Iknow5/Text_Adventures huggingface dataset:
You return to the apartment, Huntress there waiting for you. "So? Who was he?"


"Private eye, hired to keep a watch on you. He gave me a name. Tomaso Panessa." At this, Huntress's eyes widen. "You know him?"


"... He's my uncle."


"Uncle? Why would your uncle want to spy on you?"


"I don't know. But I'm going to find out why."


"Correction: we're going to find out why."


-----


That's how you found yourself at a banquet two days later. Luckily, Huntress', or rather, Helena's cousin and Tomaso's son, Nino Panessa, was getting married. She didn't plan on attending, but this new development changed those plans. The wedding was being held outside the Panessa Manor by Tomaso, so it would be the perfect chance to snoop around inside while everyone was busy.


Helena brought you along as her plus one. Although hesitant to reveal your identity to her, you agreed to come along out of costume. The two of you sit at a table off to the side, you scanning the guests behind mirrored shades. Everyone here has ties to organized crime. You feel out of place, not only because of your obvious disgust for criminals, but also because of the fact that you're the only person who isn't Italian. Your ginger characteristics have caused a few stares to be cast at your table, judging both yourself and Helena.


"I'll go check the house out, you stay here to avoid rousing any suspicion," you whisper to her, standing up.


"Be careful, Q," Helena replies, and watches you go.


It was easy enough to slip into the mansion through the kitchen entrance, left open for the servers to come in and out. You'll have to be quiet, you can't just rush in, not for this. You slip into the manor proper.


It's bigger than anything you've ever seen, beating out even Mayor Fermin's mansion back in Hub City (well, before it got burnt down, that is). There must be a million rooms in the place. But you know that the place you're looking for: Tomaso's study on the third floor where he keeps his computer, and by extension all of his information regarding his activities. The only problem is Huntress didn't tell you where it was beyond the third floor. It'll be a guessing game from there.


You reach the third floor using the servants' stairwell without any interruptions. There's no one here, at least there shouldn't be. Now you just have to find out which door the study is behind. Thankfully, there are only three.

You check the third door, at the end of the hall.

You enter the door at the end of the hall, and find yourself in a bathroom. It's huge, for whatever reason, with a large bathtub, a walk in shower, a toilet fit for a king and- is that a Jacuzzi? Damn, you almost want to hop into it... Shaking your head, you leave before temptation gets the best of you.
Santo Cassamento lived life grandly. Just outside of Gotham he owned a mansion, not too far from Wayne Manor, where he had practically an army of butlers, maids, chefs, the works. Not surprising, considering his line of work.


As you approach the crime lord's mansion, you can tell Huntress feels sickened by being anywhere near it. The two of you sneak past guards set up, you couldn't take them even if you wanted to, they had guns, and you didn't. Sure, Huntress had her crossbow, but in the time it took her to reload it she'd already be riddled with lead. Instead, you stick to the bushes and shadows, until you get to a second story study. There's Cassamento, lounging around reading Oedipus Rex.


Huntress glares at him. "Let me go in alone," she hisses. "I'll handle this."

You say "No."

You shake your head. "No. I'll come with you," you say, and she looks surprised and... Pleased?


"Alright. Come on." She opens the window and slides into the mansion, you following not long after.


Cassamento looks up as he sees the two of you enter.


He gives a smoldering smile when he sees Huntress. "Huntress," he says, before frowning upon seeing you. "... And a faceless Humphrey Bogart impersonator."


Ouch.


"What are you doing here?"


"You know damn well why I'm here, Cassamento," Huntress spits, cold glare penetrating the older man as she takes aim. "The murders. You're framing me."


Cassamento quirked an eyebrow, "I promise you, I know nothing about that."


"I wouldn't bullshit her, Cassamento," you comment, "that crossbow has a hair-trigger."


"Hm. I would believe so, what with all those people she's killed." Cassamento smirked, looking like the cat who caught the canary.


"It was you. I can tell," snarled Huntress.


"Ha. Don't be so foolish. Say what you will about my activities, I'm a man of my word, and I speak the truth when I say I have nothing to do with the murders."


Huntress looks shocked, but after a moment just sighs. You've done some reading into Cassamento himself, and he's right; he's not one to lie about his intentions. And looking at him now, smug as he is, you can tell that he's telling the truth. That or the man is a master manipulator and this is an elaborate scheme.


"... I'll be back." Huntress says coldly, before heading out the window. You cast one last look at Cassamento, who simply sits back down and continues reading as if nothing happened.


You leave through the window, heading back to the city with Huntress.
The Iceberg Lounge. It didn't make sense how it still got business despite the fact that it's been public knowledge for years that it's owned by a well-known supervillain and many of his illegal activities run through it. Perhaps it was just best not to question these things.


Huntress looks down at the building, kneeling next to you. "So how do we play this, Q?"


Now that's a good question.

You say "Fast and loud."

"Fast and loud," you reply, "we go in, kick ass, and take names."


Huntress looks skeptical, "Um... Okay." She's about to grapple across the street to the Lounge when she realizes you don't have a grappling gun. Wordlessly, she tosses you a spare. "Keep it," she says, before firing and being pulled to the Lounge. You follow shortly after.

The Lounge

The three story arctic themed building was just as big on the inside as it was out. The club was currently closed down for 'renovations', though you knew better; Penguin had just escaped from prison, and he was more than likely getting back into the swing of things. This meant most under his payroll would be here while he heard how his operations were going. It would be packed, which meant the head on approach was definitely not the best idea. Oh well, you've been in worse spots.


The two of you bust into the front door, already half a dozen criminals in the entrance. Three go for Huntress, while the remainders go for you. At your feet is a socket wrench.

You your mitts will do just fine.

Rushing into the fray, you swing a wild haymaker at one of the thugs, managing to hit him. However, the other two attack from both sides, one with a batand the other... With a knife. You try to disarm the one wielding the knife, but he cuts your hands, and soon enough the two have you on the floor, bat guy bashing your head in and knife guy stabbing you in the abdomen. With such a brutal beatdown, you're dead in seconds, the last thing you hear being Huntress screaming your name.


You Died!
The three story arctic themed building was just as big on the inside as it was out. The club was currently closed down for 'renovations', though you knew better; Penguin had just escaped from prison, and he was more than likely getting back into the swing of things. This meant most under his payroll would be here while he heard how his operations were going. It would be packed, which meant the head on approach was definitely not the best idea. Oh well, you've been in worse spots.


The two of you bust into the front door, already half a dozen criminals in the entrance. Three go for Huntress, while the remainders go for you. At your feet is a socket wrench.

You put the wrench to use.

Quickly, you run forward and pick up the wrench, bringing it up into one's face and sending him out for the count. The other two begin to attack, one with a bat and the other... With a knife. Thinking fast, you knock the switchblade out of his hand before he can put it to use, bringing the wrench down hard on his nose.


"ACK!" you shout as the other swings his bat and hits you in the back, knocking you to the ground.

You trip him up.

With swiftness that would put the Flash to shame, you wrap your legs around his left leg, yanking them to the right. Sure enough, he falls over, giving you time to crawl to him and knock him out with your wrench. "Christ..." you pant, breathless.


As you get up, you hear Huntress finish up with her batch. "I told you we shouldn't have gone through the front!"


"No you didn't!" you reply.


"... Well I thought it!"


"Oh, and I'm supposed to read your mind?"


"Yes!" she snaps.


Exasperated, you begin to retort, but don't have time to as more goons swarm into the lobby. The two of you share a look, then nod.
Quickly, you run forward and pick up the wrench, bringing it up into one's face and sending him out for the count. The other two begin to attack, one with a bat and the other... With a knife. Thinking fast, you knock the switchblade out of his hand before he can put it to use, bringing the wrench down hard on his nose.


"ACK!" you shout as the other swings his bat and hits you in the back, knocking you to the ground.

You get back up.

You try to smoothly recover, jumping back up to your feet, but he swings his bat right into your face and sends you right back onto your ass. He continues to wail on you, smashing your head in, and long after he's finished the job. In the distance, you swear you hear Huntress scream your name, but soon all sound fades.


You Died!
This is a story about a boy named Long, who life will change with the coming of war. 


But first, let's focus on the Vietnam War itself. 


The Vietnam war happened after the French's failed attempt to gain control of the country. The United States then took over for them. In 1954, when the French left, Vietnam split into two after a conflict over who would control the country. It was the communist North, and the independent South. The United States sided with the South.

You numerical Facts

-At the beginning of the 20th century, 90% of war casualties were soldiers, by the last decade of that century that 90% were of civilians instead. 


-Many of those 90% casualties were children.


-More than a million South Vietnamese were orphaned by the war, and only a few thousand made it to adoptive families.


(in the book Escape From Saigon)

Back to 'A Note to Readers.'

This is a story about a boy named Long, who life will change with the coming of war. 


But first, let's focus on the Vietnam War itself. 


The Vietnam war happened after the French's failed attempt to gain control of the country. The United States then took over for them. In 1954, when the French left, Vietnam split into two after a conflict over who would control the country. It was the communist North, and the independent South. The United States sided with the South.
Grey snow begins to fall as you make your way slowly along the road. You're not sure how long it's been. Days? Weeks? It couldn't have been months, you think, otherwise it would be getting warmer by now. At least, that's what you hope is true, for there would be no meaning in migrating south every winter if summer only grew colder. You amuse yourself with thoughts like these in an attempt to forget the twisting, empty feeling in your stomach. Impulsively, you remove your canteen from the sack of blankets and take a quick drink to quell the swelling of your throat.


Later in the evening, you come across an abandoned gas station—actually, why do you even refer to it as abandoned? Everything in this world is abandoned and decaying, isn't it? ...There goes your brain again. You can't let it get to you. You have to hold on to the hope of survival, because without it, life isn't worth living.


You take a deep breath and force yourself to enter the gas station. As you expected, all of the shelves have been ravaged and there's hardly anything worth keeping. You pay no mind to the open cash register and instead begin fumbling about through the mess in search of something, anything worth eating. You peer into one of the broken refrigerators and spot a sealed packet of some sort of lunch meat, hidden away in the corner. You open the door and pull it out, staring longingly at the pale hunk of long-expired, browning flesh. What do you do?

You put it back. You can't take that risk.

Your stomach protests your decision, but you return the package to its original hiding place anyway. You know the risks that come with food poisoning, and with such a poor immune system, it would be all too easy for some bacteria to kill you off in your sleep. Instead, you venture outside and return with firewood, and after setting up a small fire in the middle of the store, you curl up in your blankets and fall asleep.

Next.

With every passing day, it becomes harder and harder to get up and force yourself to keep going. The snow is falling heavily now, and your brain is preoccupied with fantasies of food. Tree bark isn't edible, is it? No... Maybe? You're having trouble clearing your head and focusing on the road ahead of you. Starvation is making you dizzy, and before you know it, you're lying face down in the ash and snow.


No, you can't let it end like this. You have to get up and keep moving. Death is not an option!


But the snow is so soft, almost warm to the touch. Your eyes are heavy. You're not sure if you really should keep soldiering on, or if you should just sleep and let the cold envelop you.

You succumb to sleep.

A wave of peace washes over you as you make your resolve. With a small smile, you close your eyes and slowly drift off into a deep sleep, followed by dreams of flowers and sunlight and childhood, and then nothingness.
With every passing day, it becomes harder and harder to get up and force yourself to keep going. The snow is falling heavily now, and your brain is preoccupied with fantasies of food. Tree bark isn't edible, is it? No... Maybe? You're having trouble clearing your head and focusing on the road ahead of you. Starvation is making you dizzy, and before you know it, you're lying face down in the ash and snow.


No, you can't let it end like this. You have to get up and keep moving. Death is not an option!


But the snow is so soft, almost warm to the touch. Your eyes are heavy. You're not sure if you really should keep soldiering on, or if you should just sleep and let the cold envelop you.

You no! What are you doing?! Get up, idiot!

What you once considered your will to survive shouts at you inside your head. "Just get up already! Don't give up like this!" But its voice is tiny now and difficult to make out, and your body is so exhausted that you are physically incapable of any movement. In a last ditch effort, you think to yourself, "Is this what Cameron would want you to do?"


Suddenly, the memory comes back to you. Your older brother, and that old name of his you'd almost forgotten. The bridge. The blur. The content smile before the final CRACK. He'd wanted you to come with him. He didn't want to leave you here to fend for yourself, but he didn't protest when you couldn't bring yourself to do it. But now...


You close your heavy eyes, with that same content smile on your lips, and you drift off into a deep sleep. Dreams of an old life with your older brother flood your mind before everything fades to nothing.
You step hastily into the water—and immediately recoil your foot. It's so freezing that you feel your foot instantly go numb. You take a deep breath and hesitantly step back in, bracing yourself for the brutal cold, and this time you manage to endure it enough to move your other foot into the river. Dragging the cart behind you, you begin steadily working your way across, with the water up to your knees, and then, to your waist. With only a third of the way to go, you suddenly feel a tug on the cart. You glance over your shoulder and pull at it again, but it's stuck on something, and no matter how hard you pull, it won't budge. You...

You pull harder.

With as much force as you can muster, you take the handle of the cart in both hands and pull. Slowly but surely, you can feel it starting to move, and it's dislodged so suddenly that you fall back into the freezing water. You pull yourself up and immediately begin to shiver, and every ounce of your being just wants to hurry onto dry land. Cart in tow, you drag yourself onto the opposite shore and nearly collapse, gasping from the cold. You glance over your shoulder briefly only to catch a glimpse of something twisted, pink, and bleeding attached to one of the wheels of the cart. You shut your eyes and cover your mouth in an attempt to repress a gag.


Eventually, you bring yourself to stand up and, without looking at it, tug the fleshy substance off of the cart before throwing it into the river. You take a deep breath, still shaking from the cold, and soldier on down the road once more, pushing the cart ahead of you.

Next.

Grey snow begins to fall as you make your way slowly along the road. You're not sure how long it's been. Days? Weeks? It couldn't have been months, you think, otherwise it would be getting warmer by now. At least, that's what you hope is true, for there would be no meaning in migrating south every winter if summer only grew colder. You amuse yourself with thoughts like these in an attempt to forget the twisting, empty feeling in your stomach. Impulsively, you remove your canteen from the cart and take a quick drink to quell the swelling of your throat.


Later in the evening, you come across an abandoned gas station—actually, why do you even refer to it as abandoned? Everything in this world is abandoned and decaying, isn't it? ...There goes your brain again. You can't let it get to you. You have to hold on to the hope of survival, because without it, life isn't worth living.


You take a deep breath and force yourself to enter the gas station. As you expected, all of the shelves have been ravaged and there's hardly anything worth keeping. You pay no mind to the open cash register and instead begin fumbling about through the mess in search of something, anything worth eating. You peer into one of the broken refrigerators and spot a sealed packet of some sort of lunch meat, hidden away in the corner. You open the door and pull it out, staring longingly at the pale hunk of long-expired, browning flesh. What do you do?
You awake to the dull light—if it could even be called light—of morning. Your fire had died long ago, and as you look about you, it appears that everything is just as you had left it previously. You don't see this as a success on your part so much as a stroke of sheer luck that no one crossed your path. Gathering up your provisions, you place them back into the cart and begin on your way south.


After having walked almost five miles, you come across what used to be a bridge spanning a wide river. The rapids may have raced along the channel at one point in time, but now the thick sludge only creeps slowly over the rocks. It would be slow going, but the water is shallow enough that you think you'd be able to cross. (After all, the shattered bridge will be of no use to you.) What do you do?

You follow the river downstream instead. Maybe there's an easier way across.

You determine it's best to weigh your options before charging headlong into the river, so your turn east and begin walking parallel to the waters. The land is barren, and as you glance over from time to time, your eyes catch glimpses of bicycles, trees, and frozen corpses lying lazily in the water with no place to go. After walking for a little while, something else draws your attention: an old house by the river, rotting, abandoned. Acting on instinct, you quickly take cover in the woods and peer out at the building. There's no smoke around, and it doesn't seem to be in use.


You decide to...

You ignore it. If there is someone in there, you can't take the risk.

You know that, if you had managed to find this place, then others might've, too. You're low on supplies, but that's no reason to act reckless. You carefully turn around and walk back until the house is out of view, and then turn to cross the river.


The water is freezing, and you can only trudge across so quickly, with your legs growing numb and your cart in tow. The water only reaches up to your thighs before becoming shallow again, and you scramble onto the opposite shore, gasping from the brutal cold. In one last moment of hesitation, you look back over your shoulder. The house still stands tall on the other side, but this time, you think you see movement in the window. It may well have been an illusion, but it's enough to scare you into action, and soon enough, you're back on the road moving south.
Maybe that smell is simply rotting food, and where there's rotting food, there's always the possibility of stumbling across something edible. At least, that's how you justify it to yourself, but really, you're just curious. You turn down the hallway to your right and come across a door with a chain across it.

You go back to the living room.

Sure, you're feeling desperate, but not desperate enough to look for hope where there is none. There's probably nothing worthwhile behind that door—and for all you know, the smell is coming from rotting corpses. You shake the thought out of your head and turn around to return to the living room, but when you arrive, there's a tall figure standing in front of you, holding a hunting knife in his hand. He looks just as terrified as you, but his reflexes are much faster, and before you know it, he's lunging at you with the knife.

You run!

You turn to run out the front door, but you only make it to the edge of the porch before you feel a hot pain in your leg. Shouting, you tumble down the porch steps onto the ground and hold your wounded thigh to your chest in agony. The man grabs you by the neck and raises the bloody knife over his head, and in that brief moment before death, when your life should've been flashing before your eyes, you see a glimmer of something in his. You can't be certain, but you think what you're seeing in his eyes is fear—something so human that it startles you, and yet is somehow relieving.


Then the blade penetrates your skull, and everything goes black.
With no supplies to carry and no idea of where you're going, you feel lost and without a sense of purpose. You wander through the forest in the bitter cold, clutching your arms and clenching your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. Your stomach is empty, and your nerves are raw—every noise sets you off. You wish you had done things differently. You go over every scenario again and again and try to understand what went wrong, but really, it was the world that went wrong. All you were doing was trying to set yourself right... right?


Your mind continues to race with possibilities when suddenly you run into something hanging from a tree and accidently knock it down into the snow. Startled, you cautiously look down to find it was a nearly frozen corpse, poorly dressed for this weather and, well, dead. These things used to freak you out, but you've learned to accept them for what they are, so long as they aren't you.


You stare at the body at your feet, mind racing. You don't want to resort to that. You promised your brother that you wouldn't. But you're so hungry already. You have no idea how you'd go about it, but you're convinced you'd find a way. You're convinced it's the only way.


You...

You give in.

You don't think about it as you're doing it. The fire, the tearing of flesh, the roasting, the smell, the satisfaction—thinking would only drive you mad. You don't have time for thoughts outside of yourself. You can only consume and consume until your stomach can handle no more. You almost throw up, not because of what you're eating, but because you haven't eaten in such a long time that your body doesn't know how to handle it. Soon enough, you've calmed down, and you lie back against a tree. There isn't a thought in your head outside of yourself. You are full and you will survive another day. If only just another day...