Why the heck do I keep doing this?
You think as you drag the near-lifeless body of Van Ghalta down a hallway, unseen thugs from further down peppering your position with poorly-aimed bullet shots. However, there are a lot of them, and they’re coming closer. Your sidearm barks once, twice, and two cloaked figures fall out of the shadows, dead.
You pull the trigger on your gun once more, but all that comes out is an empty-sounding click. You toss the gun and seize agent Van Ghalta’s coat lapel with both hands, dragging him down the hallway and ducking into a side room at a speed twice your previous pace. You hurriedly close the door behind yourself, propping Van Ghalta up against a wall.
He’s unconscious, but you get the feeling that, were he awake, he would tell you that his day of writing was slightly better than yesterday’s, but he was feeling much more tired towards the end. You also got the feeling he would tell you that he was mostly out of the worldbuilding stage at almost 20,000 words, clocking in at an average of 2000 words daily.
Can he keep this up?
Well, he needs a little surgery first. And your attackers need to be neutralized. And Lord Antiwinter has to be located and stopped. Damn, why is this so hard? Where are the guards? You think. Van Ghalta’s breathing is growing more shallow as the footsteps in the hall get more insistent.
You grasp a knife from your belt, thinking about what Van Ghalta would tell you in these moments. Unfortunately, your brilliant powers of deduction seem to have left you, so the best option is just going to be stand and fight.
Why does this feel like a poorly-structured role-playing game with one player? You think.
The Writer's Rack 