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Werewolves: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names
(Now with 98% more ecological guilt and 100% less graphics)

You and your band of traumatized werewolves (read: a group of poorly resolved furry therapists) must save the Living Earth using two infallible ingredients: homicidal rage and questionable spirituality.

In this interactive novel with hundreds of choices (most leading to inevitable doom), you'll have the chance to face a Wyrm Spirit that manifests itself as... a lie you really want to believe. Like that voice that says "I'll start my diet tomorrow." Only with more cosmic destruction.

 Written by Kyle Marquis and set in the wonderful (cough) universe of World of Darkness, this epic without a single image (but with 1.6 million words, in other words, an abusive relationship with reading) is fueled solely by the most powerful thing in the world: your imagination that has already failed three college entrance exams.

You are a werewolf. And like all good werewolf, you are a mix of:

Shaman who thinks meditation cures demonic migraines,

Hero that nobody asked for,

Monster with existential crises,

And sustainability consultant for Mother Gaia (bankrupt, of course).

Created by the goddess of the Earth, you were gifted with the ability to turn into a wolf (in other words, walk around naked with style), and tasked with the noble mission of preventing humanity from turning the planet into a cosmic McTrash.

But guess what? You failed. Congratulations.

 Three years ago, your pack was part of the Sept of Broad Brook, Massachusetts (land of maple syrup and spiritual doom), where werewolves still pretended they had a chance against the Wyrm — the spirit of destruction, chaos, and people who comment “first” on YouTube.

While other Septs fell like dominoes at a satanic rave, yours was there, firm, strong, and deluded. Some said you would prevent the Apocalypse. Others just thought it was funny to watch the circus burn.

Now, all that’s left is for you to pick up the pieces (literally), avoid becoming an evil spirit’s kibble, and, who knows, write your name in the Book of Hungry Names — the one that eats hopes, New Year’s promises, and happy endings.

Do you want me to adapt this to become the introduction to chapter 1 as well?

Of course! Here's a Desciclopédia-style warning, with a touch of acid and humor, that you can put at the beginning of your story on Wattpad to make everything clear:

WARNING BEFORE SOME LITIGIOUS SPIRIT COMES TO BARK

This work is a humorous reinterpretation (read: full of irony, sarcasm, dark humor and some inconvenient truths) based on the style of interactive stories like those from Choice of Games. But, before anyone calls the lawyers or invokes the spirit of copyright, let's make something VERY clear:

This is not plagiarism. It's parody. It's a joke. It's entertainment.

(And, let's be honest, not even Mother Gaia would bother to sue.)

The writing adopted follows the Desciclopédia style, that is:

Nothing is sacred.

Everything can be a joke.

If you get offended, congratulations, the system worked.

 This is a tongue-in-cheek homage to the classics of the genre, using the interactive format to tell stories that are bizarre, tragic, hilarious, and incredibly stupid (sometimes all at the same time). None of the original Choice of Games content was copied directly—only the structure was inspired, because let’s face it, reinventing the wheel is a lot of work.

If you want an epic journey with deep moral dilemmas, go play the original.

If you want to laugh at your own misfortune while turning into a werewolf and punching mystical capitalism with your paws, go ahead. It’s your house.

Zerk World) Zombo Stars

Lapu shakes his head. "I yelled until my throat was hoarse. It was muffled, but I know some of you heard it. Maker laughed when she told me that she blamed the yelling on Sonoma's sex life and the noises from the cabin attached to the lab. Then she muzzled me." He shudders. "She wasn't entirely wrong, either. I got to hear all of that too."

"I had reports from a scout that I didn't believe," Ahote says. "They said they smelled you, but every attempt to find you failed. She was so careful…how did you manage to escape and get to us?"

Lapu struggles to sit up. He's stronger than he looks—not so much sickly as deformed and exhausted from his long journey on foot. "Maker wasn't paying as much attention to me after the attack as she was before; she just strapped me to one of her examination tables and showed up every so often to 'check on my progress,' whatever that means. It took hours, but I managed to cut through the straps with my claws." He holds his right hand out, palm open. It's scarred over by hundreds of little cuts he must have sustained while scraping at his bonds. You wonder if Maker's experiments slowed his healing ability, temporarily or otherwise.

"That doesn't explain how you found us," you say. Ahote nods in agreement, a frown slowly creeping over his face.

Lapu turns in the bed and puts his gnarled feet on the floor. The shoes he's wearing are almost worn out, and his twisted toes peek out from deep tears in the fabric like bone wrapped in gristle. "All the doors of her complex were electronically locked so I had to sneak around looking for a keycard. I found one in her office, but that wasn't the only thing."

"She had this address," Tiva says.

He nods. "That's why I had to warn you."

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