This is a placeholder for Andrew's thread, GMed by Tadeusz.  :)

We've all had friends or acquantances at times like this.  The one we wondered how he managed to survive until adulthood, or stay out of jail.  He's clearly smart, but well, he managed to tip a truck over on its side in a flat parking lot, and when a girl got desperate enough to track him down, and ask him to the prom, he managed to get her mad enough that she loosened a tooth with her slap.

So when you're sitting at your dining room table with a few friends, putting together a character for a rpg on your brand-new computer with 'Scriff Inside!' you're not totally surprised when he jumps around the corner and pretends to throw the new bought javelin....and you're not totally shocked when he messes it up and with a crestfallen look launches it right at you.

There's no time to dodge.  The only thing to do is raise your computer as a shield.

The iron point jabs through the keyboard and motherboard, and you're about to scream at him when you notice white arcs, then yellow blobs, and before you can drop it, you're surrounded by electricity.

==========

"Moo." You smell green leaves, outdoor air....thin air....and cow.  You're laying on stone.  You hear a small ripping noise just above you, and some dust or something scatters down on you.

We were going to be playing a new campaign for Pathseaker. Our old characters had just bought it. Mike wanted to be a paladin, lord knows why. He can't pull off characters who do what's right because it's right. He's more of a merc. I'd been considering making a caster. In fact I had one already rolled up since I'd died early in last week's session. Beautiful concept, an elvin sorc who dabbles in fencing. At higher levels it should be pretty effective. Then the party wipe happened. And I show up today only to learn everyone else is either a caster or a fighter. Mike made his paladin, doubt he'll stay one past the first session though.

Still, that meant I'd need to make a healer type. I'm still setting up in my spot. Hell, I haven't even finished pulling my stuff out. Today we'd been planning to come dressed as our characters. Since I was intending to play my sorc, I'm dressed as Arilena Swiftblade. Right down to the saber and "everfull tankard" I spent most of character creating funds on in-game. The others think I'm weird for collecting ancient weapons and other authentic memorabilia. Maybe I am.

I look up from pulling out my laptop just in time to see Edd screwing around with one of the props I'd brought for the others. A javelin since Mike was talking about using a spear last week. And that's the closest I've got in my collection. He's phantom miming throwing the javelin at me. Only his grip is rather loose.

"That's not a to..."

I don't get to finish. Hell, I don't even get to put down the laptop before Natural Disaster Edd's actually thrown the wood and metal projectile. It's ruined. I'd spent five hundred on this laptop, and it's ruined. The satchel I'd used to carry my computer slips to the ground through numb fingers. And before I can lay into my 'dear' friend my world devolves into pain....

The pain's gone as quickly as it came. And I find myself laying down. Was it just a dream? But there's something wrong I can feel my pack still in place. An angular pressure against my left hip makes me move. Only to realize the dagger I'd worn is still there. So is my saber. Then I open my eyes. Grass, cows, stone...

"The hell?"

A ripping sound makes me look up. Again I exclaim my shock. "What the fork?!"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:13, Tue 21 June 2016.

You move to your left, and feel alongside the dagger, empty space.  A skinny cow is standing half above, half below you on a near vertical slope.  You're laying on a stone ledge dotted with grass that is about ten feet long and thirteen inches wide.

The cow is munching on some sort of weed that she just pulled roots and all out of the mountain above you, scattering loose dirt over your chest.

Looking up, you see a grass spotted eighty degree slope, with ledges, and juts, and a dozen cows climbing about for three hundred feet until the top slopes back out of sight.

As I take in my surroundings I can't help but think this has to be a dream. The problem is that I don't have lucid dreams. And I know it. Which means this may actually be real. At the very least I need to treat it like it's real, even if it's just a product of my imagination. So what happened? Donno, but I may need assistance. So I reach for my cell. Only got it recently... and... it's gone. Just. Freaking. Great.

"Okay, first order of business... get down from here."

With that thought in mind, I cautiously look over the edge of the cliff. Haven't done free climbing in years. Nearly twenty of them in fact. Use to do it all the time. There was this tall cliff a few blocks away from my house when I was a kid. Me and some friends would climb up it on a nearly daily basis in the summer. Had a "secret clubhouse" near the top. It had been little more then a small cave, but we loved it.

The last time I'd done free climbing was when I was ten or so. There was a section of the cliff that looked like a giant flight of stairs. I was young and dumb, so I thought this path up would be easier then the one I normally took. For a certain definition of 'easier' that was even true. What I'd not known was that the flat part of the 'stairs' was often a narrow shelf, not the wide (to me) surfaces my usual path of ascent had. Or that near the top there were no more handholds close enough together for a ten year old boy to reach.

If another climber hadn't heard me calling for help, it might have been the last thing I ever did. When the climber arrived and pulled me up, I was starting to lose my grip. As it is, that was the last time I dared climb a cliff. Until now that is. Even so I wasn't looking forward to this. Still, cows mean people. THey had to get up here somehow. And since cows aren't built for mountain climbing there was likely an easy way down that didn't involve falling. Or screaming. And most definitely with no dying. I didn't like that idea at all.

After checking if the cliff face had a way down, I decided to investigate the plateau I was on. In my experience cliffs nearly always have a gentle way down as well. And I still needed to figure out where I was.

"Don't suppose you know where we are?" I asked the cow near me as I investigated my surroundings, not that I expected an answer.

You look down fifty feet to the tops of broadleaf trees that block the view of the ground.  There are a number of ledges and side paths on the way down.  It doesn't look like that difficult a climb if you're okay lowering yourself four to eight feet regularly.  But some of the rock is pretty easily broken.

Looking about for an easy path, you don't see one despite extensive searching (very bad General Effects roll.)

You see eight cows below you. One scrambles straight up fifteen feet to get a yellow flower.

Looking out, you see jutting four hundred foot tall, seventy wide rock piles a tenth of a mile away with cows, and another one further away with no cows, and the ground slopes down, and down in a gentle roll that leads to the far horizon and a hint of deep blue.

The air is thin indeed, not desperately so, but you're at least three thousand feet above sea level.

After witnessing a cow climbing up a cliff face to reach some flowers I could only think of one thing to say.

"Wednesday, Thursday, Friday."

Still had no clue where I was, or how I got there. But cows did mean that in theory someone was out here. I hadn't expected cows to respond to me. So I wasn't surprised by it's silence. The thin air bothered me a lot. I had a long climb ahead, most likely. And I didn't have much food with me. Just the two cans of soup I'd brouht since we were going to be gaming all day. Well Andrew, this cliff isn't going to climb it's self.

With that thought I stowed my hip pouch in the backpack so it wouldn't get hung up on anything. The tankard went in there too. This is crazy, I thought as I started lowering myself over the edge. Since the handholds didn't look too sturdy, I made sure to test each one before putting any real weight on it. Let alone letting go of any previous ones. Climbing up however is always easier then going down. You can see your next handhold when going up. I hadn't done anything this stupid in twenty years.

I much rather would have had a rope, better still a ladder, or preferably  nice gentle slope I could casually stroll down. Since I had none of those, I was stuck risking my fool neck. Fortunately there looked to be plenty of landings. And the cows meant I might not starve. My biggest concern then was getting down, and finding water. The order of those two items could easily change in priority. I wished I had my crossbow with me. Not to mention the rest of my B.O.B.

"Ooph" I grunted as I dropped the last bit to the first landing.

One down, far too many to go. It suddenly occurred to me I might be able to spot signs of civilization from up here. Not sure if it would do any good, but at least I would have a general direction to go. After resting for several minutes I began the next part of my laborious decent. Just before I began to climb again I checked the sun's position. Didn't know if it was morning or afternoon. But at least I could get a general directional fix. While at it I also scanned the distance for signs of occupation. Hopefully I could see a town or something. Or a farm I might be able to reach. Or given the scenic surroundings possibly a lodge.

The Sun is at 10 or 2.

About a mile away, you spot a thin trail of smoke rising from a break in the trees.  There might be a town or a pile of rocks in the far distance down near the blue.  Its got some blocky shapes and is whitish, so....?

You go down one more, very slowly.  And you're going down the next one when a cow scrambles up past you, and knocks you loose.

Fallin...SMACK.  You dropped ten feet, and landed on a ledge.  The second cow above you now, looks down and moos indignantly.

OOC: Let's hope you're not in for a series of rolls like Mew.  That was a 100, btw.  You're too good to botch, so that's a near max failure for this.

You start to get up,and the ledge under you collapses.  Another ten foot drop, and another ledge.

Moaning, you rise, and after a bit, climb down further.

The next one down has you lose part of a fingernail.

And now you're below the tree tops with thirty feet to go.  The trees are banana trees.

A cow takes a bit of your hair as you go past, chews it meditatively, and you reach the soft ground in waist high foilage.

OOC: I put you down for High Amateur Freeclimbing at 1@9, so we'll raise that to 2@1 which is Low Professional.

Tired, sore, and entirely too convinced this was real. That was my state of mind by the time I stopped falling over and over. Was anything broken? I didn't feel like I'd broken something, but who knows. Having to gather my weapons each time I fall was getting real old real fast. And who the heck ever heard of rock climbing cows? Or... banana trees on a mountain?! What was next, two moons?

Feeling hungry, I started looking for rocks to form a camp fire. As well as loose wood for fuel. While it offended me to even consider it, I could use an old NPC character sheet for kindling. Didn't have a lighter, but there is the old trick of rubbing two sticks together. In theory, I know how it's done. In practice though, I'd never tried it. And who knows, maybe the smoke from a camp fire (providing I could get one going) would attract attention of whoever was in the area. Then I realized that it would be easier to find wood if I were to make it down to the ground.

With a groan I gathered up enough small rocks for my planned camp fire and stored them in my pack. Which now was kind of heavy. I wasn't use to carrying such weight anymore. It wasn't like I carried fifty pounds of books with me for seven mile walks on a daily basis anymore. I stopped doing that after high school.

OOC: OK.

Nothing seems broken or pulled or twisted.  You've just been bruised and battered.

There is a large supply of broken limbs in the undergrowth, enough that its going to make it a bit harder to walk.  But you hardly have to go five steps to get all the wood you need.

And then saying farewell to the NPC telling him it was a worthy sacrifice, and remembering for a second his actions, and then you put him down in a small clear spot and start on the method.

After five minutes you get a touch of smoke, which then vanishes.  Two minutes later, you get a flicker of flame.  And then, hoping, the sheet catches, you move it closer..it doesn't.  And you're back at it again, shoulders sore from continual movement....a tiny flicker...and it catches, and now you have a small campfire.

1@1 Firestarting with Sticks.

You're able to build it up larger.

A bright flurry of feathers flies by and lands in a tree above you.  It chirps a bit, and then chirps 'Moo'.  One of the cows, the lowest one moos back at it.  The parrot replies in kind.

Once the small fire was going I pealed the label off a can of clam chowder. I then carefully set the can atop the rocks I'd positioned for just that purpose. Sure it was crude, but then I don't normally need to make my own fire pit. While the soup was heating up I gathered up dirt to put out the fire when I was done. I then reached for my... Only to realize I don't have a hobo tool with me. Or any bowls, I'd have to eat strait out of the can. Speaking of which, no hot pad either. This... was not thought out very well.

I ended up using my shirt to grab the can and move it off the fire and onto a flatish rock. While the can was cooling off, I covered the fire pit with the gathered dirt. As Smoky the Bear says, only you can prevent forest fires. Looks like I'm doing things the old fashioned way, I thought as I began to carefully spear bits of potato with my knife. Of course, this too is something I knew in theory but had never done before. So it took longer then I would have liked to eat a quick meal.

Tired, sore, and slightly singed, I checked the sun again. If there was enough daylight left, I figured I could start heading towards where I'd seen a possible house.

The sun is hard to see through the broad leaves, but it looks like its directly overhead, which means its been about two hours.

You start walking through the undergrowth.  After a bit, you spot a foot high monkey staring at you from a tree.  Later, you cross a creek that has cut a couple feet into the slippery clay embankment.  Its a hop and a scramble over, and then on the other side, you're face to face with an arm thick snake.

It slowly slides away, and you come upon a trail.  After a bit you smell smoke, and you come up on a clearing with a dozen short, darkish skinned men digging in the dirt with hoes to weed in an acre sized plot of ground that is overshadowed by trees.  Something about the plants looks disturbingly familiar. There is a ramshackle cabin of metal roofing material just beyond the field.

By the time I reached the creek my only water bottle was nearly empty. I eyed the fresh water, trying to decide if it was safe to drink it. Finally I decided to finish what I had then refill the bottle. Using the creek I did a better job of cleaning off my knife, then dried it with my shirt. I wasn't prepared for anything like this. But if it had a chance of happening again, maybe I should lay in supplies. I still didn't know how I got to... where ever I was.

After sheathing my blade once again, I decided to cross the flowing water. Once it had cooled off I'd kept the used can. As well as the removed label. After all, I disliked litterers. And I wasn't about to just leave behind my trash. Besides, the can could be useful. Before actually wading across the creek however I decided to wash out the can, as well as it's lid. That too I could probably find a use for, if needed. These went back into my hip pouch for storage.

Finally I got to the other side. As I made my way up the bank I froze. That is a big snake, I thought in shock as I started reaching for a weapon. Didn't know what kind it was, or if it was venomous. But I wanted to be safe. When it left I felt relief wash over me. I mean, sure I practice with swords, daggers, and dual wielding. Both with a sword and dagger and twin daggers. But I'm not very good with them. Good enough I'm not likely to hurt myself, sure. But good enough to actually defend myself? Probably not, I've never had to try though. Usually I just bluffed criminals that accosted me.

Then I saw it, definite signs of civilization. I'd thought I'd seen something from above. Yet I wasn't entirely sure if I was going in the right direction. My survival and wilderness navigation skills after all were all theoretical. I didn't even have a compass with me. Which was another thing I planned to fix. Still, with weapons in their sheathes and hands held out in the open (as well as away from my weapons) I approached the cabin. I wanted to make absolutely sure whoever was inside knew I didn't mean them any harm.

"HELLO!" I called out as I approached. "ANYONE HOME?"

A third of the weeders scatter; a third hit the ground; and a third put their hands on their heads.  A few of those last still hold their hoes which bang against the sides of their heads.

"Whugggg." A vocal noise comes from the shed, and a short, but lighter skinned man stumbles out.  He has something like an AK-47 in his hands.

"DEA!" He screams trying to get the rifle to fit into both hands and on line with you.  His eyes are bloodshot, and you're not sure at this distance, but you think his eyes are massively dilated.  Also his nose is brightish red.

And suddenly you recognize the plants.  You'd seen them in passing on a TV show a year ago.

Poppy plants. Useful for making opium and cocaine.

People scattering, well, okay. I mean, it's not like I wouldn't be alarmed if a scruffy man with a sword approached me and yelled. That was why I had taken pains to show non-hostility. The guy from inside yelling 'dea' and carrying an assault rifle, now that was alarming. As in I should have urine running down my leg alarming. Weirdly enough when I get scared like that, terror isn't my first reaction. It's anger. Thankfully it's not blind unthinking rage anymore. Well, not usually.

Then I realize what the setup must be. And might I just say, just bloody great. Looking around, I can't really see any cover. Which I guess makes a sick sort of sense. This clown looks like he's been sampling the goods. Even so I can't trust he's incapable of unloading that weapon in my general direction. ANd it's not like I have any good options here. Don't even have a crossbow with me. Or my throwing knives. Not that I think those would do me any good. I have a knife, but it's not balanced for throwing. And I've never practiced throwing it.

"What the.. Hold on there chuckles, I'm not looking for trouble. I just want to know where I am. And maybe get a lift to civilization if I can."

Even as I speak I'm moving towards any cover I can see. This whole situation is so freaking messed up. And I'm getting rather angry about it. Angry at the guy pointing a freaking assault rifle at me. Angry at whoever dumped me out here. And definitely angry at Edd for throwing a spear at me. But seriously, DEA? On what strange world would the DEA arm their people with a knife and sword then dump them in the middle of nowhere? Then again, druggies aren't known for having a working brain.

The clown pauses long enough to let you get off the trail and near a thick tree trunk as he listens to what you say. Looking at his face is a bit of a revelation.  Now, perhaps I'm wrong, but most of my players have not spent time around someone who casually murders people because they angered or frightened him.  He definitely would have ventilated Edd if he had the chance.  And looking into the eyes of someone who sees less value in your life than you would assign to a random dog is downright chilling.

You dive for the tree, and he fires off a burst.  A couple bullets hit the trunk, and others rip up the undergrowth nearby.  You are now in the edge of the jungle.

He yells, not that he needs to.  Another guy comes stumbling out from the cabin.  The peasants are screaming and running like mad for cover which is not far off as this is carved out of the forrest.

OOC: Bloody.  +@1 to the attribute Intuition as you've just received a very rough bit of education.  Its one thing to hear about it; its another to experience it.

I'd tried to be nice, and got shot at. Which was rather annoying when you think about it. Chances of surviving the frontal assault I really wanted to make were low. After all, bringing a knife to a gun fight rarely works out very well. Even so, I drew the knife. It at least was good enough quality to survive a fight. My sword, probably not. The stylized handle wasn't full tang. In fact due to the hole near the blade it was barely anchored in place. One good hit would probably cause the blade to break off from the hilt. It very much was a show piece.

Not that the sword was even sharp, unlike my dagger collection. Still, while the ceremonial dagger's pummel was cheaply made it was a good quality weapon. The hilt it's self was nice and solid. The blade was full tang, meaning that the blade's end extended the full length of the hilt and was thus secured properly. And it was sharp. While this one had never seen actual combat, it was perfectly serviceable for the task if needed. I hoped I wouldn't need to use it.

Noting that I'm on the edge of the forest, I quickly look for a path which I can take without being spotted. I realize it would be difficult though. When I do move, I run as quietly as I can. Feet came down toes first so I can control how much noise is made, even if it's not a natural way to move. It is more of a power walk then a full run though. For me, it's the same speed as if I ran flat out. Yeah, out of shape. Then again, I'd always had trouble running further then a block. A swift power walk on the other hand, I can maintain that pace.

I try to keep trees between me and Mister Triggerhappy as much as possible. Where was I? Still have no clue, although I'm starting to wonder if I somehow ended up in South America. Did I see someone else emerging from the cabin? Thought so, but didn't really want to double check. Despite my fury, I do know I can't fight them head on. I wanted to, but that would be suicide. So I looked for someplace I can hide instead. And if I'm honest with myself, the fact I do want to attack kind of scares me.

My temper always has scared me even when it's come in handy in the past.

Knife in hand, you break toward another tree, which catches some bullets near it.  And then to another, and then you hear them running after you.

There's no real path except for the trail you came up on, which I assume you're avoiding.  You power walk from tree to tree, having to step over fallen branches as your breath races in and out, and sweat drips down your temples.

There is a loud, whirring noise that is like a fan blade that passes rapidly overhead, and is gone just as quickly.

The two are following you.  Clown is breaking through the woods, making lots of noise.  The second guy is taking the trail, and trying to keep an eye on you.  He hasn't fired yet, but you've seen him, and he looks a bit more sober than Clown.

Clown fires again and leaves fall down past you.  Suddenly a black shape leaps out of a hollow under a tree, knocks you down, and the black panther turns back to you hissing its outrage.  But its head twitches at is follows the sounds of the approaching men.

I've been known to do some rather stupid things when angry. Bluffing armed muggers with a broken and dull folding knife and scaring a couple of would be muggers into turning themselves in to the police among the top ones. Picking fights with people bigger and stronger then me too. That rarely ends well for me. Even so, before I knew it I found myself growling softly at the panther. The murderous glare was probably a bad idea too. If I  was in my right mind I probably would have expected to be dead within seconds.

Instead I was trying to intimidate the panther. As I said, not the smartest thing I could do. Then again, neither was the tentative plan I'd developed of 'ambush the criminals'. Of course, 'plan' was a word being used rather loosely. I was still mostly running on rage and instinct. While still glaring at the panther I pressed my back against the tree I was hiding behind. I then carefully drew my sword. The intention was to try decapitating the drugged out clown with the AK. On some level I knew it probably wouldn't work.

"Hunt the one on the trail," I whispered to the panther.

Yeah, it was a dumb idea. Yes it was unlikely to do as I told it to. No, I wasn't exactly thinking very clearly. Maybe on some level I still thought this was a dream? Who knows.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:35, Mon 04 July 2016.

The panther sneers at you, but bounds away anyways.

As you press back against the tree, you find the hidey-spot under vines next to the tree where the panther had hid.  Fitting yourself into this, you wait for Clown.

He comes close to you, and pauses as he looks your way, but then proceeds onward.

You step out, and hit him awkwardly on the arm, slicing, and as he spins to face you, you hit him again, across the face. He goes down, and doesn't get up. Your sword is snapped off at the hilt.

+@1 to Stealth and +@2 to Swordfighting.

I stared down at the body at my feet. The fact it had worked was a little surprising. The fact the panther had also left was even more surprising. With a little shock I look down at the hilt in my hand. That it survived the first swing actually amazed me. That it broke after the second one, not so shocking. I'd always known it was a show piece and not a true weapon. Still, as quietly as I could I picked up the blade and slid it back into the sheathe. If I could find a good smith, maybe the weapon could be salvaged. Not likely though.

I also searched the man for any spare ammunition. After pocketing what I could find, I picked up his gun. I didn't know how to use a gun beyond 'point and pull trigger'. And to be quite honest my target was probably the only thing safe around me if I tried using the dang thing. I still remembered the firing range when I was a teen. I'd gotten a bullseye with the bb rifle, sure. But it was behind me and three targets to the right. The fact the ricocheting projectile had even hit a target was pure dumb luck. I've since had as bad of luck with even paintball guns, namely the paintballs ricocheting to hit someone behind me.

Still, the other guy didn't know that. And if I had the gun, I knew nobody else could use it against me. With the rifle slung across  my back I started to move through the brush again. I avoided the trail for obvious reasons. I transferred my dagger to my dominant hand and stuffed the hilt of my now broken sword into my pack's canteen pouch for now. The sound of the propellers concerned me. Was that more of these goons, or authorities?

As stealthily as I could I started working my way back towards the farm to observe.

You did hit him from ambush, and he was as high as a kite, and not a huge guy either.  The panther may have been more worried about Clown charging through the forrest shooting than you.
And the first hit was a weak hit.

The gun seems some sort of autorifle, like an M-16 or AK-47 but possibly different.  You've seen a ton of both on TV, but unless you tell me you paid close attention, we'll leave it there.

Getting back is not hard, and when you arrive, the place is deserted.

In reply to Tadeusz (msg # 22):

Sometimes the system doesn't register a reply on the forum listing.

If these people are worried about the DEA, then calling them in would have been a good idea. Except I didn't know the number. And I rather doubted they'd have a phone book here with Federal contact information. That and the adrenaline was starting to wear off. Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Oh gods, I killed someone! I was frozen there, crouching in the bush. Horror over what I had done washing over me, as was the pure terror that my rage had suppressed until now. How long I was like that, I'm not sure.

I thought about raiding the building for food, and maybe a sauce pan. But I didn't know how long the place would be abandoned. So with some reluctance I moved away from the building. I needed to find someplace I could hole up in for the moment. My supplies were extremely limited, and I was definitely in a hostile area. Gods, I was too out of shape for this. Why was it happening to me? Don't know, doesn't matter anyway. All that mattered was this was happening.

As I traveled I did my, admittedly not very good, best to not leave a trail. I'd been lucky so far though. Walking quietly, oh that I'm good at. Years of living in apartment complexes and understanding how thin the walls and ceiling are will do that for you. Moving through forests, not so much. I haven't even gone camping since I was about ten years old, maybe. I'd brought a field survival guide as a gaming resource. Looked like I'd have to use it now. Which meant once I could find a safe location, I was planning on doing some reading tomorrow.

You've walked several miles, mostly downhill.  Sweating freely, you pass under a banana tree, and spot a monkey looking down at you.  Suddenly, it runs off.

And you hear a voice from a few yards to your left, and behind you.

"Don't you be moving, mate. No foreign languages, or odd little tricks, or finger wiggling.  I am authorized to ventilate you with lethal force by the Second Defense of the Realm Act, Subprotocol Seventeen."  Its a British male voice.

And then you hear from your right another such voice. "Contact made with Target. Krait out."

"What?!" I gasped from where I'm panting. "What, are you, talking about? And where, the heck, am I anyway?"

I made sure to keep my hands away from the weapons. First drugged out cocaine farmers, now this? It was beyond official now. I had no idea what was going on. Gods I was hot, and thirsty, and tired, and sore, and getting cranky. On the other hand, the 'defense of the realm act' sounded like official military. So I had to chance this was the good guys.

Once I'd caught my breath a bit I then said "Is it okay if I get my water bottle? It's too bloody hot out here not to stay hydrated. Oh, and if you're really British military, there's a farm a few miles back the way I came you might want to look into. Pretty sure law abiding people don't grab assault rifles and start shooting at people asking for directions."

"We know all about your kind. So I won't have a problem shooting you. Point number two, you are in the Republic of Columbia about a hundred miles from the Panama Canal, an isthmus crossing waterway." Voice One says.

"Steady on the EEG. No wobble or spike. Krait out." Voice Two says, clearly not to you.

"No, don't reach for your water bottle or anything.  No way for us to know its not a fusion device." Voice One says. "Yeah, Cobra saw your sword target; some other guy tried to drill him. Won't be bothering anyone else.  As to the rest, well, this isn't the British Empire anymore.  There's little we can do.  But we can toss out some food packs and the like for the workers, if that will make you happy."

It seems important to him that you be if not happy, at least not opposed.

"Know what I am?! Fusion device? What are you talking about?" I couldn't help but ask in disbelief. "Far as I know, I could be dead... Hell, I should be dead."

As Han Solo might have said, I had a really bad feeling about this. These people were talking like they expected me to be some sort of alien invader. Which made absolutely no sense to me. And why would anyone think a water bottle is a fusion device?

"Seriously, A few hours ago an idiot friend threw a spear at me. Next thing I know I'm apparently on a mountain, have nut jobs shooting at me cause I asked for directions, and I got no clue what's going on. Now you people are accusing me of being a... what, alien invader?! Wednesday Thursday Friday."

"Possible Level One." Voice Two says.

"Be calm." Voice One says.  And then a man in jungle camo rises from behind a tree in front of you.  In one hand is some sort of high tech firearm, and in the other is a pair of odd manacles.  The way he moves reminds you of the Special Warfare guys  you've seen on TV.  And as he advances toward you, you see a definite wary look in his eyes.  He's convinced you're a lethal threat.

"Put the manacles on. Then we can go for a nice ride, have a spot of tea, and we can all have our questions answered." Voice One says again.

Remembering that one of them had referred to me as 'the target' increased my bad feeling. And the fact these people were more then willing to kill me was kind of alarming. If they had been specifically looking for me, then either they were with whoever ran that farm I'd left behind, possible, or they knew how I got here. This second option I considered a little more likely. Even so the way they were acting was irritating me.

"Last time I checked, being lost and confused wasn't a crime." I said through gritted teeth.

I was taking deep breaths to try and stay calm. Something I hadn't bothered with earlier. Then again, people actually shooting at you tends to take away priority from staying calm. Slowly I clenched my hands into fists before opening them back up. This I repeated several times.

"I might be willing to go with you. But I am not going to be treated like a criminal."

"Not a criminal, mate. Fact is, we might become friends.  But only if you put that thing on, now." Voice One says.

"Possible Thanatos Event." Says Voice Two.

"You're not very good at this critical thinking thing, are you?" I ask. I then start to try bluffing them. "I'm willing to go with you, but only as a guest. Not as a prisoner. Scared of me? Of what I can do? Maybe you should be. After all, I arrived here with a day's worth of food and two melee weapons. I now have an assault rifle and you don't know how much ammunition, and there are some dead cartel members a few hours behind me. The man who I got this rifle from was firing it directly at me. It didn't help."

Okay, so he was firing it in my general direction, was drugged up, and I was keeping cover between me and him. But they don't know that. Threatening these people is a bad idea. Especially since I likely can't follow through with it. Then again, that's never stopped me before when I'm threatened. My stony gaze rests on the man I can see. Even as I continue taking deep breaths I glare at him with tight lips and anger filled eyes. I didn't draw a weapon. In fact I didn't reach for one. I just glared at the man while breathing in and out.

"So ask yourselves, do you really want to be the ones who antagonize me? Especially when you don't know what I'm capable of? Or are you going to be the ones who treat me as a guest and possibly make an ally? Your choice."

The guy in front of you visibly pales, and a bead of sweat pops from his cheekbone.

Another voice speaks.

"Thanatos, Thanatos, Thanatos. Take him out, boys."

But before he can finish the first word, five Specwar soldiers open up on full auto.  You have time to see your chest explode as as twenty-eight bullets impact it.....

+@1 Intimidation.  Congrats, you managed to terrify a SAS soldier.

Next World....