The Question is back at it again in this sequel to Hard Night!
Gotham City was home to a myriad of vigilantes, and, in your personal opinion, the Huntress was the most interesting of them. So when you hear she's in trouble, of course you decide to give her a helping hand... Things escalate from there.
Second in the Questionable Tales series, a series of fanfiction storygames starring the Question. Featuring the Huntress as a guest star, Batman and the Penguin in cameos, and mentions of other Batman related characters.
Rated for violence, language, and sexual content. I make no claims of quality.
The Question, Huntress, the Batfamily, and all of Batman's villains are copyright DC Comics.
NOTE: An entry into EndMaster's 2018 unofficial romance contest.
Special Thanks to:
Tim36D - Playtesting, proofreading.
The Folks in the Villain Lair - Motivating me to write the story. Even if I didn't make it to 15k in the end.
EDIT 3/14/18: Fixed typos. Completely revamped Penguin's confrontation pages. Removed 'End of *chapter name*, start *chapter name*' links; they're just 'continue' links now. Minor additions to story, including a new page.
EDIT 3/26/18: Fixed some small mistakes that I noticed.
EDIT 4/26/18: Fixed background on title page, due to my usual image hosting site going down.
An unrepentant criminal tries to dodge his former associates after a weapons deal goes wrong.
My entry for EndMaster's Edgelord Contest 2. I literally only wrote this to avoid SHAME so don't expect anything too great.
Can you get a good drink while fending off raiders?
A young martial artist visits a post-apocalyptic town in search of a drink. What happens next is up to you in this classic style CYOA inspired by the cult classic God Hand.
Special Thanks To:
Cricket - For beta reading.
Author's Notes: This is mostly just a little something I wrote for my own amusement and isn't meant to be taken seriously at all. It's written in the Time Cave format, which means that every choice leads you down a unique path instead of all that rebranching and stuff that modern interactive fiction tends to use.
With that said, leave all your common sense at the door, because it's about to get weird.
A young martial artist goes on another hilarious romp through post-apocalyptic America.
My entry for Mizal's 2019 Lone Hero Contest.
Authors Notes: This is a sequel to Dusty Fist. You don't actually need to have read the original in order to enjoy this one, as that was more of an elaborate shitpost while this... Is also an elaborate shitpost.
Just a regular night.
In this game, you play as the Question, Hub City's faceless protector. One night, what appears to be a normal drug bust goes south fast, and you find yourself with only two hours to live, an antidote to find, and a gang to topple.
Looks like it's just a normal night in Hub City.
First in the Questionable Tales series, a series of fanfiction games starring the Question. There's four endings not counting deaths: one bad, one bittersweet, one good, and one true ending. See if you can find them all.
The Question is copyright DC Comics. So yeah, don't sue me.
This game is really rough around the edges. I decided to give it a quick run through on October 4th, 2019 (over a year and a half after the original publication on February 2nd, 2018), in order to fix some minor bugs and add a "cheat code" for the infamously obtuse antidote puzzle. Hopefully, there are no more problems with the scripting and the like.
... And I ended up giving it another edit on October 8th, 2019 because I noticed another bug when replaying it. Not a major one, but still. I really didn't have my link restrictions in order at all.
A getaway driver goes on a quest for revenge.
Author's Notes: This story has been sitting on the backburner for a few years now and I decided to finally run through it and finish it, as only one path remained incomplete. Most of the game was written a few years ago, so you might notice the style of writing is much different from what I usually put out.
This was originally a small anthology of sorts with the intent that there would be three stories, each written by another user on the site. I decided to drop that approach and instead present one single story.
A very questionable Christmas special.
It's Christmas in Hub City. One might expect that even criminals would take the night off, but you've learned the hard way that crime doesn't sleep. While the rest of the city is tucked into their homes in the company of loved ones, you're on the hunt in a silent city, making sure that things stay that way.
The Question is copyright DC comics. So yeah, don't sue me.
Author's Notes: Did I say I was definitely not going to write a Question fanfiction for this contest? Because what I meant was I didn't mean to but I had to squeeze something out before the contest's end. And with Christmas so fast approaching, what better than a Christmas special, eh?
Noir story in a cyberpunk dystopia. Four types of endings: deaths, bad endings, good endings, and one perfect ending. See if you can find them all, it shouldn't be too hard. Endings are tracked using the score variable: zero means death, one means bad, two means good, three means perfect.
Special thanks to:
Tim36D - For listening to me ramble on about the idea, making suggestions, and writing a few pages.
ISentinelPenguinI - For playtesting.
Finally, if you notice any bugs, please PM me and I'll get to work on them as soon as I can (though I do believe they've all been worked out, can never be too sure).
I hear a very gentle sound...
Once you were the bravest hero in the land. Then, the greatest noble. Now, a washed up drunkard past his prime. But when the king asks for you to turn the tide of a war, will you accept, or cast his offer aside to walk your own path?
I originally intended for every single choice to branch out into a unique path, but to get this out I had to cut some of my plans short. There is minor rebranching here and there along with a few duplicate pages that have minor changes depending on how you reached those pages. On top of that, the path for accepting the king's offer is much more bare bones than I wanted it to be and is only about a third of the rest of the game's size (10k to the rest of the game's 30k). Someday, I hope to return to this story and make it the epic it deserves to be. For now, however, the game is finished.
The SCORE variable doesn't indicate how good you did. It's just a way to keep track of what ending the reader got.
If you play the game, please give a comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
- For being my long-suffering best friend and listening to me ramble on about this story. Thanks man.
- For constantly busting my ass to get this storygame done. Boom, now it is.
- For proofreading the story. Without him, there would be many typos and grammar errors.
The CYS Discord
- For being there to let me ramble on about my story on the occasions that Tim wasn't.
The entire CYS community
- For putting up with me for 5 years now. Stay classy, you omnidirectional vitriol spewers.
Tips To Write Better Fanfiction
A simple beginner's guide to writing fanfiction.
on 3/4/2021 10:01:15 PM
The kid was a few hundred miles and three years gone from where he was supposed to be. His eyes ran up and down the immense industrial complex, taking in the overgrowth and desecration that now decorated its once harshly sterile facade. Captain told him to meet him here to join up with his militia of beast hunters, but the kid wasn't too sure if this was the place. He spit onto the concrete and wiped his brow as he made his way to the entrance. As he did so, he pulled out his beat up revolver to check the chamber and make sure it was loaded, just in case any trouble came around. Six in the chamber.
Six shots will have to do.
The groaning of abandoned machinery settling was the only sound that could be heard. He felt a chill crawl up his spine as he shut the door behind him. The sunlight faded out of the room leaving behind an almost impenetrable darkness in its absence. He swung his pack around to his front and dug through it until he found his flashlight, old and beat up with cracked lenses, but it was better than nothing. He switched it on and the beam of yellow light faltered. It took a couple of shakes to get it to work properly and even then he didn't have much faith in it.
He walked deeper into the complex.
His hand trailed along the rusted metal machinery and crumbling concrete walls. He felt as though something was watching him with a primal hunger, a hunger so intense that no civilized being could ever comprehend it. Somewhere further into the complex a harsh screeching cried out. The kid stopped because he wasn't sure what could have made it. Was it an old machine starting up again or a beast that had found its way through the compound? Maybe something worse? Maybe.
A sound a few feet away.
The kid swiveled his body to the source of the sound and shined his flashlight on it. What he saw was a pile of cardboard sheets and damp, torn up blankets. The pile shifted and shuffled around and the kid's hand made its way closer to the gun at his side. Slowly the pile rose up and as the blankets and cardboard fell off the kid saw that beneath it all was a strange old man with unkempt gray hair and a long beard.
The strange man wiped his mouth.
Slimy rags soaked with sweat clung to his body and just barely covered up his private parts. Looking the strange man over, the kid couldn't help but notice the vicious red scabs and jagged scars marring the strange man's scrawny figure. He peered behind the strange man and noticed what looked to be a makeshift distillery behind him. The strange man hacked up phlegm and cleared his throat before staring right into the kid's soul, his bloodshot eyes belying a violent and desolate past. The kid stared back and kept a hand near his gun.
"Who are you supposed to be?" asked the strange man.
"I'm not anyone," the kid told him.
"You must be somebody or I wouldn't be talkin' to ye."
"Maybe you're just starting to lose it."
"If I was losin' it I ain't sure if my huh-loo-kin-ay-shuns would tell me I was."
"You said it wrong. Hallucinations."
"Ah shut up with yer fancy words, you know what I meant," the strange man said as he waved a hand at the kid dismissively. He dug through his little abode until he found a half empty bottle filled with some thick yellow liquid that the kid didn't recognize. The strange man took a long swig out of the bottle before belching and offering the bottle to the kid.
"No thanks," the kid said, slightly disgusted. "You live here?"
"Yeah, goin' on twenty years or so. Why you ask?"
"I'm looking for somebody. They told me to come here."
"Who did? Sure as shit wouldn't me."
"Said his name was Captain."
"I ain't heard 'bout no Captain. Especially not here."
"I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here."
"Maybe Captain went and steered you wrong."
"Maybe it's a test of some kind."
The kid looked past the man and further into the darkness of the complex. "I'm going to keep going deeper," the kid said.
"Watch yerself," the strange man said.
"Watch yourself. There's some sorta thing made its home in there."
"I have a gun."
"Guns won't do. Ain't no beasties you can put down with a bullet in here."
"There's beasts all over. I'm sure whatever's in here wouldn't stop them from swarming it."
"Not here. They scared of here. Scared of that thing."
"Well I'm not." The kid turned his back to the strange man and continued deeper. The strange man shrugged before crawling back into his little home.
The kid continued on into the complex. With every step it seemed that the darkness became more and more omnipresent. He smacked his flashlight a few good times, just to make sure it wasn't the problem, but the thick black void remained. He couldn't see ten feet in front of him anymore and that range was slowly shrinking down more and more. He knew that just a few steps ahead, he would be surrounded by nothing but pitch black on all sides. He handed the flashlight off to his left hand and, using his right, unholstered his revolver. He cocked the hammer just in case before pressing on.
The abyss is consuming everything here.
The darkness doesn't let up as he continues onwards. He feels some sort of misery clawing through his brain the longer he spends here. His gun is starting to seem less and less useful. With every step his will is broken down and stripped away from him like his fingernails are being peeled off with a rusty screwdriver and the sky has turned to hellfire raining down upon him and it melts his flesh and sears his bones and he screams but no one can help him. He stops for a moment to take a breather.
In and out and in and
Hand grips him by the neck and pulls him back and flashlight falls as he throws a fist. Knuckle meets nothing and darkness consumes and becomes all. He's slipping away but he still has the gun and he fires. A flash of light and a cacophony of noise. Crack of thunder and bullet flying through the air and richocheting off the walls and the machines. An ungodly amalgamation of a baby's cries and a man's shouting and a whore's moans and a woman's wails and an engine's roar. The hand lets him go and he falls to the ground in a heap.
Hunger hides and watches and waits.
The kid picks himself up on his hands and knees and he feels bile building up in his throat. He vomits but instead of half digested food and stomach acid he finds a pile of squirming worms and hot black tar. He wipes the tar away from his lips with a sleeve and shudders. Whatever thing the strange man warned him of had just attacked him and violated him. There was no reason to keep going deeper because he knew that Captain wouldn't knowingly send him into this place. Or maybe his test was finding a way through it and out the other side to find the real militia headquarters. Maybe.
He has to keep going deeper.
It seemed that the darkness had retreated a bit and his flashlight was back in working order or at least somewhat. His brain was a fish flopping around in his head, flip flop flip flop flip flopping around inside of his skull and trying to find a way back into the black sea it came from. The kid reached up a hand to massage his temples but it didn't seem to help and his fish kept slapping itself against the skull trying to break free of its cage to find a way back home. He needed to go back home and cradle himself up against his mother's bosom because he had lost his way and there was no going back because he was damned for all the things he had done.
Oh god, what has he done?
Father used to tell him that the only future he had was doing jackshit with his life but farming mushrooms like he had done and his father had done and his father had done and so on so forth as far back as the First Cleansing. The kid couldn't do that because he was a stubborn little ankle biter determined to do something meaningful in his life. He set out from home at the age of fourteen with his father's revolver a box of bullets and twenty-two dollars and didn't look back because back was a place he didn't want to be.
It hurts it hurts it hurts
not until now when the weight of his sins was beating down on him and gods hand reached through from the heavens and wrung the life out of him like it had just done
forgive me father i have sinned
the kids he had orphaned and widows he had made and crimes he had committed just to keep alive another day had finally found pushed their way into his conscience
father mother please come save me
the darkness had returned and it felt welcoming with its endless expanse of comforting nothingness in a world full of so much sin you couldnt even tell what was right anymore
help me help help me help
he felt himself welcoming it despite its abrasiveness and it took the form of a girl he had once loved but left behind to chase foolish dreams of a life worth living
sick and demented and vile and
his hands ran up and down smooth curves black as a moonless starless midnight and she ran her hands through his hair while positioning herself closer to his
YOU CAN'T HURT ME
NOTHING CAN HURT ME
NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW
NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW
NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW
NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW
NOTHING CAN STOP
The metallic screech of the grinders came to a stop.
Beneath the flesh and blood and bone powder, a flower broke through a crack in the concrete and bloomed.
The Honoring of MHD
on 2/28/2021 2:23:59 PM
So originally, I decided to make this.
However, it didn't seem like enough effort for a gift to celebrate MHD's amazing art. My art skills are still atrocious but I can do better than that
So I did.
I didn't know how to end it so I just decided to make it one of those infinite loop things and call it a day.
Thank you MHD for the amazing art.
Killa, please get off your ass and update the site with the assets she made.
Thank you all for your time.
Risk My Attention (New World Order)
on 2/26/2021 2:19:17 AM
on 2/25/2021 6:34:04 PM
Color me intrigued. Looking forward to more.
Risk My Attention (New World Order)
on 2/25/2021 4:56:18 PM
Time to breathe much needed life into this dead thread.
Requesting two comments on my story When The Music's Over
be featured in place of AustinC's and Reader82's:
This story is rather masterfully crafted. I certainly enjoy how it feels as if you aren't truly shackled to one or two paths. It truly feels like an adventure, in the sense that you're given many choices to make that changes the story drastically, and not arbitrarily by any means.
What that leaves, in my opinion, is a story-game that should be experienced multiple times to really enjoy it. However, with how immersive the writing was in pulling me into the hero's footsteps, I would say all of the extra times I've played were just out of personal enjoyment. I couldn’t help but see what I could do, outside of wallowing in my castle, or taking on a band of marauders, or even a dragon.
Honestly, this is just a great story, Chris.
-- TharaApples on 2/19/2021 3:24:00 AM with a score of 7
This is a good story. Full stop. It follows Kit, a washed up swordsman who’s sick of life and sick of people fawning over him. In and of itself, this isn’t a super original idea for a main character, but it works regardless. You can feel Kit’s apathy oozing from the story, and this makes him really compelling. Too often I’ve read stories-hell I’ve written them even-where the character is just a ball of sunshine and no one can put them down. Not here. Kit’s just tired, washed up, and sick of everything. Sort of like me sometimes, if I’m honest.
This works wonders for the story, which while still good, would fall flat on many fronts without Kit as he is. That being said, the story is very mediocre in general. It had interesting ideas and I felt it resolved well in most of the endings, but still left me wanting more. Some more flesh on the bone in the route where you accept the call would’ve helped with this, as I felt it was the weakest of the paths.
This brings to my next point: That every other character besides Kit was sort of just…there? They don’t see enough action in my eyes and aren’t fleshed out enough to really make me invested in them as characters. However, this is really only a minor complaint, as I enjoyed what I saw of the other characters regardless.
The writing was, in general, good, if maybe a little unpolished. A bit more flourish would’ve really sealed this for me, as it could sometimes feel a little robotic in its tone. But that’s just me, who prefers a little more spice in my writing. It’s clean, concise, and gets the job done. There’s not really too much more I can ask for in that front.
It’s a good story y’all, one that I thoroughly enjoyed from start to finish. While it has some flaws baked in, I can’t dock too much from it in that regard. I appreciate it for what it’s worth and don’t regret my time reading.
-- wheelbarrow on 12/26/2020 2:10:47 PM with a score of 36
Oregon Trail just like you remember it
on 2/20/2021 10:51:35 AM
Reading a Sentinel post is like snorting fifty-eight lines of pure, undistilled cocaine and then jamming adrenaline right into your heart and trying to read War And Peace but you swap out every character's name for a CYS user in your brain and replace all the old timey words you don't understand with references to obscure 20th century properties.
How to write good
on 2/20/2021 10:29:46 AM
There's a difference between a short story that tells a complete story with branching paths and "you wake up. what do you do?" and you have three options, all of which end the game.
E: Damn Wizzy said literally the exact same thing, I really gotta read a few posts up before I post
For when CoG isn't faggy enough!
on 2/17/2021 8:20:20 PM
Unlike COG, we practice prejudiced equality: everyone gets shit. That makes everyone feel included because everyone gets called a gay retard at least once.
Some confused illiterate faggot
on 2/17/2021 8:15:33 PM
on 2/17/2021 1:25:54 AM
I have no idea what's going on but I am in this so I am inclined to like it.