So here we are. Gorgeous 360 view out into the glittering black canvas of space. Sweaty, grumpy thugs of all species–but mostly dirty humans and tentacle’d Trinidarians–on all sides. Whispers and complaints hiss over the clicks and clangs of weapons being cleaned and reassembled. Clothing rustles as busy crewmembers swish their palms across the compuwall that rings the whole room under the giant orb’d
window above our heads.
It’s the command center of the pirate ship. You know how we got here. You and I stowed away on this spaceship hoping to collect THE CHRONICLES for that sweet little museum curator back home.
But we got caught. And now if we don’t get these books for the Captain we tried to rob, we’re stardust. Or void-popsicles–I can never remember if freezing or exploding happens first when they throw you out into space.
But you remember. And you’re scared. Your lips dry; your breath seems so tight, and thin, in your chest. You’ve been offered a chance to barter for your life by leaving reviews on books.
But you can hear feet scuffling, and pleas of confusion, and the sticking squish of desperate tentacles clinging to something in the hallway. The Trinidarian pirate who bandaged and Restirized your head injury is going to pay for falling for your scam–and, apparently, for having compassion on the little pests and rodents he finds on the ship.
“The big guy’s a softie, an animal-lover–it’s not fair,” you mutter.
“You wanna buy his life, you can,” the Captain smirks, slouching into his cushioned swivel-chair behind us. He slams his palm on the small compupad built into his chair, and you see the email system booting up.
But you don’t negotiate with terrorists.
“No,” you say suddenly.
“What?” I squeak. “Are you out of your mind?”
But you’ve got a knife up your sleeve, a knife gifted to you by your godmother, with azure gems in the hilt and a magical gleam to it–you call the knife, Your Fortune Points Registration Page.
It’s a weird name, but hey, it’s your weird mom. And you have to be registered to keep track of your Fortunes, because you’re about to get into one-on-one combat with a jerk. So you make sure you’re registered, and then with a deft flick of the wrist–
“Aah!” I scream as we fall free. I hit my head pretty hard, and it’s definitely your fault for not warning me, and now I’m pretty much not helping you with the fight. Not because I don’t want to, but because while it may look like the famed Drunken Style Fighting, Head Trauma Style is really ineffective.
But you’re confident.
You flash back to when your godmother taught you how to fight. “You make your own Fortune, daught-son,” she grunted, licking her blade because she’s crazy like that. “You make enough of the right moves, and you get enough Fortune points to win. You don’t…well.” She shrugged. “Guess I have to find a new god-daught-son.”
Oof. That leaves you a little less than confident.
Everything’s in slo-mo, like in the movies. The Captain’s reaching for his blunderbuss on the desk next to him. Across the hall four thugs shove the Trinidarian into the airlock. There’s a dude with a giant spider for a head–AI-generated plastic surgery gone way wrong–lunging for you. I’m bleeding out because actually I hit my head pretty hard.
It’s all happening at once.
You leap into action and click to do one or more of the following:
- Flop down on the floor and whine instead of fighting (-1 Fortune)
- Heal me psychically through the power of your poetic words by following me on BookNotification.com (+3 Fortunes)
- Pivot on your hands like a b-boy or capoeira dancer and kick the gun away from the Captain by recommending Neodymium Exodus be read in the Dragons and Jetpacks Goodreads group (+5 Fortunes)
- Rip off your shirt (ooh, sexy you!) and with your incredible grip-strength ball in into an orb so dense when you hurl it across the hallway it knocks out one of the thugs holding the Trinidarian, giving him a chance now to fight back–by recommending Neodymium Exodus be read in the Space Opera Fans Goodreads group (+5 Fortunes) (Link to your post as proof below)
- Toss spider-head-guy the card of a good lawyer you know who sues AI-generated-plastic-surgery firms, while affirming that actually, he looks pretty cool, causing him to immediately leave the room to get his life back together–by recommending Neodymium Exodus be read in the Alternate Scifi Goodreads group (+5 Fortunes) (Link to your post as proof below)
- Go full-speed mode, dashing from person to person at almost the speed of light to knock them out with your patented ear-pinch by posting on any of your social media about one of the books in the Neodymium Chronicles series (+5 Fortunes) (Link to your post as proof below)
Then you refresh the page, whatever that means, and summon all your Fortunes into a mighty surge of self-made luck:
UNLOCK You beat up the Captain USING 8 FORTUNES