by Jack Heath
You swim for the distant shore.
00:00
You survived! There are thirteen other ways to escape the danger—try to find them all!
‘You don’t need me anymore,’ you say. ‘I’ll wait with the other hostages.’
Miss Scarlet’s eyes narrow. ‘You’ll stay exactly where you are,’ she says.
‘Where’s Alex?’ Mr Signet says.
You all look around. Mr Sharp has vanished.
‘Alex?’ Miss Scarlet calls.
‘He was right here,’ Mr Signet says.
You glance up. The man in the shiny clothes is still there . . .
And now he’s not alone.
Mr Sharp is stuck to the ceiling by some kind of fast-drying glue. His lips and nostrils are sealed shut with the same substance. His eyes are bulging. He can’t breathe.
It seems impossible for the man to have grabbed Mr Sharp and glued him to the ceiling so quickly without making a sound, in a room full of people. But there’s no other explanation.
Miss Scarlet turns to you. You look down just in time.
‘You know something,’ she says. ‘What did they say to you on the phone?’
‘What do you mean?’ you ask innocently.
There’s a pause as Miss Scarlet weighs up her options.
‘Zachary,’ she says finally. ‘Deal with the kid.’
Mr Signet pulls a knife off his belt. He approaches you. You look up. The man in the shiny clothes—the ninja—has vanished.
Miss Scarlet walks over to the metal box. A keypad is mounted on the side. You watch as she types in the letters ANNM.
You hold up your hands. Your heart is racing. ‘Wait,’ you tell Mr Signet. ‘You don’t need to do this.’
He grins, showing big, blunt teeth—
Then he falls over, unconscious.
Miss Scarlet immediately scrambles into a corner, where the ninja can’t sneak up on her. She scans the room, but can’t see anyone. Nor can you. The ninja has vanished again.
‘Whoever you are,’ she shouts, ‘you know what’s in this box. Millions of nanobots which can build absolutely anything. I’ve just programmed them to make forty kilos of ammonium nitrate. Enough to turn this whole city block to ash.’
You back away, slowly.
‘So you have a choice,’ Miss Scarlet continues. ‘You can chase me, or you can stop the nanobots from completing the bomb. You have thirty seconds.’
She runs out the door.
You look around.
Still no sign of the man in the shiny clothes. Maybe he’s already chased after her. Maybe he was gone before she made her threat.
If you try to disarm the bomb, Click Here.
If you run for your life, Click Here.
The van moves slowly through the heavy traffic. You watch the asphalt cruising past below. If you jumped out at this speed, what would happen? Bruises, definitely. Broken bones, maybe. But death? Probably not—assuming you get clear of the wheels.
Before you have an opportunity to rethink this, you launch yourself out the window.
The robbers yell in surprise as you flop out of the van and fall towards the road. You shield your face as you hit the asphalt. The impact grazes your hands and knees, but you don’t think anything is broken.
The van hits the brakes and stops a few metres away. The door slides open. But you have bigger problems. A four-wheel drive is hurtling towards you.
You try to roll out of the way, but the car is coming too fast. The man driving sees you and stamps on the brakes.
Either he will stop in time, or he won’t.
It’s a fifty-fifty shot.
Click Here . . .
. . . or Click Here.
You sprint out of the staff room and into the customer area of the bank. The hostages are already gone. The police must have evacuated them when the ninja came in.
The front door is unlocked. You dash out. It’s pandemonium outside. Police rush back and forth, tending to hostages, checking exits, struggling to keep news crews behind the crime scene tape.
Miss Scarlet is running towards a gap in the cordon. The ninja is right behind her, his silver clothes shimmering in the daylight. He’s catching up to her.
‘Run!’ you yell. ‘There’s a bomb! The bank is going to blow up!’
A cop tries to grab your arm. You duck around him and keep running. ‘Get out of here!’ you yell.
The ninja tackles Miss Scarlet. They both hit the ground. ‘You fool!’ she screams. ‘You were supposed to stop the bomb!’
The ninja sprays her face with some kind of aerosol can, gluing her mouth shut.
You keep running—
And then there’s a tremendous kaboom. The shockwave knocks you off your feet. You hit the ground, hard.
The sky goes black as the bank is vaporised. A hurricane of concrete dust scours the street. Bricks and blocks rain down.
You try to scream, but the storm swallows you up.
THE END.
To try again, Click Here.
You roll desperately across the road, ignoring the pain in your joints. The asphalt jars your elbows. The four-wheel drive twists sideways as the driver fights to keep it from going into a skid. The tyre rolls towards your face—
It hits you.
But not hard. The hot rubber bumps your forehead as the four-wheel drive finally stops. You find yourself looking up at the grimy underside of the car and smelling the oil in the engine.
Someone grabs your ankles and drags you out from under the car.
It’s Mr Sharp. He looms over you, his face red with fury. Miss Scarlet is pointing the laser pistol at you.
‘Wait,’ you say.
She squeezes the trigger.
Zap!
The laser beam just barely misses you. Miss Scarlet falls over, her limbs rigid. So does Mr Sharp. They twitch on the ground. After a second you notice the crackling wires sticking out of their bodies.
Two police officers approach, both holding electric rifles. They check the pulses of the two robbers before they turn to you.
‘Are you OK, kid?’ one of the officers asks.
You try to speak, but your throat closes up. You’re crying. The robbery, the kidnapping, the car crash, the laser pistol—it’s all too much.
‘It’s OK,’ the officer says. ‘Let’s get you home.’
00:00
You survived! There are thirteen other ways to escape the danger—try to find them all!
‘You don’t understand,’ you tell the cop. ‘They were clearly robbers. They were wearing ski masks. One of them had a gun. Another one had a pair of bolt-cutters.’
The police officer looks taken aback. But he still doesn’t go towards the bank.
‘You swear all this is true?’ he says.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’ll call for backup. You come with me.’
He leads you over to his patrol car. He talks into his radio as he walks. ‘Dispatch, I have an unconfirmed report of three armed men and one woman running into HBS bank on Collins Street. Please send all available units to investigate.’
He opens the car door. You climb in. He shuts the door and hops into the driver’s seat.
Metal mesh separates you from him. It makes you feel like a criminal.
‘Where are we going?’ you ask.
He starts the engine and pulls away from the kerb. ‘Back to the station,’ he says. ‘I’ll take a full statement there.’
Out the window, the streets roll past. Quiet and safe. You’d never think a robbery was happening nearby.
Maybe it isn’t. Those four people might just have needed to make an urgent deposit. You hope you haven’t made a terrible mistake by lying to the officer.
But they did look very suspicious. The woman had a look in her eyes, a look which—
Something occurs to you.
‘How did you know about the woman?’ you ask.
‘Sorry?’ he asks.
‘You said three men and one woman. How did you know?’
‘You told me.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘I’m pretty sure you did,’ he says.
When he was talking on the radio, you didn’t hear anyone respond. Was the radio even switched on?
You check the doors. They’re locked.
If you pretend to remember telling him about the woman, Click Here.
If you ask him to pull over, Click Here.
‘Oh yeah,’ you say, hiding your fear. ‘I did say “she”. I forgot.’
The cop says nothing. It’s impossible to tell if he believes you, but now you’re sure something’s not right. Is he a real police officer, bribed by the robbers? Or is he a thug in a fake uniform?
The patrol car seems real. The mesh is securely bolted in place. The windows are extra-thick glass, making the traffic outside eerily silent. There’s no way to wind the window down. This is where suspects sit after they’ve been arrested. It’s designed to be escape-proof.
You glance at the mirror. The cop—or whoever he is—watches the road, not you.
You have one advantage. Most suspects would be handcuffed, but you’re not. Maybe there are things you could reach that they couldn’t.
In some cars, a concealed trapdoor leads through the back seat into the boot. You check the seat. Yes, there’s the trapdoor—but it’s been stitched shut. Maybe all police cars are like that.
The cop’s eyes flick to yours in the mirror. ‘You OK back there?’ he asks.
Stifling your growing panic, you nod.
He turns back to the road.
Something gleams on the floor. You lean down. A dirty razor blade. Maybe a suspect ditched it here, knowing they would be searched when they got to jail.
You pick it up and start slicing through the stitches, keeping one eye on the cop. Every time he glances over, you hide the blade behind your palm and act casual.
Soon the trapdoor is free. The patrol car stops at an intersection. You wait for the green light.
When the car pulls into the intersection and the cop is most distracted, you pull open the trapdoor, crawl through and tug it closed behind you.
The boot is hot and dark. And empty, as far as you can tell. There isn’t even a toolbox. Just a lever which will probably open the boot if you pull it.
It doesn’t take the cop long to notice that you’re gone. He yells, ‘What the—’ and slams on the brakes. The car stops so suddenly that you nearly roll over.
If you open the boot and run for it, Click Here.
If you stay hidden, Click Here.
‘OK,’ you say. ‘Thanks for your, uh, help.’
The cop watches you walk back towards the bank. You turn left before you get there, as though you’re going somewhere else. You walk around to the other side of the building, out of the officer’s sight.
This is the back of the bank. A frosted window is above you, just out of reach. There’s a fire door, which will certainly be locked, or at least alarmed.
You try the handle anyway. The door swings open.
You step back, startled. This is a bank. Who would leave the back door unlocked? It’s proof that something strange is happening—although you’re still hoping the robbers are just suspicious-looking customers.
There’s no alarm, so you slip inside.
You find yourself in a concrete stairwell. Giant cardboard boxes sit in the corner. Some are open, revealing disassembled office chairs and foam padding. There are stairs leading to a laminated door with a key-card scanner.
You hear footsteps. Someone is coming towards you, fast. And you’re definitely not supposed to be here.
If you hide in one of the big cardboard boxes, Click Here.
If you try the laminated door, Click Here.
‘Pull over,’ you say.
The cop glances at you in the mirror. ‘Why?’
‘I need to get out,’ you say. ‘I get carsick.’
‘We’re almost there,’ the cop says.
You look around. This is an industrial district, full of mechanics’ workshops and self-storage rental places. ‘Almost where?’ you say.
He takes a right-hand turn towards a warehouse. Rusted cars are parked haphazardly all around it. You can’t see any people. Twisted metal is stacked in the corners.
The cop stops the car. ‘Stay here,’ he says.
‘Can you open the window at least?’ you ask.
‘I’ll be right back.’
He walks away across the parking lot, leaving you in the stifling car.
You scoot across the back seat and try the opposite door. It’s locked too.
You dig your phone out of your pocket and dial emergency services. This time the call goes through. Whatever was blocking the signal before, it’s gone now.
The phone rings, and rings.
Finally someone answers. ‘Police, fire or ambulance?’
‘Police,’ you say. ‘I’m—’
Something slams into the car from above. You scream as a gargantuan metal claw crushes the roof. Steel blades slice inwards from all angles. A crane lifts the car off the ground.
‘Help me!’ you shout. ‘Somebody help!’
But you can’t even hear yourself over the sound of the claw. Tortured metal shrieks as the car rises higher and higher. Hydraulics hiss. The car crumples in towards you.
If you try to break the window with your elbow, Click Here.
If you duck under the blades and crouch in the footwell, Click Here.
You pull the lever. The boot pops open. You scramble out and land in a crouch on the road. The foul-smelling exhaust washes over you, making you dizzy. A car screeches to a halt and honks its horn as you sprint across the road, desperate to get out of sight.
‘Stop right there!’ the cop yells. He leaps out of the car and runs after you.
You don’t stop. There’s a shopping centre up ahead. No-one will stop him from grabbing you—you’re a kid, and he looks like a cop—but maybe you can lose him in the crowd.
‘The kid’s got a gun!’ yells the cop.
Shrieks fill the air. People scatter. A customer overturns one of the outdoor tables and cowers behind it. You can hear the cop’s footsteps getting closer and closer.
‘He’s lying. He’s not a real cop!’ you shout. ‘Someone help!’
But people just run the other way. No-one comes to your aid.
You sprint through the glass doors into the shopping centre. People are looking in shiny shop windows. The air is thick with laughter and conversation and pop hits from the nineties. No-one in here has noticed the commotion outside yet.
You dash across the polished floor to an escalator and run down it.
‘Stop that kid!’ the cop is yelling. But no-one is quick enough to grab you.
You leap over the rubber rail and fall a couple of metres before your feet hit the floor, hard. Your shoes squeak as you sprint around the corner.
If you go left, towards the lifts, Click Here.
If you go right, towards the bathrooms, Click Here.
You lie perfectly still in the boot as the cop opens his door. You can hear him walking around the vehicle, muttering to himself, probably staring at the surrounding streets and wondering where you’ve gone.
Hopefully he will assume that you opened the door somehow and ran across the street to the shopping centre. It looked crowded when you saw it out the window.
But then he might decide just to drive away, with you still trapped in the boot. Then what?
‘You can’t have gone far,’ the cop mutters.
You hold your breath.
The boot opens. The sunrise dazzles you. The cop is looming there, holding an aerosol can. There is a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
‘Not far at all,’ he says, and sprays a mist into your face.
You suddenly feel like you’re falling. You try to climb out of the boot, but already your limbs won’t obey your brain. A black shro
ud settles over you before you can cry out.
THE END.
Click Here to try again.
You run left, towards the row of lifts, and slam your hand against the call button. How long will it take for a lift to arrive? Will you have time to get out of sight before the cop comes down the escalator?
You press the button again. A second later, one of the lifts opens. You duck in and select a floor at random—B4 parking. The car park four levels below ground.
The doors start to close. But just when you think you’re safe, a hand snakes in and stops them. The cop pushes his way into the lift, glowering at you.
You can’t step around him. You’re trapped.
He points a futuristic-looking laser pistol at you and waits for the doors to close. No witnesses.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ you say desperately. ‘The shopping centre is full of cameras. If you hurt me, you’ll be caught.’
He doesn’t look worried. The doors close.
‘Seriously. There’s a camera right above your head,’ you say.
He falls for it. When he glances up, you lunge forwards and try to rip the laser pistol from his grip. But he’s holding it too tightly. Blam! Blam! Laser beams burn holes in the ceiling. Blam! The sound is deafening in the enclosed lift. Blam! You wrestle for control of the pistol.
The blasts shred the ceiling and everything above it. The cables. The brakes.
Suddenly the lift is falling. You’re weightless, fighting a criminal in mid-air while the lift plummets down and down towards—
Wham!
THE END.
To try again, Click Here.
You duck into the shopping centre bathrooms, hoping the cop didn’t see you. Sometimes public bathrooms have a fire exit up the back, but not this one. There are just polished mirrors, a row of cubicles and an overpowering smell of bleach.
You run into one of the cubicles and lock the door. Then you climb over the wall into the next cubicle. Hopefully the cop will assume you’re behind the locked door, and you can sneak out past him. You hide behind the half-closed door of your cubicle.
