Added draft rewrite of Time Traders

README.md

@@ -1,7 +1,13 @@
-# Starter Adventure
+# Casey Universe (working title)
 
-This is a Twine starter template with basic settings page and header with a sample prologue to get you started. It uses the default [Harlowe](https://twine2.neocities.org/) 3.x story format.
+You play as Max Casey a hero-for-hire bounty hunter whose mistake left you with two choices: be turned over to the Rehabilitation Service or volunteer for a secret government project.
+
+You choose the latter, hoping for a second chance to escape. At the Arctic base, you learn what the project really is, and instead of escaping you join the the Beaker Trading. You travel through timelines and the multiverse to help them gain advantage on the Reds in the present. Meanwhile, memories of your twin brother, Zack, leave you on a chase to reunite with him.
+
+## Author's Note
+
+This is an adoption of Andre Norton’s Time Traders series that explores the question of why Max, the now brother of Zack, wasn't around in earlier stories.
 
 ## License
 
-I hereby waive this template under the public domain. The code and contents are under [The Unlicense](UNLICENSE) and [Creative Commons Zero v1.0 Universal](CC0), respectively.
+I hereby waive this under the public domain. The code and contents are under [The Unlicense](UNLICENSE) and [Creative Commons Zero v1.0 Universal](CC0), respectively.

drafts/timetraders.md

@@ -0,0 +1,87 @@
+# Time Traders (GPT Rewrite)
+
+The door of the detention room creaks open, but you don’t bother turning your head. No point in giving them the satisfaction. The guard clears his throat, maybe just to break the hour of dead silence between you. “On your feet, Casey. The judge wants to see you.”
+
+You stand smoothly, every muscle moving with careful control. No need for defiance—at least, not the obvious kind. The trick is to play along, to let them see what they want to see. A bad little boy who’s learned his lesson. Meek. Regretful. Not the brash, sharp-tongued bounty hunter they probably expected. You’ve used this act before, and it’s worked more than once. So when you step into the next room, you school your expression into something unsure, a little awkward, like you’re just waiting for someone to tell you what to do.
+
+Judge Ord Rawle. Just your luck to get old Eagle Beak himself. You fight the urge to sigh. He’s a hard-liner, the kind who sees the world in neat little boxes—right and wrong, law and disorder. You’ll take whatever he throws at you. Not like you plan to stick with it later.
+
+“You have a bad record, young man.”
+
+You let your smile fade, shoulders slumping as if the weight of your mistakes is finally sinking in. But beneath lowered lids, your eyes flash—just for an instant—with sharp defiance.
+
+“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice unsteady just enough to sound real. A little shake at the edges, like maybe you’re actually scared. It’s a good performance, one you’d almost admire in yourself—until you notice someone else in the room.
+
+That blasted skull-thumper. The same one from the other day. He’s watching you, studying you, with the same quiet intensity. You don’t like it. Makes your skin itch.
+
+“A very bad record for the few years you’ve had to make it.” Eagle Beak keeps talking, but now it feels like the air’s getting tight in your lungs. “By rights, you should be turned over to the new Rehabilitation Service…”
+
+Your breath stills. For the first time since stepping in here, something cold curls in your stomach. You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has. And none of them end well.
+
+“Instead, I have been authorized to offer you a choice, Casey. One which I shall state—on record—I do not in the least approve of.”
+
+Your twinge of fear fades. If the judge doesn’t like it, then there must be something in it for you. And if there’s an angle to play, you’ll take it.
+
+“There is a government project in need of volunteers. It seems that you have tested out as possible material for this assignment. If you sign for it, the law will consider the time spent on it as part of your sentence. Thus, you may aid the country which you have heretofore disgraced—”
+
+“And if I refuse, I go to this rehabilitation. Is that right, sir?”
+
+“I certainly consider you a fit candidate for rehabilitation. Your record—” He shuffles through the papers on his desk.
+
+“I choose to volunteer for the project, sir.”
+
+The judge snorts, pushing all the papers into a folder before speaking to a man waiting in the shadows. “Here then is your volunteer, Major.”
+
+You bottle in your relief. First hurdle cleared. If your luck holds, you might just play this into a win.
+
+The man Judge Rawle called “Major” steps into the light. At first glance, something about him puts you on edge. Eagle Beak was just another authority figure—part of the game. But this guy? You get the feeling you don’t play games with him.
+
+“Thank you, your honor. We will be on our way at once. This weather is not very promising.”
+
+Before you fully process it, your feet are already moving. You think about making a break for it, slipping into the storm-darkened city the moment you’re outside. But then you notice something’s off. You’re not heading downstairs. The major leads you up—two, maybe three flights through the emergency stairwell. And to your humiliation, you’re panting by the time you reach the top, while the other man, at least a dozen years your senior, isn’t even winded.
+
+Then you step out into the snow, and the major raises a flashlight to the sky. A dark shape descends toward the rooftop.
+
+A helicopter.
+
+For the first time, doubt creeps in.
+
+Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
+
+On your way, Casey! The voice is impersonal, but that only makes it worse.
+
+Bundled into the machine between the silent major and an equally quiet pilot, you’re lifted over the city—streets and alleys you know as well as the lines on your own palm—into the unknown, already beginning to feel doubtful. The lighted streets and buildings blur, their outlines softened by the thick, wet snowfall. You refuse to ask any questions. Silence isn’t new to you. You’ve handled worse.
+
+The patches of light disappear, and the city gives way to open country. The helicopter banks, and with your usual landmarks gone, you couldn’t say if you’re heading north or south. But even through the curtain of snowflakes, a pattern of red lights emerges below. The helicopter descends.
+
+“Come on.”
+
+For the second time, you obey. The cold wind bites through your clothes, city-wear offering little protection out here. A firm grip on your arm pulls you forward, into a low building where a door slams shut behind you, sealing off the storm. Heat rushes to meet your frozen skin, almost overwhelming.
+
+“Sit down—over there!”
+
+You sit. The room isn’t empty. A man in a padded suit with a strange, bulbous headgear tucked under his arm reads a newspaper. The major approaches him, speaking in a low voice. After a moment, he crooks a finger at you, and you follow him into another room lined with lockers.
+
+From one, the major pulls out a suit like the pilot’s and sizes it against you. “All right. Get into this! We haven’t got all night.”
+
+You comply, fastening the last zipper just as he jams a domed helmet onto your head. The pilot appears in the doorway. “We’d better scramble, Kelgarries, or we may be grounded for the duration!”
+
+Back outside, you spot it immediately—the real surprise. If the helicopter had been unexpected, this new machine is straight out of science fiction. A needle-thin ship, standing on fins, its sharp nose pointing straight into the sky. A scaffolding runs along its side, which the pilot climbs with practiced ease.
+
+You hesitate. But unwillingly, you follow. The cramped interior forces you onto your back, knees hunched awkwardly to your chest. Worse, you have to share the space with the major. A transparent hood snaps down, sealing you both inside.
+
+You’ve been afraid before. More times than you’d ever admit. You’ve learned to steel yourself against it. But this—this is different. Not ordinary fear, but panic. The kind that coils around your throat, squeezing. The kind that makes you feel sick. To be shut in this tiny space, to have no control over what happens next—it’s everything you’ve ever feared, all at once.
+
+How long does a nightmare last? A second? An hour? You can’t tell. Then, a crushing force pins you to your seat, stealing the breath from your lungs.
+
+The world explodes around you.
+
+Slowly, you return to consciousness. For a terrifying moment, you think you’re blind—until shades of gray start separating, forming vague shapes. You’re no longer lying down but slumped in a seat, your body rattled by vibrations.
+
+You analyze the situation fast. It’s how you’ve survived this long. You’ve always had a way out, always found an angle. But not this time. You’re on the defensive, and they’re keeping you there.
+
+Everything about today—every moment, every choice they forced on you—it all has one purpose.
+
+To shake you. To make you pliable.
+
+But why?

src/caseyverse.twee

@@ -33,7 +33,7 @@ Nulla lobortis euismod mattis. Aenean sit amet augue ullamcorper, pharetra mi se
 
 :: On Load [startup] {"position":"200,250","size":"100,100"}
 <!-- Character names -->
-(set: $player to "Zack")
+(set: $player to "Max")
 
 <!-- Gameplay -->
 (set: $d6 to (random: 1,6))