Perfect, here's the rewrite in a descyclopedic, dark, and acidic tone, maintaining the CYOA style:
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Scene: "The Hand, the Swamp, and the Cold of Death"
The problem with following the right path to a Garou settlement is that they're masters of reverse engineering: instead of building walls, they build paths that gently say, "Fuck you, intruder," and send you wandering in circles.
You spend hours being elegantly trolled through the forest. Every time you think you're close to something, the woods say, "Sorry, it was the Trickster's prank," and throw you back into nothingness.
And, of course, you're not alone. The wind insists on carrying the unpleasant scent of hot metal and rotting leather. Something is following you. Spoiler: it's not cute at all.
Tired, you finally give up on logic and climb a fucking hill on all fours, stubbornly. And what do you find at the top? An ATV stuck in snow, and a leather glove with a strange design: a crowned dragon… in the sun? It's not Garou. When you poke it with your nose, you discover the crunchy detail: the hand is still inside. How delightful.
You switch back to human mode because now you need hands, not a nose, and the icy wind stabs your bare back like a debt collector. Dressed again, you investigate: nearby is a .38 revolver that's been scrapped, a bronze sword greener than the Hulk, and a wallet with seven dollars, two gas cards, and a Forbes Library card. Name: Harmonie Palys. Sounds important. Maybe it is, but who knows? Certainly not you, who just wasted an afternoon sniffing around.
Descending the hill, you find a frozen swamp. Small islands, black mud, mosquitoes trying to eat your eyes. The highlight is a crooked menhir sticking out of the mud, graffitied by some prehistoric vandal. The air reeks of hot rot. You almost vomit, but then you remember your Field Notes: that zigzag on the paper is exactly what you see. Map confirmed. Too bad there's no destination. In other words: congratulations, you've found a treasure that leads nowhere.
The sun begins to set, the cold increases, and you flee the swamp with the feeling that you'll have to return there someday.
You arrive at the veterans' hospital freezing and looking like someone who's been run over by life. You take the bus, but when you try to return to your luxury Airbnb (read: abandoned house), you find a police SUV waiting in wait. You, smart as a sewer rat, duck into the bushes and cross the city until you find an empty cargo container. There, with a stolen newspaper and wet twigs, you light a fire that looks more like a tire barbecue. The black smoke suffocates, the heat doesn't reach, but at least you get some sleep.
When you wake up, everything is covered in glistening ice. The scenery is beautiful, but you're shaking so hard you feel like a broken vibrator. The conclusion is obvious: either you get a real roof over your head, or you'll end up a "failed" popsicle.
Next.
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Do you want me to write the options for this scene in the same tone (e.g.: 1) Return to Gorsky Manor and beg for shelter; 2) Break into some "forgotten" building around the city; 3) Make a pact with the cold and become an involuntary artistic statue)?