You Ignore the Warning
“We’re not caving in to their threats. What on earth are they going to do? Barge into our apartment with guns blazing?”
This is a collaborative choose your own adventure story. Click here for the chapter guide. Return to the previous chapter here.
It’s not worth losing your partner over a stupid vacation. And you genuinely don’t want to steal again.
Yet…You inhale deeply. “Then what will we do when they’re ‘forced to follow up’ after twenty-four hours?” Vacation Roulette texted you last night, instructing you to break into a house, steal some jewellery, and hand it over to someone in the morning. But they warned you that they’ll “follow-up” if you don’t complete the task in twenty-four hours.
Your partner’s body tenses, but their jaw hardens. “We’re not caving in to their threats. What on earth are they going to do? Barge into our apartment with guns blazing?”
You glance down at your phone, the screen now switched off after a while of inactivity. “They did say that the house residents may or may not be armed.”
Your partner rolls their eyes and crosses their arms over their chest. A long strand of hair falls over their eye, and you have the urge to brush it aside. But they shake their head and their hair falls back out of the way. “Well, we are not going to succumb to these — terrorists or whoever they are. Why would they care so much, anyway? They could just get someone else to do their dirty work.”
You grimace. “I hope you’re right.”
Of course, you hardly get any sleep after the scare. In contrast, your spouse sleeps soundly like a baby. But they have always been an easy sleeper, even at the most stressful of times.
You both go about your day like normal. You’re relieved that the two of you work from home, so you can keep your partner within your sight. If something terrible is about to happen, you want to stick together till the end.
At night, when you climb back in bed, you anxiously watch the clock. Yesterday, you got the text message at 9:06 pm. It’s now 9:05 pm.
Your heart sinks when the second hand strikes twelve. 9:06 pm.
As if on cue, the doorbell sounds.
You jump in fright, shaking. Your partner just frowns. “Who the hell is ringing at this hour?” They start to get up from the bed, but you pull them back down.
“Please, don’t go to the door,” you beg.
Your partner scoffs. “You seriously think they will come in guns blazing?”
“It could be a different weapon, but yes,” you reply.
The doorbell sounds again, and the long-drawn silence afterward only heightens your fear. “Maybe they’ll lose interest if we pretend we can’t hear them,” you whisper frantically.
Your partner shakes their head in obvious disagreement.
The doorbell sounds one more time, but after that, instead of silence, you hear the lock clicking free, and the doorknob turning. “No…,” you gasp. You’ve picked locks before, but you did not imagine that Vacation Roulette would resort to such tricks.
Your partner pulls you out of the bed to the living room. They say, “Better meet the enemy at the door than to cower in the bedroom.”
Despite your bickering, you had both thought to wear bulletproof vests before going to bed. Hopefully that would be enough.
Your door opens, and you see — a beautiful woman with wavy, chestnut-blond hair. She smiles. “My name is Sandra, one of the organizers of Vacation Roulette. I see you have not responded to our request.”
Her face looks so benign and her voice so warm, but you feel cold all over. “I couldn’t bring myself to steal again,” you croak.
“Is that so?” she says, lifting a brow.
Before you have a chance to respond, your partner screams. Sandra had moved with alarming agility and pinned your partner down onto the ground. She holds a switchblade against their throat.
It’s only now that your partner is afraid. “Please,” they whimper.
You beg as well, “Sandra, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you want. Just let them go.”
Sandra shoots you a chilling smile. “Too late.” With a flick, she severs your partner’s carotid artery.
You dash to your beloved’s aid, even though you know it’ll be too late. But once again, Sandra is faster. She grabs hold of your neck, then gives you a kiss on the lips. You’re too shocked to move. But her fingers clench at your throat, tight and strong.
You flail your arms, punching, scratching, but she won’t relent. Your screams are drowned out as she continues to kiss you.
Seconds before you die, Sandra says, “Too bad. You’re such a pretty one. I could have had you by my side. I would have made you my most cherished pet. But you were too stubborn to follow orders.”
She cuts your carotid artery as well, and you die full of regret and sorrow.
