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   .jpg)       This is a Choose Your Own Adventure book in which YOU, the readers, will solve the mystery of who killed John F Kennedy. Are you up to the case? I certainly hope so.
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Apr 28, 2015 04:41
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It’s been less than a month since your good friend Billy Thompson got shot in the left buttock by a pellet gun while biking home from school. “My rear!” he screamed, as he flew off his bike. That night as your family ate dinner, the phone rang. Billy’s parents were calling for your father’s help—and why shouldn’t they? He’s the Chief of Police in Dallas! Little did they know that secretly, your dad couldn’t solve a two-piece jigsaw puzzle! He relies completely on your keen detective skills to solve even the city’s most obvious of crimes. As your dad began to stammer away nervously, you took the phone from him and said, “Don’t worry, Dad—I’ll handle this.” Your mother just looked at you sympathetically and let out a weary sigh.  The next day, you went with Billy back to the scene of the crime. After carefully examining his injury, you deduced from the angle of his entrance wounds that the shot must have come from the old abandoned Packard house. Sure enough, once inside, you found a treasure trove of evidence—including an empty box of Colt-brand candy cigarettes, the favorite cigs of notorious school bully Slugs O’Toole. Better still, you found an empty metal tin of .22 caliber airgun pellets with greasy fingerprints all over it! The next day at school, you offered Slugs a bottle of root beer. When he was finished drinking it—you lifted his fingerprints. A perfect match! Slugs had no choice but to confess to the shooting. Even your longtime rival in amateur investigation, that smart-mouthed know-it-all Jenni Mudd, was impressed—and her dad works for the FBI! The school paper even ran a front page story about your keen detective skills, spreading the word throughout school that crime-solving must run in your family! If only that were true! All that seems like a lifetime ago. It was only minutes ago that Principal Dunn announced over the P.A. system that President Kennedy had been shot and killed by an unknown assailant—right in downtown Dallas! School was dismissed early. Most kids headed straight home, but not you. You hopped right on your bike and headed straight for Dallas Police headquarters. The station is packed with barking reporters, stoic policemen, tearful witnesses and more than a few angry citizens yelling things like “Kill that Commie rat!” Towering over the crowd, the burly, street-smart Sergeant Fanucci recognizes you instantly—and helps clear a path to your dad’s office, saying, “Glad you’re here, kid! Your pop’s in way over his head. As usual.” “Son—what are you doing here?!” blurts your father as Fanucci leads you in. He tries to sound stern—but it’s obvious he’s incredibly relieved to see you. He looks terrified. “I want to help with the investigation, Dad!” you reply. “Just tell me what you know so far.”  Looking like a deer in the headlights, your father starts to stammer away. “Well, we’ve got this, um, you know—the guy what maybe did it, the uhhhh ...” “The suspect?” you offer, trying not to sound annoyed. “The suspect, right. Lee Oswald... We think he maybe, um, you know, shot the uh, the guy who, um... The man who runs the country, the uhh ...” he trails off helplessly. “The President?” you offer, no longer disguising your annoyance. Sergeant Fanucci steps in, saying, “We think this Oswald shot the President, then iced one of our guys next—Officer Tippit.” He starts cracking his knuckles, “He ain’t confessed to either yet, kid, but he’s gonna. Believe me.” “What about evidence, Dad? What do you know about the shooting itself? Ballistics? The weapon? Entrance and exit wounds? Witnesses? I need details!” Fanucci jumps in, “Kennedy was shot down in Dealey Plaza, kid—we think from the School Book Depository, where this Commie Oswald punk works. We found a 7.65 Mauser behind some books—that’s a bolt-action Kraut rifle. We got shell casings. And we got an eyeball witness who—” Suddenly, the door bursts open. It’s the beautiful yet brilliant homicide detective Dr. Nera Vivalzi—and she looks madder than a wet hen! “Now do you believe me, Chief? I told you this would happen! But you didn’t listen! And now the President’s blood is on our hands!” What will you do? You can question the witness, or ask your dad what Dr. Vivalzi means.
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Apr 28, 2015 04:44
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We need to know what the good doctor knows before questioning anybody.
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Apr 28, 2015 04:59
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Ask what the doctor means. Everybody knows the witness is just going to lie.
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Apr 28, 2015 05:21
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Though you dread the answer, you ask your father what Dr. Vivalzi means. He bites his lip with a hangdog look, unable to speak. “I’ll tell him then!” Vivalzi says with a bark. “Just two days ago we had two police officers who witnessed strange men engaged in target practice with rifles right down in Dealey Plaza! And they got away!”* You immediately grasp the terrible implications. Unable to stop yourself, you yell at your father, “Dad! You had cops who saw riflemen sighting in targets right along the Presidential motorcade route two days before Kennedy’s visit, and you didn’t at least change the route?!” After a long silence, you father whispers sheepishly, “Don’t tell your mother!” Ugh! What an idiot! “Well, I’m not going to sit by and watch you bungle yet another investigation by pinning it all on this, this Oswald chump,” Vivalzi barks. “Anybody with half a brain can tell this is a lot bigger than that, Chief! It’s a conspiracy—and I’m going to use my own resources to find out who’s really behind it!” She leaves, slamming the door behind her. Your father buries his face in his hands with a groan, but Fanucci seems strangely nonplussed. “Poor Vivalzi,” he says, shaking his head. “There she goes again, running to her conspiracy kooks.” His eyes drift to the clock. “Whoa! Almost forgot. I got Oswald’s police lineup comin’ up. We got a witness—this Helen Markham—she says she saw the guy who shot our boy, Tippit. You wanna come along and see how we do things downtown, kid?” You can follow him to the police lineup, or chase after Dr. Vivalzi. *TARGET PRACTICE - On November 20, 1963, two DPD officers on patrol reported seeing riflemen sighting in over the Dealey Plaza fence on silhouetted targets in an old model car in the killzone. Though noted in an FBI memo on 11/27, it wasn’t disclosed to the public until it was unearthed by a 1978 Freedom of Information Act request.
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Apr 28, 2015 05:38
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Is it just me, or does it really look like this is being solved by a young Jay Leno?
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Apr 28, 2015 05:43
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Pssst, everyone knew it was the lizardmen who killed Kennedy. He dug too deep into the English Royalty in his anti-communism purges.  Go after the Good Doctor
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Apr 28, 2015 05:49
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Bacter posted:Is it just me, or does it really look like this is being solved by a young Jay Leno? You're not wrong Take a minute to comb your hair to perfection, admire your handiwork in the nearby mirror, then pursue the doctor
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Apr 28, 2015 05:51
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Bacter posted:Is it just me, or does it really look like this is being solved by a young Jay Leno?  Son of a... He dyed his hair to protect his identity even!Follow that doctor!
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Apr 28, 2015 05:57
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You run out into the hallway, but there’s no sign of Dr. Vivalzi. It’s just another endless sea of cops and reporters in all directions. But down a distant hallway, you hear a man cry out in a loud catcall, “Rowwwwwr!” You spring into action, pushing through the crowds. Sure enough, you catch a glimpse of Vivalzi’s lustrous head of black hair, just as she exits the building. You duck and weave your way through the masses, desperate to catch up. Finally, you reach the exit and sprint out into the street. She’s already in her car, backing out to leave. You rush towards her, sweaty and out of breath, gasping, “Dr. Vivalzi, where are you going? I want to help!” She rolls down her window, eyeing you skeptically, then says, “You? The police chief’s son? You want to help me?” “Absolutely!” you reply. “If what you’re saying about the rehearsed assassination is true, then there’s no way Oswald could’ve acted alone. If he acted at all.”  She nods, but still looks a bit skeptical. Finally, she opens the passenger door, and says, “All right, then. But I’m warning you in advance. You’re putting your life in danger by joining us, and—” “Us?” you interrupt. “Who else is—” “You’ll see soon enough,” she answers. She begins to drive, dialing her radio to KLIF-AM. The news host speaks soberly, “—there was absolutely no warning that this would take place. Of course, these things always come so spontaneously. Should there be any warning then the president would be better protected and an alternate route could be prepared, but everything had gone smoothly—” “Unbelievable!” she shouts, turning off the radio in disgust. “Your father just ...” She stops in mid-sentence, her eyes growing narrow and suspicious. She then reaches under her seat, pulls out a blindfold, and hands it to you. “Put this blindfold on,” she says. “Otherwise, I can’t bring you with me. We can’t afford to have our hideout penetrated—especially not now.” Will you put the blindfold on?
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Apr 28, 2015 06:28
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Of course! We'd be wasting her and our time if we didn't.
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Apr 28, 2015 06:34
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I've never been in a situation that wouldn't be improved by wearing a blindfold
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Apr 28, 2015 06:39
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Augus posted:I've never been in a situation that wouldn't be improved by wearing a blindfold
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Apr 28, 2015 07:23
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Augus posted:I've never been in a situation that wouldn't be improved by wearing a blindfold
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Apr 28, 2015 09:47
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You slip on the blindfold. “Thanks,” she says, calming down. “Sorry for the precautions, but the Altair Society can’t afford to take chances. Especially not now.” “The Altair Society? What’s that?” you ask. “We’re an elite band of researchers,” she says. “Our mission is to expose corruption and conspiracy wherever we find it. But we’ve made powerful enemies, even inside the U.S. government. They’d love nothing more than to infiltrate and destroy us! So we meet in secret. And today we start our most important mission—one we’d feared was coming. Today we start searching for who really killed JFK!” You’re immediately intrigued. Elite researchers may be just what this case needs! Given what you heard about men engaged in target practice in Dealey Plaza, it was obviously a conspiracy. Only a fool could think otherwise. And if this Altair Society actually anticipated the attack, then they may already have a good guess as to who really killed JFK. The car comes to a stop. You reach for the blindfold. “Sorry,” Vivalzi says. “That stays on for now.” “But when can I take it off?” you ask. “When the Altair Group approves of you. If they do.” Her hand grips yours. She helps you out of the car and leads you towards an unseen destination. Your imagination races! Is their headquarters some kind of research lab, flush with the latest in forensic tools? Or maybe it’s some sort of secret spy facility, with futuristic gadgets and technology? Vivalzi stops. She knocks on a unseen door. Tap! Tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap! Tap! It’s obviously a secret knock. You hear several locks turning, a rattle of chains, and then a creaky squeak as a door opens. With a firm grip, she leads you through it. Even without sight, you sense many eyes are on you. “Who is this, Doctor?” asks a deep, authorative voice. “The police chief’s son,” Vivalzi replies, to a chorus of gasps. “Wait! He’s a good investigator! He wants to help.” “No, no, no!” cries a scratchy, older man’s voice. “He could be a spy! An infiltrator! It’s too risky!” “I’m not an infiltrator!” you retort. “I’m a detective! I may just be a kid, but I know a thing or two about crime solving. And I’ll do anything I can to help solve this case!” The room grows quiet, save for the sound of whispers. After a long pause, someone steps directly in front of you and removes your blindfold. Before you stands the deep-voiced man, his eyes dark and haunted. Behind him are Vivalzi and two others. All eyes are on you.  “Admission to the Altair Society requires a loyalty test,” says the dark-eyed man. “Are you willing to take it?” “Just tell me what I have to do,” you say. “It’s simple, really,” he says. “I want you to retrieve evidence from Dallas police headquarters.” “But evidence tampering is a felony!” you say in shock. “You’re absolutely right,” he replies, “and it’s happening at this very minute inside police headquarters. Any evidence that might point to conspiracy, or might exculpate Mr. Oswald, will be buried or destroyed unless we stop it. Unless you do!” “But I don’t even know you!” you counter. “I was a spy in my former life,” he says. “My code name was ‘Joab.’ I’ve seen dozens of government cover-ups. Heck, I led a few myself. But when I learned just how vicious the military-industrial complex had become, I resigned and formed the Altair Society to expose its crimes.” “Like what?” you start to answer. “Can’t you just tell—” “No! I’ll tell you everything once you’ve proven your loyalty. Everyone else here has passed this test. If you want join us, you’ll have to pass it, too.” What a dilemma! You want to help solve the crime, and the Altair Society sounds like they already have a good head start. But you never imagined that cracking the case would require you to break the law! Are you going to go through with it?
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Apr 28, 2015 09:54
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Yes.
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Apr 28, 2015 10:23
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 gently caress the police
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Apr 28, 2015 11:43
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Horrible Lurkbeast posted:
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Apr 28, 2015 12:57
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Horrible Lurkbeast posted:
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Apr 28, 2015 12:59
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My god. We're Ralph Wiggum. Let's get criminal for the cult.
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Apr 28, 2015 14:49
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“Taking evidence away from those who would destroy it isn’t a crime in my book,” you reply. “It’s a duty.” “Spoken like a true member of the Altair Society,” says Agent Joab, clapping you on the shoulder. The three other members join him in giving you a hearty welcome. But the well-wishing has hardly begun when Joab turns to Vivalzi. “Dr. Vivalzi,” Joab says. “Did Dallas police file written reports about the target shooters at the Dealey Plaza fence?” “Yes, of course.” “We need to get those reports before they disappear.” he tells her. “The Feds want to pin this on Oswald alone, but if we can get those reports to the press—” “Got it!” Vivalzi says, as she leads you out to the car. You hop in the car. Vivalzi drives like a woman possessed back to Dallas Police Headquarters. It’s even more crowded than it was earlier, a fact that clearly displeases her. “All right,” she says, “You’re the chief’s son. You should have no problem getting in to Evidence Control. When you do—” “Wait. You’re not going with me?” you ask nervously. “I can’t,” she says. “Fanucci’s a mobbed-up cop. And he’s part of this somehow. I know it, and he knows I know it. If he sees me near the station, he’ll know something’s up.” She checks her watch, then says, “Hurry. Look for reports from November 20.” “Got it,” you say, getting out of the car. “If you find anything else important,” she calls out, “any other evidence of foreknowledge, or conspiracy, or—” “I know. I’ll get it!” you reply over your shoulder as you jog up towards the entrance. Once inside, you find yourself again in a bustle of TV news reporters, cameramen and cops. You weave in and out of crowds, heading towards the basement stairs. You’re careful to avoid any live cameras as you skulk through the hall. Finally, you make it! With no one looking, you slip quietly down the stairs, heading for Evidence Control. The room is a maze of evidence racks, organized by date. You weave your way quickly through the corridors, looking for the most recently collected evidence.  You see an aisle marked “Active Cases, 1963.” That’s it! You dart towards it, ready to grab the report and run. But standing right in the middle of the aisle is Sergeant Fanucci! He’s got a box in his hands, which he seems to be filling up, not unloading. “Hey, kid!” he says, with an oversized grin. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d run off with Vivalzi.” “Nah,” you reply coolly. “Turns out she’s a kook.” “No kidding!” he laughs. “Well, glad you’re back, though we’ve just about wrapped this one up. Got the rifle, casings. Found loads of Commie literature at Oswald’s place. He’s guilty as Judas. He made it too easy, if you ask me.” You’ve got to get rid of him if you’re going to get that report. You’ll have to distract him—but how? Tell him your dad asked you to retrieve the week's police reports, or tell him you say Vivialzi snooping around the building?x
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Apr 28, 2015 16:55
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Vivialzi is snooping around Your dad isn't smart enough to think about the week's reports.
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Apr 28, 2015 17:07
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gently caress you, dad!
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Apr 28, 2015 17:13
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BlazeEmblem posted:Vivialzi is snooping around
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Apr 28, 2015 17:14
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BlazeEmblem posted:Vivialzi is snooping around And looks like he hates Vivalzi.
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Apr 28, 2015 17:22
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This is exactly how I ended up on senior cabinet in high school. Ugh, we'll be planning dances before school next. Dad told me to get reports let's not cast suspicion on our fellow
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Apr 28, 2015 17:25
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Vivi is snooping
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Apr 28, 2015 17:31
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“Nice work, Sergeant,” you say. “I wish I’d listened to you earlier. Instead, I got an earful of crazy conspiracy talk from Dr. Vivalzi. She even thinks the Mob is tied into this.” Fanucci’s smile draws tight. “She does, huh?” “Crazy, right?” you reply. “She even came back to the station. I just saw her snooping around upstairs a minute ago, looking for who knows what.” Fanucci lets out an uneasy chuckle, then puts the box down on the concrete floor. “Tell ya what, kid,” he says warmly. “Keep an eye on this for me. I’m gonna check on her. Sounds like she mighta gone off the deep-end, ya know? She may need help.” Without waiting for your reply, he springs past you. Your bluff worked like a charm! You quickly dig through the box he placed on the floor. Part of you wants to take it all—but you’d look mighty suspicious lugging a boxful of evidence through a crowd of cops! You rifle through folders full of photos, fingerprints, witness reports, evidence from Oswald’s home. Finally, you find a thick stack of police reports. There’s dozens of them! Wait—was that a door opening? Are those footsteps? You quickly tuck the entire folder down the front of your pants and cover it with your shirt. Your heart races! An older police officer with a scar on his cheek rounds the corner. “Sergeant Fanucci sent me,” he says in an unfriendly tone. “Said I should relieve you of guard duty, detective.” “That was nice of him,” you reply. “I’ll be going then.” You head casually past him and back upstairs, the folders under your shirt. You work your way through the masses. It feels like every eye in the hall is watching you! But finally, you make it back to the parking lot. You did it! You head quickly to Vivalzi’s car and open the passenger door, saying, “That was almost too easy!” But the driver’s seat is empty. She’s gone. You touch her seat. It’s still warm. Leaning closely to it, you see fingernail marks scratched into the leather. Now you begin to smell the pungent odor of ether lingering in the air. Your clever bluff worked too well. It got Vivalzi kidnapped. And probably killed. Nice going, Sherlock. YOU FAILED TO DISCOVER WHO KILLED JOHN F KENNEDY! But... what if you had done something else? ------------ “Yeah,” you say, “Oswald made this case so easy, even my dad probably could’ve solved it.” Fanucci guffaws. “Ha! You said it, kid, not me!” “Oh, that reminds me,” you say casually. “My dad asked me to bring him this week’s police reports. Said he wanted to make sure he’d signed off on everything before the feds take them.” He shrugs. “OK, sure. Might as well make sure we’ve crossed our t’s and dotted our i’s, right?” He hands you a thick folder and says, “Just make sure you bring ‘em back. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go missing, huh?” “Exactly,” you reply. You take the reports with you. Once upstairs, you slip them under your turtleneck and into your pants, then weave your way back through the long hallway. Finally you’re back outside. You jog to Vivalzi’s car and slip into the passenger seat. “Well?” she asks anxiously. “Have I got a surprise for you,” you say, as you reach into your pants. You pull out the folder and hand it to her. She flips quickly through the stack, then lets out a big, triumphant laugh as she pulls out a report. “You did it!” she says. “Now can I join the Altair Society? Do you trust me?” She smiles and nods her head. “You’re one of us now. Now you’re ready to join the real investigation.” She drives quickly and recklessly back to the hideout. And this time, you get to enjoy the trip without a blindfold. When you return to the Altair Society’s secret hideout, you’re greeted as a hero! “You did it, son!” Agent Joab exclaims happily. He rifles through the reports and finds one dated November 20, 1963, by a Captain George Doughty. He reads it aloud: “Officers reported seeing two unknown men sighting in a rifle over fence in Dealey Park. Rifle being sighted in at two silhouettes in old model car in vicinity. Officers circled to contact men, but they disappeared.” Joab, delighted, adds, “These reports are proof of both foreknowledge and conspiracy. Multiple target shooters on the motorcade route a few days before the assassination? We could call a press conference right now and—” But before he can finish his sentence, both the wild-eyed older man and his dark-haired peer burst into protests. “No no no!” the old man hectors. “The real proof of conspiracy is 1,345 miles west of here, in Area 51! Kennedy was going to reveal our contact with alien life—” “Come on, Professor Coppens!” the dark-haired man counters. “This has the Mafia’s grubby fingerprints all over it, as payback for Kennedy’s war on organized crime!” “That’s pure poppycock, Angelo!” Professor Coppens retorts. “You’re letting your Italian heritage blind you!” The two begin talking over each other, like a couple of bratty kids. Finally, Joab booms over all of them, “Enough!” The group quiets quickly down, and Joab continues in a calmer voice, “You both have theories—promising ones. But my own gut tells me this is the handywork of the CIA. Kennedy had many enemies—the Mafia, Castro, the Russians. But the CIA, under Allen Dulles, has mastered the art of government overthrows, political assassinations, and cover-ups. They did it in Iran, The Congo, heck, they helped kill the Diem brothers in South Vietnam three weeks ago. After the CIA bungled the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy fired Dulles and promised to shatter his beloved CIA into a thousand pieces. But I think they beat him to the punch.” ------------ Joab turns to you with a respectful nod. “Son, as our newest member, the honor falls to you to choose which path we’ll investigate first.”  Wow! The myriad of possibile suspects boggles even your keen detective’s mind! You feel like Hercule Poirot in Murder on the Orient Express—where a dozen suspects all might’ve participated in the killing! “If I’m going to mount an effective investigation,” you reply, “I’ll need more information. It sounds like lots of people had motives—but I can’t tell who had the means and opportunity to pull this off!” Joab nods. “Fair enough. Which of our theories do you want to know more about?” Will you ask about Area 51, the Mob, or the CIA?
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Apr 28, 2015 18:50
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Ask about the mob! And Oswald used a 1891 Carcano in 6.5x52, not a Mauser!!!
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Apr 28, 2015 20:16
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So: this can go sort of plausible if you squint and turn your head (mob), tinfoil for everybody (CIA), or 100% hogbonk (aliens). Friends, you know which way to go. ALIENS
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Apr 28, 2015 20:33
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We already know the Mob is involved considering Fanucci's reaction to our Vivalzi bluff.
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Apr 28, 2015 20:33
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Obviously it's a combination of the three, so let's start with the obvious middlemen - the CIA.
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Apr 28, 2015 20:55
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Apr 28, 2015 22:01
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Listen, I know all about Area 51, so I can say, without a doubt, it was probably Aliens. Specifically, Ferengi. The president refused to open an intergalactic trade route with them, so they iced him.
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Apr 28, 2015 22:39
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Intrigued by the possibility of an alien connection, you turn to Coppens and say, “Professor, what’s this alien connection you were talking about?” Professor Coppens smiles widely, speaking in a raspy voice. “In July of 1947, the United States government recovered a crashed flying saucer just north of Roswell, New Mexico. It contained corpses of non-human origin! In the years that followed, more and more sightings of unidentified flying objects were reported—and more spacecraft, and aliens, were recovered and spirited off to Area 51 in southern Nevada for further study.” “What on Earth do UFOs have to do with the Kennedy assassination?” you reply skeptically. “Perhaps the better question is ‘What OFF Earth?’, my boy!” he titters in amusement. “You see, these aliens began visiting us after we detonated the first atomic bomb. They were worried, you see, that with this Promethean fire we might destroy ourselves—as so many other alien civilizations have before us! They came in peace, to protect us from ourselves!”  Angelo moans in annoyance, “Oh, come on, Coppens! This is idiotic!” But the Professor continues, even more excitedly. “Eventually, a top secret meeting between these aliens and members of our government took place. A treaty was signed—allowing them to conduct human experimentation and us access to some of their most powerful technology! When President Kennedy was briefed on this incredible news, he wanted to reveal it to the world! Imagine how it could’ve changed things. It could end war itself! But of course, that’s why the military-industrial complex killed him!” Agent Joab shakes his head. “No, Professor. This is childish CIA disinformation. Your sources—” “My sources worked alongside me on the Manhattan Project!” he barks in reply. “These are men of science! And of peace!” The Professor produces a photo—a strange, greenish-grey humanoid with huge dark eyes. It looks alive! “Waiting inside Hangar 13 is the secret Kennedy died for. A living alien being from the Zeta Reticuli star system,” he continues, placing a hand on your shoulder. “If one of us could sneak inside, capture it, and reveal it to the world, then perhaps Kennedy will not have died in vain.”* You can’t help but remain skeptical—it sounds so crazy! Yet the photo looks so convincing. The alien really looks alive—and like it’s peering into your soul. Could this really be the reason Kennedy died? You can head to Hangar 13 with the Professor, or listen to one of the other investigators. *ALIENS & JFK - Absurdist conspiracy theories—such as William Cooper’s claim in Behold a Pale Horse that JFK was shot by the Secret Service driver of his presidential limousine—have plagued the subject of conspiratorial inquiry for years. Perhaps no claim is crazier than that of the hoax “Majestic 12” documents, which claim JFK died because he was about to reveal secret contacts between aliens and humankind.
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Apr 28, 2015 22:49
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Let's go to Hanger 13
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Apr 28, 2015 22:56
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I want to believe! Go to the hanger!
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Apr 28, 2015 23:28
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Listen to everyone and then decide.
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Apr 28, 2015 23:32
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ArbitraryTA posted:Listen to everyone and then decide.
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Apr 28, 2015 23:40
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ArbitraryTA posted:Listen to everyone and then decide.
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Apr 28, 2015 23:42
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