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Paths of Glory, Book 2: The Tesla Connection, Page 3

Rich Cerow

Trusty weapon of duck-hunters everywhere.
You're a clever little scamp, and when the stranger gripped your arm and begged you to join him, you pickpocketed his space blaster off of him. He didn't notice the devilish grin on your face as you slipped away, away from his watching glare and back into the crowds of space urchins you've called family since a very young age.

As you spin your blaster around your finger, the younglings begin to crowd around you, wide-eyed and impressed by your natural ability to wield a space blaster with the accuracy of Blast-o, the Rocket Revenger, the most popular character on Siete-revo morning holotoons. And now you find yourself with a new tool for keeping alive on the streets, this space blaster. But something makes you uneasy about it - before, you had done whatever you could to survive, including stealing. But this brings violence into the mix, and you're not sure if you'd be willing to genuinely hurt another SR-388ian, even those who would oppress you forever and keep you shackled to your hydraulic tube station begging for measly space bucks from the rich and affluent.

They sleep in the same room? With their beds pushed together? And what the heck is a ward? At least they are apparently wearing full suit pajamas.
Suddenly, the image-implantation theater doors swing open. Bruce Wayne's parents emerge, wearing pearls and bowler caps and monocles and whatever else rich people wore in the '30s. They are laughing and excitedly chatting about the latest Rock Spaceson brain image they were just implanted with.

"He's the dreamiest star this side of Rudolph Galaxino," coos Mrs. Batman's Mom.

"And how about that Marilyn MX-97 personal escort bot!" Mr. Batman's Dad says, "When he had to rescue her from the clutches of that slimy Reptilax King, I nearly blew one of my gaskets!"

Suddenly, their jovial conversation falls eerily silent. You realize it is because they notice the space blaster in your hand. Nervously, but with the encouragement of the crowd around you, you unsteadily lift blaster towards them, imitating the menace of the muggers you've seen many times over. But something within you is sickened by this, and you feel strongly that you have no intention of harming these people. Still, the younglings are looking to you now as their meal source for the evening. The man and the woman are terrified of you. The man reaches forward to protect his wife, while reaching back for his portable monetary containment unit.

"Here, here, take what we have. Just don't hurt us," he pleads with you while holding out his funds.

As you lift your arm up to snatch the money, you feel a nagging consciense tug at you...

To rob these people and take their money, turn to page 7.

To let down all those around you that you consider family and let these bourgeois pigs get away with their oppression of the proletariat for even longer, turn to page 6.