> Head home and get our wound taken care of.
>That's one way to boost our self-esteem.
>any first aid kits in the school?
>pick up the nine knives which should be scattered around the floor
>Do we have a friend yet who is friendly enough that we have told him/her about the F.M.P's? Maybe he/she thinks we are a little crazy but still is our friend anyway? Is it one of our close friends? If so, call him/her and head over to his/her house.
>You collect your knives from the pool of muck.
>You think there may be first aid kits at school, most likely in the woodshop or nurse's office. You decide to make use of one before you leave.
>You think of anyone who might be able to help you right now and come up with a blank. In terms of schoolmates, no one's really around to...ah. There is one person you can call. He's a doctor and knows something of the situation, though he's probably not awake right now. He
is closer to here than your house though, but on the other hand-
>
WARNING. WARNING. FULL MOON PHANTASM ENEMY HAS NOT BEEN ELIMINATED.
>...!?! A horrible screeching, like some mechanical alarm, fills your head. Your wound throbs horribly. Something's
wrong. A ghastly wail erupts from the boiler room behind you. Dread fills you, fear consumes you. How...? How is it still alive?!
>The beast emerges from the shadowed room, reformed and unhurt. It is as pristine, if such a word could be used, as when you first saw it. Something's wrong. This hasn't happened before! Even if they all seemed strange and otherworldly, they've all stayed dead when you killed them!
>It stalks forward at an almost leisurely pace. You can't move. You can't think. You can't
breathe. You can almost feel its breath on your face, the heat of its vulgar form still warm from its boiling death. This is it...how pathetic. After almost a year of being the town's silent defender, you're going to die because you were too scared to move.
>"MOVE YA DUMBASS!"
>A shout from somewhere behind you rips you out of your fear and throws you to the ground; your knees collapse and you ungracefully hit the floor. The whole adrenaline rush and crash hits you at once and you feel yourself blacking out, just as the sight of blonde hair, cold steel, and black blood fill your vision.
>...
>You are in a bed. Some time has passed. The smell of breakfast wafts up into your nose. Your wound is sore, but not unbearable.