“You degenerate piece of shit!”

Your back slams against the floor at an awkward angle just before your head snaps back and crashes against the side of the bed. Everything flashes red for an instant and your mouth fills with the bitter taste of iron.

“Get up!”

The hands that threw you to the ground are on you once again. Your vision is a blurry, colorful mess and you feel an electric tingle coursing through your teeth. Your head lolls forward as you are lifted from the ground. You smell the acrid reek of black coffee pass across your face just before you can focus your eyes enough to see who it belongs to.

“If it were up to me, you’d be living in a hole by now.”

Your eyes finally adjust and you find yourself staring back at a 73 year-old man with gray hair in a crisp, white, button-up shirt. It’s Gail’s father, the Reverend Daniel Coates. His thumbs are hooked into your armpits and his skeletal fingers wrap around your upper arms like snakes beginning to shed their skin. He scowls with anger and grinds his lips against his teeth as if he were preparing to deliver your final judgment.

“It is up to you,” you reply and let a small rivulet of blood from inside your mouth spill over the top of your lower teeth. The Reverend groans and releases his hold on your body. You stumble on the floor but keep yourself from falling. Instinctively, you reach for a nearby pillow and use it to cover yourself from the front.

“Me?” He asks. His eyes become narrow as he straightens his sleeves and recollects his composure. There’s a momentary, awkward pause as he steps back across the room and turns off the radio.

“Aside from your current, lewd presentation. Do you think I had anything at all to do with the situation we are all facing at this moment?”

He begins pacing to his right, toward the table at the end of the bed. You follow him and notice that Gail is still in the room. She has wrapped the towels around her body, one across her chest and the other around her waist. Your eyes meet and you can’t help but be impressed by how convincingly she can display a childlike innocence around her father.

“They call you Vulture, correct? Thee Vulture.” He nods as he starts to address you. His voice changes slightly, summoning the same tone he uses during mass when he delivers the sermon. His hands reach up and slowly begin smoothing a few wrinkles in his shirt.

“Well, from what I know, the Vulture’s a bird and birds like to fly. But I don’t suppose that’s not how you got this particular name, did you? I have never seen you fly at all, Vulture. Do you fly? No, of course not. That’s because you’re just a man. You’re not a bird at all.”

You listen and swallow back the pain that has begun throbbing on the back of your head. The Reverend pulls a small comb from the pocket of his black dress pants and begins fixing a few disheveled strands of hair.

“But let’s imagine for a moment you are a bird, perhaps even a vulture as you claim. You are the first of a whole new species that God has brought into existence. A walking vulture. So then, being that you are this vulture, you can answer me this. Does the Walking Vulture stare at the ground like a man or does it look up into the clouds where all of the other vultures might be?”

His voice comes to a natural pause and he stares back at you, demanding an answer to what you can tell will already be a trap.

Pull The Dice!

This feels like a 8...

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If you pull a 8 or higher,

Continue here.

If the total of your dice is less than or equal to 8,

Continue here.

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The Vulture Revolver Owner's Manual ©2009-2022 RVR Games
A Division of Revolver Visual Design LLC
Recommended for Mature Audiences Only | Credits