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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

You check your iPhone. It's broken. Touched by the Void as a member of Clan Lasombra, you have trouble using modern technology—it's like touch screens are never quite sure you're "there"—but this iPhone worked okay for some reason. But now it's dead plastic. You take out the SIM card and destroy it, then destroy the spares you carry. You wear a watch because sunrise is never far from your mind, and—yes, that's broken, too. Then you check your satchel, but the USBs are all there, all safe.

Your Hunger is still a dull ache in your teeth, and you're still in control. For now.

You can hear the wight in the empty convenience store, snuffling and moaning. You walk back to where you left your car, but it's gone except for a single hubcap. You check your reflection and wait for it to stop jumping around. There's blood on your hands and face and clumps of gore in your hair, and your shirt and jeans are in tatters. You have nothing to wash with, but you rub sand all over yourself to try to get as much of the blood off as you can.

You look like something that just crawled out of the earth for revenge—you can't show yourself anywhere civilized like this. Headlights appear on the highway, and you fade back into the scrub.

Instinctively you check the satchel one more time, but everything is there. Everything that just happened was a distraction—someone else's problem. You can reach the outskirts of Tucson before dawn, and from there make your way to the new Prince's court. Just deliver these USBs, and you'll make enough money for a new car. You'll be able to keep doing this.