"We all make choices. But in the end, our choices make us."
� � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � -Andrew Ryan,�Bioshock
For those of you unfamiliar with the Choose Your Own Adventure theme, you are obliged to read this brief tutorial into proceedings. Begin your journey by reading�ONE
, the beginning of your quest. You will then be compelled to select where next to head on your journey. The decision you make will be supported with the section number. Scroll up or down to the corresponding section to see where the journey takes you.
There are many paths, Adventurer. Some to glory, some to shame. Best wishes and may fortune favor the worthy.
The Los Angeles Convention Center was built by Charles Luckman, who decided to become an architect from the tender age of 8 after being dazzled by the chandeliers inside the Muehlebach hotel when on his paper round. The late, great Mr Luckman would find little to inspire him today, unless he developed a penchant for sweaty back crack hair. There is little beauty evident here, only the hustle, bustle, giddy anticipation and filthy torment; the buzz, the fervor, the piss-storm of anxiety, wet nachos and flat Coke, impatience and feverish bloodlust for the jingle jangle slobber-fest that is the Electronic Entertainment Expo 2014.
You hover at the back of the line in the searing, unforgiving Los Angeles heat. Sweat trembles on your brow, and your day pass creases and warps in your pinking, glistening hands.
You feel your brain crack. You are desperate to fight your way into the spectacle that lies within, or die trying.
Barge through like a trojan -�go to TWO Whoop like a howler monkey who had just won the lottery�- go to TWENTY ONE Faint -�go to FOUR TWO
Steeling your nerve, tightening your gut and furrowing your brow, you hurtle headlong into the cacophony. Dosed up on the adrenalin, consumers young and old, from frail and timid to stout and jolly, scatter and cascade about you like confetti at a wedding.
The throng appear to react as legion. They become wary of your encroachment and rebellious tactics, and responded with swift justice.
You are stopped dead by a double elbow to the chin and groin, stunning you like an elk in the high beam of a Ford pickup on a November in Wisconsin. You wipe the blood from your chin and groin and meet the eyes of your nemesis.
'Broad' can, ironically, broadly define a human being, but never more so than your recent attacker. He appeared to define the term. As if he came to a man in a dream during the times when Middle English was spoken, and inspired the confabulation to emanate.
Broader than he was tall. A Croatian champion powerlifter looks like a Swedish supermodel compared to the eclipsing testament to the power of hard livin', hard eatin', hard drinkin', and total disregard for medical recommendations in any of these regards, that stands in front of you.
Words eject from his malformed grotesque arrangement of skin atop his grandeur like an air raid siren having sex with a foghorn.
"This the end of the line for you, honey cake. Best get back to tha' back or it's your back Ah'll be breakin', get me?"
Quote Shakespeare -�go to FIVE Jump! -�go to SIX Cry -�go to SEVEN THREE
"Let's all Oi can ask you to do, squire. Word is, he's somewhere round here posing as a cleaner. Oi don't suppose if you foind him you can convince him to come round and, ya know, be himself, loike?"
Go to the Take-Two booth�- go to EIGHTEEN Go to the Ubisoft booth�- go to�TWELVE FOUR
You free yourself from the realm of awareness, and allow your form to drift to the rhythm that gravity presents it when muscles utterly lose their tone. You feel, smell and taste blood as you headbutt the ground before reconciling with a big, wide hug to Mother Earth, as you are spirited away to the world within and then nought.
You appear to recover instantly, but as you come to, you realise you are no longer a termite amongst the nest-bound. Instead, you find yourself in an air-conditioned room, atop a reclining table, much like one that is found in a doctor's office, but less well equipped. Your first guess would be that you are in a first aid station.
Delighted at the thought that you may already be in the inner sanctum, you gather yourself together to head off. However, imperceptible forces have rendered you paralysed. You struggle, but to no avail. You attempt to shout for assistance, but no words find their way from your increasingly frightened person.
As if on cue, Peter Molyneux, famed auteur of the�Populous
�series, tucks himself through the entrance, and appears to play with the door handle. You come to the conclusion that he appears to be locking the place up, and clearly doesn't wish to be disturbed.
As he turns to see you, you get a better look at him. Somewhat unnervingly, he is dressed in traditional Highland attire, including a fabulous tartan kilt. He recognises that you have regained consciousness.
"Ah, so it seems the spider has disturbed the fly. No matter. I will dance you back to dream land!"
He grins a mischievous grin, walks over to an iPod dock on the side counter and switches it on. A bagpipe rendition of what appears to sound like the song�Royals
�by Lorde blares through the tinny speakers, and Peter starts to jig.
He jigs, he jogs, he spins and twirls. His pale, hairy British legs and knock knees wibble and wobble and clack. The hypnotic affect renders you dizzy. Peter's grin becomes Cheshire-cat-wide.
He shouts above the din in a terrible faux Scottish accent, "Have ye heard what we keep beneath oor kilts?"
He clutches at the hem of his kilt.
Your brain does you a favor and winks away. Goodnight forever Adventurer. May your next life be more merciful.
You bend one knee and gesture a cupped hand at your foe, and burst into Bard:
"Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally."
A low rumble forms into a tremor. The sun dims. A glorious and iridescent goddess emerges from the skyline astride a vast wheel taken from the�Wheel of Fortune
�gameshow. Your foe's jaw drops to somewhere around his ankles.
The 50-foot statue of beauty and danger brought to fruition leaps gracefully from the wheel, allowing it to careen down West Washington Boulevard in a streak of epic destruction and carnage. Fortune lands with the grace of a ballet dancer, pulls a fortune cookie from her clutch purse the size of a jeep, and hurls at at your enemy like a ninja throwing star.
Your opponent no longer takes human form, more so a 10 yard smear under the wake of a giant confection massacre.
Returning to the matter at hand, you sprint toward the entrance, giving a brief salute to good lady Fortune for coming to your aid. She gives you a cheeky wink as she ascends back to the Heavens.
You reach the entrance as the crowd continue to stare blankly at the spectacle around them. The door staff remain startlingly professional and request your ticket on entry. Unfortunately, you do not appear to have it.
Check your pockets -�go to ELEVEN Do some street magic -�go to FOURTEEN SIX
You jump in the air. You land back down on the ground. Your opponent seems unfazed. You decide it might be time to consider your other options.
Quote Shakespeare -�go to FIVE Cry -�go to SEVEN SEVEN
Your bottom lip starts to tremble. Your eyes well up. You begin to sob, quickly breaking into a full-blown cry. You wail and bawl like an infant with an earache. Your adversary slumps in pity and disgust.
"You are pitiful, man..." He mutters, and turns from your sight.
Now is the time to strike!
Do a hurricane kick�- go to THIRTEEN Check if your Tamagotchi needs feeding -�go to NINE EIGHT
You burst into a sprint, kicking up hot rubber as you beat the streets in the ruthless California heat. After a couple hundred yards, you are a huge sweaty mess. Parts of you are sweating that you didn't know had sweat glands, and your heart feels like it's making a bid to fly through your ribcage and flap about like a fish out of water all over the asphalt on West Pico Boulevard.
You think you're clear from danger, but you need to be sure. It's time to make yourself scarce.
Enter the Pizza Hut�- go to SEVENTEEN Steal a car�- go to SIXTEEN NINE
You check your Tamagotchi. It is dead. You looked after that Tamagotchi for 17 years.
Give a dramatic speech�- go to FIVE Time for that hurricane kick�- go to THIRTEEN Faint�- go to FOUR TEN
Without blinking, you saunter over to the main security guard, and give him a big, wet kiss. You are about to work in a bit of tongue when the guard finally snaps into the reality of what is going on. The guard throws you to the floor and grabs your left ankle and left wrist. Like a champion hammer thrower he begins to spin you. Round and round, you begin to lose count how many times. You feel your eyelids and lips flapping against your cheeks as you gain more momentum and speed. Eventually, your assailant lets go.
Soaring majestically through the air, you smash throw a window into the South Hall, landing in the Videogame History Museum, ass first on an Atari 2600 joystick.
After an embarrassing removal, and several minutes waddling around the museum allowing your sphincter some recovery time, you decide to check out some of the more modern offerings available at the other booths.
Go to the Konami booth�- go to FIFTEEN Go to the Take-Two booth�- go to EIGHTEEN Go to the Ubisoft booth�- go to�TWELVE ELEVEN
In your pockets are a Tamagotchi (dead) and a small guidebook: "How To Perform Fairly Impressive Street Magic."
Do some street magic�- go to FOURTEEN Swallow the Tamagotchi�- go to NINETEEN TWELVE
This portion of "Choose Your Own Adventure E3 2K14: The Softwarening" is only accessible via your UbisoftTM�UplayTM�account. Unfortunately UplayTM�servers are currently down for maintenance. Please try again later. For further details, please read the UplayTM�terms and conditions. This downtime should not affect your UnitsTM�purchases, and should fix instances where players were unable to select the UplayTM-exclusive RaymanTM�skin for Aiden PearceTM�in Watch_DogsTM. If you find any issues or bugs following maintenance, please feel free to write them on a postcard and place them under your pillow, where an UbisoftTM�Customer Service Representative Fairy from your region will retrieve it in your sleep at their earliest convenience. Thank you for your continued interest and support in UbisoftTM�and UplayTM.
You yell, "Tatsumaki Senpukyaku!" and leap gracelessly into the air, right leg up high as you are able. Unfortunately, you are gifted with ankles the size of newborn's wrists and hear a 'crack' as you land like a wet Nerf dart and collapse to the ground. The crowd around you panic and squabble to arrange for help as you lay on your back, your left leg pointing the wrong way and in searing agony. You retain the dignity of consciousness just long enough to see someone in an ambulance uniform enter your field of view, then resign yourself to collapse.
You wake up in a hospital bed with your leg in a sling. For you, E3 is over.
You pull up your sleeves and sweep your arms about, rhythmically and dramatically. A flash of smoke and from one hand you produce a dove, which flies off and craps on your shoulder. The other hand contains one Day Pass for E3. Great heavens!
You head in and make a bid for the South Hall. Now's your chance to finally check out some of the booths available.
Go to the Konami booth�- go to FIFTEEN Go to the Take-Two booth�- go to EIGHTEEN Go to the Ubisoft booth�- go to�TWELVE FIFTEEN
You walk towards the Konami booth, the bright red lights guide you in. Sudden as a spring shower, you are shocked as a man bursts out of a cardboard box and tackles you to the ground, leaping onto you and straddling your chest. He grabs your shoulders and whispers in your ear.
"You're gonna have to help me mate! Ev'ry one keeps finkin' I'm Hideo Kojima, but Oi'm jus' a norf' London barrow boy all dolled up to�look
�like Hideo Kojima, see? Your gonna have to get me aht! Oi can't take tha' pressure of bein' tha' go-to bloke for all these questions about Metal Gear Solid 5, innit?"
Tell him you will look into it -�go to THREE Tell him that Hideo is happy where he is, and to leave him alone�- go to TWENTY SIXTEEN
You see a charcoal-colored Lexus parked outside a carpet store as a frail septuagenerian carefully balances four pizza boxes on her roof and fumbles for her keys, sliding the key gingerly into the car door.
"Falcon... PUNCH!" You scream as you emit a sliding punch, your fist engulfed in flame, and blast the poor Lexus owner deep into the carpet store, with shattered glass and carpets akimbo the only remnants of her presence.
You finish opening the door and pop the keys into the ignition.
You wish you knew how to drive in California better.
You smash into the side of the Los Angeles Convention Center, and make yourself scarce through a side door, which mercifully brings you into the South Hall. Time to check out some booths.
Go to the Konami booth�- go to FIFTEEN Go to the Take-Two booth�- go to EIGHTEEN Go to the Ubisoft booth�- go to�TWELVE SEVENTEEN
You head into Pizza Hut and order a Medium Pizza and a drink. Unfortunately a mix up with the order meant your order contained pineapple and a special serum that makes you hyper-allergic to pineapple. You swell up like a water balloon and burst, putting several customers off their food - until, at least, later that evening.
You are heading to the Take Two booth when you trip over a broom.
"Oh, my apologies..." Murmurs a cleaner and picks the broom up as he continues wrestling with an exhibition trash can, "Hey, as a way of making it up to you, I have a little secret."
He pulls you up and whispers in your ear, "My name is Hideo Kojima. Unbelievable, right? But listen: I can't stand working on the Metal Gear Solid series anymore. Okay? I just want to clean things."
"It's simple work, sure, but there's a purity to it. You know when something's done with cleaning. But with Metal Gear Solid? All the fans want is more, more more. Well fuck it, fuck them, and fuck you if you think I am going back to those jackals. I'm staying here, maybe get myself a nice cleaning job in an office block afterwards. Now get out of here! If I see your face again, I'm going to pretend I've never seen you before.�Capiche
You decide to bid a hasty retreat, but as you look behind you, you see another poor schmuck trip over that guy's broom, only to get pulled up and whispered in�their
�ear too. What a strange guy...
Go to the Konami booth�- go to FIFTEEN Go to the Ubisoft booth�- go to�TWELVE NINETEEN
You choke on the Tamagotchi and die. But seriously, what the hell else were you expecting?
"Oh yeah, is that what he told you? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well�fine
�can be Kojima, and see how�you
�like it! Huh?"
Before you can argue, the barrow boy claiming to pretend to be Kojima-san pulls out a pair of scissors and several wigs, sets your hair up all nice and moppy and pops his nice wide glasses on you, then stuffs you in the box he came in.
As you emerge from the box, several Konami employees come up to you, and you decide to wing it for a bit and see how long you can get away with being Hideo.
Around the time of releasing Metal Gear Solid 6 in 2018, people start to get the idea you may not be Hideo Kojima, but by that time Konami would be too embarrassed to admit that you are an imposter.
You happily remain Hideo Kojima until you are killed by a stray javelin at the Tokyo 2020 Olympics. Only then does the real Hideo Kojima come out of hiding and admit that he had been a cleaner at a small office block on South Hope Street since 2014.
Stretching out your palms and squinting into the unrelenting azure blue and hot white flare above, you shriek like the mating cry of a thousand geese having a fever dream about stepping on a lego brick. The crowd around you stop their facing the Convention Center and turn their gaze to your performance. Murmurs and jostling of enquiry about the state of your mental health and your ability to head elsewhere and self-fornicate are intermittent with louder excerpts from the mob, somewhat more insistent on relieving you of your current location and providing graphic suggestions of where, who or with what you should be coupling genitals with.
The furore reaches the attention of those in charge of maintaining peace and order within the stream of registrants. A pair of toned, glistening, rippling professional peacekeepers, rigged and briefed to return the area to a measure of calm, enter your periphery. The larger, older, clearly more authoritative deliver your ultimatum.
"Ok buddy, you'll have to keep it down or we'll have to haul you out."
Run away - go�to EIGHT Give the head security guard a big, wet kiss�- go to TEN
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