Four Painful Years

To Vegas! But seriously it's time to buy those drugs.
On the way there devise some way to steal luca's hat next time she almost runs you over. She must learn her actions have hat threatening repercussions.

Devise some way to steal luca's hat next time she almost runs you over. She must learn her actions have hat threatening repercussions.

You don’t know. She’s kind of a total thug, and has proven it on more than one occasion. There’s no telling how she’d react if her beloved hat were jacked up right off her head. You wonder if she’s the type to punch a dying lady in the face? You decide you’re not in a hurry to find out. Besides, she lives in your apartment on the same floor. She knows where you live.

The look on that chick’s face, though...

>As if you're gonna do anything other than go to the pharmacy.

Well excuse you, yourself! Maybe you wanted to grab a drink from the water fountain or rescue your veggie wrap from the break room fridge before you left, ever think about that? Let’s save the internal snark-fest for later when you’re lying in bed in excruciating pain with no one to vent to!

You leave out the front door. Maxwell’s request still rings in your ears. What to do, what to do… You suppose you could ask the other guys later, since they’re sort of the only people you really talk to. Then again, you know what they’d say.

Mustafa would take the diplomatic route and advise you to stay as a favor to a friend. He’d call it “the right thing to do.”

Trent would tell you that you’ve only known the guy for a couple years at most and that you don’t owe him anything. And to an extent, he’d be correct.

Luca would shrug and tell you to hook up with him while you still have the chance.

All valid points you guess…

You round the intersection and proceed towards the pharmacy, but you only make it a few feet past the corner when something stops you in your tracks. About thirty feet down the sidewalk stands a familiar figure, hunched and still, cloaked in the shade of a nearby tree. At first you think it might be Mustafa, headed out to the corner store for break, or something. Certainly tall enough… You only realize who it is when they turn to look over their shoulder, allowing you to glimpse those piercing eyes behind a curtain of unkempt hair.

It’s your neighbor. The disturbing old man from across the road.

You turn around out of reflex and pretend like you hadn’t seen him. You just know he’s staring at you again, you can feel his eyes burrowing into your back. How can someone simply looking at you affect you like this? You hate it!

In a fit of anxiety, you choose to be anywhere but here. Sure, he may be as harmless as everyone says he is, misunderstood even, but you don’t care. He gives you the creeps.

What do you do?

>He's probably misunderstood like the old man from Home Alone. Come on, you can do it, you can get to the pharmacy. Run if you have to.

He's standing under a tree right? Then it stands to reason there could be a stick lying around, find that stick and nothing will be able to stop your way to the pharmacy.
After all, stick always wins.

>Fight or flight. I choose fight, confront him directly.

yell at him to write a smiley face on his window with a sharpie, it would be a better use of his time.

>Practice an intimidating glare. Never know when one could come in handy.

>Confront him directly.

… No more. You’re done running away. This man needs to be taught a lesson. Calming your nerves with a deep breath, you resolve to confront him directly.

When you turn around, he’s already five feet in front of you.

It takes every fiber of willpower in your five-foot-one body to reduce a full-body panic spasm to only a flicker of the eyelids. Your eyes find his, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. Nested within two sunken pits of dark, tired skin are these amber globes of molten gold. Had they belonged to anyone else, you would have found them strikingly beautiful. You swallow and take a few steps forward. You need to come across as confident, unafraid. You will not be bullied into silence.

JULIE: “H-Hey.”

Nailed it.

JULIE: “Look, whatever this is that you’re doing? The whole staring thing? It needs to stop.”
JULIE: “Like, if you wanna say hello, if you’re just shy or whatever, I’m all ears, I don’t bite.”
JULIE: “But glaring at me from your window whenever I go out ain’t gonna get you anywhere so… s-stop that... Please.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s just staring at your forehead.

JULIE: “Hey!”

His eyes flick back down to yours. You shudder, but retaliate with an intimidating leer of your own.

JULIE: “I-I’m serious! I’ll call the cops, alright? Jeez...”

There must be something wrong with him. Whatever. You’ve had enough. You step to the side and walk past him. Your hand is inches from the door handle of the pharmacy when he finally speaks.

NEIGHBOR: “No one there.”

You flinch.

NEIGHBOR: “Takin’ a break.”

JULIE: “... I’ll wait, thanks.”

Well at least the guy’s got one of those nice, gravelly voices going for him. Everyone’s got at least one good quality, right? Maybe Maxwell was right after all.

You enter the pharmacy. Huh. No bull, there’s actually no one at the counter. That’s new. You guess you’ll just wait around? Between the rows of shelves and a plethora of health awareness posters you’re not exactly starved for reading material.

---

Achievement Unlocked: “Brave” - Chose to confront your neighbor instead of running away. (200In)

>As my criminal brain says, check for the cameras and steal yours meds if there isn't anybody coming or looking at you in your pocket.
>Then pick up another box of your meds and wait the guys to appear so you can buy it.
It's two for the price of one! And the prision time might don't be that bad!

Pick up a newspaper and check out what's going on with the world.
Maybe pick up some hard candy to befriend that socially awkward old person.

>Check for the cameras and steal your meds.

No! No no no no NO! It's out of the question!

Your pain meds cost just slightly over $100 a bottle. Do you know what the max sentence for theft exceeding $100 is in your state? A year! And something like 6,000 bucks in fines! That's a fourth of your life and a third of your savings! Relief is worth a lot to you, but not that much!

Pick up a newspaper and check out what's going on with the world.
Maybe pick up some hard candy to befriend that socially awkward old person.

Instead of acting like an insane person, you opt to look for something to occupy your time with. You find a newspaper on the counter and casually meander through the news section.

Pretty much everything you heard on the radio is laid out for you in static black and white, most likely because the guys at the station you listen to get all their news from the paper. There's that headline again. "Bridgeview area Residents continue to Disappear." Wow. Are you guys trying to start a panic? How about something a little more respectful to those that have gone missing instead of this transparent sensationalist horsecrap?

You suppose you have a bias. When you were first diagnosed with a terminal illness, the press wouldn't leave you or your father alone. Relentless interviews and photoshoots and talk show stupidity, sometimes four days a week. You were a little bundle of pity and tears for people to obsess over, and while you did receive plenty of donations in the form of money and toys from sympathetic supporters, all you ever really wanted was time with your family, especially with your life expectancy in constant flux with every new report. One day, when you were a teenager, reporters discovered the amount of time you had left, despite Dad's emphatic insistence that the specifics of your death be kept secret. There was a huge tidal wave of well wishes and tearfully written articles... and then silence. No support for your father, no awareness groups showing up at your door with alternative treatments, nothing. Now that everyone knew when you were going to die, you were no longer needed... The sideshow freak had served her purpose.

One day soon, the mass will grow a size too large, and you will die. Someone will recognize your name, and your picture will be paraded around the internet for all to see. For a whopping forty-eight hours people will know you as "that girl that had a brain tumor that died recently," and will shake their heads in feigned disappointment before humanity moves on and forgets you ever existed. Thanks, tabloid journalism.

You sigh and wipe a stray tear from your cheek. You hate that your depression can just sneak up on you like that. You quickly find and finish the newspaper's crossword to distract yourself, and even resort to reading your dumbass horoscope.

VIRGO - Aug 23rd - Sep 22nd
"True love is on the horizon, you need only wait a little while longer! Of course, while good things come to those who wait, the gift of love is never free. You may suffer unimaginably for your love. But once you do, it is a love that will stand the test of time!"
- Mama Goomer, your humble Starseer

Well that was a gigantic waste of time. Where the hell is the pharmacist? Are his breaks always this long?

You kick something across the floor by accident. A bottle of pills. Where did that come from?

Wait a sec, there's a whole whack of fallen pill bottles! It looks like they fell off of a shelf behind the counter.

>Investigate cause of knocked over pill bottles. Detective Julie B. Mitchells on the case!

>prepare the journal as your weapon.

>Look over the counter.

This is pretty strange, do you have any way to tell if this really happening or just one of your episodes?

This is pretty strange, do you have any way to tell if this really happening or just one of your episodes?

Usually your episodes are really weird. Like… REALLY weird. This isn’t one of them. You’ll know when you’re having an episode, trust you.

>Investigate cause of knocked over pill bottles.

You investigate the apparent source of the fallen pill bottles. It looks like the shelf was torn down by something, causing everything to spill. Curious, you step behind the counter.









It's the pharmacist. You almost didn't recognize him. A pool of blood stems from the massive wound in his head, and a lesser but still lethal wound in his chest. A handgun is on the floor next to him. Whatever went on here had to have happened recently. He’s still bleeding.

You think you’re going to be sick. You stumble backwards and almost slip on one of those damn bottles. Should you call the police? Should you just get out of here? What if the killer’s still around? There has to be a killer, that couldn’t have been an accident…

The pharmacy door creaks open.






NEIGHBOR: “Told you. No one there.”
NEIGHBOR: “He’s taken a break. A baaaaaad break...”
NEIGHBOR: “Don’t think he’s comin’ back.”

>Ask him as calmly as you can if he knows what the hell went down here.

>Softly say "what the fuck."
>Pick whatever meds you need now because god, that's going to give a headache.

>Look for alarm button under the counter. Give it a good, hard press.

dontfreakoutdontfreakoutdontfreakoutdontfrePUNCHHIM

Man, if this isn't a hallucination then you've been living in the same building as a killer for-actually better not to think about that.
Go for the gun.

>Softly say "what the fuck."

>Ask him as calmly as you can if he knows what the hell went down here.

Then, call the police. 'Cause... Yeah.

>Ask him as calmly as you can if he knows what the hell went down here.

>Softly say "what the fuck."

JULIE: "W-What is this? What's going on?"

NEIGHBOR: "Hard to explain, really."
NEIGHBOR: "Would take too long. All you need to know 'zat today was the day."
NEIGHBOR: "Today was the day he'd-a tried to kill you."

JULIE: "W-What the fuck..."
JULIE: "What the fuck are you talking about!? He's just my pharmacist! Why would he want to kill me?"

NEIGHBOR: "Wanted what you got."

JULIE: "I don't 'got' anything! Not anything worth... killing me over..."
JULIE: "It was you then... You killed him? 'Cause you knew he was going to kill me?"
JULIE: "Should I be grateful?"

NEIGHBOR: "Hahaha... Probably not."
NEIGHBOR: "Just a formality."

He closes the door behind him.

NEIGHBOR: "I called dibs loooong before he got here..."

>Look for alarm button under the counter. Give it a good, hard press.

You back away instinctively. Bitter tears gush down your cheeks as your mind and heart race. You dare not take your eyes off of him.

The lights in the pharmacy dim momentarily, casting a brief shadow over the interior. When your eyes re-adjust, you notice something in your neighbor's hand. A lead pipe, long as your arm and nearly as thick. You could swear he wasn't holding it a moment ago... that his hands were empty.

He takes his time. His steps are slow and heavy. The pipe just barely clears the ground as it hangs from his fingers.

JULIE: "Why?"
JULIE: "Why me? I never did anything to you..."

NEIGHBOR: "I know, child, I know... You never did nothin' to nobody."
NEIGHBOR: "But you've got somethin' I want. Somethin' a lot of people want."
NEIGHBOR: "Sorry it had to be like this."

JULIE: "What is it? What is it you want? Whatever it is you can just have it!"

You round the corner of the counter, putting as much distance between you and your deranged neighbor as possible. You can't believe your horrible luck. It wasn't enough for the universe to make you suffer. It had to revoke your right to a painless euthanasia. Icing on the cake.

Your finger brushes against something hidden beneath the counter top. Is that what you think it is?

NEIGHBOR: "M'afraid it don't work that way."
NEIGHBOR: "You don't need to know the details. Alls you need to do now is let me do my job."

You sniffle.

JULIE: "... Fine."
JULIE: "But I'm gonna make it SO hard for you."

You activate the silent alarm beneath the counter and dive to the floor. Now, even if the bastard does kill you, the police will have a head start. He begins to chuckle like a lunatic as he walks toward the end of the counter. Apparently he can't be bothered to run or jump.

NEIGHBOR: "Girl, what are you tryna prove with this shit."

Go for the gun.

PUNCH HIM

You pop up from behind the counter holding the handgun. It's been something like six years since you've been to a firing range, but you still remember a thing or two. Thanks Dad. You aim squarely at your neighbor's chest, with no real intent to pull the trigger.

JULIE: "Drop the pipe. W-We're gonna sit here and wait for the police."

NEIGHBOR: "Hah! I forgot he had that thing..."
NEIGHBOR: "Don’t go pissin’ me off, now."

He hefts his weapon and takes a step closer.

JULIE: "I said drop the pipe!”

Your intimidation tactic isn’t working. He brings the pipe behind his head…

Your hands react on their own. You pull the trigger twice. Each shot fires with a resounding crack and blows a sizeable hole in your aggressor's jacket. His eyes widen as he staggers backward, his murderous advance halted.

You… You just shot someone.

NEIGHBOR: "..."
NEIGHBOR: "I was tryna be nice."

Horror consumes you. He’s still standing.

NEIGHBOR: "I was gonna put you asleep so you wouldn’t have to feel the bad bits."
NEIGHBOR: "Now? Now you gonna feel every inch of it."

He raises the pipe once again, and you fire another round of shots, this time at his head. While the first shot goes off without a hitch, the rest come up empty clicks. You’re out of ammunition, but at least you got him in the…

Your legs give way as the blade of an oversized machete flies overhead, splattering the wall behind you with fresh blood… Thankfully, not yours. Somehow, he’s still alive, and he has a machete now. Maybe you missed? He was right in front of you!

NEIGHBOR: "Work eighteen hours and-a whaddya get..."
NEIGHBOR: "Another day older n’ deeper in debt ..."

The scraping of his machete against the ground and his awful mumbling are almost too much to bear. He rounds the counter and stares you down, as if daring you to stand up. You take that dare. Covered in blood from the floor and high on adrenaline, you steel yourself for history’s most pathetic last stand.

You can see now that you did indeed hit your mark. A crimson trail flows down your attacker’s face from a pinhole between his eyes. You suppose that’s evidence enough that you were fated to die here… Not among friends in a hospital bed. Just… abruptly in some storefront. When you get to Heaven, you swear you’re gonna kick God in the nuts. You crack your knuckles, wipe away your tears, and spit. You’re done with all of this.

JULIE: "Bring it, shitboy.”

You rush each other. He only needs to take a few steps for his machete to reach you. But his movements are sluggish. You can get one hit in if you try. One spiteful, angry punch. With literally everything to lose, you fly forth beneath the shadow of your assailant’s massive blade, reel back, and let loose…

Show Content

SpoilerSpace bends around you. Your skin is awash with static. Your hair stands on end. A vortex of wind surrounds you, hot and wild with a vicious power. The tip of your wayward fist flashes a brilliant red, and a great weight swirls around your wrist, as if a singularity is forming within. The sheer force carries you forward, rocketing you into the unknown…

All of this happens in a fraction of a second. You don’t even notice.

Bottles, shards of glass, anything that isn’t nailed down is carried away in an instant by the shockwave you generated, most of all your neighbor. You stand there blinking for a few seconds, your brain failing to register. A hole has appeared in the furthest wall with a slumped, groaning figure buried inside it. The machete is stuck nearly handle-deep in the ceiling. Drawn by a sour smell, the kind of smell stones make when you break them open, you examine your fingers. The stone on your mood ring has been completely annihilated. Only a smoking pit of crushed glass remains.

You don’t understand, and you have such a headache, but… now’s your chance!

What do you do?

---

Achievement Unlocked: "Hello, Neighbor" - Beheld your neighbor's true intentions. (150In)

>Pick up your meds and run the shit away
>STEAL HIS MACHETTE, ABSOLUTLY NO DIGNITY.

>Pick up your meds and run the shit away

This is precisely why that alarm is there. Don't do this. Rather, arm yourself with his pipe in self-defense, or the machete, if you can grab it.