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1. Run.

2. Kill.

3. sssssssssssssssssssssssssss

[Friday]

oh also looks like our favorite creepy and cute little girl won the vote. Update upcoming... sometime. IT'S CHRISTMAS GIVE ME A BREAK

[Friday]

You are crying softly into your pillow. You miss Wolfy. You wish he would find you. Davey promised he would leave a note. Why hasn't Wolfy come to find you? He promised he would take care of you.

You roll over onto your back, wiping your face with your hand. Sniffling, you try to get yourself under control, or else David will hear you and get mad again.

Footsteps. Too late. You close your eyes and pretend to sleep.

"What's wrong?" comes David's tenor voice. He sounds, as usual, somewhat irritated, as if he'd rather be elsewhere. Not like Wolfy, who was always patient and happy to be around you.

"Nothing," you say sullenly, knowing from experience that David does not want the subject of Wolfy brought up. After all, it was his idea to leave.

David lets out a long sigh. "Bad dreams again?"

You nod. Though true, that's not what you had been crying about.

"Well, you're safe now. Go back to sleep, OK?"

"Okay," you gulp.

David lingers for a moment, then leaves, muttering under his breath.

You lay on your back staring up at the bare wooden roof. Cracks and shadows make hideous faces in the dark. It's scary, but nothing like what you've seen in recent times. You just wish you could go back to when Davey, Jakey and Wolfy were all together. You felt safe then, despite all the monsters, because you knew Wolfy would protect you and Jakey would help you if you got hurt.

But now it's just Davey, and he doesn't seem to like you that much. It's true he's been taking care of you, but he does it almost grudgingly, like it was a chore.

You think back to when you left Wolfy all alone in that house after the dogs.

********************

It's quiet. You're alone in your small room, in your small bed. Wolfy and David are asleep just down the hall from you. You can't sleep. You awoke several hours ago, gripped in a sudden, nameless fear, atop your covers, only a small flimsy nightgown between you and the chill air. You know what's going to happen before it happens, but can't move. A huge invisible skeletal hand has you pinned to your bed, where you can only sweat cold beads of moisture that roll off your skin like oil on water.

And then --

Footsteps.

Oh no. He's back.

You try to scream, to let out a shriek, but your mouth refuses to unhinge. The best you can manage is a cold grimace in the dark.

The door to your room creaks open, slowly. You can hear him breathing at the threshold.

You thrash and flail internally. On the outside, you are frozen.

Slow, soft footfalls coming into your room. You can hear him muttering now.

we are many we are one

No no no no. You can't be scared. You'll die if you're scared. Move. Please move. Please please please please move. If you could just break this terrible silence you could banish him back to the darkness.

we are many, we are one. we are many, we are one. the red star shines. now comes the offering of blood.

The voice is faint whispers that crawl on your skin like snakes. Or worms.

the blood shall cleanse, the blood shall feed. we are many, but she is one. she will be cleansed. by the many shall we become the one.

A shadow above you. It's holding something in its hands. A fireplace poker, pointed downward at you. It raises the poker high above, to thrust down and pierce your flesh.

The One Shall Become The Many. We Are Many, We Are One.

You scream.

"WOLFY!"

The figure, poised to thrust downward, suddenly freezes as your voice pierces the night like an icicle shattering glass. The sound of your scream echoes in your ears.

The figure shudders. Gasps. Recedes.

A minute later, David runs into your room.

You tell him everything. He listens with a blank face.

You finish. David is looking at you with clear eyes.

"You think it was just a dream," you say to him.

"No, no I don't," he says back.

The silence stretches.

"We can't stay here," he finally says. "Jonathan is... not himself right now."

You nod slowly. "He's still healing from Spot," you say.

"He's going to get better," David says, sighing. "But until he does, we can't stay here, with him. It's not safe. He might hurt you, without meaning to."

You nod, tears falling onto the bedsheets.

"We'll have to leave. Tonight," David says. "I'll leave him a note, so he can follow us once he gets better. Is that OK?"

You nod, again slowly. You don't want to leave Wolfy here alone, but you are scared.

"Come on, honey," David says. "I'll take care of you. Don't worry about a thing."

He holds out his arms and you slip gratefully into them.

*********************

You turn your mind away. You don't want to think about it anymore.

And Wolfy hasn't come. He promised he would take care of you, and he hasn't come.

You don't want to be with David anymore. You're scared he'll get mad at you and leave you all alone.

You turn away from the waking world, and back into your dreams. They are odd, and scary, but sometimes you can see Wolfy in them. Sometimes he is with a strange girl. Other times he is walking through a deep mist. The dreams don't make sense, but they are some comfort to you when you can see his face. See he is still looking for you. But they are just dreams. Wolfy hasn't come.

And there is someone else in your dreams. Someone who also watches Wolfy. Someone red.

And he is no longer asleep.

*******************************************

You awaken. Your body aches. Rubble surrounds you. Where has your new master gone? You will find him.

**********************

You wake up. You first thought is, He's gone. Your second thought is, Maybe that is for the best.

**********************

You wake up. The sound of the girl crying softly has awoken you. Groaning, you roll out of your bed and put your bare feet down on the cold floor.

"Jesus, can't she get over him already?" you mutter.

**********************

You are already awake. The Other is near. It will not be long now.

**********************

"Hey, old man," you say, smiling softly. The figure you are adressing whirls like a cat, rifle at the ready.

"I'm afraid your bullets won't work very well on me," you say, grinning through rotted teeth.

**********************

Select player.

[Kayma]

Oh man, it's like that part in Final Fantasy VI where everyone falls down a waterfall.

[Friday]

Kupo!

[Guild]

Voting dog!

[Friday]

"Hey, old man," you say, smiling softly. The figure you are adressing whirls like a cat, rifle at the ready.

"I'm afraid your bullets won't work very well on me," you say, grinning through rotted teeth.


"Let's find out," the man replies, and pulls the trigger of his rifle, firing a burst of metal into your skull.

Your head snaps back like a broken toy as blood and chunks of skull fly outward in a reverse spiral of ruin. You smile with dead lips to the heavens and fall to the ground. Pine needles scatter under you.

The man approaches your body carefully, rifle held poised, smoke trailing from the muzzle. You wait until he's within a few feet, then reach out lightning fast to grab his ankle.

You raise your ruined head and grin gapingly at him. "Surprise!" you gurgle through blood.

The man jerks away and puts several more rounds into your torso. You jerk and spasm on the ground, laughing like popping bubbles.

After he's finished firing, you lay still for a moment, then rise up stiff as a board, never moving your feet. Your terrible grin remains frozen in place. Your missing eye glows red. Your face has partially reconstructed itself; enough for visible, if grotesque, features to be seen.

The man stares agape at you, his rifle slowly lowering.

You spread your hands.

"Toldjer," you giggle.

The man takes a step back, then another. He turns and runs.

You sigh.

***************************

You watch the door open from the other side. He slams it shut behind him and peeks out the peephole back where you were.

"Whatcha looking at?" you ask softly.

The man whirls, nostrils flaring, eyes wild. He sprays wildly, putting several more rounds into you and the walls of the empty house.

You laugh. "Man, you're dumber than him. Don't you get it yet? You can't shoot me dead."

"What the fuck are you?" the man asks.

"That's not really relevant," you say dismissively. "What's relevant is what information I have for you."

The man eyes you warily.

You idly pick at your face, waiting.

"Who are you?" the man asks.

"I told you, that's not important," you reply, flicking away a bit of grime from your face.

The man is silent for a long while. Finally he raises his rifle again.

"You're a monster," he says.

You smile. "True, but that's hardly the point, is it?"

The man looks confused. You take a step forward, lifting one hand outward toward him. Pointing your index finger.

"I can see that I'm going to have to do this the hard way, Kyle," you say, softly. Slowly. "I'm here to help you, Kyle, I'm here to tell you things. To ... enlighten you, Kyle."

Kyle presses back against the door he shut against you. He empties the rest of his clip as you advance. The bullets rip into your flesh like divers slicing cleanly into the water. Somewhere, under you, behind you, a voice is yelling.

"Get away from me!" Kyle screams.

You continue forward, your features changing. Assuming another guise, another form. Your fingernail begins to turn red.

"What the FUCK ARE YOU?!" Kyle says. He is shaking all over.

"I am you," you reply.

Your finger delves directly into his right eye socket. Kyle screams and slumps to the floor.

You stand over him, bringing his impaled eyeball to your mouth. Your teeth close around it with relish.

"Jesse is gone," you tell the sleeping man at your feet. "She has left to find Jon. You should go after her. You should find her. You should keep her safe from him. I know where they are going."

You lean down to whisper in his ear.

When you are finished, you go to the entrance to the bunker. Your business here is concluded. Now it's time to have some fun.

**************************************************

You awaken. Your body aches. Rubble surrounds you. Where has your new master gone? You will find him.

**********************

You wake up. You first thought is, He's gone. Your second thought is, Maybe that is for the best.

**********************

You wake up. The sound of the girl crying softly has awoken you. Groaning, you roll out of your bed and put your bare feet down on the cold floor.

"Jesus, can't she get over him already?" you mutter.

**********************

You are already awake. The Other is near. It will not be long now.

**********************

Select Player.

[Norondor]

jesus

[Friday]

You wake up. You first thought is, He's gone. Your second thought is, Maybe that is for the best.

You stretch and yawn, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Part of you just wants to lay back down on your cot, close your eyes, and drift back into the peaceful rest you were just experiencing. It's been quite a long time since you've gotten any good sleep.

But that nagging little certainty keeps pulling at strings in your mind, keeping you from relaxing. Something is amiss, or soon will be. You've got to take charge now, or else you won't get a chance, later.

You swing your legs under you and slowly stand, blinking hard. You're not entirely sure how long you were asleep. A long time, it feels like.

There is a soft knock on the door. You lick your lips to wet them and reply.

"Yes?"

"You awake?" comes a muffled voice on the other side of the door.

"Yeah," you reply.

The door slowly opens, casting a dim light into the storage room you were sleeping in. Despite its dimness, you squint your eyes against it.

Shawna stands framed in the doorway. Her face is neutral.

"You want something to eat?" she asks.

"Yeah, that'd be great," you reply, though you're not really too hungry.

Shawna stands there, looking at you. You begin to wonder what she's looking at.

"What happened to your eye?" she says, finally.

Oh.

"I don't know," you reply. "I woke up one morning and it was like this."

"Really?" Shawna shifts in the doorway. "No offense, but it looks horrible. You should cover it up."

You nod, refraining from telling her that she was the one who came into your bedroom while you were barely awake.

Shawna stands there for another second or two, then turns. "I'm making more beans. You'd better get used to them, they're pretty much all we have around here."

You crack your neck back and forth and stretch, sticking your arms straight up and out. You stand and follow Shawna out of the room.

"Where are the boys?" you ask her when you join her in the kitchen.

"Dunno. Still not back yet," Shawna says without looking at you as she opens a tin with a can opener on the stove. "Daddy spends a lot of time out there, prowling around. He's probably taken your friend with him."

Something inside you tells you different. You don't how you know, but you know Jon is gone. If he was closer, you could feel him.

Feel him?

Yes. Despite the weird implications, you know this is nonetheless true.

A moment of anger and fear rises in you.

He left me. He isn't going to take care of me after all.

No. You push the emotion back down. If Clark left, he must have had a good reason.

You watch Shawna work in silence. She seems to be a fairly competent cook. Her long black hair is unkempt and tangled, but you can tell that it would be quite pretty when cleaned and combed. Though her initial reactions to you and Clark were negative, she seems to have accepted you, for now, at least.

Maybe you could stay here. Clark can take care of himself. You've got food, shelter and supplies here.

***************************

1. Stay. Clark will be back for you, when he's ready.

2. Decide to leave.

[Mothra]

3

edit: fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff i quit

[Friday]

2. Decide to leave.

You take a long look around.

Bare walls, scant furniture. The only carpeted room is the living room, and even though it was obviously designed to feel like a home, it feels fake. You can tell the concrete is just behind the carpets, the bad wallpaper. The window lets in some scant light that hovers in the air of the dining room like a wisp of cloth. Shawna dumps a can of beans into a pot and stirs it wordlessly.

You are beginning to see why Shawna thinks of this place as a prison.

And then there's Kyle. He's a good enough guy, but something isn't entirely right up in his mind. Something is loose, and always has been. Even when you were a little girl, you could tell. Locking his family in a bunker "for their protection." He may have been right to do it. Shawna might have sneaked off and be dead right now if he hadn't, but... still.

Your mind goes back to a hunting trip your father took you on, when you were maybe twelve or thirteen. It's something you haven't thought about in a long, long time. Your father forced you to go. You didn't want to, but you didn't have a choice. Unlike most teenage girls your age, you didn't whine and complain, but instead endured it silently.

Kyle was there, of course. You were down in the Sacramento Valley, hunting fowl. Waiting for them to fly over the imaginary line that separated the wildlife preserve and the rest of the world. Most of the birds had wised up, gotten smart. They stayed on their side of the line.  But once in a while some hapless fowl would wander over the line and into the gauntlet of men with guns laying in wait for them like snakes in the grass. What a sport.

You remember waiting for ages and ages in that tall grass, cold, wet, miserable. Holding your gun in your hands because your father made you. You had no intention of using it. The rain was steady and light and splattered on your face and ran down your cheeks and arms and the back of your neck and plastered your hair like spaghetti in long strands under the hunting cap you wore.

"Having a good time?" Kyle asked you, grinning from ear to ear like a fucking idiot, his eyes dancing. It was clear you were not, and it was equally clear that he knew it. Right then, right there, for the first time, something clicked over inside you, and you knew what it was to hate. Really hate. You'd been angry before, and upset, but this was cold. Dark. Venomous.

You turned to Kyle and smiled. "The time of my life," you replied, and he saw the hatred in your eyes. Something flickered back at you in his, and for a moment, you briefly imagined him turning his gun on you.

Instead, just at that moment, a great white bird, like a feathered angel, suddenly came flying overhead, drawing fire from your father, who was sitting a few hundred feet off.

The bird flew on. Kyle turned to sight it. You had to stifle the urge to tackle him.

Kyle took his time. Slow. Level. You could see one eye in profile. It was cold, calculating. Adjusting for distance, wind, rain. Slow, sure, the wheels in his mind ground very fine.

And then he fired. And the goose fell out of the sky like an angel plummeting from heaven. A few feathers lingered in the air, floating slowly downward like snowflakes in a soft storm.

Kyle stood and motioned to you. "Come on," he said.

You followed him. Because what else would you do? You were only twelve or thirteen.

Your father used a dog. You could hear him barking, almost feel him straining at the leash, desperate to run off to find the downed bird. Kyle said he preferred doing it himself. Said it was part of the fun, part of the sport. Sometimes he'd even wade up to his neck in the pools of murky water. You'd never witnessed him fail to return with the bird. He joked about it, said he had the nose of a bloodhound.

This particular bird was not one of the hard ones to find. It was laying splattered on the mud in a terrible and magnificent display of random and senseless violence. Red and white and dark brown. Kyle bent over and held it aloft like a trophy, grinning at you as the blood and rain ran down his bare arm.

He had blown the head clean off. He held the thing by the remains of the neck, the lifeblood of the bird running down and through the cracks of his fingers. In that instant, the sun came out from behind a cloud and painted the entire scene crimson and orange and you could actually feel the memory being burned into your eyes and brain.

And then the moment passed, and everything was normal again. The hate you felt was gone. The vision of something terrible was fading. All that was left was a girl alone in a cold field of grass and water and dead things.

It was the last hunting trip you would go on. The next time your father asked you, a year later, you refused. Your father insisted, as you knew he would. You insisted back. Coldly, quietly. The angrier your father got with you, the colder you became.

You didn't know it at the time, or even years later, but at some point you realized that final hunting trip was one of the strongest driving forces you would ever experience that would shape you into the person you were today.

The strongest, of course, being your experiences at the cabin.

Kyle was the past. Jonathan was the future. You would find him.

All that remained now was to escape. You're not going to bother talking to Kyle. You know what would happen, what he would say. Pointless to try.

So all that's left is to figure out a way out of here. Kyle must keep an extra key to the exit in his room.

You glance at Shawna. Should you... try to knock her out, or something? No, she's probably no threat to you. You don't want to hurt anybody.

I wonder what your father and little brother would say about that, ha ha ha

You wait until Shawna is finished making the beans and eat them in silence. Afterward, you head to the rear of the complex until you are outside Kyle's bedroom door.

Locked, of course. Damn. How are you going to get out of here?

You stand silently in front of his door for several minutes. Wait until Kyle gets home, trick him somehow? You don't like that idea. Something inside tells you that you need to leave as soon as possible, and Kyle might not be back for the whole day.

Break down the door, maybe? But it looks pretty solid. Hinges on the other side, too. Maybe you could --

"You're leaving, aren't you?" comes a voice to your left.

You spin in surprise.

Shawna is standing there, blank faced.

*******************************

1. "Yes."

2. "No."

[Friday]

1. "Yes."

Shawna's face does not change. She simply continues to stare at you. You stare back.

Shawna nods. "I thought so. To be honest, I'm glad. You don't belong here."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Here," she says, and hands you a key.

You reach out and take it. Shawna reads the question on your lips.

"It's the master key to the bunker. I stole it from my father a while ago. It opens every lock in here. He thinks he lost it out on one of his walks."

You rub the key between thumb and finger. "So this whole time, you've been able to leave, whenever you want?"

"Yeah," Shawna says. "Pathetic, isn't it? For all my talk. I actually did leave, once. Got about a mile from the house. Saw one of those... things."

You shrug. "Maybe it's better that you stay here."

Shawna sighs. "It's been too long. The government, the army, whatever. They're not coming."

You shake your head. "You don't know that. Maybe they're just busy in other places."

Shawna raises a hand. "You should get going. I'm going to go into my room now. I won't bother you further."

She turns to leave. You put a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to get into a lot of trouble with your father for this," you say gently.

Shawna shrugs. "So what? What's he gonna do, shoot me? I almost wish he would."

She walks down the hall. You stare after her for a moment, then turn back to the door.

Should you go in? You're not sure. Part of you wants to, but all you'll find in there is keys to locks you can already open, probably. And you don't want to invade his privacy. After all, he took you in.

Eh. You'll see what there is to see in the armory.

You approach the heavy iron door and open the lock. The door swings open slowly, and you step inside the concrete hall, lined on both sides with weapons.

Rifles. Ammo. Handguns. Shotguns. Boxes of bullets and shells. What looks like a bazooka. Knives, arranged on the walls in patterns. A large bolt action sniper rifle with telescopic lens hangs over the rest of the rifles like a King seated above the court. You can tell it's heavily customized. You vaguely remember Kyle bragging about it, some far off day ago.

You're most familiar with the shotgun, so you select a pump action 12 gauge. You sling it over your back by the strap. It's black and heavy. You take two boxes of shells, pausing to load five in from a third box. Forty-five shells taken in all.

You take a 9mm and box of clips. There's a belt with a holster for it, with a place for two extra clips as well as other pouches. You put it on and slide the handgun next to your hip. It rides high on your waist.

A short while later, you've gathered a backpack, supplies, food, alcohol and water. Should be enough for a while. You enter the bathroom and glance at your reflection in the mirror. You empty eye socket is ugly.

You return to the armory and glance around, not quite sure what you're looking for. Something is missing.

You return to the front of Kyle's door, rubbing the master key between your fingers. On impulse you abruptly open it.

The door opens inward, revealing a large, neat room. The bed is large but simple. A small bookshelf sits against the wall, lined with technical manuals and other inscrutable tomes. It's dark, but you light one of the lanterns hanging near the door.

The light illuminates the room. Something through the door to the bathroom catches your eye.

You walk into the master bath and look at a small case laying on the counter next to the sink. You open it with slender fingers.

Inside is three glass eyes.

You stand there for a moment, the implications slowly making their way up and down your nervous system. A black eye-patch hangs around the inside doorknob.

Kyle... Kyle is infected.

Shit.

How long? Does he know about the effect alcohol has? He must. How could you not have noticed his fake eye before? He must be very good at hiding it. Or perhaps you never looked very closely.

In any case, yet another reason for you not to stay. You grab the eye-patch from the door and put it on. In the mirror, you look very pale.

On Kyle's nightstand you find the keys to the panel truck. You take them and head to the exit.

The house above is empty, silent. You hurry outside, to the truck. It starts up with no problems.

Time to go find Clark.

**************************************************

You awaken. Your body aches. Rubble surrounds you. Where has your new master gone? You will find him.

**********************

You wake up. The sound of the girl crying softly has awoken you. Groaning, you roll out of your bed and put your bare feet down on the cold floor.

"Jesus, can't she get over him already?" you mutter.

**********************

You are already awake. The Other is near. It will not be long now.

**********************

Select Player.

[Transportation]

DOG PUPPY ADVENTURES.

[Guild]

is it dog time

[Cthulhu-chan]

i would have voted puppy but i checked too late but its okay because its puppy time

[Friday]

You awaken. Your body aches. Rubble surrounds you. Where has your new master gone? You will find him.

You try to stand but something is pinning you down. Whining softly, you begin to squirm and work your way out from under it. Dust clogs your nostrils and you snort in frustration.

Finally, after minutes of pawing, you manage to wriggle and drag yourself out from under the heavy concrete that you awoke under. You get to your unsteady feet.

An acrid red smell hangs in the air. The smell of burning, of death, of destruction. Far away, you can smell the dying of the nest, deep underground.

You don't know why your master had driven in his car so quickly and with such passion toward the foul-smellers. You tried to warn him but he did not hear you. Just as you had tried to warn your previous master of the foul-smellers growing in his mate. But you are a dog and sometimes the humans around you do not pay attention. It is a quirk of their species that you have long since grown used to.

You put your nose to the ground and attempt to sort out the myriad of smells that present themselves, searching for the one that will lead you down the path your master took. You can smell the acrid red, of course, hanging over everything, clouding out the lesser gifted noses. But you are not like them, not like the humans with their keen eyesight and inferior ears and puny noses. You have learned long ago that in almost all physical regards you are the superior. Faster, stronger (if not larger) and far better senses, except for eyesight. The human strength has always been their cleverness.

The foul-smellers do not need cleverness. They replace the minds of those they conquer with their own. And they do not need eyes. That is why your kind is the preferred vessel.

The smells register in your nose like threads leading to different balls of yarn. Your own smell. The smell of the humans in the black clothing. The smell of the one of them who was foul. The smell of death, of life, the faint smell of those who had been here many days ago.

Searching. Searching. Ranging wider and wider, finding threads, following them to dead ends, starting over. The dust chokes you.

Finally you find what you are looking for. Your master, the one who saved you from the locked room where you had thought you were going to leave the path. Your old master had perished there. He had almost taken you with him, and you are not sure why he did not. Surely leaving you to starve in the room, alone, was worse than an unknown, new path.

But he did not and now you are grateful. A kind man had found you. At first, when he had entered the room, you had growled in your mind. You could smell the foulness in him, the rot, the decay of his internal systems as more and more of his insides were churned up and replaced with the foul-smellers.

But then he had been kind to you. Not like the rest that you had smelled. And you realized that you could smell something else: The foulness inside of him was different. Choked. Restricted. The human had found a way to fight back. And not only that, but there was another smell about him. Something different, something almost sweet.

And there was a female with him. She too, you did not initially like, for she had the sickly sweet smell of them in her, too. But like your master, she also had found a way to fight it. But to her you gave not as much attention, for she was clearly not the alpha. The man lead and it was to he that your subservience would be offered. The female may have a higher station than you but it was not to she that your loyalty was due.

Your thoughts are inappropriate. Now is not the time for memory and review. You must find your master. You have found his smell, and now you will follow it. You begin to follow his path.

A ruined diner. You are not sure what the word diner means, but you have heard the humans refer to these places as such. It seems to be a place where they gather to feed. It seems idiotic to you that one should limit themselves to specific places to eat, but humans are a strange race and you are not intelligent enough to guess at all their reasons.

There is a dead Faceless in the kitchen. Even you think of them as such, long before you heard your new master refer to them. For the description was apt. The smell of him tells you that the foulness inside him is not entirely extinguished. You are careful to skirt around him as you pass.

The trail eventually leads you to an apartment complex. Some time has passed since your master was here. You are not sure how long, but hours, at least. You must have been asleep under the rock for some time.

The smell of the foul-ones is all around you. You whine softly, afraid. But you must go on, or risk losing the trail. You enter the complex, carefully staying in the shadows of the walls.

Almost too late your nose alerts you that you are not the only one staying in the shadows. Ahead of you, one of your own kind, corrupted now into a Shadow, steps out from under a staircase and growls.

You bare your teeth. This thing before you was once your kind, but now it nothing but darkness, a slave to the foul-smellers within it. Unlike the rest of the strange world you now find yourself in, these creatures you understand perfectly. They are the Shadow, the dark reflection that lurks in every one of your kind.

The Shadow takes a step forward. Your growl deepens. The thing in front of you, you know, will not turn aside at a mere show of force. You will have to fight, or flee.

You do not relish either prospect. Fighting runs the risk of losing more than your life. And running will make you lose precious time, make you find your master's trail once again.

But perhaps you have one advantage. Your intellect, meager as it is compared to a human's, is superior to these things. They are cunning hunters, you know, but they cannot match your problem solving abilities or quick adaptations.

You scan the area. There is a broken window nearby. You quickly make a sprint for it as the Shadow leaps to follow.

You hop through and into the interior. Here there is a dead Shadow. Ignoring it for now, you press yourself up against the wall under the broken window.

The Shadow comes in through the gap exactly as you knew it would. Too late, it sees you beneath it. You quickly lunge upwards, biting and snaping at the vulnerable belly, and the source of the foul-smell within it. Your position and leverage upend the Shadow in mid-air, causing it to land sprawling in the room.

Before it can recover you dart in and snap at the thing's neck. Your bite is quick and lethal, severing the main artery that supplies the lifeblood to the head. Before the tentacles can twist to entwine you, you have dashed backward and away, blood on your teeth.

But the thing is not slain. It rises and growl/hisses at you once more. The lifeblood bleeds from your wounds but does not slow the creature. You have scored the first blow but you are unsure if any amount of blows you are capable of inflicting will destroy this terrible thing.

It lunges, quicker than a human could dodge. But you are not a human. You twist away, snapping empty air. Your instincts tell you to lunge, now, while you are on his flank, to use your full bodyweight to pin him to the ground and sink your teeth into his vulnerable neck. But your intellect knows that this would be suicide, or worse. You cannot fight these things in the traditional way. You turn and flee.

The Shadow follows. The black rot smell of him looms like a spectre behind you. You dash down the hall and into a bedroom. The Shadow follows you in, cornering you now. It lowers its maw and issues forth a gleeful hiss.

You return the hiss with your own growl, barking sharply once. The Shadow lunges.

***************************

1. Dash to the side, escape through the door.

2. Meet his lunge.

3. Jump up on the bed, then over him to escape.

4. Jump up on the bed and fight from the high ground.

5. sssssssssssssssss

***************************

WARNING: Poor choices will result in Max's death. Or worse.

[LaserBeing]

#3 because it's about time Friday made us walljump over something horrible. From the text, the cavine doesn't seem able to predict attacks coming from odd angles, so it might not be expecting a move like this. The question is whether it can get the tendrils up quick enough to grab us before we are airborne.

[Norondor]

Well, we DID just use the same trick on it, so.

[LaserBeing]

Yeah, but these things aren't exactly quick learners.

#1 might be a safer bet. As a border collie, we certainly get a racial bonus to dashing around something that is trying to trample us. It'd be quicker, for sure. I think it would be easier for the tendrils to get us on the ground though. And going over the top might disorient it enough to give us more of a head-start on the getaway.

[Guild]

3 is the obvious choice here

[Romosome]

The cavines have tendrils coming off their *backs*. They're probably very good at striking upwards, where our soft belly will be, and hopping up on the bed first will give it that much more time to react.

#1 takes advantage of the lunge and puts distance between us and it. We can't fight it and we need to get as far away from it as possible. We are as fast as it and can likely think faster to lose it.