Thread 6323417

"JESUS FUCK." A bit of spit leaves the girl's mouth with the utterance of the expletive. The thin blonde man shoots an annoyed look at his coworker as he leans on his broom, watching her wipe the spit from her chin.

"Hey, management said we couldn't curse. Get that side for me." The brunette gives him an indifferent glance, grabs a dustpan, and starts sweeping in various things: rose petals, scrapped, badly framed photos, a dust of cocaine that had slipped from some celebrity's torn pocket. She scoffs at the discovery of a used condom leaking all over the concrete.

"Just saying. You'd think that at a big event like this, people would be a bit more dignified." She turns to look at the big black block letters that burned boldly on the arena sign.

MILLER V HAWKE
FATHER V SON
TONIGHT

(1/5)

>>6323417 (OP)
I WANT TO GO HOME. Beatrice sits uncomfortably in her very-comfortable VIP chair. She didn't hate boxing; she grew up with it, after all. But she hated what was happening in front of her. Mostly, she was angry. Angry at a great many things. She looks to her left.

This is some guy her husband knows. He's a sponsor... or something. His face is... so greasy. It's almost plastic. He turns to her with a cardboard smile.

"Enjoying the match, Bee?" He gives her a thumbs up. She doesn't return the gesture. Just another disgusting businessman. They turn back to the bloodbath in front of them. She looks to her left.

This face was immediately recognizable. With her wispy, Marilyn Monroe hair and her faux-refined demeanor. Bea grits her teeth. She was mostly mad at her husband. He was the one who initiated the affair... and gave her triplet bastards. She can't really blame Claire, she's a victim in this just as much as Bea was. She can, however, look into her eyes and watch the girl look dreamily at her husband and feel like blowing up a building. She turns back to the bloodbath in front of her.

She watches as her husband and her father kill each other on the stage. The Nicest Boxer In The World and The Hawk.

(2/5)

>>6323424
THE CROWD WATCHED AS BOTH MEN DEMONSTRATED EXACTLY HOW WELL THEY COULD KILL EACH OTHER. David's technique was perfect. His rhythm kept him up and fighting, but The Hawk was too good at punishing his brash hooks. But after 2 rounds, TNBITW finally got a solid crack at his mentor's mandible.

Seats could be heard creaking as nearly everyone leaned forward to get a better look. The hit reverberated throughout the theater, sweat flew out like tiny, salty bullets. The audience's faces feel cool as they watch The Hawk stumble a bit, then barely hold himself up. His face almost seems to swell as his nose erupts in blood, pouring down his rugged face like a fountain. He tumbles onto the ring floor on his belly.

(3/5)

>>6323425
Ian "The Hawk" Hawke was dead.

>>6323428
You are MARCO ROHNI, briefly awoken by the BUS HORN. The bus you are in, of course, to stakeout your SISTER'S PLACE OF BUSINESS while you hide from psychics who may or may not be trying to kill you. While you yourself, of course, are a psychic. A psychic newbie, you admit, but you're destined to save the world. Maybe, there was some confusion there. You're also VERY BROKE, and an EMPLOYEE at BIG M BURGER, off the corner of First and Market. You recall fighting raccoons also.

You would really like to see your life improve sometime soon, but for now, messing with your sister will do you some good.

You take a brief moment to look at your STATBLOCK.
VITALS......
HP: 12/9 (Excellent)
ENERGY: 9/50 (Unexceptional)
LUCK: 4 (Moderate)
PROSPERITY: -2 (Bad)
STATS......
ACROBATICS: 3
BRAWN: 3
CHARISMA: 6
VIGILANCE: 8
INTELLIGENCE: 6
SKILLS......
- ACTIVE ABILITY 1 ???
- PASSIVE ABILITY 1 ???
- Psychokinesis (Worst)
- Bowling (Moderate)
- Tech Deck (Excellent)
- Google SEO (Decent)

Alright! You're on the bus. Where is the bus? You look around and see that the bus is stopped. Like, in park. This confuses you, as you were expecting the bus to be in drive.

NEW QUEST! You have a new quest. Completing a quest grants you points to allocate onto your statblock.
MS. WIZ - Check out your sister's shop.

>LOOK AROUND. Duh, what do you think you're doing now! Choose something else.
>LEAVE THE BUS. Nothing can be done inside a parked vehicle.
>CHECK OUT THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Must be something interesting in there.
>CHECK YOUR BELONGINGS AGAIN.. Or just go to previous thread here (https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6294388/)
>IGNORE IT. It'll probably mean nothing. Chatrooms on your phone are calling your name.
>WRITE-IN.

>>6323431
>LEAVE THE BUS. Nothing can be done inside a parked vehicle.

>>6323431
>LEAVE THE BUS. Nothing can be done inside a parked vehicle.

>>6323431
>IGNORE IT. It'll probably mean nothing. Chatrooms on your phone are calling your name.
We aren't at our destination so... Maybe the driver just had to sue the bathroom?
Welcome back, QM!

>>6323431
>LOOK AROUND. Duh, what do you think you're doing now! Choose something else.

>>6323431
>CHECK OUT THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Must be something interesting in there.

>>6323431
>>CHECK OUT THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Must be something interesting in there.
Wouhou,new thread

>>6323431
>>CHECK OUT THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Must be something interesting in there.

>>6323431
>CHECK OUT THE DRIVER'S SEAT. Must be something interesting in there.

You make your way to the front of the bus, and you happen to notice that you're completely alone as you pass by row after row of empty chairs. The driver's seat is similarly empty, and the adjacent door is cracked open. Through the windows you can see you're at a rather large truck stop. Ugh, just thinking about truck stops makes you groan. Turning back to the dashboard of the truck, the fuel gauge reads dead empty.

There's nothing of note near the seat, door, or under the dash. The dashboard itself has a phone connected to a charger plugged into the cigarette lighter port. The phone has a cream/rose gold carrying case with a pearl bead charm attached. The phone lights up, detecting activity near it. You notice a new text was received a minute ago. Underneath the stereo on the dash is a photograph. It looks like it was printed today.

>>6324027
The photograph is of a young woman and man embracing for the photo. They seem similarly aged, and they look pretty close. You're not quite sure who these people are, of course. You decide not to take anything; there doesn't appear to be anything useful to you at the moment.

>>6324028
There doesn't seem to be much else to do inside the bus; it sure isn't going anywhere. You push through the doors and exit the vehicle. Man, this place is big. You're a little surprised. You're so sick of truck stops because you work next to a massive one. This one looks just as big. There's no way you're that far from home, it's maybe been an hour. You didn't know you lived by so many truck stops.

Anyway, back to the task at hand:
>LOOK FOR THE BUS DRIVER. They must be nearby.
>INVESTIGATE BUS EXTERIOR. You've checked inside already, there's one thing left now.
>INVESTIGATE TRUCK STOP CONVENIENCE STORE. You sure would love an overpriced snack. Maybe someone inside can help you.
>INVESTIGATE SEXYCOLA TRUCK. Mmm, if God loves you, he'd topple that truck over right now.
>INVESTIGATE STRANGE HOTDOG BUILDING. Hey, and ice! You hope they make slushies like the hotdog/ice stand where you work.
>WRITE-IN.

>>6324029
>INVESTIGATE BUS EXTERIOR. You've checked inside already, there's one thing left now.

>>6324029
>INVESTIGATE SEXYCOLA TRUCK. Mmm, if God loves you, he'd topple that truck over right now.

>>6324029
>INVESTIGATE BUS EXTERIOR. You've checked inside already, there's one thing left now.

>>6324029
>>INVESTIGATE TRUCK STOP CONVENIENCE STORE. You sure would love an overpriced snack. Maybe someone inside can help you.

>>6324029
>LOOK FOR THE BUS DRIVER. They must be nearby.

This must the work of an enemy stand... I mean psychic

>>6324029
>>LOOK FOR THE BUS DRIVER. They must be nearby.

It takes you exactly one turn to your left to find a familiar face. It's the girl from the photo, minus her cool outfit. She wears a bright high visibility vest over a dark shirt and, just like the photo, accessorizes her outfit with stud earrings, a headband, spiked choker, and two rings on her left pinky and middle finger. She's making selections on the payment pad. You get her attention.

"Hey, you're the bus driver, right?" She turns to glance at you, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure, yeah. What's up?"

"Oh, I was on the bus. I fell asleep a little while ago—"

"You were on my bus?" She taps a Mousse County Transport Authority debit card against the card reader. It flashes four green lights and beeps, prompting her to input a PIN. She does so.

"Yeah." Her brows furrow at you as she inserts the nozzle into the fuel tank of the bus.

"I didn't see you in there." What?

"What? I've been there since Burnham Road."

"Going up to Collins?" Your sister's shop, Ms. Wiz is located on the corner of Collins and Shiloh.

"Yeah, Collins. Did we pass it already?" She shakes her head and gives you a sympathetic look.

"Sorry, buddy. You're about six stops too late." Your face falls. You were prepared for the possibility that you slept through a stop or two, but SIX STOPS? You were asleep for an hour, tops. There's no way you fell asleep for five or six.

"No way."

"Way. After I fuel up, I'm headed back to the bus depot. Sorry to have to do this to you, but I can't have you back on again. I was supposed to kick you out at the last stop, but I guess you're not the most... um, noticeable guy in the world." You don't respond. Like, what are you supposed to say to that? She seems to have a similar train of thought as an apologetic look quickly replaces the expression on her face. "Sorry." She can't seem to find a less awkward way to end the conversation, so she just turns back to her endless refueling. She doesn't look interested in talking to you any longer at least.

>>6324554
This gives you the perfect opportunity to check out the bus. You inspect the sleek aluminum profile of the bus. Er— formerly sleek. Upon closer inspection, a collection of dents, scrapes, and various other road hazards litter the side of the bus. Aside from that, the pale mustard yellow bus (isn't it so great that I only have shades of red to work with?) seems to offer no other clues.

As you walk around the far side of the bus, you notice other activity happening nearby. A bespectacled man is refueling his convertible in a fancy robe and pajamas, and two silhouetted men are smoking away from the light of the truck stop. Any other observations you could make briefly halt as you step in a puddle of something. You reflexively step back, looking down at your feet to see a small pool of gasoline. It seems to be leaking from behind the bus, but not from the bus itself. Gross.

You're not the least bit satisfied with being awake so far. You'd rather be asleep, but you suppose these other options are better.
>INSPECT GAS SPILL. Sure, gas at a gas station isn't weird, but spilled gas at a gas station?
>INSPECT TRUCK STOP CONVENIENCE STORE. Mmm, spinning sausages...
>TALK TO ROBE GUY. He's got a sweet ride. Maybe a spare set of jammies.
>TALK TO MEN SMOKING. You've never been much of a smoker, but you are very curious.
>TALK TO BUS DRIVER. You're still not really over being called "unnoticeable trash". Did she call you that specifically? It's a little fuzzy.
>WRITE-IN.

>>6324555
>TALK TO BUS DRIVER. You're still not really over being called "unnoticeable trash". Did she call you that specifically? It's a little fuzzy.
When is the next bus going back the way we came?

>>6324555
>TALK TO BUS DRIVER. You're still not really over being called "unnoticeable trash". Did she call you that specifically? It's a little fuzzy.

>>6324555
>TALK TO BUS DRIVER. You're still not really over being called "unnoticeable trash". Did she call you that specifically? It's a little fuzzy.

It looks like our power keeps people from noticing us

>>6324555
>>TALK TO MEN SMOKING. You've never been much of a smoker, but you are very curious.
Ask him for a ride toward somewhere.

Also, heavily suspecting our Psychic Passive Shtick is something like "Transparent" where we're just some kind of ghost to people while not actively looking for their attention.

>>6324555
>INSPECT GAS SPILL. Sure, gas at a gas station isn't weird, but spilled gas at a gas station?

You've got more than a few words for that bus driver, specifically to ask if there's another bus out of here. Ordering an Uber from god knows where you are would mean you're out of food money for a week. You'd rather use your ten-dollar annual bus pass. As you take a step to leave, you hear the sound of flowing liquid. You look down, watching the stream of gasoline start to reverse. The gas puddle gets drained out from under and behind the bus; you watch your relfection disappear as only a few drips of the pool are left in the end. What the fuck?

>>6325208
You quickly rush over to the other side of the bus, hoping to get an answer to what's going on. Instead, you are greeted with nothing. The bus driver is gone, and a quick glance inside the bus shows it's still empty. You guess she must've gone to the convenience store or something. This is too weird.

>>6325209
A flicker of motion catches your eye, and you look up to see what it is. It's one of the two men in shadow smoking waving you over. You can't identify who it is from this distance. Though you're likely not going to meet anyone you know all the way out here, you'd really love to see a familiar face.

>SEARCH FOR BUS DRIVER. Where could she have gone? (requires Write-In)
>CALL SOMEONE. Who's up at this time of night? (requires Write-In)
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?
>HIJACK THE BUS. You don't see her anywhere...
>LOOK AROUND THE TRUCK STOP. There must be more clues somewhere.
>WRITE-IN.

>>6325210
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?

>>6325210
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?

>>6325210
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?

>>6325210
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?

>>6325210
>SEARCH FOR BUS DRIVER. Where could she have gone? (requires Write-In)
Poke our head into the convenience store.

>>6325210
>APPROACH MEN SMOKING. Who are you to refuse such a hospitable greeting?
Everyone else vanished... Hopefully these boys aren't the cause.

You warily walk towards the two men, silently praying that walking towards two shady men won't be the— what the hell?

"Marco?? Holy shit, man!"

"Jared??" You're completely bewildered. Of all the people you'd expect to see on a weird ass night like this, your manager was not it. "What the hell are you doing here?" He grins.

"I always come out here after work."

"You— but you clocked out nearly the same time I did." He nods.

"They called me back in to cover. Susan got fired for beating a customer up." You suck in air through pursed lips in a display of instant understanding. Your coworker, uh, ex-coworker Susan was... interesting. She was a year older than you and used that information to make you bend to her whim. You had a brief fling with her for a few weeks before you both got bored. When you decided to call it quits, she made sure to threaten your life with a switchblade, making you promise to never tell anyone about the strange birthmark on her back. You've since kept your promise.

"Surprising," you say with sarcasm so thick it could be used as a maple syrup substitute. "Who's this?" You point to the nervous looking fellow next to Jared. He doesn't speak up and just stares at you bug-eyed. Freaky guy.

"This is Shane. Maddy said I had to find a new hire quick, and this guy was already here smoking. He needs a job too, so boom. Shane, this is Marco. If you wanna ask him any questions, go ahead." You all stand there in silence. "Guess he's got no other questions. You wanna smoke?" He extends a fresh cig out to you. You glance at it and shake your head.

"I-I'm okay, man." He raises the other eyebrow. He never put the first one down??

"Really? I thought you smoked." A cool yet aching feeling crawls down your throat.

"I did. Now I don't." He seems to get it.

"No worries, sorry about that." Your manager is a lot nicer than you remember. Maybe you should start being nicer to him.

You warily walk towards the two men, silently praying that walking towards two shady men won't be the— what the hell?

"Marco?? Holy shit, man!"

"Jared??" You're completely bewildered. Of all the people you'd expect to see on a weird ass night like this, your manager was not it. "What the hell are you doing here?" He grins.

"I always come out here after work."

"You— but you clocked out nearly the same time I did." He nods.

"They called me back in to cover. Susan got fired for beating a customer up." You suck in air through pursed lips in a display of instant understanding. Your coworker, uh, ex-coworker Susan was... interesting. She was a year older than you and used that information to make you bend to her whim. You had a brief fling with her for a few weeks before you both got bored. When you decided to call it quits, she made sure to threaten your life with a switchblade, making you promise to never tell anyone about the strange birthmark on her back. You've since kept your promise.

"Surprising," you say with sarcasm so thick it could be used as a maple syrup substitute. "Who's this?" You point to the nervous looking fellow next to Jared. He doesn't speak up and just stares at you bug-eyed. Freaky guy.

"This is Shane. Maddy said I had to find a new hire quick, and this guy was already here smoking. He needs a job too, so boom. Shane, this is Marco. If you wanna ask him any questions, go ahead." You all stand there in silence. "Guess he's got no other questions. You wanna smoke?" He extends a fresh cig out to you. You glance at it and shake your head.

"I-I'm okay, man." He raises an eyebrow.

"Really? I thought you smoked." A cool yet aching feeling crawls down your throat.

"I did. Now I don't." He seems to get it.

"No worries, sorry about that." Your manager is a lot nicer than you remember. Maybe you should start being nicer to him.

>>6325561
On a whim, you decide to pull your phone out. You haven't checked it all night. You look hopefully at the screen as it turns on, but your heart starts to race as the numbers and text on your phone are completely unintelligible. You rub your eyes, but nothing changes.

What is happening to you?

"Marco!" You look up. Jared's giving you a concerned look. Shane just stares.

"Huh? What?"

"Nothing, man. I said your name like twice. You spacing out?"

"Oh. Sorry, yeah. I think it might just be too late." Jared smirks.

"Too late, or too early?"

"Too early?"

"Well, yeah. Your morning shift starts in a few minutes." Huh?

"My— my what?"

"Your morning shift. Wow, you're usually on top of this."

"I— sorry. It's... been a long night. God, how am I going to get there in time?" Your manager places a hand on your shoulder.

"Marco. Take a deep breath." You don't respond. You just inhale until you can't, then exhale it all out. "Feel a bit better?"

"Yeah." He nods.

"This job sucks. It messes with your head all the time. Just try and keep your head on straight, yeah?" You don't really know how to feel. On one hand, you're a little grateful to have Jared as a manager. You were never on the greatest of terms, but these past two times you've interacted with him have been rather swell. On the other, he's completely missing what's messing with your head. You give him a small smile and a nod.

"Thanks, Jared."

"No problem. Just walk on down when it gets close to clock-in."

>>6325562
"W-Walk on down?" He points behind you.

"Yeah, we're right next to Big M. I figured you knew that. Why else would you be here?" Your horrified visage turns around to see your long-despised workplace staring right back at you through the badly trimmed foliage. This is the truck stop next to your workplace! God damn it, you're right back where you started!

>FREAK OUT. You deserve it after all this.
>ABANDON PLAN. You can't lose this job.
>TELL JARED. Someone's gotta know what's going on with you.
>CALL SOMEONE. Someone's gotta know what's going on with you. (requires Write-In)
>WRITE-IN.

>>6325563
>TELL JARED. Someone's gotta know what's going on with you.
At the very least he might have an idea or something

>>6325563
>>TELL JARED. Someone's gotta know what's going on with you.

>>6325563
>>CALL SOMEONE. Someone's gotta know what's going on with you. (requires Write-In)
The other psychic. Tell him we think we're under attack by an ennemy stand.

>>6325614
+1

>>6325563
>>6325568
Whoops I'm a fucking retard and forgot that Jared's our manager. I meant to say
>CALL THE OTHER PSYCHIC

>>6325614
+1

MWQ will continue 11/2 so I can celebrate Halloween and work on the update.

See you all then!

>>6325894
Hope you have an extra-spooky Halloween, boss. Thanks for running!

Have fun

Update delayed 11/3 morning for some finishing touches! Please bear with me...

>>6327220
Bearing all right.
Thanks for the communication.

Although it IS 03/11 in my place that use the sensible order of Day/month

Please watch the video update here: https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/1004850

You pull out your phone and do what you should've done the first time you saw anything strange: talk to the strangest guy you know. It may only have been less than a day that you've known this kid, but right now, he might be the only one who can help. You click his contact card, dial the number, and wait.

"...but no wonder it sucked. The budget for the season was pennies compared to—"

"Fred?" He stops speaking. "Fred, are you there?"

"Marco??? Where— how are you talking to me?"

"What? I just called you on the phone. I'm at a truck stop."

"That's impossible."

"That I'm at a truck stop? I left the apartment hours ago."

"One, no you didn't, you left maybe an hour ago tops."

"Wha—"

"And two, you're not calling me with your phone. You're speaking directly to my thoughts. You're in my head, Marco. How did you maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" His voice trails off suddenly, and it's replaced by an ear-piercing screech. Your phone starts to vibrate in your hand, but your whole body feels like it's shaking.

This is too weird. This is too weird. You look up as your phone flies slowly out of your hands and glides through the air to sit in front of your face. The world starts to fade out as the screen cracks and splinters, sucking you into a white void.

You float for a while. You feel like you're falling, but everything looks rather still. Well, there aren't really any landmarks for you to discern your positioning, either. You open your eyes and look to your right. Nothing. You gulp. The thought of this being some sort of prison comes to you, and your fears are stoked as you turn to the right to bear witness to corpses hanging from infinite chains that seem to disappear into the void above.

You barely have time to process this as your surroundings change again; screaming and cheering invade your eardrums as you sit in the VIP section of the boxing arena. You watch as the large bespectacled man falls to the ground. The cheering stops. You look around. The crowd and the stadium are gone, leaving only you and the two men in the ring.

Without warning, the ring disappears and so does the mustached man, replaced with what seems to be some sort of business man. His blood seeps into the black void while papers from a briefcase litter the ground behind him. The large boxer remains, looking intensely at the body. Then he turns. He turns and looks at you. You want to say something, you want to run so desperately. Yet you freeze as he glares at you.

You feel your upper lip moisten. You touch your face only for your hand to be stained with your blood. Your nose bleeds as your head spins. The ringing dutifully returns, exacerbating your dizzying vision; you're going to die. You're going to die, right here, right now, and there's nothing you can do about it. You fall unconscious, vulnerable to whatever comes next.
(1/2)

>>6327316
When you wake up, you cough up phlegm that was stuck in your throat. Your nose is still bleeding, but as you adjust to the light, you realize you're back in the bus. You're no longer at the truck stop, however, and as you look out the window, you're again confused. The bus is floating in mid-air, suspended in a translucent red bubble. Above you is a disastrous traffic accident, where three figures stand watching the bubble adjacent to a white van.

>CRY. Let it out, man. That was a lot.
>EXAMINE YOURSELF. Nothing better be up with you.
>CALL OUT TO THE FIGURES ON THE ROAD. They might be able to help you.
>LOOK FOR SURVIVORS. There's other people in the bus with you. Maybe someone knows what's going on.
>CALL SOMEONE. Hopefully they'll answer using a real phone. (requires Write-In)
>WRITE-IN.

>>6327317
Solid update and really nice video QM.

So we were either dreaming/caught in some kind of attack.
I'd say dreaming + maybe the protective bubble come from ourself? Can we try to "LIFT" the psybubble up?
Then, when this fails :
>LOOK FOR SURVIVORS. There's other people in the bus with you. Maybe someone knows what's going on.
I think the STAND USER might be close

>>6327317
>EXAMINE YOURSELF. Nothing better be up with you.

Put on your own oxygen mask first. Forget supernatural stuff, even mundane injury is worth checking for.

>>6327317
>EXAMINE YOURSELF. Nothing better be up with you.

>>6327317
>LOOK FOR SURVIVORS. There's other people in the bus with you. Maybe someone knows what's going on.

>>6327317
BANE delivers as usual. Rad vid, my guy.
>EXAMINE YOURSELF. Nothing better be up with you.

>>6327317
>LOOK FOR SURVIVORS.

>>6327316
Spooky stuff, and excellent work!

You take a look around. There's three people inside the bus aside from you: at the back a young woman around your age wearing sleek trapezoidal frames, directly behind you a man approaching his forties with a bad haircut and rosacea-ridden cheeks, and at the front, the driver. All three are fast asleep. You wonder how on earth these people could fall asleep through all— no, no you don't.

Enough weirdness has occured that you're no longer looking around going "what? what?". Damn it, you're in danger. If not right now, then in general. What were you thinking getting wrapped up in this psychic garbage? Who was that man? How did you get in a bubble floating over the ocean? These are the important questions to wonder about. You've got to lock in, no joke.

You give everyone another once over. Although asleep, they're not injured at all. No bruises, cuts, and certainly no bloody noses to match your own. You gently prod everyone in their sides, but they do not wake up. Weird. Why aren't you asleep right now? You guess you were before, but that begs the next question: why are you the only one awake?
(1/4)

>>6327616
You give yourself a wellness patdown. Bones... seemingly not broken. Face... presumably still handsome. Everything seems right as rain. You wipe the blood from your nose and exhale. You're alright.
(2/4)

>>6327617
Ha... you were almost scared that something was terribly wrong. Looks like everything is alright. You wipe the sweat from your brow.
(3/4)

>>6327618
Hang on a tick.

Choose any TWO:
>FREAK OUT. Okay, it may not be productive, but you still deserve it!
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)
>TRY TO WAKE SOMEONE UP. Maybe someone can tell you what happened when you were asleep. (requires roll)
>CALL SOMEONE. That phone call earlier was... interesting. (requires Write-In)
>WRITE-IN.

>>6327619
We're probably in another dream inside the dream. You know. Inception.

>CALL SOMEONE. That phone call earlier was... interesting. (requires Write-In)
Fred, again

>WRITE-IN
If we're dreaming and we're lucid, try to do something to prove it (like fly out the bus window?)

>>6327317
>EXAMINE YOURSELF. Nothing better be up with you.

>>6327619
>EXAMINE HAND
Not sure if you want the roll with the post or not

>>6327619
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)

>>6327619
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)

>>6327619
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)
One more panicking person on the bus will jto be any help to us at this juncture.

>>6327619
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)

>>6327619
>FREAK OUT
>EXAMINE HAND
Reminds me that Stephen King plane story or No Passengers Beyond this Point, especially the sleeping bits.

>>6327619
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)

>>6327619
>>6327621
+1
Also I wonder what would happen if we called our sister.

Rolled 4, 3 = 7 (2d5)

Looks like the winner is
>LOOK OUTSIDE. Perhaps the real clues aren't inside the bus at all. (requires roll)
>EXAMINE HAND. Is it even your hand anymore? (requires roll)

Rolling for luck... (earlier I mistakenly said Marco had a LUCK value of 4, he actually raised it to 5.)

Rolled 57 + 8 (1d100 + 8)

Now rolling for
>EXAMINE HAND.

1d100 - 2 (PROSPERITY malus) + 4 (LUCK bonus) + 6 (INTELLIGENCE bonus)

Rolled 71 - 15 (1d100 - 15)

Now rolling for
>LOOK OUTSIDE.

1d100 - 2 (PROSPERITY malus) + 3 (LUCK bonus) + 6 (INTELLIGENCE bonus) + 8 (VIGILANCE bonus) - 30 (THREAT malus)

(Adjusting the values to accurately reflect the situation at hand)

You very slowly pull yourself away from your arm and examine the bus sign closely. You've seen this so many times; this is the bus stop sign next to your apartments. Actually, you were looking at it quite intensely when you were waiting for the bus an hour ago. You're not quite sure why. It might have been the hundredth time you've seen it, but little things stood out to you about it. The scuff along the side, the rust on the pole, the sticker patch over some vulgar graffiti. Despite all of it, it's still standing there as a beacon for you to get to town.

It was inspiring. Very inspiring.

Now it's replaced your hand. You're not exactly sure what to do with it. It doesn't hurt at all. You attempt to wiggle your fingers. You can feel yourself doing it, but the sign does nothing. You even try flipping the bird, but there is no bird to flip. That kind of pisses you off more. You're a strange person. Even stranger now that you have a sign for a hand, you suppose. You try to move your hand as a whole, and thankfully, the sign articulates like a hand does, bending the metal in a way that certainly does not follow the laws of physics. That's good for now.

>>6328219
You get up and shuffle over to the left window seat to get a better look at the highway above you. The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pile of crashed cars trailing a parked, perfectly intact, nondescript white van. They're still there, but you don't see anyone leaving their cars. You can hear distant sirens from the city; the police are on their way. You're unsure what the police would even do in this situation.

Adjacent to the van... is one figure... fighting with a disembodied arm. An arm attached... to a rusty pole. You briefly look at your sign-hand, then back at the scuffle. Jesus Christ. You take another look at the figure. It's the fucking giant from your apartment. JESUS CHRIST. He really IS out to kill you.

You briefly recall that there were two other figures on the bridge as two thuds land above you, shaking the bus. Two other strange sounds follow: strange chanting and the reload click of a gun. Oh no.

>BATTLE STATIONS. You've got to have a plan of attack. (requires roll) (requires Write-In)
>HIDE. Fuck this noise, you are not in top form to fight. (requires roll) (requires Write-In)
>CALL SOMEONE. Is there anyone who can help you? (requires Write-In)
>WRITE-IN.

>>6328220
>BATTLE STATIONS. You've got to have a plan of attack. (requires roll) (requires Write-In)
Do we roll now, or after? Either way, my plan...

>duck and cover, peek out
>focus very, very hard on the details of the gun
>manifest gun-hand
>blast 'em!

>>6328220
>>6328359 +1