My Name is Not Steve

Neon Vanguard
Posts: 12
Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:44 am

My Name is Not Steve

Post by Neon Vanguard » Sun Feb 05, 2012 6:09 pm

Yo. This is an archived in-progress CYOA from GameFAQs, posted with permission of the author. No actual voting is going on here. This is just the transcription of previous posts. So, enjoy. If you can.


You hear a knocking on your door.
You roll over in your bed, nuzzling your face deeper into your pillow. Damn pillow, you so comfy. Warm on one side, cool on another, all soft and-


You crack your eyes open and squint at your alarm clock, which almost blinds you with the red glare of its LED. 5:00 AM? What in the high hell? Who could come a-knockin' at this hour?


You groan, slowly sitting up in bed, rubbing at your eyes. In a smooth motion, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shamble your way across the carpet to the door. You reach out your hand towards to knob, but a voice from the other side of the door makes you freeze.

"Bro, you awake? Bro! Open up!"

Your face darkens. Well, darkens even more, as your room is pitch black. The man demanding entry is no other than Dick Masterson, another one of the seniors at Yamaku. Thankfully, he lives on the second floor of the boy's dorm, so you can usually avoid playing Call of Duty with him. But now...

BLAM BLAM BLAM. "Brooooo!"

Great. Just great. You don't need this right now. Hell, maybe he's got the wrong door, and wants to talk to Kenji or Hisao.

What do you do?

A. Open the door, stand there patiently, and listen to what Dick has to say. Maybe it's important. Maybe.
B. Sit and wait for him to go away, then go ask Kenji or Hisao what the hell they did this time.
C. Crawl out through your window, drop down onto the second story ledge, break into Dick's room via window, and erase all his game saves. You almost feel guilty just thinking about it.
D. Be a gentleman, invite Dick in for some hot coffee.


You're pissed.

It hasn't even been a month here, and you've got people breathing down your neck. Jesus, you'd think things would be different, in a place that didn't treat disabled people like, you know, f***in' pariahs.

"Bro! Come on! Open up!"

You look around your room. There has to be a way out of this situation. Kenji's plan of installing a trapdoor beneath his bed seems a lot more sane, all of a sudden.

Wait... the window!

You cross the room and open the curtains, peering out into the misty morning. It'll be another hour until the sun rises, and your breath fogs against the glass. Well... it's worth a shot.

You unlock the latches on your window, and open it. Or, try to, anyway. The window only cracks open about five inches. S***. Looks like this is one of those safety window frames. That... makes sense, actually, given that a lot of the medication prescribed around here has a "Warning: Suicide is a Side Effect" label. Like, most of yours.

You bend down and try to fit your head through the gap, but it doesn't hurt. You turn your head in every direction, but you can't quite make it. Besides, it's cold out there. Damn mornings.

You step back for a second, arms crossed, brow furrowed. You need something to pry this window open... like a crowbar. Even if you broke the glass pane with your desk chair, the windowframe would still be in the way. And full of broken glass.

"Damn," you mutter to yourself.

"I heard that, bro!" Dick calls out from the hallway. "Don't you try to get away through the window, or the vent in your bathroom!"

How the hell did he know about the wind- wait, vent?

You pad over to your bathroom, flip the lightswitch and blink until your vision adjusts. Well, you'll be damned. There is a vent up on the wall, a few feet above the toilet. But... it's only like eight by six inches. Well, crap.

You're trapped. What do you do?

A. Answer the door and figure out what the hell Dick wants. Actually... it might be an emergency. Maybe Hisao had a heart attack.
B. Yell at Dick to go away and go back to sleep. You need sleep to live.
C. Be a gentleman, invite him in for hot coffee, and inquire after his request.
D. Call the orderlies.


You sigh.

Really, there's no good reason to be such an ass to Dick. Even though he can be absolutely insufferable at times, deep down, he's a good-


- guy. Really. Kinda. Sorta. You think. You hope.

You flip on the light switch, your room taking on a friendly, soft yellow glow. Working out the kinks in your neck one last time, you open up the door.

There he stands, all six feet and seven inches of him, his messy blond hair in crude spikes. Dick Bates Masterson, Yamaku senior, professional bastard, cyclops, and your number one enemy.

Your number one, shirtless enemy. Guess since it's so early in the morning, he didn't really bother to get dressed- he's barefoot, only wearing the slacks of the Yamaku boys uniform. And damn, he's manly as hell.

You glance down and remember that you're only in your boxers. Even with all your exercise, your muscles aren't quite up to his bulked-out level. Damn. Another reason to hate his ass.

"Damn bro, you're pretty sexy for a dude," he says suddenly.

Yeah.... no. You close the door.

Or try to. Dick shoves his leg into the threshold just as the door slams, crushing his leg but stopping the door.


"The hell you want, Dick?"

He wiggles his trapped leg around. "Come on, bro. We just need to talk. Lemme in."

You sigh, again, and open the door. Dick saunters in (with a limp) and sits down at your table. "Nice place ya got here," he says with a stupid grin.

Ha ha. In the month that you've been here, you haven't personalized your dorm room at all, save for the coffee maker and two mugs you bought from the city. You blow the dust off of the never-used mug and turn on your coffee machine.

You sit down opposite to Dick. A few awkward seconds pass as the coffee machine whirs in the background. He adjusts his eyepatch nervously. You always wondered how he got it- says that he ripped it out to feed a starving bald eagle. Except... they don't have bald eagles in Japan. Chances are, he just hit himself in the eye with an Xbox controller or something.

You clear your throat. "So. You needed something, Mr. Masterson?"

And just like that, Dick shoots up and starts pacing around your room, hands anxiously clasped behind his back. What the hell. "You've gotta help me, man. I'm f***ed, man. Totally f***ed."

"Well, I know a good surgeon who could reconstruct your hymen-"

"No, seriously, man! It's about the festival! It's the deadline, and my project ain't done!"

You shrug. "So? The festival's in a week. Forget the deadline."

He drops down into a crouch to stare me in the eyes. Well, eye. "You know who set the deadline, bro? Shizune Haka-f***in'-Michi. And if I walk into that classroom without my project, I ain't coming out, man."

The coffee machine dings. You get up, fill the mugs, and sit your ass back down. "Hope you like it black, Dick. Black as your life expectancy for today." He was right. Shizune would tear his s*** up for not being done. Especially with how much she's been on his case about it. Not to mention that Dick and Shizune never really got along...

"Come on, man. School doesn't start for hours. Be a bro. This is what bros are for, right?" He snags his mug and sips at his coffee. "Ow, f***," he mumbles around a burnt tongue.

You drum your fingers against your mug. What do you do?

A. Help him out. Be a bro.
B. Help him out... but only for a price. With interest. Dick is a very resourceful guy... oddly enough.
C. Let him choke. Watching Shizune rip his ass open will be interesting.
D. Tell him to sit his ass down and drink his God damn coffee.



He's back to pacing around the room, his coffee abandoned on the table.


He glances at you with his remaining eye. "Huh? What?" His speech is kind of slurred, from his tongue being burnt.

"Drink your coffee."

"Man, I'm too freaked-"

You stare blankly at him, unblinking. "Sit your ass down and drink the God damned coffee, Dick."

Reluctantly, he does so, sitting down heavily and going back to his coffee. Poor bastard. He never asked for this. Maybe you should help him out. After all, he could make a powerful ally. Or, more remarkably... a powerful foe. Dick has the ability to be very, very determined. For a bet, he carried Rin Tezuka on his shoulders for an entire day, and listened to her ponderings without going criminally insane.

"Okay, look. I'll help you... for a price. Basically, every month, you cut me ten percent of your allowance. Plus, you never wake me up again. Ever. And while we're at it-"

"Miki Miura."

You blink. "What?"

"I'll put in a good word for you, man. Her class' stall and mine are like, right next to each other. So I'll tell her what a bro you are for helping me, that you're a sex god, pretty sexy for a dude, things like that."

You mull that over. Miura... ah, yes, that Amazonian goddess. You remember on your very first day, Shizune and Misha were forcing you on a death march (AKA a school tour) and you passed by the track. There she was playing a pickup soccer game, hair flying in the wind, sweat making her uniform cling to that smooth tanned skin, outlining her toned yet feminine figure. You, Shizune and Misha watched for a moment, as she and another athlete collided near the sidelines. And like a boss, you sprang forward to help her up. She looked up at you, surprised, yet a smile on her face upon meeting this gentlemanly stranger...

... And then Misha shattered the beauty with a "Wahahaha~! Our newest transfer is trying to cop a feel!"

Yeah. That day was kind of... yeah.

"Come on, man. What do you say? I bet she gives killer handjobs."

You slam your mug on the table, splashing hot coffee everywhere. "Say that again, motherf***er. Say it. I dare you. I double dare your ass."

Dick held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, man. You mad?"

"Ain't even mad." You sip at the dregs in your mug. "But you know what? I'll do it. Forget the ten percent. You lucked out." You look at Dick intently. "Now, what's this project?"

Dick throws your pants at you. "Come on, man! No time to lose!"


About thirty seconds later, you're in Dick's room. Posters of nude models cover pretty much every wall, you can't see the carpet due to the layer of dirty clothes, his schoolwork is scattered all around the room. Well, at least he's consistent.

But in the middle of the room you see a big box. A plain brown cardboard box. And next to it, an assortment of paints and brushes. You navigate Dick's obstacle course of a room and reach inside the box, pulling out one of its contents. ... ay_a80.jpg

Huh. It's one of those traditional noh masks. Now that you think of it, having a stand where you sell these masks would make a killing. The inherently criminal minds of children can't resist masks. Brilliant.

"Alright, let me guess. You want me to help you paint all these masks. In..." You look at his clock. "Two hours." There were more than a hundred Goddamn masks in that box. Jesus Christ.

"Yep." Dick walked over to his music player dock, and hits a few buttons. "Time for some inspirational music!"

You sigh, picking up a paintbrush. This is gonna be a long three hours.


Two hours later, your fingers are cramped and eyes bloodshot. You have painted over a hundred noh masks. While in the land down under.

"Damn bro, you're pretty good." Dick stretches, covered in paint, even with some on his eyepatch. You'd think he'd try to keep foreign crap out of his eyehole, but whatever. So are you, now that you think of it. "Thanks, man. I can take it from here. And don't worry! Miura will be on your wang in no time!"

You stumble out of Dick's room, wired from drinking another seven mugs of coffee and slightly unsettled from having all those masks stare into your soul.

Okay. It's 7:00 AM. What should you do?

A. Go run off all that caffeine at the track. Hisao and Emi usual go running at this time, you think.
B. Go back to sleep for thirty minutes. Without sleep, you die.
C. Go get breakfast at the cafeteria. Without food, you die.
D. Go play videogames in the lobby of the boy's dorm. You deserve a reward for all that festival crap.
E. Take your medication.
F. Take a shower. You're covered in paint and smell like Dick's room.


You feel your hands shaking slightly. Yeah... you won't be able to go through an entire day of classes like this. You've got to burn off this caffeine. And what better way to do that than to go for a brisk morning run? Capital!

You head up the stairs back onto the third floor and duck into your room, shucking off your paint-covered pants and putting on some running shorts and a sleeveless shirt. You've still got paint all over your arms and hands, but, well, you can't take a shower later. No big deal.

You hit the lights and are about to leave when you remember... wait, didn't you specifically come to Yamaku because you're disabled? And... disabled... wait...

Ah, s***. You almost forgot your medication.

You trudge back into your bathroom and crack open the medicine cabinet. Grabbin' pills, you think to yourself bitterly as you choke down four massive tablets. Jesus, that's enough to kill someone.

No, literally, those four tablets are enough to kill someone. You have a hyperactive adrenal gland, which, obviously, causes your body to dump inordinate amounts of adrenaline into your bloodstream whenever you're under stress. While at first glance, that might be kind of cool, since it gives you a short burst of superhuman strength, speed and reflexes, but on the bad side, after having an adrenal seizure episode, your entire body is agonizingly sore and you have a splitting, paralyzing migraine. And you sort of... have a tendency to lose control.

You slam the medicine cabinet shut, looking at yourself in the mirror. That's the past. This is now.


You hate mornings. It's all cold and stuff, and you don't like frostbite ever since you saw a picture of a dude with no hands or feet on Google Images. You make your way down to the track, looking around shiftily for anyone else and hoping you'll be alone. You don't really want to explain why you're covered in paint-

"Hey! New guy! Heeeeey!"

Dammit. You see Emi and Hisao down on the track. Emi is jumping up and down, waving energetically, while Hisao is stretching with a look of intense concentration on his face.

You jog up to them. "'Sup."

Hisao nods to you. "'Sup."

Emi tugs on your arm, and you look down at her. "New guy! You gonna run with us? We need competition, since Hisao can't keep up with me!" Hisao sticks his tongue out at her. Emi returns the gesture.

"Yeah, I am," you say, "but look Emi, I do have a name. It's-"

"Er, what's wrong with your arms? You okay?" Hisao interrupts.

Emi lets go of your arm with a squeak, and you look glance at them. In this light, all this red paint looks like blood. Awesome. "Yeah, I'm fine. Was just helping Dick with his festiv- s***. Don't tell Shizune, okay?"

Hisao and Emi both nod, but there's a weird twinkle in Emi's eyes. Great. Blackmail material. "I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy," promises Hisao. Man, Nakai is such a bro. You're glad he's around.

"Alright, enough stretching! Running time!" And just like that, Emi takes off, with you and Hisao in tow. Emi is already in the lead, but you and Hisao are neck-in-neck at a dead run. One lap passes... and then two... and then three. Emi looks back, grinning widely at seeing you two in such a deathly race. The both of you must be going like... twenty miles per hour.

"Just... give up... don't have... a chance..." snarls Hisao through gritted teeth, sweat running down his face.

"You're... a thousand years too early... to challenge... me!" you growl, pumping your arms even harder, ignoring the lactic acid that's disintegrating your muscles.

This is it. The last lap. Emi is standing at the finish line, waving the both of you to run even faster. "Come ooooon!" she calls. "Whoever wins gets a kiss!"

You feel a vein in your temple bulge.

Now... choose your destiny!

A. Push it TO THE MAX!
B. Slow the hell down. If you get an adrenal seizure right now...
C. Try and keep pace with Hisao. If you both finish at the same time, Emi will have to kiss both of you. Giggity.
D. Trip and fall on your face. Hisao, being a nice guy, will stop and help you up. Then, you'll get up and cross the finish line in a single dash!


Okay. Okay. Okay. You got this.

You suddenly feel a distinct lack of oxygen in your brain. And the rest of your body, for that matter.

... Okay, maybe you don't got this.

This glance over to Hisao, who's sweating like he's just dove into a tsunami and red as one of those old American fire hydrants, since, you know, all of them are yellow nowadays.

Yeah, this is stupid. Hisao has something wrong with his heart or lungs or something, and you have an adrenal illness. And you're gonna kill yourself over Emi? Sure, she's incredibly cute and probably has a dark sexy side, but that's no good if you're dead, is it?

You take it down a notch, lifting your head to breath deeper. Hisao notices you slowing and eases up too, but just enough to inch ahead of you. Stubborn bastard. You speed up, just a little...


You both fly over the finish line. You lose your balance and tumble to the ground, rolling and bouncing about thirty feet. You just lay there, staring up at the sky, breathing so hard you feel like your lungs are about to implode and form miniature black holes and kill everyone. Especially Hisao. Dammit, Hisao.

Speaking of whom, you look up to see him standing over you, one hand on his knee, another clutching his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead. Christ, he looks terrible. You feel a shank of guilt plunge itself into your heart, thinking that you could've killed him over something as lame as a kiss from Emi. Tongue or not.

Speaking of whom... again... you hear her distinct footsteps as Emi springs toward to size up the both of you. "Hey! Good work out there!" she says, beaming. "Now, time for sprints-"

"Hold... up," you gasp out. "What... about... kiss... ?"

Emi puts a finger to her lips in thought. "Oh, thaaaat? Well, since it was a tie... there really wasn't a winner, was there? 'Cause there can only be one!"

"That's fine," pants Hisao. "Since I won."

"Ha ha," you huff out. "I won."

You and Hisao stare each other down. He's stubborn, all right. He'd drive nails with his forehead if it meant getting the job done. But this is one job he wouldn't be enjoying. You would. Your job. Yours.

"Boys, boys! Play nice!" Scolds Emi. "Okay, tell you what," she says, a mischievous note entering her voice. "How about both of you get a kiss?"

You and Hisao freeze, look at Emi, look at each other again, then back to Emi. You're thinking the exact same thing: 'it's not gay if our wangs don't touch.' Giggity.

At least, that's what you're thinking. Hisao is probably wanting Emi all for himself, selfish bastard.

Emi walks up to both of you, standing up straight. You leap to your feet, and Hisao straightens as well. He's a little red in the face, but you don't think that's from running...

Emi blows a kiss at Hisao, and then at you. "Mwah, mwah~"


You fall to your knees, staring dejectedly into the sky. "I never asked for this."

Hisao bursts out laughing, and Emi suddenly blushes. "What's so funny? Hisao! Stop it!"

You sigh. Well, you know what they say. Pick your battles. You should know that already, really, from all those damn RTS games you play. Dammit.


You, Hisao and Emi stagger your way to the nurse's office for the usual morning checkup. Well, You and Hisao stagger. Emi bounces along nonchalantly, even after doing more sprints while you and Hisao sat disappointingly on the bleachers, still struggling for air.

You stop in the hallway just before the nurse's office. Wait...

Hisao and Emi look back at you. "What's wrong?" Emi asks, tilting her head. "Don't want to go first?"

"... Yeah," you lie. "Don't want him to see how out of shape I am, know what I mean?"

Emi grins at you, waves at Hisao, and slides into the nurse's office.

S***. The nurse. That guy is weird, man. Weird. The way he makes freaky jokes about erectile dysfunction and colonoscopies and checking your balls for cancer. The way he caresses you with that stethoscope? Not. Normal. And he'll probably yell at you for overexerting yourself. And for not taking your pills properly.

"Er... you feeling okay, man? You're kinda pale..." Hisao asks concernedly.

Crap crap crap. What do you do?

A. Face your fears. The nurse is one man. And you? You're a MAN AND A HALF.
B. Half-ass some excuse and get outta there. What kind of guy has purple hair? And never opens his eyes? How does he SEE?
C. Try and go into the office with Hisao. Maybe then the nurse won't be so... eager to examine you with a witness.
D. Freak the f*** out.


"Ain't nothing wrong."

"You sure? You look like a ghost."


"You know what I mean," Hisao says, rolling his eyes.

"Look, Hisao. I got ninety nine problems and this nurse ain't one, alright? I'm just tired from running." You shake out your legs to drive the point home. "I don't have a hardass trainer like Emi, after all. So, reeeelax."

Hisao shrugs. "Alright, alright." Just as he does so, Emi pops out of the nurse's office and drags Hisao in, standing out in the hall with you. She's shifting from leg to leg impatiently.

"Jesus, can't you ever stay still?"

Emi laughs. "What fun would that be? You'd always be late!" She stretches out ostentatiously. You find it kind of weird that a traditionalist school like this would have such... interesting girl's PE uniforms.

"Maybe." You crack your neck as Emi continues stretching.

"You did pretty good out there," she says, an uncharacteristically serious note in her voice. "Your form is smooth, and even when you fell you were still aiming towards the finish. Have you done track and field before?"

You open your mouth, about to explain how your skill in running came from going into adrenal fits of rage and chasing down people you hate, not letting walls, traffic, or falls to your death stop you. "Uh... no. One of those hidden talents, I guess," you say.

Emi crosses her arms. "No excuse, new guy! With great power comes great responsibility! You should join the track team! With enough training, you can keep up with me some day!" Ha ha. So modest.

You lean against the wall. "I'll think about it," you promise.

Emi pouts. "You owe me!"

You blow a kiss at her. "And now we're even."

Emi pouts even more, fists on her hips, as Hisao comes out of the nurse's office. "Great timing, man. You two go ahead, okay? This'll take a while."

Hisao frowns. "You sure?"

You wave him off. "You worry too much." You slide into the nurse's office and close the door behind you.

And grit your teeth.

"Well, well, look who it is."

A voice like wet velvet over a sharp knife. The nurse slowly rotates around in his computer chair, looking at your intensely. Well... you think he's looking at you. His eyes are closed, like always. How... does... he... SEE?

"Yeah, yeah. Unless you've got a cure for hyperactive adrenal disorder, Doc, I ain't got time."

That foxlike smile doesn't waver. Creepy. "Oh, I've got the cure. But you'd be the first test subject. And there's an expected 99.9% fatality rate. Up for it?"

"Down for it." You hop up onto the examining table. Doctor Fox listens to your heart, your breathing, checks your blood pressure, shines a light in your eyes, and tests your reflexes with that little hammer thingy. You suppress a shiver as his hands run over your bare chest and back. Do not want. He doesn't seem surprised about the paint- he's probably used to all this festival nonsense. His fingers start trailing down...

"Yeah okay see? I'm still working. So I'll just be going now." You quickly hop off the table, pull your shirt on and start walking toward the door. Calmly.

"One last thing," Doc-Fox says, still punching in records on his computer.

"Which is?"

"Have you been taking all your medicine?"

"I haven't murdered anyone yet, so you can do the math," you say dryly.

Fox-Doctor chuckles. "True enough. But remember, those depressants aren't a cure. You still need to keep your emotions in check. So stay calm."

You scowl at the door. Think I don't know that, you ass lamprey? "I know that."

"Good, good." The purple haired medical monstrosity smiles. "Have fun out there. Now get the hell out of my office. Calmly."


You step out into the empty hallway. Calmly. That guy always pisses you off... the adrenaline in your bloodstream makes you want to break something, but you resist the urge. Like he said, you can't just rage out anymore.

Now... you've got like an hour before class. Now what?

A. Go back to your dorm and take a shower. You're covered in paint still, smell like Dick's room, and drenched in sweat and that rubbery turf stuff tracks are made of. Shouldn't take long, anyway.
B. Go get breakfast. Food is required to live, after all. From your experience.
C. Go to class early, dressed as you are. And study like a boss.
D. Forget school, bro. You're ahead in all your classes. Go into town and see what's going on.
E. Chill out at the library. Yuuko always makes you feel less rage-y.
F. Go back to your room and sleep.


Your stomach growls, the sound echoing throughout the empty halls.

Patience, my inner demon, you think to yourself. After all, you can't very well go to the cafeteria covered in sweat, track turf, paint, and the smell of the boys' dorm. You've got an image to uphold! The image of a classy, sophisticated foreigner.

So with only a little over an hour left, you run your ass back to your dorm and step into the bathroom. You pull off your clothes, throwing them into a pile on the floor, and turn on the shower. You don't even wait for the water to get warm before you jump in. As the icy water stabs into your skin like so many frozen bullets, you grit your teeth. You ain't afraid of a little cold water. You a man!

And then the water jumps from freezing to scalding, and you uselessly flail your arms in pain before it settles to a nice warm temperature. Ahhh. You're going to have a huge burn mark on your chest from that, but oh well.

You grab the soap, careful not to drop it, and start scrubbing at the paint on your arms and chest. However, no matter how hard you scrub, it doesn't seem to come off. When you think you're making progress, due to the water running down the drain taking on a shade of red, you realize it's just because you've shaved off a layer of skin from cleaning so hard. Ouch. You like having your blood inside you. Where it belongs.

"Dammit," you grunt.

Suddenly, you hear the door open. Kenji moseys into the bathroom, undoing his fly as he does. He doesn't bother to lift the seat up, either, as he starts taking a piss.

He nods to you, his glasses fogged up by the steam. "'Sup, my fellow man-brother." He sighs in pleasure. "Milk is amazing, huh? Tastes good going in, feels good coming out."

You pull the curtain across the shower, deflecting the collateral piss-spray in the nick of time. "Uh... huh. Hey." You wait a minute for him to finish, then draw back the curtain. "Say Kenji, what are you doing for the fes-"

You notice that his pants are around his ankles, and he is facing away from the toilet, hands on his knees, a look of intense concentration on his face.

You quickly pull the curtain back across. "Dude, what the hell."

"Pay close attention, Steve!" barks Kenji. "In France, men piss sitting down. That is an admission to defeat, my man-brother! To the feminization of society as a whole, when the most primal of acts is controlled! This cannot be, man-brother. For a true man must piss and die on his feet."

"When was crapping on your feet added to the list?"

"Right..." Kenji makes a grunt of effort. "... Now."

... You idly wonder if you could kill Kenji and then yourself with the showerhead, but then again, it'd make for a weird scene for the investigators. Two guys, covered in s***, dead in a bathroom. Yeah, no.

"...Anyways," you say, trying to block out the sounds, "what are you doing for that festival thing?" You pause. "And my name isn't Steve. Where the hell did you hear that?"

Kenji waves a hand dismissively. "The festival? A distraction, man-brother. The Coliseum was built in Rome not as a celebration of the masculinity of bloodsport, but as a means for the emperor's concubines to control the populace! This is exactly the same! Just replace concubines with Student Council. But they're still the same..." he whispers darkly. "Whores. All of them! Will they stop at nothing for power?"

"Yeah, sure. So what are you doing for it?"

"What? Oh. Nothing. I just painting some stalls or some crap like that so the Class Rep would get off my wang." Kenji fumbles with some toilet paper and pulls up his pants. You breath a sigh of relief, only for Kenji to unzip his pants again.

"Dude, Kenji. Not while I'm here."

"What? As long as we don't make eye contact, it's not weird. Haven't you ever heard of back-to-back, Steve?"

"Kenji, just..." You sigh again. "Okay, hold on, I'll leave. Christ." You shut off the shower and hightail it out of there. You can get your running clothes later, they're probably covered in piss anyways.

You make it back to the sanitary safety of your room, where you find a towel and start drying off. Those stupid paint stains are still stuck to your skin... and they're probably toxic, too, knowing Dick. God damn it.

Oh well. You get dressed, and mull over where to go for breakfast...

A. Cafeteria. You heard a rumor that those kinds of places contain food.
B. Go into town. It's a short run, and maybe there's some cafe you can order something quick at.
C. Find a vending machine and buy a crapload of stuff from it. Breakfast of the FUTURE!
D. Break into Kenji's room and eat his pizza and drink his milk. Drink it up.
E. Order some Chinese food. If you get a fortune cookie, then maybe you can prevent bad things from happening to you today.
F. Drink a gallon from a water fountain. Boom, free breakfast. And rehydrated.
G. Make some more coffee. Coffee is one of the six food groups, so if you drink six cups, you'll be nourished for the day. According to science.


Well, what the hell. You'll go to the cafeteria. It's free, it ain't that far, and maybe you'll even find some people to talk to and somehow validate your depressingly lonely existence. Maybe. Or maybe you'll just trip on the stairs and die. Who knows what adventures the future holds?

You go down the stairs (without dying) and plod your way into the main building, hands in your pockets as you cross the courtyard. Still too cold. Stupid dewy grass, stupid mornign breeze, stupid chirpy birds. Damn them all. More and more students are starting to mill around. Jesus, people actually get up at this time by their own choice? You're usually still asleep by now.

You push open the double-doors to the cafeteria dramatically (nearly knocking out someone on the other side) and scan your surroundings...


Yep, it's a cafeteria. But it's always good to make sure. Just in case.

Alright. What should you get from the line?

A. One bento box. F*** tradition, you'll eat lunch in the morning if you want.
B. Miso soup. The main ingredient in soup is water, right? You need water to live.
C. Udon noodles.You're not even sure what those are. But life is an adventure!
D. Onigiri. To be precise, a huge ass plate of them. Rice is nice.
E. Some vegan stir-fry thing. Emi and Doctor Fox did mention to eat better, or death will strike...
F. Toast. It's bread, son.

What should you get to drink?

1. Coffee. Food groups, man.
2. Green tea. Fancy. Besides, you heard you need to eat or drink all the colors of the rainbow per day. In... preschool, you think.
3. Just put ice in a glass and crunch on it. Jaw exercises be important, bro.
4. Ask for two raw eggs and break them into a glass.
5. You absorb all the liquid you need from your solid food. F*** drinks.

Who do you sit with? Emi and Hisao ain't around... odd...

Alpha. NO ONE. You are a lone wolf. No one understands you! NOT EVEN YOURSELF~
Beta. You see Lilly off in the corner on her lonesome. She'd probably be good company.
Gamma. Misha and Shizune are sitting with some of the Student Council ass-kissers, talking about festival crap. Might want to talk to them and see if you can get out of class.
Delta. Hey, it's Dick Masterson, sitting with all his douchey friends. Maybe it's time to collect on that favor...
Epsilon. Go back into the kitchens and talk with the chefs, asking them how they like their jobs and stuff.


A slow drip of adrenaline dilutes in your veins. Time to get on this s***. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all.

You saunter over to the line leading to the counter, standing there impassively, staring into space as you contemplate your options. This is it... you only have one shot. Got to make it cou-

"May I help you?"

You blink, and realize you're being served. Damn, this line moves fast. "Uh. Yeah." Dammit, you didn't have enough time to think this through! Crap! "Toast me," you utter, without a scrap of doubt in your voice. If you're going to go down in flames, you may as well go down well starched.

"And to drink?"

"Tea. Green. Hint of lemon. Little umbrella."

"And... got it." Just like that, the chef dude behind the counter hands you a tray with one piece of toast and a cup of tea, with the little mini-umbrella and everything.

"You did good," you say seriously. "You did good." You turn on your heel before the chef can respond, and run your eyes over the tables.

Well... there's Shizune and Misha and all of their ass-kissers. Nah. You can hang out with them later.

And then there's Lilly, eating off in the corner... you feel an urge to go sit with her, but even from here, you can see that she has a serious look on her face, deep in thought. You'll leave her alone for now.

But wait... at one of this middle tables, like a douchebaggy island in a sea of jackasses, sits Dick Masterson, laughing and yelling and talking with his mouth full. How crude. You almost want to leave the cafeteria just looking at him, but you have a debt to collect. Besides, you gotta make sure that he carries through.

You walk up to the table and sit down, slamming your tray to get his attention. He doesn't notice you, being too busy devouring his... ramen-covered toast. You realize he's got an earphone in the ear on your side, so you rip it out to get his attention.

"ARGH!" he howls melodramatically. He looks over to you, his eyes full of righteous fury, but then simmering once he recognizes you. "Come on, bro, easy on the ears! I use them for balance and hearing ladies scream my name and stuff. You don't want me to turn out like Shizune, do you bro?"

You stare at him intently. Well that was horribly offensive. "Oh, of course. Then you'd have to deal with Shizune even more, wouldn't you?"

He looks at you blankly. Let's try another approach.

"So, Dick. Did you finish that essay about projection in psychology yet?"

"We don't have the same... Huh? Oh. Yeah." He stretches overdramatically. "Almost killed us, didn't it. Especially with how-"

You clap a hand over his mouth, trying to ignore the gross feel of his tongue against you fingers. You turn your head slightly to the right, and notice... Shizune staring at you. It was only for a second or two, but you felt it. A shiver runs up your spine.

"Good, good," you mutter, wiping your hand off on Dick's shoulder. "So, payment. For me helping you."

Dick slaps you on the back. "Relax, bro. All in good time. I can't just go up to her and say, 'You know that new foreign guy? He has a GIGANTIC WANG!'"

An awkward silence settles over the cafeteria. Everyone is staring at you. You hide your face in your green tea, but forget about the little umbrella and end up stabbing yourself in the eye.


The atmosphere returns to normal.

"You want to borrow an eyepatch, man?" asks Dick nonchalantly.

"No, I don't want your Goddamn eyepatch." Your rub your bleeding eyeball gingerly. Speaking of red... "and what the hell was in that paint? It won't come off my skin!"

Dick shrugged. "I don't know. Some permanent stuff I got from the art room. But I'm sure over time your skin will absorb it and it'll go away."

"And give me cancer."

"More than likely."

You sigh and start crunching on your toast. Man, this day sucks already. Well, at least you know Dick will be good on his word. You hope.

"By the way, bro," Dick says a little more quietly, scratching at his eye-hole, "Miura really likes those strong but silent types. Like me." He bursts out laughing. Yeah, your ears hurt now. "So just play that angle, you know what I'm saying?"

The thought of Miki Miura makes you forget about your punctured eyeball for a moment. Mmmmm... yeah. She makes all this crap worth it. You dunk your toast in your tea and finish it off, twirling the bloodstained mini-umbrella absentmindedly.

The bell rings. Damn. Time flies when you're eating toast. Now what?

A. What do you mean, "now what?" Go to class, dumbass!
B. School is for the brainwashed masses, man. Go to your dorm and sleep.
C. Forget class and go hang out in town for the day.
D. Go talk to Misha and see if she has any Student Council crap that can get you out of class.
E. Somehow injure Dick so he has to go the nurse's office, then accompany him as a "friend". Perfect excuse to skip class.


You sigh. Well, you can't avoid class forever. You leave your plate on the collection counter and run back to the boy's dorm to get your books and crap. Should've brought them with you when you want to the cafeteria. Damn. Oh well.

You stare at Dick before you leave, hoping he gets the message. You didn't want to waste all of that delicious sleep for nothing.


The run to the boy's dorm and to Mutou's class was uneventful, thankfully. You've had enough crap going on today.

You sit down in your usual seat- at the very back of the class, two desks away from Hanako- and get out all your notes and stuff. You amuse yourself by drawing little formations of swordsmen preparing to hack and stab each other to death. It's about fifteen minutes of this paper-and-pencil Age of Empires nonsense before you look up at the clock and notice... class started ten minutes ago. You idly wonder where-

The door slams open as Mutou saunters into the classroom, not saying a word as he guzzles his coffee. His jacket is ruffled, he's unshaved as a Goddamn bear, and his tie isn't even tied, just hanging around his shoulders. He tosses his suitcase across the room, where it lands on his desk, and without further ado, starts writing out equations and graphs without even looking back, talking about theories and stuff like he was raised reciting them. What a bro.

As much as you love his random lectures about black holes and quantum theory and alternate dimensions and time travel and stuff, you feel yourself getting tired. He sort of has this... droning voice. Like the sound of a piano burning.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking at your notes boredly. You glance at Hanako out of the corner of your eye. Huh, she hasn't left yet. What do you do?

A. Take a nap. You need sleep to live.
B. Chuck a note at [insert fellow classmate here].
C. Say you need to go the bathroom and ditch class.
D. Stab yourself in the hand with your pen to stay awake. EDUCATION is IMPORTANT, Goddamn it.
E. Stare at Miki Miura and start fantasizing.
F. Raise your hand and ask a question. [Insert question here.]
G. Play games on your calculator. Sinjid: Shadow of the Warrior is pretty boss, after all.
H. Listen to music as you take notes. That'll keep you awake.


Yeah. This lecture is going nowhere at about a million nothings a second. Feeling unusually brave, you spot Miki Miura in the front row. You watch, entranced, as she yawns soundlessly, arching her back and shaking her hair. Oh man. Now you're all hot and bothered and adrenaline-filled.

Feeling unusually brave, you carefully tear out a page of your notebook and, biting your lip in concentration, scrawl a little picture of Mutou's face on it, with "SCIENCE!" written across his forehead. ... d7d7_b.jpg

Underneath it, you write, "I never asked for this."

Chucking it at Miki would be too obvious, as she's in the front and you're in the back. Instead, you fold it into a dodecahedron and bowl it under her desk, where it bumps her ankle. She notices, picks it up and unfolds it... and suddenly gives a small cough which she quickly covers with her hand.

She looks around the room for a second, trying to find the sender. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you arch an eyebrow.

She turns back to her desk and writes out her own note before bowling it back to you.

"Thanks. Not like I was planning on sleeping tonight, or anything." Below, there's a crude sketch of Miki in her bed with Mutou's face peeking from under it. ... 690f_b.jpg

You shiver. That makes two poor, sleepless souls. Under the sketch she wrote, "Are you getting any of this?"

You write back, "Something about black holes and wormholes and penetrating spacetime. Very Freudian. I think he was hit by a meteor as a child." You sketch a caricature of a pantless Mutou humping a black hole. You're not sure how that works... but somehow it does. You bowl it back to Miki.

She covers up her laughter with another cough, but some other students are looking at you now. Hisao shoots you a "bro this is about subatomic particles, and you're made of Goddamn subatomic particles" kind of look. Oh, Hisao. You and your science.

The note is bowled back. "No more horrific imagery. I've had enough mental scarring for one day."

Bowled to Miki. "I'll make you a deal. What're you doing for lunch? I want to see what's in town."

Back to you. "Lunch break isn't much time to see an entire town, you know. (O_o;)"

Back to Miki. "Says the star of the track team. We'll run. Come on. Humor the new guy. \(-_-)/"

Back to you. "You're a persistent one. Alright, alright. You win. But you pay."

Back to Miki. "Fair enough."

You're surprised that a note-conversation that long went unnoticed by Mutou. Sweet. Unfortunately... not everyone failed to notice. Shizune is drilling holes into your head with that death glare of hers. S***.

The bell rings, thank God, and you spring out of your seat like a kangaroo. Miki gives you a grin and a wave, and your heart a-pounding, you go to meet her... only to be intercepted by Shizune and Misha. F***.

"Not so fast, Foreign-Exchange-Student-chan~!" pipes Misha, grinning victoriously. "You may be new here, but even in America, I'm sure they have rules about passing notes in class!" Her voice is cheery as usual, but Shizune is signing like she wants to wring your neck. "But, this won't be brought to Mr. Mutou's attention if you work with us over lunch..." There's a glint of something in Shizune's eye. The gleam of a killer.

Miki is at the door, waiting expectantly. What do?

A. F*** it. Run out the door with Miki.
B. Tell Misha and Shizune you'll make up for it later.
C. Tell Shizune that Miki is showing you the town, and you don't have time for this right now.
D. Apologize. Japanese style. With the headbang and everything.
E. Surrender and go with them. Goddamn Student Council.
F. "Hisao! Save me!"
G. Tell Misha you're on a date. She'll understand.
H. You're not even from America. Racist.


Time slows down for a moment. You don't have time to think this through. You see Hisao in the corner of your eye, leaning against his desk and watching the show with mild amusement. Damn you, Hisao. Damn you and your stupid hair and sweatervests and-

You lean forward slightly. "Misha, Shizune," you say with a calmness you don't feel, "I'm not even American. I know I look American. I know my Japanese isn't very good. I know that there's a comical stereotype of the ignorant, uncultured cowboy coming over to Japan on his horse, but that's not me. Okay?" You take a deep breath. "You're not making this easy for me, much less with the culture shock."

Misha automatically looks stricken, and clasps her hands together. "Transfer-chan..."

But Shizune is unfazed. She continues to sign. She's good.

"Misunderstandings aside," translate Misha, "you should-"

"Misunderstandings? Your my class rep, and the student council prez. It's within your station to have at least simple details like this hammered out, don't you think?"

She keeps her cool, but there's that gleam in her eyes again. Her lips tugging upward slightly. She accepts your challenge. "I cannot read your personal file without your express written consent," Misha translates.

S***. That's right. "Even so," you say, trying to keep your roll going, "another duty of the class rep is to see that new students are acclimated to their environment. And Miki is about to take me on a tour of the town. So, by extension, you're giving me a tour- and fulfilling your duty. I love it when things work out, don't you?"

"That doesn't erase your past crimes." Goddamn she doesn't flinch.

You shrug. "True. But it doesn't erase your past failures to give me a proper tour. So, I'll help you out in the council room later. I'd say that makes us even, right?"

Shizune's eyes are like glass balls of fire, man, and she's signing like a sushi chef chopping up fish. She's pissed. If there's one thing she hates more than losing, it's compromise. "Very well," translates Misha. Who grins at you. "Go on, don't leave your date waiting!" Yeah, that came from Misha. Definitely not Shizune.

You're taking some sign language classes here, so for extra cool points you sign "Until next time" to Shizune as you walk out the door with Miki. The class rep's little smile is still there, though. That predatory smile. You're gonna have to watch your ass around her.

You don't want to let Shizune catch you idling out in the hall, so you and Miki burst through the front doors of the school and start jogging toward the gate. She laughs. "That was pretty good. I thought she was going to have you in chains by the end of it."

"This old dog still has some tricks left in him." As you jog, you find your eyes magnetized to Miki's shirt. She wears the boy's uniform shirt for some reason, and despite that she's clearly wearing a sports bra under it, they bounce, man. They bounce. Bounce bounce bounce-

Hey, wait. You're still carrying your books and bag and crap. "Where should we-"

As if on cue, Miki chucks her bag into a nearby bush. You look at her with an incredulous grin. "Seriously?"

"Sure you don't come from the Wild West? You don't have to worry about someone stealing your pencils or paper clips. Hell, you leave money lying around and it'll show up at the lost and found."

You chuck your stuff into the bush as well. Eh, she's got a point. This place seems pretty friendly. "Point taken." The two of you exit the gate and accelerate your jog into an easy run as you descend the mountain into town. Despite it being spring, it's pretty damn warm out, and there's a sheen of sweat on your forehead once you hit the town. Doesn't really help that it's humid as all hell, too. Stupid Japan.

At the bottom of the mountain, you look around. Looks... just like any sleepy Japanese outskirt, really. A lot of trees, not many cars on the road, most walls are hand-made of stone, sidewalks are cobbled. Nice place. Too many old people, though. Goddamn vampires.

"All right, tour girl. Where are we-" You turn around, and see that Miki is already fifty feet in another direction. "Hey, the hell?"

"We've got a time limit, remember?" she calls out from over her shoulder. Ha. You speed up and match pace with her, listening intently as she points out the local places of interest. Which are few, and not very interesting. At all. But the trees flank every road, casting the place in dappled shadow, and this is nice. Running alongside Miki, for the first time in a long time, you feel... calm. It's a weird feeling. Like getting a boner at a funeral.

Finally, after lapping the hamlet, the two of you stop in a small park. You put your hands on your knees and catch your breath, but Miki is just standing there, looking around, seeing if there's anything else to show you. You can't help but glance at her left hand- or, what's left of it. As she ran, the bandages around it began to loosen, and you can almost see the skin underneath. Almost-


You look up. She's looking down at your thoughtfully. "We've got ten minutes to kill. You up for a drink?"

You nod, on second thought wondering if she meant to go get hammered on sake in some alley, but she pulls at your wrist and eventually leads you to a little cafe tucked away in a corner. Huh. The sign says "Shanghai". But we're in Japan. The hell, man.

Miki waltzes in, a little bell dinging as she does. She doesn't bother to wait to be seated, and just slides into one of the side booths, throwing a menu at you like a shuriken. You catch it deftly and follow her lead.

Looking over the top of the menu you see the waitress shows up, bowing profusely. She seems kind of familiar... but as Miki orders, you realize you don't know what to talk about with her. Your heart rate picks up. Crap.

The waitress turns to you, notepad in hand...


To be continued.

Posts: 42
Joined: Tue Jan 17, 2012 2:06 am

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Lothbrok » Sun Feb 05, 2012 7:46 pm

There is more right? cause i don't think I've laughed this hard in a while.

User avatar
Posts: 76
Joined: Tue Jan 24, 2012 11:49 pm
Location: Oklahoma

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by myshoesarebrown » Sun Feb 05, 2012 8:01 pm

I feel happy that I was a part of this over at Gamefaqs. Even if my choices were ridiculous and never chosen.
My shoes aren't actually brown. Well, one pair is, but I mostly wear grey ones.

User avatar
Posts: 613
Joined: Sun Jan 22, 2012 2:38 am
Location: Melbourne, Australia

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by BlackWaltzTheThird » Mon Feb 06, 2012 3:58 am

Haha you say that like it's over. It's still going, man. And anyone else with a GameFAQs account should hop on over and partake as well, it's pretty rad. The topic is here: ... o/61749675
BlackWaltz's One-stop Oneshot Shop - my fanfiction portal topic. Contains links to all my previous works, plus starting now any new ones I may produce (or reproduce)! Please, check it out!

BlackWaltz's Pastebin - for those who prefer to read things with no formatting and stuff. It's mostly the same as in my thread. Also contains assorted other writing!

User avatar
Posts: 68
Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2012 8:35 pm

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Demonhornz » Mon Feb 06, 2012 5:12 am

I'll just hope you add on to this in due time, it's a good read...but I don't feel like sifting through 29 pages on bland old gamefaqs :roll:

User avatar
Posts: 613
Joined: Sun Jan 22, 2012 2:38 am
Location: Melbourne, Australia

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by BlackWaltzTheThird » Thu Feb 09, 2012 9:58 am

The waitress turns to you, notepad in hand...

What do you order?

A. Coffee. Food groups, dammit.
B. Tea. You're in a tea house, get your act together, you unshaved gaijin. [What kind of tea?]
C. A glass of ice. No other customers are here, no one will care if you crunch like a rabid f***er.
D. Cake. Get that icing in your mouth, son.
E. Pie.
F. Sake. Feels good man.
G. "Aren't you... Yuuko? From the library?"

What should you talk to Miki about?

1. Nothing. Just stare at her. Don't even respond to her.
2. Generic crap about Yamaki and high school and blah blah blah
3. Ask about the track team.
4. Ask her about... herself.
5. Tell her you want to go out with her. Despite not knowing a damn thing about her.
6. Ask her about the festival, what her class is doing for it, all that s***.
7. Ask about her (lack of a) left hand. Smooth.


Time slows down dramatically, complete with that generic bullet time dubstep "WUB" sound as you consider your options.

Not your menu options, dammit! Your conversation options! You've got to keep it cool. Keep it smooth. Smooth something smooth. Like Miki's skin. Oh yeah. So smooth...

You blink, and then realize that time hasn't actually slowed down. You've just been giving a vacant zombie stare at the waitress for the past, like, ten seconds. She's trembling, unable to look away from your corpse-gaze. You notice a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

"... Coffee," you say finally, looking away. "Black."

She nods, just barely, before noiselessly zooming back to the kitchen. Miki laughs. "Man, for a second there it looked like you were gonna have her for lunch."

"Heh, yeah." You try to keep your eyes from wandering to Miki's left wrist. Or her boobs. "I feel like I've seen her before, though. Somewhere..."

"Like, say... the library?"

You blink again. "Wait... what? That's... Yuuko? The librarian?"

"Yup." Miki stretches in her seat. You fight to keep your eyes on her face. "Kinda weird. You'd think they'd pay her enough at a private school like that. But, hey, that's university for you. Either be a waitress, or a stripper." She makes a face. "That's a fun thought, knowing that school will take over our entire youth."

Actually... huh. You haven't really thought about anything past this year. You really haven't had to think about your future at all, really, what with your condition practically placing you under house arrest.

"Well, while we're talking about our future, I may as well be forward with you; I had an ulterior motive for going touring with you."

She arches an eyebrow coyly. "Oh?"

"Yep." It's your turn to stretch. "Tell me about the track team. I have to join a club, after all."

Miki bursts out laughing. "Cute. Did you rehearse that all the way here?"

"Hey, I can think on my feet."

She throws her menu at you. You catch it just before it slices your head off.

"See? I wasn't kidding."

She chuckles, leaning forward slightly. Her left elbow is on the table, her chin hovering just above her handless wrist. Looks like a habit she wasn't able to break. "Okay, the track team. Let me guess, Shizune has you by the balls and wants you to be more school-conscious?"

"Shizune, Misha, Emi... especially Emi... that damn nurse, too. It's like everyone cares about me or something. What a twisted school."

She tilts her head to the side, her black hair flowing over her shoulder. "Well, it's track. You run. You jump. You wear tight shorts."

"Ooh, I'm interested already."

"And the practice schedule isn't that bad. The captain's sort of a hardass- literally- but at least he gives a damn."

As you sit there, wondering how someone's ass can literally be hard without having chronic ass-frostbite or assthritis, Yuuko comes back to your table. She puts down the tray quickly, making sure to not make eye contact with you. Great. Now you feel like a jerkass. You should apologize later, or something. She never asked for this.

"I can deal with that," you say with a shrug, staring into your coffee. Your face, reflected back at you, is... oddly calm. Not the usual grimace of anger. You almost don't recognize yourself. "I mean, it's either track, or the Student Council, art club, newspaper club..." You tick each club off your fingers. "Seems like my best bet. I hate bureaucracy, modern art, mass media, so that leaves track."

Miki looks at you over the rim of her tea cup. Smells like... rosemary. Rosemary tea? They make that? "That settles it, then." She sets the cup down on the saucer- a little too roughly, and winces at the clatter it makes. Somehow... you don't think she's right handed. "Swing by the track after school. You can just watch for today, feel it outl. We've got a meet soon, so it's not like we can get you fighting fit by then."

You shake your head with a smirk. Challenge accepted. "Like hell. What, you think this little walk in the park tired me out?"

"Maaaaybe. That's some strong coffee."

"Hey, hey. Food groups." You take a hearty drink. Tastes like Venezuela. And victory.

Miki stirs her tea with a twig of rosemary, looking thoughtful. You take another drink of your coffee. "Now that I think about it, that festival or whatever is next week. What's our class doing for that?"


"... Come again?"

"Fishing. For goldfish. You know, with those little rigged nets that are impossible to use. It's... a Japanese thing," she says, waving her left wrist in an airy gesture. "We're almost finished building the stalls, actually. You lucked out." She takes a sip, and sighs. "Now, all we need are the fish. Someone didn't think this genius plan all the way through." Misha, you think to yourself.

"So... you're basically herding goldfish the entire night, stuck behind a stall, besieged by annoying children."

"Pretty much."

"Well, that's depressing. Can't I bring some electric eels or leeches or piranhas, make things interesting?"

She laughs. You like the sound. Vibrations feel good in your chest. "I'm down for it, but I don't think Mutou'd appreciate us adding more students to Yamaku."

"Seriously, though. I'll lend you a hand with the goldfish." You feel your heartbeat slow down, and clamp your mouth shut. What the f*** is wrong with you? Goddamn figures of speech!

But Miki doesn't seem to notice, chewing on her rosemary twig. Or pretends not to, probably sensing your discomfort. "Hey, I'd like that. Really."

You can't help but smile. "Alright. Cool." Your cups are empty, so you wave down Yuuko and she hurries back. You pay (good thing you remembered your wallet, eh), just like you promised Miki, and with only a few minutes left, haul ass back up the mountain to Yamaku.

And you feel pretty good.


You and Miki run your asses back up to Yamaku, get your crap from the bush, and part ways with a "see ya" to your respective afternoon classes. But you can't really concentrate through them. All you can do is think about Miki. Damn. Was that a date? I mean, you went somewhere. And you paid for her. And you talked about stuff. Holy s***, maybe it was. Boss. No, that's... finalboss.

So it's after school. You're standing right outside the main entrance. What is your course of action?

A. Head down to the track and watch the team in action.
B. Go to your room, change into your running clothes, then go to the track.
C. Do your homework. You lazy Goddamn bastard.
D. You went on a Goddamn date. Your first date ever. Do a little dance!
E. You're still kind of tense from that date. Go blast your mancannon.
F. Go to the library and apologize to Yuuko for traumatizing her.


You stare up into the sky, a smile on your face.

Some times... you feel like you've leveled up in life.

And this is one of those times.

You can't help it. It's beyond your control. You swing your arms side to side, do a little electric slide, and start pelvic thrusting with the force of a raging hurricane. A single ray of sunlight descends upon you, illuminating your impromptu disco fever as you tear up the Yamaku courtyard with your passion-fueled moonwalking.This is what all warriors strive for. Dancing. Dancing! DANCING!

A few students walk past as you dance like a maniac, but they just turn away and walk away quickly rather than stay and watch. A lower-year student tries to jump in, thinking it's a flash mob, but realizes that it's just you and him and awkwardly slinks away.

Five minutes of your dance rampage (dancepage?) later, you take a deep breath, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Ah. That's good. That felt good.

Well, that's enough of that. You take off at a jog, rushing up the stairs of the boy's dorm and getting to your room. Your usual running stuff is still in the bathroom, probably covered in Kenji's piss and other bodily fluids. Yeah, no. You dig around in your laundry, find a decent shirt and pair of sport shorts for running, and get dressed. Gotta go show Miki you ain't f***ing around.

Taking one last look at yourself in the mirror (note to self: clean Kenji fluids off mirror), you run your ass down to the track. There are actually quite a few people here- looks like track is more popular than you thought.

You look around for Miki, but before you can even scan the entire track, your path is blocked by... some dude. You look down at him. "Uh. Hey."

"Hey yourself. The hell you doing out here? We're in the middle of practice! You're gonna have to-"

Yeah... okay. This guy is obviously the track captain. That, or a massive douchebag. Probably the former. Putting him out of your mind for a moment, you continue looking around the track. You see Emi doing sprints off on the other side of the track... but where's Miki?

Ah... there she is. Your goddess. Doing the long jump. You watch, entranced, as she leaps with perfect grace, her long and toned legs in artful form, her raven hair billowing behind her. Time seems to slow, and even at this distance, it's as though you can see every last gem of sweat on her beautiful skin, every curve that her track uniform clings to-

"Hey. Yeah, you, gaijin. Down here. You know what I hate? When people ignore me."

This guy isn't going away. Some people are gathering around, too, waiting for orders from him. Looks like he is the captain... great...

A. Push him out of the way and go talk to Miki. Seriously, who is this jackass?
B. Apologize to the track captain. You want to make the team, right? Right? Don't burn your bridges.
C. Calmly explain to the track captain that being the leader of a high school sports team doesn't give him the right to be a complete and utter jerkass.
D. Punch him in the face. You're the track captain now. B****.
E. "I'm here to run. Tell me where to sign."
F. Tell him you're just looking around, no need to get excited.


You stare at the track captain intently. He's short, sure. Five foot three, even shorter than Emi. But he's built like a Goddamn tank. His muscles are straining against his track uniform, and it's obviously an extra extra large. You're muscled yourself, and Dick looks like a bodybuilder without even trying, but this guy makes both of you look like ascetic eskimo hermits. Jesus.

"In that case, we'll get along great, 'cause I hate bulls***ting around. I'm here to run. Show me where to sign, oh captain my captain."

Aaaaand that reference flies right over his head. You're almost disappointed, but it's not like everyone in Japan has a poster of Walt Whitman on their wall. "Oh, look, the hotshot foreigner is going to outrun us all without even a day of experience, much less stretching. Yeah, I saw this movie." He crosses his arms. His arms... are like, thick as cooling towers at a nuclear power plant. Jesus tapdancin' Christ. "Look, I don't know what your deal is, but tryouts are over. And qualification number one is showing up on the right day. So you didn't make the cut. Sorry."

And he turns around and walks away.

You chortle to yourself. You like this guy already.

You casually catch up to him, easily matching pace with his comically short strides. "So I hear that Emi is basically the best of the girls' talent. Who holds that title for the boys? You?" The question was neutral, aloof. Not insulting at all.

"Not you, that's for sure." You duck as a javelin flies overhead. The track captain doesn't have to. "Now, you mind getting off my field? I gotta get these shot putters to work or they'll just rub balls all day."

"Whatever you say, chief." You blatantly ignore him and walk over to the long jump sand pit. As you trot over, Miki makes another beautiful jump, and you can't help but stare at her strong legs as they kick out... and then as she falls into the sandpit, spraying sand everywhere.

You walk up to her and extend your (right!) hand. "Hey."

Miki shakes her head, sand flying out of her long black hair. Ah, what a beautiful sight. The reddening afternoon light making glowing orange tints run through her black hair, reflect in her eyes like a smoldering fire... ah. Yes. "Huh, almost thought you weren't going to show," she says with a grin. Your hands clasp- you feel a warm feeling in your chest, and your balls- and you pull Miki to her feet. Her hand is nice and soft... huh.

"Come on, have a little faith in me. Captain Hardass over there already wants to string me up from the top of bleachers." Speaking of hard asses, you still need to figure out how-

Miki rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to Tanaka. He's like that to everyone."

"To everyone?"

"Hey! Miki!" yells a familiar voice. "If you want to build sandcastles with gaijin-boy, do it on your own damn time! Get jumping, woman!"

Miki makes a face. "Yes. Everyone." She jogs back to the running line, where a group of female longjumpers are all waiting their turn. She dusts some sand off her tight shorts (avert eyes avert eyes- OH MY GOOOOOOD), and gestures all around the track. "Look around. Tanaka keeps everyone together, but talk to the runners themselves. They'll let you know what's up."

You nod, trying to keep your eyes anywhere but her. You sort of wish you had blasted your mancannon before you came... blue balls are setting in already. Ow.

Alright. What track event should you check out?

A. Short distance sprints (50-100-200 meter dash/400 meter relay). You don't last long, but you lay it down hard and fast.
B. Medium distance (400-800 meter/mile relay). You've got the balance of speed and endurance that people like to see.
C. Long distance (1-2 mile). You can go all night if you have to.
D. F*** running. Javelins and shotputs and discus, son!
E. Long jump and high jump. And pole vaulting. You ain't afraid of heights... just the sudden stops at the end.

How much of your strength should you put into it?

1. To. THE. MAX! You'll show that assbite Tanaka the meaning. Of. DETERMINATION.
2. Push it, but not too hard. You haven't trained properly in a while.
3. Keep it comfortable. Just work up a decent sweat.
4. Take it slow. You get an adrenal seizure doing this, probably won't look so impressive.
5. Just sit back and watch.


Enough messing around. It's showtime.

"I'll see you around. Looks like I gotta get hazed before I'm accepted here," you say dryly.

Miki waves you off. "You'll be fine. Go for it."

It may have just been three little words, but her 'go for it' suddenly has you pumped up like a zeppelin. You've given the matter some thought- your muscle mass and leg length doesn't make you a contender for the long distance stuff (despite that Dick thought you were Kenyan the first time he saw you... you're not sure he even knows where Kenya is), and the short distance stuff seems a little too thrilling- and getting an adrenal seizure every time you run a sprint will probably kill you in a week's time.

Besides, you think to yourself as you jog over over to the athletes doing 400's, you kept up alright with Miki when you were cruising around town. That was only a middling distance, really. Even if it was a slight jog... then again, realistically, with Miki's ass in front of you, you could probably run two marathons without noticing.

As you walk up, a few athletes look you over, seeming to appreciate the idea of a new guy on track (less running per person that way!), and you stretch for a little bit, watching as the runners stagger themselves along the track's numbered lanes, bickering in good humor over who gets what number. You eye their varied appearances- some missing legs, or arms, some bandaged or bald or scarred. Yeah... you can do this.

You watch the current batch run their 400 meter- and when they finish their circuit, one of the waiting students hits the stopwatch, calling out 52 seconds for the first guy. Ho-lee s***. These people don't f*** around. As much as they joke about hating practice and wanting to take naps on the polevault mat, there's an odd determination in their eyes.

They don't say much to you- the occasional "hey" and maybe a "you new?"- but that's it. You anxiously wonder when exactly you're gonna prove yourself when One of the guys standing around waves you on, and you step onto the track. After maybe a nanosecond of thought, you take lane 1- because you da one, after all.


You settle into an easy stance. Yeah. You ready. Like a-


S***. You take off, pumping your arms, keeping your strides long, trying to remember everything you learned about running from middle school (AKA nothing). The laps you did in the morning and the jog at lunch with Miki loosened you up a bit, so the steps come pretty easily. Even so, you're still around 3rd or 4th with the pack, and they're all more tired than you. Once you hit the 300 meter mark, you realize that it's hard to breathe- and you lag behind a little more. S***.

The timer dude calls out your time as you pass. 1:06? Bulls***. You need to get STRONGAH.


S***. You're tired. Like, really tired.

In retrospect, maybe you should've had more to eat all day than just A PIECE OF F***ING TOAST.

It's starting to get dark. Most of the others have left by now- Miki leftthirty minutes ago, actually, and you were sure to wave goodbye- so now it's just you and the track team dignitaries.

Your sweat is making your shirt stick to you, and now that a breeze is picking up, you're getting kind of chilly. Even so, you almost don't feel it- your legs and arms are burning from lactic acid, your head pounding with a oxygen-deprivation headache.Hell, just standing up forces you to hunch over, breathing heavily with your hands on your knees.

But it feels good, man.

You feel a hand clap you on the shoulder."Hey. So... You gonna be here next time?"

Looking up, you see a familiar face... kind of. Not really. You sit behind him, actually, so... the back of his head is more familiar than his face. You sidle around to get a good look at the rear of his skull, and then his name comes back to you.

"Haruhiko, right?"

"Just Haro. So... I watched you run, and for having no practice to your name, you did pretty damn good. So... if you're up for joining the track team, hey, give me a shout.

This guy has a weird way of starting sentences... "Uh. Yeah, sure. I mean, if Tanaka will let me, anyway. Seems like he won't give me the time of day unless I'm breaking world records."

"So... you talked to Tanaka first." Haru sighs, rubbing at the Solid headband tied around his cranium. "How do I put this... hurm... okay. Don't listen to anything Tanaka says. He's... difficult."

"I noticed."

"I mean, he's a good guy. Really. Just, he gives everyone hell. That's his thing." After an awkward pause, he lets go of your shoulder. "So... yeah. You wanna run, just keep coming out, man."

Well, s***. That wasn't hard at all.


You talk with Haru a bit more about track, but his awkwardness gives you the feeling that you should go. You say "later" to Tanaka as you pass him, but he ignores you. Whatever.

Halfway to the boy's dorm, you get the feeling that maybe your being a foreigner really is kind of... unsettling to the other students. Maybe. Seems like no one around here has treated you as an equal. More like a... guest. Somehow.

Well... looks like the next track meet is Sunday. If you train hard and pester Tanaka enough, maybe you can get into an event.

But that can wait. You are standing in front of the door to your room. You're not sure why... but you have the sudden urge to stop and think over your options for the evening. Looking at your phone, it's 6:30PM...

I will edit my post when the new passages are posted. Til then, happy waiting!
BlackWaltz's One-stop Oneshot Shop - my fanfiction portal topic. Contains links to all my previous works, plus starting now any new ones I may produce (or reproduce)! Please, check it out!

BlackWaltz's Pastebin - for those who prefer to read things with no formatting and stuff. It's mostly the same as in my thread. Also contains assorted other writing!

User avatar
Posts: 613
Joined: Sun Jan 22, 2012 2:38 am
Location: Melbourne, Australia

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by BlackWaltzTheThird » Sun Feb 19, 2012 6:28 am

Righto so the topic on GFAQs 500'd so we have to wait for GrrMan to make the new one before we can continue. I've updated to the most recent post added. Here are the choices from the last post:


But that can wait. You are standing in front of the door to your room. You're not sure why... but you have the sudden urge to stop and think over your options for the evening. Looking at your phone, it's 6:30PM...

A. Hit the town! The night is young! Drink, dance, flirt, be merry, bro.
B. Go to sleep. You're exhausted.
C. Do your Goddamn homework you Goddamn delinquent. Hisao will probably study with you. He's probably at the library, so you can talk to Yuuko too...
D. Go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. You are starving. And that leads to death. A slice of heated bread eaten like 10+ hours ago doesn't equal good nutrition.
E. Coffee it up. You've got stuff to do.
F. Go see if Dick really is done with his festival project.
G. Go to the common room and play some Call of Duty or watch TV. Relaaaax, man.
H. Go to the girl's dorm and talk to Miki. About... stuff.
I. Vandalize Tanaka's room somehow. Replace his deodorant with bleach, or something.
BlackWaltz's One-stop Oneshot Shop - my fanfiction portal topic. Contains links to all my previous works, plus starting now any new ones I may produce (or reproduce)! Please, check it out!

BlackWaltz's Pastebin - for those who prefer to read things with no formatting and stuff. It's mostly the same as in my thread. Also contains assorted other writing!

Neon Vanguard
Posts: 12
Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:44 am

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Neon Vanguard » Tue Mar 13, 2012 2:52 am

Dem updates.


Your stomach roars with the rage of a thousand tropical hurricanes.


Okay, not really. But your stomach hurts from not eating ALL GODDAMN DAY, so that probably means your ass is pretty damn hungry.

Well, fair enough. You spin on your heel and jog back down the stairs of the boy's dorm, bursting outside into the reddening evening. Not many people out wandering around- the day's wound down enough for everyone to either be chilling out or doing homework. Squares.

Thankfully, the distance from the boys dorm to the main school building isn't that far- even with the weather still being a bit warm this late in the evening, the slight breeze and your sweat is making you shiver. And that's not manly! You flex your muscles, locking them and preventing yourself from shivering. Like a man.

Okay. You push open the double doors to the main building, trot over to the cafeteria, and...


It's closed. What the hell. You look at the signboard posted next to the doors...

Serving Hours
Monday-Friday - 6:30AM-5:30PM
Saturday-Sunday - 8:30AM-5:30PM

God dammit. You missed closing by an hour. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Your stomach growls in anger. Well, great plan, Sherlock.

What do you do?

A. Find a vending machine. Food of the future, man. Prepared by robots.
B. Break into the cafeteria and help yourself to the kitchen's supplies.
C. Go into town and get something to eat.
D. Order some Chinese.
E. Ask Kenji to give you some of his pizza and milk.
F. F*** dinner. You're a badass, you don't need food to live.
G. Go outside and forage for edible fungus, roots, shoots, herbs, and whatnot. You don't need your food cooked. What are you? A little baby?
H. Go back and eat your pills. They're technically food... right?
I. Go back and make some coffee.
J. Tell Dick to get you some food somehow. He owes you.


Your stomach growls.

"Shut the hell up."

It growls louder. You then realize you're speaking to an internal organ, and shake your head.

Well, s***. You'd think that after a month of going to this damn school, you'd have the opening-closing times of this place figured out. But nooooo.

You press your face against the little windows in the door, staring longingly into the darkened cafeteria. Damn you, time zones. Damn you.

Oh well. You flip open your phone, scrolling through the contacts until you find Cixi's Court. Misha was the one who gave you the number, actually. Shizune wanted to keep the source of all that delicious Chinese food as a way to blackmail you into joining the Student Council, but Misha pitied your transfer student soul. Damn, this makes two occasions you owe her for.

Well, whatever. You hit talk, and as the line on the other side rings, you walk your way back to the boy's dorm. The sun's nearly dipped below the horizon, leaving the clouds dark yet streaked with pink and orange. Kind of nice.

The receptionist picks up. It occurs to you that Chinese food in Japan may not be like the Chinese food from your native country... either way, you order some chow mein and kung pao. How different could it be? You give the dude the directions to the Yamaku boy's dorm, but he seems to know where it is. Guess students here order out a lot. Makes sense.

You make it to the boy's dorm, your eyes locked on the girl's dorm as you pass by. Man... Oh well. Patience, young one!

You sit your ass down on one of the couches in the boy's common room. Some students are reading, others watching TV. Dick and his douchey friends are playing Call of Duty: Arms of Dominion. His single eye reflects the explosions and gunfire on the screen, twitching to soak up every detail as he chews on a toothpick. Must be kinda hard, having only one eyeball. Even the cool eyepatch doesn't really even the deal.

"Yo." Dick doesn't look up from blowing away a Russian Imperialist with a Lee-Enfield.

"Yo yourself." You shift over to watch the gameplay. For being a complete idiot, Dick's pretty good at killing virtual people. "You finish all that project stuff?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Relax. It's done." Dick scratches his empty eye socket with his knee, his hands being busy. "And before you say it- yeah, yeah. I'll put in a good word for you with Miki. Not like I'll even have to, you sexy track star, you."

"Word travels fast round here."

"I have eyes everywhere." He stops, looking annoyed. "Except in the girl's dorm. So I guess I don't have eyes everywhere. What a stupid saying."

"Yeah. Whatever." You get up and stretch a little. Realistically, you can't leave Dick alone with Chinese food without it mysteriously ceasing to exist. And if the Chinese food dude comes by, Dick will impersonate you. Damn. Your only choice is to bring your homework down to the common room and doe physics equations over the roar of explosions and swearing in British English.


Forty five minutes pass. You're almost done with your homework, having only written "For the Tsar!" as the answer a few times.

Knock knock.

You immediately stand up. Dick stands up as well, his nose in the air, sniffing like a bloodhound.

"Stay the hell away," you growl, edging towards the door. You crack it open, and without breaking eye contact with Dick, take the plastic bag, reach into your wallet, and hand the Chinese take-out pointman two 1000 yen notes.

"Keep the change," you say.

"Uh... thanks," he says, and leaves.

"Lemme at some of them fortune cookies, bro."

"How about no."

There's a bastardly twinkle in Dick's eye. "Oh? How about I trade you info, then? About Miki. What she likes. That kind of thing."

That's... an offer you can't refuse, isn't it?

A. Deal. Fortune cookies for Miki's love? Why the hell not.
B. Hell no. Dick is just pulling s*** out of his ass.
C. Tell him to give you the info first, then the cookies.
D. Tell him to give you the info first. Then don't give him the cookies.
E. Be a gentleman, invite Dick up to your room, and have a nice Chinese dinner while discussing the finer points of Miss Miura.
F. Punch Dick in the face for even suggesting such a thing. You hungry, dammit!


"Alright, alright," you sigh. "I'll share. But this better be some damn good intel."

"Intel so good she'll be on your wang by tomorrow night."


You grab Dick by the... well, he's not wearing a shirt, so you can't grab him by the collar. You grab him by the collarbone. "No one else hears this intel. I don't care how much Chinese they offer you. You. Owe. Me."

Dick gives a hearty laugh, chucks his Xbox controller at one of his friends (almost knocking him out in the process) and walks upstairs, dragging you along by his collarbone. "Then we'll keep it secret. Besides, we need fitting music for plot progression as important as this!"

So, you go up to your room. Standing before the door, you look at Dick very seriously.

"I'm counting on you, Dick. This is a junction in my life of utmost importance. I invite you into my room, not as a show of friendship, but as a means to validate our contra-"

Dick kicks open your door and starts fiddling with your MP3 player. "You got any American music on here?"

You sigh. Again. And lay out all the Chinese food, put some coffee on, and sit down at the table, drumming your fingers impatiently. Dick is sitting on the bed, bouncing up and down.

"The hell you doing?"

"Testing your mattress." He looks pensive. "Might want to do her on your desk or something, man. Your bed is kinda saggy."

"Know what else is gonna be saggy? Your-" you stop, compose yourself, and calm down. "Just... sit down, Dick." You push the two fortune cookies over to his side of the table. "Here's your payment. Now, your side of the bargain."

After messing around with your music player, Dick finally chooses a song 'American' enough for him, and cranks up the volume.

He sits down at the table and starts inhaling Chinese food like his mouth is some sort of localized black hole from hell. "Okay, got our cover noise," he says with his mouth full, spraying pieces of pig juice all over you.

"Okay. Intel." You shovel a mouthful of dead pig into your mouth. Delicious death. "Go."

"Her birthday is June 9th, 1990."


"So she's a taurus."

"... Okay."

"And her birthstone is a moonstone."

"The hell is a moonsto-"

"Her birth flower is a rose."

"Are you seriously-"

Dick points his chopsticks at you. "Her favorite color is-"

"No, let me guess, detective. Green?"

"Good guess. What kind of green?"

"I dunno. Forest?"

"Lots of forests out there, bro."

"For f***'s sake... pine forest. In the evening. In the northwestern Yukon, in spring."

He paused, mouth full of noodles. "That's... well, close enough. Canadian pine forest under a full moon green. Season doesn't matter, cause, see, pine trees are evergreen-"

You can't help but drag a hand down your face. Ugh. You placate your rage by slurping up some noodles. Slurp them up. "Do you have anything useful, or did you seriously steal my food for some New Age bulls***?"

Dick leans back, resting on the floor, hands folded over his stomach. He balances a fortune cookie on his nose. "She likes you."

Your hearts stops. Then keeps going. Good. Not like Hisao needs competition. "What... how-?"

"Because you tried. You flagged her down in class. Ran with her twice. Taking initiative. You have guts. Mega huge guts. Get me?" He sits up suddenly, catapulting the fortune cookie at you. You catch it before it puts a hole in your skull. "You get me? She doesn't guys who are gonna sit down and take it. Sissy boys like in those stupid harem anime."

"So I should make the first move."

"No, you should keep up. Think she's never dated before?"

You stare at Dick for a long five seconds, a cold pit forming in your stomach. No way... it's not possible-

"Hey, relax. I never chased dat ass." He gives an assuring wave, as if b****-slapping all your fears away. "Not my type. Because Dick is always on top. Know why? I never f*** up."

You burst out laughing, in spite of yourself. Dick cracks open his fortune cookie.

"'You will find your true love'," he reads. "Sucks."

You crack open yours, smoothing it against the tabletop. "'Your life shall be brief, and your death shall be long and painful.' What the f***?"

"Chill. Just find another fortune cookie and it'll override the curse. I know how this s*** works."

For some reason, you feel like your hatred for Dick is kind of unfounded. He seems like a nice-

"But if you do mess up, I'm totally going to f*** the s*** out of her. Rebound and stuff."

Oh, right.


After shooing out Dick and turning off that damn hippity hop youngster music, you collapse into bed. You look at your clock... it's only 8:00PM, and you're dead tired. You begin to drift off to sleep...

What do you dream of?

A. Nothing. Dreams are for babbies.
B. Misha.
C. Dick.
D. Miki.
E. Your violent and unpleasant childhood.
F. Some completely random crap.


You fall into a heavy sleep...


The door to your cell opens.

"You've got visitors."

You don't look up. "Isn't that nice. Tell them to take a number."

The corrections officer crosses his arms. "It's your parents."

You don't move from your cot, still staring at the wall, staring at nothing.

"Should I tell them you're busy?"

A slow, shaky breath. You don't answer- just hop off the cot, your joints creaking (they don't let you exercise), and follow the officer into the hallway. Two orderlies slap cuffs and legirons on you as you do so, however. Charming.

The officer walks you to the visitation room, you shuffling behind awkwardly, trying to keep pace. You can see the faces of other inmates, pressed up against the small windows of their doors- full of curiosity, fear. The faces shrink away whenever you make eye contact.

And here you are, the visitation room. Pretty much a rectangle with a sheet of bulletproof, soundproof glass dividing it, a row of phones for communication. No one's here.

On your side, anyway. On the other side are your parents.

There's an odd feeling in your throat, and your legs start to twitch- but you mustn't run away. Can't run away. Won't run away. Run away? No.

You sit down at one of the booths, pick up the phone from the receiver. "Mom. Dad," you say neutrally.

"Honey, you won't have to live like this anymore," your mother rushes ahead with the news. Your father just stares at you intently. "The court came back to us, and the mental instability plea was accepted. You can-"

The rest of just white noise. You feel... odd. You're supposed to be insane, now? Maybe you fit all of the requirements, but...

"... And we've found a new school for you, in Japan. They specialize in conditions like yours. You can go to school again!"

Your mouth twists bitterly. "So now, instead of having a criminal son, you have an insane one. That's a little easier to explain at the book club, isn't it?"

Your father doesn't break his stare. "This isn't about us, son. It's about you."

"And that's why you're sending me away. Not so you two can live in peace. Not at all."

"Honey, please," your mother says, using that soothing voice that always worked on you when you were younger. "You know we would never-"

"I'm not sure what I know anymore. I'm legally insane, after all." You step away from the booth, phone still in hand. "Sure. You win. Send me away. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You shuffle back to your cell, not looking back once.


The beeping of your alarm brings you back to reality. You pick it up and throw it against the wall with all your might, but it just bounces back and hits you in the face. Dammit.

Well, that was an unpleasant trip down memory lane... but it's 7:00AM. Tuesday. Time to get a move on. But you have a feeling nothing too important will happen for a while now...

You feel kind of sleepy... maybe that's why time seems to make no sense here...

A. Timeskip to the (Sunday of next week) track meet.
B. Timeskip to that Japanese cultural carnival thing (Sunday of this week).
C. Timeskip to [insert day here].
D. Don't timeskip. Day by day, bro.
E. Timeskip to ten years ago. Maybe you can prevent all this from happening.


You blink a few times more. And rub at your eyes. You sit up on your bed, stretch a little.

Why is it that you feel like you're in some sort of time warp-

Your brain itches.

Oh, right. Caffeine. That's why.

You spring out of bed, hitting the "GO" button on your coffee machine. As it whirs to life, you pull aside the curtains slightly, peeking outside.

Despite yesterday's dreariness, it looks like today will be warmer- there ain't much fog crawling in the courtyard of Yamaku. Then again, you don't exactly have a great understanding of Japanese weather patterns. For all you know, a class 5 hurricane is on its way to fling you into the atmosphere.

But that'd be interesting. You sigh, stretch some more, hit the button on your music player.

Boss mode, son.

You look down at your clothes, realizing they're wrinkled as hell... huh. Looks like you slept in your school uniform. Well, at least you don't need to get dressed this morning.

Now... what are you going to do? Got some time before class starts.

A. Go for a run. Need to keep your meaty, fleshy musclesack in shape.
B. Go get breakfast in the cafeteria. It should be open... it better be open, Goddamn it.
C. Go to the Shanghai for breakfast. Filling yourself with cake and pie will give you calories for maximum strength!
D. Sleep for another hour. You're still kinda tired.
E. You're still kinda stressed from that damn dream. Go to the bathroom and blast your mancannon.
F. What are you, some kind of feudal peasant? Change your Goddamn uniform.
G.Shout at the- no, wait. Take your pills.
H. Go to the library. Maybe you'll find some books about getting girls to like you. And anger management. And caffeine dependency. And being a boss.
I. Go on GameFAQs. See what's up.
J. Screw school. Go play Call of Duty in the dorm lobby all day.


Motley Crue continues blasting away on your music player as you stagger around your room, looking for one of your replacement uniforms.

F***. F***in' s***. Your legs... are so sore. Goddamn track practice, Goddamn leg muscles, Goddamn-

Ah, there you go. Another uniform set. You shuck off your current, wrinkly, sweat-starched running clothes, change your boxers and pull on your uniform. It's not very cool, really- green jacket, white shirt, white pants. Booooring.

Your leg muscles hurt like hell as you try to put the pants on. Dammit. Stupid running. Stupid Tanaka. Stupid everything. Why can you only think in sentence fragments? Stupid brain and its stupid limitations during the morning...

You turn off that damn whippersnapper music and head for the door, for getting some delicious food inside your belly is now your destiny. Going all day yesterday without eating sucked balls.

As you're about to leave, you remember your pills- Jesus, how'd you forget? You open the bottle, shake out one gigantic-ass pill the size of a scorpion into your hand, and swallow it whole.

Well, try to. You choke on it for about ten seconds, punching yourself in the throat to get it down. You take a few gasps of sweet air, wondering why the hell you didn't take it with some coffee. Well, whatever.

You mosey your ass on over to the cafeteria, passing through the courtyard as you go. Some of the more diligent students are out and about, studying (lame!) or going to classes early (lame!), or doing club activities (extra la- wait, you are in a club). The weather isn't chilly like yesterday, though. Thank God. Might make running easier.

You go through the main building and push open the doubles doors to the cafeteria (which is open, this time). You scan the room, your nose sniffing away at all those food-like smells...

What do you get for breakfast?

A. Holy s*** today is waffle day. Get at dem waffles!
B. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Like the stereotypical American everyone thinks you are.
C. Ramen. Seriously, it works for every meal.
D. Rice. I mean, hey, it has calories. It it comes shaped in balls! Like rice-snowballs!
E. Just get a ton of sugar packets and eat those.
F. A salad full of assorted vegetables. Veganism is pretty cool, man. Those Indian monks did it, and they've got the whole enlightenment thing down.
G. Leave the cafeteria and go hunting outside for edible wildlife.

What you gon drink, son?

1. Two raw fertilized eggs in a glass. With the little chicken fetuses in there. Protein to the MAX!
2. Green tea. Supposedly tea helps prevent cancer, and after painting with Dick yesterday, you might need that.
3. Coffee. Get on those food groups.
4. Ice, so you can both work out your jaw muscles and be an obnoxious moron at the same time.
5. Orange juice. Scurvy is a serious epidemic in this day and age.

Who will you hang with for breakfast?

Alpha. Dick Masterson, with all of his stupid friends.
Beta. Haruhiko AKA Haro, sitting with some of those track and field people. May as well get to know your clique, right?
Gamma. Lilly, sitting off in the corner all on her lonesome. Wonder what's on her mind...
Delta. Rin, sitting on a table eating waffles with her feet. What.

Neon Vanguard
Posts: 12
Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:44 am

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Neon Vanguard » Fri Apr 20, 2012 3:13 am


Maybe it's because you really like squares, or maybe because the sensation of maple syrup rolling over your tongue like a sweet tidal wave is too hard to resist. But you want those waffles in your belly. Right Goddamn now.

You get in line, waiting impatiently as the smell of waffles seduces your nose. The line is moving so damn slowly... gahh. Wait for it... wait for it...


Christ, now you know why waffle day is only once per month.


Oh s*** here we go!

One. Two. Three. Four! FIVE! Five beautiful, crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, goldenly brazed waffles! Five of them, stacked perfectly, each layer smothered with Canadian tree-nectar! Oh... yes. Yes. This is what all warriors strive for.

You're so overcome with waffle-iron-born happiness that you almost forget your coffee. Man, you're starting to wonder if you should cut down on the waffles. You'll start neglecting your food groups at this rate.

As you set down your massive plate of delicious circular starch treats to pour yourself some coffee, you look around the cafeteria one more time.

Hmm... well, there's Lilly in the corner, alone as usual. You wonder to yourself where Hanako ears breakfast... if at all. Girl's damn slim. But also in the cafeteria is Haro and some of the track club people... you grind your teeth. You'd rather just hang out with Lilly, but you should probably make some bonds with these people, right? Get accepted by them. Become the beta male.

You mentally apologize to Lilly, promising to visit the tea club soon.

Hefting your Leaning Tower of Wafflesia and coffee, you march over to the table the track club is sitting at and set down your tray next to Haro. He glances up, seeming a little surprised. Or maybe he isn't. Haro's face seems permanently in an expression of mild disdain, boredom, and surprise. However that works. Maybe that's why he's at Yamaku.

"'Sup," you say, starting to dig into your waffles like one of those giant strip mining machines in Germany.

"Oh. Uh, hey," he says, tugging at his Solid Snake headband. Guess he doesn't just wear it during track practice. "So... you, uh, gonna be at practice today?"

"'Course, man. Gotta make every day count before the meet, right?"

He smiles. Slightly. Or maybe his mouth itches. You can't tell. "Yeah. Keep it up, and you might make it in."


He shrugs. "Make it look good for Tanaka, and you should. Just don't piss him o- well, try not to piss him off."

"I'll keep that in mind." You keep eating, washing down each delicious mouthful with coffee. Haro continues talking with the track club- about all sorts of crap, really. But you're new to Japanese, so you don't follow much of the slang they use. And they talk fast as hell. You sort of smile along whenever someone makes a joke you don't follow, look interested when everyone else does, but... you feel an awkward gap between you and everyone else.

You sigh. Your plate is scraped clean, and you feel like you have enough calories in you to bunchpress a f***in' blue whale. Well... time to go for a short run before class.

You wave goodbye to Haro, and almost wave to Lilly as well, before remembering... yeah. You leave your tray on the collection counter, and walk out into the main building's hallway.

Now... the real question, that's been bugging you all morning. Should you go run with Emi and Hisao, or on your own, on the road leading up and down the mountain?

A. Go meet Hisao and Emi at the track. Some friendly competition is good, right?
B. Go run the mountain road. You feel like you're a third wheel with Hisao and Emi... maybe they're starting to date? Seems like that's their... private time.
C. Go run on the treadmill in the gym.


Full of waffle-powered vigor and the burning desire to run, you kick open the main doors and run into the courtyard, ready to haul some ass. But as you run along the path, you remember the way Hisao and Emi were acting towards each other when you were running with them... like that was their private time together. Before you showed up, anyway. With a shrug, you decide to run up and down the mountain road leading to Yamaku- it's tougher anyways, and you gotta powerlevel if you're going to make it to that track meet.

Besides, you think to yourself, standing at Yamaku's gates, this is nice. Just the breeze, the sun, the birds, no one else. You turn on your music player and put on your headphones. ... re=related

Yeahhhh. Nothin' like some melancholy to get the blood pumping.

You take off down the hillside, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of strides, of arm pumps. Your breathing comes easily. Feels like you're just... part of the wind.

And I don't even need your love...
But you treat me like a stranger, and that feels so rough...

Even with all that physical exertion, you find your mind wandering. Should you really be going for a relationship right now? After all, you don't have the best track record (hur hur pun) with social interaction, especially with your condition. You could just be setting yourself up for an explosive heartbreak, man. You could date around, open up other options. Misha's kinda cute. So is that Rika girl. Maybe you should just friendzone Miki... nah, what are you thinking? It's a new start, man. Gotta take the jump before you can swim.

Or drown.

Or get eaten by sharks.


But you didn't have to cut me off...

Your mind continues to wander as you run up and down the hillside, maybe a half-mile each way. How did Miki lose her hand? She always seems to have it bandaged... it must be pretty new, then. You wonder what happened...

You then wonder if she wonders about what happened to you. It's a weird feeling.

Speaking of weird feelings, you feel... in danger, for some reason, as you're on your way down again. You focus your eyes ahead of you and suddenly notice a car speeding towards you. At like 60 miles per hour. And you're running at 10 miles per hour. That calculates to 70 miles per f***ton of pain.

Now you're just somebody that I used to know!


What do you do?

A. Dive left.
B. Dive right.
C. Try and jump up onto the car hood and roll off the windshield.
D. Just stand there. They'll swerve... right?
E. Turn around and RUN B**** RUNNNN
F. Lay down and let the car go over you. There should be enough room between the road and the axle.
G. Keep running. You are not afraid of death.
H. Use your adrenal rage to punch the car out of your way, killing everyone inside.


S*** s*** s*** s*** s***!

Time slows down. No time to think no time to think just jump gogogo!

Except no wait you really should think 'cause most people are right handed and you're on the right side of the street and they're on the left so uh they should turn right to swerve you think so uh if you dive right you should avoid uh wait hold on-

Aaaaand time speeds back up. The car is right on top of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you dive out as far to the right as possible...

But instead of landing on the road or grass, you land on a spike-filled wall of unbearable pain. It all goes black.


Shovel in. Shovel out. Shovel in. Shovel out.


You don't look up. Your face is set into a stone mask of determination. "What." It's not question.

"Look, son. This isn't healthy. JC was going to die soon anyway, he was old. That he died this way-"

"He didn't have to die this way," you say softly. You throw down the shovel, dust the wet dirt off your hands, and slowly walk over to JC. His tongue lolling out of his mouth. His ribcage crushed, imprinted with a black tiremark. "Not like this."

"Do you really think Mr. Doak did this on purpose? He's an old man. He made a mistake."

"I know." You slide your arms under JC's furry body, hefting him as well as your thirteen year old body can. He's a heavy old bastard- but you gently lower him into the ground. Six feet. You made sure it would be six feet. Funny. He was older than you were. That dog was just a puppy when you came home from the hospital. He is- was- your only damn friend. And now you have none.

Your dad crosses his arms as he watches you fill up the hole. He recognizes that stubbornness- you got it from him. "It's hard to imagine now, but do you think you can forgive Mr. Doak, son? Forgiveness is the only thing that separates us from invertebrates. Aside from vertebrae."

The dirt on your face makes it hard to see your expression. But your dad knows you- and he can tell that you're smiling. "Don't worry, dad. I'll forgive him. I'll forgive the hell out of him."


Mr. Doak really liked his petunias. Really did.

Mr. Doak filed a police report a week after the events began.

Mr. Doak began to find the corpses of roadkill in his petunias. At first it was shrugged off- maybe a cat dragged it in- but it was much more than once. Rabbits. Skunks. Squirrels. Possums. Bloated to bursting with squirming fat maggots, the eyes torn out by birds. All manner of dead creatures were found in his petunias, filling his yard with the unmistakable, rotting stink of death.

Mr. Doak began to fear for his life.


You watch from your mailbox as Mr. Doak speaks to the police, waving his hands at his poor, dead petunias, so overpowered by the rot that they withered and died.

You smile.


"Hey. Hey!" Someone snaps their fingers in front of your eyes. "Come on. Wake up."

You blink. And blink again, as there's something warm in stingy in your eyes. You wipe at them- oh, it's just blood. Probably yours.

You sit up, your head pounding like Donkey Kong on the bongos, and look around, squinting. There's a fancy ass sports car a few feet ahead of you, the door hanging open, that annoying "ding ding ding" noise when the keys are still in the ignition going off.

Your head really hurts. Your heart is beating like a machinegun. And your feel your adrenal glands pumping like crazy. Ugh, s***... you just want to lie back down...

"And he's awake. Good. You were looking pretty dazed there, buddy."

You still are dazed. Your head swivels around, looking for the speaker.

You finally find him... her... it. Black business suit. Black tie. Black fedora. Shortish, messy blond hair. Strong jawline. Red eyes. Witchcrafty devilish eyes from hell. You think he... or she... no, those are boobs. Yeah, it's a she... looks familiar, somehow. Wait, is that a beer can in her car's cupholder?

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Just some more blood- are you bleeding internally? No, wait, just a busted lip- and the dizziness isn't going away.

She leans in closer. "Hey, can you talk? Give me a sign, buddy."

You meet her eyes. She seems serious, yet... amused at the same time.

What do you say?

A. "This is our meet cute. Wanna go on a date, mystery woman?"
C. "Yeah, I'm... fine. I guess. What about you?"
D. Punch her in the face.
E. "Drinking and driving is bad, you know. You could kill someone. Like me."
F. Say nothing and go to sleep. You're tired.
G. "Sorry, got places to be." And continue your run. LIKE A BOSS


You blink a few more times, the ache in your head and the dizziness not going away. The ringing in your ears is making it hard to hear what mystery alcoholic woman is saying. You open your mouth, then close it, because you don't want to projectile vomit waffleguts all over this woman. Swallowing down the waffle-flavored bile that had risen in your throat, you open your mouth and try again.

"You know..." you groan, "every fifteen minutes, someone's killed by a drunk driver. Or something... like that." You rub at your eyes.

She grins. "True, but my blood-alcohol level isn't exactly at "drunk". So don't worry, you're not gonna be a statistic. Yet." She extends a hand and you take it, letting her pull your sore ass up into a sitting position. "Think you can stand?"

"You just ran me over, and that's what you're asking? Not "is anything broken" or "do you remember who you are"?"

"Ran over?" she laughs. "I barely grazed you, and my airbags didn't even go off. You're fine. Though you did bash your head kinda hard when you tried to get out of the way... so, you might have a self-inflicted concussion."

"Oh, sure, shift the blame." You stagger up to your feet, wobbling around. "S***. Well, what about you? Anything hurt? Chip a nail? Spill your beer?"

"What a gentleman. No, no, my delicate self is untarnished~"

"Ha ha." You stretch out, moving your neck back and forth, still fighting the feeling of nausea bubbling up into your throat. Yeah... this is gonna hurt tomorrow. "S***."

"You need a ride back to Yamaku, buddy? Or you going to try and impress me and keep running?"

You frown. "How you'd know I was-" You look down at your running clothes. Which is, more specifically, Yamaku's gym uniform. It's kind of got some rips and tears and covered in blood, but it's recognizable.

"Well, actually..."

What should you do?

A. Accept the ride back to Yamaku. You're HP is low, bro.
B. F*** that s***. Keep running. Gotta make the track meet!
C. Turn down the offer and just walk back to Yamaku.
D. Take a nap on the side of the road. All this running and getting mowed down by sports cars has made you a little sleepy.
E. Call the police and tell them this woman tried to kill you with beer and a car.
F. "Can I have some of that beer?"
Last edited by Neon Vanguard on Fri Apr 20, 2012 11:40 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Posts: 6059
Joined: Mon Jun 28, 2010 2:24 am
Location: Germany

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Mirage_GSM » Fri Apr 20, 2012 9:58 am

You know this is remarkably unabsurd - for a CYOA story.
There was a small non-sequitur moment, when your OC was standing at the gates one moment and was back at the accident site the next.
Also, nurse letting someone with a major concussion just be on his merry way could be seen as gross negligence by a court...
Emi > Misha > Hanako > Lilly > Rin > Shizune

My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
griffon8 wrote:Kosher, just because sex is your answer to everything doesn't mean that sex is the answer to everything.
Sore wa himitsu desu.

Neon Vanguard
Posts: 12
Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:44 am

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Neon Vanguard » Fri Apr 20, 2012 11:39 am


With a huff, you dust yourself off- smearing more blood over yourself in the process- and cross your arms. Man, you've got a lot of blood in you. Like gallons of it. It's almost as if it keeps you alive.

"I appreciate the offer- of taking me back to Yamaku, not killing me about seventy years too early- but I'm fine. Really. Miss... ?"

She sticks out her hand. "The name's Satou. Akira Satou."

You extend your hand to shake, but then remember that it's dripping with blood. Er, nevermind. "Satou, huh?" Wait a minute... that's why she looked familiar... "You have a sister going to Yamaku, by any chance? Long hair, tall..." You catch yourself before you say blind. Not cool, bro.

Akira chuckles. "Soul-crushingly polite and proper? Always Miss Better-than-Thou?"

"I don't know about soul-crushing, but, well... yeah, that's Lilly. In a way."

"Yeah, she's my sister. And the reason I'm going there."

"And the reason I got run over."

"Suuuuure. You in Lilly's class?"

"No, I'm actually-" You stop. "Oh, very funny."

Her red devil hellspawn eyes glimmer mischievously. "It's not every day I see someone walk into a car bumper. Not unlikely that you'd have a sight disability or something."

"It's not every day a drunk maniac blasts up quiet country roads, either." You sigh, rubbing at your aching head. All the blood is making your hair itch. "Well, it was nice... meeting you, I guess." You give a wave as you walk past. "I'll see you around, Akira."

She can't hide her amusement. "You're seriously going to keep running?"

"Damn straight."

She shakes her head. "You really are something, buddy." She hops back into her car beer in hand, turns on her music player (, and gives you a finger-gun. "See you around, cowboy."

She peels out, blazing off into the distance. Once she disappears from sight and Rick Ross can no longer be heard hustlin', you fall to your knees and projectile vomit waffles all over the side of the road.

Oh, God. The pain. It's like someone shot you in the forehead with a crossbow bolt tipped with UNBEARABLE AGONY.

You lie there dejectedly in a pool of your own blood and wafflepuke, wondering how you could have sunk so low. You groan, roll around in the grass to clean yourself up, and continue your run, feeling awful the entire time.


Okay. Okay. You're panting, your stomach killing you. You've ran five more laps up and down the mountain road, and now you're standing at the Yamaku gate. You're tired, sore, you have no breakfast in your belly (anymore, anyway), and class is going to start soon. You feel like absolute s***.

Well, at least you got some training in. What should you do now?

A. Go take a shower. You're covered in blood and wafflepuke and shame.
B. Go to the nurse. You probably have some brain swelling going on. Hence the vomit and dizziness and shame.
C. Go take your pills again. You barfed up your last one.
D. Just sleep until track practice. You've had a really, really sucky morning.
E. Play Call of Duty in the boy's dorm common room until track practice. You need to relaaaax.


What a sucky day. You push yourself to your feet, wiping the bloodwaffle vomit from your mouth, swaying a bit as you stand. Okay... forget school today. You're gonna take a shower, see the nurse, and sleep like all hell.

Speaking of which... you look around, wondering where your music player went to. You run your hands along the bloody and vomity pavement, finding little pieces of plastic scattered in it. Great. Looks like Akira not only destroyed your brain, but your music player too. Damn. Now how will you jam?

Shaking your head (and getting dizzy from doing it), you trek your way back up the mountain road to Yamaku, smelling crappier and crappier as the bloodpuke begins to solidify on you like a sort of caramel shell. Gross. Thankfully, when you get to the courtyard, there aren't many students there- though the ones who were will mention seeing a humanoid blob of waffle-colored slime wandering around drunkenly.

You kick open the door to the boy's dorm and storm up to the shower, not even knocking when you walk into the bathroom. One inside, you realize you're not alone. Kenji's sitting on the toilet, pants around his knees.

"Dude, what the hell. I'm taking a s*** here."

You wrinkle your nose. The overpowering stench drowns out the stink of your guts-juice. "Yeah, I noticed." But you don't give a damn! You rip off your slimy disgusting clothes and jump into the shower, turning the knob to MAXIMUM HEAT.

Ahhhh. That's better. As the waffle filth falls off you in chunks and clogs up the shower drain, you feel a hell of a lot better. Gotta keep it up- power of positive thinking, right? So you forget about getting your head broken, forget about Akira, forget about class, and just focus on... Miki Miura.

You close your eyes. Oh hell yes. You can see her as clear as day. That hair... that skin... those eyes... that smile... dat ass...

The shower curtain is pulled back. "Hey Steve, I gotta take a sho- JESUS CHRIST!"

You open your eyes. "Get out of here, Kenji. I'm... busy."

Kenji can't take his eyes off your rigid mancannon. "Mother of God. I always knew Americans could be huge, but this is... impossible!"

"Kenji, I'm not- no, first, stop staring at my dick. I'm done." You step out of the shower, drying off and trying to keep your mancannon at least a foot away from Kenji. Stupid hormones. Delicious Miki... Stupid hormones!

The man of men adjusts his glasses, looking determined. "You may have size, Steve, but do you have control?" With a grunt, Kenji flexes and... pops a boner. You're... actually kind of impressed that he has that kind of muscle control.

A knocking at the door, and Hisao walks in, towel in hand. "Hey, class is about to start, could you h-" He stops, stares blankly at the scene in front of him, and without a word, turns around and leaves.

"Hisao, wait!" Cries Kenji, chasing after the retreating Hisao. "We need to show this American what Japanese wangs can do!"

You sigh, finishing drying yourself off. Your dormmates, honestly...


Okay. Back in your room, partially dressed, cleaned of blood and puke. Your head still hurts, though. You know you should see the nurse, but... when?

A. Go right now. You might die if you don't.
B. Take a nap until lunch, then go see him. No need to overexert yourself.
C. Go to class, then see him at lunch. What a model student you are!
D. Take a nap until after school, then see the nurse before track practice.
E. Doctor Fox can go f*** off. You have Wikipedia, you don't need a trained medical professional.

Neon Vanguard
Posts: 12
Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:44 am

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Neon Vanguard » Fri Apr 20, 2012 11:39 am

You stumble around your room a bit, looking for your tie and other parts of your uniform. But you know what? F*** the rules. You throw on a T-shirt over your slacks, and walk out into the corridor, bumping into the walls. You feel like you're forgetting something... oh well.

The walk to the nurse's office is uneventful, thankfully. People look at you like you're some sort of barbaric delinquent American due to the state of your casual dress, but man, you don't give half a f*** about what they think. Mainly because giving a f*** would require you to think about it, and thinking hurts, as you can feel your brain swelling and increasing the pressure inside your skull to dangerously high-

You trip and fall on your face.

"God damn it."

Isn't there something about brain damage and losing your balance? You... can't remember. You're too busy rubbing your face into the grass. Damn grass, you so comfy. It's not like you're a grass... connoisseur or anything, but as far as plant life goes, it ain't half bad as a pillow. A green, slightly dewy pillow. Yeah.

"Um... hey. Are you... okay?" Voice seems... familiar, somehow.

You don't look up. "From up there, I must look like complete and absolute s***. But really, it's not so-" OH GOD SPLITTING HEADACHE WHY- "bad." You clutch at your skull, curling into a fetal position. "Not bad at all. Just... help me up. Please."

You feel someone kneel down next to you. "Should I... call the nurse?"

Your pride couldn't take that. Just the thought of that purple-haired bastard... "No. No. Hold on. Let me just..." You plant your hands firmly against the grass and push yourself up into a pushup position, and then back onto your ass. "See? Halfway there." You then try to stand up... and fail, nearly toppling over.

Something small yet strong props you up. You look down- and hey, it's that one girl.

What's her name again? Uh... um... "Thanks, Molly," you mutter weakly. "Owe you one."

"It's fine! Really!" She tries to laugh it off, tugging on her braid sheepishly. And that just leads to an awkward silence. "So... um... you need help getting to the nurse's office?"

You smile, but wave her off. "Nah. It's only, what, thirty feet away? Besides, you're gonna be late."

Molly tugs on her braid. "But then Mutou would kick my ass for not helping you out-"

The first bell rings. "The hell with him. I'll see you in class, okay?" Molly turns around and starts to jog towards the main building. She turns back before entering, waves, and goes inside. It's only then you realize both of her legs are completely prosthetic.

"Jesus," you mutter to yourself.

You stumble your ass into the nurse's office after about five minutes of staggering around. Crap, it's like your balance is getting worse and worse, somehow.

Doctor Fox turns around, taking you in with one glance. Which makes no Goddamn sense, as he never opens his eyes. "You're a little early for your appointment."

You feel a vein pop in your forehead. "Very funny." The vein literally did pop, though, so now there's a trickle of blood going down your face. Doctor Fox then realizes you're actually here for reals.


So, he did the shine-light-in-eye thing, did some other visual and audio checks, checked your motor skills... but it all seems fine. But there's one thing he's bothered about...

"So, tell me. When's the last time you've eaten?"

"This morning." You pause. "Well, before I barfed it all over the mountainside."

"Riiiight. And before that?"

You pause again. "Uh... some Chinese the night before. And then toast that morning."

The nurse sighs. "Look, you're going to need to have a more balanced and regular set of meals. Your body can't use the medicine if it's all out of synch. And have you been drinking water?"

Coffee is water. "Yeah."

"Well, that's one step in the right direction. One small step. And since you vomited up your pill from this morning, go back and take one more. I'll write it down-"

"I won't forget. It's one pill, Doc."

"If you say so. Now, at this point, just get some food and rest. You can cut class for today."


"Alright. Thanks, Doc." You walk out of the nurse's office and out into the main courtyard.

Bad. Ass. You've got an entire free day! What do you do now?

A. Get something to eat. Doc is right. [Explain what to eat/how to get it!]
B. Go take your adrenal pill thing. You need it to, you know, live.
C. Go back to your dorm and sleep.
D. Every minute counts! Keep training for the track meet!
E. Play Call of Duty until track practice starts. You've heard that bright flashes of light are good for concussions.


Carelessly Cooking You
Posts: 2533
Joined: Thu Mar 06, 2008 8:22 am
Location: Imola, Italy

Re: My Name is Not Steve

Post by Silentcook » Fri Apr 20, 2012 12:43 pm

Your stomach grumbles for the second time today. Damn. Those waffles were so good, too. Why did they have to be sprayed all over the road instead of in your belly? Oh well.

You trek back to the cafeteria. Since class has just started, it's still open, and there are even some tardy students on their way out. Like... Dick Masterson.

"Broooo!" he ululates, punching you in the shoulder as you walk in. Ow. You almost feel like vomiting again.

"Not now, Dick. Need food. Then sleep. Or something."

"Skippin' class like a delinquent! That's mah man!" He winks at some girls passing by... who pointedly ignore him. "You know, the chicks dig the bad boys with the tortured past."

"Look, Dick. Not now."

"Alright, alright, lone wolf type. I gotcha. See ya 'round, killah!" He promptly leaves with his entourage of douchey friends. Good riddance.

Alright, back to the matter at hand... you need something with starch for immediate digestion, but maybe protein to keep it all down again... what you need... in a fatass American hamburger!

Which they don't have.

No problem! Improvise! You order some eggs, bacon, and toast from the chef, and using the pieces of toast as a "bun", you create an eggbaconburger. God damn, you should get the Nobel prize for this s***.

You walk back to the boys' dorm, eating your baconeggsanwichmericanburger as you go. Man, you've got a whole day to enjoy yourself. What to do, you think as you walk up the stairs to your room.

Oh, right.

You kick down the door to your room, stuffing the last of the blob of chickenporktoast into your mouth and grab your bottle of pills.

"Pills here," you say to yourself. Of course, your mouth is full of the flesh of slaughtered animals, so it sounds more like "PLLLLSHERHHJHSMK"

You add one anti-hyperadrenal to the mix, and swallow. Boom, back to normal. This calls for celebratory music!


Oh, wait. Akira destroyed your music player. Damn.

Well, whatever. Normal means training time and training time means winning track meet and impressing Miki with your mating ritual. But... given the turn of events... how should you train?

A. Go running on the mountain road again. Just watch out for your puke. Don't need slip and roll down the mountain.
B. Go run on the track. Should be no one there.
C. Go run on the treadmill in the gym. Because no lowly machine can beat you.
D. Go do weights in the gym. Because according to Isaac Newton's fifth theorem of kicking ass, bigger muscles means BIGGER SPEED
E. Go blast your mancannon. That's training. Kind of.
F. Sleep. You need to recover. And recovery is part of training.
G. Go meditate in the woods behind the school.
H. Go into the city and get a new music player. How can you slam without any jams?


You scratch the back of your neck. Damn. Going running without music is going to suck. I mean, it's part of the ritual, you know? Turning it on, then stretching as it turns on, then starting to run, then switching to more and more intense songs as the running continues... damn.

Well, you could go buy another one- not like they're really expensive- but that means you'd have to go down that mountain road again. Which may contain psychotic drunken racecar drivers, now that you think of it. Great. You have PTSD from this stupid school already, and you've only been here a month.

It's decided. You're gonna go run the track, but you need music first.


Thinking quickly, you head over to the bathroom and grab a toothbrush, breaking it against the sink. You then find one of your razors and smack the bladehead against the sink until one of the little blades pops out.


Returning to the hallway, you kneel in front of Dick's door, insert the toothbrush shank, and then insert the little razor miniblade.




Got it.

You push open Dick's door and begin ransacking his room, but it doesn't take long to find his music player and earphones. You wipe off his earwax on the carpet. Gross.

Alright. "Borrowed" music player in hand, you head down to the track.


Well, the walk down to the track was... interesting. Puking your intestines out was actually pretty tiring (plus getting hit by a car), so even a short walk is kind of taxing. But that's no excuse! Just two miles of running. Maybe three.

As you stretch a little more (your joints are already pretty loose from being hit by over a hundred tons of solid metal moving at 50 MPH), you look through Dick's music player. He's got... a pretty weird selection. Half of it seems dedicated to... the audio from porn. Weird. Finally, you find something...

( ... re=related)


... Okay.

Well, can't look a gift horse in the mouth, right? Or however the saying goes.

You take off running,

Heyyyy eyyyyy yay yay eyyyyyy

What's goin' ON


After about an hour of running, you have to stop, too tired to go on. That, and your head hurts. And your stomach hurts. And your adrenal glands are going apes***. Everything hurts, man.

You lean against the utility shed, breathing hard. S***. You need... like, that protein powder they sell at the store. And vitamins. And minerals. And... you should probably just eat more. Your body can't take all this exercise and getting hit by cars every day.

Jesus, are you hallucinating? Why do you smell... lemons? Coming from the shed?

Whatever. Just you imagination. It's 10:30 AM. Now what?

A. Go back to your room and sleep until track practice. If you can.
B. Go back to the dorm and play Call of Duty until track practice. You need to calm down.
C. Ain't even tired. Keep running, dammit!
D. No really, ain't even tired. Go to the gym and pump some iron. Pump it to the MAX!
E. Go to the nurse and ask him for some... uh... 'performance enhancing supplements'.
F. Roll around in the grass. 'Cause... feels good, man.

Huge posts bork the forum software, so thread gets locked. This is the last part that will be allowed here. Head to the current CYOA topic if you're interested: ... o/62006941
Shattering your dreams since '94. I also fought COVID in '20 and all I got was this lousy forum sig.