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Your name is Sylus Gearwind. You are a well-antiquated early Victorian biological experiment designed to replicate the essence of man with the workings of machinery. You are a clockwork cyborg.

You make our home in the sewers, midst the grime and the muck. The city above, as far as you're aware, is named Chicago. You know little of this place teaming with noise above your head; only the sewers are familiar ground, and here is where you spend your days. Never eating, never sleeping, merely... waiting. Waiting for what, you do not know.

But today, you think you've waited long enough. Something in the back of your mechanical brain began ticking again... something sinister. You are uncertain how to describe the feeling, but you know that something is going to happen, and soon. You must stop it.



You are currently using your hands. Beneath your right hand, in your wrist, is a compartment that holds an original Stubmann pistolette with 6 shots.

You have sat for too long. Now is the time to act.

> KICK CHAIR for NO REASON AT ALL

explore further down.

You turn around and apply a well-placed roundhouse kick to that damned chair. It definitely had it coming.



You then march down the hallway, as smugly as your cyborg facial manipulators will allow.



What's this? Ah, you remember this. Your trusty rapier. It seems in fine condition after... how many years? Ah, unimportant. No matter.

Pick up rapier, then realize that waterfalls are making you have to wee.

aoffan23 wrote:Pick up rapier, then realize that waterfalls are making you have to wee, without a bladder.

Fix'd

>Name Rapier EXCALIBER and proclaim yourself THE CHOSEN ONE.

Then continue down path.

make sure the pipes are not filled with man eating plants.

Take rapier and explore.

It feels good to have Amilia back in your hands. Ah, that's right! You used to call her Amilia. An odd name for a sword, but fitting for one so beautifully designed and balanced. Much like an old friend you remember...



Or maybe you don't remember. Bah, it's unimportant. For now, that feeling is growing stronger, a sinister vibe bubbling up your spine in an unsettling fashion. You must end this.

climb rope.

Go back and CLIMB THROUGH PIPE. A chain just hanging there has got to be a trap!

I know this seems like a dick move, but I've changed my mind. This CYOA is now dead.

However, I have a new webcomic mini-series on the way based on the collective artworks of Arne Niklas Janssen that might prove to be a much better waste of time.

Sorry to all of you who cared. The promise is something better is usually enough to assuage you, but not always.