CYOA: Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind (Volume 1, Chapter 4)

Last Week’s Winning Choice:

Board the plane

Chapter 4

     Once the last bodyguard disappeared into the body of the aircraft, Asby took a deep breath and scuttled across the hangar toward the stairway. He scaled the steps swiftly on all fours, pausing at the uppermost tier to flash his head into the plane’s interior. The pilot and co-pilot were in the cockpit to the left, tinkering with numerous knobs in preparation for take-off, while Fitzgerald and his minions stood around a table to the right. Fitzgerald was pointing something out on a blueprint; he slammed a tiny, balled-up fist on the table, causing his poof of orange hair to wobble dangerously.

     “I just want to make sure there’s no chance of a trap,” he was reiterating to his cohorts.

     Asby looked furtively around for a place to store himself for the time being. There was a cabinet sized door directly opposite him; not expecting much of a hiding place he reached across the aisle and opened it anyway. Lo and behold he had not opened the door of a miniscule food cabinet but a well-sized walk-in armory with a miniscule door, probably designed for a miniscule villain. The walls were loaded with all assortments of weapons ranging from handguns to rifles, mines to frag grenades.

     “Are we ready for take-off yet?” Fitzgerald called to the pilots.

     Asby jumped in surprise and crawled hastily through the small portal, shutting the door quietly behind him.

     “Yes, sir!” he heard one of the pilots reply.

     “Good, then let’s get out of here.”

     A few minutes later the plane began to move with a jolt, Asby bracing himself in the confines of the armory. The acceleration associated with take-off manifested itself in the forces on Asby’s body, throwing him against a back wall and holding him firm to it. When the wheels finally lifted off the runway the whole aircraft vibrated, jarring loose several items in the room. Asby looked up and too late saw a hefty box of ammunition hurtling for his head; his eyes widened, there was a brief stab of pain, and his world went black.

***

     Sometime later he groggily opened his eyes to find himself still sprawled in the armory. His head was throbbing, and when he put his hand to the spot of impact he could feel dry blood encrusted on the wound. Remembering why he was there he anxiously checked his watch. Eight-thirty! They must have landed in New York by now; he cursed himself, hoping Fitzgerald wasn’t already in the meeting.

     He crawled around the box of mines and opened the small door of the armory slowly. The nearest window showed clear, blue–

     “Ahhhhh!” Asby ducked back into the armory quickly as Fitzgerald exited the bathroom on his right with a satisfied sigh. “Where are we now?”

     “Over Kansas, sir,” Asby heard one of his bodyguards say.

     Asby couldn’t fathom how it could take seven-and-a-half hours to get from Las Vegas to Kansas but he was fortunate for it all the same; he had come perilously close to failing the mission completely. Could he afford to wait until New York to eliminate Fitzgerald? He was dealing with reasonable odds on the plane and could pick off the bodyguards on their way to the bathroom. Once they landed he might not have time to get Fitzgerald before he met up with all the other criminals. But then again they were a few miles up in the air, something could always go wrong.

What should Thomas Asby do next?

- Try to eliminate Fitzgerald en route, where the odds are in his favor, instead of in New York, where he would be safely on the ground

- Wait until arriving in New York to attack Fitzgerald, having stable ground to fight on but also coming dangerously close to missing Asby’s deadline of eliminating Fitzgerald before the meeting.

Vote for your choice in the poll on the right, and check in next Monday for the next installment of Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind!

CYOA: Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind (Volume 1, Chapter 3)

Last Week’s Winning Choice:

Convince Derblint to betray Fitzgerald

Chapter 3

       After a few minutes of back-and-forth slaps to Deacon Derblint’s already battered face, Thomas Asby finally aroused his senseless captive. Derblint’s eyes flittered across every imaginable axis before Asby snapped his fingers and stabilized them. Derblint showed fear for a split-second before his brow furrowed in anger and he spit in Asby’s face; Asby sighed, wiped the saliva from the bridge of his nose and began rubbing it all over Derblint’s face.

       “Argh you asshole!” Derblint choked as his face became the cake and the spittle the icing.

      “Shut up, Derblint,” Asby said. He disgustedly shook off his hand as he grabbed another chair, pulling it next to the one that Derblint was tied to.

       “I won’t tell you anything,” Derblint said between deep breaths.

       “Well we both know that’s a lie,” Asby said, and as he did so he looked straight into Derblint’s mud-brown eyes.

       “Wh-what makes you say that?” Derblint stammered.

       “Well I’ve read your file, Derblint, and I don’t think you’re as bad a cat as you make yourself out to be.”

       “Nice try, doc. Not working on–”

       “You grew up in a small town: Minnetonka, Minnesota,” Asby cut him off. “You lived quite happily with both of your parents, no divorce or separation to speak of. At Minnesota State you studied to be a veterinarian with a minor in dentistry. You came home after college and lived there for a few years, at least until your father and mother died.” Derblint’s upper lip began to quiver. “This led you to attempt suicide. When you didn’t succeed you hitchhiked to California, where you met Fitz–”

       “Shut up,” Derblint interjected, but it was more feeble than vitriolic.

       Asby raised his eyebrows. “Don’t like hearing his name? What happened to that small-town kid who dreamed of being a veterinarian? Who came home after college to spend more time with his close-knit family? Who loved his parents so much that he couldn’t imagine living in this world without them?”

       “Stop.” Derblint had his eyes squeezed shut and was shaking his head. “Please stop.”

       “You’re a good person, Deacon.” The mention of his first name caused Derblint to open his eyes and look into Asby’s. “Your parents wouldn’t like the person you’ve become. You can leave all of this behind you, the government can protect you. You can become the vet – nay, the person – you always wanted to be. I’m not lying to you,” Asby emphasized.

* * *

       Asby pulled into long-term parking at McCarran International Airport later that night. He had left Los Angeles and begun driving to Las Vegas at 7:30 PM; four-and-a-half hours later – the clock in his Camry read two minutes past midnight – he had arrived. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper on which he had scribbled the information that Derblint provided:

       “McCarran Int: Priv. Hangar X, 1 AM”

       Asby folded up the paper, slid it into the breast pocket of his tuxedo, and stepped out of his car. He strode quickly from the parking lot in the direction of the hangars set apart from the main terminal. A fence topped with barbed wire soon blocked Asby from continuing onto the runway. Asby reached for the B.I.A.-issued belt strapped around his waist and unsheathed his wire cutters. He snipped himself out a man-sized hole, threw the residue to the side, and crawled his way onto the airport’s runways.

       A quick trot across the airfield later and Asby was creaking open a backdoor to Hangar X. Once inside he ducked behind a jumbled stack of airplane food boxes and peeked his head out to watch the proceedings in the hangar.

       A glossy private jet was sitting in the middle of the expanse, a blue-carpeted stairway extended to begin accepting passengers onboard. There were four men visible to Asby: one bodyguard standing at the top of the stairwell; two bodyguards standing by the wheels of the plane; and between them standing Fitzgerald, all four feet of him. Fitzgerald was visibly distressed and shouting angrily at his accomplices.

       “I DON’T CARE WHY! HE SHOULD BE HERE!”

       “Deacon’s never on time, sir,” one bodyguard was pleading.

       Fitzgerald stopped hopping around in anguish, took a few breaths, and smoothed out his miniature suit.

       “It’s okay. Breatheeeee. It’s okay. I was done with that fool anyway. I’ll just make sure to dispose of him when I return.” He motioned to his bodyguards. “Let’s get on the plane.”

       Asby stiffened as the three men ascended the stairwell into the body of the aircraft; he hadn’t come up with any sort of plan yet. He could risk being spotted and board the flight as well – the stairs had not been lifted yet – or try something more hands-off. Blowing up the plane could work, seeing as he had done explosives work before. Yet his knowledge wasn’t extensive and had not been used for quite a while. There was a chance he could blow all of them up, himself included, or nobody at all.

What should Thomas Asby do next?

- Board the plane, risking exposure but getting Asby up close and personal with Fitzgerald.

- Rig an explosive, though Asby could blow himself up or nobody at all

Vote for your choice in the poll on the right, and check in next Monday for the next installment of Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind!

Paul Rudd

Who doesn't love this man?

CYOA: Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind (Volume 1, Chapter 2)

Last Week's Winning Choice:

Head for Fitzgerald's right-hand man in Los Angeles

Chapter 2

Thomas Asby lowered the binoculars from his eyes and placed them on the passenger side seat. He tapped the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel, grimacing and sighing deeply. The clock on the dashboard of his ’96 Toyota Camry read 4:37, meaning he had been sitting there for precisely two hours and twenty-three minutes.

He reached into the back seat for the manila file folder, flipped past the picture of Frederico Fitzgerald, and scanned the information about his right-hand man. His name was Deacon Derblint, and when not by Fitzgerald’s side he resided in Los Angeles. Asby intended to intercept Derblint and find out Fitzgerald’s location, sooner rather than later.

Asby’s car was currently parked at the intersection of 28th and Orchard, south of downtown Los Angeles, giving him a clear view of Derblint’s two-story shack a block away. Asby hoped Derblint would return soon; less than a day remained until Fitzgerald’s meeting with his fellow criminals.

Bored senseless, Asby stepped out of his car and walked a couple laps around it to stretch his legs. While his rundown vehicle fit the aesthetic of the squalid neighborhood, he himself did not, adorned as he was in a stylish tuxedo. He stopped to brush sand off the sole of his right loafer and then reentered his car.

Just as he became settled again a black sedan pulled up to Derblint’s residence and Fitzgerald’s second-hand man emerged from it with grocery bags in hand. Asby slowly exited his vehicle and crouched low, watching while Derblint crossed the sidewalk to his porch. Once he had mounted the patio Asby broke into a quick run. He turned up the walkway to the house as the door was being opened, and Derblint looked around to see the secret agent flying towards him, right leg outstretched.

Asby’s foot collided with Derblint’s nose, breaking it instantly. Blood as well as Derblint’s groceries went flying in all directions, and the man collapsed while Asby landed spryly on his feet. The secret agent grabbed Derblint by the ankles and dragged his struggling form across the living room floor into the kitchen area. He propped him up on a chair and set about finding material with which to bind his arms and legs. He rummaged through all the drawers in the kitchen, sifting through various culinary instruments before finding a spool of fishing line tucked away in one compartment. He turned back toward Derblint only to find that the man was gone from his seat.

BOOM.

A slug ripped past Asby’s ear and blew a six-inch hole in the wall behind him. Ears ringing, Asby ducked and hid behind a counter, pulling his own gun from a shoulder holster at the same time. Another shot tore overhead, and Asby leaned out quickly to see where Derblint was. He caught a glimpse of the man’s bloodstained persona and a massive Colt revolver before withdrawing to avoid Derblint’s third shot.

There was silence for a short while, each man waiting for the other to make the next move. Finally Asby took action and rolled across the opening between the kitchen and the living room, firing as he went. Derblint fired two shots in retaliation, one of which grazed Asby’s left shoulder as he tumbled by. Asby pulled up behind cover, touching the wound and wincing. If he calculated right, Derblint would have one shot left before reloading, so now was the perfect time to act.

He grabbed the fishing line and popped his head out for a split-second before withdrawing it. His plan worked perfectly, as Derblint fired off his last bullet in vain and began to reload. Asby emerged and flung himself across the living room, tackling Derblint to the floor and sending his revolver clattering into a corner. Asby began wailing on his victim, knocking him unconscious, and then set about tying his hands and feet together.

When he finished he stood up short of breath and began pondering his next move. Maybe he could convince Derblint to turn on Fitzgerald, but maybe not. His eyes began wandering about the room, landing on sets of pliers, a knife rack, and uneaten hot dogs. He had never tortured anybody before but maybe this would be a good time to start. He didn’t have much time.

What should Thomas Asby do next?

- Convince Derblint to betray Fitzgerald, appealing to the bad guy’s morality and sense of righteousness by saying “it’s the right thing to do.”

- Torture Derblint to get information on Fitzgerald’s whereabouts even though Asby has never tortured anybody before.

Vote for your choice in the poll on the right, and check in next Monday for the next installment of Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind!

CYOA: Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind (Volume 1, Chapter 1)

“Good evening.”

“Hello there.”

“What is your name, question mark.”

“Thomas Asby.”

“Door unlocked. You may enter, dot dot.”

Asby strode through the opening door and found his way blocked by a workplace that had been crudely constructed smack-dab in the center of the claustrophobic hallway. A Dell computer and a ream of scattered printer paper lay on the office desk, which had been jammed lengthwise across the passageway. Asby nodded to the technician working on the computer – he wasn’t sure if his name was Henry or Harry – as he set himself to the uncomfortable task of shimmying past the construct. After he had squeezed out the other side, he looked back and saw that the technician had Dell’s text-to-speech open and had last typed “You may enter…” into the program.

“Effing budget cuts,” Asby muttered to himself as he crossed the dimly lit hallway to the door at the other end. The plaque on the door had “John Doe – Head of B.I.A.” scribbled on it in mechanical pencil, and was strung up crookedly to a thumbtack jammed in the door. Asby raised his right hand, rapped on the door, and the plaque caromed off of its mount and clattered pathetically to the ground.

“Come in!” came a voice from the other side.

Asby turned the knob while violently jiggling the door on its frame and the contraption creaked open. His boss John Doe came into view, sitting behind a table at the far end of the square room. A fixed-pane window shielded by iron bars let in light on the left side of the room; the daylight, already smothered by the Los Angeles smog, waged a holy war against the grime on the pane to enter the room. Doe had set up a small desk lamp to compensate for the lack of natural light, but besides that, the table it was resting on, and two rickety chairs there was nothing else in the room whatsoever.

“Have a seat, Thomas,” Doe said, gesturing to the seat opposite him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you like the lamp?”

“Very much so,” Asby said as he seated himself. “It much improves the room’s aesthetic.”

“Good! I’m glad you like it.” Doe coughed into his hand and wiped it on the breast of his tweed jacket. He looked up at Asby, his eyes magnified by the convex lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. “I wish we could continue the pleasantries, Thomas, but we must get down to brass tacks. The Basic Intelligence Agency is on its last legs. You and your brother are the only agents we have left, and I’m quite close to letting our technician Harold go. Our chances to prove our worth to the U.S. Government are fast dwindling.”

“I agree, sir.”

“Good! Well then you’ll understand that the mission I’m about to give you is of utmost importance. I know I say that about every mission but now it really means something. If we fail, we may very well be shutdown permanently.”

“I see, sir.”

“Good!” This exclamation he tended to repeat frequently and always seemed to clash with the tone of whatever conversation he and Asby were having. The word was always accompanied by an ear-to-ear smile, his already magnified eyes expanding to dragonfly proportions, and the placement of both his hands palm down on the table in front of him. “Here is the file, then.”

He stuck a hand into his jacket and then withdrew it. It took Asby a moment to realize that Doe had actually presented something; the manila file folder had blended deceptively well with the color of the tweed. Doe dramatically slid the pitiful folder – “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” was not stamped on but instead written in red Sharpie – across the table. Asby picked it up, putting his right leg over the other and leaning back as he opened it. A grainy photo of a man, one with an unusually large forehead and scarcity of hair, stared cunningly back at him. A single tuft of orange bristles spouted from the center of his scalp, giving his head the semblance of an erupting volcano.

“A ginger,” Asby intoned.

“And a dwarf.”

“Hmm?”

“He’s a dwarf.”

“A ginger dwarf?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph.”

“His name is Frederico Fitzgerald. Occupation: criminal mastermind. He serves as a consultant to other criminals. When someone wants to know what to do or how to do it, they ask Fitzgerald. His stature may be small but his wisdom is vast.” Doe was prone to such juxtaposition.

“So what’s the situation, sir?”

“Fitzgerald is meeting with criminal kingpins from all over the world in New York a day from now. The government tells us that what they are discussing is important but not that important, which is probably why they’re letting us handle it. We must eliminate Fitzgerald before he reaches that meeting. Chop the head off of the snake before the head can tell the snake what to do!” Doe’s majestic finish led to a coughing spree. Asby waited patiently for the sputtering to cease.

“I have to kill a dwarf?”

“Yes. But don’t think of him like a dwarf, more like a very evil child, if that helps.”

It didn’t, but Asby played along: “It does, sir. Thank you.”

“Good! Well there are two possibilities as to your first move. I asked the higher-ups where Fitzgerald would be today, and they said ‘probably in Las Vegas somewhere.’ If that is not specific enough, they also gave us the address of his right-hand man currently here in Los Angeles. You might be able to squeeze him for information to get to Fitzgerald.”

What should Thomas Asby do next?

- Depart for Sin City, saving time but also gambling his job and the wellbeing of the nation on the government’s vague intelligence.

- Ambush Frederico’s right-hand man in the City of Angels, wasting precious time but ensuring accurate information if Asby is successful.

Vote for your choice in the poll on the right, and check in next Monday for the next installment of Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind!

American Public Favors "Ant" Pronunciation of "Aunt," Tommy Pickles Forced to Speak Out in Protest: "Human Race Doomed to Repeat My Mistakes"

The 901 Blog and Grill today settled the debate over "Aunt" and "Ant" with a blog-record-setting high of 33 votes. The amount of votes lends further credence to the results of the Blog's issue-settling polls and speaks to the desire of its readers to establish stability in their hectic lives.

I personally have said "aunt" instead of "ant" for my entire life, choosing to honor the way George Merriam, Charles Merriam, and Noah Webster intended the English language to be. I surmised that since words such as "gaunt" and "haunt" and "flaunt" were not pronounced "gant," "hant," and "flant" that keeping the U in "Aunt" was the proper thing to do. But now that I am forced to acknowledge the pronunciation of "aunt" as "ant," I feel two changes must be put in place so as to adhere to the new phonetic rules.

1. Words with "au" combos such as the aforementioned "gaunt" and "haunt" must now be pronounced without the U. "Gaunt and "haunt" will henceforth become "gant" and "hant." This also applies to every other word that combines the letters A and U in that order.

2. The word "ant" will now be pronounced "aunt" so that there is no confusion over what a person may be referring to. Little children like Tommy Pickles - in addition to older, sensible people - should never be confused again.

Well I hope this has settled this longstanding debate, and that you know you can always count on the 901 Blog and Grill to answer the important questions in life. 

Until another debate arises,

The 901 Blogger

"Choose Your Own Adventure" Coming to the 901

So what am I so excited about that I'll be introducing on Monday? A quasi-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure tale that will allow you to decide the fate of the story's protagonist, a secret agent named Thomas Asby. I will describe the process with a quick timeline of events:

Monday 3/9: Part 1 of "Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind" is published on the 901 Blog and Grill at 12:00 AM on Monday. Meaning that one minute after 11:59 PM on Sunday, the story goes up. The story will end with two choices as to what Asby could do next, and these choices will appear in the poll on the right side of the page.

Monday 3/9 - Wednesday 3/11: Voting is open and you vote for the path you want Asby to take. Whichever choice has the most votes by Wednesday at 11:59 PM (so 3 full days of voting) will be the consensus path that Asby will embark on.

Thursday 3/12 - Sunday 3/15: I will pen the next chapter in the Asby story based on your, the reader's, choice. I will not determine what will happen only after the voting ends, but have already laid out the complete web of plot and different possibilities for the entire run of the story. If your choices are leading to Asby's failure, or death, I will not waver and will stick to the plot.

Monday 3/16: Part 2 of "Thomas Asby and the Minimal Mastermind" is posted on the 901 Blog and Grill, and the cycle repeats itself.

Quick Facts: 

- The three possibilities for the final story outcome are SUCCESS (4 endings), FAILURE (3 endings), and DEATH (4 endings). 

- The shortest that this story can be is 4 parts long, with the end of the story taking place in that 4th part, while the longest story is 9 parts long. The longest story may not necessarily be a successful one, and the shortest may not necessarily be death or failure.

- Unless feedback is 100 percent negative, I will be doing more CYOA stories in the future. If Asby dies in this volume though, he's dead and will not come back. The story will take place in the same world and relate in some manner to the first volume, but will feature a different protagonist.

- Whether one choice is "better" than the other could be random or derived from clues in the story, meaning that sometimes you will be able to make an educated guess and sometimes you won't. I have the outcomes planned out, so a choice will definitely result in a certain event, but that choice will never be easy to make. I want you to find the clues yourself when they are present so I will not lay out the pros and cons of each choice when I present it to you.

Well I believe that's the long and short of it, but if you have any questions please post them in the comments of this post and I will answer them. The story should be funny and exciting, but don't let the lighthearted nature convince you that Asby cannot die. It would not be a real Choose-Your-Own-Adventure without that possibility. 

Until next time,

The 901 Blogger

P.S. After the story finishes I will scan the the web for the story, so you can see what would have happened if a certain path had been taken.

Awesome New Feature, Coming Next Monday

Hey all ye faithful.

You might be utterly bewildered as to the meaning of the post right below this one but DON'T WORRY because you should be bewildered. I wrote that in a stage of delirium but it is going somewhere, just not right now. After writing it I had an entirely new idea that I think will be much cooler and fun for you readers, so anything having to do with Theo Poxley has been indefinitely postponed. I will not mention the exact details of what I am planning to do for next Monday, but it will need contribution from you the reader - an extremely small and easy contribution, don't worry - thereafter to keep going. I know that I am going to enjoy the hell out of it, and hopefully you will too. It will become a weekly thing until its conclusion - something that, again, will be entirely up to you - and if it is a success I will repeat it in the future.

Apologizing for being so cryptic,

The 901 Blogger

Theo Poxley

Theo is 41, Indian descent, lives in Los Angeles. He smokes cigarettes, quite frequently, has lung cancer. Walks around with his nose up, hand in pocket, hand swinging at side, hand at mouth, smoking cigarette. Straight-backed, legs kick. No friends, no family. Has family, no contact. Judgmental, cynical, ambitious, proud, egotistical. Wants to be a doctor, wants to be famous, wants to be young, too late. Walks around, gets coffee, goes to class, walks around, looks at people, smokes, goes home, looks at pornography, watches CourtTV, goes to sleep alone.