Choose Your Own Apocalypse

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NOW RECRUITING Can YOU keep a calm head in emergencies? Do YOU know how to ‘manage upwards’ while maintaining a client-centric attitude? And are YOU ready to make the choices that will determine the future of human civilisation? Then there may be an entry-level position waiting for you at the United Nations’ Department for Continuity (Global). Send your CV to Susan at UNContinuityDept@gmail.com [[→ Continue.|1]]

It’s too bad about missing Christmas, but dealing with doomsday scenarios like this is literally in your job description, along with keeping the photocopiers stocked and dealing with catering contractors. More importantly, leaning in and proving you can handle a Level Five crisis solo could be your route to that promotion you’ve been hankering for. ‘I’m on it, boss,’ you say. ‘You relax and enjoy your break.’ ‘You’ll be fine. Just remember the law of unintended consequences. You never know what reactions your actions could cause.’ [[→ Continue.|154]]

It’s been six months since you answered an ad and began your job as a junior officer at the UN Department for Continuity (Global). Based in a former toiletries supply room on the third floor of UN headquarters, your team’s job is to ‘prevent the untimely cessation of global activities in any given year’, or, in layman’s terms, to stop the world ending. Basically, you are the ones world leaders call when the proverbial shitstorm is about to hit the proverbial windfarm. But none of that matters right now because it’s five p.m. on Christmas Eve and you’re heading home for the holidays. Your computer is shutting down and you’re just putting your coat on when your boss saunters over with a greasy grin on his face. ‘We’ve just had a Code Red from Pink Camellia.’ You recognise the codename for North Korea’s Kim Jong-un. ‘Something about a missing rocket, I think he said. Would you be a star and pop over to Pyongyang to make sure everything’s OK? I’d go myself but I’m on Christmas dinner duties tomorrow. I’m doing a bird within a bird within a bird, have you ever tried it?’ Typical. Quiet all month then this. What do you want to do? [[→ Tell him where he can stuff his three-bird roast. You’re not cancelling your Christmas plans for anything.|27]] [[→ Spring into action. A nuclear conflagration would spoil the holiday season for everyone.|113]]

Sixteen hours in steerage later, you disembark in Pyongyang, where you are swiftly escorted to a meeting room full of worried-looking North Korean military officials. A cup of tea and one of the yellow biscuits you notice laid out in the corner would have been nice, but they seem eager to get down to business. ‘You must be the UN fix-it person? You’re late, we called you yesterday,’ says the most worried-looking of the officials. You force a smile (customer service rule number one: don’t answer back). ‘How can I help?’ you say politely. ‘I’m told you mislaid a rocket.’ ‘Even worse,’ says the official. ‘We found it again.’ He gestures to an antiquated computer. On the screen a green dot moves in an orbital path around what must be planet Earth. The dotted line in front of it shows its projected descent. ‘How did it get up there?!’ ‘That does not matter now. The point is, our rocket will fall back down on New York City in twelve hours’ time! Millions will die!’ The official’s voice trembles with feeling for his fellow humans. ‘We never meant this! You must help us stop it.’ A round figure who’s been sitting with his back to you at the end of the long table spins around in his chair. There is an amused glint in Pink Camellia’s eyes. [[→ Continue.|137]]

There’s no way you’re going to be the sucker who spends Christmas working while your boss indulges his culinary fancies in his no doubt obscenely large kitchen. ‘Deal with it yourself,’ you tell the old scrooge, and head for the exit. He calls after you – his usual guilt-trip shtick about the fate of humanity – but you’re not falling for it this time. Besides, whatever the crisis, you’ll be able to deal with it better when you come back rested and clear-headed in the new year. But a couple of days later, you are happily ensconced in your armchair, digesting a leftover turkey sandwich and watching a Hollywood disaster movie, when all the windows smash, a scalding wind rushes in and everything goes black. What just happened? Sadly you’ll never know, because you, your festively sweatered family and everyone else have been vaporised into your constituent atoms. It was a quick, reasonably painless way to go, but disappointingly anticlimactic compared to the movie you were watching, and not even as narratively satisfying. ''The End''

Kim Jong-un’s voice is deep and commanding. ‘May my father’s spirit and the cheering of the people bring our glorious rocket smashing down on the American lair! Let us sever the windpipe of the Great Rapscallion and prove our glorious prestige for a thousand years! And if the western devils send rockets back at us, I personally will knock them out of the sky with my peerless golfing skill.’ The generals cower in silence. Then Kim Jong-un begins to roar with laughter. ‘I’m joking, you guys! That’s the old me. I want to clear up this mess as much as you do!’ Tears of laughter roll down his round cheeks. One by one the military officials start laughing too, and a desperate mirth fills the room. [[→ Join in the laughter.|61]] [[→ Keep a reproachful silence; this is no time for messing around.|75]]

Kim Jong-un smiles approvingly. ‘I like you, international fix-it person. You have a great sense of humour! Now, how will you stop our fantastic rocket fulfilling its glorious destiny?’ The generals look at you expectantly. [[→ Offer to heroically shoot down the rocket all by yourself.|102]] [[→ You might need a little help with this one. Say you need to make some phone calls.|32]]

The laughter eventually dies down. Kim Jong-un looks at you, suddenly menacing. ‘I said I was joking. Don’t you get it?’ [[→ Laugh along with Kim Jong-un. He’s right: at times like this you just have to chuckle|61]] [[→ Keep your silence. The fool has brought the world to the brink of Armageddon and needs to get serious|145]]

Kim Jong-un slowly begins to applaud your valiant offer to shoot down the rocket, and then the whole room breaks into applause. Some of the generals drop to their knees and weep with gratitude. ‘You stop that rocket and I’ll give you a whole wing of my royal palace to live in,’ he beams. ‘You are our hero.’ A little while later, you’re easing off the runway in the cockpit of the Hermit Kingdom’s only MiG-29, a gift to them from the Russians. (Lucky your boss sent you on that one-day training seminar, Aerial Warfighting for Busy Professionals.) You ascend over crowds of jubilant Pyongyangites who’ve been equipped with flipcard pixels that make up your face and the word HERO – pretty sweet. The mic crackles. ‘Hero, head for the primary location over New York City. Rocket due for re-entry in three and a half hours. Oh, and keep your altitude, hero. The Yankees mustn’t know you’re there.’ [[→ Set coordinates for the primary location.|91]] [[→ Give the citizens a display of aerial acrobatics first.|110]]

‘I’m going out to the corridor to make a call,’ you tell the North Koreans. The situation is worse than you’d feared and frankly above your pay grade. Your North Korean minder watches as you try to call your boss (he usually knows what to do in tricky work- place circumstances, slimy as he is), but he’s not picking up. You try your contact at the Pentagon instead, thinking she may have access to some kind of secret space laser that could shoot down the runaway rocket. But it’s Christmas Day and she’s not answering either. As you scroll through your contacts, wondering who else could help, the only woman among the officials, Lieutenant Colonel Kim Sol-song, emerges from the Ops room and sidles over. She’s brought the tray of yellow cookies with her. ‘Excuse my brother’s manners, we forgot to offer you a snack,’ she says loudly, and then in a whisper so your minder doesn’t hear, adds: ‘Let us talk in private. Meet me at the west gate.’ Kim Jong-un’s sister? Curious. You thank her and take a chewy yellow disc. It sticks to your tongue. [[→ Sneak out and meet Kim Jong-un’s sister at the west gate.|28]] [[→ You don’t have time for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Go back to Kim Jong-un and offer to shoot the thing down yourself.|102]]

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Kim Jong-un asks. ‘Don’t you have a funny bone?’ Failing to make you smile, he pulls some funny faces and barks like a seal. The generals all take their cue to fall about with practised laughter. ‘When is the rocket due to re-enter the atmosphere?’ you interject, trying to bring them back on track. Kim Jong-un stares at you intimidatingly. ‘You don’t think I’m a funny guy?’ Uh oh, it looks like you’re in a reverse Goodfellas situation – but you’re determined to hold your nerve. ‘Take him to the cells!’ Kim Jong-un orders. A fat guard grabs you around the middle and starts hauling you out of the room. You think one of your ribs may be about to crack when Kim Jong-un explodes into giggles. ‘I’m kidding! Deng, put the foreigner down! What must you think of me?’ Deng sheepishly lets you go as the generals once again provide the laugh track. You’ve had it. You pick up a jug of water and slosh it over the Dear Leader’s iconic visage. The room instantly hushes as if you’ve doused them all and Kim Jong-un’s mouth opens and shuts in shock before he bursts into his strongest gale of hysterics yet. ‘Very good!’ he guffaws. ‘Very good! You’re a joker like me.’ [[→ Continue.|61]]

You arrive in the skies over New York City right on time. ‘Come in, hero, do you have eyes on the missile?’ hisses the radio. Ahead, a black shape streaks down out of the dark blue above. ‘This is going to be a million-to-one shot, hero. Every citizen of North Korea is in the cockpit with you.’ The difficulty level of what you’re trying to do suddenly seems unthinkable, but you flip the safety on your control stick, close your eyes and fire. Then you open your eyes again. To your astonishment, a puff of smoke hangs in the air where the missiles have obliterated one another. ‘You did it, hero!’ screams the elated voice on your radio. Colossally unlikely as it seems, you’ve just pulled off the most amazing trick shot in aviation history and saved the world from thermonuclear war. Just for the record, this has used up absolutely all your reserves of luck so don’t expect anything like it to happen again. Your mobile phone rings. It’s your boss, but his voice keeps drifting out. ‘Hang on, you’re breaking up. I’m travelling at Mach 2.3, I’ll call you back,’ you tell him. You’d better find somewhere nearby to land. [[→ Continue.|46]]

Since they got dressed up for the occasion, you decide to give the people of Pyongyang a display of your aero- nautical prowess, swooping into a series of barrel rolls and daredevil loop-the-loops low over multi-coloured concrete blocks. You’ve just pulled out of the stunt known as Pugachev’s Cobra when a voice comes over the radio: ‘It’s time to get moving, hero, we’re up against the clock here.’ You were enjoying yourself, but you’d better hurry up and set the autopilot to the primary location. Three hours later, you are 20,000 metres above the Eastern US seaboard, approaching the re-entry coordinates. You just hope all that showboating hasn’t made you late. You flip the safety on the control stick and steady yourself. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, hero,’ the radio fizzes. A mile or so to your right a bright light streaks down through the clouds. ‘Hitting this thing is going to be like shooting a bullet with a bullet,’ the voice over the mic continues, ‘but we believe in you.’ Way below, through the clouds, a cauliflower-shaped fireball begins silently to unfurl. ‘Fix-it person, do you have eyes on our glorious rocket?’ Ugh, this is awkward, is your last thought as the shockwave from the atomic blast rocks the plane and you’re pulled into an uncontrollable spin. Oh dear, you’re dead. Probably shouldn’t have tried to be a hero after all. If only [[you could turn back and choose again|61]]. There’ll be no one left to give you a gravestone now, but if they did it would say: //Not a hero after all. Thanks for nothing. Signed, The Rest of the Human Race.// ''The End''

You tell your minder you’re going to the bathroom, then climb out of the window and make a dash for the west gate. Kim Jong-un’s sister is waiting in the shadows, her collar turned up. ‘Follow me.’ A few minutes later, the pair of you are sitting in a North Korean version of Starbucks, drinking caramel macchiatos through straws beneath a painting of the Brilliant Comrade that dispenses napkins through the O of his mouth. ‘A lot has changed here since 2017,’ she tells you. ‘Back then, all my little brother and the gang thought about were rockets. They launched twenty in one year, every one going higher and further! We got to 3,000km above sea level, no lie. People were taking us seriously at last. We were on CNN.’ She smiles wistfully. ‘Then we tried to blow the moon out of the sky.’ ‘You did what?’ ‘The Americans landed on the moon. My brother wanted us to go one better and smash it to bits! But we lost our rocket. For eighteen months we thought it had been a dud. Then last week, we re-established contact.’ Her voice wavers. ‘We never meant to hurt anyone, just explode the stupid moon and mess around with the tides a little. I guess our eyes were too big for our bellies!’ You offer her a napkin to blot her tears. ‘There, there, I’m sure anyone hellbent on terrifying the world into letting them continue brainwashing their people would have done the same.’ ‘If only he could remember the recall code!’ she blubs. ‘There’s a recall code?’ ‘Don’t tell him I told you!’ Kim Sol-song pleads. ‘Being his sister doesn’t protect me. You know what he did to our uncle.’ The uncle, isn’t he the one who got poisoned at the airport? Or the one who was killed by firing squad? Your knowledge of the family’s history is sketchy. Regardless, you’ve got to retrieve that code. [[→ Continue.|142]]

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Your minder is fuming outside the Ops room, but you manage to duck his grasp and go inside. Kim Jong-un and the generals are right where you left them. ‘Kim Jong-un,’ you begin, ‘I need you to remember the missile’s deactivation code. The world needs you to remember it.’ The generals stiffen but Kim Jong-un waves your impertinent question away. ‘Not this again. I do not know any deactivation code, fix-it person! Therefore there never was one, as I have perfect recall. Isn’t that so, comrades?’ The generals all nod. ‘Not only that, you are perfect in every way, Supreme Leader.’ You decide to appeal to the generals. ‘So not one of you remembers the Chairman here setting a deactivation code back in 2016 or 2017? Remember, your very survival depends on it.’ There is a long pause. Finally an ancient general rises to his feet. ‘Chairman of the People, I recall you did choose a deactivation code that no one else was allowed to know.’ Sweat beads on the old man’s brow and he sits back down. You get the feeling he just used up all his courage in one go. You’ve so far been oddly impressed by Kim Jong-un’s levity on the brink, but now he has a sense of humour failure. ‘So I forgot something, is that it? Well, maybe it’s true! Maybe I did!’ He glares from face to face, as if challenging the room, but you’re also not sure if he might be about to cry. ‘And maybe I have to eat and defecate as well, and maybe my dad and my grandpa did as well! Is that what you want to hear? That we had to put our trousers on one leg at a time and we’re disgusting human beings just like the rest of you?’ The generals all look at their hands. When Kim Jong-un speaks again he sounds suddenly tired. ‘Ah well, maybe I did forget the code. It was three years ago. Do you remember your passwords from back then?’ Then he lights up. ‘Wait a second, I think I just remembered it!’ Kim Jong-un brings up a dialogue box on the creaky old computer and carefully types in a series of letters while everyone watches tensely. The computer makes a discouraging beep. //Incorrect code entered. One attempt remaining.// ‘Oh,’ says the Chairman, and you can tell this isn’t one of his funny jokes. [[→ The correct code simply must be in his memory somewhere. Try using hypnosis to recover it.|36]] [[→ This is hopeless. But there’s still time to warn the Americans and save thousands of lives if they can evacuate New York before impact.|18]]

Somewhere in Kim Jong-un’s oversized head is the code that will save the world, or so you hope. ‘I’d like to try something called regression hypnosis,’ you tell him. He nods meekly. Acknowledging his fallibility seems to have really knocked the stuffing out of him. A party of officials is sent out to drum up someone in the city with an NVQ in hypnotherapy. A few hours later, they come back with a very nervous woman in her pyjamas who visibly whitens when she sees the Chairman, as though in the presence of a demigod. ‘Don’t pussyfoot around, hypnotise me,’ Kim Jong-un orders her. Her hands tremble on the special pendulum she waves in front of him, but soon he does indeed appear to enter a trance-like state. [[→ In a low, relaxing voice, tell Kim Jong-un to start remembering the past.|4]]

‘We can’t stop the rocket, but we’ve got to warn the Americans,’ you tell Kim Jong-un and his advisors. ‘We’ve still got three hours until impact. Who knows how many lives they can save if they evacuate now?’ Some of the generals confer. ‘Marshal Chairman, we think the foreigner’s advice is wise. If we warn the Americans, they’ll know it was an accident. It could stop them retaliating.’ Kim Jong-un signals his assent, and the officials get busy setting up an urgent diplomatic phone call. The oldest general is given the honour of being spokesman for North Korea. ‘Hello, Mr Vice President,’ he says warmly. ‘How is your family?’ He continues with further pleasantries for, you feel, a little too long. ‘The reason I’m calling? Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but later on today New York City is going to be hit by one of our old missiles that was inad- vertently not destroyed, but I want you to know it’s a complete accident . . . Three hours . . . That’s true, three hours isn’t very long . . . Yes, I agree, we’ll try and give you more notice next time . . . No, I hope there won’t be a next time either, Mr Vice President . . . I agree, you can’t evacuate a whole city in three hours, but if we can together save even a few lives, I think you’ll agree it’s worth a try, don’t you?’ ‘Tell him to save the New York Knicks,’ Kim Jong-un chips in. ‘Patrick Ewing, Kevin Knox.’ ‘I can tell you’re upset. But the fact is, it was an accident . . . Yes, that’s true, we have made threats in the past . . . That was just sabre-rattling, we would never harm any of your citizens . . . That’s true, some of your hostages have been harmed, good point . . . But, Mike, I hope you agree, it wouldn’t be sporting to retaliate for an innocent mistake? . . . All right, Mike, you go and do your thing if you have to. Always good speaking with you.’ The oldest general slowly replaces the receiver on the conference phone. ‘He was really nice about it. But he said he’s got no choice. He’s launched a pre-emptive strike. We’ve got seven minutes.’ Everyone looks at the clock. ‘Has anyone got any jokes?’ Kim Jong-un enquires. No one speaks, so he cracks: ‘If we survive this I’m going to have you all executed.’ Nothing left to do now but wait to die, right at the bottom of the career ladder. ''The End''

At first Kim Jong-un murmurs nonsensical sounds, but like an old radio tuning in he begins recounting his past to the hushed room. Kim Jong-un remembers being the only kid with a bodyguard at his Swiss school. He remembers trying to start an epic prank war with his best friend, who didn’t dare prank him back. He remembers the day his dad named him Great Successor but being more excited about watching //Space Jam//. ‘Think further forward in time,’ you prompt. ‘Three years ago, do you remember a code?’ He goes quiet for a while, then resumes. He remembers his first taste of brie. He remembers his trousers getting too tight around his middle, and one day finding they’d all been swapped for a larger size. He remembers the shock of surfing Netflix one night on the nation’s only account and stumbling on his dad as a puppet in the movie Team America. Pretty funny, he thought. The hypnotherapist interrupts to tell you that Kim Jong-un should be woken. ‘Being under this long could be very dangerous,’ she urges. [[→ Snap him out of it.|96]] [[→ He still hasn’t remembered any kind of code. You have to keep going.|9]]

You snap your fingers and Kim Jong-un comes to. ‘Netflix!’ he exclaims. ‘I just remembered I set the deactivation code to be the same as my old Netflix password!’ He hastens over to the computer terminal and brings up the dialogue box again. ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ you ask. ‘You only have one attempt left.’ ‘Positive.’ He taps away at the keyboard. His mouse hovers over the OK button. Then he clicks. ‘Oh dear. I left caps lock on,’ he says in a very small voice. You feel the oxygen leave the room as each of the generals registers the series of history-shattering events that will be set in path by this single mistake. ‘Guys, I’m joking! You’re all far too easy!’ Kim Jong-un says in delight, apparently back to his old self, as a message pops up – //Warhead deactivated// – and this time the laughter that fills the room is the real article, yours included. ‘I had you worried!’ Kim Jong-un brags as the generals dance around and hug each other in sheer relief. You are about to go for a high five with Lieutenant Colonel Kim Song-sol when your phone buzzes. [[→ Answer it.|46]]

‘Keep remembering,’ you say softly. From his rapid eye movement, you can see Kim Jong-un is drifting deeper into his trance . . . perhaps dangerously deep. Kim Jong-un remembers the twinkly eyes of his uncle Jang Song-thaek, just after having had the head removed from his corpse. He remembers bored afternoons bouncing his dad’s Michael Jordan-signed basketball around the Palace of the Sun. Above all, he says, he remembers what Denmark did – and suddenly he’s leapt out of his chair and is running around like a cannonball, shouting incoherently about Danish fiends and revenge. The hypnotherapist snaps her fingers and Kim Jong-un comes around immediately. ‘I remember the code,’ he says triumphantly. ‘We can deactivate the rocket. But first,’ he points a sweeping arm at you, ‘you are an agent of the Vikings. Seize the invader!’ The bodyguards look at each other and at the generals, as confused as you are, but they aren’t about to disobey. They grab you by the arms and heave you off, struggling. [[→ What the heck is going on?|22]]

Kim Jong-un’s guard drags you to a damp, windowless cell elsewhere in the palace and locks the door. ‘I’m not Danish!’ you call through the bars. ‘I haven’t even been to Denmark as the frequency of apocalyptic incidents in that nation is too low to warrant it!’ You sit down on the hard floor, unsure how to feel. On one hand, Kim Jong-un said he remembered the code, so your assignment has, you hope, been a success. On the other, you have no idea what he has against Denmark all of a sudden, and you’ve definitely read stories about North Korean prisoners being thrown to packs of hungry dogs, something you’d ideally like to avoid. Hours pass. Then days. Now and then you hear far-off gunfire and shouting. Sometimes the floor shakes. After one such episode, a pipe in the ceiling begins leaking a steady film of water down the wall that you’re able to lick, but how long can a person survive without food? One day, you see a rat sitting in the near darkness of the cell’s corner. It must have come in through the ceiling. ‘It’s me, Dennis Rodman,’ the rat says, without moving its lips. ‘I know a way out.’ [[→ Follow the rat.|25]] [[→ Eat it instead.|80]]

You blink at the rat Dennis Rodman. ‘You look different,’ you tell him. There seems to be a long delay between thinking something and saying it. ‘Did Kim Jong-un do this to you?’ ‘I know a way out,’ the famous basketball-playing rodent repeats. ‘Follow me.’ Dennis Rodman slowly levitates and melts through the ceiling like a ghost. It occurs to you that you are probably hallucinating due to lack of food and resultant organ failure. You wonder if you would have ended up here if you’d cut off the hypnotherapy session earlier (if only [[you could go back and find out|4]]). Little feet scamper over your legs but you’re too weak even to move. Farewell, Dennis Rodman. Farewell, beautiful career. ''The End''

You may be hallucinating talking rats, but you still have the presence of mind to know you need to eat. Catching it would be hard enough for a well-fed human, but people can do amazing things in their desperate hours. You chew down on the warm flesh, feeling some of the strength you need returning almost immediately. Then, a few hours later, there is what feels like an earthquake and the floor caves in, leaving a crawl space under the bars of your cell. In your emaciated state you may just be able to squeeze through . . . You emerge from your confinement to find what could be described as a post-apocalyptic hellscape – never what someone in your line of work wants to see. A group of wretches in filthy rags, chained at the ankles and looking thoroughly disgruntled, pick through the smouldering rubble. The creature who has enslaved them is like none you have seen. Perhaps once a man, his arms are now grotesque pincer-like appendages, his face obscured by a hard pink shell. This crab-human mutant lumbers towards you, clicking its pincers, but before it can get near, deafening gunfire echoes over the rubble and the creature drops to the ground, whimpering. You spin to see a team of snipers in NATO fatigues. This is really confusing. ‘Medivac him to the green zone,’ one of them yells as more crab mutants scuttle out from behind ruined buildings and the soldiers open fire. [[→ Flee with the soldiers.|50]]

Recovering in one of the last human encampments on earth, it takes several days for you to put together some of the puzzle pieces of what’s happened. It seems your hypnosis session, while successful in retrieving the missile’s recall code, planted a false memory in Kim Jong-un of his country being molested many years ago by the state of Denmark. Consumed by revenge, Kim Jong-un had his agents poison a senior Danish minister with liquid VX nerve agent, but the agents got on the wrong plane and killed a Slovenian VIP instead, which NATO misinterpreted as a territorial move by Russia, who retaliated by turning off the gas supply to central Europe. From there things really escalated, though you still struggle to draw a thread to the rise of the crab men, and of the order of one-eyed monks known as The Six to whom they are said to be loyal. The long and short of it, though, is that the entire world is now in ruins because you used hypnotherapy inappropriately, and your career dreams are in ruins. If only [[you could go back and snap Kim Jong-un out of his trance a bit earlier|4]]. When your boss told you not to make the situation any worse, this is exactly the kind of thing he was talking about. ''The End''

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