TEST DRIVE

[calloperators]

> Hello, you have reached the 1-800-HOTLINE Test Drive. We are currently unable to take your call. Whilst we put you on hold, feel free to play around for a while...

***

Waking up
Where the hell were you last night? Maybe waking up in an unfamiliar bed with a blacked-out memory isn't so unusual for you, but that buzzing in your head is. The phone beside you rings with a 7:00 AM wake-up call, and a message left behind:

Go downstairs, to the lobby. Meet the others. Don't get attached, and don't mention this call.

The AC is busted and in this hot summer, you probably won't want to stay in your room forever.

What's new, Pussycat?
Of course, there's much more around here than just the motel. Stepping out and hitting the town will give you plenty to do. There's stores aplenty, but that's nothing to say of the good residents of the stores; your friendly neighborhood bodega cats. They're content to laze around the aisles, though the more playful sorts may swat at your wayward accessories as you pass by.

Don't mind that they seem to disappear - and reappear - with a blink. That's just something cats can do.

Hungry?
Of course you are! There's plenty of places to eat here, but why go to some no-name joint when you can go to McDonalds? They've got burgers, they've got fries, they've got McPizza, and they even have a playplace! ...Though you're probably too old for the ball pit.

Regardless of what you order, if you even order, the cashier presses a small toy into the palm of your hand. Don't you feel a pair of tiny eyes on you?

McMurder
For fuck's sake, someone only went and killed a guy in the McDonald's parking lot. Maybe his head is smashed in under that chicken mask, or maybe you'll want to check? You could do the right thing and work out who did this, or you could make off with his baseball bat. The choice is yours.


Night life
What good's a city that goes to sleep? When the sun goes down, the lights go up. The city becomes aglow with every colour of the neon rainbow, with bowling alleys, nightclubs, karaoke bars, arcades and soon-to-be-extinct roller discos competing for your attention until the sun comes up. You're here, there's no curfew, it's time to make the most of it.

Wildcard
Have something else in mind? Go wild, and party like it's 1989.

Comments

the genesis begins

[malpractices]

[If Medic has some mechanism inside him that allows him to smell fear, it's either malfunctioning or the cashier just isn't giving off enough of it because he definitely isn't smelling what this underpaid, in-over-their-head rock is cooking. But he does smell hotdogs, and those are far more worthy of his attention.]

Hmm. Well, I am very hungry now — famished actually — and we need to account for dinner tonight. Plus, provisions should we find ourselves trapped in the coming days. Eins, zwei, fünf... [He's counting them off on his fingers, looking very thoughtful.]

... Oh, warum eigentlich nicht. [He throws his hands up.] Let's just take them all.

phil collins begins to play

[rainblower]

[Pyro seems to brighten at that suggestion. More hot dogs for them! They nod aggressively, staring down the cashier and pointing at the hot dog heater.

This poor cashier isn't paid enough to deal with this. A bead of sweat trickles down his face as he scoots towards the machine, hastily shoving the hot dogs into a bag with a pair of tongs and keeping one eye on the customers. He feels as though if he were to turn his back, these maniacs might slaughter him where he stood over the hot dogs--and he's not entirely wrong about that.

Pyro stands there patiently, clasping their hands together and rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet. They idly pick up a lighter and start to flick it on and off, flame flickering ominously off their mask. They offer one to Medic.

The cashier pauses.]

Do you--do you want any condiments?

[He sounds like he wants to die. Pyro thinks about it.]

Kttchup?

[malpractices]

[Meanwhile, Medic is leaning down over the candy rack and scooping up anything that looks vaguely edible, tossing everything that doesn't (which is a good 70% of the inventory) onto the floor. Anything else that catches his eye follows suit, and it doesn't take long for him to start amassing a nice little pile on the counter. Bubble gum tape, packaged rice squares stuck together with marshmallow paste so old it probably has the consistency of cement, a neon purple flashlight keychain...]

—Mustard too. You know you need to watch your sugar intake. [He says this as he carelessly throws a ring pop to the ground. Then he hears the lighter flicking, causing him to glance up.] Too much of a good thing is nev—

[And the words die there, as if they were punched right out of him. Medic's staring straight ahead behind the counter, behind the cashier. Beyond the cigarettes and chew, there are a few miscellaneous souvenir items chilling in the back, mainly travelers cups and little beach trinkets that look like they were hastily assembled in the course of an hour.

And there, hanging dead center, is a shirt. But not just any shirt. This is the shirt. Medic is staring at it like he's found Christ in the rough span of ten seconds and is experiencing the emotional hurricane that goes along with it.

He points directly at it.]

That. [He turns to look at Pyro with terrifying urgency.] We need that too.

[rainblower]

Hh ddn't nndd tth wwtch my shhggr intthk.

[Said like a stubborn, petulant child. Pyro looks over the candy being amassed on the counter, then glances over to Medic. Hypocrite. They're going to slip a few pieces into their pockets.

When Medic pauses, they look towards him, confused. Their gaze follows his hand to the shirt, and they quirk their head to the side. Oh! A dog! Pyro clasps their hands together in delight. A muffled giggling can be heard from their mask.

The cashier attempts to flex their authority one last time--]

Uh--that, um, that's not for sale, that's for a contest--

[He's interrupted by a click of the lighter. Pyro holds the flame close to their face, the light glinting off the dark, dark, empty eye holes. They point again to the shirt, then start moving the lighter towards the pile of Stuff on the Counter.]

Shhhrt.

[The cashier stares up at Pyro and just...takes a step back, and then scoots out from behind the counter to the break room as fast as he can. He's not going to deal with this. The shirt--and, like, everything else in the store--is free game now.]

[malpractices]

[Just when he's about to start throwing his weight around, the cashier ducks out and bolts to another room in the back. The door slams behind him and the faint click of the lock tells Medic that, yep, this guy's clocking out for the day. And from the look on his face, he's only just a tiny bit concerned.]

Hm. Poor service.

[But anyway, that shirt. Medic swings a leg over the counter and pulls himself up and over it like he owns the place. He's a tall guy, so it doesn't take much straining to retrieve the shirt from its hallowed resting place, flimsy hanger and all.]

I wonder what kind of contest. Perhaps... [A thought suddenly occurs to him. Medic smiles mildly, brushing it off like it's something too silly to consider.] No, no. You wouldn't need to force anyone to enter if this is what's at stake. A dog, ha! What a charming little town.

[He's so busy admiring his ill begotten gains that he doesn't notice, in his haste, he had accidentally knocked over a beach towel that was on display close to the shirt, causing one end to unfurl and catch inside the hotdog roller...]

[rainblower]

[Something smells like burning. Pyro turns their head to stare at the hot dog roller, the towel currently smoldering with embers. It doesn't take long for the flames to grow taller and more frenzied. Lighter falling from their hand, they stare into the fire, clearly enraptured by the inferno.

Pyro can make it better. They dig through the pile on the counter and start pulling out anything flammable--plastic toys, candy wrappers, cardboard boxes with toys in them...they toss as much as they can into the machine, watching attentively as the flames crackle and spark.

But of course, fire has to be shared with everyone! Still keeping their eyes on the fire, they wander over to Medic and tug at the back of his shirt.]

Fhhr!

[They don't sound concerned or scared in the slightest--rather, they sound delighted. Look! Isn't it pretty?

The room now smells of burning plastic, hot dogs, and probably more than a few poisonous fumes. Good thing they've got their gas mask on!]