• 98



    “The division I worked with in Vegas was avant-garde when it came to K-9 units,” she explains as you all start walking toward the dumpster, “They called it Prime-8 and I personally thought the whole idea was really neat. If you can train a dog to help why can’t you train an animal that shares 96% of our genetic…”

    “BOO!” a man shouts as he jumps out from behind the dumpster.

    The chimp shrieks as if it had stepped in a bear-trap and fires a bullet into the man’s abdomen.

    “Dakota,” the woman reprimands in a voice that’s a little too gentle you think, “you put that gun down and get back into your car seat right now.”

    With only a few more hoots, the chimp does precisely as it’s told. The man, a black fellow with a strawberry-red mustache and a Magic 8-Ball at his side, spits out one last question, “Is this the end…my magic friend?” and then rolls over with his tongue sticking out. You pick up the ball and read its face, “Yes – definitely”, it reads.

    You notice the investigator is much more preoccupied with a CB radio on the ground that’s making bings and tings like a Jean Michel Jarre piece.

    “I suggest that you find your own way back to the station,” she says in a much sterner voice than the one she used with the chimp.


    If you let her do her thing from here and head back home, go to page 216.

    If you tell yourself to stay with this until the last chimp is hung, go to page 146.


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