BECAUSE ONE’S A-COMIN.
I discovered Twine recently, a browser-based interactive story making tool, and I’ve decided to write an interactive smut story based on Hard Labor!
It will include gender options, dialogue options, multiple kinds of sex scenes, and different endings (some of them fatal, for you violence fans).
This’ll take me a little while because I’m learning as I go, but I can’t imagine that it will be longer than a month or two. I think I’ll probably make it a pay-what-you-want download as well, because, well… it’s going to be a lot of work, and is basically a game. @_@
Here’s the text from the first screen:
Technically, you clean the floors.
You clean the vast expanses of quadruple-reinforced, nanostructured ceramic-coated graphene tiles that cover the place from floor to ceiling – anywhere that one of them might so much as touch, let alone step on. Or body slam in a fit of deliberately aimless rage.
You’ve cleaned a number of things off those floors in your few months there: blood, spit, LCL. Sometimes it’s not even theirs; the vomit, for instance, is always from a fellow employee.
The pay is OK. Currency doesn’t go as far as it used to for small fry like you, but there’s a booze stipend and truthfully, that’s half the reason you took this gig. Another small part of you took it because, well… they fascinate you. You saw one with your own eyes on the surface, fighting an angel, when you were in secondary school once. It was yellow and gray and white, and had a single penetrating sensor on the front of its featureless face. It had looked your way for the briefest moment before pulling out a pair of knives and tackling its quarry with a sound so deep it made the windows quake, and even though it probably didn’t see you, a shiver crept down your spine nonetheless. You’d have stood there and watched that horrible battle rage on a few kilometers away if it hadn’t been for a fellow student – they grabbed you by the arm and whisked you off to a bomb shelter to wait out the attack.
You haven’t seen one since, and half of you hopes that you don’t. That you continue to hose down their shallow ponds of bodily fluid every once in a while makes your skin crawl. Your supervisor had pulled you aside once to make sure you knew that they were biological – you didn’t – and nothing was quite the same after that little revelation.
But the other half… the half that stood staring at that vicious, eldritch fight… well, that half hopes that you do.
What’s your name, by the way?
If anyone has suggestions for scenes, I’ll be glad to hear them!