The Star Bridge (Text Adventure) page 3

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I don’t know what this workshop is so I attempt to change the topic

‘its okay, but hey have you ever been to the workshop? you would make a fine actress one day with your beautiful eyes and hair’

Gosh, I’m terrible at this but I hope she got the money ready, because I’m getting hungry.
I added , ’ I can take you there if you want to’

but of course I don’t really want to.

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Sorry….so busy…college….work….
(gives up on tagging individual stories)


The emerald green flame gouts for a second, and gives off sparkles. It seems to grow slightly brighter as you look at it, before it dims again, shooting away up into the sky. This but lasts a few seconds: a cascade of flames drops from the heavens, straight on top of you.

It doesn’t hurt.

Speak, alienforeignbeing. Speak again. What did you say? We are analogue-428-5-propylethenol (2*).

Around you a square of blue embers flares up from the ground, and all the flames which were bustling near you either flinch away from the line or speed upwards. The sky itself is moving, shifting in nauseating patterns which you can vaguely see out of the top of your eyes. Away from you.

AdeebNafees, what do you do?


“Jack? No,” the man says, growling. “He’s not a meek man, nor is he a predator. He is a bounty hunter, and,” the man looks proud for a moment, “The best traveller I have ever had the privilege of introducing to the Great Game.”

A plume of blueish smoke hangs in midair, diffracting by the glimmering crystals peeking out of their alcoves.

“Aura is — hm. Like fine wine, whisky, alcohol. The longer it is the more potent it is. And it is – consuming it is – like biting into the most succulent of steaks, drinking the aged, finest wines; whatever your ambrosia is, it is like that. We are not hungry upon the Great Game, nor thirsty, nor need sleep; we are always on the run and on the hunt….but consuming aura? That is better than anything ever mortal need was wont for.”

The man nods and smiles at you. Still not pretty. “Yes.”

“Boy, do you know how to defend yourself?”

BCLEGENDS, what do you do?


“He ran away, Jack.”

“I can see that, Selza.”



“Another time, Jack?”

“Any-time. Now, for my beloved sister, chocolate.”

The world crumples, and spins, and comes back alive. You wake in what was once a jungle, but is no more.

The night is muggy, humid and hot, and a lone star sparkles in the sky.

Information pours through your mind, inwards and backwards and out. Five categories: Identity, Stars, Hacking Skills, Ruthlessness, Artifact Skills. You try desperately to grasp onto all the information, but succeed in keeping only three things.

Which three, and what do you do from here?


Her face snaps right back to suspicious.

“I haven’t, that’s why I asked. Do you know? Any actor should know these three questions: What is the inside-out method of acting called? Out of body language, facial expression and speech patterns which two are the most important in acting? And when you are thinking into a camera, is there any effect?”

You notice her hand is hovering under the table. You suspect there’s a panic button.

What do you do?

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The ideas bore their way into my head, crashing and bouncing off one another. I almost feel my arms grasp at one, Hacking Skills, I reach again and garble together Artifact skills. And then I hold them- Stars and Identity, and can’t decide. They scramble their way around, trying to decide for me, the world spins.

I don’t want to be the hacker degenerate anymore.

Knowledge of the stars holds me.

Who am I?



Nobody responds. I tumble around, feeling pressure on my left side, I pull some kind of computer out of the pocket. I know how to use it, I know how to look upon the memoirs… but if I had so easily erased my memory, why delve into the same pointless endeavor?

Instead, I try to find where I am, staring near the stars, bearing a grasp at my location.

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‘Defend myself? Well, uh… I- if you mean how to use weapons or martial artistry or something, then… not off the top of my head, no. Although I expect I could probably get the hang of them, since that’s usually how things like that go. By the way, I notice you’re calling me “boy”, rather than anything else, possibly out of necessity. But, um, should I give myself a name to be referred to by, or am I just going to be called Boy from now on?’