by Unknown
Turn to page 23.
You carefully open the door to Vargas's bedroom. It's enormous, and you can see quite well by the reflected glow of the security lights in the yard. Vargas, wearing fancy striped pajamas, is sprawled on his stomach in the middle of a canopied four-poster bed. He's almost surrounded by pillows. You wonder whether he has a gun under one of them.
The room is cluttered with electronic equipment, and you count three different telephones. But what most attracts your attention are the hundreds of packs of currency stashed on the floor. You inspect them closely. Each pack contains at least a hundred fifty-dollar bills! You wonder whether they're counterfeit, or if they're real— stolen from banks!
Vargas stirs fitfully in his sleep. He mumbles something, but you can't make out the words. He seems about to wake up. You've got to act now.
You glance out the window. It's about a twelve-foot drop to the soft grass. Maybe you can jump for it and escape from the thugs waiting on the stairs below.
If you continue to follow the plan and roar to terrorize Vargas, turn to page 116.
If you try to jump for safety, turn to page 49.
If you try to call the police to tip them off, turn to page 111.
You agree to submit to a genetic implant, and you're given a room in the Advanced Genetics wing of Federal Hospital. While you're waiting for Dr. Firenze to begin his treatment, you walk restlessly around your room. Pretty soon you hear weird sounds—sort of a cloppity-clop, clop in the hall. You peer out to see what's going on. A man— or some kind of creature—is walking by, with orderlies marching along on each side of it (or him). The creature is walking on four legs, and the lower part of his body looks like that of a small horse, but the upper part looks like the upper body of a man! You remember seeing creatures like these, called centaurs, in your mythology books in school.
A nurse walking by stops to talk to you. "Quite an achievement, don't you agree?" He gestures toward the centaur, which has reached the oversized elevator farther down the hall.
"Is that Dr. Nair's work, too?" you ask.
The nurse shakes his head. "No, that's the work of Dr. Firenze—didn't you know?"
This news hits you like a bombshell. You realize that, although he's working in Federal Hospital, Dr. Firenze is an experimenter and may not be very different from Dr. Nair! Who knows what experiment he has in mind for you!
You're not going to wait around to find out. You go back to your room, grab your toothbrush, and head for the exit. Everyone stares as you hurry past. People scream and run, knocking over carts as they scramble to get out of your way.
Turn to page 106.
"You'd think," Meyerstraub continues, "that you could scare people enough simply by pointing a gun at them. But this is a tough business. Sometimes it's very hard to convince them. Do you follow me?"
"Sure." You've only been half listening, because you've been quietly inching forward, transferring weight to the balls of your feet and calculating the possibilities of springing onto Meyerstraub and holding him hostage.
"Well," the crime king continues. "I have a certain rival. Guillermo Vargas, who is very smart, and very tough. He has a powerful organization. I want him to work for me, but he refuses. Do you see the problem?"
You nod, casting a glance at Meyerstraub's two guards. They look pretty relaxed.
"Now as I say, Guillermo is very tough," Meyerstraub continues, "but he's very superstitious. If I warn him that he'll sleep uneasily if he doesn't cooperate, and then if he has a real nightmare, that might bring him around."
"Sure, that makes sense," you say.
"So," Meyerstraub says triumphantly, "you're going to appear in Guillermo's bedroom—while he's sleeping—and you will be his nightmare!"
"But isn't he guarded?" you ask.
"His guards can be bribed. I provide the money; you provide the terror, got it?"
If you jump Meyerstraub, turn to page 30.
If you decide to play along with his plan, turn to page 98.
You try to answer, but your mouth is no longer the same shape as it used to be, and all that comes out are grunts and garbled words.
"Can you understand English?" the chief asks.
You nod.
He takes off his cap and scratches his head. He looks around at his men as if hoping one of them will suggest something, but they all seem equally dumbfounded.
"Okay," the chief says after a while, "Robertson, take your squad in and search the place. Mullen and I will take this creature back to the station house."
"ARRRAGH," you answer.
Three cops move in with their guns ready; you have no choice but to step into the van.
You sit quietly on the floor. There's nothing you can do. A heavy, wire mesh screen separates you from the cops. You're sure that you could smash open the door and jump out, but what would be the point? Sooner or later they'd capture you and either shoot you down or lock you up behind bars that even you couldn't break out of.
You're depressed. It's bad enough being a monster, but not being able to talk and explain things makes it twice as bad. "Ah cn tak—I can talk—" you say, struggling to form words that once came so easily.
One of the cops whirls around. "Hey, it can talk!"
"That ain't talking," the other one says.
You'll have to practice when you're alone. You've just got to learn to talk once again.
Turn to page 20.
"ARRRAGH!" You let forth a mighty roar and advance toward your foe.
The grizzly roars back—and charges! He lunges to bite your neck, but you deflect his head with a single chop of your arm. It would be more than enough to knock a lumberjack flat on his back, but the grizzly isn't even fazed. He comes at you again.
"ARRRAGH!" You bring your massive paw down on the bear's neck, but you miss as he ducks and grabs your midsection. He's trying to crush you!
"ARRRAGH!" Now you're mad. You kick the bear's shins with such force, the animal bellows with pain. Then with one mighty heave you throw him over your head and hurl him to the ground.
The grizzly lies there, stunned. Then he slowly gets to his feet. He walks up to you, his head bowed in submission, and rubs along your legs like a house cat. Out of the shadows up ahead, two other adult grizzlies and a couple of half-grown cubs appear. They make no move to attack and seem content to follow their leader in his submission. You have not only been accepted by the bears as one of them, but you've been acknowledged as their leader!
The other bears group and start into the forest. They travel only a dozen feet, then stop and look at you. They want you to come with them. You're amazed and happy. None of the humans at the lumber camp have wanted to be your friends, but these bears do. Maybe you should go with them. Maybe it would be the best life for you—living like a bear. It's tempting to join the grizzlies. You certainly don't want to stay in this lumber camp anymore, especially with Fenwick out to get you. On the other hand you're not a bear, after all, and you long for human companionship.
If you go with the grizzlies, turn to page 103.
If you run away by yourself, turn to page 33.
Your mighty leg muscles contract, and in a spasm of unleashed energy you lunge at the crime boss. Horror flashes across his face as he raises his hands in defense. Your claws reach not for his neck but for his shoulders, so that in one deft motion you can twist him around and use him as a shield.
Only a single second is involved, but time seems to slow to a crawl. It seems as if the trigger-happy goons should have plenty of time to fill your body full of holes. Perhaps they are too stunned, but that long second passes without a bullet being fired, and in the next instant you have Meyerstraub in your claws. You whirl him around and confront the guards. "Drop your weapons!"
"Drop them," the crime king commands.
Their machine guns hit the floor.
"Very good, very good," Meyerstraub says. "You are more talented than I realized. Now that I know that, I'm going to reward you."
<
br /> Surprised by his sudden turnaround from a frightened coward to a smooth-talking underworld boss, you grip his shoulders even more tightly.
Turn to page 95.
You let Meyerstraub down gently to the ground. "I'll accept your offer, subject to my conditions," you say. "First of all, I want you to order your entire security force in here so you can tell them I'm in charge. That way, there won't be any mistake about it."
Meyerstraub looks up at you. He straightens his rumpled jacket. "Sure, I'll summon everyone over the public-address system I control from my desk."
You follow the crime king closely toward his desk, but you never reach it. A hail of bullets knocks you down. As you fall you turn and see the guards. They had hidden pistols.
It takes a lot of bullets to kill a monster, and you live long enough to hear Meyerstraub say, "Good work, boys. Monsters are just too dangerous to keep around the house."
The End
You decide not to go with the grizzlies but instead go off by yourself, determined to make it on your own.
Though you're protected by a growth of shaggy hair, you've no desire to endure the bitter cold winters of the interior. Knowing the climate is milder along the coast, you head west through the wilderness, living on deer, rabbits, and wild berries.
You have to learn to hunt and move through the forest like any other wild animal. You notice things most people don't—faint impressions in the grass, broken sticks, a spoor—that mark the trail of your prey. You sleep wherever you please—on a mossy patch, a bed of leaves, or in a hollow under a cliff. It doesn't matter. No animal would dare attack you.
Turn to page 40.
Outside the window you see the flashing lights of the first police cars. Then you hear shouts in the yard below. Lights shimmer around the room— reflections from searchlights. Then voices, footsteps, running, shots!
"Freeze!"
An eerie silence.
"Take them away!" someone shouts.
You feel easier—the thugs are in hand!
Then a rapping at the door. "Walk out slowly with your hands over your head!"
That's just what you do, carrying Vargas above you.
The cops do a double take, but they get the picture fast.
"You're not just a monster," the chief tells you as he reaches up to pat your shaggy shoulder. "You're a hero!"
"ARRRAGH! I mean, thanks," you say humbly.
You know you'll always have some problems as long as you remain a monster. But at least now you have proven that you are not a threat to society.
The End
One evening you come upon a small cabin. You peer in the window. No one is there. The door isn't locked, so you push it open and walk in. You cast your eyes at the bunks, the kitchen, and the big locking chair facing a fieldstone fireplace. Seeing this cozy cabin makes you long for human companionship.
You wave your paw over the wood stove in the corner—it's still warm—someone must have been here earlier. Then you notice a newspaper lying on a table. The headline says: MONSTER SIGHTED NEAR TELEGRAPH PEAK. There's a very fuzzy picture of you. A smaller headline is really alarming: MOUNTIES HUNT MONSTER.
You slump down on a couch that runs along the wall opposite the fireplace. It creaks and groans under your weight. You groan, too, because you've just about given up all hope of getting back to the way you were. You're not a criminal, but you're being hunted like one. It makes you feel like crying. Then the idea of a monster crying makes you laugh!
Suddenly the cabin door opens.
Turn to page 71.
After a few days at the logging camp, you can see why they wanted you to work here. With your enormous strength you can throw huge logs around as if they were pieces of kindling wood. Most of the time you work at carrying heavy machinery and supplies over rough terrain where even a tractor can't move. Joe, the foreman at the camp, is a nice enough fellow. "I don't ask questions about the men working for me," he tells you. "I just ask how much work they've done each day. Of course, you're not a man, but I'm going to treat you the same way."
You feel a little better, but not a lot better. Although some people act decently toward you, you aren't able to make friends with anyone. People are just too afraid of you—afraid you'll suddenly act like a monster. And then there's Mike Fenwick. He used to be the leader around this place, and he doesn't like the fact that, next to you, he looks like a weakling. You figure it's just a matter of time before he makes a move against you.
One day you're cutting down small trees with chain saws. You're so much stronger than the others, you start doing their work too. Climbing down in a hollow, out of sight from the others, you notice Fenwick working on a stump.
"I'm having trouble with this," he yells over the roar of machines.
"I'll help you," you say, ambling over. As you start cutting, something makes you look up—just in time to see Fenwick swinging at you with his chain saw!
Turn to page 108.
"Yes. He's living at a house in Elm City—about fifty miles from here. My men tracked him down by tracing purchases of lab equipment. He set up a lab in the house he's bought, and if I'm not mistaken, it's only a matter of time before he kidnaps someone else and turns him into a monster!"
"If only I could get my claws on him," you say.
"This is his picture." Zena holds out a Polaroid photo of a man standing on the front porch of a large white house.
"But that's not Dr. Nair!" you exclaim. "I'd recognize him anywhere!"
Zena smiles. "You were fooled, just as the police were. You forget this man is a genius—he was able to give himself just the right injection of genetic formula to cause his face to change."
"Then how do you know it's Dr. Nair?"
"Voice analysis," Zena says. "We got hold of a tape of a speech he made at the university a few years ago, before he took up his criminal ways. Then last week we made a tape of his voice when we reached him on the phone. Computer analysis of the two was conclusive."
"That's incredible!" you say.
"It's good news for another reason," says Mr. Vandergraft. "It means Dr. Nair has gotten so advanced in his methods that he can probably turn you back into the person you were."
"But how can we make him do that?"
Mr. Vandergraft looks sterner than you've ever seen him.
"We'll make him," he says.
Turn to page 64.
"If there are genetic-transplant techniques that can change one's body," you say, "there must be ones that can change one's personality. Isn't that right, doctor?"
"Why, of course," Dr. Nair says, squirming as he speaks. He acts more afraid of you now than he did when you were a monster.
"Then you shall transplant yourself—not to change your body, but to change your personality—from that of a psychopath to that of a decent human being."
"But I can't do that."
"You must," Mr. Vandergraft says sternly.
Dr. Nair lets forth a squeal as if he'd been stuck by a pin.
"What's so bad about becoming a decent person?" Amanda demands.
Dr. Nair's eyes widen. He looks at her, imploringly. "My brain! No! I can't change part of my brain without changing all of it. I would lose my skills at genetic manipulation."
Mr. Vandergraft steps up to the strange little man. "That's just as well, doctor. That's just as well."
Turn to page 76.
Occasionally you pass another lumber camp or a hunter's cabin. From time to time you cross a logging road. Finally you reach a highway. You stand near the edge of the road and watch a big truck roll by. It weaves crazily for a moment, then slows, then speeds up as it rounds the bend. The driver must have seen you. You walk along the road a way, ducking into the brush when a car or truck appears. Up ahead you hear the sound of machinery. You round the bend and see a crew at work repairing the road. One of the workers looks up. He yells. The others stare at you, dumbfounded. One man runs toward his truck. He reaches inside and yanks a heavy-gauge shotgun from
under the seat.
You waste no time slipping into the woods. You trot a bit, dodging through the trees, then scramble up a steep, rocky slope. You're safe, but you've been reminded again that most people fear you. It's a general truth, it seems: What people fear, they tend to hate.
You continue on for the next few weeks, heading west and living off deer and small game. You try to keep clear of the roads and settlements, but the region is becoming more populated as you get nearer to the coast.
Turn to page 35.
"Don't shoot!" you cry. "I'm human!"
The man doesn't reply until he has his rifle unsnapped and leveled at you.
"That ain't what's in the papers," he says. "What about that guy Fenwick up at Twin Lakes Camp? He says you tried to kill him and he had to hold you off with a chain saw."
"That's a lie! He was out to get me—he wants to frame me."
"Then why did you run away from the camp?"
You bury your great head in your paws. "I was miserable there." You throw up your paws in despair and then quickly lower them as the man nervously fingers his rifle. "Everyone hated and feared me, just the way you do!"
The man rubs his stubby beard for a moment. "Look, I don't hate you, but you've got to admit you're frightening."
"See, that's what everyone thinks!"
The man lowers his rifle so it's just pointing at the floor near your feet. "I'd feel more comfortable," he says, "if you'd just sit over on that bunk in the corner. Then I can get some soup going on the stove. I've worked up quite an appetite out hunting." He looks at you curiously. "Do you eat regular food?"
You nod. "I'd love some."
