But you don’t see any of those promised “14 words” from the last email.
Instead, you find yourself standing on a beach.
In front of you is a vast expanse of ocean. You can’t see any signs of land anywhere else.
You turn and look around.
Behind you is the shoreline of a remote island. Thick forest lines the coast. From somewhere inside it, you hear disturbing roars and screeches.
The hair on your arms stands up a little bit.
You’re not sure where you are this time … but something doesn’t feel right.
You slowly turn to look the other way, when—
A figure jumps out in front of you and startles the living daylights out of you.
“EEEEEEEEEEK!” you squeal. “Who are—”
A hand slams over your mouth.
Then you get a good look at who’s surprised you:
It’s … Daniel Throssell again.
“What on EARTH are you doing outside the lab?” I whisper. “I told you in the first email … it’s dangerous out here. And there’s no way off this island. If you want to live, come with me — quickly. And for goodness’ sake, DON’T scream like that again! They’ll hear!”
“Who’s … ‘they’?” you ask.
But you didn’t need to.
Suddenly, from behind us, something enormous bursts out of the forest … and growls.
It’s like a lion … but it’s three times as big as any lion you’ve ever seen in your life.
Your eyes go wide.
“What … is … that … thing?” you stammer, lifting a finger.
I grit my teeth and scowl as I pull out a machine gun that’s so large it looks comical, and scream:
“Don’t just stand there … RUN!”
We start high-tailing it towards a gap in the forest … while the mega-lion closes in in pursuit.
And then … two more giant lions jump out and join the chase.
“Oh, crap!” I curse, firing away as we run.
Two of the lions get hit and fall away — but one keeps coming.
“The lab is just around that corner!” I scream.
I make it to the door and hold it open.
“Come ON!” I scream at you, firing at the beast over your shoulder. “Get in here!”
“I … can’t run … anymore …” you huff, stumbling toward the door.
The mega-lion leaps toward you, and—
The mega-lion goes flying sideways as a sniper round smacks into it.
I reach forward, grab your arm, and pull you in the door — then slam it shut.
You stand there panting. “What just … happened?“
Suddenly, someone else joins us in the room.
It’s a thin American guy with light brown hair, a short beard, and … a sniper rifle.
“Meet my best friend, Tom Burns,” I say. “Fellow copywriter, frequent email character, and … handy with a sniper rifle in my fictional stories.”
Tom gives you a nod, and then turns to me. “Another one escaped your lab? You should leave them to their fate next time … I’m tired of playing backup like this!”
“Sorry, man,” I say. “I kind of like this one, though. They keep reading my copy. It would be a shame for them to die just a few emails in.”
Tom shrugs. “Whatever. Anyway, I’ve got some more copy to write. Don’t bring any more of those lions in.”
And then he turns and walks away, slinging his sniper rifle over his shoulder.
He has a point, though. That’s where you end up if you unsubscribe from this email list … out there, with those things.
Anyway, that’s enough time on this interim story. You were supposed to be here for the 14 words that landed me a $12,000 copywriting job. The email should be in your inbox now, so head on over and let’s continue this over there …