put in some work at Pell University.

>>"What do you mean you can't hold it? Just let me get my coat and supplies, and we can go to Chicken Hut together. Besides, I wanna eat before our mission. Go crank up your truck again, I'll be out in a sec and we'll floor it over there so you can poo."

>>5185655
I prefer shorter ones

Rolled 1, 16, 16 = 33 (3d20)

>>5185215
>Begin the special ritual you have planned for her body, something the other corpses would be jealous, but proud of.
>Attempt to breed and nurture a spawn with her. This is an arduous task, to say the least.
We must spawn the Demon Baby (pls for the love of God do not let this vote actually win)

>>5185218
>Post or respond to something on Craigslist
Find a cheap skateboard. We must redeem the previous failure

>>5185219
>"Ask my neighbor Carolina, one to the left of my house. She's a nice woman, I'm sure she'll let you use her commode if you ask her. Now scram, Jimmy, we can't be seen together. And DON'T mention me to Carolina!"

>>5185655
I suggest doing shorter updates, although I personally prefer longer ones since I'm weird

Voting ends

Update 90% written, dropping soon when I wake up. Shleepy QM.

>Roll 2d20!
>Roll 2d20!
>Roll 2d20!

Love is a flame, a devil's thing...

You open the cellar and look down at Mandie from the top of the stairs. She's swaying slowly clockwise in her carousel of chains.

https://youtu.be/xaRZh8b1EKA

Mulling over the idea of sacrificing her, as well as making her into your servile maiden, you close your eyes. You divine a heinous plan that would please your wicked palate. It starts with breaking her will, and aggressively and rapidly developing her mental dependence of you. For this special little snowflake, this begins with
>A quick but brutal session, followed by a big, full breakfast, OJ and all. Followed by total neglect and darkness for 48 hours.
>Stitch her vagina shut. Cut off her nipples with no anesthetic. Melt a candlestick up her ass and duct tape the resulting wax inside. Let your spit and seed dry on her face.
>Branding her with an occult rune on her ass and giving her a new name that represents her servitude of you.
>Gaslight her. Blame her for her current position. "Why did you make me do this? You think I LIKE DOING THIS TO YOU?!?" Hide your snicker by sliding the contents off of your workbench to the floor. You compose yourself and get in her bubble. "HOW ARE YOU GONNA MAKE THIS RIGHT?!"
>Write in - ???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look at your watch and feel the unanswered call of duty nagging at your conscience. Everything you did with Mandie went stellar, completely without a hitch. But your day on campus at P.U. could be called a critical failure. Lon Lemmings' murderer is sending you on a wild goose chase, and your presence is a sore thumb on a cold hand. Even in your plainclothes.

In an incident causing your suspicion level to boost considerably, while petitioning around the dean's office for info and access around the school, a vague figure approaches you in the alley between buildings. Students rush fro and to. This mop-headed, dirty-blonde, skinny jackass of a young man calls to you. "Hey! You! Skinny bald guy!" He pushes his way through the crowd to you, shouting. In the meantime, one of the office assistants hands you the key ring to the gymnasium she was fetching for you, then absconds in the building within two seconds, like some sort of moray eel in her rock. "Who the hell are you? Why were you stalking us outside of our apartment last week, where's Mandie!?" Still pushing his way up to you, hands out to grab your coat, then stopping to look you in the eye when he sees you fishing in your coat pocket.

You knew you didn't wanna work today. Groan. Students stop for a second and stare, then kick back in to gear and resume their original protocol. "Pipe down, kid." Badge flash, then "Velton Detective, on a mission. Let's talk somewhere more quiet. Around the corner?" The lanky mop head with a ghost of a moustache is confused and upset but nods and follows you two buildings down to the edge of the parking lot.

"What do you want from me? I'm not sure what you're talking about. I'm here on behalf of the school and the family of the water polo jockey" Playing it cool.

Still shouting and drawing eyes and ears, "I saw you in your crappy old car outside our place, with binoculars! Then, ManMan goes missing! She won't answer her calls, her parents say they haven't heard from her and they're getting worried, she hasn't attended any class or turned in anything, not even online!" You hate the fact that he called her ManMan, and are disturbed by the fact her roommates and parents are catching on, but you've thought of a way to lower the heat on her. You'll just have to find a way to access her online college account and find time to do her homework yourself. Quickly destroying this dope, you say "Kid, I'm around this campus all the time, sometimes I park just to eat my hoagie and check Craig- uh, my phone for an hour or two. I just told you I've been on the case. Say, you don't know anything about Lon, do you?" Completely redirecting from Mandie, so you won't have to offer to look for her or mention that he should file a report at the station. You don't want to do that.

"Lon? ...That freak?" He sneers. "No... No. Heard about it, though. That's crazy he died. They're saying it's a murder now?"

You run through the motions, but he has no evidence for you, other than that Lon was bullied constantly in their shared chemistry class, by everyone, including the professor. "Also, what happened to your eye, how'd you get that shiner?" But you deflect his question and say you've got to get back to work.

60 minutes of searching the gymnasium yields a big fat egg. Disgruntled, you head home, you've gotta spy on Don tonight to understand what that no good snake is up to, and why he's demanding $2.5k from Jimmy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jump in Jimmy's truck after locking Mandie up tight, along with the rest of your house. It's clear that Jimmy farted. You roll the window down manually with the crank.

"Sorry, Jim, but could you pinch your freakin' cheeks together until you get to the Chicken Hut shithouse? Golly..."

Jimmy just sweats and punches it. You cover 6 miles in under 5 minutes. You arrive at the giant chicken. Jimmy runs out faster than you've ever seen him go. While he does... That... You compose yourself and walk up to the outside counter, ordering yourself a basket of chicken tenders and fries, even though you're not hungry at all. Lemonade, please. Thank you. You sit under a hard plastic/metal umbrella built into one of the hexagonal, bright red tables. You get bored waiting for Jimmy so long that you eat half of your meal out of habit. He comes back, relieved, saying "got me the large side of cole slaw. I'm watchin' my figure!" You laugh at his weird charm.

"Listen up, Jimmy. I've instructed you how to use the wire, just don't touch it while you're at the table with Don, and do whatever I say. And REMEMBER!
>When I say "HULLABALOO", that's your queue to jump up and shout the phrase we worked on. All of Hilda's will know Don's dirty little secret.
>When I say "DANZIG", you'll find a way to distract him. I'll step in and, uh, pickpocket his wallet! (Without telling Jimmy, this is when you'll covertly walk by and slip a mickey in Don's glass.)
>When I say "GUBERNATORIAL", is when you need to pivot from getting information, into trying to convince Don to retire. Remind him he's going on 60 and this work just gets more dangerous for guys his age. Don't get too suggestive, just play nice, but be firm. Okay, Jimmy?
>I'll wait for your signal, "CARBURETOR", to come in and surprise Don, blindsiding him, then we'll both grill him about being a shitty partner and try to win him back to our side.
>When Don asks for the hush money, hand him this manila envelope. It's got pictures of his family, all around the state. See how he responds and we'll move from there. Blackmail for Donavan Black.
>Write in - ???

"This will come AFTER he tells us vital information about why he's extorting you, and try to see if he's got anything else on me, Higgins, or anyone else at the department." You leave the Chicken Hut together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suspicion Check: 6.01!

You may have to pay that college twerp a visit for throwing up a red flag on you.
>Yes, later. He no longer deserves to traverse the world unmutilated. Degenerates like him belong in a basement.
>Yeah, later. Just to spook him, maybe out of the area, ruining his college ambitions. Nyehehehehah.
>No, if you don't want to have sex with him, what's the point? Besides, you're sure he's a stand-up young man just worried about his friend and/or piece of pussy, nothing wrong with that. Alphas don't waste their time on betas.
(One roll goes to this!)

Rolled 13, 3 = 16 (2d20)

>A quick but brutal session, followed by a big, full breakfast, OJ and all. Followed by total neglect and darkness for 48 hours.
>When I say "HULLABALOO", that's your queue to jump up and shout the phrase we worked on. All of Hilda's will know Don's dirty little secret.
>No, if you don't want to have sex with him, what's the point? Besides, you're sure he's a stand-up young man just worried about his friend and/or piece of pussy, nothing wrong with that. Alphas don't waste their time on betas.

Rolled 7, 15 = 22 (2d20)

>>5186422
Supporting

Rolled 18, 16 = 34 (2d20)

>>5186422
+2

Pencils down!

Update coming tonight before I drink myself to sleep or tomorrow after I wake up.

Let's all take a moment to appreciate how cool and based we all are. Also I finally hooked my desktop up so updates might get a little prettier/more in depth. Fuck phoneposting. 420 blaze it nerds!!!!

>Roll 4d20! (blaze it)
>Roll 4d20! (blaze it)
>Roll 4d20! (blaze it)


Approaching Chippie's Sports Bar next to Jon's Supermarket, you duck down in the back row of Jimmy's truck. You set up your binoculars, do a quick mic check and clear channel on the wire, and then hide yourself under a dirt-clodded tarp and an old, heavily frayed coat of Jimmy's. You feel snug as a bug in a smelly rug.

"Alright Jimmy, we're 20 minutes early," you start, while peaking your shnozz out of your urban Ghillie suit. "You should head in an-MEEP!" You conceal yourself with V-Burger bags and wrappers. Don's classic green Cadillac strolls thru the parking lot. "He's here already, Jim! Remember, don't look at me. In fact, don't acknowledge me at all until I give the signal! Just focus on fine sleuthing. And breathing."

...


"Got it?" you ask.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to-"

"oOH, YOU IDIOT! GAH- nevermind. Just do it how we rehearsed, Jim."

"Here he comes..."

You nestle in. Sweaty fetal position. Dissipated cigarette fumes and burger grease. Tender, purple, half-healed skin from too much skateboarding. Clenched eye lids. A short but inspiring breath.

As you hear the falls of Don's wingtips outside of the redneck truck, you're reminded of the walloping you gave Mandie before you cleaned up and came out. Hopefully she enjoys your cooking, as it's all she'll get for two days. That is, if she can reach it. You deployed the plate in such a way that she'd have to use all her limited might to stretch her chains out and grab a bite, before the chains and ropes snap and rebound, taking her from the ever-just-out-of-reach plate. Or who knows. Maybe she's more resourceful than you know. Or maybe her will is so starved, she doesn't care about her starved stomach anymore. That could be a problem, if you have to start force-feeding the bitch.
(One roll goes to this)(averaged, like the suspicion checks)
(Mandie's WILLPOWER and INTELLIGENCE Check:)
1-7.4 - Broken will and maybe a broken brain. Stubborn bitch didn't eat at all. Maybe couldn't figure it out, or just didn't see the point in continuing on like this. That could be difficult to navigate. Even shoddy puppets are designed with the master's hand in mind. This puppet just... Sits there. Depressed.
7.5-14.4 - She licked the plate clean. When you return to her, she is crying a different cry than usual. A cry of past neglect or abandonment, mixed with joy and relief. She begs you for touch, for food, for a shower, for everything. Bueno.
14.5+ - Somehow she managed to grab a foreign object with her toes and bring the plate close enough to her face for her to eat comfortably, even without the use of her hands. When you return to her, she giggles at you, before dodging your gaze and feigning fear again. Bold move for someone strapped into your basement, but infuriating nonetheless. Instead of enforcing your iron fist, it showed her a crack in your system. Drats!

Don's grisly voice snaps you out of your daydream. Muffled: "Jimmy. Good to see you're taking this seriously. I'll meet you inside at the booth near the kitchen. Wait 5 minutes, then follow me in."

"Aw, jeez, do I really havta wait 5 minutes?"

In the silence, you think you hear a glare.

Your paranoia hears Don's eyes scoping you out.

Then finally, your ears hear again. They hear Jimmy say "Aw shucks, alright." You "hear" another glare.

Then the hustle of wingtips again.

"He, uh... You don't think he saw me, do you? Did he? Did he?! Did he see me, Jimmy???"

(One of your rolls go to this STEALTH Check! Evaluated as a set rather than an average)

"..."

"..."

A few minutes pass.

"Right... Well then... Good luck, and remember the plan. I'll be listening the whole time. And when I say HULLABALOO..."

In a moment uncharacteristic of Jimmy, he resolves himself and says with a strong, confident tone, "I got this, Skeletor. Just back me up." He slams his heavy, rust-edged door and you viddy him waddling into the Sports Bar.

Now you're ticked off, fuming; all the while piled under Jimmy's moldy, hick junk and schoolyard insults.

You pipe in on the radio before you see Jimmy disappear into Chippie's, "Fuck you, fatso, I told you not to call me Skeletor a thousand times already."

Jimmy passed the test. No response. He's in the zone. Trained well, you hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: Craigslist Killer -> Local Newswoman]

The fragrance of apple fills your car due to your AC blasting through the air freshener clipped onto one of the fan panels. It's a dreadfully hot day in Velton, maybe something you can write about in tomorrow's edition of the Journal. Tell people to crack their windows if they travel with their furry friends, bring in their finicky potted plants from outside... and oh! Gotta stay hydrated, folks! Yeah, your fluff article will write itself, you think. And when you get that slightly creepy, slightly handsome cop to answer your JUICY interview Q's, you'll have something to hold over the editor's head for weeks. Then you can barf out articles on dumb crap like weather and dog parks and sports until he starts breathing down your neck again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Vacation, here we come! Better stop off at Jon's Supermarket beforehand to stock up on tampons, gelato and Kershey's Hisses. Journalist fuel, you chuckle to yourself, mildly.

It sure is a nice day to be a Veltonian, with nothing weird at all happening! Then, suddenly, Head Editor-in-Chief Martin Zinger's words pop up from the abyss, "Keep your head on a swivel, kid! News is happening all around us, every second. It's up to YOU to document it." He told you that the very same week you exposed the faulty operating practices at Velton Meat Packaging LLC. Heh, industry meatheads everywhere marked you as public enemy #1 after you exposed 3 more similar operations in the Southern USA. You STILL have to boycott local headcheese in fears of being poisoned by a purile or uneducated foodworker.

You take a second to ponder all of the scoops that have been missed by people not paying fine attention to details. Despite your begrudging work "ethic", you are Velton's top scooper, which makes you hold clearly apparent disdain for your coworkers close to your heart. No one even really tries to outscoop you, it feels like. You dominate the scene... Without much care. You disagree with Martin's postulation that it's just because you're the most attractive news lady in the county. You focus on print, so how would your looks help you there? And also, the weather lady on VelTV News has a bangin' booty and a tight little tummy you're jealous of. Letting out a mixed-emotion sigh, you look around the parking lot before heading into Jon's, just in case anything ZANY is going on!

(One roll goes to Jenny Jenkins' sleuthing! Set evaluation)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suspicion Check: 5.99
Bonus mechanic: Any crits (20) rolled reduce Suspicion by 1. Any crit fails (1) rolled increases Suspicion by 2.5. (This round only)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WILD CARD:
>No. No wild card. You do the writing, smelly QM. Stupid honky cracker.
>No. No wild card. But I think you're handsome and have big, strong arms I just want to fall into so I can know that everything is O.K.
>Write in - ??? (Anything relevant to this sequence of events)

Rolled 2, 13, 7, 5 = 27 (4d20)

>Write in - ??? (Anything relevant to this sequence of events)
Something from the Perspective of the dude we're wire tapping, Don.

Rolled 13, 9, 3, 3 = 28 (4d20)

>>5188354
>Write in - ??? (Anything relevant to this sequence of events)
Mandie POV

Rolled 20, 5, 20, 8 = 53 (4d20)

>>5188402
supporting

>Mandie's INT/WILL Check:
Not too hot, not too cold. Just the perfect egg to crack. (Crit bonus - ??? to be determined)

>STEALTH Check:
Low average performance, detective. Not sure exactly what happened through the deafening silence. Don could have seen something, but he didn't say a thing about it. You're at the point of no return, you'll have to continue your snooping either way, for better or worse. Can't leave Don with the upper hand, and backing out now is even more suspicious.

>Jenny's AWARENESS Check:
What's all the hubbub in the parking lot over there by Chippie's??? (Crit bonus - ??? to be determined)

>SUSSY BAKA Check:
YOU DIED. Jk, but maybe you should have tied a few more loose ends, kept a little sneakier, rolled better, et cetera.
(I really feel like I should have clarified the bonus mechanic's effects as taking effect NEXT turn, not counting towards this post's suspicion check. Sorry for any confusion. And you've been busted, mister! Better get to concealing your evidence. Womp womp.
(The crits will roll over onto the next scale value, your "Pinch roll". Unlike Suspicion, which only puts you under investigation, failing a "Pinch roll" will get you apprehended ("pinched") by the authorities, VPD, federal or otherwise, who will no doubt interrogate you, maybe even ending in your incarceration. Once the investigation has ended, if you're lucky, lay low and duck unnecessary attention, you may be able to revert the Pinch roll back to a Suspicion roll.)

The stakes have been raised, detective. Ponder your next moves wisely.

Wild Cards:
Don's perspective next
Mandie's coming after

Quick interlude. Post coming this afternoon or tonight. Feel free to discuss the quest or your favorite features in your fifth generation V8 1978 Lincoln Continental.

>>5182912
How many of these quests are fronts for terrorist operations?

>>5188876
Innumerable.

>>5188910
Eternal Paradise for the Velton Caliphate!

File: Untitjj.png (1.32 MB, 1198x672)

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Parking lot looks pretty quiet... You scan back and forth with your boxy frame and your square but feminine and soft face. Folded arm holding a hand to your forehead to block the setting sun from your eyes.

...

Eww, who is that fattie getting out of his uggo disgusting racist truck? Like, puke.


Let's just go-

...

"Like, oh my gawd!!" you remark in a hush.

It's like, totally that skinny cutie-pie cop~! Score!

What was he doing in that truck? Oh well.

You're so excited to get your article done, you convince yourself he might want to do the interview here and now!

Right? ...Probably!!

You scurry forth and tug at his classy button-up shirt, the back of it covered in... mustard? He doesn't seem aware of it, judging by his confident stride.

He turns around and you...
>Snap a photo of his face! You say it's for the Journal, and maybe it is, but you really just think he looks nice tonight and want a copy for yourself...
>Give him a greeting and a hug! Maybe it'll open him up to you. For the interview. Just for the interview. Keep it professional, Jenny.
>Hand him a business card with your personal phone number written on it on the back. Say it's so he can reach you after hours.
>Ask for his phone number! Of course, just business, Mr. strong and suave detective. Teehee~!
>Write in - ???

Then you ask to interview him then and there.

You produce a pocket voice recorder.

You won't take more than 2 minutes.

You won't misquote him.

You won't take no for an answer.

You won't tell anyone you caught him piping into his "secret, hidden" mic in his collar. Especially not the Journal. You keep that part to yourself.

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: Local Newswoman -> Craigslist Killer]

"Ambushed by a reporter, what am I, a Kardashian?" You silently look into space, shocked by a mix of her gall, your arousal by her daring touch, and your vulnerability from lack of paying attention to your surroundings. You should've seen her coming and been able to avoid her, but you were zoned in on your mission.

The stakes are getting so high so quick. It wasn't like this even just a few months ago. The air is thick and cloudy to breathe.

Crackling through your earpiece quiet enough for only you to hear, Jimmy comes in with a squeak and a door fluttering closed. "Just gonna pee real quick, Skeletor, be with Don in a minute." Then he clicks off.

Then back on, obviously on accident. You hear him creak open the stall door, unzip his pants, unbuckle his belt, and squeak out some flatulence. It doesn't stop there...

"Fine, fine, we can do the interview now. But I do have... Uhh... Shopping to do."

"Oh! Me too! I was JUST going into Jon's! We can walk, talk and shop in there, if you like?" Jenny fires back.

"Uh, no. Er, not at Jon's, I was going to uh..." You look around, but the only buildings in this parking lot are Jon's, Chippie's, an ATM, and Slappy's Sex Shop. You nervously look across the bustling highway.

"...Um. Somewhere else."

Jenny blushes, thinking you're a patron of Slappy's. Which you are.

Desperately, "Let's do that interview!"

She jumps up and down, smiling "Yayy~!!"

It begins.

How long have you been on the force.

What made you want to be a cop.

Message for parents to protect their kids.

How it made you feel to save the little girl.

Boring fare. Slop for the pigs, you reason.

Then, a question that snags you.
"The Santa Maria Women's Shelter in Pell Springs is hosting it's 1st Annual Hoe Down for the Abused and Battered, a fundraising event in support of protecting women and girls all over the Southeastern United States. Their organization emphasizes freeing women from sexual slavery and prostitution."

A bead of sweat breaks loose from the peak of your brow, the muggy atmosphere not helping you to calm your racing heart.

"Do you have any message for them?"
>Yes. Best of luck ladies, I hope you raise a lot of money! It's a noble cause. Veltonians, get out, and Hoe Down next weekend!!!
>Yeah, it sounds like a lot of fun, I'll see you all there! I'll bring my best dancing boots.
>Unfortunately I have plans I can't cancel that night, but I would like to announce that I am donating $2,500 to the fundraiser, and I encourage everyone to do likewise! Anything helps. This is another great example of Veltonians supporting their sisters, mothers, daughters and friends.
>I'd love to meet the people in charge and have a sit down meeting at VPD HQ, maybe we can work out a sponsorship deal. We love helping the community. Remember, if you have any information on sexual abuse or prostitution, report it immediately! Lives are at risk.
>Erm, no. No comment. Off the record, please don't print this question or my response. I'm sure the department spokesperson has an official release coming soon, I wouldn't want to contradict anything they say.
>Write in - ???

Nyeh heh.

She thanks you for your time and pockets her recorder. You share a "good night", a "thank you", and a "goodbye", and call the impromptu meeting to an end.

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That was a close call, Ms. Jenkins almost caught you piping into your secret, hidden mic in your collar. You're harder than diamond right now after smelling her scent. Mmmm. She's a bold one. Strawberries 'N' Kreem, the line from Vel-Mart, if you recall correctly. You memorize it in case you should need to track her.

Better set up in position by the bushes and the smoking section on the side of the restaurant. You'll get crispy clear reception on the wire there, as tested earlier this week. Jimmy finally stops plopping and zips back up.

It's game time.

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: Craigslist Killer -> Senior Detective]

Back to the wall, you scope out Chippie's. Loud football commentators announce the Velton University Chickenhawks game through the TV. Chilly stout glasses clink as friends and coworkers chatter. An awkward family sits quietly in the corner as the presumed father of the group raves about the game with other barflies and consumes not-his-first-round-of saucy wings.

"Now when is that dummy gonna get up in 'nyea? Fat sumbitch... Prolleh gon' eat the whole dang kitchen again, better order somethin' 'fore he moseys on in..." you muse.

It's been 3 minutes since you asked him to wait 5 minutes to come in.

"Have the nerve to call ME grumpy... Muh... Three years ago... Nnn... Young buck thinks jus' because he makes Senior Detective, he can git uppity... Myeh, nah let's see here... What to eat..."

The stupid fuggin' waitress bitch comes over and spiels her fuggin' crap about appetizers an'... Ehh... Nuh.....

...

. . .

"Sir? Sir? Can I take your order? I have other tables..."

Nyuh?
(Don's mind is coded and his motives are difficult to discern.)
>Breakfast for Dinner, no syrup on the hotcakes, missy. ???? ???? ?????? ???? ?? ????.
>Two Velton Sluggers, covered in cheese and chili, and pile the onion on. ?? ?????? ?? ?????????? ??? ???????? ?????? ????????? ??????.
>Hot roast beef on rye, no pickle, and none of those disgusting, disgusting onions. ???? ????? ??? ????? ???? ????? ????.

"And a potta hot coffee... Black."

Out walks Jimmy Waters from the bathroom, taking his aviators off, sitting at the far end of the bar with you, struggling to get on top of the stool.

You wait for him to order, and a few minutes more, but not for the food to get there.

Right as the cheers from the crowd mount with the suspense of the hand-egg game, you get up in Jimmy's plump, sucker-ass ear.

"You got my money? I see that envelope sticking out yo' pocket, Jimmeh."

Heeyeh heh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pinch check: Next turn

(shameful bump because I posted at the wee hours of the night and am not sure anyone knows I updated)

>I'd love to meet the people in charge and have a sit down meeting at VPD HQ, maybe we can work out a sponsorship deal. We love helping the community. Remember, if you have any information on sexual abuse or prostitution, report it immediately! Lives are at risk.
>Give him a greeting and a hug! Maybe it'll open him up to you. For the interview. Just for the interview. Keep it professional, Jenny.
>Two Velton Sluggers, covered in cheese and chili, and pile the onion on. ?? ?????? ?? ?????????? ??? ???????? ?????? ????????? ??????.

>>5189413
>>Give him a greeting and a hug! Maybe it'll open him up to you. For the interview. Just for the interview. Keep it professional, Jenny.

>I'd love to meet the people in charge and have a sit down meeting at VPD HQ, maybe we can work out a sponsorship deal. We love helping the community. Remember, if you have any information on sexual abuse or prostitution, report it immediately! Lives are at risk.

>Hot roast beef on rye, no pickle, and none of those disgusting, disgusting onions. ???? ????? ??? ????? ???? ????? ????.

>>5189567
Retcon our suspicion fail to success or else.

>>5189815
...Don't make me throw YOU in the cellar.

>>5189863
We deserve it for nat two 20s

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>>5189898
wrong holes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5d42w4ZcY4

captcha: gxtxh as in go x to x hell

>>5189573
Supporting

>>5189914
Captcha: G8YW0

>>5189413
>Give him a greeting and a hug! Maybe it'll open him up to you. For the interview. Just for the interview. Keep it professional, Jenny.
>I'd love to meet the people in charge and have a sit down meeting at VPD HQ, maybe we can work out a sponsorship deal. We love helping the community. Remember, if you have any information on sexual abuse or prostitution, report it immediately! Lives are at risk.
>Two Velton Sluggers, covered in cheese and chili, and pile the onion on. ?? ?????? ?? ?????????? ??? ???????? ?????? ????????? ??????.
Can't wait for Maddie POV

Locked, writing

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Reveal: Two Velton Sluggers, covered in cheese and chili, and pile the onion on. AN HOMAGE TO RODRIGUEZ, HIS DECEASED FORMER DETECTIVE PARTNER.

You're really looking forward to this extortion/vacation money. So far, you've considered The Bahamas, New York City, and even the Swiss Alps. Then a few more years of this job, then retirement. Hallelujah! Finally! You work too damn much.

"Didja hear what I said, player? You brought me the money, right? 2 point 5 G's."

Jimmy gets up and looks at a TV screen across the room and darts his hands up, as if rehearsed: "Woooooooohh!! Hehehehehe, go Roiders!!! Yeahh, kill those ChickenCOCKS!!"

Nothing is happening in the college football game, but Jimmy's cheers received boos and hisses from nearly everyone in the bar, starting a lively Chickenhawk chant.

Then Jimmy elbows your rib and leans in, apparently serious, "you going for Chickenhawks tonight, or...?"

"What?????" Your face contorts and draws back.

"Just hand me the envelope, playa." You tell Jimmy, hand out. "Well? I'm waitin'." Your dry lips purse.

Waters holds his head down and to the side, with a hand pressed to his ear. He's crouched in that position for a few seconds, then blankly looks up and says "I'M HUNGRY!"

You put your hand down and look at him, deadpan expression on your face.

The Senior Detective partner that Seth Higgins assigned to you leans in and whispers, "We'll talk over the meal."

The meal comes after downing a beer each, and you are instantly repulsed by your order. It's exactly what you asked for: two veritable mountains of diced, pure white, shiny, putrid, awful ONIONS - atop two soft buns and boiled wieners with only nominal amounts of cheese and chili to distract you from the Bulbed Terror known as Allium.

You shake, then look up at Jimmy. Either minutes have passed, or he's hoggin' out as per usual. You think you know the answer. But actually you don't. Several minutes HAVE passed by, as you were lost in thought, staring at your plate. You feel cold.

From his 3/4 finished plate of Stroganoff, face still buried: "Aww, you got Sluggers? Nice! I'm jealous! Except, why did you get so much onion? Thought you hated the stuff. Hahahaha. ... ... ... Hey, you gonna eat those?"

"Wh-what?" You blush. "Of course I'm gonna eat 'em!" You stuff down a hearty bite, too big for a person your age, and try to scarf it down, onions and all.

You begin chewing furiously, tears in your eyes and pain in your heart. You put the Slugger down and look back at the plate and see 99.8% of the Sluggers still there. It's like you've fallen into a never-ending pit.

Out of nowhere, that creepy Junior Detective comes dashing in straight to the end of the bar, as if he knew where you were.

The 20 year old quarterback launches the pigskin far, far down the field. Chippie's goes silent, minus Jimmy's aloof slurping.

Of course, you realize.

The shifting junk in the back of Waters' truck that you wrote off, the earpiece Jimmy's been listening in to, the sudden secrecy and unwillingness to hang out off the clock.

They're out to get me. Shoulda known. Tryna stitch me in, no doubt to cover their own rotten hides.

A jerseyed athlete catches the ball and runs it into the endzone. The bar erupts in cheers.

The bony pussy boy looks around cautiously, slightly towering over you in your bar seat, and opens his mouth: "Jimmy, hand him the envelope. Show him. Is this true? For shame, Detective..."

Jimmy passes you what you thought was a money package. You unfold the metal flaps on the manila envelope and retrieve a stack of documents, easily 25 or 50 pages of them. You flip through and recognize they're all the same, then skim over a printout of a painstakingly forged hand-written document that matches your handwriting so impeccably, it's scary.

"Blue on blue incidents are never easy to stomach, and for me, it has taken years to come forward to share this story..."
"Back in the day, our department didn't have badge cams, so our testimony was valued as..."
"Do another autopsy and you will likely find that the trajectory of the bullet..."
"...having covered it up for years, not having told a soul, I now realize..."
"I admit to the slaying of fellow VPD officer Hector J. Rodriguez"

And other gems like that. It's all true, but you'd never write that. Obvious blackmail, but it's only blackmail to you. To everyone else, it's not just an indictment. It's proof. Evidence. It's not hard to imagine they went the next mile to put your fingerprints and DNA on the original copy already, and have it spirited away in some place it will get discovered if you were to retaliate. And they used this public meeting against you so you can't retaliate immediately, and obviously our workplace is off limits.

You could smoke them both and make it look like an accident like you've done a dozen times before. It's just... How would you find their blackmail document? Skeletor is probably hiding it. You bet you could crack him under torture, no problem. And Jimmy's an afterthought.

There's a chance you'd have to skip town and assume that new identity you've been working on. Ronald Price, retired dentist, your kids all grew up and left the house, so here you are in Canada! Bah...

It's been ages since someone's grabbed you by the balls like this. Never quite been twisted so hard, though.

Your arms are shaking. These old bones ain't what they used to be, are they, Killa? Time to throw down your aces.

Wiping your mouth slowly and deliberately, you crumple and throw the napkin on the remainder of your meal, and stand up, clearing your throat. You look Skinny Boy and Fat Man in the eyes, one first, then the other. Over the decrescendoing roar of sports fans, with a whisper that musters
into a shout at the end: "Are you fucking around? Because I swear by dawn's early light AND the twilight's last gleaming, that I will burst on yo' dumb asses like the rocket's red glare! You wanna die, you fat dumb mothafucka?! I already told you what would happen if you brought this shit up!! And you! Skeleton-lookin' ass mofo!! You have no clue what kinda SHIT you just STEPPED IN... I'm watchin' you! I've BEEN watchin' you! You wanna press the suicide button, mothafuckas?!? Press ME!!!! PRESS ME!!!!!!! I DARE YOUR DUMB MOTHAFUCKIN ASSES!!"

Your tremble is now a magnitudinous rumble. You could feel your veins popping out of your neck and spittle launching haphazardly from your killer's maw. You throw your coat back on and stomp out the door.

Instinct tells you that you did the right thing. Don't negotiate with them. Fight fear with fear. At any moment, you could spill the beans on the Ena Fuvya case, and reveal that the death row inmate only admitted to that killing for a pay-off, opening up investigations on all three of you, and more. But you're a resourceful old man. You can run and hide almost anywhere on the planet. And if you can't, you've had a good run, and hey, nothing better to top it off with than mutually assured destruction of those who would come after you.

You haven't been put under the spotlight like this in nearly a decade. Sweat materializes in between your wrinkles and liver spots as you hop in your sweet Cadillac. What's your next move, Senior Detective Black? (Choose one!)
You're still hungry, dammit. Those youngsters are in for a rude awakening! Gear up and go after these whippersnappers. Show them how a master conducts himself.
Visit Rodriguez's grave. You foolishly try to fight tears when you get there. You apologize to his headstone for not being able to finish the Sluggers. Aloud: "'Ey partnah. How you been? It's just... Damn those onions... I, uh, got some in my pocket here, that's why I'm crying... Heh heh... Damn it, Rodriguez, why'd you have to go and run in front of me while I was shootin' at that perp? The look on your wife's eyes killed me, man... Like, really killed my soul. I didn't have the heart to turn myself in or tell her, but I let it slip to my new partner... He's fuckin' sick, man... Makes me wonder if I should turn myself in after all. I'm sorry. Rest in peace, Hector."
>Go back home to Rhonda Black, your lovely wife. Every moment spent with her from now on is extra precious. "Honeyyyy, I'm hooooome!" She IS a half-skeletonized rotting corpse that lays around watching her dang TV programs all day, feeding maggots with her gore; but she is ALSO your sugar booger, your high school sweetheart, your one and only soulmate. Jimmy USED to come over for dinner every Thursday, but he will NO LONGER be invited! That punk ass tub of lard...
>Write in - ???

Then...

>Roll 1d20 to barge the doors of Don's mind. Will you blow the hinges off, leaving him unhinged and unpredictable? Or will he hear you knocking on his impenetrable fortress, and abscond the situation entirely with one of his many escape plans he's concocted over the years for just such an occasion?! Will he pursue our bony anti-hero himself? Rat him out through anonymous tips? Keep vigilant over his development? Tuck tail and run? Or simply ignore the whole situation with all the grace of a grumpy near-sexagenarian? Only the dice will tell.

Pinch check, Mandie's POV and more coming next update. Got a little carried away with this one.

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5190828
>Visit Rodriguez's grave. You foolishly try to fight tears when you get there. You apologize to his headstone for not being able to finish the Sluggers. Aloud: "'Ey partnah. How you been? It's just... Damn those onions... I, uh, got some in my pocket here, that's why I'm crying... Heh heh... Damn it, Rodriguez, why'd you have to go and run in front of me while I was shootin' at that perp? The look on your wife's eyes killed me, man... Like, really killed my soul. I didn't have the heart to turn myself in or tell her, but I let it slip to my new partner... He's fuckin' sick, man... Makes me wonder if I should turn myself in after all. I'm sorry. Rest in peace, Hector."

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5190828
>Visit Rodriguez's grave. You foolishly try to fight tears when you get there. You apologize to his headstone for not being able to finish the Sluggers. Aloud: "'Ey partnah. How you been? It's just... Damn those onions... I, uh, got some in my pocket here, that's why I'm crying... Heh heh... Damn it, Rodriguez, why'd you have to go and run in front of me while I was shootin' at that perp? The look on your wife's eyes killed me, man... Like, really killed my soul. I didn't have the heart to turn myself in or tell her, but I let it slip to my new partner... He's fuckin' sick, man... Makes me wonder if I should turn myself in after all. I'm sorry. Rest in peace, Hector."

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5190828
>Visit Rodriguez's grave. You foolishly try to fight tears when you get there. You apologize to his headstone for not being able to finish the Sluggers. Aloud: "'Ey partnah. How you been? It's just... Damn those onions... I, uh, got some in my pocket here, that's why I'm crying... Heh heh... Damn it, Rodriguez, why'd you have to go and run in front of me while I was shootin' at that perp? The look on your wife's eyes killed me, man... Like, really killed my soul. I didn't have the heart to turn myself in or tell her, but I let it slip to my new partner... He's fuckin' sick, man... Makes me wonder if I should turn myself in after all. I'm sorry. Rest in peace, Hector."

Pencils down, everybody.

We will peer into the glizzy gladiator's perspective one more time, then back to our humble protagonist, (You), and then your suppling servant.

>Salute the Sunken Slugger Slaughterer
>Minddoors: barged

Update coming tonight or tomorrow morning

>Roll as many dice with as many sides as you would like, you precious little angels.
>JK give me 3d20 each, please.

Your hands shake and tremble all the way to your lustrous green Cadillac, key booping into the shined chrome of the door handle several times before you sink it into the keyhole and twist. Then you likewise twist your body into the seat, relieved, but still in the danger zone. You crank the ignition and burn rubber out of the shopping center.

You look back at Chippie's. Doorway's empty. They were smart to confront you in public so no one got snuffed on the spot, no immediate repercussions, but they've opened up a game of Cat and Mouse. "Cat and mouse, but you tell me who is who, I can't keep track anymore," you think.

Punk ass youngsters. Well, Jimmy is almost 40, but still a youngster to you. As for the skeletal jackass, he's only been with VPD for a short time, and he's given you more heebie jeebies than you can shake a stick at, and now he's blackmailing you for reasons unknown. He's messing with the standard procedure you and Jimmy had going on. Must be the 7th person you've had to frame due to "extracurriculars", and it's always you who does all the legwork for these cover-ups. That's why you charged Jimmy the money, since it was his thick neck on the line, and your hard work that got his involvement with Ena pinned on the death row inmate. Is it possible that the skeleton is such a nice, goody-two-shoes, gullible idiot that even Jimmy could manipulate him? Kid must be a saint, thinking he can solve every crime, right every wrong. You didn't think he was that wet behind the ears.

And you're not sticking around to find out.

Unless... What if you turned him against Jimmy?

You want to skin Jimmy seven ways to Sunday for telling the new kid about Rodriguez, As you drive down the hot, smoky night highway, you choke off tears and make a muffled sound in your throat. After all these years, you still can't make it right. You still can't explain why you sunk deeper. Shooting Rodriguez was a mistake in the heat of the line of duty. Ena? And Jimmy's last girl before her? The mentally deranged hobo you guys threw in a trash compactor, laughing whilst you did it? And all the others? What were those if not intentional? Do you have a conscience at all? Free will? Can you stop yourself from killing? From perversity? Can you separate yourself from this? All you know is you've gotta try. Selfish as it sounds, it starts with not getting caught. Which means you may not be able to touch either detective, or maybe even step foot in Velton County for a long, long time.

You've been on the force since the department-issued service weapon was still a With & Smesson six-shooter. A sleek, hard, heavy, cool, timeless design; evocative of horseback cowboys, swashbuckling pirates and daring private eyes who took no shit, from a time rougher and ruggeder than ours. Now our tool is a lightweight, high-tech, flashlight-mounting, red-dotted, sliding back-and-forth, jamming, stove-piping, squared piece of plastic. Rodriguez never liked the semi autos, either. Wished Higgins would've let him keep his revolver as his duty weapon.

You've already parked outside the cemetery and sauntered over to Rodriguez's grave marker, in a trance. Two rivers of tears flowing to two waterfalls on your chin, flowing to two shallow puddles in the grass. Witnessing the passage of water, time, or life... You're stuck in passage. Of it all. You've been lost for so long, you're drowning, you don't know if you can ever return and straighten this out, or if the remainder of your life is to be twisted and contorted until it falls to pieces. All your surety and toughness seem to have left you, and all you are now is a boy, cowering and crying, unsure.

You stare into the headstone, memorizing each word, letter, and number until they blur into distortion. You meditate with that dull, obfuscated sight of the grey slab and dark green grass under the purpling sky until you reach your conclusion. Rodriguez would've wanted you to:
>Understand that it's time to leave Velton, for good. There's nothing left for you here, and it would only hurt to stay. Use the last of your dark energy and ambitions to flee, leaving no trace of your sickened life. Start new somewhere else.
>Be a man and dispose of Jimmy Waters. Any boy in blue who can't back his follow officer, or at least maintain the code of silence... Then he's a roach. Rodriguez STEPPED on roaches, and spun his heel around on them. Jimmy is just a bloated roach, overdue for a thorough stomping.
[CONT'D]

>Come clean to Seth Higgins and the higher ups. With everything. Rodriguez's death, Ena, the hobo in the trash compactor, everything. Tell him about Jimmy's deeds. Tell him Skeletor was in on the cover up of Ena, but only because he wanted to help his partners, and comfort the Fuvya family by closing what was obviously a cold case. Playing tattletale doesn't sit well with you, but it's not ratting if it's for the greater good. Maybe one day Velton will realize your sacrifice and anguish and regret, and thank you.
>Stay quiet, keep your head down, do your job... That's what Hector's been telling you for almost a decade in your head. Maybe Jimmy and the other guy will leave you alone. You may need to further capitulate to their demands, seeing as they have potent blackmail hanging over your head like the Sword of Damocles. But it's better than giving up everything that American detective Donavan Black is, to become the neo-Canadian, ex-DDS "Ronald Price".
>Just go AWOL from VPD HQ. Take what's needed from your home then abandon it. Rent a cheap motel with cash, wear a disguise, alter your habits, stalk your prey. Everyone in Velton is going to wish Jimmy and the Skullkid would've stayed quiet. Because you're going to make Rodriguez's penetrated skull look like child's play, and no citizen is safe from your wrath. Your With and Smesson Model 69 comes out of it's cheeky hiding spot under your bed, and you begin searching for a random victim...
>Write in - ???
(One roll goes to this!)

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: Senior Detective -> Craigslist Killer]

Suicide button? Watching me? The twilight's last gleaming?! What the hell's all that supposed to mean? Is that a threat? A bluff?

You shoot Jimmy a raised-shoulder, tilted-head glance with your eyebrows up and mouth corners pulled down, your hands up, palms out; the universal "I 'unno" look. Jimmy returns it. The sports bar merely swells, and the Veltonian Suburbanite population and volume ebb and flow as the second quarter ends, and the halftime show begins. Marching band. Boring. You hear a sour note from a clarinet.

Scanning the room, it's apparent everyone either missed or dismissed all of Don's antics. Whew. Grumpy old bastard.

Your skin is crawling off your body, telling your brain to do the same and leave Chippie's.

"Well, I think we've got 'im on the run, 'ey Jimbo?"

"Bhuh huh huh huh huh," he agrees, atop a scraped-empty plate. You think that's what that meant.

Right... Well, best to part from Jimmy now. It's not like you want to be his friend OR partner in crime, you see how he treats those. You've got more models to run, theories to contemplate, plans of action to enact. None of which require anyone's brainpower but your own.

Well...

>Befriend: "Ahh fuck it, you wanna tie one on, Jimmy? I could use a stiff drink after talking to a stiff prick like Black. How about you? Wanna watch the rest of the game? What's yer poison? I got the first round. Hey bartender!!"
>Distance: "We gotta go back to acting like we used to. Insulting each other, fat jokes, skeleton jokes, the works. Gotta pretend tonight never happened Jimmy, capische? If Don starts acting strangely, and so do we, then someone's bound to sniff us all out. Back to being my nemesis, bucko. Now drive me home, please."
>Hound: "Let's go, Jimmy, we oughta follow him, make sure we have the upper hand and that he doesn't try anything. Are you good to drive? Why'd you order 5 pints? Give me your keys. We're following him."
>Write in - ???
(One roll goes to this!)

After that, on the way home in Jimmy's truck, he's too friendly and suds-ed up to protest you throwing on your favorite rock station, The EDGE. Modern classics bump.

youtube.com/watch?v=xUgI2h35Pcc

You're in a light mood after seeing Don huff and puff powerlessly about how he's been "watching you". Yeah right. He doesn't have squat on you.

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT: Craigslist Killer -> Ditzy Co-ed]

Late at night, while squirming from hunger pangs, you hear the front door of the rapist's house swing open uncharacteristically loudly, and smack the wall. Thinking it may not be the rapist, but rather your rescue team, you smile underneath the cocoon of your taped face.

Then you hear a loud, exaggerated, but familiar and deep exhale. It's him. Your tormentor.

The door slams back shut. You cry and cry, knowing he's coming down those stairs any minute to use you again.

You clench your eyes and lips, in the most extreme anticipation you've ever faced. You're hyperventilating. Sweat drips down and around your chains, you swear you can hear them splish on the ground. You want to vomit, and your chest is tightening. You're shaking uncontrollably. You go for a gasp, but your throat muscles weigh a million tons. Now you can't breathe. You don't recognize these symptoms. You're strung up in this predator's basement, paralyzed all over, barely able to squeak a breath in or out. You... don't know how long this goes on for... You realize it must've been a long duration, because the trigger that sets you out of your mental arrest is the sound of the hot water pipes stopping, and the upstairs shower nozzle turning off, a body with a man's weight stepping onto the floor from the tub.

You try to think back to your last happy memory before you came here. It's in black and white. It feels like years in the past,as if from your childhood, even though the memory is only: (Choose one)

>3 months old. Your last birthday party with your friends and roommates. Molls bought the jumbo cupcakes, and Katie gave you a penis lollipop! That silly ho... You laugh a strange, tortured laugh.
>From a little over a year ago. Moving day. Leaving home to go to the dormitories, even though only 40 miles away, was so sad! Seeing Ma and Pa so proud of you, but sad to see you leave the nest at the same time. College just made life more complicated. You close your eyes and search inside for tears to cry, but your eyes are too dry, so you just sob behind the tape. You don't even know why you went to college anymore, not that you had a solid reason in the first place.
>A few weeks ago. Meeting Tyler Brannigan at the Kappa Kappa Kappa frat party was like a movie scene. He's so dreamy, the way he poured you a foamy cup of beer from the keg. If you ever get out of here, you're getting Tyler to kick this guy's ass!
>About a week or so back, when this creep said he had a free puppy to give you. You just wanted a cute lil' buddy. Just thinking of the website layout of Craigslist and your email makes you vomit through your taped mouth, having to swallow some back down.
>Write in - ???

Your dried tear ducts relinquish the rest of their paltry moisture, until all you can cry is solid salt.

The terror wanes over the coming hours, not fully, but enough to the point you remember you're starving and incredibly dehydrated. You only have your senses for a second, before a wave of lightheadedness sweeps you away. You lose your balance, and would have fell to the ground if you weren't tied up to the master's machine.

Did you just call him... Master? You... You really wish he'd come in and give you some food... Even if it meant he... Touches you again. You shudder inside for a half a second, then strangely, the desire or need to cringe disappears entirely, and you feel weird for having rejected the touch in the first place. Mentally, deep inside, you know for a fact that no one's coming to save you. You're not getting out of here without help from your captor. But... How do you convince a man who has delivered you to Hell to return and deliver you back from it? Well, you don't fight him every step of the way. The soreness in your numb arms and raw ribs and kidneys tell you that.

You hope tomorrow morning comes with breakfast. Or is it morning now? There are no indicators of light or sound to let you know what time it is. But you've been locked down here long enough to know that it's been days. Maybe a week. Or two. Or maybe almost a month now.

Either way, you're sure of the fact you'll do anything for a glass of water, or a plate of food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unbeknownst to the Craigslist Killer, due to circumstances and coincidences such as anonymous tips, hours missed from work, excessive vacation day usage and discrepancies in reports, he has come under investigation for the woman in his basement right now. It's early in the investigation, so there's no way they'd pinch him now, but evidence is being mounted and counted. Is it trifling, menial and circumstantial? Or a dead-to-rights damning? We'll see. You'll see. One thing we know is that once our skeletal friend (or foe) catches wind of this piqued suspicion, he'll have a cunning response, no doubt.

Pinch Check: 3
(one roll goes to this)

Don't get pinched!

Next update in 12-36 hours

Hahaha, haha, I said I would do shorter updates, I lied

>>5191676
>Be a man and dispose of Jimmy Waters. Any boy in blue who can't back his follow officer, or at least maintain the code of silence... Then he's a roach. Rodriguez STEPPED on roaches, and spun his heel around on them. Jimmy is just a bloated roach, overdue for a thorough stomping.
Only good snitch is a dead snitch

>Befriend: "Ahh fuck it, you wanna tie one on, Jimmy? I could use a stiff drink after talking to a stiff prick like Black. How about you? Wanna watch the rest of the game? What's yer poison? I got the first round. Hey bartender!!"

>From a little over a year ago. Moving day. Leaving home to go to the dormitories, even though only 40 miles away, was so sad! Seeing Ma and Pa so proud of you, but sad to see you leave the nest at the same time. College just made life more complicated. You close your eyes and search inside for tears to cry, but your eyes are too dry, so you just sob behind the tape. You don't even know why you went to college anymore, not that you had a solid reason in the first place.

Rolled 10, 11, 11 = 32 (3d20)

>>5191667
>Be a man and dispose of Jimmy Waters. Any boy in blue who can't back his follow officer, or at least maintain the code of silence... Then he's a roach. Rodriguez STEPPED on roaches, and spun his heel around on them. Jimmy is just a bloated roach, overdue for a thorough stomping.
>Befriend: "Ahh fuck it, you wanna tie one on, Jimmy? I could use a stiff drink after talking to a stiff prick like Black. How about you? Wanna watch the rest of the game? What's yer poison? I got the first round. Hey bartender!!"
>From a little over a year ago. Moving day. Leaving home to go to the dormitories, even though only 40 miles away, was so sad! Seeing Ma and Pa so proud of you, but sad to see you leave the nest at the same time. College just made life more complicated. You close your eyes and search inside for tears to cry, but your eyes are too dry, so you just sob behind the tape. You don't even know why you went to college anymore, not that you had a solid reason in the first place.

Rolled 2, 2, 18 = 22 (3d20)

>>5191838

Rolled 16, 15, 19 = 50 (3d20)

>>5191823
+1

>>5191823
Supporting

Rolled 15, 16, 2 = 33 (3d20)

File: Spoiler Image (119 KB, 666x628)

119 KB JPG

Voting ends.

>Kill Jimmy
>[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT]
>Befriend Jimmy
Wew lads

Technical difficulties, er, difficult technicalities or something. Returning shortly.

>>5192301
>Wew lads
Befriend Jimmy really is a vote to stay in the bar and drink and eat. Who doesn't want a nice hot slugger with extra onions? Maybe wash it down with a stiff drink mixed with some warm milk... a hot White Russian?

[PERSPECTIVE SHIFT ---> Craigslist Killer]

>ROLL 2D20!!!
>ROLL 2D20!!!

You decide to knock a couple brewskis back and finish the college football game with Jimmy over a fresh order of nachos and some Sluggers of y'all's own. What harm could it do? You order up a frosty lager, brewed the regional Mount Millard Brewing Company. Cap snapped off by a cute little barback you briefly want to imprison and torture, until you realize the mole on her brown forehead isn't a bindi, and she probably isn't even a Hindu.

You look back to Jimmy, who is eagerly awaiting the nachos, and make a quick gamble: "Betcha $50 Velton loses this game, Jim."

As you swig, Jimmy says "You're on!"

You both throw your beers back, then your wallets open, then your money on the table. The nachos come from mole-head and cover the collective $100 under the plate.

You talk for another hour, forgetting about Don, and even mingling with the other bar patrons. Cheering for the Roiders to cream the ChickenHawks. It's fun now that you've got money on the line.

Run after block after flea flicker after tackle, you cheer on the out-of-town Appalachian Roiders to the chagrin of the home town. Having forgotten Jimmy totally swapped sides from his earlier stance on the ChickenHawks, they've embraced him entirely, merely for starting to chant along with them. A group bedecked in yellow and purple jerseys invites you over with the offer of a beer. Jimmy looks back at you, smiling, raising his beer to you, before being engulfed in the Chicken Coop™. You've forgot what it feels like to have a friend. Finally being able to step back from the dour bowels of your mind and embrace this lively feeling for a while. You eat nachos, end up pounding down 5 bottles of beer, and even got lifted above one of the other Roiders' fan's shoulders after one of their touchdowns, almost hitting your head on the ceiling and prompting the bartender to tell "you guys" to knock it off! You crack a smile that has nothing to do with sarcasm or rape or schadenfreude for the first time in quite some while.

The ChickenHawks end up winning, which greys your mood a little, the thought of losing to Jimmy - at anything - not settling right with you. Just like when you were second, and he was first, with Ena. It grinds you a little bit, but whatever. The mole-head picks up your empty nacho plate, and Jimmy recovers his winnings from under it with a hand shake.

Bartender performs his last call just minutes after the game is over. You close your tab and buy a lager each for Jimmy and yourself, clearing them then getting shooed out by Chippie's. You look each other in the eyes, Jimmy still wearing his shades, even though it's super dark out. You both decide... Road trip!

"You drive!" Jimmy insists with a toss of keys. Radio's all yours as Jimmy revels in his drunken euphoria in his own passenger seat.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1Ad3oABt-c

File: Outdoor-Lighting-50.jpg (83 KB, 800x694)

83 KB JPG

You make another beer run for a sixer at the liquor store next to Jane Red's Sheds and Beds (Formerly Holly Kit's) and say fuck it, road beers! Who's gonna pull you over, Velton PD? You ARE Velton PD!!! Hyehehehehe!

Doing donuts on the stored warmth of the asphalt in the Southern heat of America's Sun Belt, you decide it would be nice to pull over to the crick and kill the remainder of this six pack while the frogs and mosquitos sing and dance for you amongst the freshness of the running water.

In the fog of the fun:

"Hey Skeletor? Er, you don't mind if I call you-"

Amused, smiling: "I don't care anymore, Fatso. Haha-," You both break out laughing. "What were you gonna ask me?"

You both dry your speech and mannerisms as the silence ages.

"Why are helping me out with Don? You know I did... Things... With Ena..."

This is by far the most intelligent line of questioning you've ever seen from Senior Detective Jimmy Waters, even if it is just in the interest of his own hide.

Outwardly appearing drunken, but with the secretly ever-sharp edge of your mind, inwardly sober; you "come clean" to Jimmy:
Sip a beer and pick one of these:
>Partially reveal some of your secrets or proclivities to Jimmy, but nothing about Mandie. (Optional: Tell him what? Lie?)
>Don't tell him everything, but mention that you think it would be fun to tag-team a broad together sometime. (Optional: Which one?)
>Obscure your true identity. You're wholly innocent, just helping a guy that you think made a mistake.
>Reveal that you are the Craigslist Killer, tell him about Mandie. Invite him over to check her out. (Optional: Ambush?)
>Write in - ???
Then pick one of these:
>And you want to be "equal partners" with Jimmy
>And you will take the lead as Jimmy's superior and leader
>And you will act as Jimmy's "underling/helper/advisor"
>And make a deal that you will be silent partners, and the ace up each other's sleeves if needed.
>And make a pact that neither of you will ever commit "evil" again.
>And make a date to watch the next game at Chippie's, this time double-or-nothing AND loser picks up the tab.
>Write in - ???

This, of course, is all merely part of your master plan. The master plan which may or may not include multiple accomplices. Maybe you should've thought about this harder before jumping in headlong. Meh, oh well. You can think on the fly.

After the talk, you ask if Jimmy's good to drive, he says he is, and takes you home.

You wave Jimmy goodnight, then triple-lock and triple-latch your reinforced front door.

At that point, you were still ignoring Mandie to condition her mind. Coming out of the shower, you crash into bed and sleep a comforting, drunken sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awake to your alarm, slobber dried and crusted on half of your right cheek and chin. Your body feels as if caressed by angel wings. Time to get back to protecting and serving Velton, hahaha. But, no, like, for real.

You ignore Mandie and the silence from the basement over a hearty breakfast. You usually don't have such an appetite, especially not two days in a row like this.

Zooming into HQ, you see Don on your way in the front, just as he's coming out. His ebon, stone-face visage shoots ebon, stone daggers right at you, then zooms briskly past you towards his beloved Cadillac. Looks like "Sharp-As-A-Tack" Black is getting dull, losing his finesse with age.

"'Ey, Don." You sarcastically greet him with a pinned-up smile. He just grunts and slams his shimmering green door, and peels out of yet another parking lot in under 24 hours. What a sourpuss. Grumpy old fuck. Live a little, grandpa.

It's a weird position to be in, this waiting game between yourself and Don. Who will strike first? Will the strike be definitive? What's he got planned? Can he overcome the blackmail?

No time to ponder that, as Comm'r Higgins greets you at the door. "Commissioner." You salute him as you try to wiggle past his linebacker frame, but he stops you with a gentle, massive palm to your chest.

"Detective," he salutes back, with a tight-lip seal. "Into my office."

A-gulp.

You close the door, and Higgins closes the blinds in his office.

"Missing girl."

"Popping up like daisies, aren't they?" You respond.

Seth looks at you with a grim look, not sure what to make of your phrasing.

"Another student from Pell U. Identity is one Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith. Parents were clueless, figuring she was just doing 'the college thing'. Co-ed roommate ended up reporting it. Now the families going nuts. Hasn't been seen since, ah... What was the date... You'd have to check with Records, but it's been weeks."

Silent gulp. Pins and needles all over your head. You knew you shoulda snuffed the little shit, but you didn't think you had it in you, or that he had it in him, Skyler or Kyler or Tyler or Ryler or whatever the fuck his name was.

"W-weeks? What are the chances we even fi-" you are interrupted. The iron dome of your mind is searing, as if about to cave in or implode.

Higgins continues: "Coupled with that, Internal Investigations has been receiving some anonymous tips and complaints about our policing of the campus. Some obvious drivel, as usual, but a few of them specifically mention malpractice from a, and I quote: 'a bald, skinny fuccboi who look like he don't know how to sag his pants below his belly button, flashing his badge, trying to get into the boy's locker room."

File: Spoiler Image (6 KB, 169x298)

6 KB JPG

Blushing, you rebut the claim, but Seth is a step ahead of you.

"I know, I know, I know. Punk ass college kids, ACAB, 1-2-3-4, et cetera, all that. Look, I'm on your side. You don't have to worry about this. I've got your back, kid. I know how it is dealing with the public. Most of them never understand what we're trying to do."

You throw a fox smile at Seth and let him continue.

"Gonna need you to quit dragging your feet on the Lemmings case though. I know I'm throwing you back in to the lion's den, but we're short-staffed and we can't have this case go cold. Just stay away from the investigators if you see any on campus, or else they'll grill you, and probably me, too, for sending you back to work while you're under investigation. Do me a solid, kid." He knuckles your bicep and winks at you, never having gone behind his desk. "You're one of the best in the department. Keep it up, you'll be the youngest Senior Detective in the history of VPD. Thanks kid, you're killing it." He starts rolling up his blinds.

Still in the Commissioner's office, you're sweating bullets thinking about Mandie, or rather what the punishment will be for keeping Mandie. Seth would be devastated. It would rip him to shreds, he's that type of stand-up guy. When you get home tonight or even this afternoon or maybe as soon as possible, you've got a fever dream you need to make real:
>Keep Mandie in a new location. Optional: Where? (QM roll: -3.5 to +3.5 Pinch)
>Dispose of Mandie :( (QM roll: -5 to +3 pinch) [Nat 1 on this choice's roll = Instant Pinch! Watch out, you've been warned!]
>Keep Mandie in her hole, and fortify it. Boobytrap your house, specifically add combo locks and hidden measures around the basement. (No roll: flat +2 to Pinch.)
>Create a diversion at the department or in the county, requiring resources to be diverted from your raping and applied to your mayhem. (Optional: How?)(QM roll, flat -4.5 Pinch if successful, flat +3 Pinch if unsuccessful. Risky. Success on roll of 11+.)
>Counterstrike. Find which agent is on your case and go after him. Leaves a bad taste in your mouth, thinking about it, but thinking about a prison cell makes you instantly chilled to the bone, on the verge of throwing up. Oh. There you go. You threw up. Well, time to break out the mop. Ends, means, justifications... Whatever. At least it'll be a face from a different department. Snuff 'em. (QM roll, investigation ends immediately if successful, +5 to Pinch if unsuccessful. Very risky strategy. Success on roll of 13+)
>Write in - ??? (???)
(Depending on your answer, if a QM roll is needed, it will be 1d20. A Nat 20 will end the investigation! Anything else will raise or lower Pinch value accordingly. Be careful, detective! Choose wisely!)

After making up your mind, you snap your gaping mouth and withdraw the saliva that was subconsciously dripping from your lip.

Seth was in the middle of saying something, but all you caught was "-that all right with you?" His office door already swung open, shades already undone, he turns to you.

"Huh? Uhh, yeah, sure, sure."

"We takin' your car or mine, Skeletor?" Senior Detective Waters says with an elbow to your rib and a wink behind his shades.

"Hoo-hoo, get a room, you two ladies!" Seth cracks while exiting his office with a stack of paperwork in his right hand. Seth was announcing that Jimmy will be your new partner on the Lon Lemmings case. A mixed but powerless emotion washes beneath the surface, having no chance at usurping what you feel. What you really want to think about. Sweet Mandie.

With an echoing decrescendo from Seth, "I'm leaving it up to you and Jimmy to find Lon Lemmings' killer. Get it done."

You look at Jimmy. "I, uhh, I want to drive alone today. I'll meetcha there, lard-ass."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually moseying over to the P.U. varsity water polo pool, you hop in Jimmy's truck with another sixer of Mount Millard lager and pass a cold one to your rotund comrade. It's strange. Lon Lemmings was one of your only friends in the last decade. Now he's dead. You're sitting with your new "friend" Jimmy now probably where Lon sat alone in his car many a time, distressed by the mocking his peers. You ignore the social and mortal aspects to focus on the tactical details.

"Let me fill you in on this Lemmings' case so far, Jimmy. Number one,"
>"I'm working this case alone. It's personal. That's all you need to know, brother. So I'm gonna need you to scram. I'll give you credit at HQ, don't worry"
>"I could use some help. We'll work faster if we split up."
>"I could use some help. Follow me."
>"I need you to ask around the Library, Dormitory 7 and the College Petting Zoo. (Send him on a wild goose chase that makes him think he's helping)
>Write in - ???
"And number two about the Lemmings case:," you start with Jimmy. You are going to:
>Call it a cold case. You'll avenge your deceased friend Lon, off the books.
>Call it a cold case. Instead, scout out your next victim. (Optional: Who? With or without Jimmy?)
>Solve the case. Don's way, with a fall guy. You'll be one step closer to seniority in no time, Junior Detective. Also frees up more time for your other pursuits, as you can put this off for a while, lying about leads and updates in the case along the way.
>Write in - ???
>Solve the case. The good ol' fashioned way. Leg work and divergent thinking. You still fucking love being a cop. (Difficult. If average of rolls is 13+, or a 20 is rolled in the first slot, case is solved!)
First roll goes to this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pinch Check: 5.99! Uh-oh!
Second roll goes to this!

Investigation Ends: 3 turns

Rolled 15, 2 = 17 (2d20)

>>5196298
>Partially reveal some of your secrets or proclivities to Jimmy, but nothing about Mandie. (Optional: Tell him what? Lie?)
A few lies here, a few truths there. Keep it so that if he squeals, no one knows which is the truth.
>And you will take the lead as Jimmy's superior and leader

>>5196306
>Create a diversion at the department or in the county, requiring resources to be diverted from your raping and applied to your mayhem. (Optional: How?)(QM roll, flat -4.5 Pinch if successful, flat +3 Pinch if unsuccessful. Risky. Success on roll of 11+.)
We find some abandoned cars, we find some things that go boom, we place them around the place. Preferably near major hot spots and buildings. Then we blow them up to cause a lot of panic.

>>5196307
>Solve the case. The good ol' fashioned way. Leg work and divergent thinking. You still fucking love being a cop. (Difficult. If average of rolls is 13+, or a 20 is rolled in the first slot, case is solved!)

>>5196337
>2 on the Pinch roll
Lolololol if you guys don't beat an average of 5.99, you're getting busted! You sick fucks!

Also there's one more prompt/question under
"Let me fill you in on this Lemmings' case so far, Jimmy. Number one,"
and above
"And number two..."
I probably should've thrown in a space there, as well as proofread the whole thing once or twice more before posting...

>"I could use some help. Follow me."

>>5196359
For that selection.

Rolled 13, 19 = 32 (2d20)

>>5196307
>Obscure your true identity. You're wholly innocent, just helping a guy that you think made a mistake.
>And make a deal that you will be silent partners, and the ace up each other's sleeves if needed.

>Create a diversion at the department or in the county, requiring resources to be diverted from your raping and applied to your mayhem. (Optional: How?)(QM roll, flat -4.5 Pinch if successful, flat +3 Pinch if unsuccessful. Risky. Success on roll of 11+.)

>"I could use some help. Follow me."
>Solve the case. The good ol' fashioned way. Leg work and divergent thinking. You still fucking love being a cop. (Difficult. If average of rolls is 13+, or a 20 is rolled in the first slot, case is solved!).

Rolled 19, 18 = 37 (2d20)

>>5196337
Supporting

Rolls looking sexy.

Voting continues for another 12-ish hours, then writing tonight/tomorrow.

>>5196298
>Don't tell him everything, but mention that you think it would be fun to tag-team a broad together sometime.
"That Sally girl, the one who does those Youtube videos and has those nudes up on the web if you know where to look... can't say I'm not interested..."

>And you will act as Jimmy's "underling/helper/advisor"

>Keep Mandie in her hole, and fortify it. Boobytrap your house, specifically add combo locks and hidden measures around the basement. (No roll: flat +2 to Pinch.)

>"I need you to ask around the Library, Dormitory 7 and the College Petting Zoo. (Send him on a wild goose chase that makes him think he's helping)
Make sure he picks up the headlight fluid and the elbow grease while out there

>Solve the case. The good ol' fashioned way. Leg work and divergent thinking. You still fucking love being a cop. (Difficult. If average of rolls is 13+, or a 20 is rolled in the first slot, case is solved!)

Rolled 16 (1d20)

DIVERSION ROLL:
Below 11: +3 to Pinch
11 or Above: -4.5 to Pinch

>Jimmy?
Fib and control

>Lon Lemmings investigation?
You and Jimmy are hot on the trail of the guy who did it!

>Pinch check?
Never been caught, never will.

Next part coming soon.

testing testing 1 2 3

Shit man, my internet was down for like two days, and I couldn't phone post anywhere because all the IPs are blocked in my area. Sorry folks.

Unironically, by some strange twist of fate, I met someone named Lon for the first time in my life today, and he was a huge douche faggot. Now, on with the story. Rest in Poolwater, Lon.

>Roll 2d20!
Roll 2d20!
>Roll 2d20!
Roll it!

Eyeing Jimmy up and down while he fists V-Fries and a beer, you recall the night you shared with him at Chippie's, all the fun and camaraderie. Then afterward at the swampy creek where you made up some hooey about how you're a bad dude, too. You fish and hunt without a license, you go on solo panty raids at the senior care center, you bust middle school kids for their Xanax and weed, and you like to short-change the Asian happy-ending massage parlors. He marveled at the extent of your wicked cunning, and all the lost time he could've been exploiting those same arenas. You hardly had to convince him that you'd be his kingpin and him your pawn. He practically begged and groveled to you for tips and tricks, but you were too drunk to think any up, so you just told him "In time...", and he swallowed it up, swearing himself to loyalty and secrecy.

After killing the 6-pack, the two of you step out of the redneck lifted truck and take a few seconds to geo-stabilize. You burp, hiccup, sniff, then say "I could use some help. Follow me. We're gonna look closer at the lockers and take some DNA samples with the black light. Janitor finally coughed up his keys..." You want as much help with this case as you can get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You start with the black light. Predictably, everything in the water polo locker room is covered in chlorinated pool water, and some wet swimsuits linger on benches and floor tiles. Not much help.

After less than ten minutes of that, you swap to checking the lockers, using the master key to take off the locks.

You start on one side and work your way down. The first locker produces an oddity, no, an absurdity: a polaroid photo of Lon Lemmings in this very locker room; naked, covering his genitals and buttocks with his hands, crying. Messy blonde wig atop his head and red lipstick smeared all over his mouth. You make out two pairs of arms in the background holding up cell phones, and in another corner, a smile on a chin, but no more face than that. Including the camera man, there were at least 4 people in that room.

The last time you'll see your friend.

Unless you attend the funeral next week.
>Yes, silently attend Lon's funeral.
>Yes, bring flowers and a prepared speech to Lon's funeral.
>No, avoid Lon's funeral.
>Write in - ???

Enraged, you ask Jimmy to look through the rest of the lockers while you study the now-crumpled polaroid. You surmise the best route to take is to track down the people in this photograph. A big clue: the smiling chin and one of the cell phones are white kids, could be anyone. The other kid holding a cell phone has medium dark skin, and there's only three people on the varsity water polo with skin similar to that complexion. You'll start by investigating them, then have them crack on the others that hazed Lon Lemmings. Oddly enough, you remember all three of them from high school as well. Gotta pick one to interrogate first:

>LeeBrain Dawkins - The cocky multi-athlete who always got into fights behind the bleachers and at the parking lot or even inside of V-Burger in high school. Used to brag about his family being in the Blossom Avenue street gang. Somehow, he mostly left you alone, even when all the popular kids would gang up on you.
>Mpu Nadawordyo - All-star on the team. Javanese exchange student. He invited you over to his house one time in Sophomore year, saying he had a beetle collection he wanted to show you. His house had a roach infestation. Roaches are not beetles. You just stood in horror, mouth agape, before needing to bat a ravenous horde off of your jeans pant leg. Mpu just laughed maniacally. You left and never went back.
>Walid Walidazar - You actually remember him since middle school. Noticeably handsome guy, but very shy and often quiet. Says awkward things when he isn't being quiet. Always struck out with the ladies, sometimes creeping them out. You can tell he never really felt like a part of the social group, despite how hard he tried to fit in. You tried befriending him once and everything seemed cool for a month until the popular kids mocked you for your lame, wheeled, rolling backpack and Walid jumped in on it, even though they made fun of his accent every day. You don't hate him, or even hold it against him, you just feel bad because it seems like he never understood the when people were mocking him or using him.

Whichever old acquaintance it was, one of them knows something about Lon and this sick photograph.

Jimmy comes back from Lon's locker with his suicide note. It doesn't mention anyone, other than himself and his mother and "the world", the last of which he calls cruel and unforgiving. You stare at the note in one hand, the photo in the other, not focusing on either. Jimmy silently allows you some minutes to process this.

Heads will roll.

Lawfully.

You call up Commissioner Seth Higgins but have to leave a voice mail.

Proud of himself: "Well, well! Looks like some expert detective work, huh, Skeletor? Wanna grab some more brews..."

Stressed, you tell Jimmy you can't. You've "got paperwork to do."

And by paperwork, you of course mean mayhem.

Mayhem to throw the scent off your trail.

Mandie's trail.

The trail that only you get to tread.

Not the gluttonous Jimmy Waters.

Not Tyler Skyler Mylar Reptar Kylo Ren College student fuckface fuckboys.

Your trail alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Mayhem roll: 16, success)

You don't know how to make bombs or explosions.

Well, that's sort of a lie.

You know how to jam a lighter into a muffler pan. And you know how to stuff a potato in an exhaust pipe.

You grab the sack of potatoes from your kitchen and buy some 5-packs of lighters at the liquor store next to Jane Red's. Then you go to town, literally and figuratively.

youtube.com/watch?v=eNTjM3_0N80

Frantic, potatoes and lighters get shoved where the sun don't shine in dozens of receptacles.

Cars outside of bars, grocery stores, Pell University and even around Millard Hills are hit.

You feel lame and stupid, like this couldn't possibly do anything to help you, but you're too scared to go for a big ball of flame or outright snuff the detective coming after you.

You head home, head swirling with confusion, fear and joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been a few days and you just want to go relieve some stress on/with Mandie, depending on her attitude.

You open your basement, not sure what's coming out of the grab bag.

Slowly and ceremonially, you descend the wooden stair shaft and tower over your Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith.

You remove the her gag and gaze upon her.

She begins to stir. Weak, thin wrists rousing delicate fingers. Soft skin tightens then lightens on her easy face. Ankles shock into rotation, tired from being forced to stand and slouch under the strappado and once-familiar body weight. A weight now foreign, numb, and heavy.

Minutes pass as you lord silently over your subject.

Then a glorious utterance, not guided by your hand, but by your applied will.

"M-Master..?" Mandie looks up at you with a weak smile.

"Yes. It's me, your master."

Raspy: "I'm s-s-sorry... B-b-b... B-but... I'm s-so hungry... and s-so th-thirsty..."

Her voice is weak and gravelly.

"Yes, you may eat..." (Choose one.)
>"...A double-decker knuckle sandwich, you dumb whore!" Smack! Pow! Ka-Dang!
>"...Eat and drink up, you won't be able to continue serving me if you keep refusing to eat. You really shouldn't have refused the food in the first place." Gaslight!
>"...What would you like to eat? We can order out if you like, honey bear. Pizza OK?" Butter up!
>"...But only after you fulfill your duties..." Unzip!
>"...Write in!" - ???
One roll goes to this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the parking lot of HQ, pulling your briefcase out of your trunk, you receive a text message from Comm'r Higgins.

"DONT CUM 2 WORK 2DAY"

You snigger at his spelling.

You're only 40 feet from the entrance.

You've got to get inside HQ to continue your work on Lemmings.

Can't secure and print warrants all by yourself, unfortunately.

You're already the unofficial judge, jury and executioner, they may as well make it official.

But that's a fight for a different time.

What's the big deal anyways?
>Your paperwork is already written. Just slip in your request for a warrant at the main front desk and leave. Fifteen seconds, tops.
>Walk in and find Seth, see if everything is alright. Look for Jimmy and Don while you're at it. Be discrete. Discreet? Be dis kreet.
>Text back, "Got a HOT lead on the Lemmings case. Need warrant. What's going on, Seth?". Make up your mind after he answers.
>Get in your car and go home to play with your toy. You don't need to be told twice!
>Write in - ???
One roll goes to this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pinch Check: 1.49 (no roll needed)
Investigation ends: 2 more turns!

Rolled 12, 4 = 16 (2d20)

>Yes, silently attend Lon's funeral.
>Walid Walidazar
>"...Eat and drink up, you won't be able to continue serving me if you keep refusing to eat. You really shouldn't have refused the food in the first place." Gaslight!
>Walk in and find Seth, see if everything is alright. Look for Jimmy and Don while you're at it. Be discrete. Discreet? Be dis kreet.

>>5199506
>Yes, silently attend Lon's funeral.

>LeeBrain Dawkins - The cocky multi-athlete who always got into fights behind the bleachers and at the parking lot or even inside of V-Burger in high school. Used to brag about his family being in the Blossom Avenue street gang. Somehow, he mostly left you alone, even when all the popular kids would gang up on you.

>"...But only after you fulfill your duties..." Unzip!
>From now on it will be a day of nonstop sex and torture followed by a day of neglect until she breaks.

>Walk in and find Seth, see if everything is alright. Look for Jimmy and Don while you're at it. Be discrete. Discreet? Be dis kreet.

Rolled 8, 19 = 27 (2d20)

>>5199916
Support

Rolled 16, 9 = 25 (2d20)

>>5199916
Forgot to roll

Rolled 17, 12 = 29 (2d20)

>>5199542
Support

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d2)

>First roll:
1 Walid
2 LeeBrain

>Second roll:
1 Gaslight!
2 Unzip!

>Silently attend funeral (in about one week's time)

>Investigate the department for the key players

Writing

Rolled 34 (1d100)

[b]Uh-oh! Busted by the Inspector! Pass her Cranky Cunt Check to see if you can appease her! This affects your Pinch score AND potentially the length of your investigation.[/b]

>If QM rolled 1-65,
Pinch Check: 6.01
Investigation ends: 2 more turns!

>If QM rolled 66-100,
Pinch Check: 3.99
Investigation ends: 1 more turn!

(One roll goes to the Pinch Check! By the way, -ROLL 1D20!-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peering in through the tinted window at the front of the building, you notice VPD HQ is completely empty. All you see is the reception desks and the linoluem and the ficuses and the fluorescent light fixtures.

Well... You may as well sneak in, lay the warrant request behind the desk real quick, and check on the situation at the station. Why did Seth tell you not to cum? Hehehe.

You sneak down the main room that houses yours and 24 other desks and hear some murmuring in the back left hall. You walk a few steps deeper by the edge and look to your right. Lights are out, except for the glow of the vending machines in the break room.

As you decide everyone's out to lunch and didn't invite you to the pizza party, you begin to turn around and walk back.

Soon as you do, you get a hand on your shoulder, causing you to meep embarrassingly.

It's Jimmy with a plate of 2 pizza slices in hand. Just as you suspected. "Pizza day, woo!! Hey, you may want to get in there in the briefing room, big shit's going down. Speaking of..."

Jimmy rushes to the restroom and you creep into the outskirt of the meeting, wondering which one of these cheap stiffs bought pizza for everyone? And also, why were you being kept out?

You walk towards the voices to make them out more clearly. You pretend to read some of the TPS reports on the hallway wall as a squeaky, mouse-like voice speaks.

"...ast we've heard, everyone's in stable condition. So, to rap up: 7 exploded mufflers, 3 cases of carbon monoxide poisoning, a dozen or more reports of cars with Idaho Gold jammed snugly in pipes. All in under 12 hours."

The sound comes back first. youtube.com/watch?v=r4G40jNZABI
Then the smell. Just fresh, fresh, night air, and some fumes from the Lincoln.
Third is the touch. The grip on the wheel, the slippery skin of the oddly wet potatoes, the plastic of the lighters, the chrome of your door handle.
The screech of your tires and the pitter-patter of your shoes.
Then the visions of that night.

You are shook from your memory - but not your smirk - by Seth's rugged voice belting it's natural belt. "So we're probably looking for some fucking hooligan high schoolers or underachieving University flunkees?"

CLEARLY annoyed, punctuated with a fake throat-clearing, the mouse voice picks back up. "Well, yes, in all likelihood. BUT, keep an open mind, and open eyes and ears. We'll scan the various parking lot footage, but whoever did this knew to stay well away from cameras. We'll likely need an eye witness... This EMBARRASSMENT to our State, happening in YOUR county, needs to be nipped in the bud before this becomes a fiasco. I expect you to pull more than just a few officers to work on this, Seth. Dismissed."

" Of course. Thank you, Investigator Ortiz." -Seth Higgins

Whoever she is, she and Seth walk out of the room first, heading the pack. Seth says "Why'd you have to put emphasis on OUR county? You know crime is on the rise all over the country! You don't need to demoralize our-"

"Your force," she says with a rapid sort of power, "the only force in the state to have a FLABBERGASTING 18% of it's people under investigation at the same time. And it's not all just for typical driving violations and spousal abu-" she stops when she notices you out of the corner of her feline eye. You are standing oafishly, still pretending to browse reports and BOLO pictures. You hear her continue under her breath, still looking at you from her eye-corner, while talking to Seth.

"Ah, there he is.
That motherfucker.
What a tool."

Perspiration breaks across your back and bald bonehead. She's looking right up at you, from her estimated 4 feet and 10 inches. Pants suit and not a dark brown bowl-cut hair out of place. Her face is pointed right at you, Seth looks over and deliberately wipes his mouth while turned, a clear substitute for a facepalm or chew-out.

In an attempt to smooth it out, you approach Comm'r Seth and the Investigator, and introduce yourself with a smile and open body language. "...And you are?"

Furrowed brow, "I'm Investigator Cantella de Pena Ortiz. Why are you here?"

You can't tell her the truth and you can't make anything up fast enough. You are also trying to note all the other cops filtering out of the briefing room as they pass you. You haven't seen Don yet. You appear distracted.

"Hello? Cat got your tongue?" She turns to Seth. "This place is a place of law, not a barnyard for slack-jawed beasts to roam around and misuse! Get to work! And find me The Muffler Mangler!"

Cat just may have your tongue. Me-yow. And The Muffler Mangler? You like the sound of that. Catchy.

Seth shoots you a glance and then chases the storming-out Cantella de Pena Ortiz.

You're gonna hear it from him later. Oh well, solving this Lon Lemmings case will take you into the stratosphere with him, so at least you submitted your paperwork without incident.

Time to go home early. You scan the station for another fifteen minutes, but Don was nowhere to be found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get some noon head and squirt valiantly with the force (and volume) of 1,000 pimples being squirt.

You squeeze and shake the remaining fluids onto Mandie's chest, admiring the pearl necklace you gave her.

She looks down, smiles and admires it as well, then looks back up for your approval.

Status: Broken.

You smile.

You say plainly "I intend to read my magazines and enjoy my cigarettes again. Assume the position."

She installs her own ball gag, allowing you to check for appropriate tautness. It is appropriate.

You nod, and she gets on all fours on the dirty basement floor, her hands and knees already browned.

Your throne is ready, so you light up a smoke and grab your copy of Sports Larcenated that you cut up to send a message to The Journal. It's got some beautiful women and interesting articles which might make you better at sports gambling.

While reading about the Velton LadyHawks' failure at Sport Cup last year was titillating, you found more titillation from feeling Mandie's elbows buckle when you extinguished your cigarette on her tittielations.

Some half-healed, some fresh; there's a baker's dozen of ash burns on her chest alone.

"You know, Mandie. You're just life support for three holes. Everything you do is to please me. You've been living incorrectly, not fulfilling your purpose. It must feel good to be following the correct path now."

"Mmf-hmmf!" She agrees through her self-applied gag.

You spend quality time with her all day, not letting her too far off the "leash". You ponder on how to mold her into your perfect murder assistant.

Still pondering, you head upstairs to your computer, leaving Mandie's head (and chains) spinning.

You boot up Craigslist.

>Choose one OR two of the red!
[red]Post an ad selling a nonexistent bike with training wheels, elbow pads, knee pads and helmet included.[/red]
[red]Post an ad selling an autographed photo of Golden Girls Star, Betty White, that you forged quite convincingly, as you did with Don's signature.[/red]
[red]Post an ad looking for a female model to pose for a photo shoot for your brand new nonexistent coffee shop, opening up next never.[/red]
[red]Post a few ads in the houses/apartments section, invite the victim over to your home if you like them.[/red]
[red]Write in - Post an ad[/red]

>AND choose one OR two of the blue!

blue]Respond to an ad selling a deceased husband's golf clubs. They look new, with hardly any wear.[/blue]
[blue]Respond to a Rants 'n' Raves section post that is titled "Men Are Nothing But Pathetic Pigs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"[/blue]
[blue]Respond to an ad seeking a male model to pose nude for a life drawing.[/blue]
[blue]Respond to an Air BnB. You want a little vacation place to clear your mind or perform another gruesome sexual murder. The home is sacred.[/blue]
[blue]Write in - Respond to an ad[/blue]

I forgot I don't have my original ID any more. Fuck me. Pretend that these are red and blue. If you squint hard enough, they are red and blue. Trust me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's morning. Fourth day in a row you've woken up with a big appetite.

You're laughing. You're laughing. Fluffy pancakes drown in syrup because of your actions, and you're laughing?

You giggle to yourself. Every bite is chewed with a smile.

You're looking at Mandie's ass, covered only with apron strings and deep purple bruising. Scrumptious, the whole package. What a view.

You tell her not to do the dishes so LOUDLY or BY GOD AND ALL THE ANGELS IN HELL, SHE'LL GET ANOTHER LESSON.

She doesn't even sob this time, just apologizes and works harder and quieter.

Looking at your emails on your laptop at the dining table, you notice no one has responded to your craigslist activity yet other than a spambot.

There is an email from Records at VPD, an automated message you are ready to proceed with your investigation, with a copy of your warrant in the email. Gotta love Velton laws and practices. If you're a cop, that is.

You lock up Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith before you leave for work. In the basement, after binding and gagging her, there is time for:
>One more fuck from the fuckdoll.
>One peck on her forehead, in a mock of love.
>One solid punch to the gut and a toodle-oo.
>One last verbal command or reminder. (Optional: What?)
>Write in - ???

You unlock a bolt, swing a length of chain, take off a padlock, slide out two more bolts, unlock the knob, and swing open your door.

A big, hearty breath of fresh air. A long, confident step outside. And a quick, secretive lock-up. Back in the Lincoln.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're near certain the brown skin and lanky forearm in the photo was Walid Walidazar's. You'll be going after him tonight, getting him outside of his family's restaurant that he works at. You decide to not take Jimmy with you, could get messy. Plus, Walid might be more willing to cooperate with the solo good cop/bad cop routine rather than any of the maneuvers that involve two officers...

The Lon Lemmings hazing/suicide investigation nears its riveting conclusion!

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>5201030
Uh ohes
>[red]Post an ad looking for a female model to pose for a photo shoot for your brand new nonexistent coffee shop, opening up next never.[/red]
>[blue]Respond to an ad selling a deceased husband's golf clubs. They look new, with hardly any wear.[/blue]
>One peck on her forehead, in a mock of love.

>>5201892
Please stop rolling so many 1's, 2's and 3's. I'm starting to catch heat from the other players, and you're starting to catch heat from the fuzz.
How is it even possible that over half of your rolls in this thread have been 1's, 2's and 3's? Lolololol

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>Post an ad selling a nonexistent bike with training wheels, elbow pads, knee pads and helmet included.
>Respond to an Air BnB. You want a little vacation place to clear your mind or perform another gruesome sexual murder. The home is sacred.
>One peck on her forehead, in a mock of love.

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>5201038
>[red]Post an ad looking for a female model to pose for a photo shoot for your brand new nonexistent coffee shop, opening up next never.[/red]
>[blue]Respond to an Air BnB. You want a little vacation place to clear your mind or perform another gruesome sexual murder. The home is sacred.[/blue]

>One solid punch to the gut and a toodle-oo.

>>5201925
Hey they haven’t all been bad and as for why, your guess is as good as mine.

>>5202688
It's okay, I went back and recounted, it's exactly half, not over half. You are absolved.

You spend the afternoon answering e-mails and talking to Jimmy on the telephone.

Jimmy's got some funny anecdotes, especially the time he took his blind cousin out to Texas Steakhouse and told him it was a Tooter's. You can only imagine the look on the waiter's face when a blind guy reached over to put a $50 tip in his waist... Hoo boy. Classic.

You're not getting many bites on the ads you posted for the bike sale or the coffee shop ad gig. Other than bills, spam and police work emails, you only receive one notable email to read.

Jenny Jenkins emailed you to let you know that your story will be in print in the Journal in two days. You smile at seeing her name again. You look at the clock in your Lincoln. It's 4:40PM.

Walid is about to get out of his shift at Gardens of Lebanon. You want to confront him before he gets out, so you only have time to respond to one Air BnB, even though they all look promising. You'll wait until returning home to read your emails again.
>Sylvester's Swank Swamp - Funky, musty old trailer park home. Looks rather cozy, actually, if you don't mind the wifebeater-in-a-wifebeater chic.
>Busy Buster's Bungalows - Mentions discretion, low prices, several convenient locations and thorough maid services on its official website. They sublet over 400 Air BnB locations across the Southern USA, including one in Velton County. You've never heard of them before.
>An ancient ad for the Burberry Hotel, where you rubbed Ena Fuvya out of existence. An air of nostalgia creeps up your spine. A little pricy and time-consuming, but you could always covertly rent the whole place out again.
>Write in - ???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

>Roll 2d20!
>Roll 2d20!!
(One roll goes to see how many emails you'll receive by tonight! Cumulative! The more the merrier!)
1-19: 5 emails
20-29: 6 emails
30-44: 7 emails
45-60: 8 emails
61+: 9 emails

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Falafel wrap looks amazing, Walid." You say, looking over his shoulder as he squeezes a sauce bottle.

He's startled as he turns around to see you, letting a stream of the beige sauce squirt into the air, then to the floor.

"Remember me, ol' pal? From high school?" You flash your badge.

He's confused until you tell him it's about Lon, then he knows too much. His face cycles through grief and regret repeatedly. He tells you to follow him through the back door into the parking lot, and shouts something in his language at his relatives commandeering the kitchen.

File: butt.jpg (1.34 MB, 1125x1600)

1.34 MB JPG

He lights a smoke with a shaky hand, you pull one of yours out to mimic his actions and put him at ease.

"Could you light me up?" You ask.

He says oh sure, and calls you by your name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In five minutes, Walid himself is on the ground, with you consoling him and asking if he'll be okay, if he needs to talk to someone.

A tale of two tyrants. "Scrawny" Ronny Higgins and Rick Rippler. Two of the top scorers on the team and the roughest bullies in the water.

You didn't go to school with these guys, so you don't know anything about them. Other than they like to chew tobacco, shotgun beers, and haze their teammates and rivals alike. Walid speaks more than you intended to learn. Ronny and Ricky have pulled that wig and lipstick move on a few people, not just Lon. It started with getting a "dorky" kid from another state drunk and suggestible after a water polo meet one night, he was the first "Mermaid" as they call them. Once they had a crowd thinking they were hot shit, they had their fans hold their victims down so they could do horrible things like singing their victims' scrotums with lighters or shoving a snorkel up their ass, while blowing the game whistle in their ears, so every time they hear that whistle, they remember the snorkel in their ass. Sounds super homoerotic but, y'know, not worse than some of the frats on campus at P.U.

Walidazar is squatting on his knees, hunched over, smoking the filter of his cigarette.

You level yourself with him and put your hands on his shoulders. His thousand yard stare is more like a thousand-and-one yard stare.

"Were..." You don't even want to ask. "Were you a Mermaid?"

"WHAT?!" He stands up straight and lets the fag butt fall out of his hand. "I'M NO FUCKIN' FAG, MAN!!!!" he pushes you in the chest and you get shifted a few feet back but easily stabilize. His jet black monobrow is a straightedge 135 degree angle "V".

File: diving-mask-snorkel-on-wo(...).jpg (293 KB, 1500x1002)

293 KB JPG

He calms down for a second. "Naw, man... Naw... I... I ate a bologna sandwich with their pubes in it after a match one night, man, I... I got off easy. Look, everyone's afraid of Rick and Ronny. Ronny's dad apparently has connections or something, Ronny says he's untouchable. Me and some of the other kids tried talking to coach about it and even campus police, anonymously, but nothing ever happened, and we're too scared they'll do something to us if we speak out..."

"Do something?"

"They... They have one of their dad's revolvers, they keep it in Ronny's lifted Vord V-150 and they fire it in the air all the time when they do donuts out in the fields when they go mudding. They've pointed it at us before, while we knew it was loaded..."

A larger Walid comes out the back of Gardens of Lebanon and presumably asks what Walid is doing, or why he isn't back inside, scraping rice or scrubbing floors.

You thank Lil Walid and Big Walid for their time and let them go back inside.

How do you proceed with "Scrawny" Ronny Higgins and Rick Rippler? Shouldn't be hard to track them during their classes or when they are walking to and fro on campus at P.U.
>Log evidence at HQ and determine how to proceed from there.
>Call Commissioner Seth and fill him in. Ask for advice.
>Talk to them before turning them in. You can arrest them at any point during the conversation, or let them walk. You don't even have to mention Lon or their hazing and bullying. (Optional: Choose line of questioning.)
>Ignore them. Tell Jimmy, in your newfound friendship, to agree to put this on the back burner for a while. Let it simmer, it'll still be hot for a few weeks. This is to give you more time to spend doing... Anything but official police work.
>Fuck the case, look what they did to your boy. You'll repay them in kind. Ski mask on. Fetch the lipstick and wigs. Velton County's got two new little Mermaids on the way. Then choose one to do after: Turn them in? / Snuff them? / Imprison them?
>...Recruit these badass dudes. You are into similar shit, and they've been getting away with it, maybe you can form a gang. Based on their proclivities, you're not entirely sure they're interested in women, but who knows.
>Write in - ???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pinch Check: 6
Investigation ends: 1 more turn!

Rolled 16, 18 = 34 (2d20)

>>5202704
>Busy Buster's Bungalows - Mentions discretion, low prices, several convenient locations and thorough maid services on its official website. They sublet over 400 Air BnB locations across the Southern USA, including one in Velton County. You've never heard of them before.
>Log evidence at HQ and determine how to proceed from there.

>>5202695
>Sylvester's Swank Swamp - Funky, musty old trailer park home. Looks rather cozy, actually, if you don't mind the wifebeater-in-a-wifebeater chic.
>Log evidence at HQ and determine how to proceed from there.
Time to play it safe and not roll

>>5202837
>not roll
youtu.be/vLtmmFjxSoc?t=63
I'm outside of your house with a boombox with this song on it, look out your window

>>5202841
Unlike Maddie I am not so easily tricked

Rolled 11, 16 = 27 (2d20)

>>5202695
>Busy Buster's Bungalows - Mentions discretion, low prices, several convenient locations and thorough maid services on its official website. They sublet over 400 Air BnB locations across the Southern USA, including one in Velton County. You've never heard of them before.
>Log evidence at HQ and determine how to proceed from there.

>>5202869
Kek don't make me roll for you, you cheeky bastard

Rolled 1, 8 = 9 (2d20)

>>5202991
All right, my redemption is now

>>5203013
We are so busted

>>5203027
You said it would be different this time around

>>5203078
I didn't say that!

...Voting still open for 12-16 hours

Rolled 20, 12 = 32 (2d20)

>>5202820
+1

It's late enough to tap out on the clock. You'll go into HQ tomorrow to determine how to proceed with the Lon Lemmings case. Quite the conundrum being stirred up in this sticky, sweaty town. Maybe you'll be on scene when a SWAT team bashes down doors, but there's no use in submitting evidence with no one on intake.

You drive home, thinking about Mandie.

A wacky voice penetrates your stereo: "DeeeeeeeeeeJay BOOGIE!! JAY!! SKEETER!!! What's up Pell Springs and surrounding areas!!! Coming to you straight oughta my mommy's basement, we've got 66 minutes and 6 seconds of USER SUGGESTED MUSIC punctuated with 19 advertisements! Here's something spooky for all you CREEPS out there!!" The music comes on and you recognize it. Haha, cringe! You remember listening to this band in middle school. Skeeter's voice fades out as the music boosts, "This one's a request from a gal named Mandy!"

Your concentration breaks, and you quickly have to swerve right to avoid the oncoming car, which swerves to avoid you and blares its horn. Your heart bumpity-bump-bumps.

"Thanks for being a KTWRP listener, Mandy Banks of Velton proper. We at KTWRP, uh, hope your son aces his nursing school test, eh? Never know, he might be the one sticking an IV in me after one of my binges, huh!!?! If you're listening, don't fuck up, Kevin, med school's expensive! Send your shout-outs and song suggestions to ..."

The music attempts to wash over the words, but you just turn the radio off.

It's a silent ride. It's hot and stuffy. You have the windows up. You're going exactly the speed limit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You come home and only bother to latch 3 of 7 locks. Turning around, you see your smashed stereo system. You stand emptily, dropping your folder, your coat and your keys from your hand to your foyer floor. You simmer, saturate, and stew for a few seconds...

You walk over and collapse into your cool couch and clench your eyes. You meditate deeply on how you're going to continue with your... Behavior.

After nearly ten minutes of searching and thinking - some thoughts pleasant, others not so - You instinctively open your email on your phone. 8 new emails. Great.

You scroll through them. Each of them has a randomized email generated by craigslist. The subject lines help you out. One's from Busy Buster's, another two are for the bike. Looks like the remaining replies are all to the modeling job. Wait no, just 4, this other email seems to be about something else. You're skim through it and the Bungalow response, pretending interest, but you've only got one thing on your mind right now: Girl(s).

You think about Mandie for a moment before reading your emails. You think about your relationship with her. You're puzzled as to what you're SUPPOSED to do. Not like there's a manual to being a Craigslist Killer. A strange notion comes over your mind.
>Read the emails with Mandie, she can help you choose.
>Read the emails to Mandie, taunt her with your choice, tell her the ones you want.
>Read the emails by yourself, Mandie will find out soon enough.
>Read the emails by yourself, keep any women separated until broken-willed, then they may be introduced.

Will you continue sexual contact with Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith?
>Yes ( explain in depth)
>No
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.

Continue sexual contact with other women?
>Yes ( explain in D E P T H )
>No
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.

Either way, you'll continue killing.

Next up, victim selection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Final Pinch check next turn, then it de-escalates back to a Suspicion check!

Small update (for this quest), next update will be L O R G E probably

>>5203358
woops forgot song link oh well
youtube.com/watch?v=mhJh5_6MuCk

>>5203359
>Read the emails by yourself, keep any women separated until broken-willed, then they may be introduced.
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.

>>5203359
>Read the emails with Mandie, she can help you choose.
>Yes ( explain in depth)
Dom-sub relationship, obviously with us making sure we are the top. However, from now on we get more lovie dovie and continue to manipulate her further.
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.
All right this time I am serious, no more rolling

>>5203548
Don't invoke my wrath and make me roll Cursed Dice™ for you.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5203359
>>Read the emails to Mandie, taunt her with your choice, tell her the ones you want.
>Yes ( explain in depth)
Abuse, rape, treat her like the worthless meatbag she is
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.

>>5203596
Can’t be worse than mine

>>5203359
>Read the emails with Mandie, she can help you choose.
>Yes ( explain in depth)
Abuse, rape, treat her like the worthless meatbag she is
>Hold off on this question for now. Read the emails and recount all of your "choices" first.

>>5203363
>>5203548
>>5203813
>>5204311
Looks like all the goons are here. Writing soon.

>Look at emails with Mandie (kind of like a blast-from-the-past back to your first "date". How romantic!)
>Dial up the abuse and manipulation from an 11 to a 12. You're gonna need to get a new dial!
>Hold off on the other slags until you do some research and remember all their dumb, selfish, entitled faces, and whether or not any have caught your eye.

>>5203813
This guy rolled a 6 so it will only take me 6 hours to write the update this time around. If you're lucky. Har dee har har.

Starting with the non-interesting emails, you look at the remaining boring ones.

The last email you got is in a coded language and has some file attached to it. Not falling for that one again, as you X out of the scam, putting it in your Trash folder.

Next up: Busy Buster's Bungalows are having a special, save 3% on your Air BnB stay when you wash and dry all the linens, leave the toilet bowl spotless and restock the fridge of the Dieting Bubblez Soda.

Uhhhh... Okay. You'll come back and read that later when you want to rent the room for a killing or... More.

You're still not entirely sure if you want... More.

Your life is a rollercoaster, mostly slowly ratcheting up in excitement without a fall. Which kind of makes it a shitty rollercoaster, but maybe it's one of those rollercoasters that starts off and looks like it's for pussies, but actually has the biggest freefall drop in the whole theme park. Either way, ever since Higgins told you that you were under investigation, you've been getting queasy and having feelings that you might throw up or even shit your pants. Maybe that's just because you're eating more than you normally do, though. Can't be the toothpaste you switched to a month and a half back. Could it? Let's see the ingredients in that toothpas...

You're getting distracted! How can you think about toothpaste and rollercoasters when you've got rape and murder on the mind?

You open the first email about the bike and it's from a father looking for something for his son's birthday. "Sorry, already sold it. Good luck." Delete.

There are five promising emails here. Hairs rise on your neck.

File: mail-icon-incoming-new-em(...).jpg (19 KB, 800x800)

19 KB JPG

Let's start with "jod7Jxnck23@velton.craigslist.org". This one is clearly the Washing Machine Lady from two blocks down the way again, based on her vocabulary and How She Capitalizes Every Word In Her Correspondences. She wants the bike, mentioning she can sell it for a higher price than you, and plans to do so. You've seen her house on 13947 Cactus Lane. A little dumpy, the house and her. Tig ol' bitties, though. She clearly lives alone. She looks like she chain-smokes cigarettes or freebases crack, with her tired skin and ponytail always with a few hairs frizzing out. Hmm, she could be a good victim.

The rest of these are all modeling responses, which clearly asked for females, full names and photos. You recognize this one, too. Looky who. It's Brenda Su. She mentions that her background check may come back with something about defrauding her last employers, but not to worry about that, it was just a misunderstanding. No wonder she left Lipschitz's office. She'd be a smoking pickup.

"vali324fmk-ds1k@velton.craigslist.org" is a uniquely tall and thin woman in her 30's with Middle Eastern features and the name Fatima Mizmar. She wants over eight times the amount of what you said you'd pay, but says she'd post about it once on Twitter, and you'll like, get like, a million more sales, like. You look her up and she only has 104 Twitter followers despite the dozens of photo shoots she sent you. Must be struggling to look for her big break.

This one you're not sure got the memo. You need ATTRACTIVE, YOUNG models for your imaginary coffeeshop, not ancient women named Eunice Gloomington! The thought of chopping her up in these photos of her in sundresses and sunhats doesn't sit well with you, but it does test your limits, which intrigues you.

The last one is actually a bit creepy itself, no real name given, just "oeiufhy356jfv@velton.craigslist.org" and "Black Rose". Erotic, professional pictures of a pale woman with fake blood all over her, dark lace and crimson satin. Why did she respond to an ad for a coffeeshop model?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Treading down the stairs to the basement, which might as well be the veritable gates of hell for prey like Mandie, you think aloud "Abandon all hope, ye who enter."

You approach the gently swaying Mandie and carefully remove the ball gag from her stain-browned, cracked and abraded skin. Her lips stick to the strap, leaving bands of dissolved spittle.

You spray her filth off of her with your hose again, the product flowing down the drain in the middle of your cellar. The cool, medium-pressure water wakes your captive.

"...Did... Did you say something, Master?" Her eyes flutter open, cluttered with blood, eyelashes still clumped with dirt and other fluids.

"Nevermind it. Open your mouth." She does, and you spit inside the orifice. "Swallow."

A not very female *gulp* surfaces audibly. "Thank you..."

"Shut up."

She does.

"Now towel off." She's unstrapped. Her hole emits a foul yeast smell, obscured by the other fumes in the cellar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minutes later and Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith is no longer subterranean, and she is shaking from her physical or mental injuries. You attempt to cheer her up by asking "Would you like to make a choice?"

Most of her "choices" are false, as there is only really one option in the end: yours. But this should be very interesting to let her actually choose this...

So far, the kitchen and your bedroom are the only place she's allowed to go when you allow her up. For the first time, you will allow her to use the toilet and shower, under supervision, of course. You are unhappy having to hose her down as it causes a mess, and the idea of spongebathing her is titillating, but tedious. You lead her from behind, telling her to march upstairs to the master bath. She'll clean herself a few days a week from now on, if she can handle it. If you can handle it, that is. But you're pretty sure you can deal with all the pressures of having to watch a female co-ed bathe herself a few times a week. You can take one for the team.

She uncomfortably forces a smile at you as you watch her sit atop your porcelain throne. Every king needs a queen, you just never heard of a royal couple who shares a single throne. She obviously tries holding it in out of common embarrassment, but she can't hold on to her gambit for even a minute. It smells so bad and it's so sloppy you send her to the shower immediately while you clean the inside and outside of your bowl.

Within seconds, you hear her crying behind the shower curtain. You lividly rip it off the fasteners, turning Mandie's sad sob into a frightened shriek. The shower starts spraying water on your bathroom floor, which you ignore for now.

"SHUT. UP." You belt without restraint. You see her with shampoo half-scrubbed into her hair, holding on to the bottle close to her chest, sobbing again. As a man, sometimes you forget how much women value their hygiene and cleanliness.

"Come on, keep washing," you encourage with a cleansing grope of her honkers. You're unsure what hormones she's producing, or which pheromones you're projecting onto her, but your touch makes her melt into a dreamy moan, and she almost slips in your tub, falling in to your arms. You bend your knees to accommodate her weight, which isn't much of a challenge for you anyway. You ran the whole VPD training course with a backpack similar to her weight. You could vault over fences or climb ladders with her on your back if needed, you marvel.

You finish scrubbing her nearly without word or utterance. The only sounds you make out other than the soapy suds and the hot water running, is your heavy breathing and a shy, genuine "...thank you..." from your gal.

Mandie's knees buckle so hard, she nearly slips as she steps out of the tub, her arms around your shoulders as you assist her sweet wet body.

You dress her in your boxers and a plain white t-shirt, 2 sizes too baggy on her, but she looks cute, hair in a messy, moist bun. You lead her to the kitchen and provide her with all the ingredients she needs to make macaroni and cheese and fish.

After the salted water begins boiling and she tosses in the pasta shells, you snatch her by the waist and spirit her away to the kitchen table seat next to yours, your laptop screen splaying faint blue light on the both of you.

"Which one of these girls sound the cutest, based on this list alone?" Mandie's gaze extends beyond the walls of your house, as she reads craigslist emails similar to the one she sent you. "Well, don't be shy, pick one for me!"

It takes her several minutes of silence. You let her take her time.

Until the timer goes off on the macaroni. You stand up to check it, but it's not quite al dente yet.

You lord over your disciple. "Well? ...Who?! Pick one. I don't have all day."

File: 2qlmi4cz0m811.gif (108 KB, 400x139)

108 KB GIF

Mandie cries and cries. Snot runs out of her nose and bubbles up, making her look like a mess, her hair fraying every which way.

You just let her tears run out as you turn off the gas flame and strain the water from your pasta and stir the liquid cheese packet in, fingering off a slug or two of liquid cheese and sucking it clean. You could probably live off of those liquid cheese packets and a handful of multivitamins every day (maybe some stool hardener, too). Soooo good.

youtube.com/watch?v=KST6FZoqiz0

The wooden spatula in the macaroni makes similar stirring sounds as your Johnson in Mandie's sweaty armpits. An odd but arousing sound to you, now, because of the memory. You stir a little harder and scrape the walls of the pot.

You look back at your woman, still pouting, then peek on the Atlantic cod in the oven, but it's not as flaky as you would prefer. You close the door.\

Slowly, you walk back up to Mandie at the table, your arms crossed, legs wide. "Pick. Now."

She panics and says "I can't choose!!"

"WHY NOT?!" You scream in your kitchen.

She repeats herself, with a hiccup in her voice, "ah-ah-ah-I, k-k-k-can't, chuh-chuh-chuh-choOoOoohoohoOoOoose". She sobs and points to two (2) names on your notebook-paper list with one index finger each. She can barely even raise her arms past her breasts because of the strappado punishment, which you only relax when you're home.

You grin a grin that makes the devil wonder what you're up to.

You happen to agree fully with Mandie's exquisite taste.

While you can't do two at a time, maybe if you space it out a few days and plan in advance to make sure everything is secured... Who knows.

Necessity compels, and evil drives. This is primal.

Mandie's sweaty, crooked index fingers lie heavily, pinning the (similarly 3-holed) sheet of notebook paper to your oak kitchen table, kitchen fan dangling counterclockwise above her. Her body trembles in millimeters, then resets, sturdy.

Two (2) familiar names gather sweat driplets under her bulging eyes:

>Amanda Plau (Skinny Meth-head)
You still have this slim little brunette thang's sexual battery victim file down at the department if you want to look at her bruises and scars before snatching her up from the trailer park. Nyeh heh.

>Joy Kinov (Mayor's Spoiled Blonde Daughter)
Finally, you have the confidence to make this bitch eat dirt under your foot for making fun of you all throughout grade school through high school. And the sad thing for her? No one will hear her screams. Except for you. You wonder what plastic surgery looks like... Without the skin.

>Genita Schwarz! (Lipschitz's daughter)
Sure, she's a little traditional with her Jewish faith, but why would that stop a Craigslist Killer on a Quest? Her hook nose would look fine buried in your taint while you read Donglio Formaggio's newest crime novel and have a few smokes, Jewish ashtray included.

>Brenda Su (Asian Hottie, Former Receptionist)
Fear looks good in her eyes. (Cont'd)

You remember scaring her in Lipschitz' office with your mental breakdown. She may question why a cop is doing a photo shoot, or if it's some kind of sting. Do you sting?

>Sally Coleslaw (Online Starlet)
You've become shamefully addicted to this young woman, seeing her on other people's phones at work. She's got Instagram and a "secret" OnlyFans account you've been told she uses to make thousands of dollars using only her chocolate breasts and toned ass.

>Sandy Quackenbush (Average Girl, Fast Food Worker)
You saved her sister from that creepy Amber Alert guy that's going on trial next week. She's a little rotund like Ena was, which you don't necessarily mind. The placement of her freckles disgusts you, though. She smelled like cinnamon when you were at her house.

>Washing Machine Lady (Craigslist Veteran, Cat Lady)
She lives only a few blocks away from you. Kidnapping her won't help with the feral cat infestation that rules her suburban home and your otherwise decent neighborhood, regardless, it will soothe your mind a bit to chop or chain her up.

>Fatima Mizmar (Professional model, Confident in her Beauty)
She wants to charge you an exorbitant amount for your fake modeling gig. It'll be hilarious to see her reaction when you enact what you really have planned for this desert-dwelling bimbo. How'd she get so thin and so tall???

>"Black Rose" (Horror Movie Fan)
You can pull her simulated images to life. Blood will spill. Her conservative-style Goth Pinup photos she sent you were equally disturbing and pleasing.

>Eunice Gloomington (Elder Adventurer, Bucket List Crosser-Offer)
She mentions she's never modeled before, but always felt it would be liberating. Pride. Dignity. Sanctity. Comfort. You can liberate her of so many things, nyeh heh... Kinda rips you up to think about it, but she does have that je ne sais quoi, she's got "it".

You're not sure if she picked deliberately or damned these two girls by random chance. But she did it.

You lean over to see her choices.

"Bravo." You clamp your hands on her shoulders, giving her a little shake and causing a worried sound to slip out of her mouth, volume shaking with your arms.

You let her go and check on the fish with a fork.

You light a smoke after. The sound of the lighter flick summons another body shake.

A minute passes as her tears dry and her jaw slacks, and her shoulders relax.

"Now pull the cod out. I'm starving. It should be nice and flaky by now. Drop the pan and it's your fucking ass, understood?"

Meekly, "yes, master."

"Plates are in this cabinet," you point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, after retrieval, you'll finalize your decision on how to proceed (or not proceed) sexually, and homicidally.

You're really itching for a kill, though. It doesn't even have to be these girls, you can keep them for yourself and murder someone else if that is your choice, Master.

Last Pinch Check up next

>>5206421
>Amanda Plau (Skinny Meth-head)
The easy
>Fatima Mizmar (Professional model, Confident in her Beauty)
And the thot. Neither would be missed much. Our next murder should be someone low profile to burn that excess suspicion first.
Mandie's been a good girl lately, perhaps some kind of twisted reward can be arranged.

bumping, we'll continue in a day or two. in the meantime, go to the lake, have a slugger, listen to DJ Boogie Jay Skeeter, and just relax.

>Eunice Gloomington (Elder Adventurer, Bucket List Crosser-Offer)
>"Black Rose" (Horror Movie Fan)
The others are too high profile or link back to us in some way.

>Joy Kinov (Mayor's Spoiled Blonde Daughter)
>"Black Rose" (Horror Movie Fan)

Really want to see how Black Rose reacts to our crazy shit.

>>5206421
>Fatima Mizmar (Professional model, Confident in her Beauty)
>"Black Rose" (Horror Movie Fan)

>>5206417
>Joy Kinov (Mayor's Spoiled Blonde Daughter)
>"Black Rose" (Horror Movie Fan)

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Flipping a coin again, (Junior) Detective?

Heads (1), and you pick up the illustrious amateur model, a natural beige skin beauty, Fatima Mizmar. Thanks, Craig, founder of Craigslist.

Tails (2), and your inner rage takes over, having you pay a visit to your old fellow high school alumnus, the spoiled, plastic bimbo Joy Kinov.

writing, update dropping tonight or tomorrow morning.

"Black Rose" will be first, of course.

>>5209342
Did someone lock you up in a basement?

>>5213034
God I wish. Bit of writer's block. I usually sit down and write one update in 2-3 hours while I do other stuff. I also usually have an idea how the paths unfold and connect, I haven't put a lot of thought in to this part. Waiting for a muse to strike I guess, not wanting to fall short of what I could write for this part. It's about half done as of right now. Should be dropping in a day or two. Sorry for the drought.

File: Screenshot_20220308-213743.png (551 KB, 1520x720)

551 KB PNG

>>5213090
Jack off retard

But seriously take all the time you need brother.

>>5213090
Take your time QM

Thanks, Craigslist Killer friends <3

In the sticky heat of your Velton kitchen, your lips stick together, not wanting to be alone. They part, separating only to say an adjective and a noun. You haven't spoken since you finished dinner 20 minutes ago. You sit with your elbows on the table. The words drip and stick like molasses. "Black...Rose..."

Atlantic cod and mac and cheese was a good choice. Your belly feels satisfied. You let out a hearty burp, napkin off the burp gasses from your mouth, throw the napkin down, stand up from the table and tell Mandie to "pick it up, I'm going outside for a smoke".

You don't normally smoke unless you also have a diamond-like hardon. The comparison makes the cigarette unappealing and drives your head to lust. You've got to get on your email. You drop the nearly full cigarette and give it The Twist. You head in to watch Mandie clean and go on your phone.

First things first. Location. Where are you going to invite her? (Roll incoming)
>You reserve one of Busy Buster's Bungalows. You'll check it out before using it.
>You'll take her straight home. You can find a place to stash Mandie while you introduce "Black Rose" to her new life.
>Insist you meet in her home. Make sure she's alone.
>Tell her the photoshoot is in the woods. Take her deep in the woods. "Take" her while deep in the woods.
>Back to the cabin near the pond in Pell Springs. Just like the last one.
>Write in - any previous location like Burberry Hotel or Motel 6 or even VPD HQ.

Then you email Black Rose through her anonymized Craigslist address. You tell her when and where to go and to come alone, but in nice, "professional" words, and up the theoretical by pay $100. Skanks always fall for it when you wave money in their face.

She emails back in 12 minutes. "Okay :0) see you then, I'll bring my makeup kit and a few outfits just in case :3 Do you smoke?

-Black Rose"

A scummy stoner lay-about. How trifling. You reply, "Yeah, I smoke. You're not a cop are you? xD let's keep this between us. I got fire kush." That oughta keep her lips sealed from yapping about this to anyone.

You shudder and walk to the restroom to wash your hands and face after having written that abomination of an email.

Your house is now spotless from the attic to the top 3 stairs of your basement thanks to your maid. Beyond those top three stairs lies your secret.

You spend another session with Mandie. You light up another cigarette to see if all the enjoyment is gone forever... Ahhhhhh. No. It's euphoric as long as you're on top of human furniture.

Before locking and gagging Mandie B. Reckin-Dwith up, you browse Craigslist for frivolous items from clothes to skis to game systems to sheds to hamster cages. You muse out loud to Mandie you might like to buy one of these items.
>Is there anything you'd like to buy? Anything at all that one might find on Craigslist? If no, that's okay. You could buy an offroad vehicle or rent a place or get new (used) BDSM gear like a cross or chair or latex suit. You've got the cash.

She's not really conscious enough to answer after taking your wicked snap jabs to her nose and the single, vicious knee to her pubic bone. Just enough to support you as an ottoman or bar stool.

Whatever, you don't need her approval. You spit on her face and in her mouth and put her away wet. "Night, honey, hahahaaa."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perusing the donut selection, you end up getting 6 assorted dozens for all the boys in the department, and a half dozen bear claws for the chief. Gotta keep on everyone's good side.

As you're walking out with your stack of donut boxes nearly obscuring your vision, a man is coming in from outside. You step aside for him. You almost don't notice00. It's Don Black, in golf shorts, cabbie hat, pink striped shirt and purple shades. He looks ridiculous. Before you can say a word, he grunts, takes his shades off as he comes in, and looks you up and down once, then holds his shades a centimeter from covering the bloodshot yellow and white and red of his hazel eyes. "Still kissin' ass, huh, rookie? Heh heh heh."

He lingers in the doorway now that you've allowed him in.
>Threaten him, hold your blackmail over his head.
>Stare until he leaves or speaks again.
>Brush past him and deliver your donuts to HQ.
>Offer him a donut. Ask him what he's doing out of uniform.
>Don't say anything. Pussy out and exit through the door way on the other side of the oblong store, like 150 feet away.
>Say something (Write in only)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You skirt into your normal parking spot and head into HQ. Everyone looks at you coming in...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

>>Roll1d20!!!

This is your final Pinch check, of 5.49. If you beat that, you will return to a Suspicion level of 4.99. If you score too low, you'll need to face the threat of being apprehended, and anything goes in that case. You're so close to being off the hook for Mandie's disappearance, just like Ena and FIRST GIRL (???) Who is FIRST GIRL? Oh, we'll find out. In due time... She, of course, kind of started this all.

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>5216657
>Tell her the photoshoot is in the woods. Take her deep in the woods. "Take" her while deep in the woods.

>Is there anything you'd like to buy?
Shit that's a good question. Maybe another gun or a dirtbike. Beartraps to put on the basement stairs?

I'm gonna say bear traps

>Threaten him, hold your blackmail over his head.

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5216657
>Back to the cabin near the pond in Pell Springs. Just like the last one.
>Is there anything you'd like to buy?
Beartraps and better locks.
>Offer him a donut. Ask him what he's doing out of uniform.

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>5216663
>>Tell her the photoshoot is in the woods. Take her deep in the woods. "Take" her while deep in the woods

>More chains are always needed. Mandie and the new victim needs to secured. Perhaps more medieval torture instruments like a rack or a wooden horse?

>Threaten him, hold your blackmail over his head.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5216657
>Tell her the photoshoot is in the woods. Take her deep in the woods. "Take" her while deep in the woods.

>Is there anything you'd like to buy?
Better locks

>Offer him a donut. Ask him what he's doing out of uniform.

All right everyone its time for complete redemption

>>5216838
Good job, you saved yourself! I really thought you might have been the previous post with a new ID, lol. If you did score another 1, 2 or 3, we would've been busted! It would take two Crit fails in a row to stop you now. You came through when it mattered most. "Black Rose" is FUCKED.

Voting still open.

>>5216862
I was honestly expecting another crit fail
Either way, looks like we off the hook

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>5216663
>>Back to the cabin near the pond in Pell Springs. Just like the last one

>Is there anything you'd like to buy? Anything at all that one might find on Craigslist? If no, that's okay. You could buy an offroad vehicle or rent a place or get new (used) BDSM gear like a cross or chair or latex suit. You've got the cash.
Locks, chains, traps, torture tools etc

>Offer him a donut. Ask him what he's doing out of uniform.

(Writing)

>>5217798
You're supposed to put more than one tag in the archive to link your previous quests fae. Now where's the update?

>>5223912
Son of a bitch. I had a whole list of tags but only the one made it through. I'll try to rectify that. The update has been 80% written in my edit pad for about 4 days. I've just been dreading/putting off one section of the post, but I still think it's worth including. It's just a few paragraphs holding me back. Should be out in no time.

>>5223924
We believe in you QM you can pull through

>>5224381
No I'm a piece of shit and I can't write murdersmut anymore I'm too much of a fucking pussy

Srsly tho I've had the update written for days and I'm happy with it except for one little part where I've got some writer's block. You probably won't even be able to tell which section it was by the time it's posted, but I don't want to have to do even more confusing time jumping forwards and backwards than I've already done.

>>5224399
>No I'm a piece of shit and I can't write murdersmut anymore I'm too much of a fucking pussy
Come to my basement. I have something that can help you with your problem.

>>5224418
You sound nice and vaguely remind me of my father, so I think I'll go down to your basement with you.

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Every set of police peepers are pointed at you as you walk in to HQ...

"HUUURRRRAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"

(in the back) "...FUCK YEAH!!!"

You smile at the crowd to maintain appearances.

Jimmy comes up and takes your stack of boxes and sets them down on his nearby desk and quickly knuckles a maple bar. "Come on everybody, they're still warm!!"

"Alright!" It's a sea of blue flocking to the 6 boxes of assorted donuts.

Seth Higgins saunters up with coolly pocketed hands and lightly bowed head, jacket off, wood-handled, carbon black 1911 hanging snug in his shoulder holster on his barrel chest.

"He-heyy, how nice of ya, Junior." He takes his hands out of his pockets to rub them together as he straightens his back and looks in your face. "Get any bear claws for me?"

He's waiting and smiling.

You're having a flashback to asking Don Black if he wanted a donut, and why he was skipping work today for the golf greens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Have a donut, huh? Oooo, what are these?" He grabs the small bag on top with the half dozen.

"No, not those, one from the other boxes, Don."

"Oh, okay." He pulls his hand back a bit, then looks you in the eye and slowly opens a smile with his rising cheeks. He deliberately and slowly reaches over, then snatches the bag, still eye-to-eye with you, then walks off with the bear claws.

He leaves the store, gets back in his Cadillac, parked right next to your Lincoln, slams the door in to it purposefully, then shuts his door slowly and gingerly with a Ray Charles smile, and peels out of Donut Shoop's parking lot and shouts, "thanks, and don't fuckin' worry about me, playa. Hahahahaaa!"

He stuffs his mouth full of bear claw and burns rubber while you walk to your dented Lincoln Continental.

Fuming is usually an exaggeration, but you think you're actually producing steam from the anger and poise it takes not to just slam all the donuts on the ground and scream, or take out your service weapon and hunt this old fuck down.
>Donald Black must die. Your murderlust is getting out of control, and Don's decapitated head would soothe the itch for weeks, easily.
>Rat on him at the department, but be all cool-headed about it. "Yeah, psycho just walks up and friggin' takes the donuts out of my hand, dressed like Tiger fucking Woods' grandpappy! Dented my car too. I'll tell ya, Don's lost it."
>Chuckle this incident off. It was a chance brush-up. If Don Black continues his disrespect and thinks to get away with it, you have OPTIONS for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sorry, no. No bear claws, Seth. They were... Out. The assorted boxes come with apple fritters, though, those are kind of like bear cla-"

"Go fuck yourself, kid." Seth loses his smile, re-pockets his hands and walks away from you with a slight slump in his back.

He was kind of the main guy you wanted to impress. Not this circus of monkeys who probably already forgot who bought the donuts. Fuck it.

You develop your own slump for a moment, which kinks itself out the second Inspector Cantella de Pena-Ortiz grabs your elbow with her soft, cool hand. She mouse-squeaks, "Juníor Detective, thank chu for the donuts! You're not trying to butter us all up are you? H-na-h-na-h-nah! May we speak somewhere not so... Loud?" What an obnoxious laugh. Good thing you're wearing black pants though, because that elbow squeeze made your blood flow South for the winter, if you catch my drift. You hope no one sees your massive bulge that is hanging right above this tiny Latina woman's belly button as she leans in to tell you: "Jyour investigatíon is over, Detective. I knew ju were innocent the whole time! Just a formality, ju'know? My daddy was a cop so I was brought up to back the blue. Hnahnahnah! By the way, I heard ju were going to be in the Journal! Keep up the good work, Juníor Detective." She winks at you and walks out of the break room you were in, leaving your blood lingering in your cock. Now that's one hot tamale. Yeah, you'd wreck that. Yeah, you'd fucking tear that up! With garden shears and piano wire.

Speaking of the Journal, you head to the bathroom stall to rub out your thoughts of both Cantella de Pena-Ortiz and Jenny Jenkins, who is printing your story in the Journal tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*FLUSH*

You're caught up on all paperwork except this newest development in the Lon Lemmings case. You want to bring it up with Seth Higgins to see how he thinks you should proceed with the investigation.

You're reviewing the case file. Hoo-wee, these are some bad kids, man. Young adults, actually. Only a few years younger than you. But they both went to the private school in Millard Hills while you were dredging through public school, so you've never met the kids. You muse on "Scrawny" Ronny's last name of Higgins. Gotta be a co-winky-dink, because there's no way that shit-eating twig has the same genetics running through his body as the gnarled oak tree known as Commissioner Seth of VPD.

You slow-walk into Seth's office, coolly toss the file on his desk, letting it fly down a good foot before lightly slapping the cheap, utilitarian Formica desktop.

"Ahh, good, that Lon Lemmings case. We solve this, and Velton County can breathe a sigh of relief. That, and the Dean at P.U. will finally stop calling three times a day to 'check for status updates of our investigatorial units'. Pshh. Dweeb." His dork-voice when he was imitating the Dean actually made you chuckle.

Within seconds of opening the folder, Seth's expression and candor have vanished, and he sits with his elbows on the desk, reading solemnly instead of out loud. He's never done that before.

...Ronny is Seth's boy after all. That's the only thing you can glean from Seth's tortured facial musculature.

"If only I knew what he was up to... Hrmm..." Seth scratches his square jaw with his vanilla gorilla hand. He briefly glances at you while caressing his jaw, then looks down at his desk, then his lap, then his shoes.

To break the silence, you started talking about the case - typical stuff like going over protocols and acquiring all the usual paperwork and "permission slips" - when you noticed Seth wasn't paying attention to you, so you ping in, "Commish Higgins? Seth? Hello???"

He's got the gaze locked in good.

Seth is wrestling with the demons of a conflicted father and a straight-laced puritan police chief. His head hangs low, and for the first time ever, Seth can't look you in the eyes as he talks to you. He trips over his speech. Balls of sweat form and reflect light on his fluorescently-exposed forehead.

What will he do when he finds out his own son is a deadly bully, practically a murderer? The moral dilemma titillates you into an unhideable creep-grin. You do so appreciate a jarring squabble, especially from this distance.

Suddenly the Commissioner snaps back up, spine straight, eyes dry. He looks you in the eye with his typical resolve and burly demeanor, and offers you an apology for interrupting you, and a thank you for leaving him alone to meditate on the situation, though Seth would never even use the word meditate in his lingo. You say "of course," and make an about face so you can exit his office when he says "Skeletor..."

Looking back, you see him mixing a double-shot of Scotch with half a Velta-Cola, opening his drawn blinds. He tells you to hold back for now, standby for further operations. "...Kid, you're my most trusted detective. I'm gonna need you later." He doesn't mention if it's for this case or future cases, but he said it with a cryptic certainty and unshakeable weight behind his words. What do you do about the Commissioner's hazing suspect son and his collegiate partner-in-polo?
>Listen to Commish and hold back. You initiated this case by the books, and by golly gee willakers, you'll finish it by the books!
>Talk to Ronny Higgins face-to-face. Confront him with the evidence and see how he reacts. Maybe you can strike a wicked partnership of some sort.
>Same but with Rick Rippler. You could probably use him for... "stuff", and "things". Plus, no attachment to Ronny means no drama with Seth, if it should ever turn into that. Ronny may get pinned for the whole thing.
>Pin the whole thing on Rick Rippler. (Silently or explicitly) help "Scrawny" Ronny get away with it. You can try to call in a favor from Ronny or Seth with this blackmail later.
>"If only I knew what he was up to..." Sounds like Higgins wants you to play a little I-Spy on Ronny, without him explicitly asking you. I mean, he was looking right at you when he said it! Time to stalk your boss's deviant co-ed son.
>Write in - ???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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In between your mountain of paperwork, you took time to keep looking on Craigslist. You found the perfect estate sale and emailed the lady, saying you'd be there at 6PM. Ancient woman, left alone with her deceased husband's farm gear, held on to it for years, but is getting too old to do anything with it. $400 down and you pick up 6 fox and 2 bear traps. Easily 100 feet length in galvanized chain. A horse saddle with reigns and leather riding crop. A very sturdy oak workhorse. A cordless reciprocating saw and a box of hand tools. A stack of lumber and logs that fit in the Lincoln. An old half filled jug of ether. Another 100 feet in rough, jagged, stiff rope. A cool looking pair of buck antlers. "Thanks lady."

"Oh, dearie, what happened to your car! It's so lovely, except for the door! It's all banged up!" She says, following you out of her open-air shed.

"Oh, heh heh, y'know, jackasses on the road. Wasn't me, scout's honor!" You raise one hand to your heart, the other to the sky.

She giggles and waves you off her isolated property.

You place everything you can in the trunk. Miraculously, the workhorse fits in the Lincoln upside down and with the passenger seat pulled all the way forward.

On the drive home you get hungry. The cod was the last meat in your house, you didn't take out the other cod to defrost... You've got an endless supply of cod. You don't really want cod tonight anyway. How many codpieces can a man eat?!? Your stomach rumbles, and you've got a bit of a headache from slamming down those glazed sprinkle donuts so early in the morning.

>Drive thru, V-Burger.
>Take out, Chicken Hut.
>Sit down, Gardens of Lebanon.
>Pick non-cod food up from Jon's Supermarket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Black Rose" also emailed you again, confirming tomorrow night's photoshoot deep in the Piedmont woods of the Lower Appalachians. She agrees with you that the waterfall and the trees and the pine needles on the ground will be a great backdrop for a coffee ad. You think the waterfall will be nice for obscuring her screams, and the thick of the tree line will obscure any prying, hiking eyes. Not many people know about Hangman's Falls, but you do. And you don't mind introducing a special lady friend every now and then... Just so long as she doesn't tell. Loose lips sink ships, as they say; that's why you use ball gags.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

>Roll 1d20!

You're still a suspicious, not-quite-slimy guy! Keep passing suspicion checks and maintaining a low profile/good reputation to combat your secret from being exposed!
Suspicion Check: 4.99

>>5227331
>>Rat on him at the department, but be all cool-headed about it. "Yeah, psycho just walks up and friggin' takes the donuts out of my hand, dressed like Tiger fucking Woods' grandpappy! Dented my car too. I'll tell ya, Don's lost it."

>Pin the whole thing on Rick Rippler. (Silently or explicitly) help "Scrawny" Ronny get away with it. You can try to call in a favor from Ronny or Seth with this blackmail later.

>Drive thru, V-Burger.

Welcome back you son of a bitch

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>5227644

>>5227644
>Welcome back you son of a bitch
"Uhhhh... Welcome to V-Burger may I take your order?"

Sorry for the delay, everyone, and to the guy who already downvoted the archive, lol. Page 10 is coming, I'm pretty sure I'll just jump in to part 4 but I may give it a week or two to (blueball you guys, and) work on the plot.

(bumping)

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5227644
Supporting

Continuing in 8 days. Just kidding. Probably.

Leaving voting open for at least another day.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5227331
>Chuckle this incident off. It was a chance brush-up. If Don Black continues his disrespect and thinks to get away with it, you have OPTIONS for him.
>Talk to Ronny Higgins face-to-face. Confront him with the evidence and see how he reacts. Maybe you can strike a wicked partnership of some sort.
>Drive thru, V-Burger.

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>5227326
>Rat on him at the department, but be all cool-headed about it. "Yeah, psycho just walks up and friggin' takes the donuts out of my hand, dressed like Tiger fucking Woods' grandpappy! Dented my car too. I'll tell ya, Don's lost it."
>Pin the whole thing on Rick Rippler. (Silently or explicitly) help "Scrawny" Ronny get away with it. You can try to call in a favor from Ronny or Seth with this blackmail later.
>Take out, Chicken Hut.
>>5227331
About time! Just kidding, welcome back QM

Aaaaand... Pencils down, lady and gentlemen.

I'm feelin' it boys (and girl), I'm feelin' the writing spirit! I swear it won't take me 10+ days to update this quest again... Holy shit I don't even believe it was that long between updates last time, my bad. I've noticed this quest is easier to write when I'm ticked off. Maybe a stress relief type deal. Let's not look too deep into the psychological implications that may carry.

>>5231125
Does that mean I just have to low roll to get you to post?

>>5231190
That IS one of my main fetishes

Thanks to my untimely hiatus, this thread is about to hit Page 11. Next update is structured and partially written. This thread is already (poorly) archived, I'll be fixing that soon, so it'll be easier to search for.

This concludes Part 3, Part 4 is coming very soon. Big thanks to all the tri/qst/ers, tra/qst/ars and con/qst/adors for providing what makes a quest a quest - Sluggers. Er, I mean... Love :^ )

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New update is ready, update after next is also somewhat structured. Just going to do a few things to get ready for Part 4 first so that hopefully the gaps between posts won't be so long in the next thread, And I can hopefully stick to 2-4 updates per week for this quest.

Look for picrel, coming to a theatre near you in IMAX 4-D!!

>>5235748
Can't wait for the adventures of the family-friendly Skeletor to continue