Current Events > You squeezed the thing until it burst. Messily.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Gelatinous indigo ichor dribbled between your fingers and spattered on the bare concrete floor. You wrung its twisted, tiny form dry like a hipster bartender juicing a lemon and hurled the ruptured, flaccid form of the creature into a dim, dank corner of the room. It hit the wall with a diffident slap and landed limp on a pile of construction debris. Dead.

You looked at the sickening slurry of purplish sludge and iridescent dust on your hands, wrinkling your nose and snarling in disgust. You wavered, stuck in that oh god, how do I get this crap off my hands moment everyone has experienced at least once in their lives.

Rookie mistake. With a drone like a swarm of a thousand Japanese murder hornets, half a dozen of the creatures friends zoom into the room like tiny fighter aces.

Fucking pixies.

You:

A) Draw your katana
B) Grab a 2x4 and make like Babe Ruth
C) Pull out your dual pistols
D) Run like hell
E) Other

C, then D.

You draw your dual pistols like a pro, smooth as silk. You should, youd practiced it enough in front of the mirror. The two pistols, both Walther PPKs were metallic black, like the worlds deadliest beetles.

Pew pew pew you yelled at the encroaching swarm of pixies, squeezing the triggers of your guns again and again.

You really made a mess of the wall, but managed to miss every single one of the tiny targets. Both clips run dry as your mouth. The little bastards are still screaming towards you, murder in their eyes and wicked little weapons cobbled together from trash in their fists.

Pissbolt! You scream and dive out the empty window.

With doglike reflexes, you manage to land on your belly in the muddy ground of the construction site. You scramble to your feet, the ugly drone of the pixies right behind you. The sound makes your shoulders creak with tension and you run.

You run out the gate in the chain-link fence (which you prudently left open) and charged down the street. Your feet pound on the pavement, but that horrid buzz sticks to the back of your head like someone elses gum.

You:

A) Think creatively
B) Think defensively
C) Think offensively
D) Dont think and keep running
E) Other

A

A and C

The skin on the back of your neck felt like it was crawling off to be somewhere safer. Every heartbeat, every panicked footfall felt like it was the last before a very long and agonising death at the minuscule hands of the pissed off pixies. Your headlong flight took you down a small shopping strip. Nothing much, just a mixed business, a dodgy massage place and a pizza place that you knew from experience was one of the worst in the world. You tripped over a steel trash can the pizza parlours proprietor had left in the middle of the pavement.

You went down in a flailing of limbs and an explosion of half-eaten crusts and expired toppings. Your second pratfall in five minutes gave you an idea, though. You groped around in the stinking refuse for something, anything to defend yourself with. Your panicked gasps and terrified sobs were totally fake, not real at all. No sir. You lifted your head and a segment of pineapple falls out of your hair.

The pixies were savouring the moment. Theyd drawn up short and were hovering a few feet off the ground in a whirring constellation of wings and fairy light. You could see their teeny tiny vindictive little grins of triumph. The buzzing of their wings took on a higher pitch as they were about to charge.

They charged, fast and in tight formation.

You grabbed the steel trash can lid. Shield Bash! You yelled. With every ounce of your terrified strength, you swatted the pixies out of the air.

Most splattered on impact like bugs meeting a speeding trucks windscreen. One collided with one of its already deceased brethren (or sistren) and tumbled to the pavement, one wing snapped and mangled.

You:

A) Give a one liner and finish it off
B) Finish it off wordlessly
C) Help it
D) Walk away
E) Other

A)

A

I dont believe in fairies, you said and stomped the crippled pixie into multicoloured mush. But they believe in me.

You could almost hear the Yeaaaaaaahhhhh sting from the opening of that procedural investigation show.

You tried to brush the worst, chunkiest gobbets of grit off yourself, but only managed to smear it more thoroughly over yourself. You backtracked to the abandoned shack. On the way, thankfully, you managed to find your two pistols, which youd dropped in your tactical retreat. You clucked and cooed over them like a worried mother. Their finish was scratched to hell, damn it.

There were no more pixies. Also thankfully. Youd cleared house quite effectively. After half an hour of relatively fruitless searching you turned up a number of discarded frangers, a couple of empty goon bags and a half-eaten moggie. Figured, Pixies loved cats more than ALF. You vaguely wondered how easy ALF would be to take down.

Then, finally. In a cupboard was the pixie nest. It was the size of a medicine ball, woven from bits of paper, slightly nacreous accretions of pixie saliva and little nicknacks. There were at least seven bottle openers incorporated into the nests structure. You always wondered what happened to them.

You pulled your titanium ka-bar (with an anodised rainbow finish) and carefully sliced the nest open. Within the innermost chamber, paydirt. You flick a few pixie larvae onto the floor with the point of your knife and reveal the prize. A platinum and diamond necklace, along with a few pieces of cheaper but shiny jewellery.

You:

A) Were asked by the previous owner to find and return the necklace
B) Were after an easy score
C) Are an abnatural creature extermination contractor for the city
D) Just hate pixies
E) Other

A and D