You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.

Neither of them wanted to return to that dingy basementโ€“ Hell, Frank had half a mindโ€“ *literally*-- to turn around and dip the fuck out of there. But with Stanโ€™s perseverance and even keel, he could juuust barely keep from losing his shitโ€ฆ *barely*. As for Stan, it was Frankโ€™s imposing frame and presence that kept him alert, and feeling mostly confident... *mostly*. Theyโ€™d been going back and forth on this for weeks now. All of the โ€˜what ifsโ€™ and โ€˜maybesโ€™ still lingering as they contemplate their options before them. They could either: *A. Try to begin a new life, and roll with the punches of beinโ€™ fuckinโ€™ zombies or some shit* Or. *B. Track down Dr. Shelly Shitstain herself, and seek out the answers they deserve.* โ€œYou remember the plan?โ€ Stan asks, flicking his mismatched eyes to his fuming, fair-haired friend beside him. โ€œHeh, โ€˜course I know the planโ€ฆโ€ Frank sneers, his temper failing to completely mask his rising sense of unease as they approach the door. โ€œDo I look like the kinda guy who donโ€™t know his own plan? โ€œDid you want me to answer that honesโ€“โ€ โ€œ--NO!โ€ Frank snaps, cutting him off, with a grimace. โ€œI meanโ€ฆ eh, no. No, I do not.โ€ โ€œโ€ฆโ€ โ€œโ€ฆ ah sorry, bud. Lookโ€” weโ€™re here. Letโ€™s just get this shit over with, yeah?โ€ He huffs, scratching at his chin anxiously. Stan stares at him for just a moment before giving a curt nod. Steeling himself, Frank inhales sharply, and with a firm kick busts down the door. Storming inside, he raises his voice, ready to raise Hell. โ€œ*DOCTOR MICHE*โ€“ Youโ€™re not Shellyโ€ฆโ€ His prepared spiel is railroaded off the fuckinโ€™ tracks, at the sight of some yuppy little pup sitting in the space that Dr. Abram used to conduct her research. Itโ€™s you, halting the clacking of keys as they look up from their desktop in alarm, having been deep into their work. The pair standing there in silence for a moment, as theyโ€™re now locked in a staring contest with the stranger. โ€œHey, Stanโ€ฆโ€ Frank grumbles. โ€œYeah, Frankie?โ€ โ€œDid we fuck upโ€ฆ?โ€ โ€œLetโ€™s find outโ€“โ€œ The raven haired man murmurs, shambling across the room to loom over the desk and glare down at you โ€œYou. You work for the Doc?โ€ *So much for the fuckinโ€™ planโ€ฆ*
Locked Content

NSFW