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IF Comp ’11 – Lynnea Dally’s The Tenth Plague!

October 18, 2011

Why is Lynnea Dally’s name familiar… oh, she did last year’s cheerful zombie hospital game where many of the male players were surprised to suddenly discover they liked boys.  I enjoyed that one well enough.  Hopefully the tenth plague, the plague of cat videos, is equally peppy.

Let’s find out!

[spoilers thrust into earthly existence below this line]

>x me
You are merely a cloud of sentience, capable of temporary physical manifestations. You are created with the sole purpose of killing enemy firstborns.
Well, it ain’t peppy yet.  (Wait, shit, what constitutes an enemy firstborn?)

As you float inside, you see your first target: a sleeping Hittite male curled up next to a female. He’s young, perhaps thirteen years of age. In his sleep he winces unconsciously at pain from whipping stripes on his back. Both he and his mate look extremely thin – the plagues have inflicted much suffering on all non-chosen.
Oh, good, now it’s cheering up.

The couple sleep together blissfully.
No way am I infecting this guy if I can help it.
For reasons that only you know, you abandon your mission. Angered at the disobedience, your area of consciousness is snuffed out of existence by your creator. Billows of cloud on either side of you seep in to fill in the gap you’ve left. The cleansing continues without you.
Well, fuck.  Okay, fine.

>smite male
You temporarily solidify a flat cloud and smash it against the skull of the creature. The Hittite slave now lies limp on the floor with a fractured skull.
The sleeping female slave stretches an arm over her dead lover.
This is terrible!  This is a terrible game!  I am terrible for playing it!

While you do recognize that this cow is a firstborn, something prevents you from slaughtering the cow by smashing it. You feel a deeper commandment guiding you to cut its throat instead.
I don’t… I really don’t think I like this game.  I’m curious where it’s going, but I’d rather find out through some other means than playing it.  Pass.  Uncle.  Nicht thanken sie.

Here, have a picture of Maru in a raincoat instead.

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