text: "Alright, everyone off the bus!"
  
  Yes Herr Spitzer.
  
  What are we even supposed to see at this stupid museum anyway? What's the point of this field trip?
  
  "Ehm. Alright, we have approximately 2 hours to spend in the museum. Please do not dawdle, but at the same time, make sure to take in as much of the glorious triumph of our nation over our greatest foe as possible!"
  
  Yes Herr Spitzer. Of course Herr Spitzer.
  
  "Hey Alexander! You must feel really lucky, being an außenseiter and all."
  
  Ugh. This shit again.
  
  "What is that supposed to mean?"
  
  "Well, your family is from Area 7."
  
  "My family has proven countless times that we are more than worthy to be called German."
  
  "Just face the facts, you'll never be a pure blood like I"
  
  > say Something Back
  "Well, Britain was settled by Germanic groups, so I'm probably more pure blood then you are. In fact you probably have some filthy-"
  
  "That is enough! I will not have bickering about heritage here. Herr Albretcht, you have no right to question his bloodlines. You know we do not accept students who are not pure"
  
  "Yes sir..."
  
  "As for you, Herr Black-"
  
  Here we go again.
  
  "We shall speak of this when we get back, and a proper punishment will be arranged"
  
  Ughh. Always favoring the goddamn Aryan poster-boy.
  
  I can't win with this eye color.
  
  Even though my father is chancellor of Area 7, and that my grandfather collaborated with the Germans, nothing will ever change the fact that we are not poster children of the Aryan race.
  
  Benjamin probably feels the same way. Ruling class son, and yet no respect. Wrong phenotypes.
  
  Speak of the devil.
  
  > Ben
  "Listen Alex, you know you can't win against these pricks. Why do you put up a fight?"
  
  "I didn't even try to this time."
  
  "...Alright. Well, just stick close to me and the other browns. There's safety in the numbers, right?"
  
  This is ridiculous. I should just get colored contacts already.
  
  "...I guess."
  
  "Alright. Well, cheer up! It is a great honor to be here, after all."
  
  "...right."
  
  This building is impressive, as well as daunting. I guess it conveys its message well.
  
  "Who built this glorious monument to our triumph, class?"[Themes: modern]
  
  It was a regular night, down at "Farewell, Liver", the local watering hole. We played our usual 5 song set. Hardly anyone clapped. I was putting away all my equipment and heading out around back , when some smug prick dressed in all black bumps into me. "Watch where you're going!" He completely ignores me. "Hey!" , I say as I grab his shoulder. His eyes are glowing red. I back off, and just stare at him. "You're in the band, yeah?", He says with grin. "Yeah, what's it to you?" I reply. "I've a proposition for you and your friends. Meet me on 1024 6th street. My office is in the brick building with the green sign." Without another word, he turns and walks away. He seems pretty shady, but I've never gotten myself into a situation I couldn't handle. I've lived in this city my whole life, I've seen some pretty messed up stuff, this guy isn't anything new. I head outside to speak with my band. There's Andy on drums, Steve does our vocals, and Ted is on bass. Then there's me Mark Carpetson, seasoned guitar player. Together, we form "MAST", a pretty kickin' metal band. If people don't like us, that's their problem. "This fool sounds pretty wiggity wack" says Ted. "I'm not sure we should triggity trust him." Steve is dosing off, drunk in the corner, while Andy is polishing his drums. They're obviously not interested, but there's no way I'm going alone.
  
  [Author's Note: Mark Carpetson is your average urban musician. He plays with a band in the local tavern every saturday night. However, when a mysterious man enters his life, strange and wacky events start to unfold.]
  
  > go on ahead without your band.
  They're obviously not going to listen to me, so screw them. I head out on my own, walking down the dark streets. It's a cold night, and I wonder what it is exactly that this guy wants. Is he a producer? Is he from a record label? Maybe he just really likes out music? Bah, I don't know, and I'm not sure I care. For being in a city, life sure is boring. At least it gives me something to do. I walk up on sixth street, and I don't see a single building that fits the description. Suddenly, as I get closer, I see a building change right in front of my eyes. The building turned to brick, and a door and green sign appeared out of nowhere. In shock, I turn around and back up a good few feet. The sign reads "Lucifer Inc." Just who IS this guy?
  
  > open the door and head inside
  It's burning hot inside the building, and I start sweating almost instantly. It's dimly lit, and I can hardly see. I look around the room, and there's a three doors and a staircase. Where should I go?
  
  > Door #1
  I slowly walk into the room, and there's nothing in the room but a skeleton covered in cobwebs in the corner! This is ridiculous. I'm not sure what to do at this point...
  
  > turn around and go back home
  This is some of the craziest stuff I've ever seen, there's no way I'm going in there. I turn around to head home, and a hand grabs me, puts their other hand over my mouth, and drags me inside!
  
  I wake up in a cage. It's dark, and It's so hot that I was sweating in my sleep. I feel around, but I can't seem to find any way out. oon, I overheat, and die.
  
  The End.