You run like a coward for the secret passage back to the basement.

    Bud's sharp, though.  He whips out his Gorton Fishooter and catches you in the balls with a rigor mortis fishstick.

    You stumble and crash right through the back wall of the boathouse.

    Amid much crotchal pain, you try to get up and run, but Bud relentlessly bombards you with hardened seafood treats.

    Injured badly, and with a some of the fishsticks still protruding from your back and legs, you crawl to the beach and attempt to burrow your way to safety.

    It is not to be, however.

    You are three-quarters buried under the sand when Bud clutches your ankle and pulls you back.

    Holding you up by the ankle with one arm so that your upside-down face looks him in the eyes, he repeats:

    "Me.  Bud Powell.  Alone."

    He then grabs you by the neck with his other hand and tears your head and spinal column right out of your body.

    "Fatality," he says wryly, and walks off.
 

The End
 
You have died.

Your final score is:
880

Start again.