Start of a transcript of Condemned A Slice of an Adolescent's Life Confusion, Conflict, and Contradiction (c) 2009 Release 1 / Serial number 090930 / Inform v6.31 Library 6/11 S Standard interpreter 1.1 (4F) / Library serial number 040227 >restart Are you sure you want to restart? y You look up at the bicycles. Hundreds of them hang from the ceiling. Don't be so nervous about this, your mind tells you repeatedly. What is done is done, and there is nothing more that you can do; what you deserve is what you deserve, and that fact is inescapable; and what you're going to pay is what you're going to pay, and that-- You shudder as the briefly-creaking lamp from the ceiling sways a little bit. The light from the lamp glints red off of the jungle of hanging bicycles from the gallow-like ceiling beams, the bicycles looking down at you in asphyxiated agony. Your heart starts to pound once again as you look towards the northern, shadow-flooded wall of the garage. Condemned A Slice of an Adolescent's Life Confusion, Conflict, and Contradiction (c) 2009 Release 1 / Serial number 090930 / Inform v6.31 Library 6/11 S CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >*Start at 1:10 PM [Comment recorded.] >restart Are you sure you want to restart? y You look up at the bicycles. Hundreds of them hang from the ceiling. Don't be so nervous about this, your mind tells you repeatedly. What is done is done, and there is nothing more that you can do; what you deserve is what you deserve, and that fact is inescapable; and what you're going to pay is what you're going to pay, and that-- You shudder as the briefly-creaking lamp from the ceiling sways a little bit. The light from the lamp glints red off of the jungle of hanging bicycles from the gallow-like ceiling beams, the bicycles looking down at you in asphyxiated agony. Your heart starts to pound once again as you look towards the northern, shadow-flooded wall of the garage. Condemned A Slice of an Adolescent's Life Confusion, Conflict, and Contradiction (c) 2009 Release 1 / Serial number 090930 / Inform v6.31 Library 6/11 S CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. > *This author always has a very interesting style, mixing contradicting terms to interesting effect. [Comment recorded.] >*a chained-up car? [Comment recorded.] >x car The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. On the back underneath the license plate, you notice a bumper sticker with the words 'Fuck Independence' printed on it. Unattainable independence, that is. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >get in car The car is useless. >x me Sweating guilty and anxiously like drops of blood running down your face, you feel like a dirty tank of overflowing mud right now, unclean enough to remain within the borders of the real world. >*Wow -- one thing about your games, they're not boring. [Comment recorded.] >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >*Is this all metaphorical? [Comment recorded.] >x gag The gag is pulled through your mouth and firmly tied at the back of your head. Screaming is frustratingly prevented, due to this fact. >*Or am I a prisoner? [Comment recorded.] >remove gag You cannot untie the knot, despite the fact that you tied it yourself. >x me Sweating guilty and anxiously like drops of blood running down your face, you feel like a dirty tank of overflowing mud right now, unclean enough to remain within the borders of the real world. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x lamp Attached to the ceiling by a loose metal rod and a flexible support joint, the upside-down cone of red-illuminating incandescent and aluminum sways and creaks slowly. >x bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >get branches They are too high up. >get stone They are too high up. >jump You lack the energy and purpose. >*ha [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x criminals Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >get broken bicycle I only understood you as far as wanting to get the broken tree-branches. >x broken The branches from thick sagebrush and cedar trees having snapped away from the bodies of their respective plants are also hanging from thick ropes attached to the ceiling, their dry leaves now withered and dead. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >xyzzy [That won't work here: this is a modern work of IF.] >*well, saying it won't work means it did work. :) [Comment recorded.] >plover That's not a verb I recognise. >plugh That's not a verb I recognise. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. There it is, leaning against the wall. Your eyes about to unawaringly turn and look, your left hand immediately curves onto the side of your lowered head, blocking your view. Wait, was that really it? You keep staring downwards. You might as well get acquainted with it and look up at it. Feeling the inevitable, you slowly drop your hand, eventually exposing your view to an object leaning against the wall, clouded by a plastic cover. >x poster Ahh! You lift up your hand to try to block his stare, but the agonizing image of the dark eyes behind the mask cannot leave your mind. >get poster You try to dig your fingers underneath the poster to peel it off, but find that the poster is taped tightly against the wall. >move poster Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >x cover The thick and huge milky-white polyvinyl cover is translucent, fogging the object that it covers into a vague shape. In addition to being translucent, it is also very wrinkled. >get cover Your head starts to shake like it is undergoing a seizure, your fist drops downwards, your teeth clenches, and your hands grasp your thighs as you close your eyes and lower your head. Why do I have to go through this? As your sweat flows more turbulently, you wipe your forehead. No. You told yourself you had to go through this, and you already made up your mind. The sooner you go through this, the better. It has to be done. It has to be done. You release your tensed hands off your thighs and lift your head up. Taking one deep, solid breath you muster enough courage and strength to reach for the top of it, tip-toeing so that you reach the top of the cover. Your shaking hand slowly pulls the cover... Oh my God, please no. The massive cover slips out of your hand and seems to disappear. Your lips tremble with agony for what you know is going to happen soon. You almost scream as the enormous body of the cross almost topples on you. Expecting the cross to slam you to the ground, you find yourself suprised that your hands and arms are actually capable of holding the cross, having caught it before it crashed and fell onto the floor. Surprised at its light-weightedness, you lean it back against the hard wall, a hollow knock resounding as it hits the wall. Catching your breath, you stand in front of the cross, staring at it... [Any Key] The sun's nearing the horizon, and so that logically means it's time to go home, you mutter to yourself as you release the rickety kickstand from your time-worn bicycle, swinging its body upright from its leaning position against one of the dry cedar trees that has grown at the edge of the bend. You start to wheel the front tip of your bicycle towards the steep, curving road, until you look back and realize that something very important is missing. The "most important thing in the world"--your little sister--isn't here with you. Oh where is she now? you grunt. You set your bike down away from the road and head back towards the canyon, looking around impatiently. The ledge catches your eye. You walk towards the ledge, your eyes peering downwards past the canyon wall and onto a narrow trail that lies partway down the steep drop. Oh fuck... you groan as you look down at the dangerous trail. Don't tell me she went down this way. Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >remove cover (first taking the cloudy plastic cover) Your head starts to shake like it is undergoing a seizure, your fist drops downwards, your teeth clenches, and your hands grasp your thighs as you close your eyes and lower your head. Why do I have to go through this? As your sweat flows more turbulently, you wipe your forehead. No. You told yourself you had to go through this, and you already made up your mind. The sooner you go through this, the better. It has to be done. It has to be done. You release your tensed hands off your thighs and lift your head up. Taking one deep, solid breath you muster enough courage and strength to reach for the top of it, tip-toeing so that you reach the top of the cover. Your shaking hand slowly pulls the cover... Oh my God, please no. The massive cover slips out of your hand and seems to disappear. Your lips tremble with agony for what you know is going to happen soon. You almost scream as the enormous body of the cross almost topples on you. Expecting the cross to slam you to the ground, you find yourself suprised that your hands and arms are actually capable of holding the cross, having caught it before it crashed and fell onto the floor. Surprised at its light-weightedness, you lean it back against the hard wall, a hollow knock resounding as it hits the wall. Catching your breath, you stand in front of the cross, staring at it... [Any Key] The sun's nearing the horizon, and so that logically means it's time to go home, you mutter to yourself as you release the rickety kickstand from your time-worn bicycle, swinging its body upright from its leaning position against one of the dry cedar trees that has grown at the edge of the bend. You start to wheel the front tip of your bicycle towards the steep, curving road, until you look back and realize that something very important is missing. The "most important thing in the world"--your little sister--isn't here with you. Oh where is she now? you grunt. You set your bike down away from the road and head back towards the canyon, looking around impatiently. The ledge catches your eye. You walk towards the ledge, your eyes peering downwards past the canyon wall and onto a narrow trail that lies partway down the steep drop. Oh fuck... you groan as you look down at the dangerous trail. Don't tell me she went down this way. Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >get bicycle Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or your bicycle? >mine You have to find your little sister first. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >yell That's not a verb I recognise. >i You are carrying nothing. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >xyzzy [That won't work here: this is a modern work of IF.] >x me The heat of the day has soiled most of your clothes in foul sweat; the purtrid body odor of your clothes isn't a good thing to bring with you to school tomorrow, which is exactly why you are going to wash your clothes and get rid of its repulsive scent first thing when you get home. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >x trees Oddly enough, the areas of the canyon down below and to the west of you seem to suffer from a lack of trees (unlike its neighboring mountain system to the east, which has cedars and pines in thick populations). Instead of trees, dry, thorny sagebrush grow outwards from all over the canyon walls. As you go down the road, though, the tree population grows denser and denser. The only trees up here are at the top of the ledge--two cedars growing on both sides of you to the west several yards from here. The space in between the cedars forms the ledge, which leaves quite a large and unprotected opening into the valley. A long broken tree branch lies on the ground next to one of the two trees. >get branch Taken. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >climb tree (the unhealthy-looking cedar trees) You lack the energy and purpose. >i You are carrying: a long sturdy tree branch You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >*don't need a comma before "empty hands" [Comment recorded.] >drop all (the long sturdy tree branch) You drop the tree branch back next to the tree where you first found it. >n Hastily, you walk towards the ledge, face your back towards the canyon, and get down on all fours. Slowly, you lower your right foot onto a random platform pushed out of the rocky wall, and, forgetting to check the platform's solidity, start to apply pressure on it, bringing your other foot down as well. Your hands still grasping onto the ledge, your eyes scan the wall for a crack to insert your fingers. After finding what looks like a safe indentation, you lower your fingers down-- Crack! Panic overtakes you as your body drops down suddenly from the platform that has crumbled into tumbling rocks, and your fingers, holding on for dear life, slip from the ledge. Shouting, you scrape your face against the wall and your jeans tear as they snag and break a branch from a sagebrush, smacking your back against the floor of the dirt trail. A little dazed from the impact, your heart starts to pound once more as you realize that part of your body is dangling over the edge of the trail, ready to dive down into the ravine. You try to clamber back up, but your legs don't find the support they need and instead your body loses balance. Screaming, you roll over and plunge headfirst with your hands stretched out in front of you, hitting and scraping past tons of rock and tumbling through pointy tips of sagebrush branches stabbing your bruised and flesh-torn face and body. You tumble further and further down, before the screaming world of bloody rock around you is speeding and spinning so fast that you lose consciousness-- *** You have died *** In that game you scored 0 out of a possible 0, in 40 turns. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move or QUIT? > undo Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon [Previous turn undone.] >get branch Taken. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >throw branch north I only understood you as far as wanting to throw the long sturdy tree branch. >drop branch You drop the tree branch back next to the tree where you first found it. >n Hastily, you walk towards the ledge, face your back towards the canyon, and get down on all fours. Slowly, you lower your right foot onto a random platform pushed out of the rocky wall, and, forgetting to check the platform's solidity, start to apply pressure on it, bringing your other foot down as well. Your hands still grasping onto the ledge, your eyes scan the wall for a crack to insert your fingers. After finding what looks like a safe indentation, you lower your fingers down-- Crack! Panic overtakes you as your body drops down suddenly from the platform that has crumbled into tumbling rocks, and your fingers, holding on for dear life, slip from the ledge. Shouting, you scrape your face against the wall and your jeans tear as they snag and break a branch from a sagebrush, smacking your back against the floor of the dirt trail. A little dazed from the impact, your heart starts to pound once more as you realize that part of your body is dangling over the edge of the trail, ready to dive down into the ravine. You try to clamber back up, but your legs don't find the support they need and instead your body loses balance. Screaming, you roll over and plunge headfirst with your hands stretched out in front of you, hitting and scraping past tons of rock and tumbling through pointy tips of sagebrush branches stabbing your bruised and flesh-torn face and body. You tumble further and further down, before the screaming world of bloody rock around you is speeding and spinning so fast that you lose consciousness-- *** You have died *** In that game you scored 0 out of a possible 0, in 42 turns. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move or QUIT? > undo Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon [Previous turn undone.] >get branch Taken. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >w You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >s You are not going home without your little sister. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >call for jill You can't see any such thing. >call out Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >*So far, this is depressing but actually well done. [Comment recorded.] >scream "Jill!" you scream. No reply. >*Very good. [Comment recorded.] >e You can't go that way. >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. >i You are carrying: a long sturdy tree branch >throw branch north I only understood you as far as wanting to throw the long sturdy tree branch. >w You can't go that way. >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. >x bicycle Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or your bicycle? >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >x weeds The canyon stretches from a range of clustered, rocky mountains to the east to two big sloping mountains that border the ravine that runs westward. The southern mountain, the one on which you are currently at, actually breaks a little ways to the west, its southern boundary curving off into an eastern one that borders another canyon west of here. However, the break in the southern canyon wall is soon picked up by the wall of another huge mountain; thus canyon walls are almost continous on both sides of the deep, east-to-west valley. On a clear, cloudless evening like this one, the view here is magnficent. Low sunlight illuminates the light brown valley, lighting columns of rock and casting shadows from them until the sunlight finally ends against the dense patch of rocky mountains to the east. Everything else, the plateaus under the darkening blue sky and the sides of mountains that face away from the sun, is fading into the darkness of night. Although the view is pleasant and serene, the steep drop down to the bottom of the valley isn't so inviting. Every time you come up here, you are careful not to get too near the edge, as it might lead to painful death. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >verbose Condemned is now in its "verbose" mode, which always gives long descriptions of locations (even if you've been there before). >x trees Oddly enough, the areas of the canyon down below and to the west of you seem to suffer from a lack of trees (unlike its neighboring mountain system to the east, which has cedars and pines in thick populations). Instead of trees, dry, thorny sagebrush grow outwards from all over the canyon walls. As you go down the road, though, the tree population grows denser and denser. The only trees up here are at the top of the ledge--two cedars growing on both sides of you to the west several yards from here. The space in between the cedars forms the ledge, which leaves quite a large and unprotected opening into the valley. >climb tree (the unhealthy-looking cedar trees) You lack the energy and purpose. >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >x ledge It's only a couple steps to the north before the ledge edges off into a steep, rocky drop that plunges past myriads of loose stones and dried, thorny sagebrush that cover the steep wall and down towards the bottom of the valley. The descent however, gets interrupted briefly by a narrow dirt trail that has been cut out into the rim of the canyon wall just several feet below the ledge. If you were to slip and tumble down from the top, however, the trail would not be sufficient enough to completely break your fall. The rock wall above the trail is characterized by natural cracks and tiny platforms for your hands and feet to use for support if you were to climb it. However, lowering your feet or stepping onto those elevated rocks may prove fatal if you are not careful enough, especially if you have never tested the rocks before for their solidity. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >sing [This is serious.] You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >w You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >move bicycle Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or your bicycle? >x trail Rimmed tightly against the canyon wall, this dirt trail isn't very safe: it's only wide enough to fit both of your feet, barely. Down off the border of the trail is the steep ravine leading dangerously down towards the dry river-bed running through it, the other border of the trail running along the canyon wall. The trail comes in from the east and ends abruptly at the bend of the mountain a little ways to the west. >e You can't go that way. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >w You can't go that way. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >s You are not going home without your little sister. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >*There is a puzzle here, but what do I do? [Comment recorded.] >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >x trees Oddly enough, the areas of the canyon down below and to the west of you seem to suffer from a lack of trees (unlike its neighboring mountain system to the east, which has cedars and pines in thick populations). Instead of trees, dry, thorny sagebrush grow outwards from all over the canyon walls. As you go down the road, though, the tree population grows denser and denser. The only trees up here are at the top of the ledge--two cedars growing on both sides of you to the west several yards from here. The space in between the cedars forms the ledge, which leaves quite a large and unprotected opening into the valley. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >x sagebrush Oddly enough, the areas of the canyon down below and to the west of you seem to suffer from a lack of trees (unlike its neighboring mountain system to the east, which has cedars and pines in thick populations). Instead of trees, dry, thorny sagebrush grow outwards from all over the canyon walls. As you go down the road, though, the tree population grows denser and denser. The only trees up here are at the top of the ledge--two cedars growing on both sides of you to the west several yards from here. The space in between the cedars forms the ledge, which leaves quite a large and unprotected opening into the valley. >sw You can't go that way. >nw You can't go that way. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >get bicycle Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or your bicycle? >jill's You don't want to touch her bicycle without her permission. >get my bicycle You have to find your little sister first. >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. >i You are carrying: a long sturdy tree branch >e You can't go that way. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >*Please don't be broken, game... [Comment recorded.] >about [A work of IF started in June and submitted to the 2009 comp. If you have any questions or any comments that you would like to make about the game, please feel free to e-mail me at m4rk70ne5@hotmail.com] >n All the objects that you are carrying need to be dropped before you can climb down the rocks--the dangerous climbing requires the availability of two, empty hands. >i You are carrying: a long sturdy tree branch >drop branch You drop the tree branch back next to the tree where you first found it. >ne You can't go that way. >nw You can't go that way. >climb down Hastily, you walk towards the ledge, face your back towards the canyon, and get down on all fours. Slowly, you lower your right foot onto a random platform pushed out of the rocky wall, and, forgetting to check the platform's solidity, start to apply pressure on it, bringing your other foot down as well. Your hands still grasping onto the ledge, your eyes scan the wall for a crack to insert your fingers. After finding what looks like a safe indentation, you lower your fingers down-- Crack! Panic overtakes you as your body drops down suddenly from the platform that has crumbled into tumbling rocks, and your fingers, holding on for dear life, slip from the ledge. Shouting, you scrape your face against the wall and your jeans tear as they snag and break a branch from a sagebrush, smacking your back against the floor of the dirt trail. A little dazed from the impact, your heart starts to pound once more as you realize that part of your body is dangling over the edge of the trail, ready to dive down into the ravine. You try to clamber back up, but your legs don't find the support they need and instead your body loses balance. Screaming, you roll over and plunge headfirst with your hands stretched out in front of you, hitting and scraping past tons of rock and tumbling through pointy tips of sagebrush branches stabbing your bruised and flesh-torn face and body. You tumble further and further down, before the screaming world of bloody rock around you is speeding and spinning so fast that you lose consciousness-- *** You have died *** In that game you scored 0 out of a possible 0, in 88 turns. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move or QUIT? > undo Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon [Previous turn undone.] >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. You can hear the faint singing voice of a little girl coming from somewhere far away. >*Maybe I'm not visualizing this right? [Comment recorded.] >x ledge It's only a couple steps to the north before the ledge edges off into a steep, rocky drop that plunges past myriads of loose stones and dried, thorny sagebrush that cover the steep wall and down towards the bottom of the valley. The descent however, gets interrupted briefly by a narrow dirt trail that has been cut out into the rim of the canyon wall just several feet below the ledge. If you were to slip and tumble down from the top, however, the trail would not be sufficient enough to completely break your fall. The rock wall above the trail is characterized by natural cracks and tiny platforms for your hands and feet to use for support if you were to climb it. However, lowering your feet or stepping onto those elevated rocks may prove fatal if you are not careful enough, especially if you have never tested the rocks before for their solidity. >test rocks Given your arms are fairly short, you cannot reach all the rocks with just your arms alone. You need some sort of tool that extends your reach; some tool that is long enough to push the rocks, especially those that are further down the wall. >*nice nice. Feels very polished. [Comment recorded.] >push rocks Given your arms are fairly short, you cannot reach all the rocks with just your arms alone. You need some sort of tool that extends your reach; some tool that is long enough to push the rocks, especially those that are further down the wall. >push rocks with stick Given your arms are fairly short, you cannot reach all the rocks with just your arms alone. You need some sort of tool that extends your reach; some tool that is long enough to push the rocks, especially those that are further down the wall. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >i You are carrying nothing. Oh where the hell could she have run off to now? >get branch Taken. >push rocks with it Poking your stick downwards, you prod and push the tops of the platforms, searching for solid ones. Some platforms give way under the pressure, and disintegrate into tiny, falling rocks; but a couple platforms remain intact. You take note of those platforms and stand back up, wiping the sand off the bottom of your jeans as you do. You drop the tree branch back next to the tree where you first found it. >*Would she be there if it's this hard to go? [Comment recorded.] >n Slowly and carefully, you walk towards the ledge, face your back towards the canyon, and get down on all fours. Looking down at the wall under your feet, you search for the platforms of solid rock that have withstood your testing. After finding one, you lower your foot down cautiously until it makes contact with the rock. Then, you lower your other foot onto it as well, slowly bringing your fingers off the ledge and onto a branch of a sagebrush that has grown out of the rock wall. Heading down for the trail, you lower one hand down onto the platform next to your feet and start to release your right foot off the rock, making contact with the narrow trail. You parallel your right foot with the direction of the trail and move it a little bit towards the edge to make room for your left. Still grabbing the platform tightly, you lower your left foot onto the trail next to your right foot. Dangerously Narrow Trail Along the Canyon Wall Your legs a little tense and your hands holding desperately onto a jutting sagebrush from the wall, you balance yourself on the canyon-rimmed trail that comes in from a winding path east and ends a little ways to the west. Trying not to look down at the ravine, your head protectively faces southeast towards the wall of mountain, looking for supportive sagebrushes growing out of the rocks for your hands to hold on to. You may also climb back up towards the ledge to safety. >n There's no need to do that: your little sister is still alive. >listen You hear a faint voice coming from the east. >w You can't go that way: the trail thins out and disappears into the wall of the mountain. >e Swinging your free arm over to the next brush growing along the wall, you turn your body towards the side of the mountain and edge yourself sideways toward each successive brush, exchanging arms and grabbing onto the next brush with your free arm. Eventually, you precariously work your way around the bend, the eastern trail turning into a southeastern one. After more perilous drudgery, the trail leads you into a weather-eroded hole in the side of the mountain. In Front of Rocky Hole The trail, coming in from the northwest (and ending here), widens into a platform-like area in front of a small hole carved by weathering and erosion into the side of the mountain. Its floor filled with rocks and sandstone rubble, the small cave is only large enough to fit one person at a time. Looking behind you occasionally to see if you haven't stepped too far back, you see the steep ravine looming down under you, its death-ridden deepness serving as a perpetual warning to anybody who dares to take chances. Squatted in the cave on a flat pile of rocks with her thin, blonde hair covering the side of her lowered face, your little sister Jill is curiously examining something on one of the rocks. It makes you feel a little uneasy. Hearing your footsteps trudging across the sandy rock ground at the opening's entrance, your little sister briefly looks up at you. She smiles and waves. "Hello," she says. You press your hands against your hips and tap your foot impatiently. Completely oblivious to the fact that her time is up, she just goes back to what she was doing before you arrived and continues to play. >save Ok. >talk to siter You can't see any such thing. >oops sister "Jill!" you exclaim, remembering the trouble and danger that you had to go through on the way here. "Could you please let me know when you're gonna do something dangerous like this again?! Come on, let's go." Your little sister looks up. "Okay. Hold on a minute, please..." She turns back down to the rock and with two pincer-like fingers gently tries to capture the bug. After several moments of pick and miss, she finally manages to capture the caterpillar into her hand and stands up. "Jill, just leave the bug alone; let nature flourish and be itself. And plus, it hasn't messed with you, so why should you mess with it?" "But," she says softly looking down at the bug, not understanding anything you said, "it's a cool bug." "Yeah, I know; but it'll probably be here when we come back later. Just leave it alone." You look up at the darkening sky. "Come on, it's late." "Okay." You feel righteously resolved as she drops the bug back on the rock, the free and happy bug scurrying across the rock and down to its home under a crack. Skipping lightly off of the stones, she jumps out of the cave. "Whoa, careful there, we're at the edge of a canyon now," you warn, trying to catch her as she precariously lands next to you. >*How'd she even get down here? [Comment recorded.] >get bug You can't see any such thing. >look In Front of Rocky Hole The trail, coming in from the northwest (and ending here), widens into a platform-like area in front of a small hole carved by weathering and erosion into the side of the mountain. Its floor filled with rocks and sandstone rubble, the small cave is only large enough to fit one person at a time. Looking behind you occasionally to see if you haven't stepped too far back, you see the steep ravine looming down under you, its death-ridden deepness serving as a perpetual warning to anybody who dares to take chances. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. Jill stares down at the floor, looking bored. >x sister She behaves like every eight year-old should: she's very active, likes to explore and discover things, and often leaves without warning, walking away from sight. Well, it's usually YOUR fault when this happens, as YOU are not keeping a close watch on her, anyway. In reality, though, you really don't have this type of negative attitude towards your responsibilty for her. As a matter of fact, you have a deep attachment to your sister and love her dearly. Taking care of your sister and leading her in the right path has been one of the biggest joys in your life: it has given you a sense of leadership and independence, the type of independence that you so long for and yearn for--the type where the "inner-man" is brought out of you and you feel like you have a purpose. It's just when she doesn't cooperate with your plans or runs off without telling you (or when your parents force their stressy, over-protective vantage point of responsibility onto your vantage point) that you become frustrated and annoyed. You like to talk to your little sister a lot. If it wasn't for your sister's existence, all the stress locked up inside of you would drive you insane, because there would be no other person in this world who you would be able to freely talk to and to release all your emotional burdens on. > *I see some heavy foreshadowing going on here, especially in the context of the opening. [Comment recorded.] >look In Front of Rocky Hole The trail, coming in from the northwest (and ending here), widens into a platform-like area in front of a small hole carved by weathering and erosion into the side of the mountain. Its floor filled with rocks and sandstone rubble, the small cave is only large enough to fit one person at a time. Looking behind you occasionally to see if you haven't stepped too far back, you see the steep ravine looming down under you, its death-ridden deepness serving as a perpetual warning to anybody who dares to take chances. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >e You can't go that way. >u You can't go that way. >in You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >look In Front of Rocky Hole The trail, coming in from the northwest (and ending here), widens into a platform-like area in front of a small hole carved by weathering and erosion into the side of the mountain. Its floor filled with rocks and sandstone rubble, the small cave is only large enough to fit one person at a time. Looking behind you occasionally to see if you haven't stepped too far back, you see the steep ravine looming down under you, its death-ridden deepness serving as a perpetual warning to anybody who dares to take chances. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. >i9 That's not a verb I recognise. >hold sister Your little sister's eight years old now. She doesn't need you to hold her hand all the time anymore. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >hug sister Now's not the time to show your affections to your little sister. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >wave to sister You can't see any such thing. >look In Front of Rocky Hole The trail, coming in from the northwest (and ending here), widens into a platform-like area in front of a small hole carved by weathering and erosion into the side of the mountain. Its floor filled with rocks and sandstone rubble, the small cave is only large enough to fit one person at a time. Looking behind you occasionally to see if you haven't stepped too far back, you see the steep ravine looming down under you, its death-ridden deepness serving as a perpetual warning to anybody who dares to take chances. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. >w "Hang on tightly," you caution your little sister as you re-enter the trail. Grabbing tightly to one of the branches growing out of the side of mountain, you carefully maneuver yourself forward along the trail. "Careful here," you say to your little sister. You turn back briefly to make sure your sister is close behind you, your sister grabbing tightly to a branch as well. Watching your step and occasionally looking back to make sure your sister is doing the same, you edge your way along the canyon, eventually getting around the bend and reaching the place under the ledge. Releasing yourself from the rough branches to relieve your blistering hands, you stop for a moment to turn around... Terror seizes you as you look back to see your little sister missing. "Jill!" you call out. After a couple breath-held moments, you receive a horrific reply--the piercing scream of a little girl. "Jill!" you scream back, this time moving yourself along the wall at a dangerously quick pace towards the bend of the trail. Your heart racing, you swing around the bend and stop. A wave of relief sweeps your body as you find your little sister not dangling off the edge, but instead standing on the trail, giggling. You place your hand on your heart, relieved, but in a couple of seconds anger rises in your yelling voice. "What did I tell you??" you shout. "You scared the shit out of me. Don't ever do that again." You stop at what you just said, your little sister's smile deflating and dropping into an expressionless, gaping mouth. She looks up at you with seemingly shocked eyes. "Um," you apologize, "excuse my language." Your little sister stops for a minute, staring at you before she finally walks up to you and grabs onto the branch next to you. "Okay, I'm ready to go back now," she says. "Alright," you mutter as you and your sister silently work your way back towards the area under the ledge. Dangerously Narrow Trail Along the Canyon Wall Your legs a little tense and your hands holding desperately onto a jutting sagebrush from the wall, you balance yourself on the canyon-rimmed trail that comes in from a winding path east and ends a little ways to the west. Trying not to look down at the ravine, your head protectively faces southeast towards the wall of mountain, looking for supportive sagebrushes growing out of the rocks for your hands to hold on to. You may also climb back up towards the ledge to safety. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. Jill stares down at the floor, looking bored. >x floor You see nothing unexpected in that direction. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >talk to jill "Hey Jill, stay close and DON'T get ahead of me," you command out of caution. "Okay, big brother," she says looking around the canyon obliviously, smiling. "Stay close to the wall of the canyon and hang on tight." "I know, I've come down here before, you know." "You never know what can happen in places like this." You turn around from looking behind at your little sister and face forward, feeling a little uneasy. >w You can't go that way: the trail thins out and disappears into the wall of the mountain. >e Right now you need to worry about getting home. >look Dangerously Narrow Trail Along the Canyon Wall Your legs a little tense and your hands holding desperately onto a jutting sagebrush from the wall, you balance yourself on the canyon-rimmed trail that comes in from a winding path east and ends a little ways to the west. Trying not to look down at the ravine, your head protectively faces southeast towards the wall of mountain, looking for supportive sagebrushes growing out of the rocks for your hands to hold on to. You may also climb back up towards the ledge to safety. Kept at a safe, close distance behind you, your little sister is ready to follow you. >sister, go up [This game uses the "TALK to OBJECT" speech system.] >talk to sister "Hey Jill, stay close and DON'T get ahead of me," you command out of caution. "Okay, big brother," she says looking around the canyon obliviously, smiling. "Stay close to the wall of the canyon and hang on tight." "I know, I've come down here before, you know." "You never know what can happen in places like this." You turn around from looking behind at your little sister and face forward, feeling a little uneasy. Jill stares down at the floor, looking bored. >u "Okay Jill, I want you to wait right here and stand still." You search the wall of the rock, looking for platforms jutting out of the wall to insert your feet and brush growing out of the wall to grab onto. Grabbing a branch, you step carefully onto a rock, hoisting yourself upwards. After securing your balance on the natural platform, you quickly look for another branch and platform for your hands and feet to use for support. Releasing one of your hands and quickly holding onto another one higher up near the ledge, you step up onto a higher platform. The ledge now within a comfortable arm's reach, you place both of your arms on the top and push yourself upwards. After placing your full body on top of the ledge, you look down at your sister who stares up back at you. You lay on your stomach, your head poking over the ledge a little, and reach your arm down to your sister. "Okay, you can come up now; be careful." With you watching her every move, your little sister carefully climbs up the wall, grabbing and stepping on higher and higher branches and platforms until she is positioned on the platform nearest you on the ledge. "Okay, grab my hand now." Her tiny little fingers reach up for your hand, and, pushing your arm a little further down, you manage to catch onto her wrist. "Okay, I've got you." Your little sister jumps upward off the platform, and, catching on with her movement, you pull her up next to you, your hand gripping hers and holding onto it for dear life. After pulling her up, she lands on her feet and stands up; and you, moving your body back and pushing yourself upward with your arms, stand up as well, wiping the dust off the front of your collared shirt. Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. Your little sister is here, standing next to you. Parked against one of the trees is Jill's bicycle. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. Jill walks over to her bicycle, and, after slipping the helmet off of the bicycle's handlebar, fastens it onto her head. "You don't need to do that, you know. As fun as the idea of riding down the mountain road might sound, it's actually sort of dangerous," you grumble. Actually, you don't think it's that dangerous; your mom just told you to be a safe example to your little sister. "In other words, we're going to walk down with our bikes instead of riding them," you clarify. Jill looks at you, her chin tilted upwards as she tries to fasten the buckle. "Ah..." she groans, "I forgot about that." "Stupid nighttime!" she yells. "I thought we were going to ride our bikes down the hill. You wanna know what? I was actually looking forward to it!" "Well," you begin, somewhat apologetically, "you can ride your bike when we're near the bottom of the road," you say, trying to cheer her up somewhat. Her angry face suddenly lights up into a smiling one. "Okay," she says with an under-bite grin, exposing a wide hole where her two bottom baby teeth once were before having fallen out recently. For some reason you always gag slightly at the sight of that; but teeth-growing is a process: pretty soon two big teeth will grow in its place and everything will look much better when she smiles. Her two top teeth have grown already, though; and she always rants and gets excited about someday having all her teeth fully grown. "I already have my two front teeth grown, and I'm ready to grow out more!" she says enthusiastically from time to time. A voice wakes you from reflecting thoughts. "I think I'll just wear my helmet anyways...you know, because I enjoy wearing it," Jill says. You come back to reality. After adjusting her helmet, Jill gets her bike from the tree, walks next to you in front of the road, and waits. > *This is one of the must successful attempts to putting suspense into a game I've ever seen. [Comment recorded.] >save Ok. >n Getting home is your main concern right now. And besides, you don't want to go through all that trouble again. >look Scenic Point at the Edge of the Canyon You are standing near the edge of a steep, stone ledge that overlooks a vast, dry canyon patched with thorny brush, dried weeds, and rocky earth. Small cedar trees stand to the sides of you, bordering the rocky gravel road a couple steps back to the south. To the north, the ledge drops into a dried-up river valley. With her bicycle in hand, Jill stations next to the road, ready for the journey back home. Your bicycle lies on the ground, its front set tucked awkwardly underneath the frame. >*I hope nothing bad happens now... although I'm worried it will... [Comment recorded.] >s You need your bicycle first in order to start heading home. >get bicycle Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or your bicycle? >jill's You don't want to touch her bicycle without her permission. >get my bicycle You grab the handlebars of your bicycle and swing the body of your bicycle into an upright position, stationing it next to you. A light breeze brushes past you briefly, cooling you off from the heat of the day. >s You walk towards the roadway with your bicycle. "Okay, I'm all set. Let's go." You wait for Jill to walk up next to you with her bicycle, but stop her from venturing further into the road. "Careful now, cars might be coming down the hill," you say. After setting your bike down briefly on the side of the road, you walk up a few yards towards the rocky bend, peering around it to see if any cars are coming down from the long stretch around the corner. Seeing that the coast is clear, you walk back down to Jill and pick up your bicycle. "Alright, it's clear. Stick close to me and don't go off near the edge of the road," you call out to your little sister behind you who then follows you out into the road. After you both cross the road, you and your little sister begin the descent down the mountain... Walking down the Mountain Road with your Bicycle Fallen stones decorate the base of the rough mountain wall, the wall itself almost touching you to the south as it tightly borders the cut-out mountain road that you're currently walking on. This east-bound road beneath your feet slopes down slowly, the canyon dropping to the side getting shallower as you walk downwards. As a result, cedar trees, whose tops rise upward from the canyon floor, become more numerous in population. When the road smooths and levels (which it does a ways downward), that is when you know that you've reached your rural neighborhood bordered on the edge of town. Walking next to you closely is your little sister, pushing her little bicycle along side her on the road. You feel like talking to her right now. >*She's not going to be hit by a car, right?? :( [Comment recorded.] >talk to jill You look at your sister, who is trodding along side you with her bicycle, staring down at the floor. Feeling a little guilty of the way you treated your sister over at the canyon, you look down at the floor as well and clear your throat. "Sorry about that back at the canyon," you say, trying to sound apologetic. "I was just a little frustrated that's all." Your little sister still looks down at the floor of the road in front of her. "If you don't remember," you say, trying to clarify, "I AM responsible for you. I don't want to see you get hurt or anything like that--" Jill interrupts. "You have changed," she says. Taken aback at her statement, you look down at the ground, feeling defenseless against the veracity of what she just said. "Well," you retort, "guess what? You have changed too." "I have? How?" You shrug. "I don't know, you just have." A moment of silence before your little sister speaks. "I'm not mad at you. I just didn't want to go back so early, you know." Jill looks up. "Why do we have to go back before the sun goes down the mountain? Why can't we stay a little more? >*Missing quote after her dialogue there. [Comment recorded.] >look Walking down the Mountain Road with your Bicycle Fallen stones decorate the base of the rough mountain wall, the wall itself almost touching you to the south as it tightly borders the cut-out mountain road that you're currently walking on. This east-bound road beneath your feet slopes down slowly, the canyon dropping to the side getting shallower as you walk downwards. As a result, cedar trees, whose tops rise upward from the canyon floor, become more numerous in population. When the road smooths and levels (which it does a ways downward), that is when you know that you've reached your rural neighborhood bordered on the edge of town. Walking next to you closely is your little sister, pushing her little bicycle along side her on the road. You feel like talking to her right now. >e You'll get to your destination soon enough; it's just a matter of time. For now you feel like just relaxing and talking to Jill. >talk to jill "Well, you see," you begin, forgetting about what she said to you earlier, "after the sun sets in the canyon there is this big giant werewolf that comes out from the bottom of the ravine every night. It runs up the canyon wall at lightning speed, and up towards human beings like you and me and then eats us all to just pieces of bone and tendon." You roll your eyes. Your little sister looks at you confused, apparently still unable to understand sarcasm. "In other words," you explain, "it was mom's idea, brought forth from her constant fear of losing you ever since she almost lost you in that fire we had back at our home in Iowa. And you know, ever since that incident, she's been paranoid. She wants you to remain safe-" You pause. "-with me, I guess." Your little sister looks ahead of her. "Yeah, and summer nights are getting shorter because fall is coming," she says smiling, a little energized from her knowledgeable input. "Very good," you say, a little sarcastically but with a little pride as well. "That means that it gets dark sooner. And when it's dark in the canyon we can't see our way clearly." "But the moon's coming out tonight and so it won't be completely dark," your little sister comments. "Yeah, good point. I guess mom is just being overprotective, that's all." Too overprotective. >w The road climbs back up in that direction, which is the direction that you don't want to go right now. >e You'll get to your destination soon enough; it's just a matter of time. For now you feel like just relaxing and talking to Jill. >s The mountain wall blocks your path. >look Walking down the Mountain Road with your Bicycle Fallen stones decorate the base of the rough mountain wall, the wall itself almost touching you to the south as it tightly borders the cut-out mountain road that you're currently walking on. This east-bound road beneath your feet slopes down slowly, the canyon dropping to the side getting shallower as you walk downwards. As a result, cedar trees, whose tops rise upward from the canyon floor, become more numerous in population. When the road smooths and levels (which it does a ways downward), that is when you know that you've reached your rural neighborhood bordered on the edge of town. Walking next to you closely is your little sister, pushing her little bicycle along side her on the road. You feel like talking to her right now. >talk to jill "To tell you the tr--" "Yeah, mommy has been--" She stops, realizing that she interrupted you. "No, go ahead," you consent. Your little sister continues. "Lately, mommy has been really mean. She likes to yell a lot now." You chuckle sympathetically. "Yeah, seriously. I mean, with father rarely even talking to her anymore, and father rarely ever talking to us," you pause for a moment, "she has been really stressed-out and mood-swinggy lately." Your upbeat feelings start to shift downwards at the thought of your father. "Daddy bothers me now," your little sister says with a tone of concern. "He's always in his room now with the door closed and when I see him he doesn't even talk. He always stares, too. Thank God he's away right now." "Father," you say with a little shudder, "always scared me. He's big and burly, he's strict, and I can't even talk to him because he won't ever agree with what I say." You ruminate for a moment, trying to put your father in the position of wrongdoing. "I mean, rules are okay. But too many rules is just plain stupid. Sure, he loves tradition. But 1600's tradition is just way too incompatible for today's moral standards." "Remember the way he used to punish you during the first few months after marrying mom? Thank you God that I saw what was done to you back then and learned and was smart enough to not repeat the same mistakes as--" You just feel like slapping your sister right now. Your back singes with distance pain as you feel faint dejavu of your naked back being-- "Shut up!!" you yell, covering your ears. Your little sister, sensing the abrupt change in atmosphere, turns to you. "I've heard enough. Let's not talk about him." Your little sister looks back down at the road, trying to sympathize, but not really succeeding at it. "I'm sorry it must have been very painful. But he didn't know how to punish back then. He's changed now," your little sister suggests, trying to make up for the slip-up out of her mouth. "You're okay now." You ignore your little sister, trying to suppress your hidden anger. "When I grow up, and when I'm away from Daddy, I'm probably going to visit the canyon every single day of my entire life because I love it," Jill says. You ignore her. >*Ieeee.. [Comment recorded.] >talk to jill Trying to make your feelings of anger go away, you change the subject. "And also," you say referring back to your mom, "SHE also has to adjust to the move. I mean, moving and adjusting to a new place like this is very difficult. It's also very difficult for me to adjust as well, come to think of it." You pause, still trying not to think about your stepfather. "So," you begin, trying to remove the focus off of yourself, "how is life at our new school? I know that we don't see each other often during a typical school day, but have you made any new friends yet?" Your little sister shakes her head. "No, not really." She stops. "Well, actually yes. There is this other new girl in the class called Katrina, but people call her Katy. She is really nice to me. Do you have friends?" "Yeah," you nod your head. "Yeah, I think so," you say tilting your head up a little. "What are their names?" "Oh, you won't know them. Pete and Sig are their names." "Sig?" your sister giggles. "Well, his real name is Sigmund, so I guess that's where he got the nickname from." Your little sister laughs again for a brief moment, immaturely. >e You'll get to your destination soon enough; it's just a matter of time. For now you feel like just relaxing and talking to Jill. >talk to jill "They might actually come over and pick me up to drive me to school tomorrow," you say, trying to break the news to your sister. The sooner the better, anyway. You glance at your sister, who seems to react negatively to it. She scratches her head in confusion. "But then that would mean I would have to ride to school by myself. Alone, on my bicycle," she says, eyeing you in a perplexed manner. You look away from her gaze, a little ashamed. "Well, no, not necessarily..." you say trying not to make her feel left out. "Somebody will accompany you I'm sure." Your voice falls flat at that statement because you know that no such thing will happen. She scrunches her eyebrows, even more confused. "Like who, for example?" "I don't know," you say brushing off the subject, "we'll work something out tomorrow I guess." >*A lot of text without interaction. [Comment recorded.] >save Ok. >look Walking down the Mountain Road with your Bicycle Fallen stones decorate the base of the rough mountain wall, the wall itself almost touching you to the south as it tightly borders the cut-out mountain road that you're currently walking on. This east-bound road beneath your feet slopes down slowly, the canyon dropping to the side getting shallower as you walk downwards. As a result, cedar trees, whose tops rise upward from the canyon floor, become more numerous in population. When the road smooths and levels (which it does a ways downward), that is when you know that you've reached your rural neighborhood bordered on the edge of town. Walking next to you closely is your little sister, pushing her little bicycle along side her on the road. You feel like talking to her right now. >talk to sister Trying to change the subject, you refer back to mom again. "So..." you say to your little sister who is looking down at the floor. "...yeah," you speech- fill, not knowing what to say. You look back at the road in front of you, which is now leveling off. You clear your throat. "I mean, mom isn't that mean: she lets us take a break from all the worries and stresses of being at home, and she lets us go outside and up to the canyon to get away from it all. And she lets us do it on a regular basis, too." Your little sister still looks down, down at the straightening road. I hope she's not angry, you think to yourself. You look at her again and examine her facial expressions. Her round blue eyes lack expression, her chubby red cheeks sag a little, and her tiny, top lip protrudes over her bottom lip slightly, but not purposely. She's probably just exhausted, you conclude. You stop momentarily to kick a secluded stone lying on the road over to its rightful position on the side of the mountain before catching up to your sister who got ahead a few feet in front of you. You continue walking with your sister. The roadway starts to level. >e You'll get to your destination soon enough; it's just a matter of time. For now you feel like just relaxing and talking to Jill. The road straightens into a long, eastward stretch and smoothens down into solid cement. On both sides of you are wooded forest, trees planted on ground on the same level with the road. You look out in front of you towards patches of grassy fields bordered by picket fences and man-planted oak trees, and out towards old, antique homes with dirt driveways peeled from the grass leading in from the road to their doorways. The trees whistle in the post-summer wind slightly as you take a deep breath and look up at the dark, almost-nightfallen sky, whose little stars are starting to emerge. "Oh...looks like we're a little late getting back," you alert Jill, who walks alongside you. Jill sighs. "I hope mommy doesn't yell at us like last time." "She probably will," you remind Jill. You push your bike a little faster along the road, brisk-walking along with it. "Come on Jill," you yell back. Aroused by the idea of a race, your little sister's face lights up as she excitedly tries to catch up to you, quickly meeting up to you at the intersection of the road and your street. Standing on the Corner of Charles Road and Residence Lane, With your Bicycles With the evening coming to a close and the sky darkening, the street lamps running up and down Charles Road are slowly lighting up, glaring yellow off of the trees surrounding them and down off the empty road below them. The road, which is apparently void of cars right now, extends east from here around some winding hills and into town; the other end extends west, where the smooth, gravel cement turns back into a rocky roadway treacherously reaching up into the mountains behind you. To the north and south of you runs Residence Lane, where the sides of the roadway turn from wooded forest, seen over here and back in the mountains, to open grassy pastures serving as floorspace to scattered homes and occasional farm-like buildings scattered here and there. "Haha, beat you," you call out to Jill who runs up with her bicycle from behind, stopping out of breath next to you. "It's not fair," she pants. "You're older and faster." You laugh. "No, it's actually totally fair." You look at her and smile. She looks at you, and in between a breath smiles back. >s "Okay," you tell Jill, "let's cross." You both grab your bicycles and head across the street to the other side. After crossing, you walk on Residence Lane southward a little ways. You walk and walk, past driveways and stretches of green pasture and bordering fence, before finally coming to the foot of your driveway. You stop for a brief moment. You draw a deep breath and close your eyes, the dark image of your frightened mom standing in the bright glow of the kitchen, yelling at you with her high-pitched voice and wet locks of long, black hair drooping down over her acne-stressed face. Frightened by the vision, you hasten your pace, climbing from the foot of the driveway up to the open door of the garage-like shed built on the grassy yard at the northeastern end of the driveway. Your little sister stands in front of the shed door next to you with her bicycle, the feeling of being back home drowning both you and your sister's beings in dread... [+++ +++] The cross leans against the wall in front of you. You look at and stand in front of it; then stare at the empty space of floor below it. The cross has things missing on it... NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >undo Standing on the Corner of Charles Road and Residence Lane, With your Bicycles [Previous turn undone.] >look Standing on the Corner of Charles Road and Residence Lane, With your Bicycles With the evening coming to a close and the sky darkening, the street lamps running up and down Charles Road are slowly lighting up, glaring yellow off of the trees surrounding them and down off the empty road below them. The road, which is apparently void of cars right now, extends east from here around some winding hills and into town; the other end extends west, where the smooth, gravel cement turns back into a rocky roadway treacherously reaching up into the mountains behind you. To the north and south of you runs Residence Lane, where the sides of the roadway turn from wooded forest, seen over here and back in the mountains, to open grassy pastures serving as floorspace to scattered homes and occasional farm-like buildings scattered here and there. Your little sister stands next to you with her bicycle, ready to go home. > *I didn't read -- want to experiment more -- but looked like something bad happened. [Comment recorded.] >n Your house is the other way. >e You don't have any time to go into town today. >look Standing on the Corner of Charles Road and Residence Lane, With your Bicycles With the evening coming to a close and the sky darkening, the street lamps running up and down Charles Road are slowly lighting up, glaring yellow off of the trees surrounding them and down off the empty road below them. The road, which is apparently void of cars right now, extends east from here around some winding hills and into town; the other end extends west, where the smooth, gravel cement turns back into a rocky roadway treacherously reaching up into the mountains behind you. To the north and south of you runs Residence Lane, where the sides of the roadway turn from wooded forest, seen over here and back in the mountains, to open grassy pastures serving as floorspace to scattered homes and occasional farm-like buildings scattered here and there. Your little sister stands next to you with her bicycle, ready to go home. >talk to jill "Are you ready to go back now?" you ask Jill, who is still trying to catch her breath. She nods. "Yeah," I'm ready. >*sigh.... [Comment recorded.] >s "Okay," you tell Jill, "let's cross." You both grab your bicycles and head across the street to the other side. After crossing, you walk on Residence Lane southward a little ways. You walk and walk, past driveways and stretches of green pasture and bordering fence, before finally coming to the foot of your driveway. You stop for a brief moment. You draw a deep breath and close your eyes, the dark image of your frightened mom standing in the bright glow of the kitchen, yelling at you with her high-pitched voice and wet locks of long, black hair drooping down over her acne-stressed face. Frightened by the vision, you hasten your pace, climbing from the foot of the driveway up to the open door of the garage-like shed built on the grassy yard at the northeastern end of the driveway. Your little sister stands in front of the shed door next to you with her bicycle, the feeling of being back home drowning both you and your sister's beings in dread... [+++ +++] The cross leans against the wall in front of you. You look at and stand in front of it; then stare at the empty space of floor below it. The cross has things missing on it... NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >x hook The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >*I can't envision this at all for some reason. [Comment recorded.] >get cross No, HE would not want the cross to be moved in any way. >move cross No, HE would not want the cross to be moved in any way. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >remove gag You cannot untie the knot, despite the fact that you tied it yourself. >save Ok. >x workbench WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >x chains The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. >x me Sweating guilty and anxious drops of blood, you feel like a dirty tank of overflowing mud right now. >open cabinet It seems to be locked. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >look WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >w You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >look WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >talk to cross The gag refrains you from doing so. >x hole The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >push button No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >pull rope No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >x ball The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >x track The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >w You can't go that way. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x box The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >x little hole You can't see any such thing. >x poster Completely flattened and pressed against the center of the wall without the slightest wrinkle, the huge sheet of photo paper imposes itself as rather daunting. But the fact that it is big is not what makes it so intimidating. It is that covered face of his that is. Everytime he looks down at you through his clouded-out eyes, he fills you with guilt and shame; and you cannot help but cringe in fear. Almost everything about his face his covered in masking blackness; the only part of his face that is not fully covered by that upside-down black burlap sack are the eyes. But even the eyes themselves are not fully seen--they are clouded into a blurry mixture of black and whitish dots. Fear aside for a brief moment, you examine the poster closely and sense that the center area of the poster is not completely pressed against the wall, as part of it bends upward slightly. Either part of the poster is not pressed against the wall, or there is no wall behind that part of it. >push poster Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >punch face Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >s You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >w WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >le That's not a verb I recognise. >e CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >w WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >x wall The wall is stripped bare. >strip wall That's not a verb I recognise. >x shadows The shaking shadows that lie on the surface of the floor are caused by the ceiling beams and the damned objects--mostly bicycles and broken parts--that hang from those beams, the objects partially blocking the unsteady red light that floods nauseatingly downward from the ceiling of the garage. The light glints off of your sweaty face as you tilt your face upwards, the long shadows made from the bicycle parts dripping downwards and spreading across your face as if you were behind jail bars. Tired of squinting your eyes, you look downwards and blink for a moment to relieve your eyes. >blink That's not a verb I recognise. >look WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >move wall You lack the motivation. >push wall You lack the motivation. >s You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >e CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >e You can't go that way. >x bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >x broken bicycle I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the broken tree-branches. >*No, the bicycle... [Comment recorded.] >x axis You can't see any such thing. >x beat-up It appears red under the light. The bicycle is so beaten that it looks as if it was mercilessly pushed through the spinning blades of a large tree grinder. Its color is now the only deemable characteristic that can be extracted from your examination of the wreck-caused mass of metallic tubing. >x tubing It appears red under the light. The bicycle is so beaten that it looks as if it was mercilessly pushed through the spinning blades of a large tree grinder. Its color is now the only deemable characteristic that can be extracted from your examination of the wreck-caused mass of metallic tubing. >get tubing They are too high up. >stand on car The car is useless. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >stand on car The car is useless. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >look under car You find nothing of interest. >search car The windows are tinted, so you can't see the inside. But you're pretty sure that they are still trapped inside this coffin of death, though. >*who? [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >e You can't go that way. >*Is this a surreal part? Seems to be. [Comment recorded.] >*But I'm stuck. [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >*for want of a sharp object. [Comment recorded.] >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x headlight You can't see any such thing. >x workbench WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >x cabinet Timeworn and left unpolished, this cabinet sticks out from the wall a little bit. It serves as a ceiling to the workbench, with a space of two feet or so in between them. The doors of the cabinet, which are practically right in front of your face, are locked by a Master Lock inserted in a ring with a closed latch tightly swung underneath it. >unlock cabinet (with the gag) That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >x cabinet Timeworn and left unpolished, this cabinet sticks out from the wall a little bit. It serves as a ceiling to the workbench, with a space of two feet or so in between them. The doors of the cabinet, which are practically right in front of your face, are locked by a Master Lock inserted in a ring with a closed latch tightly swung underneath it. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >look WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >x car The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. >x rims You can't see any such thing. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >get poster You try to dig your fingers underneath the poster to peel it off, but find that the poster is taped tightly against the wall. >stab poster What do you want to stab the poster with? >me You will not escape punishment that way. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >get cross No, HE would not want the cross to be moved in any way. >move cross No, HE would not want the cross to be moved in any way. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >put cross on hook You need to be holding the wooden cross before you can put it on top of something else. >get cross No, HE would not want the cross to be moved in any way. >attach hook to cross No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >get hook No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >x hook The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >*So I need to move this? Sounds like some kind of auto-shop machine. [Comment recorded.] >push button No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >x button The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >x wheel The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >w You can't go that way. >x beams You can't see any such thing. >l NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >e You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >e You can't go that way. >w WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >s You can't go that way. >x plaster You can't see any such thing. >x me Sweating guilty and anxious drops of blood, you feel like a dirty tank of overflowing mud right now. >x lamp Attached to the ceiling by a loose metal rod and a flexible support joint, the upside-down cone of red-illuminating incandescent and aluminum sways and creaks slowly. >get lamp It is too high up. >turn off lamp It is too high up. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >look WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >stand on table You can't see any such thing. >e CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >get chains That's hardly portable. >remove chains (first taking the chained-up car) That's hardly portable. >*So now what? [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >climb cross You lack the energy and purpose. >crucify me That's not a verb I recognise. >use cross That's not a verb I recognise. >x car The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. >enter car The car is useless. >climb on car You can't see any such thing. >scratch car That's not a verb I recognise. >wake up Life for you right now is almost an inescapable nightmare. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >open box No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >w You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >*Won't cutting the picture be tampering? [Comment recorded.] >x poster You can't see any such thing. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x poster Completely flattened and pressed against the center of the wall without the slightest wrinkle, the huge sheet of photo paper imposes itself as rather daunting. But the fact that it is big is not what makes it so intimidating. It is that covered face of his that is. Everytime he looks down at you through his clouded-out eyes, he fills you with guilt and shame; and you cannot help but cringe in fear. Almost everything about his face his covered in masking blackness; the only part of his face that is not fully covered by that upside-down black burlap sack are the eyes. But even the eyes themselves are not fully seen--they are clouded into a blurry mixture of black and whitish dots. Fear aside for a brief moment, you examine the poster closely and sense that the center area of the poster is not completely pressed against the wall, as part of it bends upward slightly. Either part of the poster is not pressed against the wall, or there is no wall behind that part of it. >kick poster Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >cut poster with fingernails You can't see any such thing. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >w You can't go that way. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >get pedals You can't see any such thing. >x pedals You can't see any such thing. >get chains That's hardly portable. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x bicycls You can't see any such thing. >oops bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >get beat-up They are too high up. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >get branches They are too high up. >get stone They are too high up. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >u You can't go that way. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >x box The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >x ball The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >lift cross That's not a verb I recognise. >push button No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >look behind cross You see no important reason to do that. >*But what now? [Comment recorded.] >e You can't go that way. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >s You can't go that way. >hint [This game can be solved by solely using the standard Inform verbs, with the exception of the verbs 'Talk to' and 'Scream', which you may find the need to use when the time comes. See walkthrough, if need be.] >hint [This game can be solved by solely using the standard Inform verbs, with the exception of the verbs 'Talk to' and 'Scream', which you may find the need to use when the time comes. See walkthrough, if need be.] >e You can't go that way. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >x poster Completely flattened and pressed against the center of the wall without the slightest wrinkle, the huge sheet of photo paper imposes itself as rather daunting. But the fact that it is big is not what makes it so intimidating. It is that covered face of his that is. Everytime he looks down at you through his clouded-out eyes, he fills you with guilt and shame; and you cannot help but cringe in fear. Almost everything about his face his covered in masking blackness; the only part of his face that is not fully covered by that upside-down black burlap sack are the eyes. But even the eyes themselves are not fully seen--they are clouded into a blurry mixture of black and whitish dots. Fear aside for a brief moment, you examine the poster closely and sense that the center area of the poster is not completely pressed against the wall, as part of it bends upward slightly. Either part of the poster is not pressed against the wall, or there is no wall behind that part of it. >press poster Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >e You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >x bench (the worktable) WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >x cabinet Timeworn and left unpolished, this cabinet sticks out from the wall a little bit. It serves as a ceiling to the workbench, with a space of two feet or so in between them. The doors of the cabinet, which are practically right in front of your face, are locked by a Master Lock inserted in a ring with a closed latch tightly swung underneath it. >get lock That's hardly portable. >x ring Timeworn and left unpolished, this cabinet sticks out from the wall a little bit. It serves as a ceiling to the workbench, with a space of two feet or so in between them. The doors of the cabinet, which are practically right in front of your face, are locked by a Master Lock inserted in a ring with a closed latch tightly swung underneath it. >break cabinet The consequences of that action would be too unbearable for you to handle. >break car The consequences of that action would be too unbearable for you to handle. >w You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >break me Your time will come soon enough. >*Wow... lots implemented. [Comment recorded.] >look WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >remove hook (first taking the box with a wheel on it) No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >detach rope That's not a verb I recognise. >remove rope (first taking the box with a wheel on it) No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >remove hoook You can't see any such thing. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x hook The metal box has a wheel on the face of it, a push button on the side of it, and a hole on top of it with a rope leading out from the hole. Tracing your eye upwards, the rope climbs up to a pulley and dips down to the top of the cross, the rope tied to the cross through a hole drilled through its top. Looking back up past the ceiling beams, you notice that the pulley is not cemented to the ceiling. As a matter of fact, the pulley hangs from a moveable ball on a ceiling-beams track; the track starts from above the cross, curves, and then extends over to the west wall. >get rope No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >get hook No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >remove hook (first taking the box with a wheel on it) No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >remove rope (first taking the box with a wheel on it) No. He would get mad if you tampered with his methods of execution. >*Do I need the walkthrough now? [Comment recorded.] >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >*now 2:10 PM [Comment recorded.] >w You can't go that way. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >e You can't go that way. >x bench (the worktable) WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >stand on bench (the worktable) That's not something you can stand on. >move bench (the worktable) You are unable to. >move bench w (the worktable the west) Is that the best you can think of? >move bench nw (the worktable the northwest) Is that the best you can think of? >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >w WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >move lamp It is too high up. >jump You lack the energy and purpose. >x bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >x beat-up It appears red under the light. The bicycle is so beaten that it looks as if it was mercilessly pushed through the spinning blades of a large tree grinder. Its color is now the only deemable characteristic that can be extracted from your examination of the wreck-caused mass of metallic tubing. >get tubing They are too high up. >x floor You see nothing unexpected in that direction. >search (the west wall) You find nothing of interest. >look WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >nw You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >sw You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >se You can't go that way. >ne NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >se WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >e You can't go that way. >se You can't go that way. >sw You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >w WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. >sw You can't go that way. >se You can't go that way. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >open garage You can't see any such thing. >open door Even if the chains were not locking the car shut, you still would not want to open the car and let out filthy corpse odors. Or let them out, if they are still alive. >*Weird.... [Comment recorded.] >x door The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. >x chains The car occupies the whole eastern half of the garage, and is being punished as well. Your feelings of guilt are momently transferred to the black car as your thoughts and perceptions shift towards the thick, iron chains securely imprisoning the body of the car and inward past the chains towards the car exterior itself: its black paint, its mirror-polished windows, and its spinny silver rims. For a moment, you feel like pointing a blaming finger at the car, but then your perceptions shift back and you find yourself just staring at the chains, once again feeling as guilty as the car. >lift chains That's not a verb I recognise. >remove chains (first taking the chained-up car) That's hardly portable. >remove gag You cannot untie the knot, despite the fact that you tied it yourself. >talk (to the west wall) You cannot release your emotions right now. >n You can't go that way. >talk to me You cannot release your emotions right now. >n You can't go that way. >e CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x sister You can't see any such thing. >e You can't go that way. >u You can't go that way. >d You can't go that way. >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x floor You see nothing unexpected in that direction. >x objects You can't see any such thing. >x criminals Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >get branch You can't see any such thing. >get branches They are too high up. >x branches The branches from thick sagebrush and cedar trees having snapped away from the bodies of their respective plants are also hanging from thick ropes attached to the ceiling, their dry leaves now withered and dead. >x stone The stone is fairly large and heavy: it has three ropes tied around it to keep it from falling down and crashing to the floor. It seems that due to the weight of the rock, these ropes are experiencing the most tension out of all the other ropes. You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. >*Ieee.... what is this game leading up to? [Comment recorded.] >x stain The stone is fairly large and heavy: it has three ropes tied around it to keep it from falling down and crashing to the floor. It seems that due to the weight of the rock, these ropes are experiencing the most tension out of all the other ropes. You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. >remove ropes (first taking the ropes that hang from the ceiling) They are too high up. >untie ropes (first taking the ropes that hang from the ceiling) They are too high up. >pull rock You are unable to. >hit rock The consequences of that action would be too unbearable for you to handle. >push rock You are unable to. >x rock The stone is fairly large and heavy: it has three ropes tied around it to keep it from falling down and crashing to the floor. It seems that due to the weight of the rock, these ropes are experiencing the most tension out of all the other ropes. You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. >grab rock That's not a verb I recognise. >get rock They are too high up. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >grab rocks That's not a verb I recognise. >i You are carrying: a gag (being worn) >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >touch puddle You can't see any such thing. >touch stain They are too high up. >x stain The stone is fairly large and heavy: it has three ropes tied around it to keep it from falling down and crashing to the floor. It seems that due to the weight of the rock, these ropes are experiencing the most tension out of all the other ropes. You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. >cut ropes What do you want to cut the ropes that hang from the ceiling with? >nothing You can't see any such thing. >e You can't go that way. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >open workbench WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. That's not something you can open. >x workbench Once used as a surface for mechanical work such as cutting wood with small razor-blade saws or soldering electronic wires and bars of iron together, the workbench is now void of activity and is collecting dust. All that remains on this workbench now are layers of thick, uneven piles of sawdust debris and metal chips mixed together, which are scattered on the table's surface. There is also open space underneath the worktable. >x chips There is a thick layer of sawdust and metallic chips on the workbench top; but it is an uneven layer, thus it occasionally mounts upwards into the thick and dips down into the thin. The thick parts, however, are thick enough to potentially hide small buried objects. If you were to move some of the dust away, you might end up revealing something. >get chips You wipe some dust off of the table, fingertips hitting a thick, metallic object in the midst of a thick pile of dust. After you brush the pile down into a wide, thin area, a tiny copper key is uncovered, the key seemingly having been hiding underneath the dust for quite a while. >look under workbench Still squished between the car and the cabinet, you lean sideways, curving your body downwards until your hands and knees touch the cold, concrete floor. Lowering your head and eye-level into the midst of darkness and cobwebs underneath, you spot something big, like a large stick. Holding your breath and sticking your arm into the midst of the dusty spiderwebs, you grab the stick with a firm hand, dragging it out from underneath the table. A heavy weight scrapes along the concrete floor on the other end as you do. Squeezing upwards between the table and the car, you stand up; and with adrenalinized energy you hold a wooden axe up in front of you, its dusty handle having spiderweb threads hanging from it. You dust the cobwebs off, and grip the handle of the heavy axe, your hands and fingers shaking and your biceps flexing twice their usual size. >move dust You spread some of the dust with your fingers, but find nothing else hidden underneath the dust. >x chips There is a thick layer of sawdust and metallic chips on the workbench top; but it is an uneven layer, thus it occasionally mounts upwards into the thick and dips down into the thin. The thick parts, however, are thick enough to potentially hide small buried objects. If you were to move some of the dust away, you might end up revealing something. >move dust You spread some of the dust with your fingers, but find nothing else hidden underneath the dust. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. On the worktable is an old, copper key. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >cut poster with axe This axe is used for cutting through large objects such as wood or thick pieces of cable, not for thin objects that need precision to cut. Also, the blade of the axe will not work for peeling the poster off: it is to big to insert underneath the paper of the poster--that is, if you were brave enough to even touch that poster... > *to big should be "too big" -- and really, this should work, since it was clued.... [Comment recorded.] >touch poster Reluctantly, you lightly tap the center of the poster, a little surprised to find that your fingernails do not hit against the solid wall, as the paper vibrates when you tap it in that spot. Huh, if you had a sharp object, you could probably puncture through the center, right through the masked face. >chop poster What do you want to chop the poster with? >axe This axe is used for cutting through large objects such as wood or thick pieces of cable, not for thin objects that need precision to cut. Also, the blade of the axe will not work for peeling the poster off: it is to big to insert underneath the paper of the poster--that is, if you were brave enough to even touch that poster... >chop face What do you want to chop the poster with? >s You will not escape punishment that way. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. On the worktable is an old, copper key. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >cut ropes with axe [There are tons of ropes hanging from the ceiling to choose from. Clarify which rope you want to throw the axe at by specifying the object that hangs from the rope as the second noun.] >cut rocks with axe You can't see any such thing. >rock rock with axe That's not a verb I recognise. >cut rock with axe Gathering all your strength and might, you cock your arm back with the axe in your hand, and release your grip, sending the axe forward and up into the air, aiming it at the highly tensioned ropes that are being pulled by the heavy weight of the rock tied down to it. Covering your ears as the blade of the axe strikes the center of one of the ropes, you watch with your extremities tingling as the rock and its ropes crash down onto the roof of the car with a loud smash. After implanting a dent, it rolls off and lands on the area of floor between you and car, the ropes spread from the body of it onto the floor like three strands of thick, wild hair. After catching your breath from the exhaustion of watching the rock fall down, you look around the floor for the axe. Strangely, and for some reason, you cannot seem to find the axe on the floor. The axe must have vanished into thin air after it sliced through the ropes. >undo CENTER OF THE GARAGE [Previous turn undone.] >cut bicycle with axe You will not escape punishment that way. >i You are carrying: a wooden axe a gag (being worn) >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. >x bicycles Broken bicycle parts make up the majority of this dense jungle of hanging criminals: bicycle wheels with twisted spokes and torn rubber tires flapping off the rims, rope-choked necks of bicycle seats connected to pieces of metal tubing, fragments of wrecked handlebars, and detached pedals and chains dangling uselessly. Turning slowly for a brief moment on its rope-attached axis, a very beat-up bicycle whose broken body deems itself almost terrifying unrecognizable draws your attention from among the rest of the bicycle parts. Among the thick crowd of bicycles, you spot a large stone and some split tree- branches hanging by ropes as well. >cut beat-up with axe You will not escape punishment that way. >cut rocks with axe You can't see any such thing. >oops rock Gathering all your strength and might, you cock your arm back with the axe in your hand, and release your grip, sending the axe forward and up into the air, aiming it at the highly tensioned ropes that are being pulled by the heavy weight of the rock tied down to it. Covering your ears as the blade of the axe strikes the center of one of the ropes, you watch with your extremities tingling as the rock and its ropes crash down onto the roof of the car with a loud smash. After implanting a dent, it rolls off and lands on the area of floor between you and car, the ropes spread from the body of it onto the floor like three strands of thick, wild hair. After catching your breath from the exhaustion of watching the rock fall down, you look around the floor for the axe. Strangely, and for some reason, you cannot seem to find the axe on the floor. The axe must have vanished into thin air after it sliced through the ropes. >x rock Which do you mean, the ropes tied to the rock or the large stone? >stone As you estimate the size of the rock, you realize that the rock is almost the same size as you--it is only just a couple square feet larger. If you were to lie down on it, you would fit perfectly on its flat surfa-- You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. >lay on rock That's not a verb I recognise. >sleep -- the very thing that you have been lacking this past week. >x rock Which do you mean, the ropes tied to the rock or the large stone? >stone As you estimate the size of the rock, you realize that the rock is almost the same size as you--it is only just a couple square feet larger. If you were to lie down on it, you would fit perfectly on its flat surfa-- You notice that a huge puddle-shape stain paints a center portion of the rock in either a black or red color (you cannot tell). A cold numbness pressures your head as you realize that the stain is most likely red. > *the rock should have a higher parse rank than the ropes tied to it. Does Inform 6 have that? [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. The stone has crashed to the floor, bringing down three ropes extending from it across the floor like thick, sprawled dreadlocks. >*I thought it landed on the car? [Comment recorded.] >x car The roof of the car has been smashed in, making the chains wrapped around the car more loose and hanging. The windows, however, remain intact, as the rock smashed in the center of the roof, making a graduated depression in that area. You try to look through the dark windows, trying to glare through them. Even though you do not see HIM, you know he sees you...if HE is still alive, that is. You got lucky that time. But you're still not going to be able to get out. This is justice, my friend. The justice that you so believed in and were talking to me about back while I was riding with you in this car, supposedly. You reassuringly tap the chains to make sure that they are still tight enough to seal the car shut, the sound of metal oppressingly knocking against fiberglass. >*A car wreck? [Comment recorded.] >open door Even if the chains were not locking the car shut, you still would not want to open the car and let out filthy corpse odors. Or let them out, if they are still alive. >*parents? [Comment recorded.] >look CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. The stone has crashed to the floor, bringing down three ropes extending from it across the floor like thick, sprawled dreadlocks. >x ropes (the ropes tied to the rock) Of hardly any use now towards its original purpose, these nylon ropes have been done in and snapped by the axe and the weight of the rock. Although the center rope had been cut by the axe, the other ropes remain intact and long, the reason being that the long ropes just snapped from the ceiling beams when the strain of the rock's weight was transferred onto them after the center rope was cut. The ropes should be dropped at the foot of the cross. >get ropes (the ropes tied to the rock) You extend your fatigued arms and slowly unfasten the knots with your muscle- torn hands, the strength required to throw the axe having placed a large strain on your arm and back muscles. All your remaining strength now practically gone, you collect the one short rope and the two long ropes into your hands and start to close your eyes...but after a couple of seconds wake up. Rest will never be possible ever again-- the cross. You stand back up on your feet at the thought of it, feeling weary and helpless. >x cross You can't see any such thing. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. On the worktable is an old, copper key. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x key The key looks a little old and dusty. Evidently, it had been buried under the worktable debris for quite some time. >get key Taken. >x cross You look up at it. It is huge and very tall, about twice the size of your body. It is wooden. It leans against the wall with an empty countenance, void and in want of a soul to punish. At the top of the cross, just a little bit above the head is a tiny hole. You spot a hook latched onto the hole, which leads all the way up to the ceiling via rope. Your head throbs with pain as you trace your eyes from up at the cross's head downwards, past the long width of the arms, the footrest, and finally down to the base of the cross, which is not cemented or connected to the floor in any way. Its base only touches the floor, and gains most of the upright-positional support from its narrow-angled leaning against the wall. >ne You can't go that way. >se WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >unlock cabinet What do you want to unlock the metal cabinet with? >key You unlock the metal cabinet. >open cabinet You open the creaking cabinet doors all the way until its hinges stop, pulling your head back as the doors swing inches past your face. The doors of the cabinet gape open widely, revealing a small group of iron nails and an exacto knife. >get nails and knife small group of iron nails: You pick and scoop the nails off the lower shelf of the cabinet with your fingers and collect them into your cupped hand. The nails feel like painful shocks of electricity as they fall into your palm one by one. exacto knife: Taken. >*not letting me use the axe on the poster was a shame... [Comment recorded.] >x knife The exacto knife's original purpose was for cutting open objects such as packaged boxes, but by the clay and plaster stuck on some parts of the knife, it looks as if it was used for other purposes. The length of the knife's blade can be easily increased or decreased, but for your purposes the length of the blade is fine as it is: the blade and its sharp tip is already exposed. For a second as you were staring at the sharp tip of the knife, you started to feel a bleeding sensation on the tips of your twitching fingers. >x fingers You can't see any such thing. >close knife That's not something you can close. >touch knife You feel nothing unexpected. >cut me What do you want to cut yourself with? >knife You will not escape punishment that way. >look WORKBENCH COMPLEX This work station is located near the northeast-corner of the garage, hidden behind the black and opaque body of the car. It and its chains are squishing your leaning body against the worktable and are almost forcing your head to make contact with the wall-implanted cabinet above it. The only way to get out of this area is by worming your way tightly back towards the cross, which is northwest. >nw NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >cut poster with knife You slip out the knife and hold it up in front of the poster, nervously thumbing the blade up and down and tigheting the screw as the sharp tip of the knife sticks out of the case's front slot. The blurry eyes and the dark mask stare down at you--and at the knife in your hand. You swallow and stare at those eyes, those dark black irises censored into milky whiteness, your hand and knife now twitching as you raise it up and puncture it slowly against the poster until the metal makes contact with paper and thin plastic. Your jaws clench and you lower the knife for a moment after catching the face in the poster looking down at you, daring your next move. Are you sure you want to destroy the poster? (y)es or (n)o >n >*tigheting is a misspelling. [Comment recorded.] >*a typo. [Comment recorded.] >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the huge poster occupying the center, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the huge poster. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x poster Completely flattened and pressed against the center of the wall without the slightest wrinkle, the huge sheet of photo paper imposes itself as rather daunting. But the fact that it is big is not what makes it so intimidating. It is that covered face of his that is. Everytime he looks down at you through his clouded-out eyes, he fills you with guilt and shame; and you cannot help but cringe in fear. Almost everything about his face his covered in masking blackness; the only part of his face that is not fully covered by that upside-down black burlap sack are the eyes. But even the eyes themselves are not fully seen--they are clouded into a blurry mixture of black and whitish dots. Fear aside for a brief moment, you examine the poster closely and sense that the center area of the poster is not completely pressed against the wall, as part of it bends upward slightly. Either part of the poster is not pressed against the wall, or there is no wall behind that part of it. >nail me to cross That's not a verb I recognise. >put nail into cross Putting nails or ropes on the footrest platform of the cross would not work especially when the cross is still in want of a soul. The empty space on the floor below the cross is the correct place to drop those cursed crucifixion devices--at least for now. >drop nails One by one, you drop the nails down at the foot of the cross... [Any Key] Great. It's morning time, right before school, and you still haven't worked out a plan yet. With your backpacked slugged over your shoulder in a casual manner, you pace around in the cool of your shadowed driveway, with your little sister and your mom standing here with you, who are discussing plans and, at the same time, are bashing you for your crudely abrupt abandon of responsibility. On the Driveway in Front of the Road Leading in from the roadway to the west, and extending to the doorway of your house to the east (and alternately extending to the open shed to the northeast), this rocky driveway shadowed by your house and surrounded by green yard is the place where you are currently standing in the middle of, waiting for your friends to pick you up. With the lowly eastern sun slowly rising from behind your open-doorway house and up towards the center of the clear, blue sky, you feel another hot and madly sunny school day coming your way.. With her backpack and helmet strapped on, and with her bicycle in hand, your little sister waits here, ready to ride to school. You can also see your mom here. "So, I think you are going to have to explain to your friends that you just cannot ride with them to school today," your mom says, her hand on her hip. What? Tell your friends off? No. That will not happen. You need to let your mom know this. >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >*okay.... let's see. [Comment recorded.] >save Ok. >cut poster with knife You slip out the knife and hold it up in front of the poster, nervously thumbing the blade up and down and tigheting the screw as the sharp tip of the knife sticks out of the case's front slot. The blurry eyes and the dark mask stare down at you--and at the knife in your hand. You swallow and stare at those eyes, those dark black irises censored into milky whiteness, your hand and knife now twitching as you raise it up and puncture it slowly against the poster until the metal makes contact with paper and thin plastic. Your jaws clench and you lower the knife for a moment after catching the face in the poster looking down at you, daring your next move. Are you sure you want to destroy the poster? (y)es or (n)o >y It has to be done--this is the only way... Closing your eyes, you slam the fist-clenched tip of the blade against the surface of the poster, a sound of paper painfully tearing as you look to see a punctured hole in the paper, an image of solid plaster wall behind it. Again, you close your eyes; and then with a spark of adrenaline you quickly move your arm up and down, side to side, tearing and tearing, sounds of paper being shredded and torn until your fist slams through a large hole a compartment in the wall behind the poster, the part of the poster where the masked face lies. More energy driven at the sight of the hole, you continue to quickly slice along the inside boundaries of the compartment, cutting out an vertically-elongated rectangle shape of the masked face, his image of horror falling over and sliding to the pile of terrifying and disorderly pile of paper shreds on the floor. Your knife drops to the floor and out of sight as you fall to your knees and pant for breath. You look up at the wall where the center once was. There is now just a compartment in the wall, apparently covered by the poster. It has opened up, revealing a large hammer hanging on a hook inside of it. The hammer is fitted inside perfectly. More sweat drips down your face as you rest a bit. You wipe your face with your hands. The poster... You look down to see your feet stepping on the face by accident. Out of fear, you quickly lift your feet off of it, revealing a dark face with now two holes in place of the eyes. > *Some of that is awkwardly worded. "pile of terrifying and disorderly pile of paper..." [Comment recorded.] >drop nails One by one, you drop the nails down at the foot of the cross... [Any Key] Great. It's morning time, right before school, and you still haven't worked out a plan yet. With your backpacked slugged over your shoulder in a casual manner, you pace around in the cool of your shadowed driveway, with your little sister and your mom standing here with you, who are discussing plans and, at the same time, are bashing you for your crudely abrupt abandon of responsibility. On the Driveway in Front of the Road Leading in from the roadway to the west, and extending to the doorway of your house to the east (and alternately extending to the open shed to the northeast), this rocky driveway shadowed by your house and surrounded by green yard is the place where you are currently standing in the middle of, waiting for your friends to pick you up. With the lowly eastern sun slowly rising from behind your open-doorway house and up towards the center of the clear, blue sky, you feel another hot and madly sunny school day coming your way.. With her backpack and helmet strapped on, and with her bicycle in hand, your little sister waits here, ready to ride to school. You can also see your mom here. "So, I think you are going to have to explain to your friends that you just cannot ride with them to school today," your mom says, her hand on her hip. What? Tell your friends off? No. That will not happen. You need to let your mom know this. >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. The compartment that was once hidden by the poster is now exposed, revealing a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >get hammer You reach up and unhook the hammer, taking it out of the compartment. >x hammer With a black, heavy mallet on the end of a fused metal bar, the hammer's purpose is for slamming sharp objects like nails or spikes into soft material like wood or plaster. The hammer looks like it has been used before...although you cannot spot any other fingerprints on the bar other than your own. This belongs at the floor below the cross. >hammer nails into cross I only understood you as far as wanting to hammer the small group of iron nails. >drop hammer You set the hammer down at the foot of the cross... [Any Key] Great. It's morning time, right before school, and you still haven't worked out a plan yet. With your backpacked slugged over your shoulder in a casual manner, you pace around in the cool of your shadowed driveway, with your little sister and your mom standing here with you, who are discussing plans and, at the same time, are bashing you for your crudely abrupt abandon of responsibility. On the Driveway in Front of the Road Leading in from the roadway to the west, and extending to the doorway of your house to the east (and alternately extending to the open shed to the northeast), this rocky driveway shadowed by your house and surrounded by green yard is the place where you are currently standing in the middle of, waiting for your friends to pick you up. With the lowly eastern sun slowly rising from behind your open-doorway house and up towards the center of the clear, blue sky, you feel another hot and madly sunny school day coming your way.. With her backpack and helmet strapped on, and with her bicycle in hand, your little sister waits here, ready to ride to school. You can also see your mom here. "So, I think you are going to have to explain to your friends that you just cannot ride with them to school today," your mom says, her hand on her hip. What? Tell your friends off? No. That will not happen. You need to let your mom know this. >*backpacked in the first bit should be "backpack" I think. [Comment recorded.] >e You don't need to go back into your house. >w Your ride isn't here yet. And you are not walking to school, either. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >x mom With her frazzled, bed-ridden hair disheveled and uncombed, and with patches of pimple breakouts getting more dense on the skin of her face, you have this uncomfortable feeling that she isn't getting better, but worse... >talk to mom "No mom," you assert, "I can't just simply tell them that they can't pick me up. They've driven out of their own way to come and pick me up." You look past the picket fence and down the sunlit roadway in the southern direction, still void of a car. "So no," you continue, "I'm not going to tell them off." Apparently mad at your disobedient behavior, your mom bites back. "Are you questioning my authority? Since when did YOU take control of situations?" Your mom steps back and lowers her tone. "I think I'll just have to tell your father when he comes back then, if you don't cooperate." "Mom--" Your little sister pipes in, trying to support you. "It-it's okay. I think I'll go by myself; I can do it. I think." Looking down at your little sister, your mom shakes her head. "Out of the question." Your mom pauses. "No. Out of question," she repeats, this time her voice louder. Your little sister looks back down and stares in front of her with her fingers tucked underneath the straps of her backpack. >talk to sister "You can ride on your bicycle by yourself, right?" "Um, I don't--" "Jill..." "Yeah--okay, I think I can go by myself." >*Yeah, 8 years old? Bad idea. [Comment recorded.] >x me The pants and the colorful, graphical t-shirt that you are wearing have been washed and neatly pressed for your appearance in front of your peers at school. In spite of your externally-apparent confidence, however, you're actually feeling very anxious right now. Well, it's another day of high school, that's why; and you still don't feel like you have adjusted to the scheme of things very well over there yet either. >talk to mom "Okay, so what else can I do? I mean, I can't just say, 'I can't go with you guys anymore, even though I promised that I would.'" "Why not? Your friends did not drive that far out of the way to come and get you. In fact, YOUR house is on the WAY to school." You shake your head indecisively. "Well...no. It's not completely on the way to school; they have to stray a little ways off the main route before you climb up the mountain." "Not even. We are not even a mile from the road that leads to town--we are even within a comfortable walking distance to the mountain." "Um, it's actually a long walk from the mountain road over to here. Trust me mom, I think I would know!" "Honey!" your mom shouts, her teeth and shaking jaw now visible, "this is getting ridiculous!" "I'd say!" you say raising your voice back at her. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me," your mom says pointing her finger at you. You stare back at her briefly before turning your head away. "Hey, I think they're coming." A distant humming of a car engine sounds all around the three of you and where you are standing. You curiously look down the road again, the sunlight gradually blinding your eyes as they focus towards the road's vanishing point. Although you still don't see the car, the humming of the car still softly resounds the atmosphere. Silence dominates this area of the country most of the time; so when something sounds from faraway, you can pick it up by ear fairly easily. "See," you tell your mom, whose arms are folded across her chest. "It sounds like they're coming." In the midst of the argument between you and your mom, your little sister stands on the sidelines and remains silent. >*curiously maybe should be "curious" ? [Comment recorded.] >talk to sister "You can ride on your bicycle by yourself, right?" "Um, I don't--" "Jill..." "Yeah--okay, I think I can go by myself." >pull sister That would be less than courteous. >look On the Driveway in Front of the Road Leading in from the roadway to the west, and extending to the doorway of your house to the east (and alternately extending to the open shed to the northeast), this rocky driveway shadowed by your house and surrounded by green yard is the place where you are currently standing in the middle of, waiting for your friends to pick you up. With the lowly eastern sun slowly rising from behind your open-doorway house and up towards the center of the clear, blue sky, you feel another hot and madly sunny school day coming your way.. With her backpack and helmet strapped on, and with her bicycle in hand, your little sister waits here, ready to ride to school. You can also see your mom here. >x backpack (your little sister) Her neatly clean tide-eyed shirt makes her look at least socially decent today, as opposed to the torn, spaghetti-sauce stained t-shirt she was wearing all last week. You laugh to yourself as you remember the time when your little sister first told you that it was hard to make friends by looking messy and uncivilized. Well, you are surely glad she finally learned her lesson; it took you just one moment on the first day at school for YOU to realize that--when you felt out of place walking into a classroom full of nicely dressed, fashionable-looking students. You always felt that high school was going to be like that, but you guess you were just too dumb and you took a chance. You learned your lesson now, however, and that is the main thing. Jill stands here in the driveway with her pink, glossy backpack over her shoulders, looking up and staring at you and your mom as you argue back and forth over what should be done with her. >*tide-eyed? You mean tie-died, right? [Comment recorded.] > *You tie a bunches all over a colored shirt, then bleach/color it to give it crazy splotchy effects. [Comment recorded.] >talk to mom "I think they're almost here," you say as you stick your head out into the sunshine and walk down towards the road. In the distance, you spot a small, dot-like figure traveling towards you on the road. You walk back towards the center of the driveway, where your mom and sister stand. "Well, you know what to say when they come, right? You can't let--" A ring from the telephone inside the living room eminates out the doorway and interrupts your mom. At the first hearing of the phone's ring, your mom bolts towards the doorway. "Make sure you and Jill ride bikes to school, David!" your mom quickly yells back as she steps inside the house. She runs down the hallway and bends around a corner, disappearing from sight. "Okay, thank God she's gone." You turn your attention to Jill. "Now, you can go ahead and start riding to school." Jill, looking uneasy, mumbles something under her breath. "What's that?" you say, suspecting that she has changed her mind from when your mom was here. "Um...I don't know. I'm actually a little scared to go up the mountain by myself. I mean..." "I mean what?" you ask harshly. "Well, I've never done it by myself before." "It's not that hard! Just following the road up and around the mountain and that's it! I don't see what's so hard about--" You are interrupted by the pulling up of a black, shiny car in front of the driveway, tinted glass windows rolled up and loud big beat music booming from the inside. You look at your sister, who seems to look a little apprehensive. "Maybe I can just ride with you?" she asks, shouting a little to compete with the loud booming of the hip hop blaring from car's speakers. "Shit," you mumble, looking at the car that is stopped at the foot of the driveway, waiting for you. >*I wish I could change this... [Comment recorded.] >save Ok. >comfort sister That's not a verb I recognise. >talk to sister "Okay," you say reluctantly. "You can come with me. But don't do anything immature or stupid." Jill looks at you questionably. "Well, okay. When you can't find anything smart or grown up to say just don't say anything at all then." "So you want me to just remain silent the whole time in the car? Okay..." she says, turning her bike towards the garage. "Yeah, put away your bike first," you comment, ignoring her last statement. "Hey bitch!" you hear the voice of a teenage boy shout. You jerk your head towards the car, its passenger window rolled down, and see one of your half-Latino friends, with head shaved and stylish sunglasses over the eyes, looking out from the front seat of the car, a semi-mocking grin on his face. Turning your head towards Jill, you feel a little uneasy as the expression on Jill's face is one of confusion and mild shock. "Um," you begin nervously, "just put the bike away in the shed and come back here when you're done." Still looking a little upset, your sister slowly turns her head back to the house and walks into the shed with her bicycle. "Hey bitch I said!" you turn your head back to meet Sig's grinning face peering at you again from inside the front seat of the car. "What's the hold up?" he asks loudly, his wide jaw animated and full of expression. Sig has a big mouth, meaning whenever he talks he always exposes all his teeth including his long tongue. "I'm waiting for, um, somebody," you answer back in the midst of the loud, booming music. Sig stares at you for a couple of seconds, expressionless, before suddenly exploding into violent scorn and laughter, the sun glinting off of his big white teeth, his silky wet tongue, and the back of his mouth where his tonsils are. After laughing for what seems like minutes, he turns his head to face the road again and mumbles something to the effect of: "hurry up, bitch." You look towards the shed, apprehensively. >undo On the Driveway in Front of the Road [Previous turn undone.] >get in car A plan needs to be worked out with Jill, first. >look On the Driveway in Front of the Road Leading in from the roadway to the west, and extending to the doorway of your house to the east (and alternately extending to the open shed to the northeast), this rocky driveway shadowed by your house and surrounded by green yard is the place where you are currently standing in the middle of, waiting for your friends to pick you up. With the lowly eastern sun slowly rising from behind your open-doorway house and up towards the center of the clear, blue sky, you feel another hot and madly sunny school day coming your way.. Waiting at the foot of the driveway in front of your house is your friend's booming car, windows tinted and rolled up. With her backpack and helmet strapped on, and with her bicycle in hand, your little sister waits here, ready to ride to school. >x jill Her neatly clean tide-eyed shirt makes her look at least socially decent today, as opposed to the torn, spaghetti-sauce stained t-shirt she was wearing all last week. You laugh to yourself as you remember the time when your little sister first told you that it was hard to make friends by looking messy and uncivilized. Well, you are surely glad she finally learned her lesson; it took you just one moment on the first day at school for YOU to realize that--when you felt out of place walking into a classroom full of nicely dressed, fashionable-looking students. You always felt that high school was going to be like that, but you guess you were just too dumb and you took a chance. You learned your lesson now, however, and that is the main thing. Jill stands here in the driveway with her pink, glossy backpack over her shoulders, looking up and staring at you and your mom as you argue back and forth over what should be done with her. >push jill That would be less than courteous. >talk to jill "Okay," you say reluctantly. "You can come with me. But don't do anything immature or stupid." Jill looks at you questionably. "Well, okay. When you can't find anything smart or grown up to say just don't say anything at all then." "So you want me to just remain silent the whole time in the car? Okay..." she says, turning her bike towards the garage. "Yeah, put away your bike first," you comment, ignoring her last statement. "Hey bitch!" you hear the voice of a teenage boy shout. You jerk your head towards the car, its passenger window rolled down, and see one of your half-Latino friends, with head shaved and stylish sunglasses over the eyes, looking out from the front seat of the car, a semi-mocking grin on his face. Turning your head towards Jill, you feel a little uneasy as the expression on Jill's face is one of confusion and mild shock. "Um," you begin nervously, "just put the bike away in the shed and come back here when you're done." Still looking a little upset, your sister slowly turns her head back to the house and walks into the shed with her bicycle. "Hey bitch I said!" you turn your head back to meet Sig's grinning face peering at you again from inside the front seat of the car. "What's the hold up?" he asks loudly, his wide jaw animated and full of expression. Sig has a big mouth, meaning whenever he talks he always exposes all his teeth including his long tongue. "I'm waiting for, um, somebody," you answer back in the midst of the loud, booming music. Sig stares at you for a couple of seconds, expressionless, before suddenly exploding into violent scorn and laughter, the sun glinting off of his big white teeth, his silky wet tongue, and the back of his mouth where his tonsils are. After laughing for what seems like minutes, he turns his head to face the road again and mumbles something to the effect of: "hurry up, bitch." You look towards the shed, apprehensively. >x (friend's car) Quite a fancy car--you are extremely jealous of this fact. Although you are not too much into cars, you know for sure that this is a new model. It has spinny silver rims, tinted glass windows that mirror the reflection of its environment the way smooth obsidian does, polished black paint that reflects the sunlight like a glittering diamond, and an insane bass-heavy speaker system with a deeply resonating subwoofer. After seeing and absorbing the car's splendid exterior, you can only wonder what the inside of the car looks like. On the back of the car you notice an 'Independent Trucks' Skateboard bumper sticker on the back of the car, which, to say the least, slightly detracts from the appearance of the car. Huh, Pete must have been into skating at one point or another. Or pretending to be, at least. >*So in the garage is a colored perception, right. [Comment recorded.] >get in car You have to wait for Jill to come back from the shed first. Hearing the scraping sound of shuffling shoes along gravel, the source of the sound increasing in proximity, you turn your head to see Jill running up to you with her backpack, bikeless. "Okay," she pants, "I'm ready." She looks at your friend's car. >z Time passes. >jill, get in car [This game uses the "TALK to OBJECT" speech system.] >jill, let's just walk [This game uses the "TALK to OBJECT" speech system.] >get in car "Okay Jill, come with me." You walk up with Jill behind you to the front passenger window where Sig is sitting behind. "Hey--um--is there space in the backseat of the car for two people?" you ask, holding up two fingers awkwardly. Sig turns to you. "Oh, you need room for your little sister? I thought she was going to sit on your lap," Sig comments with a semi-grin. You look down at the floor, a little embarassed. "Yeah," Sig continues, "there's two seats in the back. Get nice and close to each other, nuzzle up against each others shoulders; which I'm sure you will," Sig says jerking his thumb towards the back of the car. Feeling a little uncomfortable you step with your little sister towards the door and swing it open, letting out a gust of foul, sweaty air and revealing a back seat crowded with junk such as papers, junk food wrappers, and football gear crowded on the dirty leather chairs. Coffee-stained styrofoam cups litter the foul-smelling carpet floor below it. A little disgusted and surprised that the outside of the car appears totally different from the inside, you try to hop in, but find that the seat closest to side door is the only seat fully open and free from all the junk in the back seat of the car. You push and shove at the pile of junk on the middle seat over to the seat furthest from you, where Pete's football helmet and pads lie, but the junk slides off of them and lands back on the middle seat. You look up at Pete and Sig, who are staring back at you and are making you feel uncomfortable. "Hey Jill, I think you're going to have to sit on top of the papers in the middle seat," your voice quivers. You try to flatten the pile of junk down on the middle seat so that it will not feel too uncomfortable for her. Jill eyes you strangely before squeezing in front of you and hopping into the middle. "Ew," she whispers to you. Pinching her nose, she seems to be starting to actually get a little disgusted with your scheme of making her ride with you. You hop in as well and sit in the empty seat near the door, slamming the door shut as you do. On the Driveway in Front of the Road (in friend's car) The outside of the car is in almost the same condition as it was yesterday: black paint still nice and windows still polished; although the lack of sunlight does make it impossible for the car to live up to its full appearance of splendor. Also, you notice that the outside of the car is a little dustier today than when you first saw it yesterday. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. "Hey," Jill shouts, rummaging her hand through the bottom of the newspapers. "I can't find my seatbelt." She stands up from her seat. Seeing that your sister is in need of some help, you lift some newspapers off of the seat, exposing a seatbelt that had wormed its head down in between the seat crack. You pull it out from behind the seat. "Hey, Jill," you say, your voice trying to be heard above the loud music. Jill looks at the seatbelt. "But the metal part is missing," she points out. Pete turns down the rap music into a faded background stream of sound. "Yeah," Pete comments from the front of the car, turning down the stereo a little more, "the middle seatbelt doesn't work." Sig adds in his piece to the discussion. "Yeah, so that means Jill's going to have to sit on your lap or hug onto your arm; I wasn't kidding when I said that... Although we know you two do enjoy those kinds of moments together." Pete chuckles a little at his comment. "Wait," you respond, "can't Jill just ride without her seatbelt?" "David, that's against the law! And mom and dad wouldn't--" She gets interrupted by your hand being placed over her mouth. Jill gives you an angry look. "It's okay," you say, covering up her comment, "there are no cops anyway around here. And plus, I think Jill can protect her own self if anything bad happens." "Alright, just everybody sit down, shut up, and let's just go," Sig authoritates. "Let's go, Pete." Jill sits down on the cushion of newspapers and folds her arms across her chest, her backpack sandwiched between her and the back of her seat. >open backpack (the backpack) You don't feel like fooling around with your backpack right now. You remove your backpack from your shoulders and place it on your lap, reaching up and slipping on your seatbelt right afterwards as you nudge your backpack forward a little bit. Sig turns his head behind him and looks at the backpack in your lap. "Hey Dave, let me see your English essay. You did the homework right? I'm sure you did, you good obedient little boy." Good? No way. Challenging his comment about you, you hand him your backpack off your lap. Without saying a word, Sig snatches the backpack from you and faces forward again. "What compartment is it in?" he asks as he unzips your backpack and searches through it. "Cheater," Jill whispers out loud, looking at you. Sig, hearing Jill's comment, turns around. "What was that bitch?" Sig says turning around to your sister, thinking that she was referring to him. Jill looks at him, the fear in her eyes visible. Sig tilts his head down and looks over the top rims of his sunglasses, making sure his eyes make contact with Jill's. "You fucking say anything about me again, I'll slap you silly. Is that clear?" You intervene. "Sig, she was actually, um, referring to me when she said 'cheater'." You look at Jill who is still staring at Sig, like an elementary schoolchild trembling in fear when an older bully is threatening her. Sig turns around in his seat. "Oh yeah, I know Dave, you ARE such a cheater." A little concerned about Jill, you look at her. "Jill..." you whisper softly, looking at Sig who is occupied with the task of finding your homework. "Just don't say anything and stuff like this won't happen again." Feeling a little guilty for what you did, you feel even more so when she doesn't even turn to look at you. Pete pulls the car forward a little and swings it around making a three-point turn in the middle of the road. He misses the turn just barely and stops at the wooden gate across the street from your house, backing up before finally lurching forwards and driving southwards on Residence Lane... Driving South on Residence Lane (in friend's car) Heading south towards the mountain road, the car that you are situated in drives past barn and cottage-ridden pastures bordered by wooden fences, rolling smoothly along the cemented road. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. >talk to sig You feel too scared to say much right now. "Alright," Sig says, handing you your backpack. "Got it." You place the backpack back on your lap. Sig stretches his arms outward slightly and then hooks his two hands around the head of his seat in a relaxed manner. "So, are you staying after school? Rex is hooking up free cigs." You search the recesses of your mind, the part where all the memories of the people you have met at school reside, to match a face with the name 'Rex'. Oh yes, Rex is the drug "hookup" of the school that you met after school one day when hanging out with Sig. Feeling a little uneasy, you look at Jill whose eyes are still lowered towards the folded middle-front seat. "Um," you answer back, "I actually don't think so. You see, my parents are--" You look to see if Jill is looking at you, and, finding that she isn't, complete your statement. "bitches," you semi-whisper. "They think everything's bad, and unfortunately I'm still dependent on them for food and shelter so I don't really have much control over my life right now." "So what?" Sig objects. "Screw your parents. What are your parents going to do? I mean, you have a mom, which everybody has, and you can basically boss her around. Your dad--you will probably have a harder time with him, but how many people do you know has their father around for them anyway? Is your father still around?" You ignore his question. Sig turns around and looks at you. You stare at him back, your mouth still silent. "See, you don't even know what you're fucking talking about; you're just a pussy. And these are just CIGS, loser. Give me a fuckin--" "Sig, cut it out," Pete says. "What? Dave is a fucking poser." You clench your backpack with your hands angrily, making a fist, and look out the side window. >z Time passes. An awkward blanket of silence falls over the whole of the car. Sig, apparently starting to sense the tension, turns his attention towards Pete. "So, how's your relationship with Jamie going? Yeah, she certainly is a bitch isn't she.." "Don't talk about it," Pete interrupts. "Well, not now, at least." Hitting the signal to turn right, Pete looks up at the rear view mirror, his sleepy green eyes meeting your dark brown ones. Feeling a little awkward, you look away and out the window, the sight of green pasture turning into a rocky, brush-decored mountain wall streaming past your eyes. Without stopping, the car swerves and jolts a little bit before climbing up the mountain road, the sounds of the ground underneath the tires sounding more rugged as coarse sand aggregates and hardens into sharp rocks and loose stones. Climbing up the Mountain Road (in friend's car) Looking out of the windows, you can see a solid mountain wall on the side to the right (the side closest to where you are sitting) and cedar trees on the left where Jill is, the tree population becoming less dense as the road climbs upward in elevation, the canyon floor dropping off the edge of the road and dangerously lowering in depth. Dust still kicking up around the car, Pete swerves it occasionally to avoid potholes and large, loose stones on the rocky road. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. >talk to jill You don't want to have a full length conversation with your sister. Especially when your friends are here, watching your every move. "Yeah, those hick country girls, they're not really my thang," Sig continues. Pete just ignores him. A moment of silence falls before Sig talks again, changing the subject. "Hey Pete, did you hear about Johnny? I heard he got busted." "Busted for what?" "Busted for the booze, remember? I heard that bitch-ass Mrs. Furr caught him." "Hahaha, unbelievable," Pete laughs. "Yeah, I heard that while he was sitting at his desk the teacher walked by the backpack that was resting on the floor next to him. And guess what? The compartment that he houses that stuff was left unzipped. Too bad he realized that when the teacher reached into his backpack and held up one of the bottles in front of the class. What an IDIOT," Sig states. "That's why there was no booze at the party. And now there's no booze for me ever again, the fuckers." Pete chuckles. "Sucks, doesn't it?" A little nervous, you glance at Jill, who still seems to be reflecting the dirty things Sig said to her. Poor Jill...but hopefully she is still lost in thought and isn't listening to Sig and Pete's conversation, because, since you are sure that she doesn't know what the word "booze" means, you don't want her asking your mom what it means tonight at dinnertime. Heck, you don't want to even have her mention ANYTHING about today's school ride to your mom. You feel a tug on your shirt. You turn your head to the source of the tug: your little sister. She sits up in her seat a little and puts her head up to your ear to whisper something to you. Oh dear, you hope it isn't about what they said. "I don't like sitting here," she says. You shrug, trying to make her stop talking. "Shhh..." you hush lightly. Your little sister crinkles her eyebrows, an expression of slight disgust at your lack of support and slouches back down in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. >talk to sister You don't want to have a full length conversation with your sister. Especially when your friends are here, watching your every move. Another moment of silence. "Man," Sig complains, "you guys are boring me. Why the frick aren't you talking to me, Dave?" "I don't know," you say trying to brush off his statement, "I just feel a little tired I guess." You look at Jill, who is still appears to be angry at you a little, but at least is now staring at the trees outside the window instead of just staring at the folded seat in front of her. "You used to be so entertaining I remember, you and your 'over-analyticalness', trying to be deep about life. Now you're just as dull as a rock." Well, yeah, because you always bashed who I was as a person and made fun of the things I would say. Suddenly, the car swerves violently, throwing you and Jill against the car door. "What the fuck, Pete," Sig says. "Sorry, I was just avoiding something on the road." "I hate this road," Sig says to everybody. "They should at least pave the damn thing." The car pulls over a turn-out at the side of the road and stops momentarily to let an oncoming car drive past. After the car makes its pass, Pete wheels the car once again onto the road and continues on upward. >z Time passes. "Dang, this fucking road takes forever to climb," Sig comments. Checking on Jill, you look at her to see her looking down at some newspaper in her hand. Jill looks up, and seeing that you are looking at her drops it onto the floor and looks away out the window. Hopefully, she isn't mad at me. Looking out the window on Jill's side, you can see the tops of trees disappearing, forming a wide-open rocky ledge looking out southwards into the deep canyon that you and Jill were at the other night. Your heartrate starts to pick up with apprehension a little bit as you near the peak of the road that starts to curve... At the Bend (in friend's car) This is the peak of the road where it bends around the southern edge of the mountain and starts to change its eastern course up the mountain to a northern one down the opposite side of the mountain. To the southeast is a break, a clearing, among the trees in which lies a scenic ledge that looks out over the magnificently steep canyon that you and Jill discovered recently. Again, you feel vulnerable and prone to a slight chance of death as the car curves along the dangerously unbordered road, the curving edge of the road dropping off into deep canyon. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. >save Ok. >talk to sig Feeling scared Sig? Yep, that's right. "Oh god, I freaking hate it everytime we get up here. They should put some railings on the side of the road or something," Sig says, with a hint of fear in his voice, a vocal accent of emotion that you rarely hear in his speech. It's a legitimate fear, though, because it's a fear that you have as well. Worrying that Jill will recognize the place that she and you were at the other night, you look away from the cliff, hoping that she will not say anything about it out loud. Your fears abandon you as you glance back at Jill, who just stares silently out the left window, taking in the view of the canyon. Your heartrate at its peak, the curve bends around the mountain to the other side. Holding your breath during the bend, your heartrate starts to fall to back to its normal level after the road starts to straighten and ramp downwards, the trees rising on the left picking up pace in population again (and thus making you feel more secure because the road is bordered and the cars driving on it are more protected). Behind the Mountain, Driving Down Northwards (in friend's car) The area that is part of the course you and your sister had to take on your bikerides to school, and the canyon that runs along side it to the east, are both completely blocked from view by the mountain that lies nearest your house. The road on this other side of the mountain, as you call it, extends from the climb up the mountain; but instead of rising upward, it descends downward towards the north, the canyon floor to the east of the road rising to the meet the road, canyon-filling trees becoming more and more densely populated as the road descends in elevation. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. >x sister You hope she doesn't get too angry at you for making her ride inside this trashy hell of a car. "Hey Dave," Sig calls out. You hold your breath. "Does your sister even talk?" "Um, no. I think she is just tired, too." Jill eyes you angrily and then suddenly stirs from her seat. "I don't like sitting here in this seat," she blurts, kicking the seat in front of her. It's uncomfortable and I hate it!" Oh fuck no, you just didn't open your big mouth Jill... You cast a glance at your sister, hoping that she would shut up. She looks back at you; but even after seeing the controlling look in your eyes, she still continues. "And it smells, too," she adds. The car falls silent. Evidently hearing your conversation, Sig buts in. "Wow, you've got quite a rude-ass tongue there. Whoever the hell taught you manners? God..." Jill just stares at Sig, who just stares back at her. After a couple of moments of staring, Sig breaks into abrupt laughter and turns to you. "Listen Dave, if you want to ever ride in this car again, you and your sister better learn to keep your comments to yourself, do you hear?" Buckling in under his high social position and authority, you nod. "Yeah, I know. I'll make sure my sister shuts the fuck up before she makes such a brainless comment such as the one she made just now." Oh shit, you just did not say that."...yeah, you better not..." Sig rants, but you are too busy concerning yourself over Jill, who is looking at you like she you have just betrayed her. You try to look away, but you look back, those blue eyes of her's still staring at you, almost weak and shaking. Feeling a little uncomfortable, you look down at your backpack. > *her's should be hers - typo. Also, I guess all there is to do is sit and wait and let the story play out. [Comment recorded.] > *But it's kind of.... I don't know.... might be a ding against an otherwise good game. [Comment recorded.] >talk to pete You feel too scared to say much right now. "Can't wait to fuck up that bitch named Dylan at school," Sig anticipates verbally. "Oh yeah, I heard he like had some sort of affair with Sam's girlfriend," Pete complements. "Haha," Sig laughs, "bad move on Dylan's part. Never mess with the King of the school, or else you'll have everybody all up on your ass." Sig reaches into his backpack to search for something. "Oh yeah, and I even brought brass knuckles." "Brass knuckles?" Pete laughs. "Oh shut up, Pete." Sig stops searching through his backpack and zips it up. "No," Sig continues, "I'm just wearing brass knuckles for the fun of it, why not. I can't seem to find them, though, but oh well, they'll turn up no doubt." You turn your head towards the side window and roll your eyes. These fights are always so stupid. You actually feel kind of bad for Dylan, as it wasn't really his fault that Sam's girlfriend is a whore anyway. Out of remorse for what you said earlier and out of curiosity for its result, you look at Jill. She is staring out the window, but you can see the reflection of her face off the inside of the window. No, her head is down, you cannot see her face. You look out the windshield in front of you to see only a couple cars parked along the side of the road, kids stepping out of the cars and saying good-bye to their parents. You also spot a couple students crossing the street in the distance. "Huh," Pete says, noticing the nearly-empty road void of a substantial number of cars, "we must be super late." "Yeah, thanks to Dave here," Sig says reaching his arm towards you to sock the side of your knee. Flinching from the hit a little bit, you move your knee to the side, away from his reach. "No, I'm kidding. It was all his sister's fault," he says looking back at Jill, who doesn't even respond to him. Feeling that his statement was purposeless, he turns around and faces the road again. Slightly perturbed, you look out the left to see the school's sandy parking lot as the reason for Pete's left-turn signal, and an oncoming oldsmobile car as the reason for his waiting. In Front of School Parking Lot (in friend's car) To the east the sandy parking lot of the school, currently filled with cars of high school students, lies in a cleared area among the forest of trees and is the first stop that lies just before the main campus of the school, which is wooded. You always preferred to have a school campus that was buried in the middle of a forest (given that the people in that school were generally accepting and friendly, of course). School, though, will never be THAT ideal; and unfortunately the pitfalls of this school are the facts that elementary and junior/senior high school is combined (with campuses on opposite sides of the road), and the tightly-knit, small and commune-like student structure seems to have a hard time adjusting to outsiders. Outsiders like you. Uncomfortably sitting on an uneven pile of junk and papers on the middle seat next to you is your unhappy little sister. Pete and Sig sit in the seats in front of you, in front of the wheel and on the passenger seat, respectively. >*First paragraph of room description was awkward. [Comment recorded.] >talk to jill You don't want to have a full length conversation with your sister. Especially when your friends are here, watching your every move. "Oh come on...what's this stupid guy doing?" Pete mutters to himself. You peer out the windshield to see the grey oldsmobile again, traveling very slowly, as if looking for something. >get out It's not safe to jump out of the car while the it's moving. As the car nears your car, it seems to slow down a bit, almost blocking the path to the parking lot. "What the hell are you doing?" Pete mumbles, honking the horn. Hearing the honk, the car then picks up pace and rides past. Seeing that it is now clear for him to turn, Pete swerves into sandy parking lot, looking for a space. "Hah," Sig says looking at the crowded parking lot, "we're REALLY late." "Well, I'll guess I'll just have to arrive at Dave's house earlier tomorrow," Pete concludes. "Wait, so you'll drive me home from school today, right?" you ask, trying not to sound too rude. "Yeah, sure," Pete answers, "if you can wait a couple hours. I've got practice so--" "Yeah, that's fine, I have to take a make-up test after school anyways," you respond. After driving past a number of cars, Pete finally pulls into an empty space. "Finally," Sig says as he unlatches his seatbelt. As the car stops, he opens the door and clambers out, shutting it behind him and running off towards the road. Pete pulls the keys from the ignition, unlatches his seatbelt, and exits as well. You step out after him, but leave the door open for your little sister. You look at the back of her head, which is still staring out the window in the opposite direction. "Um...Jill," you say, a tinge of guilt in your voice, "we'll be late for school." No response. "Jill?" Jill suddenly turns her head and looks at you with watery eyes. "Oh," you say with a lump in your throat, a lump formed from shame. Jill stares at you. Her held-back tears travel further and deeper within your soul with every passing moment. Suddenly, she breaks from her stare, gets up, and runs out the door, flying past you. You turn your head to see her fading figure bolting out towards the road. You stand at the door with your hand still on the handlebar. "Wonder what's up with her," Pete comments as he stands behind you. You look behind you and force a tiny smile. "Yeah. I think it's because she's just not used to Sig's rude remarks--she's just doesn't understand him, that's all." "I think you need to treat your sister a little more kindly as well." You stop. You look up at Pete, who is staring down at you. You turn your head away from his awkward gaze and close the door shut. "You know Dave, you should learn to respect authority." You look up at Pete again, who isn't smiling. Slightly perplexed at his non- sequitur comment, you step back a little bit. "Yeah, sure." So weird. Pete turns his gaze away from you and makes the car give off two beeps by pressing the 'Lock' button on his radio-controlled locking device. After waiting for him to lock the car, you walk with Pete towards the road to school, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be around him... [+++ +++] Okay, now what you need is iron nails... NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >*The locking device is a fob, I guess. [Comment recorded.] >save Ok. >x face The face on the poster lies on a flattened pile of paper shavings and debris from your blade-inflicted massacre. You can tell by its expression that he did not like what you did. As you bend down and look more closely at the face, you find that those fuzzy eyes are now two big holes, dark and hollow. You do not remember cutting out the eyes. Standing back up with a weary feeling of fear looking up at you from the floor, you look back towards the part of the wall where the poster once was, the only thing of the poster remaining being the thin outer boundaries, its inner edges raggedy and rough from the uneven slicing. >*2:55 PM. 15 more minutes to go. [Comment recorded.] >get all west wall: WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. It feels warm. (Since something dramatic has happened, your list of commands has been cut short.) >e CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. You can also see a large stone here. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >get all from floor (the heavy hammer from the foot of the cross) You try to take one of the objects back from off the floor, perhaps to delay the execution; but no matter how hard you try, the object just slips out of your hand and lands back on the floor where you had first set it. It is inevitable: you cannot escape. >i You are carrying: a small group of iron nails an old, copper key some ropes a gag (being worn) >drop nails One by one, you drop the nails down at the foot of the cross... [Any Key] The morning sky is strangely grey and overcast; your environment--the yard, the house, the driveway, the road, and the mountainous horizons--all cast in gloomy darkness. And your relationship with Jill--as dark and gloomy as well. When you came home with your sister from school yesterday she did not even talk to you. Although this morning is different (she is talking to you once again), the stuff she saying is very reflective of the unhappy trip to school she went on yesterday. And the two of you are standing out in the driveway arguing with each other, trying to resolve yet another conflict that has risen due to your lack of foresight, again. On the Driveway in Front of the Road The stretch of area leading in from Residence Lane (which is to the west) and ending east towards the closed doorway of your house reflects the rocky, grey gloom of its environment. The shed lies open in the grassy yard southeast. The sky is overcast and grey, which is rarely seen in this part of the country and at this time of year. Still a little upset, Jill is here on the driveway with you with her bicycle, protesting against your arranged plans. "Jill come on," you say, "put away the bike." "No," she responds, "I'm not going with you." >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >*Maybe that's what I'm supposed to do? Drop the other thing? [Comment recorded.] >get in car The car is useless. >x car The roof of the car has been smashed in, making the chains wrapped around the car more loose and hanging. The windows, however, remain intact, as the rock smashed in the center of the roof, making a graduated depression in that area. You try to look through the dark windows, trying to glare through them. Even though you do not see HIM, you know he sees you...if HE is still alive, that is. You got lucky that time. But you're still not going to be able to get out. This is justice, my friend. The justice that you so believed in and were talking to me about back while I was riding with you in this car, supposedly. You reassuringly tap the chains to make sure that they are still tight enough to seal the car shut, the sound of metal oppressingly knocking against fiberglass. >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >s CENTER OF THE GARAGE Eerie red light floods from the overhead lamp attached to the ceiling and pours downwards past the ceiling-attached ropes and hanging bicycles, casting a frightening array of shadows across the vast, concrete floor. Except for the black, chained-up car on the eastern side of the garage, scarcity of objects is the main feature in this room--the blank, empty wall to the west is the epitome of this fact. However, there are a couple of objects of importance that lie to the north, one of which you will be shamefully acquainted with soon. Completely filling the space above you are bicycles hanging from the ceiling liked condemned criminals. You can also see a large stone here. >drop nails Dropped. >get nails Taken. >n NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >drop nails One by one, you drop the nails down at the foot of the cross... [Any Key] The morning sky is strangely grey and overcast; your environment--the yard, the house, the driveway, the road, and the mountainous horizons--all cast in gloomy darkness. And your relationship with Jill--as dark and gloomy as well. When you came home with your sister from school yesterday she did not even talk to you. Although this morning is different (she is talking to you once again), the stuff she saying is very reflective of the unhappy trip to school she went on yesterday. And the two of you are standing out in the driveway arguing with each other, trying to resolve yet another conflict that has risen due to your lack of foresight, again. On the Driveway in Front of the Road The stretch of area leading in from Residence Lane (which is to the west) and ending east towards the closed doorway of your house reflects the rocky, grey gloom of its environment. The shed lies open in the grassy yard southeast. The sky is overcast and grey, which is rarely seen in this part of the country and at this time of year. Still a little upset, Jill is here on the driveway with you with her bicycle, protesting against your arranged plans. "Jill come on," you say, "put away the bike." "No," she responds, "I'm not going with you." >*I don't blame her. [Comment recorded.] >talk to jill You stare at Jill for a moment who is staring out to the west. Trying to make it up, you clear your throat and try to convince her of your plan. "Jill, I'm sorry, but look: you'll only have to ride with me just one more time and that's it. As soon as I get in the car I will tell Pete not to pick me up anymore." Jill just stares at the road past your shoulder. "No," she states, "I'm not riding in that car ever again. I hate it in there. And people are mean in there, including you too." She pauses. "And you're not truly sorry either because if you were, than you would change!" You scratch the back of your head, a gesture of shame. "Well, I can't just call them and tell off the plan--I don't even have a cellphone, thanks to father's thriftiness." Jill shrugs and keeps staring, obviously unrelenting to your idea of her riding with you. >e You don't need to go back into your house. >get on bike Your little sister tells on you whenever you want to touch her bicycle or her helmet: it's as if her bicycle were a personal pet that nobody was allowed to touch except her. You shrug your shoulders. Even if she did not care for people touching her bicycle, you would not consider touching her bicycle to be an entertaining activity anyway. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >talk to jill You think for a moment, trying to come up with a plan. "Hey Jill," you say a little less worried, "how about if mom comes and rides bikes with you to school, while I ride in the car?" At least that would not be as embarrassing as if YOU were seen riding with her. "Mom is sick again, remember? So that plan won't work," Jill says, with a feeling of herself having just outsmarted your plan. "Oh yeah..." you trail off as you look out towards the road, trying to think of another plan. "And I'm not BRAINLESS, either," Jill says, her mind still unforgivingly stuck on yesterday's scenario in the car. "I get better grades than you, and I am smart! And I will get smarter..." Oh my goodness. >talk to jill "Look, I know there were some things in that car that I should not have said. But let's forget about all that, you've said some mean things to me too." Jill walks around a little bit in the driveway with her bike, kicking a small pebble towards the grass as she does. "Yeah," she says turning to you, "but you broke your promise." You ponder what she said for a moment. "Jill," you say trying to change the subject, "just trust me this one last time. I promise, I promise, I PROMISE I will keep my mouth shut," you say, really meaning it this time. "You could even tell Pete to not pick us up again if you'd like." Jill just stares at the road. "No, I am not going. And you're not going either, you're coming with me." >talk to jill "That's not going to happen Jill. Jill, listen to me." Jill just stares at the road. "No," she says. "Jill," you repeat, this time in a more assertive tone. No response from Jill. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >w Your ride isn't here yet. And you are not walking to school, either. >in You can't go that way. >talk to jill "Jill," you call out. Not responding, Jill just keeps staring. Well, merely talking to her is obviously not going to work anymore; you're going to have to resort to some form of action. Either that, or you're going to have to take something from her. >get jill I don't suppose Jill would care for that. >i You are carrying: your backpack >open backpack There's nothing in your backpack that would coax Jill to comply with your plans. What you need to do is to be aggressive and to take something from her, perhaps. >i You are carrying: your backpack >x jill Her long blonde hair looks disheveled this morning, as if she did not even bother to comb her hair after a long, restless sleep; and her outfit--an old shirt plus hole-torned pants--doesn't look too care-touched either. She stands here with her bicycle, helmet and backpack on, and also with this very angry and distressed expression on her face. >take jill's hair Which do you mean, Jill's bicycle or the Jill's shiny, white helmet? >helmet I only understood you as far as wanting to take the Jill's shiny, white helmet. >get helmet Your heart starts to pound, faster than when you insulted Jill in front of your friends yesterday. You walk behind her and stand next to her, eyeing the strap under her chin. Then...with a quick motion, you reach both hands under her chin and unbuckle the strap, Jill not being able to respond in time to prevent you from doing so; you grab the top of the helmet and pull upwards. Seeing that you are trying to take her helmet, Jill, with one hand on the bike, grabs one of the buckles with the other hand, but is outpowered by the force of your two, upward- pulling hands. With one swift motion, you yank the helmet upwards, her hand not being able to grasp it in time, and pull it away, holding it higher in the air out of her reach. "Give it back!" she yells. With one hand on the handlebar of the bicycle, she reaches her other arm up towards the helmet and jumps, trying to touch it. "No, Jill," you say shaking your head, "you're not going to ride today." She stops jumping and her eyebrow muscles get tense, giving her face an expression of anger. "You give it back now!" she screams. She pauses for a second, before a wry smile forms on her face. "Or else I'll tell Mom. And then mom...you will know what she will do. She will tell dad." Your heart starts to pound even faster now. Bitch. "And then you know what dad will do? He will whip--" Slap! The back of your hand lashes out across her face, and it doesn't even take a second for you to realize what you just did. You have never done this before. Never in your whole entire life have you ever used physical aggression to communicate your anger towards her. Your heartbeat dies down, as a feeling of guilt drowns your emotions. You hear light sobbing from Jill, as her wet eyelashes are lowered and her hand is caressing the side of the cheek where you hit her. Oh shit... "I-I'm so sorry Jill," you apologize. "I didn't mean to hit you." Jill stops sobbing. You hold your breath. She suddenly lifts her head up. Her angry watery eyes glare at you and her mouth quivers. Then, after staring at you for a moment, she suddenly screams. "I hate you!" she shouts wildly and angrily. "And you are the worst brother in the whole world...and I wish I wasn't your sister!" You watch, your mouth speechless, as she turns her bike towards the road and runs down with her bicycle. "Wait, Jill! Where are you going?!" Jill doesn't even turn her head, and keeps going down the road, eventually hopping onto the seat of the bicycle. "But wait," you call out, "you forgot your helmet!" You hold it up for her to see, but she doesn't see it, as she is already down the road and out of sight. You cannot let her go to school by herself, you have to run after her! >e You don't need to go back into your house. >w You run down towards the road, starting on your quest to run after Jill; but a sound of a car engine interrupts you and you stop at the foot of the driveway. A black car is approaching and is close to pulling up in front of your driveway. Oh shit...they're here. You look down at Jill's helmet, and fearing that your friends would think that you were weird holding a bicycle helmet in your hand, you quickly run back to the shed and drop it off among a group of boxes. This time, instead of booming rap music playing from the stereo, the only thing sounding is the lone humming of the car engine. Well thank God, because you are definitely not in the mood to have loud music blaring in your ears, right now. Readjusting your backpack over your shoulders, you run down to the foot of the driveway to meet your friends, fling the door of the car open, hop in, set your backpack on your lap, and click your seatbelt. You sit in your chair anxiously, hoping that the car will eventually catch up to Jill. On the Driveway in Front of the Road (in Pete's car) With the exception of Jill not sitting next to you, and Pete's football gear a little less smelly this time, the car is in the exact same state as it was yesterday: random junk littered on the seats and carpet floor, Pete sitting behind the wheel, and Sig sitting in the front passenger seat. Pete sits in front of the wheel while Sig sits next to him at the front of the car. "Whoa, whoa," Sig comments, noticing your rush, "what's the fucking hurry here?" Slightly embarrassed, but with Jill still on your mind, you respond by saying, "I think we are late. We should hurry." Pete laughs. "We aren't late. We got here earlier than yesterday. But I think we'll show up to class on time nonetheless." "Hey, where's your sister? Is she riding today?" Sig turns around and looks at you, an impersonal and mocking grin on his face. You stare at him back, angered and silent. After seeing that you aren't going to answer his question, Sig's smile disappears as he turns around. "How come you ain't talking, Dave?" You look out the side window. "I don't know, maybe because I don't feel like talking right now. Let's just go, please." "Alright fine, then," Pete says swinging the car around southward in a u-turn fashion. >undo On the Driveway in Front of the Road [Previous turn undone.] >get bicycle You can't see any such thing. >w You run down towards the road, starting on your quest to run after Jill; but a sound of a car engine interrupts you and you stop at the foot of the driveway. A black car is approaching and is close to pulling up in front of your driveway. Oh shit...they're here. You look down at Jill's helmet, and fearing that your friends would think that you were weird holding a bicycle helmet in your hand, you quickly run back to the shed and drop it off among a group of boxes. This time, instead of booming rap music playing from the stereo, the only thing sounding is the lone humming of the car engine. Well thank God, because you are definitely not in the mood to have loud music blaring in your ears, right now. Readjusting your backpack over your shoulders, you run down to the foot of the driveway to meet your friends, fling the door of the car open, hop in, set your backpack on your lap, and click your seatbelt. You sit in your chair anxiously, hoping that the car will eventually catch up to Jill. On the Driveway in Front of the Road (in Pete's car) With the exception of Jill not sitting next to you, and Pete's football gear a little less smelly this time, the car is in the exact same state as it was yesterday: random junk littered on the seats and carpet floor, Pete sitting behind the wheel, and Sig sitting in the front passenger seat. Pete sits in front of the wheel while Sig sits next to him at the front of the car. "Whoa, whoa," Sig comments, noticing your rush, "what's the fucking hurry here?" Slightly embarrassed, but with Jill still on your mind, you respond by saying, "I think we are late. We should hurry." Pete laughs. "We aren't late. We got here earlier than yesterday. But I think we'll show up to class on time nonetheless." "Hey, where's your sister? Is she riding today?" Sig turns around and looks at you, an impersonal and mocking grin on his face. You stare at him back, angered and silent. After seeing that you aren't going to answer his question, Sig's smile disappears as he turns around. "How come you ain't talking, Dave?" You look out the side window. "I don't know, maybe because I don't feel like talking right now. Let's just go, please." "Alright fine, then," Pete says swinging the car around southward in a u-turn fashion. >z Time passes. "Man Dave," Sig says, "you're so emo right now." You ignore Sig's comment, your mind still thinking about Jill. Pete completes the turn and the car speeds forward along the road. "We should use our logic more than our feelings when making decisions," Pete says. You brush off Pete's derogatory comment. Driving South on Residence Lane (in Pete's car) Heading south towards the mountain road, the car that you are situated in drives past barn and cottage-ridden pastures bordered by wooden fences, rolling smoothly along the cemented road. Pete sits in front of the wheel while Sig sits next to him at the front of the car. >z Time passes. "Hey, anybody notice the strange-ass weather today?" Sig asks, trying to break the silence. "The weather isn't strange. God made it that way," Pete says. A moment of silence. Then Sig breaks into laughter, "You're kidding Pete, right?" You look at Pete in the rear-view mirror, who is strangely keeping a straight face. You look out the side window. Jill's not anywhere in sight... >talk to sig You are too much in thought to give Sig a piece of your mind right now. And you still respect him way too much as well, unfortunately. But that will change soon enough. That will change... The oldsmobile stops. "Oh, it's that lovely car again," Pete remarks. "We should wait our turn, because it's the right thing to do," Pete says, without the slightest smile on his face, his eyes still staring at the oldsmobile. Sig looks again at Pete, this time chuckling to himself and shaking his head. You turn your head towards the windshield, spotting the grey oldsmobile traveling very slowly from the east towards the intersection where you guys are waiting at. The car looks awfully familiar... Hitting the signal to turn right, Pete waits for a moment until the car passes. After it passes, the car swerves and jolts a little bit before it tilts upward, shifting your stomach back and making you feel a little sick. Wait... You are going up the mountain. Panic seizes you for a minute, and then stays. "NO! No!" you scream. "She went up this way!" Pete looks at you through the rear-view mirror and Sig turns his head to look at you. Remembering where you are, you close your mouth, but ignore their stares. You look out the window fearfully, the ground level rising and the canyon to the side getting steeper and steeper. "Man Dave, what the fuck?" Sig comments. "Sometimes I get the feeling that you're in your own little world." Climbing up the Mountain Road (in Pete's car) Looking out of the windows, you can see a solid mountain wall on the side to the right (the side closest to where you are sitting) and cedar trees on the left where Jill is, the tree population becoming less dense as the road climbs upward in elevation, the canyon floor dropping off the edge of the road and dangerously lowering in depth. Dust still kicking up around the car, Pete swerves it occasionally to avoid potholes and large, loose stones on the rocky road. Pete sits in front of the wheel while Sig sits next to him at the front of the car. >save Ok. >z Time passes. Your stomach sickens even more as the sounds of the ground underneath the tires rattle and vibrate through the car, occasionally bumping over sharp rocks and loose stones. "So Dave, what have you been up to lately?" Sig asks. Brainless? I am not brainless!! Your mind wanders... >talk to dave You can't see any such thing. >talk to sig You are too much in thought to give Sig a piece of your mind right now. And you still respect him way too much as well, unfortunately. But that will change soon enough. That will change... "Huh?" Sig asks again. "Why aren't you answering me Dave?" You are swimming in thoughts. Actually, not swimming--drowning. I-I'm sorry. No you're not. Or else you would have changed plans. >get out It's not safe to jump out of the car while it's moving. Looking out the window on Jill's side, you can see the tops of trees disappearing. You can feel the ledge drawing near, its haunting presence a lump of worry and fear in your stomach. Slap! The sound reverberates and echoes throughout your mind repeatedly, the image of your crying sister placing her soft hand on her fragile cheek. "I'm sorry... I hate you... Hey Jill! You forgot your helmet--" Time stands still, and your back muscles tense. The helmet--that you took from her. A scream and the screeching of brakes wakes you from your drifting thoughts. Your body gets tossed to the side of the car as the car violently swerves.From somewhere in the bowels of the earth, a world of chaos and hidden anguish erupts and spews forth, making contact with the reality of the world above it. You feel the heavens shift--the atmosphere and the perspective of your world changing suddenly--like a wild, unforeseen wind that suddenly blew in from a hidden corner of the earth, coming to bring loneliness, torment, trouble, and confusion. Torment, that is divinely geared to be unleashed onto your being, the world around you now against you and the troubles growing into insoluble dread within you. Troubles that are growing, with every passing day now. Into insanity. The two worlds--the Symbolic and the Real--are now mixed together. "What the fuck was that all about? You scared the shit out of me!" Sig yells at Pete, his hands shaking as if he were strangling him. You look out the windshield to see a cloud of dust and sand enveloping the front of the car. "Did you know that you could have killed us all just now?!" Sig continues. Pete stares out the windshield, the cloud of dust thinning into a head-on view of the canyon. Sig, seeing the canyon unfolding in front of him, almost screams. "Oh my God!" he shouts. "What on earth were you doing??" Still recovering from the shock, Pete quickly puts the car in reverse, and wheels the car so that it is facing the direction of the road. He pulls forward on the road, until he stops and parks in front of a huge rock boulder taking up most of the road (the object that apparently made him swerve so suddenly). "Help me move it away from the road," Pete says after a couple moments of silence. Sig, very exasperated and still in a shock, grunts and opens the front passenger door and steps onto the road and closes the door, running out towards the boulder. At the Bend (in Pete's car) Out the left window, you can see the side of the road run off over the edge and dip down into the deep amphitheatre canyon of doom, the whole canyon exhibiting a grey ugliness under the overcast sky. With Sig gone outside, Pete sits at the wheel by himself. Pete opens the driver's door, removes the keys from the ignition, and heads outside to follow Sig, walking around the back of the car and shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone in the car. >undo Climbing up the Mountain Road [Previous turn undone.] >look Climbing up the Mountain Road (in Pete's car) Looking out of the windows, you can see a solid mountain wall on the side to the right (the side closest to where you are sitting) and cedar trees on the left where Jill is, the tree population becoming less dense as the road climbs upward in elevation, the canyon floor dropping off the edge of the road and dangerously lowering in depth. Dust still kicking up around the car, Pete swerves it occasionally to avoid potholes and large, loose stones on the rocky road. Pete sits in front of the wheel while Sig sits next to him at the front of the car. Looking out the window on Jill's side, you can see the tops of trees disappearing. You can feel the ledge drawing near, its haunting presence a lump of worry and fear in your stomach. Slap! The sound reverberates and echoes throughout your mind repeatedly, the image of your crying sister placing her soft hand on her fragile cheek. "I'm sorry... I hate you... Hey Jill! You forgot your helmet--" Time stands still, and your back muscles tense. The helmet--that you took from her. A scream and the screeching of brakes wakes you from your drifting thoughts. Your body gets tossed to the side of the car as the car violently swerves.From somewhere in the bowels of the earth, a world of chaos and hidden anguish erupts and spews forth, making contact with the reality of the world above it. You feel the heavens shift--the atmosphere and the perspective of your world changing suddenly--like a wild, unforeseen wind that suddenly blew in from a hidden corner of the earth, coming to bring loneliness, torment, trouble, and confusion. Torment, that is divinely geared to be unleashed onto your being, the world around you now against you and the troubles growing into insoluble dread within you. Troubles that are growing, with every passing day now. Into insanity. The two worlds--the Symbolic and the Real--are now mixed together. "What the fuck was that all about? You scared the shit out of me!" Sig yells at Pete, his hands shaking as if he were strangling him. You look out the windshield to see a cloud of dust and sand enveloping the front of the car. "Did you know that you could have killed us all just now?!" Sig continues. Pete stares out the windshield, the cloud of dust thinning into a head-on view of the canyon. Sig, seeing the canyon unfolding in front of him, almost screams. "Oh my God!" he shouts. "What on earth were you doing??" Still recovering from the shock, Pete quickly puts the car in reverse, and wheels the car so that it is facing the direction of the road. He pulls forward on the road, until he stops and parks in front of a huge rock boulder taking up most of the road (the object that apparently made him swerve so suddenly). "Help me move it away from the road," Pete says after a couple moments of silence. Sig, very exasperated and still in a shock, grunts and opens the front passenger door and steps onto the road and closes the door, running out towards the boulder. At the Bend (in Pete's car) Out the left window, you can see the side of the road run off over the edge and dip down into the deep amphitheatre canyon of doom, the whole canyon exhibiting a grey ugliness under the overcast sky. With Sig gone outside, Pete sits at the wheel by himself. Pete opens the driver's door, removes the keys from the ignition, and heads outside to follow Sig, walking around the back of the car and shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone in the car. >x boulder Looking out the windshield, you can see Pete standing in front of the rock several yards from here. From here, you cannot really tell what he is doing. >talk to pete You need to get out of the car first. >get out You get out of Pete's car. At the Bend The borderless road ahead of you northwest curves around the mountain, its sides running off and plunging downwards into the ravine, the sharp rocks at the bottom like spikes at the pit of a dark dungeon. Fear and evil rise from the bowl of the canyon, enveloping you with guilt and remorse, its growing sensation getting more and more intense with every passing minute. The ledge (that cursed ledge) lies behind you to the southeast. In between you and the rock stands Pete, his back turned towards you. For some odd reason, Pete has a black bag over his head; and he is just standing in front of the rock, staring at it. "Pete, Pete!" you call out as you run up to him. You stop at the sight of the black sack over his head. "Pete?" you ask, a little hesitantly this time. Pete (is it still him?) just stands there, staring at the rock in front of him. >*it's time. 3:10. I have to vote. [Comment recorded.] >*I'm tempted to go 9. I really am. [Comment recorded.] >*But what holds me back is that this might not be the right game for everybody. [Comment recorded.] >*the lengthy uninteractive bits may turn off some. [Comment recorded.] >*A few typos here and there -- not bad, but a little more polish would help. [Comment recorded.] >*so 8? or 9? [Comment recorded.] > *Based on several I've played so far, I really should go with 9 just to avoid having no 9's. Ha ha. [Comment recorded.] >*But.... [Comment recorded.] >*I haven't seen the end yet. [Comment recorded.] >*So do I err generously, or stick with 8? [Comment recorded.] >*Okay, I'm giving it a 9. I can always give 8 for the review, if needed. [Comment recorded.] >*Good job. [Comment recorded.] >look At the Bend The borderless road ahead of you northwest curves around the mountain, its sides running off and plunging downwards into the ravine, the sharp rocks at the bottom like spikes at the pit of a dark dungeon. Fear and evil rise from the bowl of the canyon, enveloping you with guilt and remorse, its growing sensation getting more and more intense with every passing minute. The ledge (that cursed ledge) lies behind you to the southeast. In between you and the rock stands Pete, his back turned towards you. For some odd reason, Pete has a black bag over his head; and he is just standing in front of the rock, staring at it. >get bag You walk up to Pete, your hand outstretched to tap the back of his shoulder, trying to draw his attention. Just as you are about to, you hesitate. You look at the back of Pete's head once again, trying to remember if he was wearing a bag over his head or not. "Pete?" you ask, trying to get a confirmation. No turning of the head. You pause for a moment out of fear, then you shrug. You tap his shoulder. "Pete?" you ask again. You wait for his response. Pete stops, as if feeling somebody touch him. A little nervous, you take a step back. Then, in a slow motion, Pete turns his head, as two dark eye holes fall into view with his rotating head. You look into the holes, dark brown, almost black eyes. Wait a minute, didn't Pete have GREEN eyes? Everything seems to freeze, as you gasp, staring into the holes cut out of the inverted black potato sack. Then, with a fear that you felt when you first started to climb up the mountain, you run backwards, the image of the hollow eyes still in your mind. You scream, trying to get the image out of your mind... [+++ +++] Now for the ropes... NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see a small group of iron nails and a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, its domineering countenance making you feel uncomfortable and sick. >x face The face on the poster lies on a flattened pile of paper shavings and debris from your blade-inflicted massacre. You can tell by its expression that he did not like what you did. As you bend down and look more closely at the face, you find that those fuzzy eyes are now two big holes, dark and hollow. You do not remember cutting out the eyes. Standing back up with a weary feeling of fear looking up at you from the floor, you look back towards the part of the wall where the poster once was, the only thing of the poster remaining being the thin outer boundaries, its inner edges raggedy and rough from the uneven slicing. >look in car The windows are tinted, so you can't see the inside. But you're pretty sure that they are still trapped inside this coffin of death, though. >enter car The car is useless. >i You are carrying: an old, copper key some ropes a gag (being worn) >drop key Dropped. >get key Taken. >x ropes Of hardly any use now towards its original purpose, these nylon ropes have been done in and snapped by the axe and the weight of the rock. Although the center rope had been cut by the axe, the other ropes remain intact and long, the reason being that the long ropes just snapped from the ceiling beams when the strain of the rock's weight was transferred onto them after the center rope was cut. The ropes should be dropped at the foot of the cross. >drop ropes You set the ropes down at the foot of the cross... [+n+ Ke+] They have arrived back from the hospital now, both mom and your little sis--, and you can feel their presence nearing. During the entirety of the time that mom was gone to go fetch your little sis-- and bring her back home, you have sat on the living room couch, worrying and dreading when your little-- was going to arrive. Not worry about the possibility of her never returning, but about the pain and anguish you would feel when you are to look at her. But you do not want to look at her. And you don't want to be caught off guard as you are sitting in the living room, when mom is done picking her up and as already driven her back home; you do not have time to quickly hide away from the sight of your little sis--. But now that you are in the hallway, you can make plans and prepare your censorshiping ability more easily. Your pants shaking, you look nervously at the front door, the sounds from the outside getting louder with every passing minute. No. You cannot stay here. They are coming soon, and you do not want to see them. The Entry Hallway of Your House This wooden-floored hallway serves as a bridge from the doorway entrance of the house to the living room that lies east of here. A closed closet filled with shoes and coats lines one side of the wall while a wooden umbrella stand is positioned near the front door on the other side. The walls here are made of plaster, like any other room in this house and are decorated with nostalgiac family photos hung up on the front of them. Your attention is focused on the front door, which is closed. Next to the doorway is a wooden umbrella stand. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >*"as already driven" ?? [Comment recorded.] >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >i You are carrying: an old, copper key some ropes a gag (being worn) >drop ropes You set the ropes down at the foot of the cross... [+n+ Ke+] They have arrived back from the hospital now, both mom and your little sis--, and you can feel their presence nearing. During the entirety of the time that mom was gone to go fetch your little sis-- and bring her back home, you have sat on the living room couch, worrying and dreading when your little-- was going to arrive. Not worry about the possibility of her never returning, but about the pain and anguish you would feel when you are to look at her. But you do not want to look at her. And you don't want to be caught off guard as you are sitting in the living room, when mom is done picking her up and as already driven her back home; you do not have time to quickly hide away from the sight of your little sis--. But now that you are in the hallway, you can make plans and prepare your censorshiping ability more easily. Your pants shaking, you look nervously at the front door, the sounds from the outside getting louder with every passing minute. No. You cannot stay here. They are coming soon, and you do not want to see them. The Entry Hallway of Your House This wooden-floored hallway serves as a bridge from the doorway entrance of the house to the living room that lies east of here. A closed closet filled with shoes and coats lines one side of the wall while a wooden umbrella stand is positioned near the front door on the other side. The walls here are made of plaster, like any other room in this house and are decorated with nostalgiac family photos hung up on the front of them. Your attention is focused on the front door, which is closed. Next to the doorway is a wooden umbrella stand. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >lock door What do you want to lock the front door with? >key I didn't understand that sentence. >i You are carrying nothing. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >x stand Vertically upright with hooks poking out the top of the spire in a circle, the umbrella stand currently has nothing on it. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >n You can't go that way. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >s You can't go that way. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. >e Your heart racing, you spin around and sprint into the living room.. You run past the living room. Entering the back bedroom hallway, you stop at the dead end wall. Back Hallway This hallway, that ends at a blank wall to the east, branches off to your parents' room off to south and your bedroom to the north, the bedroom that you share with your-- >s You start to walk off to your parents' room, bolting through the open doorway-- SMACK! Your head dazed, you lie on the floor, the image of the hallway swimming in and out of your vision. After a couple of moments later, you see the words written on the ceiling: YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE. Head still hurting, you stand back up and face the back wall of the-- Wait a minute. A door has formed. The Entry Hallway of Your House This wooden-floored hallway serves as a bridge from the doorway entrance of the house to the living room that lies east of here. A closed closet filled with shoes and coats lines one side of the wall while a wooden umbrella stand is positioned near the front door on the other side. The walls here are made of plaster, like any other room in this house and are decorated with nostalgiac family photos hung up on the front of them. Your attention is focused on the front door, which is closed. Next to the doorway is a wooden umbrella stand, with a black sack covering the top half of it. You cannot stand to stay here any longer. Oh no. You spin around the hallway, the photographs, the closet, and the door bringing back the feelings of the front hallway. You ARE in the front hallway. Everything appears to be the same, which is somewhat relieving, except for the... vertical umbrella stand. One of its side hooks is inserted through a bag-like mask via its eyehole; you do not believe you have seen it in this house before. As you stare at the mask on the hook, you feel more and more uneasy, your focus momentarily removed off of your-- >undo Back Hallway [Previous turn undone.] >n You bolt through the open doorway-- SMACK! Your head dazed, you lie on the floor, the image of the hallway swimming in and out of your vision. After a couple of moments later, you see the words written on the ceiling: YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE. Head still hurting, you stand back up and face the back wall of the-- Wait a minute. A door has formed in the back wall. The Entry Hallway of Your House This wooden-floored hallway serves as a bridge from the doorway entrance of the house to the living room that lies east of here. A closed closet filled with shoes and coats lines one side of the wall while a wooden umbrella stand is positioned near the front door on the other side. The walls here are made of plaster, like any other room in this house and are decorated with nostalgiac family photos hung up on the front of them. Your attention is focused on the front door, which is closed. Next to the doorway is a wooden umbrella stand, with a black sack covering the top half of it. You can feel them coming. Oh no. You spin around the hallway, the photographs, the closet, and the door bringing back the feelings of the front hallway. You ARE in the front hallway. Everything appears to be the same, which is somewhat relieving, except for the... vertical umbrella stand. One of its side hooks is inserted through a bag-like mask via its eyehole; you do not believe you have seen it in this house before. As you stare at the mask on the hook, you feel more and more uneasy, your focus momentarily removed off of your-- >x stand Completely covering the top half of the stand, with a hook sticking out through one of the eyeholes, is a black potato sack, its countenance of fear forbidding you to go near it. You hear a dreadful sound of a car pulling into your driveway coming from behind the door, the rattling of an engine getting louder and louder before it finally shuts off--into complete silence. They are home. And now it's time to run to the back of the house, to hide. >get sack You don't even want to go near that thing. Car doors slam shut, their booms intensifying the suspense in the hallway. You hear giggling from a girl. BRAINLESS giggling-- In anguish, you cover your ears, but the sounds make their way through your palms. The sounds, those wretched, unforgivingly uncensored sounds: you cannot escape from them!!! Clenching your jaw, you release your hands in frustration, the sounds continuing as giggling is now mixed in with the shuffling of feet and the dull scraping of rolling rubber wheels on gravel driveway. >e Your heart racing, you spin around and sprint into the living room.. You run past the living room. Entering the back bedroom hallway, you stop at the dead end wall. Back Hallway This hallway, that ends at a blank wall to the east, branches off to your parents' room off to south and your bedroom to the north, the bedroom that you share with your-- >n You bolt through the open doorway-- SMACK! Your head dazed, you lie on the floor, the image of the hallway swimming in and out of your vision. After a couple of moments later, you see the words written on the ceiling: YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE. Head still hurting, you stand back up and face the back wall of the-- Wait a minute. A door has formed in the back wall. The Entry Hallway of Your House This wooden-floored hallway serves as a bridge from the doorway entrance of the house to the living room that lies east of here. A closed closet filled with shoes and coats lines one side of the wall while a wooden umbrella stand is positioned near the front door on the other side. The walls here are made of plaster, like any other room in this house and are decorated with nostalgiac family photos hung up on the front of them. Your attention is focused on the front door, which is closed. Next to the doorway is a wooden umbrella stand, with a black sack covering the top half of it. The voice of a feignly optimistic mother follows behind the garbled speech of the little girl that's just outside the door. You cross your fingers, preparing yourself. >hide There is never a place to hide, even if you feel like that place could potentially conceal you. The doorknob rattles, your knees shaking along with it... >get sack You don't even want to go near that thing. Swish! You wail as the room seems to explode with bright sunlight. Oh, sunlight. Thank God! The bright sunlight blocks the clear images of your mom and your sister. In the middle of the sea of sunlight you can only see the shape of them: a wheelchair and the skinny hair-braided silhouette of a hunchbacked woman behind the wheelchair, pushing it towards you. You hold your breath, preparing for your sister. >talk to sister Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. The door closes, revealing the image of your mom, who seems to be...smiling? A feeling of creepiness translates across to your perceptions, as you look at your mom in fear. "Jill's back," she says, trying to sound cheerful. There, you can hear it, the abandonment of hope in her voice and the acknowledgment of the situation's hopelessness, all covered up in sugary shallow words. Outwardly, she is trying to not make you feel bad, but deep inside, she is. She looks at you, and forces an uneasy smile from your face. "Say hello to Jill," she says chuckling softly, the smile on her face still trying to cover up the pain. What is done is done, is what her smile seems to say. Trying to see things the same way, you look down towards your little sister, who is-- (Ready, ready now...go!) Blur. Her head turns into a fuzzy haze, a haze of a bald head, mouth, ears, and bandages. You feel a temporary sigh of relief as some tension releases through your slowly relaxing body. "Say hello to David, Jill," your mom says looking down at your little mess of a sister-- Your peripheral vision only sees the fuzzy image turning about in a soundscape of confusion and garbled words. You look up back at your mom, at her weakening eyes, whose optimism is fading with every meter of mindless speech. Of course she does not expect you to be completely over it, although she does seem to be a little glad that Ji-- is still alive, even though Ji-- is good enough to be dead practically. >x jill A fuzzy ball of whiteness. "Go-dd..fe-..sje..home..nf" The words fall across your ears in sadness and shame. You turn your ahead away, looking towards the wall. "Yes, that's right," your mom says to Jill, "we're home honey." >talk to jill Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. Your mom pushes the wheelchair, trying to get past you. You move yourself tightly against the wall. "Everything will be--" she chokes for a minute, but covers it up. "--just fine," she ends. A blurry head moves in the wheelchair. Even though for the first time ever you have felt pain lift from you (it feels a little uncomfortable, actually), mom's unrealistic optimism towards this whole situation still doesn't sit well with you: you feel as if this whole situation is still left unresolved. It cannot end like this! All people who do wrong deserve some sort of punishment! Your analyses are interrupted by a presence, and a feeling of painful resolution is near. You turn your attention to the front door, your feelings of unresolvment disappearing and a feeling of painful fear taking its place-- Oh my God. He currently has his back turned, he in his black shirt and black pants with spur-decored leather boots, bent downwards blocking the umbrella stand. A little nervously you step back. >cry That's not a verb I recognise. >e Your mom would wonder why you were leaving. Well, she would not be wondering actually. She already knows why you are going to leave, and that wouldn't really help her overcome her feelings of sadness and frustration at the current situation involving the permanent handicap of Jill. "Okay, Jill, let's go to the kitchen now. We've bought donuts for you--ouch!" your mom removes her hand from its position behind Jill's white head, which thoughtlessly whiplashed and crushed mom's hand. "Aren't you glad to be back?" your mom asks without expecting an answer. She passes by you and heads into the living room. The old man picks up the mask and puts it over his head. You hold your breath. He quickly turns around, his eyes meeting yours. Trying to relieve yourself from his intimidating glare, you look down at his boots. The boots step backwards as you look back up at him briefly. He has moved over to the doorway and is now blocking it. Worse yet, he stands with his arms crossed, staring at you. Under fear, you dart your head away in the other direction towards the back of the house. >e To get away from the man, you run to your room, the footsteps pounding quickly on the hardwood floor. You slam the door behind you, pushing your back against it, panting... Bedroom There are two beds, both perpendicular to each other, a closet, a desk, and a window on the other side of the room opposite the door, the blinds shut. The bedroom door is shut behind you. >open door No, you want to remain safe. The sudden sound of a doorknob turning wakes you from your state of illusionary salvation, as you look behind you and run forward to the edge of one of the beds, looking behind you and seeing a figure in a wheelchair entering the room. White fuzz over her face. The sounds of mindless giggling of a girl, random giggling and slurred speech. The fuzz turns into a big ball of whiteness. The whiteness grows and grows until it floods the entirety of the room, the speech enveloping you and fading into a slurred hum, the whiteness blinding your eyes. Blank whiteness and fog. White Room of Fog You are in the midst of a white fog right now, the only thing in front of you being a table. A doll's head connected to an upright polished metal stand is on the table. >x head (the doll's head) It looks like a portable mirror stand, except a doll's head replaces the mirror. With the pole of it extending into the bottom of the jaw, the doll's head twist around in random circles, the rest of its body unpresent. The movement is made possible by a flexible joint at the place where the jaw meets the pole; and, judging by the look on the doll's face, it feels miserable and tortured as its blue-iris eyeballs rotate in wild circles. The dizzying motion of the doll's head is nauseating. As you lean in closer, you can see that the bald doll's head has some thick stitches on the left side of the scalp. Glassy blue eyes from the doll spin around in circles, all the while remaining in their eye sockets. You turn your head away for a moment. >*"the doll's head twist" should be "twists", right? [Comment recorded.] >talk to doll Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >listen to doll You can hear some slurred humming sounds like that of a human voice, but you are not sure whether all of it is coming from the doll because the sounds fill both of your ears. But you do know that the sounds come from both the east and the west directions. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >e You walk a couple steps, stopping at a surprising unexpectation of your mom sitting down in a chair, her head buried in her face. Standing in front of your sitting Mom In the midst of the whiteness enveloping you, you are at a spot where two objects are not clouded: your mom and the chair she is sitting in. Your mom sobs to herself. >talk to mom You swallow. "Um, mom, are you okay?" you nervously ask. You wait a moment or two in suspense. Her crying suddenly gets louder. She violently lifts her head, exposing a bloody scar like that of a knife across her tear-soaked face. Moving her moist hair back, she glares at you with cold eyes. "Do you know what I have to go through now?!" she screams. Awestruck, you remain silent. "I have been worrying every single day of my life! I have been worrying, what was going to happen 'if', when it was going to happen, how it was going to happen--and now it's finally happened!!" She breaks down and cries even louder. "You should have known that Jill wasn't skilled enough to climb that mountain alone on her bike. As a matter of fact, you knew all along!" Her head cradled down in her hands and her braided hair drooped over the sides of her hands, your pale mom is hunched forward right now in her chair. >w White Room of Fog You are in the midst of a white fog right now, the only thing in front of you being a table. A doll's head connected to an upright polished metal stand is on the table. Glassy blue eyes from the doll spin around in circles, all the while remaining in their eye sockets. You turn your head away for a moment. >n You can't go that way. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >w You walk a couple steps, stopping at a surprising unexpectation of your mom sitting down in a chair, her head buried in her face. Standing in front of your sitting Mom In the midst of the whiteness enveloping you, you are at a spot where two objects are not clouded: your mom and the chair she is sitting in. Her head cradled down in her hands and her braided hair drooped over the sides of her hands, your pale mom is hunched forward right now in her chair. >e White Room of Fog You are in the midst of a white fog right now, the only thing in front of you being a table. A doll's head connected to an upright polished metal stand is on the table. The doll's head twists and turns in random motions. >s You can't go that way. Glassy blue eyes from the doll spin around in circles, all the while remaining in their eye sockets. You turn your head away for a moment. >u You can't go that way. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >d You can't go that way. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. The doll's head twists and turns in random motions. >talk to doll Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. Slurred speech gurgles from the doll's mouth. >get doll Taken. >i You are carrying: a doll's head >look White Room of Fog You are in the midst of a white fog right now, the only thing in front of you being a table. >x table A flawless, solid wooden table, no scratches or blemishes in the wood: every part of it is continuous in the same color. >*Was I supposed to be able to get it? [Comment recorded.] >x doll It looks like a portable mirror stand, except a doll's head replaces the mirror. With the pole of it extending into the bottom of the jaw, the doll's head twist around in random circles, the rest of its body unpresent. The movement is made possible by a flexible joint at the place where the jaw meets the pole; and, judging by the look on the doll's face, it feels miserable and tortured as its blue-iris eyeballs rotate in wild circles. The dizzying motion of the doll's head is nauseating. As you lean in closer, you can see that the bald doll's head has some thick stitches on the left side of the scalp. >* think not, because that description doesn't make sense. [Comment recorded.] >e You walk a couple steps, stopping at a surprising unexpectation of your mom sitting down in a chair, her head buried in her face. Standing in front of your sitting Mom In the midst of the whiteness enveloping you, you are at a spot where two objects are not clouded: your mom and the chair she is sitting in. Your mom sobs to herself. >give doll to mom There is no need for that. At least, not right now. Her head cradled down in her hands and her braided hair drooped over the sides of her hands, your pale mom is hunched forward right now in her chair. >talk to mom "Um, it's not that bad, I think." Your speech trips. "Not bad! Do you know how bad it's going to be when your Daddy comes back on Friday and finds out what has happened? That he will never talk me anymore? He is just going to stare at me in silence, and won't say a single word to me anymore. I won't even be able to sleep at night anymore!" You fall silent at the word "Daddy". You have never called him such a name. "I have always been worrying what I should do to please him. Beforehand, I knew what he wanted from me. But now," she sniffs, "now, I don't think he will ever be satisfied. And now," she chokes, "he's going to hit me. He's going to abuse me in the name of punishment and emotion release!" Sweat starts to drip down your face. You wipe your head. Your mom sobs to herself. >*emotion should probably be emotional. [Comment recorded.] >talk to mom "Wel-l," your voice cracks, "you need to--hide. Like me," you advise. "Hide? You stupid little coward!" She stretches her hands out as if to choke you. You step back. "No, no, I-I promise I will take my punishment! It will just have to take some time, that's all." "Well, I'm not going to go through this alone. And if you cared at all about your little sister enough, you wouldn't wait." "But at least she's still alive..." your voice trails off. "Still alive! Not--" Your mom stops, her face suddenly turning green. "Mom?" She leans her face forward, hands cupped in front of her mouth. With hair over face, your mom is hunched over in nausea, her hands cupped below her mouth, ready to puke. >give doll to mom "Mom! What are you hiding from me?" you ask, revealing the vertigoistic doll from behind your back and lowering it in between her face and hands so that she sees it. Your mom groans. GGuuuhhh...Drip. Moving the doll's head out of the way, you watch nervously as a huge object regurgitates from the inside of her stomach and up through her esophagus. Splat! A goopy organ dislodges from her mouth and splats onto her platter- formed hands, a long drool string following behind it. "W-what is it?" you ask. She shakes, lifting up the saliva-drenched anatomical organ from her hands, shoving it your face. You step back. "Look at what you did to her!" she screams, jiggling the organ around in her hands. An anatomical organ is shoved in your face, the angry stare of your mom behind the hands dishing the organ. >*This is the weird scene like in your last year's game... [Comment recorded.] >x organ You lean in to take a closer look, and nearly gag at the sight, the sight almost shocking you like lightning. On her hands--wet, moist, and salivated--is... a small brain. After soaking yourself in the emotions translated by guilt-racking sight of the brain, your mom continues. "Jill had potential, she really did. She was a good girl. She was smart, she scored good grades. Why did YOU have to do this to her?" Why did YOU?? YOU. [+++ +++] Oh fuck. The hour as come. All the objects are prepared. NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see some ropes, a small group of iron nails and a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, ready. >nail me to cross That's not a verb I recognise. >i You are carrying: an old, copper key a gag (being worn) >get all west wall: WEST WALL The blank, naked plaster wall stares back at you shamefully; its outer coverings have been stripped off completely, exposing its full, bare surface. Long, fuzzy bicycle shadows and the pathetic shadow of yourself are the only images on the wall, the light from the lamp from up behind you diffusing onto the wall. The center of the garage is back east. It feels warm. (Since something dramatic has happened, your list of commands has been cut short.) >undo NORTH WALL [Previous turn undone.] >look NORTH WALL Since the ends of the garage are further away from the central overhead lamp, there is much more shadow and darkness over here. But that does not matter, because you already know what is here: other than the ragged, paper-bordered compartment embedded in the center of the wall, there is not much else on the wall, save for a metallic control box with a wheel on it lying next to the compartment. Around the headlight corner of the chained-up car behind you, you can also make your way towards the workbench, which from here is to the southeast. The glowier, and much redder part of the garage is back to the south. At the foot of the cross, you can see some ropes, a small group of iron nails and a heavy hammer. Among the scattered shreds of paper on the floor, the harrowing face still lies face-up on a rectangular section of poster. The empty wooden cross leans against the wall in front of you, ready. >get all from floor (the foot of the cross) ropes: You try to take one of the objects back from off the floor, perhaps to delay the execution; but no matter how hard you try, the object just slips out of your hand and lands back on the floor where you had first set it. It is inevitable: you cannot escape. small group of iron nails: You try to take one of the objects back from off the floor, perhaps to delay the execution; but no matter how hard you try, the object just slips out of your hand and lands back on the floor where you had first set it. It is inevitable: you cannot escape. heavy hammer: You try to take one of the objects back from off the floor, perhaps to delay the execution; but no matter how hard you try, the object just slips out of your hand and lands back on the floor where you had first set it. It is inevitable: you cannot escape. >get on crass You can't see any such thing. >get on cross You swallow. Carefully, you place one foot up on the footrest and twist your body around so that your back rests against the body of the cross. The cross slips a little bit, so you step off. You push the large but lightweight cross back against the wall so that it is almost perfectly upright. Then, you step carefully onto the platform, balancing the right half of your body before carefully lifting up your other foot and placing it next to your left foot on the footrest. The feeling of carefully placing and your aligning your feet like this-- You wait a couple of seconds to see if the cross holds up and after carefully hanging your arms up on the cross, you wait, your heart beating faster and faster. You hear a brushing sound from the floor. Your draw your eyes downward. The mask with the two hollow eyeholes... >cry That's not a verb I recognise. >get off cross You are very tempted to get off the cross. No. You cannot; you're time is NOW. An inside urge presses your back against the cross, refraining you from getting off. The mask moves upward from the floor with smoke, pulling the body of a human up from underneath it. The full hooded head appears first, then the rest of the body including the short sleeved black shirt, the burly arms, the short black pants, and then the boots with spiky spurs appear in sequence. Your muscles tingle as the sequence completes, and you find yourself standing face to face with your executioner, his hollow eyes staring at you from behind that black potato sack. >run You'll have to say which compass direction to go in. The man reaches down and picks up the ropes off the floor. He then takes the ropes with his thick, callused hands and raises them to where your arms are. Wincing at the sight of the ropes nearing contact with your arm, you try to move them away, but for some reason you find your arm muscles stuck by some invisible force. Without a single word, he binds both your biceps (near their elbow joints) to the arms of the cross. Afterwards, he uses the last remaining rope to tie your ankles to the foot of the cross. You try to move your legs away in protest, but find that your arms are already tied and there is not much else that you can do in terms of escaping. >talk to man The gag refrains you from doing so. The man then picks up the hammer and nails, and, putting them in his pocket, goes over to the control box. He stands in front of the wheel and stares at it motionlessly. You draw a breath. He just stands in front of the control box, not moving a single muscle. You feel confused. Clunk! The sudden bang almost causes your heart to stop beating as he suddenly unlocks the wheel and turns it, your jolted body lurching upward and your stomach feeling frighteningly sick from the sudden movement. You groan and wail. It is all about to start... [+n+ Ke+] Out here, shivering in the cold. Alone by yourself, in the outdoor snowed-over lunch area (the school courtyard). Sitting on an iced-over bench, you wait for the kids in the indoor cafeteria to come out. You have some business to take care of. Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. On the lunch table bench you can see a half-eaten sandwich. >get sandwich Taken. >eat it You nibble a couple bites off of the sandwich before removing it from your mouth, a flash of discomfort briefly burning the pit of your stomach. >x table Made of brushed metal, this picnic table sits out in the middle of the courtyard, alone. You are alone as well, sitting in a snow-cleared area on the bench with a snow-cleared eating area on the tablespot in front of you. You can feel the lunch hour ending, the kids inside starting to get restlessly noisy. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. The bell rings, and the exit door flings open, a crowd of voices pouring out. You look over to the cafeteria door to see kids starting to stream out of the cafeteria, them coming over your way. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. Some kids have now reached the area of the courtyard in front of your table. Some run past you, kicking up snow behind them, while others travel slowly alongside their respective cliques, steadily walking past you. You overhear some of the louder conversations among these students. "So, are you ready for the creation/evolution debate?" a girl asks one of her friends as they walk past you carrying their books. As you look down at one of the books the girl is carrying, you tilt your head sideways trying to read the title: 'Puberty: A Study of Self-conflict and -- ' "Metaphysics is for geeks!" a random kid (probably a freshman, judging by the stupidity of what he is saying) thoughtlessly interrupts and screams as he runs past you, his backpack bouncing up and down off his back as snow kicks up behind him. You look back, trying to find the girl who was carrying the book, but don't end up finding her. Sig usually comes out this way. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack The rate of crowd-increase levels off to stagnant, as some of the older kids trail in a more relaxed manner behind the stressed, lower classmen. "Hey," you hear a voice call out. A familiar voice... Evil excitement sparks within you as you quickly wheel your head to find the location of the soundsource. The sound...it came from near the tree... Sig stands next to the tree with a group of friends, talking and laughing. Anger and excitement seeps through your veins as you look at him, your eyes glowing with fire and brimstone. >open backpack You don't feel like fooling around with your backpack right now. Sig, who seems to be the primary talker of the group, does not seem to be paying any attention to you at all. "It's only a cig man." You look to see a kid (a freshman probably) standing in front of him with a group of Sig's suppporters surrounding the back of the kid. The newbie shakes his head, a little scared. "Wow, what a pussy," he mocks. His friends laugh. Bitch. You know what, Sig? Smoking a cigarette isn't even being rebellious at all. It's not even bad. You know what's really bad? Well, how about KILLING somebody. Yeah, that's right: I've bet you've never done that before. Look who's bad-ass now, asshole!!!! Fewer and fewer kids walk past you as the beginning of next class hour nears. You squint your eyes at the cafeteria building, your eyes focusing on a section of cafeteria of empty tables and benches as seen from the open doorway. >kill sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. "Come on, bitch," Sig says, nudging the newbie and shoving the cigarette butt in his face, trying to force it in his mouth. The kid backs away a little bit, scared. One of his friends pushes the kid towards Sig again. You feel yourself getting pushed around with him. Finally, the kid, not being able to bear the pressure anymore, screams a near- deafening, high-pitched cry. "No! I won't do it!" Sig, at the sound of the cry, is taken aback. He places one hand on his hip. "Fine then, you disrespectful bitch. Get out of here: I don't ever want to see you again." Some of Sig's friends pushes the kid out of the group, as the kid trudges through the snow, escaping the courtyard. Jealousy rises from within you as you watch the kid leave, jealousy of him for his display of boldness. But your jealousy, however, is soon vanished as you refocus your intent on Sig. And his impending doom. All the other students have left now, leaving just Sig and his friends the only other students in the courtyard. >*This is really some dark, dark themes. [Comment recorded.] >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. The bell rings again, indicating that the next class is starting. But amidst the clanging of the bell, oddly, you can still hear the conversation between Sig and his supporters. "Man, that newbfuck is such a bitch. Too bad he won't have any friends to sit with at lunch," Sig objects. You shiver in the cold, feeling alone. "Well," one of Sig's friends interrupts, "I think we'd best be going." "Alright," Sig agrees, "I'll be seeing you suckers then. I'll stay here for a bit. My teacher doesn't write tardies, anyway, so I can get away with it." "Gonna stay here and enjoy your smoke?" "Yep. Enjoying it everyday man," Sig laughs, his stupid white teeth and his big mouth making the anger rise even higher inside of you (to the point where you it just might surface any moment now). His friends finally leave, and it's now just you and Sig alone in the lunch area. Sig, still completely oblivious to your presence, stands next to the tree, lighting up the cigarette. After a puff, he casually looks at the snowy scenery around him. Perfect. He is all alone now. >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >throw sandwich at sig You need something more damaging than that to throw at him. >throw backpack at sig That would not do any damage to him. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >punch sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >*What can I do while seated? [Comment recorded.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >*3:40 now [Comment recorded.] >x tree The tree lies about halfway between where you are sitting and the where the cafeteria lies, the only one of its kind to be situated inside the courtyard, within the fence that borders the northern part of the courtyard (which keeps students from wandering into the forest and ditching school). The tree is fairly tall, and doesn't suit any specific purpose except for a decorative one. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >scream You cannot release your emotions right now. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >x windows You can't see any such thing. >x hall You can't see any such thing. >x sig Oh...you just want to get him and crack his nose. >hit sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >open backpack You don't feel like fooling around with your backpack right now. >x backpack Resting on your lap, your backpack holds all the important school supplies such as pens, pencils, erasers, and your favorite art supplies. Also tucked away in your closed backpack is your sketchbook, school notebook, and papers such as your math homework and english essay. Oh yes, and your journal, in which you are careful not to write anything personal, is also in there. You mainly use it for English class, but once in a big while you will get in the mood to write on your own will, letting your imagination wander as the ink flows from the pen--many times your entries ending up being a strange mixture of reality and non-reality. You sometimes scare yourself when you do that, though, ripping out those pages from the journal and throwing them away in the trash after you are done. >read journal You can't see any such thing. >get journal You can't see any such thing. >open backpack You don't feel like fooling around with your backpack right now. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >x sig Oh...you just want to get him and crack his nose. >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >w You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >n You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >get off bench You want to attract as little attention as possible. >*? [Comment recorded.] >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >x sandwich Its a lightly nibbled ham and lettuce sandwich that you apparently ran out of the appetite to finish. >eat sandwich You nibble a couple bites off of the sandwich before removing it from your mouth, a flash of discomfort briefly burning the pit of your stomach. >eat backpack That's plainly inedible. >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >n You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >s You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >w You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >x joint You can't see any such thing. >x cig You can't see any such thing. >x sig Oh...you just want to get him and crack his nose. >x tree The tree lies about halfway between where you are sitting and the where the cafeteria lies, the only one of its kind to be situated inside the courtyard, within the fence that borders the northern part of the courtyard (which keeps students from wandering into the forest and ditching school). The tree is fairly tall, and doesn't suit any specific purpose except for a decorative one. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >*Nothing I can do? [Comment recorded.] >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >wake up Life for you right now is almost an inescapable nightmare. >xyzzy [That won't work here: this is a modern work of IF.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >x table Made of brushed metal, this picnic table sits out in the middle of the courtyard, alone. You are alone as well, sitting in a snow-cleared area on the bench with a snow-cleared eating area on the tablespot in front of you. >stand You want to attract as little attention as possible. >x buildings You can't see any such thing. >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >out You want to attract as little attention as possible. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >yell at sig That's not a verb I recognise. >*? [Comment recorded.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >*What do I do? [Comment recorded.] >*Is it stuck? [Comment recorded.] >look through windows You can't see any such thing. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >ring bell That's not a verb I recognise. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >x backpack Resting on your lap, your backpack holds all the important school supplies such as pens, pencils, erasers, and your favorite art supplies. Also tucked away in your closed backpack is your sketchbook, school notebook, and papers such as your math homework and english essay. Oh yes, and your journal, in which you are careful not to write anything personal, is also in there. You mainly use it for English class, but once in a big while you will get in the mood to write on your own will, letting your imagination wander as the ink flows from the pen--many times your entries ending up being a strange mixture of reality and non-reality. You sometimes scare yourself when you do that, though, ripping out those pages from the journal and throwing them away in the trash after you are done. >look in backpack You can't see inside, since the backpack is closed. >open backpack You don't feel like fooling around with your backpack right now. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >e You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >beat sig That's not a verb I recognise. >hit sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. >punch sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. >applogize to sig That's not a verb I recognise. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >sig That's not a verb I recognise. >sig, sorry [This game uses the "TALK to OBJECT" speech system.] >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >talk to self Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >*noooo don't fall apart on me now... [Comment recorded.] >x courtyard The tree lies about halfway between where you are sitting and the where the cafeteria lies, the only one of its kind to be situated inside the courtyard, within the fence that borders the northern part of the courtyard (which keeps students from wandering into the forest and ditching school). The tree is fairly tall, and doesn't suit any specific purpose except for a decorative one. >*Sig stand by himeslf - should be "stands" [Comment recorded.] >x sig Oh...you just want to get him and crack his nose. >get sig The body is way too heavy to pick up. You need to bury it right here. >*Bury it? [Comment recorded.] >*For real? [Comment recorded.] >bury sig That would be less than courteous. >*Is that a spoiler [Comment recorded.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >n You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >get off bench You want to attract as little attention as possible. >n You'll have to get off the lunch table bench first. >z Time passes. >get off bench You want to attract as little attention as possible. >*what now? [Comment recorded.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >kill sig You've done enough, and you feel very guilty for doing it. >climb tree You lack the energy and purpose. >push sig That would be less than courteous. >hint [This game can be solved by solely using the standard Inform verbs, with the exception of the verbs 'Talk to' and 'Scream', which you may find the need to use when the time comes. See walkthrough, if need be.] >help [This game can be solved by solely using the standard Inform verbs, with the exception of the verbs 'Talk to' and 'Scream', which you may find the need to use when the time comes. See walkthrough, if need be.] >scream You cannot release your emotions right now. >talk to sig Your mind is like a blank, white sheet right now, void of anything to say. >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >cut sig What do you want to cut Sig with? >knife You can't see any such thing. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich your backpack >x sandwich Its a lightly nibbled ham and lettuce sandwich that you apparently ran out of the appetite to finish. >put sandwich on table Dropped. >get up You want to attract as little attention as possible. >get sandwich Taken. >*I guess there's nothing for it. WT time. [Comment recorded.] >*ah. I guess the "throwing" thing might have worked. [Comment recorded.] >look Cold and Shivering, in the School's Snowy Outdoor Cafeteria, Alone (on the lunch table bench) You are sitting by yourself in the icy cold, at a lone lunch table at the sidelines of the pathway across the courtyard that leads out of the dining hall exit. The dining hall is far; its fuzzy, snowy windows glow with hate-provoking warmth. The outdoor dining hall (the courtyard), the place where you currently are, extends for a short distance like a square in all directions until it runs into its borders: classroom building complexes, to the west and south, a chain- linked fence to the north, and the dining hall to the east. A tree also stands in the courtyard near one of the buildings. Sig stand by himself, lighting up a joint. >get snow Your hands already numb, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, and with tense arm and wrists muscles harden it, the water squeezing and filtering through your fingers with every ounce of fist-forming pressure. When you feel the snow harden into a rock-solid iceball, you raise your body upward again with a feeling of your task being completed: a weapon of revenge being obtained. >throw snowball at sig You grit your teeth, rolling the iceball preparingly in your hand. You are going to get him. Sig turns, his face profile in your direction, exposing a nice target--his nose. Perfect. Quickly, and with careful aim, you throw the iceball directly at his face. While the iceball sails through the air, Sig turns, his nose right in front of the approaching iceball. Wham! Crack! HAHA. Sig freezes for a moment as the iceball lands on the floor, his eyes staring, his body still. He stays still for what seems like minutes, holding you in suspense, before you are shocked with horror. The top of his head suddenly cracks open, shooting a stream of blood into the air. "Sig!" you scream. Your backpack slides off your lap as you leave the table and run over to where he was once standing, and bend down close to him, his body and face now on the floor in a puddle of blood, the blood that's gushing from his cracked skull. You look at his nose, which is still intact. >*floor should be ground [Comment recorded.] >get sig The body is way too heavy to pick up. You need to bury it right here. >x sig Right now there's blood gushing out of where his skull is cracked, the blood running past the sprouting hairs growing (the sprouting hairs that were GROWING, FOR GOD'S SAKE!) from his shaved head. Red color soaks the snow in bloody absorption underneath where his head is implanted. A cigarette lies next to his hand, extinguished in the snow. No! He cannot die not knowing the truth of what you intended to do to him verbalized out of your mouth. >get cig You can't see any such thing. >talk to sig "Sig, Sig!" you scream. His cold eyes just stare, unblinking, his face frozen in death. "Sig!" you scream again. No answer. You start to sob. "Sig, I didn't mean to, I promise," you choke, teary-eyed. You look around you, to see if anybody is watching you. "I just thought I would be able to temporarily disable you and get away with it, but that was because I thought I would always have you, but--" you sob, "I was wrong. I was wrong! I aimed for your nose because I thought that you could eventually recover, you know, from a broken now, but instead I missed and hit your skull, cracking it open. You fell to the ground, and now...you're dead! You can never come back, and it's all," you swallow, "...all my fault." You weep bitterly over the cold lifeless body lying in the snow and look at the pale, lifeless face of what is now that of... a little girl's. >*broken now should be "broken nose." And this is turning a little corny... [Comment recorded.] >x sig You can't see any such thing. >look A little girl lies in the snow, blood running out from underneath the left side of her head and soaking the snow in red. >look A little girl lies in the snow, blood running out from underneath the left side of her head and soaking the snow in red. >*extra blank lines? [Comment recorded.] >get girl (the little girl) The body is way too heavy to pick up. You need to bury it right here. >bury girl (the little girl) You scoop out some snow over to the side, making a large, human-sized pit in the snow. With a heavy breath, you push and roll the girl over to pit and push her down into the ground, shoveling snow over her body with your hands as you try to conceal her from your mind. You wait a moment or two... A sploshing sound, like slushie. After a few moments she resurfaces like an empty floatie rising upwards from the bottom of a lone, cold swimming pool--her painful image not willing to be buried or hidden. Perhaps you should push her body harder. >*like slushie - should be "like a slushie" ? [Comment recorded.] >push girl (the little girl) You push her down harder this time, trying to pack her in. You scoop some snow and quickly try to cover her, but the body resurfaces before she is fully concealed. You give up. >i You are carrying: a half-eaten sandwich You feel a tap on your shoulder. Startled, you look up behind you to a see a man in a black mask. You stand up and wheel your head all around you, your heart pounding as you realize that there isn't just one masked man here presently, but a circle of masked men--all of them staring at you silently. Their arms are linked with one another, shutting off all means of escape. And you are in the center of it all, with your body and soul the central object of their punishment... Surrounded by a Circle of Men The tree, the buildings, and the whole of the school now gone, the environment has devastatingly shifted into a vast field of desolation and emptiness, and you find yourself standing in the center of a circle enclosed by black masked men. The air is cold, and the ground is still covered in thick snow. The masked men stare at you with their hollow eyes, the rest of the bodies standing still. Their haunting presence pressingly beckons you to escape and break out of their fettering circle of guilt. >*It's like the game has gone on for too long... [Comment recorded.] >talk to men No. You must escape. >escape Gritting your teeth and feeling scared, you rush towards an arm link, trying to tear through it and escape. Pushing at the arms with all your might, you scream, trying to tear the link open. You push and push, desperately trying to escape, but their arms don't even flex backwards or move--it were as if it was made of solid, unrelenting steel--the harder you push, the more tired and shame- felt you become. Eventually, you give up, screaming, the men now spinning around you in wild circles. You scream and scream, until your gaping mouth suddenly freezes in position, like someone has just inserted a hard wooden block in your mouth. The snowy environment shifts to a dry desert environment. [+++ +++] Your body violently swings with the cross over to the west wall, your head feeling a little dizzy as the rope that hooks onto the top of the cross carries you in mid-air via the moving ball on the beam track. Dark shadows gradually shifts into bloody crimson light as you get carried over to the blank, western wall. The man locks the wheel and starts to walk over to where you are. The cross hangs, oscillating back and forth, swinging you back and forth along with it. WEST WALL (on the wooden cross) Your back rests against the hard, cramped surface of the empty, naked wall; the wall does not look at you anymore--you look WITH the wall. You look out towards the rest of the garage: the dented black car, the huge stone on the floor, and the punished bicycles hanging from the ceiling beams. You can also see a masked man (on whom are a small group of iron nails and a heavy hammer) here. The masked man pulls out the hammer hanging out from one of his pant pockets and pulls a group of nails out from the other. He sets the nails down on the floor except one, ending up with a hammer held in one hand and a nail in the other. No, please not this! >save Ok. >scream The gag refrains you from doing so. The cross swings a little bit in the air. The masked executioner grabs the foot and stops it from swinging. You and the cross are held awkwardly still in mid- air. The masked man glares at you. You stare for a moment, a lump in your throat, waiting in terror for what is going to happen. Slap! Bang. The masked man suddenly slams the cross against the wall, the sudden impact knocking your head against the head of the cross. With your head spinning from the slight shock, a dizzying image of the man picking up nails swims in your vision. Bang! Bang! The succession of pounds made by the hammer and nail puncturing the foot of the cross beats with each of your heart's pound. The man cements the foot of the cross against the plaster wall with the nail being pounded as far as it will go, and then grabs another one. Bang! Bang! Your foot tingles with dread as he nails in the other nail to the plaster wall, inches below your feet. This is too much. >cry That's not a verb I recognise. >scream The gag refrains you from doing so. You feel the garage shake slightly, as if a tremor from the earth is starting to manifest. An earthquake? He stands below you, looking up and staring at you. You feel sweat starting to drip like blood down your body as his frightening glare pierces into your soul like a long iron spike being hammered into your body--a body made of dull, fragile wood. Your arms and legs feel numb, the circulation of blood cut off by the ropes. >z Time passes. You hear the creaking of a lamp, the shadows on the dizzying floor below you moving; side to side, growing in and growing out. You turn your head up to see the red lamp swaying with the building, which is now shaking considerably from the shaking of the earth. You look back at the man, who is still standing his ground and staring at you perfectly still, despite the violent shaking all around him. >talk to man The gag refrains you from doing so. The garage is shaking considerably now, the bicycles tied by oscillating ropes bouncing up and down, the lamp appearing as if it will fall any minute as it dangerously loops upside down briefly before landing back into its normal position with a violent yanking sound. You hear a gasping sound. Tracing the source of the sound, you look down, an expression of horror freezing the muscles of your face. Five--no six eyes are staring at you now. You watch in fear and discomfort as the men clone themselves from each other, the number bodies and masks and eyes transforming and multiplying into more men like themselves. After the space of the garage is almost completely filled by men, you count about a couple DOZEN masked men now, having multiplied from just that one man. >get down That isn't available. With arms crossed to themselves, the men stare at you overwhelmingly, the number of them occupying the whole western half of the ground below you. You stare at them back, fearfully, your eyes not being able to leave them. After a few minutes, the men start to shake. The appearance of confusion in your mind ensues. A hiss of smoke. Your confusion grows as you start to see the body of the men starting to deflate and starting to disappear into wispy black smoke, their clothes sinking down to the floor in order to compress out the air. You watch the deflating process, amidst the falling of tiny roof shreds, until all that is left is a sea of black clothes and masks spread across the floor. >*This is really getting weird -- a lot more like your prior games. [Comment recorded.] >talk to man You can't see any such thing. >get down That isn't available. You are held in suspense, as you look at the lamp swaying so convulsively that you wonder when it is finally going to give way, the thought of it tensing your muscles in dread. Crash! The lamp sparks and falls down to the floor, crashing with electric heat and landing down onto the clothes, enveloping the entirety of the garage in momentary darkness. The garage starts to reappear again as the clothes start to light--on fire. >untie ropes (the ropes) You're not wearing those. The heat is starting to rise. The spark that was once just burning one shirt has now spread, the fire travelling across the floor and consuming more shirts, pants, and burlap masks until the entire floor is covered--the bed of devilish flames turning into a abyss of hellfire beneath your feet. Your feet are starting to feel hot. You try to breathe by lifting your body upwards, but your already singing feet feel irritated as they rub against the rough-textured ropes. The smoke makes your lungs feel like glowing poison embers. >*a abyss should be "an abyss" [Comment recorded.] >hold breath You can't see any such thing. >i You are carrying: some ropes (binding your arms and legs to the cross) an old, copper key a gag (being worn) The flames are licking at the foot of the cross now, the burning sensation traveling up your legs now. You feel the need to scream from the tormenting heat, but the gag is refraining you from doing so. The only thing now visible on the entire bottom half of the garage is a seering bed of bright, licking flames. You cough and sputter. >climb What do you want to climb? >cross Movement other than elevating your chest up slightly to chokingly breathe is impossible. The cross finally catches, the fire now consuming the surface of your back and traveling to the front of your body where your stomach is. For some reason though, the cross does not seem to be eaten up by the fire. It is on fire, but frustratingly does not consume to ash. Your body feels like melting rubber, as your asphyxiated lungs breathe harder and faster, trying to consume and extract as much oxygen from the smoke as possible. The flames rise higher and higher towering towards eye level, up where the bicycles hang. The gag loosens a bit. >scream The gag refrains you from doing so. Your mouth feels released as the gag finally falls off and disappears down into the flames, which are now completely enveloping you. The flames surrounding you, they continue to eat up the rest of the untouched walls of the garage into smoke and light, some of them licking the tires of bicycles and the ropes tying them to the ceiling. Some bicycles fall down and crash into the fire, landing with glowing metal chips flying everywhere. The burning is unbearable. You feel like your painful body and the cross that your back rests against is on fire; but the fire feels as if it will never burn out--nothing is being consumed to ash. You need to exhaust all your energies, you need to release all the anguish and torment. You cannot stand this any longer; you must make the pain more bearable for yourself! You feel the world spinning. >scream Your lungs are starting to feel like they are on fire, with the inhaled smoke stinging the inside of your respiratory tract. Your gag now gone, and in order to release the pain that has built up inside of you--the angst, the frustration, and the condemnation that have been trapped inside of you and have been taking over you like a fatal brain cancer since you did not find an outlet to release them--is now able to be released. You scream and scream in pain, words of anguish and torture spitting and spewing from your mouth like an erupting vocal volcano. After spewing outcries of your soul for what seems like hours, you decide to scream and monologue your last, final words. "Help!" you scream. "Help!" you scream, but no salvation. The fire and smoke eats away more and more of the room, the smoke starting to cloud your vision and blind you. "Get me out of here!" you scream to heaven. "I'm sorry for all that I've ever done to Jill," you cry amidst the flames, hoping to be heard above the deafening crackling of wood and plaster. "I promised to take care of her, but I blew it! And now," you shout, "she's useless and good for nothing. And it's all my fault!" The fire burns louder and hotter, your vision almost completely blinded now. "AAAaaahhhhh!!!!! I can't take this anymore!" Total darkness, not even sight of the firelight. "I'm blind!!! I'm blind!!!" you scream, knowing that this is true. "Disillusionedly blind..." you sob. Finally, after your screaming for what seems like hours, your spirit finally starts to die, and you shout towards heaven. "I-I, give up!!!!" Smack! Your head cracks against something hard. [Conclusion] What a pity. You look at the human shaped carcass. Smoke rises from its charcoaled body, as it lies dead and is lifelessly steaming on the rock at the bottom of the ravine, where you stand. "And what do we have here...this poor soul?" Feeling sympathy for the burnt and blackened human shape on the rock, you sigh. "It did not have to be this way. 'Tis a pity, isn't it?" Your hand briefly squeezes the funeral bouquet of flowers, the flowers ready to comfort and honor. At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x soul Oh, the poor soul. The teenage human is crouched in a posture of defense, his arms covering his broken head as if trying to escape judgment from above. His body is now just a black burnt lump of coal. Smoke is still steaming from his body. You feel a sense of sympathy as you watch the soul sizzling under the hot, blistering sun. It really did not need to happen this way. But it did. And there was nothing that he could apparently have done about it. The burnt soul lies on the surface of a large rock. "The physical position and the state of his death is real, but the burning is of the symbolic." >save Ok. >*Very very odd. [Comment recorded.] >*And a 10-minute break in there for me (for adjusting total time played). [Comment recorded.] >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x rock The rock on which the poor soul lies on, dead. You notice that the top face of the rock is mostly red--but a stale red, as if stained of old. "The rock, sadly, is in the real." >x me You are the Revealer of Truth. Some call you the Translator of the Symbolic, others the Clarification to all Conclusions, some The Bridge; but whatever the name is, you serve as Revelation's vehicle of communication to the player. There are two worlds: the Symbolic and the Real. Sometimes the two worlds mix together, creating trouble and confusion, as was the case with the soul here. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >rise That's not a verb I recognise. >sing [This is serious.] >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >get soul Let the soul rest in peace: he has suffered through quite a storm during this past week. Well, at least the storm is over now. >x body You can't see any such thing. >x ravens The steep canyon walls illuminate from sunlight, an occasional shadow of a black raven interrupting the sun's rays, the shadows moving on the surface of the walls and on the dry, sandy riverbed below it as well. After much examination, you spot a dirty handlebar tossed aside near the other side of the river bed. "The canyon itself--the ravens, the river bed, the scenery all around--is in the real." >get handlebar You cannot seem to bring yourself around that object without getting emotional and teary-eyed. >i You are carrying: some crushed daisies >x daisies The small collection of flowers (about three or four of them) in your hand, are ready to be comfortably laid next to the soul on the rock. >put daies on rock You can't see any such thing. >drop flowers on rock You set the flowers down on the rock, the flowers now resting in peace along with the soul. The image of the flowers lying next to the dead soul solemnly strokes a sympathetic chord in your heart; as well as one of respect and honor. This boy has gone through much; his mind was never at rest; he never gave himself a break. But now he is resting in peace, having bore all he could have ever bore. Even if he failed outwardly, his heart was there, definitely there. And respect for him shall always be here, even in his death. He is a martyr, and let him serve as an example to rest of us, to never EVER look upon self as the one who is solely responsible. For we bear our burdens together, and outward actions should never be the sole determining factor for human value upon this earth. You look at the soul, thinking about his mother, a tear almost running down your cheek as you sympathize with her. She will be running into constant trouble throughout the rest of her life...all you can do now is hope. Hope for the best. You take one last look at the soul and solemnly raise your head towards the sun, lifting your hands and arms up to heaven. [Hit any key to Exit] Start of a transcript of Condemned A Slice of an Adolescent's Life Confusion, Conflict, and Contradiction (c) 2009 Release 1 / Serial number 090930 / Inform v6.31 Library 6/11 S Standard interpreter 1.1 (4F) / Library serial number 040227 >*ah, it exited too fast - had to load up again. [Comment recorded.] >There was a typo in the last paragraph but I forgot what it was. That's not a verb I recognise. >*So, 4:10 PM... minus 10-minute break makes 2 hours 50 mins of play. [Comment recorded.] > *My vote is set at 9, although the really weird stuff that followed in the last 50 minutes ....??? [Comment recorded.] > *And the implementation got a little more linear and non-interactive, and a little more sparse. [Comment recorded.] > *Still, very memorable, and some very good parts early on. Good tension early, too. [Comment recorded.] >*A lot of effort was put into this. A lot of interactions understood. [Comment recorded.] >restore Ok. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x rock The rock on which the poor soul lies on, dead. You notice that the top face of the rock is mostly red--but a stale red, as if stained of old. "The rock, sadly, is in the real." >x me You are the Revealer of Truth. Some call you the Translator of the Symbolic, others the Clarification to all Conclusions, some The Bridge; but whatever the name is, you serve as Revelation's vehicle of communication to the player. There are two worlds: the Symbolic and the Real. Sometimes the two worlds mix together, creating trouble and confusion, as was the case with the soul here. >x ravels You can't see any such thing. >x soul Oh, the poor soul. The teenage human is crouched in a posture of defense, his arms covering his broken head as if trying to escape judgment from above. His body is now just a black burnt lump of coal. Smoke is still steaming from his body. You feel a sense of sympathy as you watch the soul sizzling under the hot, blistering sun. It really did not need to happen this way. But it did. And there was nothing that he could apparently have done about it. The burnt soul lies on the surface of a large rock. "The physical position and the state of his death is real, but the burning is of the symbolic." >*what happened to him? Did he die in the car crash? [Comment recorded.] >x mom You can't see any such thing. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >n You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >*I don't fully get it. Sounds like it's open to interpretation. [Comment recorded.] >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x ravens The steep canyon walls illuminate from sunlight, an occasional shadow of a black raven interrupting the sun's rays, the shadows moving on the surface of the walls and on the dry, sandy riverbed below it as well. After much examination, you spot a dirty handlebar tossed aside near the other side of the river bed. "The canyon itself--the ravens, the river bed, the scenery all around--is in the real." >listen The occasional squawk of a raven against the background noise of sizzling flesh is the only thing that's heard in the canyon right now. >x me You are the Revealer of Truth. Some call you the Translator of the Symbolic, others the Clarification to all Conclusions, some The Bridge; but whatever the name is, you serve as Revelation's vehicle of communication to the player. There are two worlds: the Symbolic and the Real. Sometimes the two worlds mix together, creating trouble and confusion, as was the case with the soul here. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x flowers The small collection of flowers (about three or four of them) in your hand, are ready to be comfortably laid next to the soul on the rock. >x rock The rock on which the poor soul lies on, dead. You notice that the top face of the rock is mostly red--but a stale red, as if stained of old. "The rock, sadly, is in the real." >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x canyon The steep canyon walls illuminate from sunlight, an occasional shadow of a black raven interrupting the sun's rays, the shadows moving on the surface of the walls and on the dry, sandy riverbed below it as well. After much examination, you spot a dirty handlebar tossed aside near the other side of the river bed. "The canyon itself--the ravens, the river bed, the scenery all around--is in the real." >x handlebar With dirty pom-pom ribbons extending from the end of it, the bare handlebar is half-buried in the sand; but the part of the handlebar that juts above surface seems to suggest that the handlebar itself was once pure and white. It's now a dirty brownish-whitish color, the brown part coming from the dirt and the dust of the sand and rock. Ripped off from the rest of the bicycle that it belonged to, the handlebar remains abandoned and lies as wreck-debris at the bottom of the ravine. "The handlebar, sadly, is in the real." >x pom-pom You can't see any such thing. >x soul Oh, the poor soul. The teenage human is crouched in a posture of defense, his arms covering his broken head as if trying to escape judgment from above. His body is now just a black burnt lump of coal. Smoke is still steaming from his body. You feel a sense of sympathy as you watch the soul sizzling under the hot, blistering sun. It really did not need to happen this way. But it did. And there was nothing that he could apparently have done about it. The burnt soul lies on the surface of a large rock. "The physical position and the state of his death is real, but the burning is of the symbolic." >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >x position You can't see any such thing. >x rock The rock on which the poor soul lies on, dead. You notice that the top face of the rock is mostly red--but a stale red, as if stained of old. "The rock, sadly, is in the real." >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >x floor You see nothing unexpected in that direction. >x rocks You can't see any such thing. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >*Did he jump off?? Is it the girl? [Comment recorded.] >x soul Oh, the poor soul. The teenage human is crouched in a posture of defense, his arms covering his broken head as if trying to escape judgment from above. His body is now just a black burnt lump of coal. Smoke is still steaming from his body. You feel a sense of sympathy as you watch the soul sizzling under the hot, blistering sun. It really did not need to happen this way. But it did. And there was nothing that he could apparently have done about it. The burnt soul lies on the surface of a large rock. "The physical position and the state of his death is real, but the burning is of the symbolic." >*No, because it's "he" [Comment recorded.] >e You can't go that way. > I beg your pardon? >s You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >look At tHe Bottom oF thE Ravine The steep canyon walls echo with post-death, as the noon sun peaks in the Friday sky, heating up the dry river floor and the rocks littered randomly throughout the course of it. Ravens fly overhead, their mournful squawks and cries echoing throughout the canyon. On the large rock is a burnt soul. >xyzzy [That won't work here: this is a modern work of IF.] >put flowers by soul I didn't understand that sentence. >put flowers on rock You set the flowers down on the rock, the flowers now resting in peace along with the soul. The image of the flowers lying next to the dead soul solemnly strokes a sympathetic chord in your heart; as well as one of respect and honor. This boy has gone through much; his mind was never at rest; he never gave himself a break. But now he is resting in peace, having bore all he could have ever bore. Even if he failed outwardly, his heart was there, definitely there. And respect for him shall always be here, even in his death. He is a martyr, and let him serve as an example to rest of us, to never EVER look upon self as the one who is solely responsible. For we bear our burdens together, and outward actions should never be the sole determining factor for human value upon this earth. You look at the soul, thinking about his mother, a tear almost running down your cheek as you sympathize with her. She will be running into constant trouble throughout the rest of her life...all you can do now is hope. Hope for the best. You take one last look at the soul and solemnly raise your head towards the sun, lifting your hands and arms up to heaven. [Hit any key to Exit]