We Sons Of Daley [Manhattan Blues]

>Get rid of the bomb. Drop it in the bandits' base, maybe? Then run.

You attempt to hurl the 25 POUNDS of NITROGLYCERIN away from you.

In basic, they had a saying for trigger-happy goons like you: DWFD, 'Don't Fuck With Dynamite'. You don't even realize the glass shards go through you, all you hear is noise and light. 25 pounds of nitro is enough to not only destroy the wall of what you were throwing at, it is also enough to cause a shock wave that collapses the mine shaft, and as an added bonus, rips both you and Alice apart.

You are dead, your team is trapped in the abandoned mine with no way out, and did we mention you won't even be alive to enjoy them panicking? Because you're dead.

This ending is "Bomb Squad Reject", with a score of 23 of 100.

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>Get rid of the bomb. Drop it in the bandits' base, maybe? Then run.

You have a terrible premonition that if you do that, you will die! Actually, it's more like certain knowledge. Fucking with dynamite is not your department. That's the department of your EXPLOSIVES EXPERT, who is also your MENTALIST. Go figure the guy with PSYCHOKINESIS should handle BOMBS.

Alice seems to be FONDLY REGARDING something while you're thinking about throwing the bomb like a moron.

... Wait, where's your KEEPSAKE?

"... You're a psychic, Mister Political Officer?"

"ARLINGTON, HAROLD." You find a nice open area with a BUNKER to hide behind nearby, and geeeeeently lay down the bomb. "And no, no I'm not."

"This crystal seems to think otherwise..." She says, staring at it intently, the OPALESCENT LIGHT filtering over her features. "Where did a political officer from Chicago get their hands on a SELKIE CRYSTAL...?"

You snatch it out of the air and put it in your pocket. "Get in the bunker, I'm about to set off the NITRO."

"Powerful, too... Just how much PSYCHIC POTENTIAL do you have?"

"Don't know, don't care." You set up a shot with your SNIPER RIFLE from the BUNKER and BREAK THE JAR.

KABOOOM.

You have successfully disposed of the BOMB.

Ponder how exactly this 'Redcap' fellow did that. If you don't know, ask.

"SO, HOW DID THIS REDCAP GUY DO ALL THAT CRAZY TRAP BULL HOCKEY?" You shout over the din and your RINGING EARS.

"WHAT!?"

"I SAID, HOW THE HELL DID THE REDCAP DO THAT?"

"I'M SORRY, I'M HAVING TROUBLE HEARING YOU!" Slowly Alice seems to be recovering. You can't hear what she's saying anymore though.

"WHAAAAT?"

She rolls her eyes and looks around for something, pulling out a box, with a small, damp SHEET OF PAPER which she puts on your FOREHEAD.

Ah, that's much better.

"I SAID, 'Hold on a second, I think I buried a cache near here'."

"Yeah, I noticed. So what, you've got SCROLLS? PATCHES? ...SPELL-LOADS?" That last one with a hint of horror; you've heard of SPELL-SLINGERS from SOUTH CALIFORNIA and aren't exactly eager to MEET ONE.

"None of your business, yet. If we need any of the things in here, I'll USE THEM."

"Fine, but I want to INSPECT that later." You pause. "Of course, if you're not around once all the hostages are rescued, I won't have a CHANCE to."

"Heh. Loud and clear, Mister Political Officer. Any other questions?"

"Yeah, the Redcap, how did he do that?"

"At its most basic? It's like... Okay. You know about ROBOTS, yeah?"

"... Sort of." You shrug while you walk.

"Well, what you do with a FAMILIAR is, you're building a robot out of PARTS, then ANIMATING and PROGRAMMING it with MAGIC. Redcap seems to have a TALENT for it," Alice says. "Mostly I don't bother with it. It's a lot of work to put together."

"So it's kind of like a GOLEM?" You don't quite get it.

"That's another word for it," she nods. "There are a few traditions that use them."