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Because of your utmost greed, you have made yet another breakfast.

You make a hearty breakfast burrito, topped with an entire stick of butter. You absolute glutton.

You make a pretty badass breakfast sandwich, toasted to perfection. You absolute glutton.

Instead of making breakfast, you decide to stop by Sunrise when you are on your way to work.

You let Roscoe out of the kennel and allow them one bowl of putrid dog food apiece. They devour it in 1.2 seconds.

Bobbi lays back down on the beanbag while Roscoe continues to shiver pitifully. They have accepted their fate.

The dogs scamper out the door and into the frigid air. In their small, dog-like minds, they haven't seen the outdoors in nine months.

Bobbi pisses blood.

Roscoe immediately runs away.

Chase Roscoe, or give up and go back inside?

You call and threaten Roscoe with all your might. You yearn to beat the shit out of him, but he is gone and will not answer.

Go back inside.

A soft hand carresses your face.

"It's time to get up, sweetie," your mother says. "I'll give you a ride to work today."

You blink and smile. Being your mother's favorite has its perks.

It's time to begin your morning routine.

It goes without saying, you aren't gonna make it to work on time. Drive fast or slow?

You battle the grind of traffic. You can feel the potential energy of every red light, ready to activate as soon as you approach. Fuck it. You have time to get gas and Sunrise. Or, just go to work like a responsible adult.

You try to hold it, but end up pissing yourself. Nice going, genius. Guess you'll just have to suffer through work.

"Well yeah. Every day follows the other," you say. "I knew this day was coming too."

Jeff sighs, shakes his head, and rocks his body back and forth in agitation. He appears to be holding his tongue, yet ready to burst into speech. You take a long draw from your Native Spirit and say nothing.

Finally, Jeff screams.

"WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?!"

Yes, you fucked up big time.

You forgot to put on your clothes this morning.

You shrug, as if to say, who gives a shit?

GAME OVER, MAN!

"What's up?" Jeff asks.

"Jeff! I'm out of gas!" You shout over the roar of traffic.

"Wow. Sounds like a personal problem."

beep.

It is. It is a personal problem.

"Ay," Forrest says. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Forrest! I'm outta gas!"

"Haha, oh wow! How you gonna get to work?"

"Give me a ride?"

...

"Sorry, no can do. Mom says no. See ya later, gator"

beep.

The phone rings, but Rob doesn't answer.

"Ayo."

"Patrick, you won't believe it."

"Aiight."

"I'm out of gas."

"Oh shit, yo."

"Think you can pick me up?"

"Yea. I see you."

"What?"

"I'm right behind you, yo."

You turn around and see Patrick veer off into the shoulder right behind your bike.

"She ran out on ya, huh?"

You notice that he is driving his girlfriend's Yaris instead of his truck.

"I don't think Katie would want that thing in the back. It'll get all darty."

Fuck it. You'll just push it the rest of the way.

"Hold up, Badger. We can just pick you up in the work truck."

"Cool," you say. "Make it quick."

"Will do," Patrick says. The time is 7:07 AM.

"Alright, you son of a bitch!" You screech while pointing a dire, accusatory finger at the terrified Badger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He scrambles backwards and grabs a brush dog for defense.

"Your time of reckoning is at hand!!"

"No! Please! Stay away!" He sobs. He begins to crank up the brush dog. Hmm. How odd.

Do you grab your saw in retaliation,

or attempt to talk him down?

Grinning evilly, you snatch up your trusty saw... the Leveller! A Sthil 361 blessed by Odin himself!

Badger does not back down. He finally gets the brush dog fired up and his death-star blade is spinning madly at full rev. Very nasty business, indeed. You fire up the Leveller, and yes, she screams in fury! She thirsts for blood!

juke him, or bum rush him?

You dart towards his left side, and he swings his weapon to deflect. But! Your move was a clever trick! You dance back and he overcorrects, reeling off-balance and thus twinging his injured lower back. With the finnesse of a master sawyer, you slash at his exposed shoulder!

He screams!

His warm blood splatters your face as you push in. Deeper. Deeper until his death throes cease!

From the door, Patrick and Forrest stare on in absolute horror. Only now you just realized that you are naked. How silly of you to forget to get dressed this morning.

FATALITY!

You have successfully murdered an innocent. The Leveller's thirst has been quenched!

"What's gotten into you?" You ask.

"Whatever drugs you're on, you need to snap out of it!"

You look down at yourself, and realize that you forgot to put on clothes this morning.

How embarrasing.

GAME OVER, MAN!

Another Dollar

One day in the life of LRAM. Cut down trees and get paid!

Create a $key and display “Yes”, if the protagonist has the key, and “No”, if they do not: Yes No

One way link. After following this link readers will not be able to go back to the previous page via the Back button.

Clicking this link will display new text under the current passage without clearing the screen: Display the beginning of the story.

This is a citation from another passage:

Random number from 0 to 6: .

Choose action:

The midnight sun skips across the horizon.

It's 5:15 AM.

Who are you?

I am...

Jeff, the degenerate.

Forrest, the deplorable.

Patrick, the dejected.

Badger, the decayed.

Rob, the destroyed.

Kellen, the useless.

You fumble around your kitchen and manage to make tepid, lukewarm tea.

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

Every alarm in the house is blaring.

It's 7:12 AM.

FUCK!

You have LOST THE GAME.

By some unfortunate circumstance, you happened to wake up as Kellen. This means you have already failed at life. You might as well end it now and start over.

okay...

The brays of a donkey fills the room. You wake and dismiss the alarm for the third and final time.

Your bedside is empty. The wife, it seems, is out of town. Begin morning routines.

Fuck getting gas or Sunrise! Gotta go fast!

You run several red lights and pass many slowpokes on your way to work. The cops don't give a fuck.

You let Kiska outside to relieve himself. He dutifully does the deed while you fill his water and food dish. He's a good boy. It is now 6:09 AM.

You are startled awake by Kiska's single, polite woof. Beer bottles clatter to the floor as you sift through your bedside for your phone. The time is 5:48 AM. A little later than you would like, but you should be able to manage getting to work on time.

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

Nice. Got it. You store your motorcycle inside, safe and sound. Patrick arrives and honks angrily. You nod in agreement, and attempt to unlock 5107, LRAM's office.

What's the combo for 5107?

Your watch vibrates, startling you awake. "FUCK!" you yell to the world, but no one listens. The blankets tangle your legs as you attempt to dismount the bed, spilling you onto the floor in a heap. Your head throbs in pain. You can't feel your arms. Your dick is hard.

The time is 6:06 AM. You barely have time to brush your teeth, take a piss, put on your armor, and go to work.

You struggle for several weary minutes as you put on your motorcycle outfit. Better safe than sorry. The time is 6:20 AM.

You relieve your bladder and brush your teeth for good measure. Your bowels, on the other hand, can wait for work. It is your personal motto to always shit on company time.

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

The devil, Lucifer himself smiles down upon you from his throne of skulls. It appears that you are in Hell.

Various demons gibber and point at your arrival. They gather and whisper as if you were legend.

"My son!" the devil booms.

"What's the score?" You ask. Big daddy Lucifer chuckles.

"Seven kills, one death. Not a bad start," he says. The demons cheer. "Eight, if we count your dog. He just starved to death." The demons jeer.

You survey the crowd with displeasure.

"Send me back!" You wail. "I have more sins to commit! I am not finished!"

"Indeed you aren't," the devil says. "See you next time... my son."

Flames burst at your feet, and you collapse, screaming in pain and fury.

You feed your dog with scraps of decayed food. He then dutifully urinates outside while you go about your business.

Bobbi and Roscoe look at you with sad, puppy eyes. They haven't been fed since last night. Their bladders are half-full. As you stare down upon them, Roscoe shivers and whines in his kennel.

Let them outside.

Fill their water dish.

Fill their food dish.

Fuck it, they're fine.

You send a group message notifying everyone that you are on your way. Your replies vary with acceptance, incredulence, and outright mockery.

Another Day

Access granted! You are now in 5107. You not-so-eagerly wait for the others to arrive.

The time is now 7:45 AM.

You lock Bobbi inside the kennel, just in case. Every day is a struggle.

The dogs look at you in mornful confusion.

Text the boss.

Take a piss.

Get dressed.

Make breakfast.

Make coffee.

Make tea.

Take care of the dogs.

Take care of Kiska.

Take care of Oso.

Fuck it. Go to work.

In your sleep-deprived folly, you attempt to put on another layer of clothes. You fool. Shakily, you put on your usual attire. It is unwashed and musty. Most excellent.

Traffic goes by. The time is now 7:45 AM.

7526

5762

7625

2567

5726

Never mind the manuevers! Straight at him! With surprising speed and agility, you leap towards your enemy, the Leveller singing her bloodlust!

The Badger snarls, and braces his weapon.

Oh.

Oh dear.

He's got you. His reach far exceeds your own.

You catch the spinning death-star right into your torso. Your rib cage cracks and shatters, spilling viscera and blood across the ground in a messy heap.

You are done.

Fade to black.

You ask your mom if she can pull over.

"I don't know, sweetie. Can I?"

Now you are pissed. Literally.

Your wet stench fills the air as your mom drives on with a moral high ground.

You pull over in time to release a thunderous stream upon the side of the road. A woman shrieks out the window as she drives by. This day is getting better by the minute!

The succulent aroma of coffee fills your cabin.

7602

6702

2706

2760

2607

0627

You're late anyways, so you stop by Sunrise. What's the harm? You might as well grab cigarettes at the gas station while you're at it.

You arrive at Sunrise, and order two Bacon, Egg, and Cheese bagels.

The nice coffee lady, who-the-fuck-knows-her-name, speaks.

"Would you like a drink with that?"

"No, you say, "I don't have a cup holder."

She laughs. You kick the bike into gear and head off.

The time is 6:45 AM.

You arrive at Sunrise, and order two Egg and Cheese biscuits. They are cheap and tasty.

Before you leave, the coffee lady gives your body a good long look.

"Nice," she says. She smiles and hands you a piece of paper with her number on it. Score!

You have finished grabbing your morning refreshment. Would you like to get gas or go straight to work?

You fucked up big time.

You forgot to put clothes on this morning. Someone saw you get out of your Lincoln at the gas station and called the cops on you.

You're not going down without a fight. You grab your glock from your seat and open fire at the police, killing two and castrating one with three well-placed shots. Before anyone knew what was happening, you peel out of the gas station and run over two innocent bystanders along the way.

You are now on the run.

You fucked up big time.

You forgot to put clothes on this morning. Someone saw you get out of your vehicle at the gas station and called the cops on you.

YOU HAVE BEEN ARRESTED. GAME OVER. DO NOT PASS GO.

Fuck! Why did I do that?

You fill up your vehicle with gas. Better than filling up in North Pole, a hellish place that loves taxes. Sunrise or work?

Cursing the day, you get into your vehicle and drive away.

You get into the back of your mother's vehicle and allow her to strap you in, for safety. You can never be too safe. She turns on the radio and tunes to NPR. You listen contently as the radio men assure you that Trump is bad and a racist. You are so ready to get to work!

You mount your motorcycle and scoot off into the baleful morning. The "low gas" light is on once again. Bugs splatter your helmet.

You mount your motorcycle and scoot off into the baleful morning. The "low gas" light is on once again. Bugs splatter against your face and teeth. Maybe you should have worn your helmet.

The traffic is light this morning.

You fucking idiot. You should know this by now. What is the combo?

Holy fuck! You are about to piss yourself! Do you pull over or hold it?

FUCK.

You are out of gas, and stranded on the side of the Richardson. Traffic careens past you at high speeds, buffeting you with the piss stench of diesel exhaust fumes.

Call Jeff.

Call Patrick.

Call Forrest.

Call Rob.

You manage to get to work in the nick of time. You fumble with the connex combination lock. What's the combo?

You arrive just in time to see Badger lock his bike in the connex. You honk at his stupid face and he nods in agreement. You spend a minute rolling a new cigarette to enjoy in the brisk morning air. Jeff arrives just as you light up. In his morning fog he says nothing and slinks inside 5107 where it is warm. You finish your cigarette and follow.

You arrive just in time to see Badger lock his bike in the connex. You honk at his stupid face and he flexes back at you. You spend a minute rolling a new cigarette to enjoy in the brisk morning air. Outside,the ravens croak and chatter in their strange language as they perch on the powerlines overhead. A soft breeze tickles your body.

You see Jeff pull in. It is exactly 7:04 AM. He stares at you for a few moments, then rolls down his window.

"Patrick, I knew this day would come," he says.

You arrive late and everyone has been waiting on you for ages. Jeff threatens to fire you. All is well. He cannot rid himself of you. You will be with him forever and ever. A hundred seasons. Jeff and Forrest. Forever.

You arrive late and everyone has been waiting on you for ages. With a flourish, you sweep open the door of 5107 and prance in. But instead of the usual threats and greetings, you hear horrible, high-pitched screams. Mostly from Badger.

You just now realized that you fucked up big time.

You forgot to put on clothes this morning.

Aghast, you run outside and chase after your momma on Range road.

She is too far gone.

And Brenda is on her way.

GAME OVER, MAN!

You arrive precisely at 7:04 AM. Patrick is leaning on his truck, smoking a hand-rolled Native Spirit. Ravens croak and chatter in their strange language as they perch on the powerlines overhead. 5107 is clearly unlocked, with the key still in the doorknob. That usually means that Badger is inside. Badger is a lazy bastard. You go inside.

You arrive precisely at 7:04 AM. Patrick is leaning on his truck, smoking a hand-rolled Native Spirit. Ravens croak and chatter in their strange language as they perch on the powerlines overhead. 5107 is clearly unlocked, with the key still in the doorknob. That usually means that Badger is inside. Badger is a lazy bastard. You storm inside.

You speed through every red light and flash your glock at two cops along the way. They don't give a fuck. You manage to arrive to work at 8:15 AM. You are so late it's not even funny. Everyone else is already inside.

You speed through every red light and flash your glock at two cops along the way. They don't give a fuck. You manage to arrive to work at 8:15 AM. You are so late it's not even funny.

Hmm. It appears that you forgot to put clothes on. Luckily, you had the foresight to stash an extra set of clothes in your Navigator. You put them on and head inside

The time is 8:15 AM.

You peel into 5107's parking lot, dirt and blood caked thick upon your Navigator. You're so late it's not even funny. To prevent further complications, you root out some work clothes from your backseat and put them on. For good measure, you walk to the front of your car and piss away the congealed blood on the grille. Nice! Now your car looks brand-new.

With a satisfied grunt, you kick open the door of 5107 and walk inside.

Badger wrinkles his nose and glares at you in disgust.

"Jeff, you truly are a degenerate, pissing yourself life that."

You nod, pleased with yourself. Any day that ruins Badger's day is a good day in your book.

"Forrest, you absolute deplorable. You pissed yourself!"

"Yeah," you reply in shame, "My mom wouldn't pull over."

The others deride you without mercy as you quietly attempt to dry yourself off with a dirty shop rag. Your soiled pants become even more soiled as a result.

"Had a hard night, Patrick?" he mocks. "You pissed your pants, you dumb drunk!"

You consider your damp crotch for a moment, then shrug.

"Had a coupla dranks. Saw a coupla thangs."

Badger nods in agreement. "Amen to that."

"Not only are you late, you went and pissed yourself."

"Yeah," you reply, "last night absolutely destroyed me."

Badger nods in agreement. "Been there, done that."

...

...

...

...

...

TO BE CONTINUED

TWO STARS.

The police have lost you, but you are still being hunted. If you play your cards right, you will get out of this alive.

Will you continue on to work,

or will you stay off the Richardson and head to Fairbanks?

You pop out of the backroad hills from Steele Creek and drift onto the Steese Expressway. You suspect that most of the police are still camping the Richardson, given their sub-average intelligence level.

Looks like you'll be even more late for work. Oh well.

Badger's house is on Goldstream. You can lay low there for awhile,

or

Simply go through Fairbanks and pay Nathan a visit. He's working nights so he should be about to go to bed soon. If you catch him before he goes to sleep, maybe he may be up for some hooligan activities!

Traffic goes by. You rest your head on your handlebars in despair. The time is now 8:22 AM.

Badger's house is the safe bet. He's already out of the way, and cops rarely show up this far north of Fairbanks. Plus, he's got an AK-74 and some drugs up for grabs.

You arrive at his cabin at the top of Pandora drive. His door has been left unlocked, probably because the fool was in a rush to get to work on time. A squirrel senses your presence and bolts out of a broken window. Badger's food has been scattered everywhere. His clothes are draped across every piece of furniture. A forgotton line of coke lays bare on a dirty pane of broken glass. This place is a total mess, you think to yourself.

Should you loot the place, or just lay low for now?

After a moment's consideration, you conclude that Badger is completely fucked in the head. If the police ever come close to this place, he'd be looking at at least nine years in prison. They wouldn't even need a warrant because half of the fucking house is glass and everything inside is visible. You decide to help your friend by keeping the evidence stashed away.

You scoop up his forgotten coke line with your knife and take a big whiff. WOAH! That's some good shit.

His AK-74 is hanging on the wall above his bed. You grab it and sling it over your back. He has various magazines strewn about everywhere, fully loaded. You snatch those, too, and stash them in a nearby backback.

He has a jar of full of mystery drugs. Into the bag they go.

You nearly trip over a 3D-printed suppressor. What the fuck? Into the bag it goes.

You also manage to find a shitty .45 caliber Hi-Point, dubbed the "Block," and a Taurs Judge under his sawdusted sheets.

And finally, you find a butterfly knife stabbed into a window frame. You grab that, too. You never know when you need to stab a bitch.

You lug the loot back to your Navigator.

You puff on a cigarette and enjoy the morning air on Badger's deck. You get bored of that bullshit pretty quick, though. You turn your attention to Badger's den.

TO BE CONTINUED

The time is now 12:15 PM

You lug Badger's shit to your Navigator. The cops should have cooled down enough for you to go to work now.

Go to work,

Or dabble with Badger's mystery drugs?

TO BE CONTINUED

You decide that it has been a stressful day and it's time to start seeing some weird shit. You pop a red pill and wash it down with some whiskey. You also decide to eat some mysterious fungi, just for the hell of it.

If you have time, you might have time to get to work before it kicks in!

You speed back along the Steese towards North Pole. You feel the Navigator's vibrations through the steering wheel slowly blue-shift into a cloud of bees. The cars ahead of you flatten into the lines on the road and the sky begins to suck up all the trees into a giant, evil cloud.

"Oh, my fuck," you say.

A massive semi-truck pulls over and waves you over. He's an overweight, greasy sort of trucker who is attempting to grow a handlebar mustache.

"Need a ride?" He asks in a twangy drawl.

"Yeah," you say. "Outta gas."

"In the back she goes," he says. "There's a hydraulic lift back there. Load her up and git up here, son."

What good luck! It's not everyday you come across a good samaritan.

You load the bike with no issues and clamber into the cab.

"Name's Billy," the driver says.

"Badger," you say.

The driver nods, and spits out some chew into a starbucks coffee cup. He releases the parking brake and gets the big truck rolling.

TO BE CONTINUED

"My work is right off Badger road exit," you say. "I can be let off right there and I can wheel my bike the rest of the way."

Billy shakes his head and drives on in silence. Dumbfounded, you watch him past by the Badger road exit.

"Woah man, that was my stop."

Billy stares at you with dull, bored eyes.

"Need gas, dontcha?"

After a moment's consideration, you nod.

"I suppose."

Billy drives on in silence.

TO BE CONTINUED

"Hot pursuit on the Steese, w a n t e d manonthe r u n" your radio says. You hope they aren't talking about you.

"AND I'm WANTeD," Bon Jovi sings, "wAnTED, DEad or ALIIiiiiVE"

You slip on your sunglasses. Your signals have stopped broadcasting your location, and the eye shields filter out the angry red colors attempting to draw you into the lines on the spinning road.

"It ain't my day to die," you say to Bobbi. Her ears perk up from her kennel back at home, and her mournful eyes peer out from the bars and turn into peaceful dark tunnel devoid of light and sound. Grimly, you twist the melting steering wheel and guide the vibrating mass of bees towards her left eye. You can do this.