Still running into the issue, even after copy-pasting the code y'all have. And since the next line is supposed to be determined by which choice you make, would it work as a fake choice? I thought those were just for ones where text was unchanged, like the ice cream scene in the example.
Dur, I am realizing part of my problem is that my scene doesn't end there, so *finish might not be right. I toyed with it using *goto and was able to get this part to flow (although I am wanting a line break between the item being filled in by their selection and the rest of the story and only the third choice has that for whatever reason).
Here's where I am now for the intro; the first choice works, the second craps out with an error stating it expected an option, not *finish for line 44.
title Nuclear Powered Toaster
*author Matt Simpson
The year is 2338. Centuries ago, political tension gave way to nuclear hellfire: the Cataclysm, or Clysm for short.
After a long and difficult struggle, humanity crawled back from the brink.
World powers came back to prominence, we began our first tentative steps into the universe beyond our planet, and mankind became full of hope once more.
But old vendettas, like old habits, die hard. So naturally the bombs came once more: the second Clysm.
Fortunately, rebuilding was a bit quicker this time out. Like everything else, surviving extinction is a learning experience.
Time passed, and as life on Earth finally reached normalcy once more, we ventured back out into the stars in our quest for meaning.
But this time all we found was an even bigger threat to ourselves than…ourselves. The Salians.
Io was the first colony to go dark. It wasn't until they had gotten all the way to Phobos that a vidclip finally snuck past whatever interference had jammed broadcasts from the other stations.
The Phobos Massacre became the second-most viewed clip in post-Clysm history, right behind the remixed video of the massacre that replaced the screams with fart noises.
Shadowy, shrunken shapes moving impossibly fast. Flashes of gunfire. Then darkness. The only spoken word from the attackers sounded something like "Salia!" so that's what we called them. Earth believed it would take the invaders weeks to get here, based on all existing propulsion methods. They got to us in five days. We met them with as great a force as we could muster, almost every armed spaceworth craft on the planet. Two hours after the Battle for Earth began, it ended.
The next sentence of the report is…
#A direct report of the battle's result.
Humanity had dealt their foes heavy losses, but in the end the few surviving ships were forced to bug out and retreat planetside.
#A colorful and brief summation of events.
We got spanked and sent crying back to Momma
#Something crazy and unsubstantiated
The moon men came and took our toys away, no doubt in response to our secret assassination of the Head Chancellor of Planet X by an undercover dentist hit squad!
After the fleet was obliterated, the Salians moved fast. Reports came in all over the world of orbital bombardment laying waste to monitoring stations, satellites, and even high-powered telescopes. In hours the Great Blackout rendered us completely unable to track any activity beyond our own atmosphere. Humanity waited, certain that a third and undoubtedly final extinction-level event was coming, And waited. And waited. Days turned into weeks, and one of the few spaceworthy military vessels remaining attempted a stealthy recon beyond our stratosphere. It was almost immediately destroyed. The same happened to the second, and then the third. No stealth craft, one-man zip fighter or hulking 'nought could achieve orbit intact. It was through this trial and error process that we learned the rules set forth by our silent conquerors: they would not tolerate attempts to monitor their activity or leave the planet. Beyond that, we had no sign of their presence. Every now and then some conspiracy theorist or random nut would claim they had left our orbit and gone back to their home world, possibly due to incompatible atmospheres, a sudden change of heart after our heroic defense attempt, or just not finding anything good on the tube to watch. These theorists would often mount an expedition to scout the upper reaches of our atmosphere, and promptly returned to the planet's surface as superheated ash. Reports of landing craft coming from space occasionally came in but were always unverified.
#ends with an inspirational message.
That was twelve years ago. During that time almost every country has united under the benevolent leadership of the Global Peace Accord, or GloPAc. Even now we continue to slowly build up forces, material and tech enough to eventually break this silent siege.
#focuses on adaptive technology.
Since that time we have spent the last twelve years adapting our technology and culture around the limitation of being earthbound, creating a massive network of land-based communication relays, suborbital "satellites" held aloft by remotely adjusted weather balloons, and other new devices. Aside from uniting under GloPAc control, life has largely remained the same.
#might get you committed
That was twelve of your Earth years ago. Since then I've quite enjoyed living amongst your populace, sampling your food, entertainment and various lovemaking positions. However, the time has come to emerge from the shadows and rule you puny humans like the cattle you truly are. Now bow before me! Salians 4 Lyfe!
You sit back in your chair, satisfied. With a wave of your hand the completed report is sent on its way for review. You've always enjoyed history class, and your grades in that course show it. You look around the meager surroundings of your dormitory cubicle, trying as ever to ignore the nearby sounds of other trainees snoring, muttering to themselves or engaging in stealthy self-gratification. Other than the docking station for your Palmcomm, all your belongings have been collected in a rucksack. You know that you will likely be departing this modest living arrangement for good in the near future, one way or the other.
An alert from the head of the facility chimes in, snapping you out of your reverie. You have been summoned to their office immediately, and since you know how hard to deal with they can be, you rise quickly to depart. The alert flashes in the corner of your terminal's display. Next to it is your bio profile. It shows you are…
#Fiorella Branford, 23: a special forces cadet who possesses a mysterious power.
#Alexi Beaumont, 29; would-be smuggler, and owner of a modern rarity: a fully-functioning spaceship.