You run like a scared little girl. Well, not really like a girl – you are much faster.

The victim you “rescued” thinks you are one of his attackers. “Thive thurkey,” you mumble over your swollen tongue, using a new bit of gang slang.

As you beat a hasty retreat through the alley, you hear one of the officers yell, “Stop! Or I’ll shoot!â€?

You look behind you, hoping he was just bluffing. But, alas… There is indeed a government issued weapon pointed directly at your back, which at the moment feels nothing so much like a giant, panoramic, moving, bullseye target.

Cursing your bad fortune, you speed up – arms pumping, head down, feet slapping the pavement.

Then it happens. You reach a dead end.

But what’s this? There’s a door on the left.

You slowly turn the handle and, just when your heart begins to flutter with hope, a dog begins to bark on the other side.

If you open the door anyway, turn to Pg 9

If you stand your ground, hoping to outwit the po-po, turn to Pg 10