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).

Mood music.

That's what I'm sayin.

Zander was stunned. He simply didn't understand how his inventions kept falling short. The morningstar had too many buttons, despite only having one. The scourge was unsustainable, even though it didn't NEED to be replaced. His weapons of mass innovation lost out to a super slave and a lamp post. He was doing SOMETHING wrong, but what?! As these thoughts were racing through his mind, Zander had barely even registered that there was a new customer. When it came to be his turn to present an item, he was harldy present, most of his brainpower trying to analyze any sort of mistake he could have made. "Oh. Um... One moment." Mr. Quinn absentmindedly reached into his satchel, pulling out a small tin. Opening the tab, a long piece of rope came pouring out of it. Zander starts to slowly roll it into a loop. "Molecular compression, don't really want to get into it... Uh... This... Is a |Rope|... Um... |Of Ohio|." There was a collective 'oooooh' with an 'I see' or two thrown in there, the crowd being on the edge of their metaphorical seats for this riveting reveal. "... Well... With rope, you, uh... Have many uses. Tying up things, attaching things, climbing... things. Standard adventurer's item, and all that... But, you can ALSO use it for... Cooking. I suppose..." A shocked gasp comes from the crowd! A rope?! For cooking?!?! Inconcievable! This has never been done before! "Aside from the, uh... Standard rope things a rope can do... You can also use it for cooking things. Like, say, tying up a piece of meat... Or, y'know, suspending a wok or other large pan above an open flame... Or something..." Wow! "As for the 'Of Ohio' part, um... Maybe... If you cook an Ohio dish with it, it will, uh... Enhance the flavor... I guess?" The crowd start going absolutley ballistic as he finishes his pitch. Of all the uses rope has had over the years, absolutely NOBODY in this crowd had thought to use it for cooking! This is a revolutionary idea! The Rope Industry will surely see a boom in the next few years, greatly widening their consumer base from just adventurers and the average CoG user! There's cheering all around as Zander hands off the rope to a contest aid, proceeding to take a moment to sit down, head in his hands.

There you go, miz. A small amount of pressure.

As if on cue, Zander emerges from the crowd, his notebook in hand. "Greetings, friends! I have deduced where I've erred in the previous round, and I am now ready to continue!" Putting his notebook away, he pulls out a small rod from his satchel, pressing a switch. This causes one end to split, and many smaller appendages start to emerge from it, pouring out over each other and ending up as whip-like addons. Sometimes, a lone strand or two will move slightly of it's own accord. Zander brandishes the weapon. "Behold! The |Twitching|Dynamite|Scourge|Of the Plague|! Now, everyone clear a space! A big one, if you'd please!" He takes out another few capsules from his bandoleer, and as the crowd moves away from the man with the throbbing lash, he throws them in the now-cleared area. The capsules break open as they land, causing several enemy-sized test dummies to inflate on the spot. Zander readies the weapon. "Compressed quick-hardening foam. Don't want to get into it. Anyway, as you might have noticed, the limbs of this weapon move autonomously. Don't worry, it's not cursed. That's just the targeting system making micro-adjustments. For as you can see:" Zander pulls back the Scourge, and swings it towards the dummies. The whips quickly elongate, darting through the air, and lashing each of the targets, before quickly retracting back to normal size. One of the barbed-ended ones remains stuck in a dummy. "This weapon is capable of long-rage attacks. But it seems one of the whips is stuck; Not to worry. Just a quick tug..." Zander pulls the weapon backwards, and the tendril detaches from the barb, exposing a lit fuse. After a few seconds, the barb (and, naturally, the dummy) explodes. "Explosive ends. And if that wasn't enough, notice the wounds on the targets, as well as the residual gas from the explosion." Upon further inspection, the wounds and dust cloud both spot an unhealthy green glow. The dummy's foam insides and wounded outer layer are exponantially eaten away. The cloud falls upon the earth, causing the grass to wither and die. Zander presses the switch on the handle again, and the tendrils slowly detract back into the rod. "I've contructed an artificial pathogen, which attacks organic material. It's unstable as well, and dissapates completely into harmless compenents after several hours, meaning you won't turn your kingdom into a hellscape for using it, unlike certain OTHER man-made viruses... Anyway, you seem like you aren't playing around. This weapon isn't either."

Ezekial listens to each of the pitches, each time stroking his stubble mysteriously and giving a noncommitial "Hm". After a period of time in thought that's somewhere between annoyingly long and surprisingly short, he signals the judges and blacksmiths that he's made his decision. "I've made my decision. But first, let me tell you why I didn't choose the others." Oh wow great that's cool he's gonna keep talking. First, he approaches the penguin farmer, and disrespectfully knocks the foil out of his... Flippers, I guess? He gives the farmer a look of pure malice. "I don't need some piece of tin to help me in my sexual conquests. As a proud member of the Guild of Noff'Ap, the women come to me. And who can blame them? You need to get your eyes checked, geezer." He flourishes his cloak in the penguin's face as he walks towards the Ottoman-esque smith next. He takes the curved dagger on a rope. "While I could probably find a use for this in some of my contracts, you've missed the point. I only trust something I can kill with. I don't play nice with others. Going back in time isn't going to change that. And this thing doesn't seem to be all that talkative." He uses the dagger to cut open a small portal, and tosses it in, lost forever. Well, until a lad comes across it lying in a dirt field about 23 years from now, but for now, it's gone. After this show of blatant assholishness, he walks over to the little kobold, standing over him menacingly as the smith holds the bowl. "Although I find jokes about the Holocaust to be the peak form of comedy, I can't kill with this. At most, I can distract a target with it and then proceed to fill it with their blood. But the real dealbreaker is the... Reflection. The laughter. That damned smile. It makes me sick." Ezekial abruptly hits the bottom of the bowl, splashing the water into Friedbold's face. He walks towards the armored blacksmith next. "These... Underwear... Seem pretty versatile, but frankly, they just look ridiculous. I'm not going to kill with them, I'm not going to shield myself with them, and I'm certainly not going to put them on my head. I'm a goddamn professional. As for the personality... Seems to be kind of an asshole." Ironic. "Close, but just too weird for me." "Fine by me, you smell like you need a change of underwear anyway. I've dodged a bullet," says the moose head. "Up yours, you canadian jock strap," replied Ezekial, finally walking over to the Gnome. He takes the knife, switches it open, and takes a couple of practice shanks. He inspects it (not too closely, for fear of getting pink eye) and switches it closed. "Now this, I can work with. Sharp material, don't need to poison it... And as for the personality..." He switches the blade back open. The blade immediately responds. "Hey there, handsome. You're the most good-looking man here." "Seems like you've figured out how to make a knife always tell the truth. This puts me at ease. I'll take it." Without any word of thanks, he starts to walk away from the smiths, new weapon in hand, but stops and turns back to the smiths. "And just so you know, It's hard being a merc. You can't always just bathe after getting knee-deep in the blood of your enemies. I clean myself when the job's done. I was just stopping by before I did so. I'm a pro. If you can't handle it, then keep it to yourself." "Oh, don't listen to them, hot stuff. Let's go stab people," The knife in his hand says. "... Alright, then... 'Bae'." With that, the two stinkiest things here make their leave, the crowd giving them a wide berth. Cabagarth takes this round.