Iknow5/Text_Adventures huggingface dataset:
Tick...tick...tick...


You've been staring at your watch for nearly an hour and there isn't any sign of stopping. Normally you'd take a shot to calm your nerve since you deciding to enter the bar but the mood here failed to meet your taste. It's too quiet, too eerie at the time. Maybe it has something to do with the place itself as the bartender doesn't particularly enjoy any conversation with visitors just like you.


Who designed this place? No wonder why there are so few people setting their boots here. You cannot find any positive point except for the waitress, a hot brunette who unfortunately doesn't appear to be working properly, she nearly spilled the entire claret on another customer without apologizing. Good thing kindness is still among some people these day.


"Oh, Laura..." You sigh at yourself, pulling your forehead. "Why did you have to leave?"

You flirt

The alcohol in your blood is kind of getting out of control right now. You need to sto-


"Hey there, ~hotness!" You say, trying to force yourself not sounding like a manwhore.


"...You called me, sir?" She looks at you expectantly...no, confused is more likely to describe her stunning expression right now. Maybe you're being too forward!

You slow down, no ladies are gonna run away

You straight up your sitting and then...a dreamy glance escapes your eyes through the thickly shade to enters her own.


"Sir? Do you want something?"


It doesn't work. What?!! You should get a blush and an embarassing bow to the side from her, not a speech line! You try your best to come up with an answer. Maybe you shouldn't have thought so highly about yourself, that would be a start.


"Can you help me find a name to put on the angelic painting before me? I'm helpless just by looking." You do your dirty tongue smoothly, making it sound like a sore one.


"Hmmm." She smirks, such a pair of delicious lips she got. "Sir? Are you trying to ask me out?"


This is some seriously sticky situation you've gotten yourself into, you just can sit there hopingly. A mature woman might not be very easy but at least you can live with that. No big trouble.


"Obvious flirting like that will get you no where, that's all I can say, big boy."


...


Shameful...Too shameful. A grown man being looked down by a lady, younger than him no less.


Y.O.U  F.A.I.L


"Too much stimulation to try and not a single one worked out, guess I am not fit to be with another." You wailfully groan, stepping out of the bar.
The alcohol in your blood is kind of getting out of control right now. You need to sto-


"Hey there, ~hotness!" You say, trying to force yourself not sounding like a manwhore.


"...You called me, sir?" She looks at you expectantly...no, confused is more likely to describe her stunning expression right now. Maybe you're being too forward!

You charge right in, she is in your hand

"You want to hang out?" You put so much confidence in yourself that you can't help but flash a dirty grin at her.


"...Please, I'm working sir." She says, glaring at you hatefully.


Uh oh! You hit the wrong desk this time. This girl was well-educated alright, you've been fooled! But the rat has been out of the bag, you have no choice but to go with the flow.


"Whatever you want will be yours, sweet cheeks. The only thing I can ever hope to see is the shimmering body under those garment." Being a giant pervert, you nearly lick your mouth at the sight of hers.


"No."


Ohhkaa...Wait what? What?


"You will not get anything from me, you dirty bastard!" Her looks she's giving can pass for a hard slap right now. "I'm not a whore!!"


You are...not gonna walk out of here without receiving a few bruises from her, you freak. You sprint out of the bar before some pretty remarks could be thrown at you.


Y.O.U  F.A.I.L


"I'm...Why am I such an idiot? Damn!" You blame yourself and your forcefulness with a scratch to your block head...and a feel to your empty stomach. "Stay away from good-looking woman when you are drinking I guess...If I run into her again, better be prepared for the pain."
TV...checked.


Sunglasses...checked.


Trench coat...Unnecessary but you couldn't just leave your skinny bones out, it has doubled your luck and your appearance to be unique...Also checked.


Good thing your face hasn't really hit the mark of any media type out there yet, but your time is running out. Lying low will have to be in another place, a safe and secure one far away from here.


You check the plate covering your gas meter and see that it still got 2/3 left. You have to stock on some large litters to cross the border. The nearest place to refill would be...about 15 miles from here, not really hard to come by and if they try something funny, your guns will do the job. You decide to go there.


...Hmm? It's nearly night time. Anytime now...


You have arrived at a gas station. There are only a few local houses and shops nearby, an empty place and probably not in any urban business.

You sophisticated stealing

At least you know how to reload a basic handgun while totally clueless about anything else. What is there to blame besides yourself? You were nuts, and you still are right now. You load the inside the barrel of your pistol with a fresh clip and proceed to approach the gas station slowly. You park the car just behind the wall surrounding the place and sneak into the yard on foot. Before the employer, a man in mid 40 can sense you, his hands have already raised behind his head as you hold him up at gunpoint.


"Sorry for this." You say, looking frantically side by side. "Get me 6 litters of gasoline. Try anything funny and I will torch this place down in an instant."


"A-Alright." He answers your order by slowly walking towards the container to grab the cans. "Here...just chill out, okay?"


"Good. Grab those and go forward." You demand, wanting to be sure of your position to the eyes of any people outside. "Turn around now."


You lead him back to your vehicle, the poor man is struggling to carry the fuel one by one.


"Open all of the covers, I want to see them."


He does so and backs away to the wall, allowing you to have a look at the containers...Yep! It seems like all of them are pure gasoline alright.


"Good. Now go back to your place and I swear if I see the cops hogging the horn anytime now, I'll mark all flammable stuffs inside that place my practicing target. Are we clear on that?"


"Yeah...I see your point." He says, throwing a dirty look behind you as you get in your car.


"Nice doing business with you, mate." You crack a smile at your victim. "Good bye."


Yeah, screw all of that moral bullshit. You got the gun, you are the winner.
You're a murderer.


Running head first into that place and blasting everything to hell. Raiding the detention center just to get a few kills on those who raped and pushed your crush to suicide doesn't seem like a good idea after all. You're not even her type to bother, you should just have left them rotting in jail instead. Now you got yourself rows and rows of police forces chasing after you and there is no such thing like a way back. You're brown bread to the eyes of your loved ones now, and you gotta make a run for it. Whenever you see a turn, you can only hope that it doesn't lead to a dead end.


That phone call should have never reached you. Crazy love, you blame all the things you've done to it. It forced you to flee your office, turned your mind into a madman and put that thing on your hand. After that, it was only chaos. You were gonna going to end your life when the flame inside died out...but didn't...and you still can't find the courage.


"PULL OVER!!! PULL OVER NOW!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!! I'M GOING TO SHOOT YOU!!!"


They finally talk with bullets huh? Maybe you should focus on stepping on the gas instead of having random flashbacks.

You okay, turn on the gas. No need to get touchy now.

The pedal is being extremely abused by you as your vehicle blows off blindful storms of broken leaves and dirt back to your pursuers. Every turn you make equals a nightmare, your eyes cannot keep up with what in front of you anymore. You pray for the safety of the tires as well as yours. Nothing but speed and gunshot keep you stay intact with the world.


Shreeekkkk!!! The glass door from behind has gone down!


'These cops!...This some kind of game to you???' You think, making a zic-zac move to dodge another straight shot. You can't afford to panic, anything but that. Hot and cold sweats mixed together run along your forehead and down to your lip, a salty taste quickly dominate your saliva. *Gulp*


The tires are still normal, that was just a lucky shot...but a warning that you should step up pass the limitation!!
Finally you are back home in Los Angeles, the press had been hounded you non-stop. Granted as an A-list star, they hound you all the time anyway, but after the whole kidnapping event, they have been doubling their efforts. Thankfully your house has the best security money can buy and you don't have to worry about them for the moment.  You never turned in Martin and Jeanette, you even begin to see them as good people. Soon your kidnapping isn't the top story and it gets less and less media attention. After a month the news stops talking about it altogether, some other celebrity is caught in a scandal and the world turns their attention to that. Another month later you learn through sources that Kate has died from her cancer, you wonder if should attend her funeral or not

You do not attend funeral

Going back to Destiny Hill would just be too risky, if you caught being there, the rumors will start again that you staged everything and this time people would start to believe them. Not to mention you'd be putting Martin and Jeanette at risk. You send them flowers and a sympathy card signed "L.N.", you also have the funeral coasts taken care of. Your career goes back to way it was before. A year later your next album is called "Stockholm Syndrome" and gets positive reviews. You dedicate the album to Kate, people begin talking about who this Kate could be.
Two wrongs don't make a right, it is tragic what is happening to Martin's sister, but that's no excuse for holding someone against their will.


"You have my sympathy, but I'm not going to do this for you" You firmly tell him.


Martin's face appears to be on the brink of tears.


"I had a feeling you'd say that, I suppose there is no point in holding you here, you can leave"


You are bit shocked how easily Martin gives up.


"You're not worried I'll turn you in the police?" you say, instantly realizing that wasn't the smartest question to ask.


"Soon my sister will be dead,being free or in jail won't change the grief I will feel"


Martin sits down on the lawn, coming to terms with reality. His goal was to make his dying sister happy and he had failed. He doesn't pay any attention to you as you make your way to the road. Eventually you come across a police car and flag them down. You are rushed to a local hospital, with full police and FBI protection of course. At the hospital, you are checked to see if you have physical wounds or emotional trauma. Physical you are fine, mentally you are worn out and have anxiety, which you can't say surprises you. The root of your anxiety isn't actually the kidnapping but the decision to turn Martin in or not, before you would have turn him in a second, but now that you know the situation he is facing you don't know.

You don't turn Martin in

You are overcome with enough guilt over refusing to do the concert, you don't need more by having Martin arrested. Besides you figure Martin is already suffering enough You lie to the police saying you don't know the name of the kidnapper and don't remember the house. After a few days you are back home in Los Angeles. A few months later you learn through sources that Martin's sister, Kate has passed away, you anonymously send flowers. 


As for your career, the guilt continues to haunt you effecting the quality of your songs and future performances. In a few years the world turns its attention to a new singer and you are labeled a "has been". Luckily you've always been good with your money and enjoy a good if obscure life.
You lay down on the sofa, wondering what lays in store for you. No one would go through all this trouble for no reason and you dread learning what that reason is. Does the kidnapper simply want a ransom or do they have something more sinister in mind? You notice there are no windows in this room and the bleak white walls are not helping you stay positive. You can't let fear overcome you, only by thinking rational will you get out of this.


Suddenly the door that was locked opens up and the man who kidnapped you appears, he is holding a tray with a paper bag on it, he appears nervous and is looking down at the tray and not you.

You say nothing

You say nothing, you are way to nervous that saying the wrong thing will angry him and make your situation worse. He also says nothing and the two of you stare at each like 5th graders at their first dance. Finally the man gets the courage to speak up.


"I'm sorry about this, I promise everything will be explained in time, just relax I have no intention of hurting you and by the end of the week, you'll be home". The kidnapper explains


You stare at the bag on the tray.


"Oh, this is dinner, I got it from this deli called Luca's, the internet said you liked pepperoni calzone and diet soda so I got you that" The kidnapper says while putting down the tray.


"Now that sofa opens up into a bed and in the morning, you'll meet my girlfriend, it won't be so bad"


The man quickly left, closing the door behind him and locking it. You wonder if he is afraid of being caught by the FBI or if he is always like that. You pick up the bag on the tray and take out the contents, sure enough it's a pepperoni calzone and a diet soda. Your stomach growls at the sight of the meal, you are too hungry to care if it's poisonous or not and begin wolfing the down the food. After you've finished you put the tray in a corner and pull the bed out of the sofa . As you lay down, the events of the day race through your mind and  you wonder if you'll truly leave this place alive. However you are exhausted and soon you fall asleep.
You awaken in a small room with a throbbing headache, it takes a moment for things to come into focus. When they do you see a beige sofa and a flat screen tv on the wall. Dust bunnies are on the carpeted floor and there are two doors leading out the room. You try the first door and it is locked, while the second door leads to even smaller bathroom complete with a toilet, shower and sink. You're not quite sure what to do next.

You shout for help

"SOMEONE HELP" you shout at the top of your lungs.


You scream several more times until you are too tired to shout. After a few minuets nothing happens and you are convinced either no one heard you or if anyone did hear, they have no intention on helping you. You'd figure that was a long shot but was worth a try. So now what?
Okay, what will you fight him with?


You now have your heavy, hard-sided suitcase, with a large textbook and the statue you planned to give to Keith's parents inside. Despite its weight, you could probably get it over your head, and since it's already in your hand, speed would be on your side.


Nearby is a frail old lady carrying a long umbrella with a fairly pointy metal tip.


Also nearby is a large, heavy metal luggage cart, which you definitely couldn't lift over your head but might do some serious damage if used like a battering ram.

You ram him with the luggage cart.

You grab one--uh-oh. They're the kind you have to put coins into in order to make the brakes unlatch. It does almost nothing. The goblin leaps onto the cart and bites your head off.
Okay, what will you fight him with?


You now have your heavy, hard-sided suitcase, with a large textbook and the statue you planned to give to Keith's parents inside. Despite its weight, you could probably get it over your head, and since it's already in your hand, speed would be on your side.


Nearby is a frail old lady carrying a long umbrella with a fairly pointy metal tip.


Also nearby is a large, heavy metal luggage cart, which you definitely couldn't lift over your head but might do some serious damage if used like a battering ram.

You grab the umbrella.

You pull it out of the old lady's hands. (She starts going after you, but Dmitri intercedes.) It's light enough that even as jelly-like as your limbs are, you can lift it easily and aim it toward the goblin's eye. You miss, but you still give him a hard poke in the forehead--not enough to break the skin, but enough that he toddles back a few steps, tiny eyes blinking.


 

You use the opportunity to whack him again.


 

Unfortunately, this seems to wake him up. He comes toward you.


 

Your friend had a Komodo dragon once. She loved to rub its belly--beneath the scales it was softer than its back or head. You stab his middle with all your might.


 

Sticky yellow blood gushes out, but he's still coming. One more hit and he wobbles, then smacks onto the floor.


 

He's dead. You're free.


 

You feel nothing. Why should you? You should've been free all along.


 

You and Dmitri step outside. It's raining, and the only thing out here that isn't gray is the long line of taxis. Ready to take you to the Upper East Side. Except you don't want to go there anymore--if you ever did. 


 

"Where are you headed?" Dmitri asks. He has no bags. He's going to miss his flight to Philadelphia.


 

"I don't know," you say. "But do you want to come with me?"


 

The two of you get a taxi and choose a different adventure. Which is, it turns out, the happiest ending of all.
As soon as you ask him, the goblin laughs. It's a liquid, disgusting sound. "What kind of story do you think this is? I'm not his goblin. Also, it's 2016--fight your own battles, missy."

You nope, not dying here. Let him follow you.

So he follows you. He follows you to your boyfriend's apartment--to the living room where you make small talk about your trip, into the bathroom while you pee, to the dining room where there is a lovely dinner prepared, into the bedroom where you and your boyfriend sleep. He follows you everywhere, little eyes tracing your every move.


Finally, you decide to fight him. It's like fighting air.


You try to ignore him. Sometimes it works, but mostly it doesn't. You can't sleep. You can't relax with friends. You can't even kiss Keith without getting uncomfortable.


Your friends notice your awkwardness, and Keith gets tired of being pushed away. Your grades suffer. You're alone more and more--alone with it. After about a year, your mind can't take it anymore. It lets go.


With medication, you become a mindless--if peaceful--mental patient. But whenever they take you off it enough for you to notice your surroundings, what you see is the goblin. Because he never leaves.
Okay, what will you use as a weapon? You have your new tote bag, (which, despite being soft on the outside, is pretty heavy with a phone, bottle of water, and iPad). Also, there is a wheelchair that has been left at the foot of the escalator.

You use the wheelchair.

Picking up the heavy chair with only one reliable leg causes you to lose your balance. Immediately they're on you. The last thing you see after one of them takes a bite out of you is a woman stepping over your body, as if she can't see you at all.
You run for a few hundred feet, then dart into a gift shop. You browse behind a high shelf, waiting to see if anyone (or anything) is following you. Nothing looks suspicious, and no one seems to be paying you any particular attention.


 

You buy a dark blue Atlanta Braves sweatshirt and pull it over the cashmere J Crew sweater you got from the thrift shop in order to impress your boyfriend's parents. Then it's too hot, so you stuff it into your bag--your bright red bag. After checking your surroundings, you limp over and find a tote bag that says Hotlanta! And buy it (the clerk is, by now, looking at you like you're a freak). You step behind the shelf and transfer everything in your large purse into the tote bag.


 

Suddenly you see them. Two. They're about half your height, with green scales and large yellow teeth. They walk on two feet like a person, but they move like lizards. They look like the bad buys in a fairy tale. Goblins, or something. 


 

And no one notices.


 

People move around them automatically, like they do for plants or luggage, but their eyes never focus on them.


 

The goblins' eyes are small, soulless, but peering everywhere. Their little nostrils--their snouts are shaped like an alligator's, but shorter--are twitching. They're sniffing for you.


 

You step back, trying to move gradually in case fast movement kicks your scent into the air. Sweat pricks your underarms--a result, no doubt, of both your nervousness and the extra layer you used to have on.


 

But when you peek again, they've passed by.


 

Maybe the smartest thing would be to keep them in front of you. After all, your gate is all the way on the other side of the airport, and you only have four hours to get there. The only way out of this nightmare is to get on that plane to New York.


 

You wait for them to get about fifty feet ahead, peek out of the store, and, seeing nothing amiss, begin following them. You begin walking toward the center of the airport. Along the way, you throw away the purse and sweater, and stop in the bathroom and cover yourself with sickly-sweet strawberry soap--anything to hide your natural scent.After a few minutes, you reach an escalator, which will take you down to the tram area, where you will get a ride to your terminal.


 

As you near the bottom, suddenly there is a slap-slapping on the marble floor, like someone in thin wet socks.


 

You turn. There are creatures behind you, weaving around the people at the top of the escalator.


 

You hurry down the escalator. The tram to Gate C has arrived. Should you try to catch it, hoping the doors will close before they can follow you (or if they do, that you can hop out quickly) or turn and fight?

You fight!

Okay, what will you use as a weapon? You have your new tote bag, (which is pretty heavy with a phone, bottle of water, and iPad). Also, there is a wheelchair that has been left at the foot of the escalator.

You bash with bag.

Heavy crap or not, it's still just a bag, and there are two of them. It makes one dizzy, the other bites you, and you go down. No one notices you dying.
The airport is hella crowded, and of course every single face you see is pinched with anxiety, like flying home for Christmas is the most horrific event of their lives. You aren't usually one to use the word vibe, but the whole atmosphere gives you a slightly sick feeling, as if your body is absorbing their stress. 


 

You board the plane for the six-hour flight to your connection, Atlanta. Halfway through, you use the lav.


 

When you return, there's a postcard on your seat. This one shows a picture of the Empire State Building. You turn it over.


 

Black, scrawling letters read:


 

Dear Clara,


When you get off, that's when I'll find you. 


When I find you, that's when I'll kill you.


When you run, better run fast.


When you hide, better hide good.


When you tell, it makes things worse.


 

Panic clenches your throat. Is this real? Does someone actually want to kill you? 


 

What should you do? Tell the stewardess? Or follow the advice on the postcard?

You don't Tell

The plane lands.


 

What should you do--go to the TSA and tell them what's going on, or just run and hope the killer doesn't find you?