You carefully reach for the radiodial and turn on the official USSR news channel. It seems to be an usual amount of static, so you turn your head for a moment to check to see if you remembered to pull it up before you started driving away from your house.

	Tires squeal, flesh kisses metal.

	While you were busy checking to see if your antenna was up you apparently swerved into another lane, hitting another car head-on. Your well-made convertible crushes the compact car to almost one third of its original size, and you're well enough to get out of your vehicle to survey the carnage.

	The compact car was carrying a complete family, half of which were now bleeding profusely from their heads. The other half are screaming in agony, their frigid, frightens eyes gripping yours, pleading for help. Guilt overwhelms you. A rush of depression flows through your head as you realize what you have done. You spy a large splinter of glass laying on the gravel to your left, and a man that doesn't look too badly injured hanging out of the passenger side door.



	*end your misery with the glass

	*try to help the man out of the door

	*run out into the woods, away from the crime scene