Punk Points
by Jim Munroe (2000)
Genres: Slice of life

It's the first day of high school and you've decided to give yourself a mohawk. Now you've gotta stand up to teachers, impress peers and make a name for yourself until you've earned enough Punk Points to escape the suburbs.

action: %
response: You're in a dark, poorly lit and packed club. Everyone's staring at the band as they go about tuning and shifting their instruments. The guy next to you has a mohawk that flops over to the side, as if the heat had wilted it. In contrast, the skinhead in front of you is reacting to the heat like a Mexican jumping bean, the muscles of his back tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing.
action: You jump
response: Before you can do anything, the band explodes into action. The crowd coalesces into a single entity and leans towards them, then falls back, ripples. Being a part of this lurching creature makes your spine tingle.

You're pressed from all sides by people suddenly activated by sound -- but you can't hear anything. You can practically feel the sonic waves, you can see it on the faces of the people around you, and you strain to hear the music...

The guy with the mohawk plants his boot in the skinhead's linked hands. His pierced nostrils flaring, hands gripping the skinhead's shoulders, he launches himself on the crowd. Improbably, they hold him aloft as he rolls over a bed made of their shoulders, heads and outstretched hands. You can't quite believe what you're seeing, and suddenly you hear something:

"Honey?"

You whip around and look to see who spoke, but there's nothing except the unremarkable brick wall of the club lined with people standing on chairs to get a better view. None of them are looking at you.

You look back. The guy with the mohawk is still rolling over the crowd, but for some reason he's got a tie on. And his blue hair is flickering like flames. The skinhead offers his linked hands to boost you up, and you quickly put your foot in. Your foot is bare. He looks at you, his dark eyes questioning.

"Honey!"

You look at your foot. Of course it's bare -- you're in your bed.

Your mother bustles in with your uniform, freshly ironed, and hangs it on your bathroom doorknob. "OK, honey, we're off." She stops at the foot of your bed and puts her hands on her hips. "Better hurry or you'll miss your bus. Don't want to be late the very first day of high school!"

You smile weakly as she kisses you goodbye and leaves, trying to rekindle the feelings in your dream.

Your Room (on the bed)
Your room is a mess -- posters slowly peel off the walls to join the small heaps of clothes that spot the floor like death mounds. There's a path south through the junk from your bed to your bathroom, one going north to the rest of the house.

You can see a school uniform here.
action: About yourself
response: As good-looking as ever.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying nothing.

As good-looking as ever.
action: You go to the north
response: You'll have to get off the bed first.
action: You examine the posters
response: Your older sister gave you her Smiths poster when she went to college, and there's a Platinum Blonde one you really meant to take down years ago. But most prominent is the Sid Vicious poster you got at a headshop this summer -- Sid's being rude and ugly in the most appealing way imaginable, giving a middle finger to the world.
action: You get off
response: You get off the bed.

You can see a school uniform here.
action: You examine uniform
response: Your school uniform, worn once in the fitting room of the suit store, radiates a crisp and calm assurance. You hate it already.
action: You wear the uniform
response: (first taking the school uniform)
Taken.
action: You wear the uniform
response: You just can't bear to. You've got to do something to balance out the primness of it first.
action: About yourself
response: As good-looking as ever.
action: You go south
response: This grotty little tiled room might not be pretty, but it's got the ultimate luxury for a thirteen-year-old boy: privacy. On the negative side, it's also got a massive mirror that reminds you of your wretched physicality every time you go take a dump.

The mirror-fronted cabinet reflects a medium-sized, pimply faced man-child with a chronic case of bedhead and a face not even Cyndi Lauper could love.
action: Tear uniform
response: Yeah, that's punk! you think. But after a minute of straining and grunting you give up, amazed at how strong they're making polyester blends these days.
action: You open the cabinet
response: You open the mirror cabinet, revealing an electric shaver.
action: You look in the the mirror
response: In the mirror cabinet is an electric shaver.
action: You take shaver
response: You lift the electric shaver and hold it in your grip almost reverently, placing your thumb on the red switch. Its cord uncoils and hangs in the air as you turn it over.
action: Shave
response: Plugging it in first, you slide the button and the shaver snaps to life. You hold it in your hand tightly, letting the vibration buzz through you. Then, gripped by the vision of another you, you put it to the side of your head and shave your first strip off. And another. And another. The chunks of hair make a small pile at your feet.

You now have a mohawk.

[You get five punk points for that.]

Finished with it, you switch it off and return it to the cabinet. As you shut it, you see a punk in the mirror -- the hair defiantly greasy, the acne now angry scars. Your flaws suddenly make sense. You rub your hand over your shorn scalp and stare at your new self with a mixture of joy and terror.
action: You look
response: This grotty little tiled room might not be pretty, but it's got the ultimate luxury for a thirteen-year-old boy: privacy. On the negative side, it's also got a massive mirror that reminds you of your wretched physicality every time you go take a dump.

From the mirror, a punk gazes back.

You can also see an a sizeable pile of your hair here.
action: You take the hair
response: Ah, you'll clean up after school. You're already late.
action: You wear the uniform
response: You pull on the polyester slacks and button up the starchy shirt. As you knot your tie, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror and note how nicely the preppy uniform is set off by your new hairstyle.

You practice your nastiest sneer and give yourself the finger. Today's your first day at the most authoritarian and repressive school in the city, and these are your only weapons.

You play it right, and they'll be enough.

Giving your Sid poster a knowing wink, you toss your blazer jacket over your shoulder and stalk out of the room.



You're at a school assembly, enduring speech after boring speech about the school's legacy and tradition.

You've got to do something or you'll go crazy.

The gymnasium is packed with boys, all wearing the same uniform and the same glazed expression. The rows and rows of chairs face a stage on which various old codgers parade their inability to say anything interesting. You slump in your chair and entertain yourself by reading the variety of pointless competitions on the pennants around the room, and look longingly at the exit to the east -- even the washroom to the south looks good.
action: You examine the pennants
response: LAWN DART SEMIREGIONALS 1971 -- CITYWIDE VOLLYBALL CHAMPS '81 -- RUGBY NATIONALS 1976 -- BIG WASTE OF TIME 1985.
"We expect you to act as representatives of the school at all times," a portly old brother is saying, "That means being Christian, courteous, and well groomed." You take in the huge stains on his armpits, clearly visible even with a black shirt, and note that he's somehow smudged his white priest's collar.

You hear something being repeated, chanted. You look over and see that the skinhead's looking straight at you and grinning with all his teeth.
action: You give the finger to the brother
response: You can only do that to something animate.
action: You examine brother
response: He's flying on auto-pilot, this one -- he barely seems to be able to keep his eyes open.

"And disrespect to the uniform will be treated as severely as disrespect to one of your teachers. You are encouraged to wear your blazer to and from the school, but if you choose not to, jean jackets are absolutely forbidden." That strikes you as a weird restriction -- is this 1985 or 1958? A man with a beard leans over and whispers something and he nods. "Cowboy boots are also forbidden."
action: You examine the skinhead
response: There's three of them lined up together against the west wall -- a goth, a mod, and a skinhead with a predatory grin. They're too far away to see much more.

"I'd like to introduce you to your vice principal, Mr. Pannus."

The skinhead fake-coughs into his fist: "Penis." Pannus either doesn't hear or pretends not to.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)

"Thank you, Brother Matthews," Mr. Pannus begins, tilting the mike up at his well trimmed beard. "Last year, two boys were expelled for behavioural problems. You are attending an elite academy, and it is a privilege to be doing so -- not a right -- so if you behave like animals, be prepared to be treated as such."

The skinhead's chant starts up again, just below your ability to hear. "or er"? You suddenly dread he's calling you a poser. You glance at the other two, but they're ignoring him, looking supremely bored as they lean against the wall.
action: You give finger to Pannus
response: All right -- look at it like the punk's version of the samurai sword. Unless it's worthy of drawing blood, you don't just whip it out.

Mr. Pannus nods to a boy who brings a flag to the front, and then looks to the band.

You sneak a glance at the skinhead, who's still watching you. In the
action: You give the finger to Matthews
response: silence before the band begins, he does a daring triple-fake-cough: "Hard-Core-Niner!"

You look away, pretending to yawn. Well, it was better than being called poser.

You can only do that to something animate.
action: You go to the south
response: You get out of your seat and squeeze by countless grey knees...

This is the bathroom part of the changeroom, which exits to the north. Your usual assortment of bathroom fixtures: urinals, mirrors, sinks, and a toilet stall. A big white garbage can sits in one corner, full almost to overflowing.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) "music" from the gym.
action: You look in the mirror
response: The stall appears to be smoking. You wonder where it picked up the habit.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) "music" from the gym.

You find nothing of interest.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) "music" from the gym.
action: Examine can
response: The open can is filled to capacity, almost exclusively with paper towels.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) "music" from the gym.
action: You get the towels
response: (the garbage can)
Judging by the chip on your shoulder, you like carrying around unwieldy objects. But this is ridiculous.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: Piss
response: For the duration of this game, you have an infinitely expanding bladder and intestinal tract.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: Open stall
response: It's locked, but your rattling provokes a sudden coughing, a choking, a flushing, and a huge jock stumbles out of the stall wreathed in smoke. When he sees it's only you, his face collapses in relief -- for about a second, until annoyance replaces it.

He washes his hands menacingly. "Better watch your step, niner," he says, his grizzled jaw clamped. He looks terrifyingly like a real man. "Stomp you and your stupid haircut into the ground." He wipes his mammoth hands off on your blazer, and leaves the bathroom.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You examine the blazer
response: It's black and has the Pope Innocent III school crest right over your heart. Aw.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You listen
response: You hear nothing unexpected.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You examine the stall
response: The stall has quit smoking, but there's still a slight haze above it. You can't see inside, since the toilet stall is closed.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: Open stall
response: You open the toilet stall, revealing a toilet and some toilet paper.
action: You look in the stall
response: In the toilet stall are a toilet and some toilet paper.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You get lighter
response: Taken.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You examine paper
response: There's only about two feet left. Enough for two average dumps or one industrial strength.
action: You take lighter
response: Taken.
action: You examine lighter
response: The jock's not going to be pleased when he realizes he's lost his fire. It has the logo of a beer company on it.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: Burn towels
response: (the garbage can)

Before you flick the Bic you notice that the smoke detector is a few feet above the can. It'd be going off before you left the room. If this was a Hollywood movie you'd have a fuse handy.
action: You look at the detector
response: It's mounted on the ceiling, well out of your reach.

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: You put the paper in can
response: You manage to get it tucked into the can, although most of it trails down the side.
action: Light paper
response: With what? Your burning ambition?

You hear muffled (but still discernibly dull) droning from the gym.
action: Light paper with lighter
response: You light a corner of the toilet paper and head back to your seat in the auditorium. A few seconds after your bum hits the chair the fire alarm starts ringing. The brother saying prayers looks at the roof, as if betrayed by God.

The crowd of boys goops towards the exit with speed of molasses, and just as you squeeze out the front door someone grabs your collar.

Shit, you think. Caught so soon? The game's barely begun.

It's the skinhead. "Well, Hardcore Niner," he says, slapping down your blazer and straightening your tie, "Let's get a look at you!"

The mod and the goth join him, and the three of them scrutinize you in the bright sun of the basketball court. It's beginning to fill up with increasingly rambunctious boys.

"Hey," one coifed gino says to someone who's just emerged. "What the fuck did I tell you to do? Huh?"

The mod pokes his head towards the east, "Let's go to the Path before Penis comes out." He includes you in this, and the four of you walk away together, the skinhead and the goth in front.

"I'm Jackson," says the mod, "They're Stuart and Dave. That was you, back there, wasn't it?"

You shrug non-commitally.

He smiles and hands you a small photocopied magazine. "You might like this zine. It's full of shit-disturbing stuff. A friend of a friend of mine made it."

"Thanks," you say.

The Path, the thin sidewalk that links the school grounds to the real world, is neither on or off school property. It's no-man's-land, and all suspect activity takes place here. Like most legendary spots, it's rather unimpressive in actuality -- it's a butt-littered sidewalk that heads west to the school and east to freedom.

You can see Stuart, Dave and Jackson here.
action: You read Zine
response: It's a small photocopied and stapled booklet called "Virus: A Zine Dedicated to Spreading Truth". A picture of Christ that's been coloured in brown is on the cover: "NEWSFLASH: Jesus wasn't a cracker!". Inside are articles on punk rock iconography, censorship in science class, and the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church -- you can READ ABOUT ____ IN ZINE, if you were so inclined.

There are already a few boys smoking on the Path when you get there. They're older, and your little group has stopped a few steps away from them.

Jackson tells them that they have you to thank for the sudden closing of ceremonies.

The skinhead chuckles. "Nice going H.C., I thought I was going to exPLODE in there. Dying for a smoke." He pulls out a pack and taps out a cigarette. The goth removes a silver case and puts a cigarillo between his thin lips.
action: You ask the skinhead for the cigarette
response: He winces, but hands one over.

You flick your lighter and manage your first puff without choking. But your second and third leave you watery eyed and hacked out. Stuart enthusiastically pounds on your back through it all, guffawing, "Hey there H.C., take it slow."

"Hey!" yells one of the bigger boys on the Path. "That's my fucking lighter." He stomps up to you and yanks it out of your hand, almost taking a finger with it. He looks like he's going to kick your ass, but then notices Stuart standing behind you.

"Fucking freaks," he says after a second, and goes back to his friends.

[You get 5 punk points for that.]



Two weeks later, it's the day of the fall dance. You've decided that, lame or not, you want to go -- and your last chance to get your ticket is right after this class. There's ten minutes left, and you're a coiled spring waiting for the bell. But there's nothing you can do but wait.

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats in front of a chart of the table of elements. You're seated two to a table on stools, and it feels like you should be doing something cool like dissecting rats or building robots -- but so far, you've been sitting there learning about non-reactive molecules. No wonder you've been staring out the window. There's an exit to the south.
action: You examine the chart
response: The building blocks of the universe are depicted in a neat series of boxes, with no memory of their legacy of poisonous mushroom clouds. You hope they're not on the exam.

You sit at the back of the class, your lab mate a sleeping rocker. Stuart, placed up at the very front, is engaged in a marker war with the mopheaded guy next to him. Every time the teacher turns around, they attempt to marker-slash the other guy's grey slacks.

"Sir, I've got a question," a kid with a hearing aid says.

"Yes, Jaimie, what is it?" the teacher says, turning around to add another element to the list he has there.

Stuart grabs the opportunity to put a red line down the side of Mophead's pants. "Yesssss!" he hisses.

"Is it possible to make LSD with the chemicals we have in this lab?"

The class erupts in laughter.
action: You read about science class in Zine
response: "We discovered that several schools have removed this lesson from the curriculum. Since we at Virus have found it useful, we've decided to return it." Beneath it reads...

"EXPERIMENT 4
Synthesis of an Explosive: N13*NH3

Many explosive molecules have nitrogen as one of the elemental components. Nitrogen single bonds to most atoms are quite weak, while the nitrogen - nitrogen triple bond is exceptionally stable (NH3 is an exception, in that its N-H single bonds are fairly stable). Energy liberated by the breaking of single nitrogen bonds can be substantial.

Nitrogen - halogen single bonds are particularly reactive due to repulsion between the nitrogen and halide lone pairs. In this experiment you will make ammonium triiodide NI3, isolated as an ammoniate coordination complex. This compound, when dry, is a detonating explosive that is shock-sensitive. It can be handled when wet, but will explode unpredictably when dry.

Basic glassware including 10-mL beaker, 2-mL pipette, glass rod are required for this experiment.

The product of this experiment is a shock-sensitive explosive when dry. The small amount prepared according to the procedure below is not dangerous, but larger amounts are serious explosion risks. Never scale up this procedure!"

(At this point, the editors of Virus have handwritten: HA HA!)

Weigh 100mg (0.100 g) of iodine into a 10-mL beaker. Slowly add 2.0 mL of concentrated ammonium hydroxide solution. Stir the mixture for 5 minutes -- a red precipitate should form. Transfer the moist precipitate onto several layers of filter paper placed on the floor of the fumehood, away from any breakable objects. Spread out the solid and permit it to dry for one hour.

While you are waiting, answer the questions provided in the laboratory. These are to be handed in before you leave the laboratory."

(At this point, the editors have handwritten: SURE TEACH, RIGHT AFTER I FINISH BLOWING UP THE SCHOOL!)

"When the sample has dried, carefully tap it with the end of a yardstick, keeping as far away as possible. No other characterization is required, or advisable."

The teacher quiets the class down, smirking slightly but with a nervous eye on the door. Not turning around, he says, "Even if we did, we wouldn't have the equipment to distil it. You getting this down, Jaimie?"

"Yes sir. You seem to know an awful lot about making drugs, sir."

Another laugh spreads through the class.

Mophead is out of Stuart's range, talking to the boy behind him urgently. From the angle you're at, you can see the boy pass him two markers. Mophead grins at Stuart.
action: You look at the worktables
response: Sturdy and soaked with chemicals.

"Does anyone have any intelligent questions about the test on Monday?" the teacher says, turning around to see Stuart mid-lunge. He ignores it.

"Is exercise four on it, sir?" one chubby boy asks.

He looks blank for a second, grabs the exercise book off Stuart's desk and flips through it. "No," he says, "One through six, not including four. We didn't do exercise four."
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)

"What was exercise four?" pipes up Jaimie. "Sir?"

"It was the formula for LSD, Jaimie, what else," says the teacher dryly.
action: You look at the teacher
response: He's an alright guy, with only the occasional freakout.

By this point Mophead has amassed a thick handful of markers and has put an elastic band around them. He shows it to Stuart under the desk, the uncapped tips glinting wet. Stuart is frantically rifling through the pencil case of the boy behind him for reinforcements, when the teacher turns his back.

Stu feels, rather than sees, the rainbow wound on his leg from knee to ankle. You see his eyes close and his teeth clench. Mophead raises his clenched fists to the sky in slow motion, silent victory. "You're so dead!" Stuart hiss-shouts.

"What's that, Stuart?" says the teacher without turning around.

"Nothing sir."
action: You look around
response: This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats in front of a chart of the table of elements. You're seated two to a table on stools, and it feels like you should be doing something cool like dissecting rats or building robots -- but so far, you've been sitting there learning about non-reactive molecules. No wonder you've been staring out the window. There's an exit to the south.

The bell rings.

You move quickly, but not quickly enough. Stuart steps in front of you.

"Hey H.C.," Stuart says, "Wait 'till you see --" He stops as he notices the teacher is standing beside him with his arms crossed.

The teacher starts to lecture Stuart.
action: Go south
response: "Hardcore, hold up," Stuart says, stepping in front of you while continuing to nod remorsefully at the teacher.

The teacher continues the lecture. You crumple your ten in your pocket anxiously, feeling your chances of getting a ticket drain away.
action: You ask the teacher about the nitrogen
response: You decide to keep your trap shut -- you don't want to be held after class and miss your only chance to get a ticket.

The teacher wraps it up. "And you," he says, swivelling, "Unless you want to flunk and have to repeat this class like your friend here, you'll start bringing your books to class!"

You nod but he's already turned his back.

You rush out the door, Stuart beside you.

"Hey, so I rolled this Nazi skinhead last night," he said, "For his docs."

You rush down the hall and down the stairs, but Stuart continues obliviously. "But they're too small for me. They're awesome though, fourteen-holed with steel toes."

You arrive on the first floor just in time to see them folding up the table. "Nope, sold out," you hear someone being told.

You stop there, stunned. Stuart goes on, "Come out to the Path and I'll show you them."

Numbly, you follow him.

The Path, the thin sidewalk that links the school grounds to the real world, is neither on or off school property. It's no-man's-land, and all suspect activity takes place here. Like most legendary spots, it's rather unimpressive in actuality -- it's a butt-littered sidewalk that heads west to the school and east to freedom.

You can see Stuart here.

He pulls a pair of boots out of his khaki backpack and drops them in front of you, then gropes for his smokes.

"Yep," he says, "That Nazi bonehead never knew what hit him." He takes a drag. "OK," he says, not looking at you. "Try 'em on."

Stuart rants about Pannus.
action: You wear the docs
response: (first taking the Doc Martens boots)
Taken.
action: You wear the docs
response: You step into the boots and lace them up, pretending that you've worn 14-hole docs every day of your life.

"Yeah," Stuart says, looking at you appraisingly, "That's better. You won't look like such a poser tonight at the dance."

You feel sick thinking about how you haven't got a ticket but you muster up a grateful smile.

He sits down on the ground and leans against the fence, puffing away.

You bum a smoke from Stu. "What a mooch," he gripes, "Score you an awesome pair of docs and you take my last smoke, too."

You smoke quickly and nervously, then toss the butt in the graveyard.
action: You read about the dance in Zine
response: You flip through the zine, but don't find that.

Stu yawns.
action: Thanks
response: "Since when you the boss of me, niner?"

Stu yawns.
action: You look at the boots
response: They're beautiful boots. Thick soled, shiny black criss-crossed with red laces. The toes are bulbous and slightly squared off.

Stu laments the state of his markered-up slacks.
action: You ask Stu about the dance
response: You start to ask Stu if he knows anyone selling tickets, but stop. You feel like a total putz, since they were on sale all week. You resolve to get a ticket without the guys knowing.

Stu yawns.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
action: Look around
response: The Path, the thin sidewalk that links the school grounds to the real world, is neither on or off school property. It's no-man's-land, and all suspect activity takes place here. Like most legendary spots, it's rather unimpressive in actuality -- it's a butt-littered sidewalk that heads west to the school and east to freedom.

You can see Stuart here.
action: Go west
response: These one-room portables are meant to be temporary but these battered aluminium boxes look older than the school itself. Ugly things, but they do serve nicely to obscure the activities of the Path from prying eyes in the school. You can venture south to the field or enter the playground by going west.
action: You go to the south
response: A track rings the large multi-purpose field, and trees ring the track. The school looms to the west, its window eyes silently judging the players. This is where boys become men, where the raw ore of youth is pounded into iron, where the limits of the body and spirit are tested.

Where the jocks frolic, in other words.

There's a bunch of jocks throwing around a melon shaped ball and running around in a very intense fashion.
action: You look at the jocks
response: One of them's the guy whose lighter you found. He notices you staring at them. "What you looking at, faggot?" he shouts between catching and throwing the ball.
action: You give the middle finger to the jocks
response: You give the jocks the finger.

[You get 5 punk points for that.]

As one, their faces turn ugly -- then they look at each other in silent consultation. The lighter guy tosses the ball to someone else and stomps towards you.

The lighter guy is even bigger than you remember him, his face with an out-of-place look of thoughtfulness as he considers what to do to you. He finally decides on pulling your blazer up and over your head, then spinning you around until you fall of your own accord. Guffaws echo in your ears.

[You lose 5 punk points for that.]
action: You examine the trees
response: Pretty, but so what?
action: You go to the west
response: Even if you were prepared to climb the vine trellises, the windows are closed.
action: Go west
response: The asphalt is painted with various arcane white lines which you assume are used in playing something, but you've never seen anyone doing anything but shooting hoops here. The side door to the school cafeteria is propped open to the west, the portables squat to the east, or you can go AWOL and head north.
action: Go west
response: There's a constant hubbub in this large room intended for eating food. There's a lot more card players, arguers, wrestlers and crammers than there are diners, however, all playing out their little dramas. Off to the side is a little food booth, occupied by Old Pudge.

There's a stairwell to the west, and you can smell the fresh air coming from the east door.

You can see Old Pudge here.
action: You examine the Pudge
response: He sells a surprising variety of things, meeting all teenage boy needs -- excepting, perhaps, porn and smokes. The fat old man is wedged in his booth, wiping up something, his apron swaying with the exertion.
action: You ask Pudge about the ticket
response: Old Pudge grunts and shakes his head, continues rubbing grease around the counter.
action: You go upwards
response: Second Floor, East
The science lab is to the north and stairs lead up and down. Grey lockers line the walls, as do doors to various classrooms.
action: Go north
response: There's a class in progress. Didn't you get enough?
action: Go up
response: Third Floor, East
This is as high as this high school gets. You can go back down, south to the library, or you can follow the hallway west. Lockers and classroom doors line the walls.
action: You go south
response: The musty little room is choked with books, with only barely enough room for a reading table and the librarian's desk. It's hard to imagine a better way to discourage reading.

You can see Dave and a librarian here.
action: You examine dave
response: Dave has a curtain of curly bangs he wears draped over his angular face, which is mirrored by the plethora of loose threads he's unravelled from his tie. His pointy toed boots fit neatly into his specially tapered slacks.
There's a strange scratching sound.
action: You look at Dave
response: Dave has a curtain of curly bangs he wears draped over his angular face, which is mirrored by the plethora of loose threads he's unravelled from his tie. His pointy toed boots fit neatly into his specially tapered slacks.

You realize the scratching is coming from behind Dave's book. It's quite loud, and when you look at him questioningly, he mumbles, "She's totally deaf."
action: You examine the librarian
response: The librarian has the grey bun and the grandmotherly stylings that are guaranteed to negate even the most determined teenage lust. Presumably, given the similarities to the school secretary, they're sisters -- but no one cares enough to ask.

The scratching pauses for long enough for Dave to sweep the shavings off the table.
action: You examine table
response: On the reading table is a carving. It's kind of round with some lines in it...oh, forget it. It's all greek to a geek like you.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
action: You read Zine
response: It's a small photocopied and stapled booklet called "Virus: A Zine Dedicated to Spreading Truth". A picture of Christ that's been coloured in brown is on the cover: "NEWSFLASH: Jesus wasn't a cracker!". Inside are articles on punk rock iconography, censorship in science class, and the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church -- you can READ ABOUT ____ IN ZINE, if you were so inclined.
action: You read about the punk rock iconography
response: What do you want to read about in?
action: Zine
response: Handwritten above a series of arcane symbols and definitions is: "We at Virus believe that, while pretending to be the exact opposite, the hardcore scene has become an elitist club. To combat that, and for historical record, we give you the Iconography of Punk Rock."

Scanning the symbols, you recognize the one Dave was carving -- it's for a band called "Dead Kennedys".
action: You ask Dave about dead Kennedys
response: Dave's eyes widen in surprise.

"You know them? Cool," Dave enthuses.

[You get five punk points for that.]

Dave looks down at your boots and then gives you a sideways look. "Their best one is the song 'Nazi Punk, Fuck Off'..."

"Yeah, Nazis suck," you concur.

"You know Nazis wear red laces?"

"Oh," you say, feeling like an idiot. "Yeah. Well, Stuart said he took -- rolled -- a skin for these."

"Huh," says Dave. "Well, I think they got laces at the caf." He goes back to his carving.

"You boys be quiet," says the librarian suddenly.

"Fuck off, you old biddy," says Dave, hidden behind his book.

She doesn't even look up from her book.
action: Go north
response: Third Floor, East
action: Go west
response: Third Floor, West
This is the most remote part of the school, and so naturally your locker is here. For added fun, the detention room is directly north -- its deadly silences punctuated by barked orders and sobs ensure that you visit your locker as infrequently as possible.
action: Go north
response: You'd like to put that off as long as possible.
action: Go downward
response: Second Floor, East
action: You go west
response: Second Floor, West
There's a prominently displayed trophy case and rows and rows of official looking plaques to impress parents on their way south to the office. The hallway continues east, and north is the way back outside.
action: You ask Pudge about the laces
response: You point at your boots. "I need laces," you say to Old Pudge, and he looks under the counter. He pulls out two exceptionally long black laces like they were spaghetti and slaps them on the counter. "Two bucks," he says, and you gladly pay.

Excited, you sit down in the middle of the floor and remove the red laces and start lacing up the black ones. It takes a while to thread fourteen eyeholes, and you attract the attention of quite a few boys. When you've tightened them and get up, you find yourself looking into Mr. Pannus' unsmiling bearded face.

"Those boots are not regulation, are they. Come with me," he says softly, and you walk behind him to...

It's a classroom that evokes the feel of an interrogation chamber without resorting to a single bare bulb. There's a blackboard and a large teacher's desk. All except a few of the desks have been removed, and Jackson sits at one of them. The other boy is Mophead, who gives you a vacuous grin.

You can see Mophead, Pannus and Jackson here.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
action: You examine Jackson
response: Jackson's a handsome boy with his hair carefully gelled and cut short. He wears a voluminous bomber jacket with the target symbol on the back, and neat little brogues -- he's not violating uniform regulations at all unless you count the union jack sewn to his tie.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You examine Mophead
response: You've never actually seen his eyes, but apparently they're there somewhere under that huge mass of blond hair.
Mophead hums increasingly louder until Pannus' head starts to turn his way.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
action: You read about the detention in Zine
response: You flip through the zine, but don't find that.
Mophead goes through his marker collection, checking them for moistness.
action: You ask Jackson about the detention
response: Not the place to chitchat, with Pannus standing right there.
action: You examine the blackboard
response: Ominously, the blackboard is filled with crossed-off names.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
action: You read the names
response: What do you want to read in?
action: You read the blackboard
response: Ominously, the blackboard is filled with crossed-off names.
Pannus rubs his beard and considers you as if you were a mathematical problem.
action: You look at the desk
response: It's a big wooden teacher's desk, on which is an envelope with a couple of dance tickets sticking out of it.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You take the envelope
response: Pannus notices your interest in the tickets. "It's completely sold out," he says, stroking his beard like a pet, "These are for the boys who will take the tickets at the door." He looks at you for a second, his green eyes seeming to flicker. "I'll tell you what. If you clean the blackboard, I'll let you be on the first shift."
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
action: You look at the envelope
response: Pannus notices your interest in the tickets. "It's completely sold out," he says, stroking his beard like a pet, "These are for the boys who will take the tickets at the door." He looks at you for a second, his green eyes seeming to flicker. "I'll tell you what. If you clean the blackboard, I'll let you be on the first shift."
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Mophead goes through his marker collection, checking them for moistness.
action: Clean blackboard
response: As you're cleaning the blackboard, Pannus says, "That's a good lad." When you turn back, neither of the other boys meet your eyes. Pannus' face is glowing with the triumph of the horse trainer.

[You lose three punk points for that.]
Pannus blinks, just when you were doubting his humanity.
Mophead goes through his marker collection, checking them for moistness.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
Mophead hums increasingly louder until Pannus' head starts to turn his way.
action: You take the tickets
response: Pannus notices your interest in the tickets. "It's completely sold out," he says, stroking his beard like a pet, "These are for the boys who will take the tickets at the door." He looks at you for a second, his green eyes seeming to flicker. "I'll tell you what. If you clean the blackboard, I'll let you be on the first shift."
Pannus rubs his beard and considers you as if you were a mathematical problem.
action: You give middle finger to Pannus
response: You want to, but you just don't got the juice yet.
Pannus rubs his beard and considers you as if you were a mathematical problem.
Mophead goes through his marker collection, checking them for moistness.
action: You ask Mophead about the markers
response: Not the place to chitchat, with Pannus standing right there.
Pannus blinks, just when you were doubting his humanity.
action: You give the finger to Pannus
response: You want to, but you just don't got the juice yet.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
action: You ask Pannus about the tickets
response: He stares at you for a full two seconds. Then, in a caring voice: "Why are you wasting my time with stupid questions?"
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You read Zine
response: It's a small photocopied and stapled booklet called "Virus: A Zine Dedicated to Spreading Truth". A picture of Christ that's been coloured in brown is on the cover: "NEWSFLASH: Jesus wasn't a cracker!". Inside are articles on punk rock iconography, censorship in science class, and the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church -- you can READ ABOUT ____ IN ZINE, if you were so inclined.
Pannus blinks, just when you were doubting his humanity.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: You examine Jackson
response: Jackson's a handsome boy with his hair carefully gelled and cut short. He wears a voluminous bomber jacket with the target symbol on the back, and neat little brogues -- he's not violating uniform regulations at all unless you count the union jack sewn to his tie.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You buy the tickets
response: Nothing is on sale.
action: You examine the desk
response: It's a big wooden teacher's desk, on which is an envelope with a couple of dance tickets sticking out of it.
action: You read about the jesus in Zine
response: You flip through the zine, but don't find that.
Mophead hums increasingly louder until Pannus' head starts to turn his way.
action: You wait
response: Time passes.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: Pray
response: Nothing practical results from your prayer.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: You examine the blackboard
response: Ominously, the blackboard is filled with crossed-off names.
Pannus blinks, just when you were doubting his humanity.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: You take tickets
response: Pannus notices your interest in the tickets. "It's completely sold out," he says, stroking his beard like a pet, "These are for the boys who will take the tickets at the door." He looks at you for a second, his green eyes seeming to flicker. "I'll tell you what. If you clean the blackboard, I'll let you be on the first shift."
Pannus rubs his beard and considers you as if you were a mathematical problem.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You jump
response: You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
Pannus blinks, just when you were doubting his humanity.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: Clean blackboard
response: As you're cleaning the blackboard, Pannus says, "That's a good lad." When you turn back, neither of the other boys meet your eyes. Pannus' face is glowing with the triumph of the horse trainer.

[You lose three punk points for that.]
action: You take the ticket
response: When you reach for the ticket, Pannus hands you a cloth and nods at the board. "Better give it a good buff. Get it as shiny as those boots of yours." There's an amused look in his eye now.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Jackson runs his hand through his hair and sighs.
action: You give the finger to Pannus
response: You want to, but you just don't got the juice yet.
Pannus stares at you without blinking.
Jackson diligently copies out bible passages.
action: Clean board
response: You clean the board to a shiny black, and hand the cloth back to Pannus. He doesn't even look at you this time.

[You lose 3 more punk points for that.]
action: You give the finger to Pannus
response: You decide to give him what he's been asking for.

Pannus stares at your finger. He looks down at his reading for a second, then sighs. "How are we supposed to deal with animals like you without the strap? Get out," he flips a page, "Get out, all of you."

Mophead and Jackson sprint out the door in front of you, grinning wildly.

"Nice one, man," Mophead says. "And hey, if you need a dance ticket, Terry can hook you up. He's selling them out front of the school."

"He has extra tickets?" you say.

"You might say that," Mophead says mysteriously and takes off, bouncing down the hall and glancing in the windows of the classrooms.

Jackson solemnly shakes your hand. "Nicely done, my good man." He turns and gets his stuff out of his locker. "I'm skipping the rest of the day. Don't want to run into Pannus again with the mood he's in. Luckily he won't be at the dance." Jackson zips up his bomber and taps his pockets for his smokes, then walks off. At the last moment he turns around and salutes you, then disappears down the stairwell.

[You got 10 punk points for that.]

Third Floor, West
This is the most remote part of the school, and so naturally your locker is here. For added fun, the detention room is directly north -- its deadly silences punctuated by barked orders and sobs ensure that you visit your locker as infrequently as possible.
action: You go north
response: This is the road that heads north to the outside world and south back to the school. At the end of the school day it's choked with escaping boys, but now it's completely featureless.

Beside the lane is a rather large concrete sign, with a cross on one side and an empty pedestal on the other.
action: Go downwards
response: Door's locked, and you can hear shouts and ball-echoes within.
action: You look at the plaques
response: You wonder if this school will turn you into the kind of entity that gives a rat's ass about such things.
action: Go north
response: This is the front door of the school, but other than the name carved above the southbound archway and the signage warning people to report to the office, there's not a lot of ceremony here. Pretty plain for a school as pompous as Pope.

Despite the plainness, there's a boy here drawing the entryway in a large sketchbook. He spares you a brief glance.
action: You ask the boy about the tickets
response: He gives you a glance, slightly longer than average, then goes back to sketching. Just when you think he's ignored you completely, he says, "Why ask me?"

Going along with the cloak-and-dagger routine, you stare off into space a second yourself. Then, not looking at him, you say "They're sold out. A friend told me you might be able to hook me up."

Terry nods. "Ten bucks."

"I only got eight," you say, "C'mon."

Terry shakes his head. "Niners," he says with disgust. "I need some of those office slips for uniform violations. Get me some of those and you can have it for eight."

Terry goes back to his sketch.
action: Go south
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

On the counter are some slips.

Although she's keying information into the computer, the secretary's huge glasses make it impossible to tell if she's looking at you.
action: You examine secretary
response: The secretary has the grey bun and the grandmotherly stylings that are guaranteed to negate even the most determined teenage lust. You wonder if it's deliberate, because she seems younger, handling her computer without the tutting and fretting of the aged.
action: You ask the secretary about the jesus
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

On the counter are some slips.

Although she's keying information into the computer, the secretary's huge glasses make it impossible to tell if she's looking at you.

"Wouldn't know, dear," she says distractedly. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
action: You examine the painting
response: This is a very strange cartoonish depiction of Pope Innocent III. The colours are really bright, and his slightly cross-eyed gaze is almost goofy and not at all that of a MILITANT PASTOR AND GREAT MONARCH, which the plaque screwed into the frame insists he is.
action: You ask the secretary about the painting
response: She tilts her glasses and her eyes meet yours for the first time. "That's Pope Innocent the Third," she says, turning around in her seat to look at him. "He was a great man."
action: You get the slips
response: You stealthily slide the slips off the counter. Taken.

"He took the bull by the horns," the secretary continues, her back to you. "He didn't take any nonsense from the heretics, he launched a Crusade when they got uppity! He did God's work. A great man."
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

She seems lost in reverie, staring at the painting as if she remembered him personally.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

She swivels around and looks at you. "Oh, well, you're new here aren't you? So you haven't even seen the wonderful statue of him that stands beside the sign in front of the school." Her face darkens and she returns to the computer, tapping the keys a little harder than she needs to. "We had to clean it after someone --" She looks at you sharply, and you get the smirk off your face just in time. She seems to notice your mohawk for the first time. "Well, never mind. They'll be lowering it onto the pedestal tomorrow morning." She shakes her head, pointing back at Innocent. "He wouldn't put up with that kind of monkey business, I tell you that."
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
some slips
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
some cash
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
action: You give the slips to Terry
response: Terry takes the money and slips and pockets them. Then, from his sketchbook, he places an original ticket beside a blank piece of cardboard. With a thin line marker, he draws in the dancing leafs, the bubble style lettering that says FALL DANCE!, and all the small details the original incorporated to make it counterfeit proof. When he's done, he looks over his handiwork and then hands it to you.

He turns his attention to the slips next, removing another original from the back of his sketchbook. He forges the signature on one of them, then checks the "slacks" infraction. He hands it to you. "This is for Stuart."
action: Thanks
response: To talk to people, ASK ____ ABOUT ____.
action: You go east
response: You can see Old Pudge here.
action: Go south
response: There's a bunch of jocks throwing around a melon shaped ball and running around in a very intense fashion.
action: Go east
response: The Path, the thin sidewalk that links the school grounds to the real world, is neither on or off school property. It's no-man's-land, and all suspect activity takes place here. Like most legendary spots, it's rather unimpressive in actuality -- it's a butt-littered sidewalk that heads west to the school and east to freedom.

You can see Stuart here.

Stuart rants about Pannus.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a signed slip
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
a blazer (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
action: You give the slip to Stu
response: You casually hand it over to Stu, who glances at you suspiciously... and then breaks out in a huge grin. "So you've met Terry, eh?" he says, smiling.

"Yeah," you say casually, "Got him to do me up one of these."

You flash Stu the counterfeit ticket, and he starts to laugh. "Yeah, it's gonna suck, they always do..." the skinhead says, exhaling smoke in a world-weary way. "But it's pretty much the only thing goin'. Few chicks at least."

You nod and shrug.

"Yeah, we're meeting up here later tonight. You should come. Should be able to score some booze, take a little bit of the lameness out of the evening's festivities."

Mophead comes up from the school for a smoke and thumbs at you. "Shudda SEEN this guy, Stu-Fart, he fuckin' gave Penis the FINGER."

"The FINGER! PENIS!" Mophead goes to high-five you and you let him. "Ah man, that was awesome!"

You shrug, lean against the fence and try not to grin too broadly as your exploits are recounted blow by blow.
action: You take the bottle
response: Taken.
action: You drink it
response: You take a small mouthful, swallow it quickly. You pinch your nose and squeeze your eyes shut for a second, then pass on the bottle to Dave.

"So I was like, 'Jackson -- just go in and get it,'" Stuart says. "You dress like someone's dad, they'll never ask you for ID.' But he wouldn't, so we had to wait for some rocker to come along who'd buy for us."

Dave takes two swigs and hands it to Jackson, who hands it to Stuart. "Even Hardcore here is drinking, guy," Stu says with a smirk, handing the bottle to you. You swig and pass it on.

"You remember what happened the last time," Jackson says. "I want to actually get into the dance this time. Pannus has still got me in detention from last year!"

"Well, I mean, you puked in front of him," Dave says with a rare smile. "We're lucky we went in before you."

Stuart is snickering. "You were so fucked that night. The only thing that sucked about it was that you had a chance to puke on Penis and you puked on your own shoes. That's a shame."

"Well," Jackson says, "They're obviously going to be watching me tonight, and I want to get into the dance."

"So you can show off all your skanking skills when they play One Step Beyond?" says Stuart, getting to his feet and mock-dancing.

Jackson laughs, watching Stuart's scowling dance moves.

"Ah, it's going to suck anyway. They always do," says Dave, passing the bottle to Stuart. "The last time we missed the only Cult song they played."

"That's why we should have got the stuff faster," says Stuart over the bottle. "We would have gotten in with the first rush of people and no one would notice we were drunk."

"Yeah, it's not like we stick out or anything," Jackson says dryly. "Besides, who was the one who was a half-hour late getting to my place tonight?"

You take another swig. It's not getting any less vile, but it's almost finished.

"How hard is it to go into a store and buy something?" says Stuart.

"You're almost a year older than me. You're sixteen," Jackson says.

You're a bit nervous with the mention of age, since you're thirteen.

Rolling his eyes, Stuart takes the bottle from Dave and finishes it off. "It doesn't have anything to do with that. With my innocent young face, I couldn't buy milk past the due date."

"OK, let's go," Jackson says, getting to his feet and pulling out some gum. He hands everyone one piece, which you start to chew. Blueberry.

As you get up, you notice a little dizziness. Everyone heads west, taking careful steps, and as you pass the portables Stuart whips the empty bottle into the night and cocks an ear.

When there's no smash he frowns. "Damn. Missed the sign.".

You enter the school and walk through the caf. The sudden bright lights intensify your dizziness into a nausea.

The ticket table is set up just outside the gym door, beside the stairwell. The sudden stop in front of it brings up bile. The senior, who's taken Jackson's ticket and let him go, looks at you guardedly. Then he tells you to wait.

A moment later, Mr. Collins, the gym teacher appears. He's got a hockey stick over his shoulder and a smarmy grin on his face.

"What have you boys been up to tonight," he says, tapping at your mohawk with the flat of his stick. "Other than hairdressing?"

The know-it-all attitude sets off an explosion of rage -- and, unfortunately, also detonates an acid ball in your stomach. You're going to be sick.

While you know that the cafeteria is its same old dingy self, your brain is telling you that it's spinning and painfully bright.

Mr. Collins, the obnoxious overgrown jock of a gym teacher, stands beside two of his apes behind the ticket table set up for the dance. He's grinning in a nauseatingly infuriating way. God, you feel ill.
action: You sit
response: (on top of the Mr. Collins)
That's not something you can sit down on.

You vomit all over the floor. "Waste of a good puke..." murmurs Stu.

Collins's smirk twitches with disgust, but before he can get his condescending hands on you, you flip the ticket table over.

The cash box makes a terribly satisfying clatter.

The next couple of minutes are a bit of a blur -- making a break; seeing Stu and Dave's escaping backs as you lean over to excise the last bit of liquid from your stomach lining; being carried back to the school by two big lugs who you flail alternately with screams about your inalienable rights as an individual and kicks to their groins; a second break, which similarly ends with you passed out in the field; and finally, incarceration in...

Science Classroom (on the worktable)

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a chart of the table of elements here.

You wake groggily -- sober enough to be conscious, and still drunk enough to want to fuck shit up.
action: Puke on Collins
response: You slap your hands on the ticket table and vomit all over Collins and his thugs. It feels you're breathing liquid fire on them, although it looks more like the pasta you had for dinner. "Yes!" Stuart hoots, pumping his fist.

[You get five punk points for that.]

Collins' smirk twitches with disgust, but before he can get his condescending hands on you, you flip the ticket table over.

The cash box makes a terribly satisfying clatter.

The next couple of minutes are a bit of a blur -- making a break; seeing Stu and Dave's escaping backs as you lean over to excise the last bit of liquid from your stomach lining; being carried back to the school by two big lugs who you flail alternately with screams about your inalienable rights as an individual and kicks to their groins; a second break, which similarly ends with you passed out in the field; and finally, incarceration in...

Science Classroom (on the worktable)

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a chart of the table of elements here.

You wake groggily -- sober enough to be conscious, and still drunk enough to want to fuck shit up.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying:
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
action: You read about the Science in Zine
response: "We discovered that several schools have removed this lesson from the curriculum. Since we at Virus have found it useful, we've decided to return it." Beneath it reads...

"EXPERIMENT 4
Synthesis of an Explosive: N13*NH3

Many explosive molecules have nitrogen as one of the elemental components. Nitrogen single bonds to most atoms are quite weak, while the nitrogen - nitrogen triple bond is exceptionally stable (NH3 is an exception, in that its N-H single bonds are fairly stable). Energy liberated by the breaking of single nitrogen bonds can be substantial.

Nitrogen - halogen single bonds are particularly reactive due to repulsion between the nitrogen and halide lone pairs. In this experiment you will make ammonium triiodide NI3, isolated as an ammoniate coordination complex. This compound, when dry, is a detonating explosive that is shock-sensitive. It can be handled when wet, but will explode unpredictably when dry.

Basic glassware including 10-mL beaker, 2-mL pipette, glass rod are required for this experiment.

The product of this experiment is a shock-sensitive explosive when dry. The small amount prepared according to the procedure below is not dangerous, but larger amounts are serious explosion risks. Never scale up this procedure!"

(At this point, the editors of Virus have handwritten: HA HA!)

Weigh 100mg (0.100 g) of iodine into a 10-mL beaker. Slowly add 2.0 mL of concentrated ammonium hydroxide solution. Stir the mixture for 5 minutes -- a red precipitate should form. Transfer the moist precipitate onto several layers of filter paper placed on the floor of the fumehood, away from any breakable objects. Spread out the solid and permit it to dry for one hour.

While you are waiting, answer the questions provided in the laboratory. These are to be handed in before you leave the laboratory."

(At this point, the editors have handwritten: SURE TEACH, RIGHT AFTER I FINISH BLOWING UP THE SCHOOL!)

"When the sample has dried, carefully tap it with the end of a yardstick, keeping as far away as possible. No other characterization is required, or advisable."
action: Examine worktable
response: Sturdy and soaked with chemicals.
action: You look
response: Science Classroom (on the worktable)

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a chart of the table of elements here.
action: You examine the chart
response: The building blocks of the universe are depicted in a neat series of boxes, with no indication of their legacy of poisonous mushroom clouds. You hope they're not on the exam.

There's a finger-sized ring at the bottom.
action: You pull the ring
response: The chart snaps up out of reach and reveals a glass-fronted cupboard.
action: You examine the cupboard
response: This cupboard contains the science class supplies -- the left compartment has all the glassware and the right compartment has all the chemicals.
action: You examine the right compartment
response: An astonishing array of alphabetically arranged chemicals and solutions.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: Science Classroom (on the worktable)

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a storage cupboard (in which are a left compartment (which is closed) and a right compartment (which is closed)) here.
action: You open the left compartment
response: Quite locked. Naturally.
action: You break the left compartment
response: You hammer on the glass fruitlessly. Your eyes land on a sticker near the bottom: "Now Unbreakable!"
action: You examine the window
response: Outside, the night calls. There's a few strands of ivy curling up from the trellis.
action: You open the window
response: You open the window. After shaking the trellis attached to the side of the school you decide it's sturdy enough to offer an escape down. But then, you're drunk.
action: Go downward
response: You clamber out the window and cautiously climb down the trellis...

A track rings the large multi-purpose field, and trees ring the track. The school looms to the west, its window eyes silently judging the players. This is where boys become men, where the raw ore of youth is pounded into iron, where the limits of the body and spirit are tested.

Where the jocks frolic, in other words.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go west
response: You clamber up to the window...

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a storage cupboard (in which are a left compartment (which is closed) and a right compartment (which is closed)) here.
action: You go to the north
response: You can't go that way.

These one-room portables are meant to be temporary but these battered aluminium boxes look older than the school itself. Ugly things, but they do serve nicely to obscure the activities of the Path from prying eyes in the school. You can venture south to the field or enter the playground by going west.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go west
response: The asphalt is painted with various arcane white lines which you assume are used in playing something, but you've never seen anyone doing anything but shooting hoops here. The side door to the school cafeteria is propped open to the west, the portables squat to the east, or you can go AWOL and head north.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: You go north
response: This is the road that heads north to the outside world and south back to the school. At the end of the school day it's choked with escaping boys, but now it's completely featureless.

Beside the lane is a rather large concrete sign, with a cross on one side and an empty pedestal on the other.

You can see a bottle (which is empty) here.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: You examine sign
action: You look at the cross
response: Nothing remarkable about it, but it brings to mind something Jackson said earlier in the week: "Isn't it kind of morbid that we worship this thing used to inflict the death penalty? Isn't that kind of like wearing an electric chair around your neck?"
action: You examine the pedestal
response: It's a concrete block with holes drilled in it, presumably for securing something to.

Your liquor-addled brain seems to recall that the secretary said the statue would be reinstalled tomorrow. "Popey's comin' home," you mumble to yourself.
action: You take the bottle
response: Taken.
action: You throw the bottle at sign
response: Futile.
action: You go west
response: Peeking in the door, you can see Collins and his hockey stick directing his students in cleaning up. Specifically, cleaning up your upchuck. You decide the night air is doing you good.
action: You go east
response: These one-room portables are meant to be temporary but these battered aluminium boxes look older than the school itself. Ugly things, but they do serve nicely to obscure the activities of the Path from prying eyes in the school. You can venture south to the field or enter the playground by going west.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go east
response: The Path, the thin sidewalk that links the school grounds to the real world, is neither on or off school property. It's no-man's-land, and all suspect activity takes place here. At night, with the moon shining down, it's a little more mysterious, but it's still just a butt-littered sidewalk going east and west.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go east
response: Are you joking? The suburbs are scary enough during the day.
action: Go south
response: A track rings the large multi-purpose field, and trees ring the track. The school looms to the west, its window eyes silently judging the players. This is where boys become men, where the raw ore of youth is pounded into iron, where the limits of the body and spirit are tested.

Where the jocks frolic, in other words.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go west
response: You clamber up to the window...

This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a storage cupboard (in which are a left compartment (which is closed) and a right compartment (which is closed)) here.
action: You look at left compartment
response: A 10-mL beaker, 2-mL pipette, a glass rod and what looks to be a fist-sized diamond are clearly visible through the glass.
action: You examine the right compartment
response: An astonishing array of alphabetically arranged chemicals and solutions.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a bottle (which is open but empty)
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
action: Describe the surroundings
response: This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a storage cupboard (in which are a left compartment (which is closed) and a right compartment (which is closed)) here.
action: Go south
response: Well, naturally, they've locked you in.
action: You search the cupboard
response: In the storage cupboard are a left compartment and a right compartment.
action: You open right
response: You're shocked to find it unlocked. You open the right compartment, revealing some chemicals and solutions.
action: You examine the chemicals
response: There's so many!
action: You get the chemicals
response: There's too many to take them all -- specify what chemicals you'd like to take from the right compartment.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a container of ammonium hydroxide
some iodine
a bottle (which is open but empty)
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
action: You put the iodine in the bottle
response: You put the iodine into the bottle.
action: You put the ammonium in bottle
response: Slopping a little, you manage to fill the mickey with solution.
action: Shake bottle
response: Making sure the bottle's closed, you shake it for a while. It's hard to tell in this light, but the concoction seems a little red.
action: You look
response: This is a room full of massive black worktables, each of them with their own sinks. An even larger demonstration table squats at the front of the room. It's weird to see the moon shining through the window you're so accustomed to staring out of during the day. There's an exit to the south.

You can see a storage cupboard (in which are a left compartment (which is closed) and a right compartment (in which are some chemicals and solutions)) here.
action: You go east
response: You clamber out the window and cautiously climb down the trellis...

A track rings the large multi-purpose field, and trees ring the track. The school looms to the west, its window eyes silently judging the players. This is where boys become men, where the raw ore of youth is pounded into iron, where the limits of the body and spirit are tested.

Where the jocks frolic, in other words.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go north
response: These one-room portables are meant to be temporary but these battered aluminium boxes look older than the school itself. Ugly things, but they do serve nicely to obscure the activities of the Path from prying eyes in the school. You can venture south to the field or enter the playground by going west.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: Go west
response: The asphalt is painted with various arcane white lines which you assume are used in playing something, but you've never seen anyone doing anything but shooting hoops here. The side door to the school cafeteria is propped open to the west, the portables squat to the east, or you can go AWOL and head north.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: You go to the north
response: This is the road that heads north to the outside world and south back to the school. At the end of the school day it's choked with escaping boys, but now it's completely featureless.

Beside the lane is a rather large concrete sign, with a cross on one side and an empty pedestal on the other.

The halfmoon seems to have a sickly glow, but that might be your nausea talking.
action: You examine the pedestal
response: It's a concrete block with holes drilled in it, presumably for securing something to.

Your liquor-addled brain seems to recall that the secretary said the statue would be reinstalled tomorrow. "Popey's comin' home," you mumble to yourself.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a container of ammonium hydroxide
a bottle (which is closed)
a precipitate
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
action: You open the bottle
response: You open the bottle.
action: You put the precipitate on the pedestal
response: After the reddish substance glugs out of the bottle and onto the pedestal, you spread it out with the flat edge of the bottle.

[You get 20 punk points for that.]

Satisfied with your night's work, you toss the bottle and head off for home.

The following Monday, you note the blackened pedestal with satisfaction, and the Path is abuzz with the mystery. "I saw it in the office," Stuart was saying gleefully. "Only the head is left, the rest of the statue is totally trashed. They had a crane lower it and then BOOM!"

"You think someone blew up the Pope?" says one of the older boys. "Naw. You'd need a remote control or something. They probably just dropped it."

"Actually, you wouldn't need a remote," you say. "If you spread a large enough quantity of, say, ammonium triiodide and let it dry..." you say, trailing off. When you notice you have everyone's attention, you grin. "That's just hypothetical, of course."
action: You look
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

On the counter are some slips.

Although she's keying information into the computer, the secretary's huge glasses make it impossible to tell if she's looking at you.
action: You look
response: Everyone's staring at you. Drink or give it to someone else.
action: You give the bottle to Stu
response: You try to pass it on. Stu grabs the bottle and gives it back to you. "Drink up, H.C."

You make a face.

"I don't believe that the guy who's been bumming smokes from me all week won't have a drink with me!"
action: You give the bottle to Stu
response: You ignore Stu's scowl and pass it on.

"So I was like, 'Jackson -- just go in and get it,'" Stuart says. "You dress like someone's dad, they'll never ask you for ID.' But he wouldn't. so we had to wait for some rocker to come along who'd buy for us."

Dave takes two swigs and hands it to Jackson, who passes it of to Stuart. "C'mon guy," Stu says, "Show Hardcore here how it's done."

"You remember what happened the last time," Jackson says. "I want to actually get into the dance this time. Penis has still got me in detention from last year!"

"Well, I mean, you puked in front of him," Dave says with a rare smile. "We're lucky we went in before you."

Stuart is snickering. "You were so fucked that night. The only thing that sucked about it was that you had a chance to puke on Penis and you puked on your own shoes. That's a shame."

"Well," Jackson says, "They're obviously going to be watching me tonight, and I want to get into the dance."

"So you can show off all your skanking skills when they play One Step Beyond?" says Stuart, getting to his feet and mock-dancing.

Jackson laughs, watching Stuart's scowling dance moves.

"Ah, it's going to blow anyway," says Dave, passing the bottle to Stuart. "The last time we missed the only Cult song they played."

"That's why we should have got the stuff faster," says Stuart over the bottle. "We would have gotten in with the first rush of people and no one would notice we were drunk."

"Yeah, it's not like we stick out or anything," Jackson says dryly. "Besides, who was the one who was a half-hour late getting to my place tonight?"

"How hard is it to go into a store and buy something?" says Stuart.

"You're almost a year older than me. You're sixteen," Jackson says.

You're a bit nervous with the mention of age, since you're thirteen.

Rolling his eyes, Stuart takes the bottle from Dave and finishes it off. "It doesn't have anything to do with that. With my innocent young face, I couldn't buy milk past the due date."

"OK, let's go," Jackson says, getting to his feet and pulling out some gum. He hands everyone one piece, which you start to chew. Blueberry.

Everyone heads west, taking careful steps, and as you pass the portables Stuart whips the empty bottle into the night. A second or two later there's a distant, but still tremendously satisfying, smash.

You enter the school, Stu crowing and pumping his fist, until you get to the side of the walk through the caf to where they've set up the ticket table.

You and Jackson get in with your tickets but Stuart and Dave are stopped at the door.

As you enter the stairwell area, you hear a crash from the caf. Mr. Collins, hockey stick in hand, rushes past you.

Jackson gives you a raised eyebrow and heads down the stairs. You follow him to...

All the disco balls in the world can't hide the fact that this is a school gym with the lights off. They've hung streamers from the basketball nets and two gigantic speakers flank the DJ's table on the stage. The washroom is to the south and you can leave up the stairs to the east. The student council has done a half-assed job of decorating the walls with construction paper leaves, footballs and Peanuts characters, but what's leaning against the walls is far more interesting: shy clumps of girls. Your heart speeds up to match the diamonds of light that sweep the floor, which has a few dancers on it.
action: You examine the girls
response: They're little more than silhouettes, but they certainly are female.

Jackson goes straight up to the DJ and makes some requests. He comes back and says something inaudible and gives you the thumbs-up. You smile back.
action: You ask the girls about the dance
response: Sure, you'd like to talk to the girls... but even if the music was low enough, there would still be the paralyzing fear issue.
action: You ask Jackson about the music
response: The music's really too loud for conversation.

The DJ plays some rap that you don't know. Jackson leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, and you do the same.
action: You examine DJ
response: The DJ is way too into it, his eyes closed and head bobbing. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be addicted to the mike.
action: You look at Jackson
response: He's got his white Fred Perry shirt on and pressed trouserpipe pants for the dance.

Billy Idol comes on. For some reason, the crowd chants "Get Laid, Get Fucked" at the chorus -- naturally, so do you, as abstract as those concepts are to you.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: Dance
response: You move around a bit, but without decent music you can't really get into it.

Synthesizer music starts up, attracting preps like flies.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.

The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go" starts up. Jackson starts dancing, an intense little hopping coupled with a mouthing of the words that shows his lyrical knowledge.
action: Dance
response: Watching Jackson, you slowly start moving -- swaying first, and then stepping back and forth, getting closer to the other dancers. Jackson playfully knocks into you, and you start to really get into it, closing your eyes and bouncing around and off Jackson. When the song finishes you're sweaty and exhilarated and amazed that no one is pointing and laughing.

[You got 5 punk points for that.]

After the song, a guy and a girl come up to you. The guy starts talking to Jackson, or rather, shouting over the music. He seems to know him.
action: You ask the dj about Vicious
response: The girl has really short hair except for her bangs. She's wearing a black leather jacket and a laced up skirt.

Smiling, perhaps, at the attention you're giving her, she shouts something. You shake your head and cup your ear. She tries again, and then just points at the exit. Seeing Jackson and the guy were somehow communicating -- mostly with hand signals -- you go upstairs.

"I like how you dance," she says, walking up the stairs. In the sudden light, you can see that she has way too much makeup and that her legs are a little thick. "You can tell a lot about a person by how they dance."

You nod, dumbly.

"So you go here?" she says, looking around and noticing the gym teacher, standing in front of the stairs.

"Yeah, it sucks," you mumble, stunned at your eloquence.

"They're fucking fascists at my school too," she said, staring daggers at Collins. "But they're stupid..."

She raises her voice. "I can't believe he was making the sign of Satan during that song! I mean, in a Catholic school!" she says, her voice echoing in the stairwell.

Collins blinks, folds his arms, unfolds them, and finally heads downstairs.

"I'm Kim," she says, watching him go. "Spelled like gym."

You shake her hand admiringly.

"Let's explore," she says, heading upstairs. You follow her.

Second Floor, East
The science lab is to the north and stairs lead up and down. Grey lockers line the walls, as do doors to various classrooms.

A cute punk girl is here, trying to look bored.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.

Kym, her green eyes aglow with mischievous excitement, heads west down the hall checking doors.

A second later, Kym whisper-yells "Hey! This one's open!" and then disappears south into the office.

You can't see any such thing.
action: Go south
response: Locked. Teachers aren't morons, you know.
action: You look
response: Second Floor, East
The science lab is to the north and stairs lead up and down. Grey lockers line the walls, as do doors to various classrooms.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You go west
response: Second Floor, West
There's a prominently displayed trophy case and rows and rows of official looking plaques to impress parents on their way south to the office. The hallway continues east, and north is the way back outside.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: Go south
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

The office is dark except for the glow of the computer monitor. Kym moves towards it immediately, pushing through the little swinging door in the counter -- it nearly snaps shut on its spring, but you catch it in time.

"Sorry," she whispers, sitting down in front of the screen. "Wow, an XT," she breathes. She hits the spacebar and a password request comes up. She tries a few: Jesus, God, Pope.

"Denied. Damn," she says.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You look at the computer
response: The school's '84 budget allowed for the purchasing of the creme de la creme of computing: they're called XTs. You don't know much about high tech beyond Pac Man, but you're pretty sure that's a 5.25" disk drive.
action: You ask Kym about Innocent
response: "Do you think I know everything?" Kym cracks.
action: Type innocent
response: To talk to people, ASK ____ ABOUT ____.
action: You show innocent to Kym
response: (first taking the painting of Pope Innocent III)
Don't bother with that.
action: Kiss kym
response: Keep your mind on the game.
action: You say innocent
response: (to Kym)
To talk to people, ASK ____ ABOUT ____.
action: Go upwards
response: Third Floor, East
This is as high as this high school gets. You can go back down, south to the library, or you can follow the hallway west. Lockers and classroom doors line the walls.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You go to the west
response: Third Floor, West
This is the most remote part of the school, and so naturally your locker is here. For added fun, the detention room is directly north -- its deadly silences punctuated by barked orders and sobs ensure that you visit your locker as infrequently as possible.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You go south
response: The musty little room is choked with books, with only barely enough room for a reading table and the librarian's desk. It's hard to imagine a better way to discourage reading.

There's a paperback spread-eagled on the librarian's desk.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You look at the paperback
response: "Tough Love: Power Popes Through The Ages" is the title of the book. Smaller type on the back informs that the Expanded Edition Includes "Misery and the Human Condition".
action: You read the paperback
response: "Tough Love: Power Popes Through The Ages" is the title of the book. Smaller type on the back informs that the Expanded Edition Includes "Misery and the Human Condition". You flip through it, your eye drawn by a red underline in a chapter about Pope Innocent III. Someone liked the word "Vergentis" -- it's underlined and annotated in the same red pen: "Perfect!".
action: Go south
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

Kym's face is an unearthly green as she tries password after password.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You give the book to Kym
response: "What's this?" She flips through it. "Vergentis, huh," she murmurs, typing it in. "Ha!" she says, and you sit down beside her. "Nice work, sleuth," she says, plucking the back of your mohawk. Your mouth curls a little involuntarily at the contact, and she notices.

She looks at you for a second. "You're not so tough when you smile..."
action: Kiss kym
response: You lean in towards her, noticing how the letters from the computer screen reflect in her eyes before she closes them. A dry kiss, and then a not-so-dry one, and then her tongue is in your mouth. You slide your hand down the back of her shaved head and onto her studded collar as she slides her hand up your leg. You grip her collar and gasp as she slides her hand across your crotch and down the other leg.

She smiles at you and bites her lip. "Wanna?"
action: No
response: She shrugs. "Yeah, me neither," she  says, sitting at the computer.

She turns back to the screen and starts looking through the school records. "Oh, man, there's some good stuff here... teacher's salaries... wow, the entire annual budget?"

She pulls a small skull-festooned notebook out of her jacket pocket and starts writing things down. "Fuck, I can barely see..."
action: Yes
response: That was a rhetorical question.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a paperback
a dance ticket
some Doc Martens boots (being worn)
a zine
your middle finger
action: Go south
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

Kym's face is an unearthly green as she tries password after password.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: Yes
response: You nod, not sure exactly what she has planned but not really fussy, either. She moves the chairs enough so she can lie down behind the secretary's desk. Her face is suddenly serious, and young, and then she pulls up her skirt. You take off your pants, thanking god that the dark hid the baby blue of your underwear, and lie down beside her.

When you're fucking, you think about how you can hear the music from downstairs, that you're a few inches away from Pannus' office, that it feels really different than jacking off, that neither of you have moaned in a few minutes.

So you pull out and yank your pants up over your still-hard cock. She gets her panties from under one of the desks and dresses. "Thanks," you say, aware of the sub-porn quality of what just happened, but not wanting her to feel bad.

She shrugs, and moves the chair back to the computer. "I don't know what the big fuss is about," she says, sitting down.

She turns back to the screen and starts looking through the school records. "Oh, man, there's some good stuff here... teacher's salaries... wow, the entire annual budget?"

She pulls a small skull-festooned notebook out of her jacket pocket and starts writing things down. "Fuck, I can barely see..."
action: You look at your surroundings
response: The office is quiet and orderly, with a large counter separating the office proper from the visitors. Two doors against the far wall are, according to the signs, the lairs of Brother Matthews and Mr. Pannus, and sandwiched between them is a massive painting of Pope Innocent III.

Kym's trying to jot down all the juicy information, but there's too much of it.

The half-power night florescents gives your surroundings an eerie cast.
action: You look at the counter
response: It's a counter that separates the wheat from the chaff.
action: You search the computer
response: The computer is empty.
action: You open the locker
response: You've got a bunch of textbooks stacked on one shelf and nothing else. You've been meaning to bring some posters (at least to put up over that KISS scratched in the paint and the 680 CFTR sticker) but you keep forgetting.
action: You look in the locker
response: In your locker are some textbooks.
action: You examine the textbooks
response: There's your science textbook, an English reader, and a French textbook. None of which you want to even look at after class, thanks very much.

Wedged behind them is a 5.25" floppy disk.
action: You give the disk to Kym
response: "Rad!" Kym says. "Put it in the computer!"
action: You put the disk in computer
response: [You got 15 punk points for that.]

"Brilliant!" she exclaims, stuffing her notebook away and closing the disk drive. "This is gonna be the best Virus ever!"

You try to remember why that sounds familiar, and then pull out your well-worn copy of the zine. "You did this?"

She looks at it, obviously pleased that you have it. "Yup. Well, me and my friend Leo -- I do most of the work, though."

She stares at the screen. "I wonder how people are going to feel about the fact that the combined budgets of the art and the music departments are one third of the rugby team's?" She taps some keys and the disk drive grinds and glows red.