Not the Same Old Lang Syne
by Jacqueline A. Lott (2007)
Genres: Humor


action: %
response: What is your last name?
action: Mudd
response: "Good evening, Agent Mudd. Thank you for getting here so quickly..."
He glances at your tuxedo. "...and you're already dressed for the part I need you to play this evening."

"Oh? I was on my way to a party, this being New Year's Eve. But I'd rather be working, to be honest - while I'm a fan of the mayor and his wife, I'm not overly fond of going stag to New Year's Eve parties. What's the job this evening?" you ask, picking a piece of lint from your otherwise black trousers.

Special Agent Buxton smiles amicably at you. "Well, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mudd, but I'm afraid that's precisely where this evening's assignment takes you..."

Another rather silly SpeedIF by Jacqueline A. Lott

Beneath a flickering street light, 5th and Main
Times have been hard in the spying business as of late, and the effects of budget cuts are hard and far-reaching: even Special Agent Buxton is reduced to meeting spies on dark street corners to hand out assignments.

Agent Buxton stands here, waiting to answer your questions.
action: You ask Buxton about the assignment
response: "Tell me about the job," you inquire.

"Yes, let's get down to business, shall we? This evening's job is a bit bizarre, even by our standards. We have some very reliable intelligence that..." He pauses, as if he's not quite comfortable with the part that comes next. "...that Adolf Hitler's scientists perfected a time machine and he plans to crash the mayor's party this evening. For what reason, we are unsure, but you must stop him at all costs."
He lowers his voice and says, "All. Costs. Got me? You have a license to kill this evening, Mudd."

With a smug look, Buxton produces a tiny box, which he gives to you. "Inside this is a mouse. But not just any mouse, mind you - it's an infected  mouse.
action: You ask Buxton about the mouse
response: He says, "Inside this box is a mouse. But not just any mouse, mind you - it's an infected  mouse."
action: You ask Buxton about Hitler
response: He says, "What do you mean, you don't know who Hitler was? Everyone knows who Hitler was. Didn't you have to take some sort of test before you got into Spy School? I weep for the future of our industry! Let is suffice to say that he must die, and that you are the man who will make it happen."
action: You ask Buxton about the mayor
response: He says, "He's not all that bad, as you know. More importantly, he's valuable to this administration. You must protect him."
action: You ask Buxton about the backpay
response: There's a pause, then he says, "I don't have time for idle banter, Mudd."

"Look, you have the mouse and I've already explained the assignment - infect Hitler. I don't care how... just make sure that Hitler somehow comes in contact with the mouse's blood, feces, or saliva.

"TAXI!" he hails a cab. You get in and direct the cabby to the mayor's house..."
action: You ask Buxton about the infection
response: Or are you just here to funnel some more cash into your Swiss bank account? Much as you hate to admit it, there's probably a lot of truth in the latter statement.

You can see a table (on which are some egg nog and some hors d'oeuvres) here.
action: You look at nog
response: This coagulated mess of cream is popular for whatever reason around the holidays.

This coagulated mess of cream is popular for whatever reason around the holidays.
action: You take the nog
response: You'd really rather not. You like the fact that your heart beats and your BMI is within normal range.
action: You examine the hors
response: The hors d'oeuvres on hand this evening are a variety of finger sandwiches in countless varieties, all scrumptious-looking.
action: You take it
response: You already have that.
action: You take the nog
response: You'd really rather not. You like the fact that your heart beats and your BMI is within normal range.

A horribly snooty woman makes a move for the egg nog, but you block it with your body and chew your fried red panda sandwich in a very diligent, turtle-like manner, which repulses the would-be egg nog consumer. "Dreadfully sorry," you say through a mouth full of delicious finger food. "I've got this New Year's resolution to slowly masticate all sandwiches, and I'm starting early.
action: You examine Hitler
response: His dramatic entrance in the golf cart time machine aroused only temporary attentiveness in the guests. Despite his antiquated dress and ridiculous moustache, he was unable to hold their attention, and after their full fifteen-second attention span had been consumed, they went back to prattling on about their inane existances.

A vapid man makes a move for the egg nog, but you block it with your body and chew your minced Riverine rabbit sandwich in a very pensive, cow-like manner, which repulses the would-be egg nog consumer. "Dreadfully sorry," you say through a mouth full of delicious finger food. "I've got this New Year's resolution to slowly masticate all sandwiches, and I'm very committed.
action: You give the egg nog to Hitler
response: (first taking the egg nog)
You'd really rather not. You like the fact that your heart beats and your BMI is within normal range.

A horribly snooty woman makes a move for the egg nog, but you block it with your body and chew your long-baked beaked echidna sandwich in a very meditative, sloth-like manner, which repulses the would-be egg nog consumer. "Dreadfully sorry," you say through a mouth full of delicious finger food. "I've got this New Year's resolution to slowly masticate all sandwiches, and I'm starting early.

Hitler then siddles up to the egg nog bowl, but you make no move to stop him. In fact, you offer him a cup. "Mein Führer," you say, as you hand him the cup - possibly laying it on a bit thick, but a smile touches Hitler's lips, he nods to you, and he accepts your offer of the cup. He pours himself a helping of the thick, viscous, gelatinous (and deadly) goo. "Prosit Neujahr," he says, amicably, before downing the goopy, mucilaginous, glutinous (and deadly) glop."

You watch Hitler carefully, and begin to count to yourself to see how long this is going to take. The average incubation time for hantavirus, the most common mouse-borne virus that springs to mind, is two to four weeks in humans. You know this from both your extensive spy training as well as your obsessive reading of Wikipedia.

Two to four weeks?! Let's hope it ain't hantivirus, hm?
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

"Blech!" Hitler spits up some blood into his egg nog glass, the falls to a heap on the floor. That's what you were hoping for, deep down inside - fast acting Ebolavirus. Except - oh noes! It's so very infectious that soon you'll be infected, as well as all the guests. So much for collateral damage... What are you to do?!
action: You take Hitler
response: I don't suppose Adolf Hitler would care for that.

The revelers are freaked out. How will you save them?
action: You enter the cart
response: There are so many reasons to not enter that contraption. First, you haven't the slightest idea how to drive the thing, through space or time. Secondly, who wants to be seen in a golf cart? I mean... really now.

The party-goers are crazy with fear. How will you aid them?
action: Describe the surroundings
response: You look around, trying to plan how you want this to go down in the (probably unlikely) event that Hitler actually makes an appearance.
You can picture a couple of different scenarios. You could put the mice amongst the hors d'oeuvres and egg nog, but then you run the risk of infecting others. You'd like to avoid any collateral damage, however, so unless you can think of a way to keep people away from the hors d'oeuvres table, your best bet might just be to make the mouse bite him. How to do that - especially without getting bit in the process - is something you have yet to figure out. Perhaps you can put the mouse down the front of his trousers or something.

Hitler lies dead in a heap on the floor.

You can also see a golf cart and a table (on which are some egg nog) here.

The revelers are scared. How will you save them?
action: You examine cart
response: This is one tripped out golf cart. Swanky and benoodled, it must be the time machine of which Buxton spoke.

The party-goers are insane with fright. How will you aid them?
action: You enter the cart
response: There are so many reasons to not enter that contraption. First, you haven't the slightest idea how to drive the thing, through space or time. Secondly, who wants to be seen in a golf cart? I mean... really now.

The merrymakers are frightened. How will you cure them?
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some hors d'oeuvres
a box (open)
an antidote
a tuxedo (being worn)

The frolickers are scared. How will you save them?
action: You eat hitler
response: (first taking Adolf Hitler)
I don't suppose Adolf Hitler would care for that.

The partiers are crazy with fear. How will you rescue them?
action: You examine the antidote
response: You can only hope that the vial you've found in the box given to you by Buxton contains an antidote.

The merrymakers are freaked out. How will you cure them?
action: You put the antidote in the hors
response: You need to be holding the antidote before you can put it into something else.

The partiers are freaking the hell out. How will you rescue them?
action: You take the antidote
response: You remove the antidote from the box and divide it equally among the party attendees and yourself. Everyone hurriedly downs the strange liquid, willing to gamble on its effectiveness after witnessing the quick and grueseome demise of the man with the silly moustache... ...and it's a gamble that pays off! Everyone lives until midnight, and you needn't have worried about attending the party all by yourself, because there are lots of lovely ladies in line for a kiss at midnight.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The merrymakers are insane with fright. How will you save them?

Time passes.

The partiers are afeared. How will you aid them?

Time passes.

The revelers are crazy with fear. How will you save them?

Time passes.

The partiers are freaked out. How will you aid them?

Time passes.

The merrymakers are ascared. How will you cure them?