text: [Themes: edutainment]
  
  The world we live in is ever more tightly interconnected, ever more complex and nonlinear. Yet, in every complex system there are simple truths, basic laws of nature that can be understood easily—
  
  An awful noise interrupts your thoughts. In a state of semi-consciousness you wonder about its origin. Gradually you become aware of the soft warmth of the bed surrounding you. Morning light is playing across your skin, but your mind is already at work: The threshold of a spreading process can be modeled by a dynamical network, where each node is associated with a variable that describes the propensity—
  
  Once again the noise interrupts you, the misguided attempt of some electronic device to sound pleasant. You try to return to your previous train of thought, but now you have started wondering about the source of the noise. It sounded strangely urgent, yet somehow familiar, like ... your cellphone!
  
  With a grunt you roll over and start digging for the phone. You find it underneath the pile of discarded clothes, next to your mattress. Without thinking you hold it to your ear and say hello. Just in this moment it rings again. Fumbling the phone you start stabbing at the display to accept the call.
  
  "Hi! Hello! Are you awake ..." you hear Jill's voice.
  
  Jill is the new PhD student at the lab and still a bit overenthusiastic. That doesn't excuse calling you in the morning though. Intelligent people contact you by email.
  
  "Jill what time is it, where did you get my number?"
  
  "9:45, you wrote it on your whiteboard."
  
  "Is the UC on fire, or why are you calling me?"
  
  "The UC is fine but—" The rest of her reply is lost because somebody is viciously knocking on your apartment door.
  
  > continue talking to Jill while getting dressed, then answer the door
  "Sorry, I didn't get ya," you say to Jill while struggling with your t-shirt. The knocking intensifies.
  
  "I said, there were some military types here, looking for you. They are on their way to you right now."
  
  "Open up!" a female voice shouts outside your door.
  
  "No worries, talk to you later, Jill," you say and hang up, while trying to pull up your shorts and hopping to the door at same time.
  
  You manage to get the shorts buttoned up just as you open the door. You find yourself face to face with a short-haired blonde woman. She wears a military uniform and carries an assault rifle. Before you can react, she pushes past you and starts inspecting your apartment. Behind her waits an older asian-looking man, likewise uniformed.
  
  "Nice to meet you Professor," says the man. "I am Colonel Wang and this there is Sergeant Miller."
  
  "All Clear," Miller shouts from some place in your apartment, the bathroom by the sound of it.
  
  You notice Wang's outstretched hand and shake it awkwardly.
  
  "I hope you don't mind us intruding here," Wang continues. "Your PhD student at the university was so kind to give us your address."
  
  > offer them a chair
  You glance around your open plan kitchen-living-room. It is in passable shape, a 1-bed affair in a middle class apartment complex. You congratulate yourself to doing the dishes yesterday. Still it's far from ideal for receiving visitors. A career in science means moving a lot and when you moved to Davis a year ago, you only bought the bare necessities.
  
  "Please have a seat," you say gesturing at your meager collection of chairs.
  
  Wang sits down in a dining chair that you bought from the thrift store on L street. Miller takes a seat on your rocking chair in the corner. That one is from the thrift store on 3rd street. You are left with the other dining chair. You take a seat across from Wang at the kitchen counter that doubles as your desk and dining table.
  
  "Thank you very much for your time," the Colonel says. "I would like to discuss a matter of national security. I am on my way to a meeting regarding a new virus that they have in China, and I would like to have my facts straight by the time I show up."
  
  "And you are asking me? I am not a virologist."
  
  "No, but I am interested more in the epidemic than in the virus itself. You have worked on epidemics, haven't you? People say you are good at explaining things; your colleagues think highly of you."
  
  He is baiting you. You decide to bite anyway.
  
  "What kind of virus is it?" you ask.
  
  Wang looks at Miller. She sits very straight, gun held ready. The chair is not rocking at all.
  
  "Corona virus, Sir!" she offers.
  
  "Ah Corona virus," you say. "So this new disease is like ...
  
  "Sorry, I didn't get ya," you say to Jill while struggling with your t-shirt. The knocking intensifies.
  
  "I said, there were some military types here, looking for you. They are on their way to you right now."
  
  "Open up!" a female voice shouts outside your door.
  
  "No worries, talk to you later, Jill," you say and hang up, while trying to pull up your shorts and hopping to the door at same time.
  
  You manage to get the shorts buttoned up just as you open the door. You find yourself face to face with a short-haired blonde woman. She wears a military uniform and carries an assault rifle. Before you can react, she pushes past you and starts inspecting your apartment. Behind her waits an older asian-looking man, likewise uniformed.
  
  "Nice to meet you Professor," says the man. "I am Colonel Wang and this there is Sergeant Miller."
  
  "All Clear," Miller shouts from some place in your apartment, the bathroom by the sound of it.
  
  You notice Wang's outstretched hand and shake it awkwardly.
  
  "I hope you don't mind us intruding here," Wang continues. "Your PhD student at the university was so kind to give us your address."
  
  > ask them what they want
  "What do you want?" you ask.
  
  It sounds harsher than you intended. Miller raises an eyebrow, but Wang only smiles.
  
  "I see our uninvited arrival has offended you. I am very sorry. Please take a seat." He gestures at your meager collection of chairs.
  
  Life as a scientist means moving a lot, sometimes between continents. When you arrived in Davis a year ago, you didn't want to spend much on furniture. Fortunately you found the two nice dining chairs at the thrift store on L street. Sitting down on one of them, you join Wang at the kitchen counter that doubles as your dining table and desk. Miller takes a seat in your rocking chair, some distance away. That one is from the thrift store on 3rd street.
  
  "Thank you very much for your time," Wang continues. "I would like to ask you some questions on a matter of national security. I am on my way to a meeting regarding a new virus that they have in China, and I would like to have my facts straight by the time I show up."
  
  "And you are asking me? I am not a virologist."
  
  "No, but I am interested more in the epidemic than in the virus itself. You have worked on epidemics, haven't you? People say you are good at explaining things, your colleagues think highly of you."
  
  He is baiting you. You decide to bite anyway.
  
  "What kind of virus is it?" you ask.
  
  Wang looks at Miller. She sits very straight, gun held ready. The chair is not rocking at all.
  
  "Corona virus, Sir!" she offers.
  
  "Ah Corona virus," you say. "So this new disease is like ...
  
  The world we live in is ever more tightly interconnected, ever more complex and nonlinear. Yet, in every complex system there are simple truths, basic laws of nature that can be understood easily—
  
  An awful noise interrupts your thoughts. In a state of semi-consciousness you wonder about its origin. Gradually you become aware of the soft warmth of the bed surrounding you. Morning light is playing across your skin, but your mind is already at work: The threshold of a spreading process can be modeled by a dynamical network, where each node is associated with a variable that describes the propensity—
  
  Once again the noise interrupts you, the misguided attempt of some electronic device to sound pleasant. You try to return to your previous train of thought, but now you have started wondering about the source of the noise. It sounded strangely urgent, yet somehow familiar, like ... your cellphone!
  
  With a grunt you roll over and start digging for the phone. You find it underneath the pile of discarded clothes, next to your mattress. Without thinking you hold it to your ear and say hello. Just in this moment it rings again. Fumbling the phone you start stabbing at the display to accept the call.
  
  "Hi! Hello! Are you awake ..." you hear Jill's voice.
  
  Jill is the new PhD student at the lab and still a bit overenthusiastic. That doesn't excuse calling you in the morning though. Intelligent people contact you by email.
  
  "Jill what time is it, where did you get my number?"
  
  "9:45, you wrote it on your whiteboard."
  
  "Is the UC on fire, or why are you calling me?"
  
  "The UC is fine but—" The rest of her reply is lost because somebody is viciously knocking on your apartment door.
  
  > answer the door while continuing to talk to Jill
  "Sorry, I didn't get ya." You hurry to the door.
  
  "I said, some military types were asking for you. They are on their way to you now."
  
  "Military, what?" you think, arriving at the door.
  
  Since you are still in your nightwear you only open the door an inch wide, just to have it pushed in your face. A blonde woman in a military uniform storms in, carrying an assault rifle. She gives you a brief once-over, and deciding that you are no threat, starts inspecting your flat.
  
  Perplexed, you try to close the door but meet gentle resistance. Standing in the doorway, is an older asian-looking man, likewise uniformed.
  
  "Nice to meet you Professor," the man says. "I am Colonel Wang and this there is Sergeant Miller."
  
  "All Clear," Miller shouts from somewhere inside your apartment, the bathroom by the sound of it.
  
  You notice Wang's outstretched hand and shake it.
  
  "I hope you don't mind us intruding here," Wang steps inside. "Your PhD student at the university was so kind to give us your address."
  
  > offer them a chair
  You glance around your open plan kitchen-living-room. It is in passable shape, a 1-bed affair in a middle class apartment complex. You congratulate yourself to doing the dishes yesterday. Still it's far from ideal for receiving visitors. A career in science means moving a lot and when you moved to Davis a year ago, you only bought the bare necessities.
  
  "Please have a seat," you say gesturing at your meager collection of chairs.
  
  Wang sits down in a dining chair that you bought from the thrift store on L street. Miller takes a seat on your rocking chair in the corner. That one is from the thrift store on 3rd street. You are left with the other dining chair. You take a seat across from Wang at the kitchen counter that doubles as your desk and dining table.
  
  "Thank you very much for your time," the Colonel says. "I would like to discuss a matter of national security. I am on my way to a meeting regarding a new virus that they have in China, and I would like to have my facts straight by the time I show up."
  
  "And you are asking me? I am not a virologist."
  
  "No, but I am interested more in the epidemic than in the virus itself. You have worked on epidemics, haven't you? People say you are good at explaining things; your colleagues think highly of you."
  
  He is baiting you. You decide to bite anyway.
  
  "What kind of virus is it?" you ask.
  
  Wang looks at Miller. She sits very straight, gun held ready. The chair is not rocking at all.
  
  "Corona virus, Sir!" she offers.
  
  "Ah Corona virus," you say. "So this new disease is like ...
  
  "Sorry, I didn't get ya." You hurry to the door.
  
  "I said, some military types were asking for you. They are on their way to you now."
  
  "Military, what?" you think, arriving at the door.
  
  Since you are still in your nightwear you only open the door an inch wide, just to have it pushed in your face. A blonde woman in a military uniform storms in, carrying an assault rifle. She gives you a brief once-over, and deciding that you are no threat, starts inspecting your flat.
  
  Perplexed, you try to close the door but meet gentle resistance. Standing in the doorway, is an older asian-looking man, likewise uniformed.
  
  "Nice to meet you Professor," the man says. "I am Colonel Wang and this there is Sergeant Miller."
  
  "All Clear," Miller shouts from somewhere inside your apartment, the bathroom by the sound of it.
  
  You notice Wang's outstretched hand and shake it.
  
  "I hope you don't mind us intruding here," Wang steps inside. "Your PhD student at the university was so kind to give us your address."
  
  > ask them what they want
  "What do you want?" you ask.
  
  It sounds harsher than you intended. Miller raises an eyebrow, but Wang only smiles.
  
  "I see our uninvited arrival has offended you. I am very sorry. Please take a seat." He gestures at your meager collection of chairs.
  
  Life as a scientist means moving a lot, sometimes between continents. When you arrived in Davis a year ago, you didn't want to spend much on furniture. Fortunately you found the two nice dining chairs at the thrift store on L street. Sitting down on one of them, you join Wang at the kitchen counter that doubles as your dining table and desk. Miller takes a seat in your rocking chair, some distance away. That one is from the thrift store on 3rd street.
  
  "Thank you very much for your time," Wang continues. "I would like to ask you some questions on a matter of national security. I am on my way to a meeting regarding a new virus that they have in China, and I would like to have my facts straight by the time I show up."
  
  "And you are asking me? I am not a virologist."
  
  "No, but I am interested more in the epidemic than in the virus itself. You have worked on epidemics, haven't you? People say you are good at explaining things, your colleagues think highly of you."
  
  He is baiting you. You decide to bite anyway.
  
  "What kind of virus is it?" you ask.
  
  Wang looks at Miller. She sits very straight, gun held ready. The chair is not rocking at all.
  
  "Corona virus, Sir!" she offers.
  
  "Ah Corona virus," you say. "So this new disease is like ...[Themes: fantasy, animal perspective, grimdark]
  
  You awaken from a restless sleep, the smell of rust and blood filling your senses. The tiny cage you're in is filthy and made of cold iron bars, with only a single cowl of foul smelling, bloody, weevil-infested stew for nourishment, and you groggily look up to view your surroundings.
  
  You are being dragged on top of wheeled cart through a wide grassland, across hills under the light of a full moon. The creatures pulling you are two legged, upright wolf-like creatures with filthy maws caked in dried blood, known as the "Vargur".
  
  In the wake of the defeat of the "Horned God", the dark sorcerer who had unleashed uncountable monsters on the land, the Vargur Hordes turned from the armies' foot soldiers into scattered tribes lead by Warlords, pillaging, murdering and enslaving members of Unicorn villages. Your village had been the victim of one such raid, and though you managed to escape the initial carnage, the Vargur caught you on the borders. You don't know where they're taking you, but you have heard rumours of the unspeakable things done to Unicorn prisoners in the Vargur mines, far beneath the earth...
  
  "Awake!" Barks a Vargur, "The filthy mule is awake!"
  
  You feel the harsh sting of a whip on your back, and your mind is quickly shaken out of its grogginess.
  
  How do you react?
  
  > remain silent and passive
  You slump down, defeated. Fighting back isn't going to help your predicament; you might as well accept it as painlessly as possible. You hear the cackle of your captors, a sound akin to the laughter-like call of Hyneas from the Zebra lands.
  
  Suddenly, you feel something grab your back legs. Filthy, ragged claws rake the flesh just above your fetlocks as a Vargur, eyes alight with malice and hunger, pulls you towards him.
  
  "Come to me, mule," he snarls, "I'm sure just a taste won't hurt you...much!"
  
  Instinctively, your horn flares up with an aura of silver telekinetic energy, but it quickly fizzles out; the cold iron bars prevent any magic, especially offensive magic, from being used by anyone inside the cage.
  
  As you prepare for the worst, suddenly, you feel the pulling stop. The Vargur is still holding your legs, but he is frozen in place, an aura of dark blue magic surrounding him. You glance around, and realise this has happened to every Vargur around you; as such, the cart is no longer being pulled. If you strain your ears, you swear you can hear a soft, beautiful song mingled with the mournful howl of the wind.
  
  "Someone's far from home," comes a soft, female voice. You look to your right, and see a single, pink unicorn standing there, in the darkness. Her mane is black with a few pink stripes in odd places, and it is perfectly straight, dropping down towards the floor. As is common in Unicorns, though by no means ubiquitous, the aura is the same colour as her eyes; dark blue.
  
  "I'm guessing the Vargur slave mines aren't your chosen holiday destination?" She says, in the manner of one discussing the weather, "They certainly wouldn't be mine. Not exactly the most charming of places, but I've seen many that are worse."
  
  "Can you get me out of here?" You plead.
  
  "Oh, you mean break you out of this rusty thing? Of course I can," she says.
  
  "And what do you want in return?"
  
  "Oh, just a small thing," she says, brightly, "I'll need you to do something simple; buy me something very specific. I'll provide you with all the necessary money, of course, but after that, consider your debt paid."
  
  What do you do?
  
  > refuse the deal
  The mysterious Unicorn shrugs.
  
  "No matter," she says, "I'll find someone else. There are plenty of helpless prisoners trapped around here."
  
  After a hellish journey, you finally reach the entrance of the Vargur Mines. A bottomless hole with a path leading to nothing but darkness.
  
  "Look, mule," says one of the Vargur, "This is fate that awaits all those who try to escape."
  
  The crucifixes on the start of the path are decorated in the bodies of unicorns and many other innocent creatures, all hanging there, swaying in the wind.
  
  You are pulled down into the abyss below, the sobs and screams of the slaves mixed in with the laughter and whip-cracking of their Vargur masters.
  
  You don't last long in the mines. You manage to extract around 40-50 glittering crystals and gems before collapsing from the exhaustion and the beatings. As you expire in your sleep, you dream of that unicorn who you rejected months ago. The last words you hear, with the same casual tone as before, are "Looks like you probably should have taken that deal, right?"