Gilt Lily Studios presents
372 Adventure
Being human totally sucks most of the time. Video games are the only thing that makes life bearable.
A billionaire wrote that.
Prologue
I put down my corn chips and scratched myself.
It's 2044, and I'm playing Oasis, the world's most popular online game. The creators named it after a game in a classic '10s book, Ready Player One. Like the game in the book, you can pilot spaceships and visit planets containing everything imaginable. But the real game within the game is The Hunt. Each month, the game designers choose a themed group of planets and hide a key on each one. Collect all the keys and you win.
The new contest was about to start. I finished my corn chips and put down the bag. As I stared at the screen, the theme of the Hunt faded in to visibility:
372 Pages We'll Never Get Back
What I can only describe as a Cheshire grin spread slowly over my face. Over the past few years, I had listened to every episode of the classic podcast eight times.
I watched every episode of the classic '80s show Mystery Science Theater 3000, including the Netflix revival and the '30s VR series.
I had continued listening to Like Trees Walking, even after Pastor Dave Berge became a cyborg.
I memorized every riff from every movie that Rifftrax ever riffed.
I read all 29 of Conor Lastowka's published novels several times each.
I convinced my drama teacher to let us do "Ken Burns Babyfur" as a class play during my senior year of high school.
I obtained a copy of Animal Crackups and watched it every night until I fell asleep.
I knew that Conor had appeared on Jeopardy, so I watched all 57 seasons of the show.
I memorized every cool, funny, and fun fact on factsking.com.
I watched every 372 Pages documentary.
I even listened to all of the side projects.
The grin remained spread across my face like The Joker in the classic 1989 film Batman, played by Jack Nicholson. I switched my microphone on and said, "N3lson, you ready for this?"
A voice seemed to crackle over my headset. "Lord N3lson to you, crapburger!"
I shook my head, still grinning. I had never met N3lson in real life, but I instinctively knew he looked exactly like his Oasis avatar. "That was completely uncalled for, lamer. And I will expect the same courtesy."
N3lson laughed. Our conversations were always high in entertainment value. "Alright, Odgen. I'll message BaconSnake72 and you get PiFace. Ready the Jackals! Let's do dis!"
We called ourselves The Four Score because there were four of us, and we liked to collect high scores in every game we played. We also called ourselves The Jackals.
"It is on," I whispered. "It is on like Red Dawn."
Ready Player One
You land your spaceship (an exact replica of The Satellite of Love named The Nerdgasm) on the surface of Planet OASIS. As you step through the hatch and onto the surface, you see a crowd of '80s people dressed in '80s clothes doing '80s things. You wonder if they're players or NPCs, but you're not sure and you don't really care. You push past them, but not before pulling off several '80s dance moves. You can do literally anything in this virtual world, so you immediately enter the squat building nearby, go down a flight of stairs, push open a door and enter...Aech's Basement! The coolest chat room anyone has ever seen. You feel like a flibbertigibbet as you survey the room and try to decide where the key could be hidden.
I-r0k is leaning against a shelf full of vintage role-playing game supplements. On the far wall, Aech is leaning against a closet door. Art3mis is leaning back on a couch in the center of the room, watching TV.
I-r0k is browsing IMDb, trying to memorize actors from every John Hughes movie. He ignores you as you walk over to the stack of books and grab the Tomb of Horrors supplement, a dark web covered in spiders featured prominently on the cover. As you begin flipping pages, an object falls out of the book and into the shag carpet. You bend down and pick it up.
Gain the Classic '80s Key!
Aech (pronounced "H") shimmers transparently as you approach, and you tumble to the fact that he's only present via chat link. You open the closet and find stacks upon stacks of weird tinned fish. On top of one stack, you find a Leopardon action figure. You shout its name: "Leopardon!"
Gain 10 points!
All you find between the couch cushions is a couple bowls worth of stale Capt'n Crunch and the TV remote. You settle down onto the firm couch and change the channel. Art3mis glares at you through several commercials advertising goods and workers, after which Family Ties starts. You tumble to the fact that you are watching Family Ties inside a text adventure game and instantly become depressed.
Lose 1 life point!
Armada
You arrive on Planet Moon Base, which looks exactly like the moon. You dock with the moon base and leave your ship, just like Major Bill Moore in the classic sci-fi film Project Moon Base (which was funded by the government as anti-alien propaganda). The door slides open, and after a pregnant pause you step onto the base. You glance around the structure and feel your face forming a goofy grin.
You see Zack Lightman's parents; his insanely hot mom is covering her mouth with her very long fingers as she chuckles at a joke from her husband. You entered in the middle of the conversation, but you heard the punchline, "You're welcome." The two Mikes are in the corner watching Brady Bunch reruns. Lex is using a QComm; she's probably hacking but there's no way to know for sure. Major Graham Fogg and Major Shin are playing a song from the Raid the Arcade mixtape on their musical instruments to the delight of Atomic Mom, Wodie, Crazy G, and Milo.
You start walking toward The Bishop of Battle when The Emissary appears out of nowhere. The many-sided shape (either an icosohedron or a dodecahedron) quickly explains the history of the video game industry, how it was secretly funded by the Europeans, and how it would lead to the complete happiness of the human race. (Fun fact: the Emissary spoke with the voice of Doodles Weaver, who starred as "Giant Hobo" in an episode of the classic 1968 TV show Land of the Giants.) With a moonquake and the sound, "la loo la bah bah", it instantly disappears.
You stop your head from nodding and look down at your hand. The Emissary has given you a key.
Gain the Yoda Kush Key!
You know the military laid in a bunch of food somewhere on the base and go searching for it. After a minute, you find the pantry and enter the pantry.
As you pass your eyes over the crates of junk food, you hear someone chuckle and turn. General Lightman says, "Care for some snackage? You're a Lucky Charms man, aren't you? Dry with no—"
"I actually prefer Count Chocula," you interrupt. The general's face turns red with genuine embarassment. He scowls, gives a sarcastic two thumbs up, turns, and marches out of the room.
You mutter, "Loser sewage worker," then turn back to the crates. As you do, you spot a miniature replica of a Glaive fighter out of the corner of your eye. You yell, "Glaive!"
Gain 10 points!
Your goofy grin widens as you start walking across the room. But before you've taken a half dozen steps, the hatch starts vibrating. You tumble to that someone is knocking on the front door.
As everyone watches silently, you swing the door open. Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Bill Nye, and Stephen Hawking enter the room! A cheer slowly builds as they survey the room before turning to address the crowd.
"I have decided that the moon would be the ideal place to start a new society," intones Neil DeGrasse Tyson. "A society called...Rationalia!"
Everyone nods, except for Stephen Hawking. You nod, not in agreement, but to show you understand the reference.
Tyson continues speaking. It's a long speech, like Matt Damon's in the 1997 classic Good Will Hunting, and extremely annoying, like Matt Damon in the 1997 classic Good Will Hunting.
Lose 1 life point!
Eye of Argon
-1-
You land your space oval on the dust racked sward and tounce to the ground, thews quivering. The steel shod blade shines dully as light bearing shafts from the golden orb coruscate upon it. Turning east, you heav an apiesed grunt, and lope that way to the nearest hostelry.
Drunken thieves teem around complying wenches, and cuthroats proliferate, around faithless concubines.
You feel a pleas ant emotion as the warm air quickens through your g-string.
-2-
You approach the bar and lift a leather flask, mead swilling down your protuberating lips.
-2½-
You awake from your drunkeness in a stygmatic oubliette unable to tell if you have been imprisoned in the vault of misery ten minutes or ten years, but estimating three days.
Two temple shamen approach the postern of the pit. The acolytes of Argon blink their frog like eyes, their greasy lips pulled back into slobbering grins exposing black molars.
Thw first Priest throws down a rope. "Climb out of your pit, slut. Your presence is requested in another far deeper hell hole." Agfnd blows fetid breath from his greasy arc and waves his projecting ape like arms, responding "Before me sirrah! Before me as always! HA, HA HA, HAAAA!"
You reach the crest of the trench just as a brown hided rat the size of a weiner dog plummets out of the caligonous dusk nudging the acolyte into the pit. You take the opportunity to kick the lingerieng priest squarely, between the two testicles causing him to grab his urinary gland in irritation. His fetid ulations echo as he grovels in dejected misery. You hoist his mallet with engroved hand grip and escpate to the open air.
-3-
Knowing where your steps are leading, you meander aimlessly. On a hand hewn altar you find the scozscict bauble...The eye of argon! As you raise the orb heaven ward it dribbles to the turf, into a slimy red ooze. "Oh! Kalla!" you whisper whimsicoracally.
The lost ending
The ooze becomes a blotch, blotching things up. The blotch succors you tumble to the grim mystery of life and becomes the likeness of a key.
Long leave the king !!!!
winner of the Jay T. Rikosh Key for excellence!
-1½-
You approach the trim yound wench crouching over the cruet of cheap wine.
"Would thou like a drink",questions the female? Her huge outcropping busts.
You smother her lips with the coarsing protrusions of your reeking maw. Her stringy hair and lithe opaque nose congeal the atmosture between you.
"You make love well wench," You admit releasing her pale red lips. "Iyck!! Thou also cosset well" husks the femme! "Thou hast need to occupy your time" she queries, bustily?
"What are you called by female?" you reply. "Janice the Muppet" she casts her blue ovals downward and ceases conversation, an irritating habit in which she has gained proficiency.
You get her number.
Gain 10 points!
-1½-
You stride toward the nearest soldier-at-arms and flex your bronzedhide, minacously.
"Relocate yourself, slut," you bellow barbarously, and with an ungulous grunt as you heft your broad sword aloft.
The soldiers face of ashen red, turned at the sight of the enthused barbarian confornting him. He lifts his sword to meet the attack but, meets the fleeting stead of death.
His head loped off, the segregated oval plummets to the ground, the stygian life fluid escaping from his gorge.
As the mortified solider gropes through the shadowed hell-pits of the Grim Reaper, your hair prickles yawkishly. Turning you become enclaved by the comrades of the sprawed warmonger.
"Mrifk!" You dicker with the notion that you are in jeapardy as a cutlass sheathes into your entrails.
Lose 1 life point!
TekWar
You arrive at Planet Greater Los Angeles. You set down on the clearplas dock and wait forty-six minutes to be cleared by the port authority. Disembarking, you step onto a moving walkway with waist-high plasguardrails. The walkway moves you past a trim young man holding the arm of a plump woman.
"Don't get too close to the edge, ma." The boy frowns. "That sure isn't," he complains, "a good idea with your vertigo."
"Gloriosky, Leroy, stop worrying."
After thirty-two seconds, the walkway ends. You know the best way to find the key here: you need to set up a series of meetings.
You start to hail an aircab and climb into the back. The copper-colored robot driver drives in silence. At your destination you pay and get out. The metal man tips his sombrero, adjusts his multicolored serape, and drives off whistling "La Bamba".
You commence climbing up the steps to the Cosmos Detective Agency office. Once inside, you find Gomez's office.
"This is, amigo, a pleasure," Gomez grins, his curly black hair looking especially lively. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to meet with Beth Kittredge."
Gomez pauses for four seconds, studying his booted feet, then looks up, his hair seeming to bounce. "Of course I can arrange it. My list of contacts has, if anything, ripened. But are you sure this idea is bueno, old boy?"
You shrug one shoulder. "I only know it's what I have to do."
The vidscreen takes thirty-three seconds to turn on, then freezes for another fifty-one seconds after you dial the number. The image of a woman appears in the exact center of the screen. It's Beth Kittredge.
But it isn't Beth Kittredge. The simulacrum brushes at her hair.
"Beth..."
"I am, of course, an andy replica of Beth Kittredge," Beth says. She's a pretty young woman, if you like them on the slender side.
"Remind me not to fondle you," you murmur under your breath. "Beth...I need to meet with Sonny Hokori."
The slim girl gives her head a negative shake. "Not a good idea."
You raise a hand, as if you could reach out and touch her fakesilk sweatertunic. "Beth...it's important."
Beth frowns but seems to relent. "Have you spoken with Bennet Sands?"
You shake your head. After eight minutes of searching, she gives you the address of the Acapulco Ritz.
You take a land cab. Entering the hotel, you start making your way toward the lucite roulette tables. "Sonny Hokori," you accuse a plump, smiling Japanese. "What's a small time Tek dealer doing—"
A ninja leaps out from behind a potted palm tree and slices Hokori in half with a plasteel katanablade. Removing her mask, the real Beth Kittredge presses something into your hand and sprints away. It's a key.
Gain the PlasKey!
You start toward the nearest skybus station. Climbing aboard the plasbottom tourist skybus, you take a seat near the window and watch a flock of sooty seagulls flit through the sunbright sky.
You alight when the skybus stops in front of Power Chicken, a popular local rooster fightarena. You purchase a ticket, buy a box of Sands Biotech crackers, and commence climbing the stairs to the top of the amphitheatre. Reaching the top row of restbenches, you sit down next to a sweating fat man devouring a tray of nachos.
"Globo," you state. Globo mops at the beads of perspiration covering his face and starts on a Monsanto-Frito pie.
"Si," he whispers around a mouthful of chili, cheese, and soycorn chips.
"I need to meet with Bennet Sands. That pale puffy SOB might be the key to this whole matter."
Turning, slowly, the fat Globo finally meets your eyes, his own eyes bugging out almost to their limits. "If I rat on Sands, Sonny Hokori will make sure I never taste another enchilada." He loosens his collar, then moves his hands to his lap, temporarily forming a lump of fists before picking up a corn dog dipped in guacamole. "I could tell you where Winterguild can be found. Or set up a meeting with Warbride and Rafe Vargas."
The bulbs of light at the top of the stadium flicker. You sigh. "Maybe I should just forget the whole thing and find a Tek dealer," you say to yourself out loud. "How much do they charge for the nachos?"
Globo shrugs one corpulent shoulder, his plascotton shirt dripping with excreted moisture. "Damn close to $35."
You make your way down to the concession stands, getting in line behind a husky woman and a skinny boy of seventeen.
"Do you want popcorn, Ogden?"
"I told you, maw. Inkblack licorice and a grape beer."
You buy the plazbox of nachos. They're pretty good.
Gain 10 points!
You start toward the nearest sky cruiser rental.
"All we've got today is airvans, bud," says the bald employee, rubbing his smooth pate.
You fly to a popular local bar, Tequila Mockingbird. You find a booth and wait for thirty-seven minutes before a metal man made of chrome enters. He squeezes in to the seat across your table and eyes you steadily, steepling his chrome fingers under his chrome nose.
"Winger, I need to set up a meeting with Warbride."
He closes his silvery eyelids, then opens them. "I can, of course, arrange it. You should be aware that she is protecting herself with chimpanzee androids these days." He makes his laughing sound.
You stare quizzically at the chrome Winger as he prints out Warbride's information from the printer in his hand in exactly nineteen seconds.
The fuzzy sky is full of motion as you park your airvan on the side of the road. You start walking toward the platform where Warbride is giving her rally. She is surrounded by baskets of produce; you tumble to that it's for propaganda.
"Hey, pal!" You turn and see Ogden Swires hurrying toward you. He falls in step as you continue toward the platform. "I'm writing a story about Warbride's place in worldwide business circles. You here to see Warbride or Rafe Vargas?"
"I have business with the female android," you explain, pointing your thumb toward the platform.
"Actually, Warbride is a cyborg. An android is a machine that looks like a man, like Winger. A cyborg is a person, a person that has had machine parts attached to their body."
Warbride pounds a flesh fist into her metal hand to emphasize a rhetorical point. You proceed to the back of the platform and run into one of Warbride's android chimpanzee guards.
"Password?" he growls.
Glancing at the printout, you reply, "Piranha Piranha," and push past the simian, leaving Swires behind.
Reaching the top of the platform, you advance to Warbride. Assorted sounds of surprise and outrage emanate from the crowd as you begin a conversation with the half mech.
"Are you in cahoots with Bennet Sands, Sonny Hokori, or both?"
Warbride stares at you for a full minute, then gestures to one of her guards. The silver-plated beast clangs toward you.
You look around and gesture weakly at the nearest bushel of fruit. "Banana?" you offer.
He places his metal hand on your shoulder. "Never touch the stuff," said the robot chimp disdainfully.
Lose 1 life point!
The Forensic Certified Public Accountant and the Cremated 64-SQUARES Financial Statements
The 64-SQUARES skyscraper was blown to rubbish by the "cat burglar terrorist". It is not nice but it happened. But this 64-SQUARES skyscraper is a different skyscraper, a skyscraper that is untouched by four explosive ropes, or any other explosives. This 64-SQUARES skyscraper is in a video game. Video games, believe it or not, allow you to pretend that something is happening that did not really happen in real life. "Isn't technology great or what?"
Because of the attack by the "cat burglar terrorist", every 64-SQUARES employee will never be the same again. But with the power of video games, they can be the same again.
The board is set up for another case. This case is called The Forensic Certified Public Accountant and the Stolen or Misplaced "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga Pencil.
Veronica Jackson, believe it or not, has some ideas about the possible location of the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil. When she worked for the President of the United States as one of his secretaries, she noticed that the Secretary of Commerce would sometimes put a pencil behind her ear and forget all about it. The Secretary of Health and Human Services tried to warm the Secretary of Commerce that she could contract lead poisoning, but the Secretary of Commerce would only joke about the matter.
Veronica Jackson sets up an appointment with Jack Starr, the CEO or Chief Executive Officer of 64-SQUARES, to determine if he has the pencil behind his ear. When I say that Veronica Jackson set up an appointment, it really is true.
Sheriff Jack Starr, the CEO or Chief Executive Officer of 64-SQUARES, sent his powerful rësumë out after the 64-SQUARES skyscraper was reduced by a criminal, in this case the "cat burglar terrorist". But in a video game, all dreams are true, and Jack Starr is still the CEO of 64-SQUARES.
Sheriff Jack Starr greets you with his catchphrase, "Who is the Sheriff of 64-SQUARES?" In this video game, he has a cowboy hat on, a suit, cowboy boots, and spurs on his boots. This is the same as real life. There is one difference from real life: he also has a star with "Sheriff Starr" printed on it. Wow. That is so great.
Today is Tuesday. Veronica Jackson set up this appointment with Sheriff Jack Starr, during the second of three breaks in his 2-hour meeting. A meeting inside a meeting? It is hard to believe, but it turns out to be true.
"Sheriff Jack Starr, please check your ears for the missing 'Lucky' Dixon Ticonderoga pencil."
Sheriff Jack Starr puts his left hand on his left ear. He is left-handed, so it is a good first ear to check. Then, he puts his right hand on his right ear. Eureka! The "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil!
Sheriff Jack Starr, CEO or Chief Executive Officer of 64-SQUARES, put the pencil on his right ear and then forgot. Sheriff Jack Starr is six feet and three inches tall, so no one noticed the pencil on his ear.
Sheriff Jack Starr hands you the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil, a key from his pocket, and a hearty handshake.
This all could have been avoided if Belle Excel, the Executive Secretary of 64-SQUARES, had not left the pencil on Jack Starr's desk.
Another case solved till the next case that is unsolved. My team and their always improving technology will be ready. We will pass the test with a passing grade.
Gain the 64-SQUARES Chess Museum Key!
Dena Hope is working hard to hack Fort Knox. It is almost lunch time, but she is allowed to take an extra break to help you find information about the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil.
Dena Hope hacks into the 64-SQUARES files to get a blueprint of the 64-SQUARES skyscraper. It could be the key to finding the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil.
Of course the first two floors are where the chess museum is. That is knowledge known to the public.
The third floor is where 64-SQUARES stores the secure data.
The fourth floor is for inventions, like cars that can fly and MyPillow.
The fifth floor is for private space plans.
The sixth floor is for recipes for top-secret foods.
The seventh floor is for computer programs, like Facebook and ChristianMingle.com.
The eighth floor is storage for high technology, like drones to take pictures and cameras to take pictures, or ear hearing pieces.
The ninth floor is for appraised bones such as dinosaurs.
The tenth floor is for the offices of the human calculators, like Sue Christmas.
The eleventh floor is for Xerox machines.
The twelfth floor is for all quilting supplies.
The thirteenth floor is for the Christian chapel. Some people consider thirteen to be an unlucky number, but the architect of the 64-SQUARES skyscraper, Rob Girder, is a Christian and does not believe in unlucky numbers. You will smile when I tell you that Rob Girder designed the thirteenth floor to be a Christian chapel. It is not a problem because there is no such thing as unlucky numbers.
The fourteenth floor is rented by The Dutchman Insurance, LLC.
The fifteenth through seventeenth floors are a penthouse suite owned by the Battletoads.
The eighteenth floor is Ken Beatrice's office.
The nineteenth floor is an Arby's.
The twentieth floor is bathrooms without cameras.
The twenty-first floor is where 64-SQUARES stores the human-size chess board on the days it is not used.
I think you have the picture in your mind. It is as fun to look at the blueprints as it is to sneak checkers into a chess museum, but it does not tell you the location of the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil. But Dena Hope teaches you a few hacking tricks, so was it worth it? Yes. Absolutely.
Gain 10 points!
Drew Samson is the private investigator on the team. Drew Samson has bugged every office in the 64-SQUARES skyscraper. This will come in handy for finding if anyone has information about the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil.
Drew Samson is a sad man. Drew Samson has a wife, Jill Samson, but she now lives with her mother, Mabel Manatee. Jill Samson thinks that Drew Samson spends too much time on the weekends listening to recordings from his office bugs. It is good that Drew Samson has this job so that he can pay for his children to do the activities, but lately he has not had time to go see his children do the activities. Drew Samson thinks that after he finds the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil he will take some time off from work and everything will be better.
Drew Samson listens to all of the 64-SQUARES bugs and hears that the international jewel thief and motivational calendar writer, Ruby Tuesday, may have information about the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil. Ruby Tuesday will be in court the same day as Clef Treble, who is guilty of terrorism of a building, in this "case", the 64-SQUARES skyscraper, and guilty of terrorism against the whole world. Well, well, well.
Ruby Tuesday is waiting in line for her turn while Clef Treble is on trial. Judge Moses Gavel is sick today, so his brother, Judge Aaron Gavel, who also went to judge school, is in charge. He will decide if 64-SQUARES can rebuild their skyscraper after it tumbled to the ground.
Judge Aaron Gavel bangs his hammer-thing for order, order in the court. You are sitting in the court next to Drew Samson, Chuck Mac, "Spider" Webb, "Davy" Bond, "Super" Vision, and Quick Swift. "Spider" Webb tells a joke to "Davy" Bond, and Judge Aaron Gavel issues him a firm settle down.
Judge Aaron Gavel asks Clef Treble to swear to make no "material misstatements" on a stack of Bibles. Instead, Clef Treble pushes the stack of Bibles over and pulls a gun out of his pocket! Before he can threaten the court, Clef Treble receives a bullet wound in his right shoulder. Clef Treble falls to the ground, spurting blood from his shoulder wound and vomiting blood from his internal bleeding.
You turn and see Quick Swift standing up with a smoking gun in his hand. "Quick is not short for Quicken or Quickbooks," says Quick Swift. "It is short for Quickdraw."
That is so cool. That is so realistic.
But while the court was distracted, Ruby Tuesday vanished without a trace. The trail of the "Lucky" Dixon Ticonderoga pencil is cold.
Lose 1 life point!
Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff
You set down your spaceship on the surface of the spherical slum, where sad and sorry sheep sleep and susurrate in cyclical sequence.
You decide to spend as little time as possible here.
You landed near Bob Honey's house. After disembarking, you start walking in the opposite direction.
As you move out of the atmosphere, you hear the voice of James Ackerman say: "The only way to win is not to play." A key materializes on your dashboard.
Gain the Pappy Pariah Key!
You sit and seal your senses from your surroundings, humming "La Marseillaise". Unobserved, the wind blows by a newspaper with the headline, "THIS JUST IN: IN JUST US!"
Momentarily, you metastasize your motive force toward the mechanism of movement made material by the maneuvers of the maginative magic magicians of mirth. En route you encounter...
Nah, not doing this. You see a beautiful rainbow. And children playing with puppies. And homemade pie.
Gain 10 points! Let's get out of here.
Bob Honey materializes and maliciously mashes your melon with his mallet.
Lose 1 life point! But it was painless.
The Mister
You land your ship on Planet Albania next to Trevelyan House.
You enter reluctantly.
You can at least avoid the bedroom.
You enter the ballroom, which contains a piano, a drum set, three chandeliers, and a portrait of Beau Brummel.
Alessia is also in the room, wearing a housecoat and standing frozen at the business end of the piano.
She looks up at you shyly, biting her top lip and playing with her hair.
"Zot! I—I was just dusting the piano, not examining a score by my favorite composer, Maxim."
"Okay...hey, have you come across any keys while you were cleaning?"
Alessia shakes her head in an Albanian "yes".
"I found this while I was in the trunk earlier."
She presses a key into your hand, then grabs your bicep.
"I need to get back to my ship."
You run out of the room, leaving Alessia to her thoughts.
I saw many ships when I went to the sea. The sea, the sea!
I hope he will be safe. The sea is rough. Too rough.
Does he like me? Could any man love a sack, made to endure?
Gain the Lord Trevethick Key!
You enter the kitchen and notice it has two stoves and two refrigerators.
You cross the room and open the second refrigerator. You ignore the prune stew and enticing McDonald's food, focusing on the banoffee pie. Was that banana and toffee or banana and coffee?
As you ponder, Caroline staggers in, lipstick on her teeth and a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey in her hand.
"What are you doing here?" she hisses, utterly stocious.
God, she's so annoying.
"Are you taking our food?" she screeches with contempt. "That nosh belongs to Lord Trevethick!" She spits out every word.
Your eyes dart back and forth between her and the open fridge.
"I'll just take...this Caro Nut Pie!" you blurt, grabbing the pie and escaping.
Gain 10 points!
You open the closet and see the Henry Hoover vaccuum smiling up at you.
You smile back.
You also see what look like pikes leaning against the wall. You reach for one, but are felled by something heavy and metallic from behind.
Fading quickly into unconsciousness, you tumble to a young woman clutching a bucket and standing over you. She leans down and places her lips next to your ear.
"Haaalberrrdsss..." Bleriana whispers. "They are halberdssssss..."
Lose 1 life point!
Trucking through Time
You bring your ship down onto Planet Wyoming Territory, near one of the many truck stops. Unfortunately, you have to park across the street from the truck stop because there is no room anywhere else because of all the other spaceships.
You cross the street and push the door open. The truck stop restaurant is at the back of the truck stop, so you start walking past the rows of bungie cords, fuzzies, binoculars, eye patches, jars of honey, bottles of Blue Dawn dishwashing liquid, pugil sticks, HotSprings bottled water, and coolers filled with knick knacks.
You make your way to an empty table, the only table in the place not occupied by real cowboys with real cowboy hats. As the waitress approaches, you turn your attention to the weatherman on the Weather Channel on the television; apparently thundersnow is expected the next day.
"Partner, I sure do like this tender meat. I would not have believed that I could enjoy any meat as much as I have this," yells a man at an adjacent table as he removes his hat.
"Would you like to order, hon, or do you need to see a menu?" asks the waitress.
"Well, it's mighty simple. Just take West Spruce Street to Colorado Street, then turn left onto East Cedar Street. That will get you to I-80 East, which connects to US-287 South, right onto North Shields Street, left onto Laporte Avenue, and right onto Sherwood Street. Piece of cake, partner," says the waitress as she gestures west, left, south, right, left, then right with her hands.
You follow her directions for seven days and arrive at Buffalo Gardens, which is like Jurassic Park for buffalo. The folksy robot at the gate hands you a key.
Gain the Damn It Boy Key!
"Ma'am, are you aware of the historical use of torture poles in this area?"
The waitress grasps her chest.
"The Indian used them for torture. Sometimes castration, which was a form of torture. In their mind and beliefs, it was also a good spot to get engaged. You can't argue the point. We're not sure in what time period the Indian used this device; probably after Wyoming became a territory but before the US Census Bureau was formed."
The waitress takes your words as a danger sign and leaves the table.
You also decide to leave. On your way out, a pay phone starts ringing. You pick up the phone and listen. It seems that your son has a new girlfriend, who has the aspect of an Indian.
You are so excited, you purchase an extra tarp.
Gain 10 points!
You get the menu and start looking for the tender meat section, but when you arrive at the back of the menu you receive a treat. All menus in Wyoming have stories about battle or hardship situations on the back. This menu tells about a bad day for the home team: two strangers visited the area in olden times and were caught in the middle of a bloody battle between the Indian and the white man. There were no survivors.
Every horrible thought comes into your mind.
Lose 1 life point!
The Lair of the White Worm
You land your ship on Planet Diana's Grove. An old man greets you and wrings your hand heartily as you disembark.
"My boy, I have so been looking forward to seeing you. I have been dreaming of this happiness for thousands of miles!"
"And I, ever since I left my horse farm with over a thousand nearly-all-good horses, have been unable to sleep with anticipation!" you reply.
"I have the whole day planned," continues the old man. "We shall start with a silent breakfast, or perhaps an early cup of tea amplified to the dimensions of a possible breakfast, followed by a visit to Doom Tower. Then, as President of the Mercian Archaeological Society, I must take you to the giant snake mounds. We shall, of course, wait until we are alone to discuss my theories on the matter over walnuts and wine—although perhaps it would be best to sleep on it, whoever is the first to arise to sit watching the other sleep—and discuss further plans. I hope that we may then discuss British property law—"
"I should like," you interrupt, "nothing better, but I am afraid I have urgent business. I must see a small animal merchant at once."
When Ross hears your request, he asks, "Do you want something special, or will an ordinary mongoose do?"
"I am fond of observing that special situations call for special mongooses. Or possibly mongeese, as the case may be."
Ross smiles and puts a long finger against his nose. He retreats to a back room before returning with three mongoose boxes, placing them on the counter and opening each in turn.
The first mongoose has thick black hair and black eyes impregnated with power.
The second mongoose is long, flexible, and white.
The third mongoose is enormous and wears a collar with a long leash attached.
You carry off the white mongoose, thinking of nothing but worm taxonomy and the well-known legend of the Worm of Lambton.
As you hurry down the path through vast fens and quags, you hear snake charmer music coming out of a deep hole.
You whisper to yourself, "I'm no Obi-man, but I know deep holes mean giant snakes." You edge to the edge of the hole and look down.
At the bottom of the hole is a woman, or a giant white snake—it is impossible to tell which—with the strength and impregnability of a diplodocus. The antedivulian monster sways back and forth and beckons, inviting you to her turf. You accept, making it your turf!
You drop the mongoose box and sprint back to town, then return to the hole with a sack of fine sea-sand, a Kelvin sounding apparatus, and a sufficient length of fine piano wire.
You pour the sand down the hole; it trickles down the zone of slipperiness onto the Worm. You keep pouring until the only remaining sign of the antidiluvian monster is a dim green light.
Physically "dog tired", you decide you had better go to bed. Under your pillow you find a key.
Gain the Laidly Key of Spindleston Heugh!
You carry off the black mongoose in its box. Walking briskly, you crack open the box and find the creature staring at you with black, piercing eyes that are partly hypnotic, partly mesmeric. Oblivious to your surroundings, you slam into a well-hung door and fall to the ground unconscious.
You awake in a bed, feeling like a hound's eye at rest. You suffered quite the head injury; it would have cost some—probably all—their lives in the Southern States of America. But to soften the blow, it appears that some well-wishers have left you with gifts: an earthen teapot, a slop basin, a beat-up Snakes and Ladders game, and a tank of fish born to destroy, to wound, to torture.
Gain 10 points!
You stagger off under the weight of the immense mongoose. The immense, kite-shaped, mongoose. As you pass Doom Tower, a giant kite shaped like a hawk suddenly appears in the sky. Every animal goes silent! A universal depression falls upon all men! The annual migration of African pigeons begins! Runners and statues of Egyptian gods are sent up the kite, but all efforts are unavailing.
Lose 1 life point!
Shadow Moon
Prologue
In Andowyne, on the outer skirt of Tir Asleen, sits a small inn, The Bushel and Peck. Inside, a jumble of men bump bellies as they shove their ways from one side of the crowded room to the other.
Mulroon, bald of head, sour of face, with chin doubled and back forested with hair, humps his way through the multitude. Squeezing through to a bit of air, he plops down on a stool, settling at a table filled with plates, bowls, and drinking vessels, and mops his cranial promontory with a kerchief.
"Slow day," cackles Old Spanio Dunguay, drawing on his pipe. "Grouse Shoeshiner and Horn Babysitter took their mugs and went home."
Mulroon glares and waves over a trim young wench. "Beer," he begins. "Six meat sandwich: corned beef, head cheese, pimento loaf, liverwurst, tongue, and Nockmaar blood sausage. Farmer cheese. Two slices of Barmbrack, thick, black mustard, slathered on. Think you can handle that?"
The serving girl rolls her eyes and starts shoving a path back to the kitchen.
Old Spanio Dunguay lifts half a meat pie in salute, cramming it into his mouth while performing the same ceremony with his tankard, then sloppily quaffing and spilling a good portion to the floor, where it joins the detritus of the evening's meal.
"Oy!" grumbles the floor. "What is this, the Poha Lands? Pig."
Mulroon observes Old Spanio Dunguay, the dishes, and the food—eaten and uneaten—and comments, "I find your stack of plates...disturbing."
Chapter 1
"Don't try it, magus! I have the high ground!" you yell. Your modest enchantment poleaxes the minor glamor like a sledgehammer back toward the magus and turns her into a key.
Gain the Nelwyn Key!
You stand motionless, letting your passive charm ward off her minor glamor.
"I don't—I don't believe it," whispers the magus.
"That is why you fail," you reply.
The two brownies nod to each other, impressed by your great wit.
Gain 10 points!
"I have a bad feeling about this," you say to your equine companion. The minor glamor passes through your small dismissal, creating streamers of raw flame which coruscate over an acorn.
Lose 1 life point!
Final Chapter
You are transported instantly to an exact replica of the Sisyphus Brewing taproom. Behind you, someone coughs politely.
Turning, you see a basically eclectic collection of characters.
Wade Watts and Zack Lightman are playing video games on handheld video game rigs.
Grignr is standing at the bar, pounding his tankard and yelling for an innkeeper.
Jake Cardigan is flipping through a plaspaper faxzine and talking to himself out loud.
Titus Uno, Certified Public Accountant, Forensic Certified Public Accountant, and Global Chartered Management Accountant, is cutting up a stack of Oscar Mayer deli turkey with a knife and fork and staring at you with a grin.
Bob Honey is drinking tequila straight from a bottle and watching Titus Uno.
Maxim Trevelyan is pouring beer deftly into a glass (this guy really is a lord!).
Chad and Dale, both dressed in cowboy boots, used cowboy hats, and t-shirts with the phrase "Different, But Not Indifferent", are checking the backs of all the menus.
Sir Nathaniel is talking to Wade and Zack about worm metabolism, and being ignored.
Thorn Drumheller is picking up sugar cubes, seemingly at random, and stacking them.
You point your blaster at Wade Watts and press the trigger. What can only be described as the opposite of a grin spreads over his face. "I guess I should have joined over chat link," he whispers.
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Zack Lightman and press the trigger. His face contorts into a mask of pain. "When I'm gone," he whispers, "Name my high school gym after me."
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Grignr and press the trigger. The Ecordian drops his meticulously sharpened pelvis bone a crust of foam driping from his lips. "I'll teach those sluts the meaning of humility" grunts the spavined barbarian as he sloozes into a pool of blood and entrails.Al-encompassing mother time slows as his ifurbished emerald orbs close. Long leave the king !!!!
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Jake Cardigan and press the trigger.
Jake, aka Jonathan, aka Juanito, aka The Android lies still. "I'm not certain that you haven't decided I'm not as crooked as everyone else thinks I am," he whispers.
Then he dies.
"MESS. YOU MADE A MESS." Jake removes his Tek headset as a chill metal hand slides under his buttocks.
"How long was I in," he muses out loud to himself. "Long enough to take advantage, certainly, of the several discreet openings."
"STILL," says the chrome-covered cleaning bot, "IT'S ONE HELLUVA RIG."
You point your blaster at Titus Uno. Titus Uno opens his mouth.
"I, Titus Uno, Certified Public Acc—"
You press the trigger. The shot misses so everyone goes home. Ha ha just kidding. Your blast catches Titus Uno in the neck. He falls to the ground, still grinning.
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Titus Uno. Titus Uno lifts a hand and opens his mouth.
"I, Titus Uno—"
The first shot slams into his shoulder. He takes a step toward you. "Certified Public Accountant—"
The second shot hits his thigh, dropping him to his knees. "Forensic Certified Public Accountant—"
The third shot hits him square in the chest. Titus Uno collapses, gasping.
"And Global Chartered Management Accountant." Titus Uno smiles. Then Titus Uno closes his eyes for the final time.
You point your blaster at Bob Honey and press the trigger. He crumples to the floor and dies a horrible, lingering, painful death.
You grip your blaster with both hands and empty every shot you have into Bob Honey, continuing to press the trigger long after you are out of ammunition. Every character from every game, comic, cartoon, TV show, movie, and book reality come in with everything to give you a high five!
Then Bob Honey dies.
You win.
You point your blaster at Maxim and press the trigger.
The lord-cum-DJ-cum-composer-cum-photographer-cum-model collapses.
The blast has burnt away most of his shirt and all of his trousers. Maxim cracks one eye open and glances down at his exfoliated chest and tightening groin.
S%£@.
He looks up at you. "I hope to God my bank balance is bigger than yours," he chokes out.
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Chad and Dale and press the trigger. Both members of the most unlikely team you can imagine fall to the ground.
"Well partner, I guess this is the end of the road," observes Chad.
"I was thinking the same thing, partner. I guess we know who the real savage is."
"That's a good statement of reasoning. Damn it boy, we sure did make good though. Remember the time the big cat jumped on your back? I stabbed him with a bowie knife taped to a pole."
"I remember it well, Fast Cat. Do you remember that time I licked Collins?"
"I do, Big Bear. What a licking. It's a shame we don't have a Qualcomm; we could have given your Miss Marie one last call."
"I agree, Chad. We could have also used it to send a message to the War Department, Congress, and the current president and vice president, Cory Doctorow and Wil Wheaton."
"Dale?"
"Yes, partner?"
"When we die, do you think God will take us to The Happy Hunting Grounds, where the deer and the antelope play?"
"Damn it, boy," says Dale, "It's the only possible conclusion. I think we've earned it, partner."
Then they both give up the ghost.
You point your blaster at Sir Nathaniel and press the trigger. He takes the shot in the left shoulder and slumps to the ground.
"Enough discussion for one night, lads," he remarks. "Perhaps we had better sleep and continue our discussion in the morning."
Then he dies.
You point your blaster at Thorn Drumheller and press the trigger. The two brownies jump in front of Thorn and are obliterated. The blast passes easily through their bodies and hits Thorn in his heart, stopping the Nelwyn as he attempted to skibble crablike—an oblique scuttling reminiscent of the movement of certain desert serpents.
"I have to go," says Willow.
Then he dies.
Each man tries to avoid his doom.
Wade Watts moves choppily. Must be lag. *blam*
Zack Lightman gets wildly mad and steps toward you, fists clenched. *blam*
Grignr hefts his sword and opens his mouth to yell. *blam*
Jake Cardigan runs forward, hands together for a double-fist punch. *blam*
Titus Uno holds up a hand. "I, Titus Uno, Certified—" *blam*
Bob Honey. *blam*
Maxim tries to run and drunkenly trips over a bar stool. *blam*
Chad and Dale shake their heads at all the violence. *blam*
Sir Nathaniel lies down and pretends to be asleep. *blam*
Thorn Drumheller tries to melt into the floor. *blam*
Catharsis spreads to every fiber of your being. The demons are gone.
Score:
Hint #1: There are four special endings.
Hint #2: You can shoot the same person multiple times.
Hint #3: Who deserves to be shot the most?
Game over. You go back to level 1 and lose all your items.
You are cantering your horse, {horse}, down the road toward the city of {location1}. The two brownies travelling with you, Bing and Crosby, are sitting on your shoulders and bickering.
Your {sight} alerts you to a small {race} wearing a {material} {clothingArticle} and standing in the wayside ahead, a rarity in these parts.
"Hello there!" he hails you, waving his arm with asperity. "Good sir, could yer take a poor {race} as fer as {location2}? It is a mere league down der road, but I aspire to avoid the Mad Dogs and their gobbling snarls." The {race} folk are a small people, basically {animal1} men, with furry {bodyParts}.
You give him a tigerish smile and the little {race} swings up onto your steed with the same disconcertingly boneless grace as a swan. "I am {person}," the {race} says in introduction.
With a start, your horse starts forward again, picking up the pace with celerity. You come to a small {valley}, bisected by a modest {river}. To the {cardinalDirection}, a ridge of escarpments rises, the foreslopes sweatered by evergreen trees filled to bursting with foliage, birds, and birds' nests, the nests themselves glutted with bird eggs, chipmunks, and little shiny things carried hence by crows and mockingbirds, the former obsessed with collecting baubles, the latter preferring trinkets.
You cross the small {river}, known to the local inhabitants as the {location3} River, the task made leisurely due to abundant silting.
You come to {location2} and slow {horse} to a walk as you enter the town square. It is a town square unlike any other, filled with {animal2}s dancing to their organ grinder's tunes, {townSquareElement1}, and the occasional {townSquareElement2}.
The {race} springs off your horse, making the sound of {animalNoise1} crossed with {animalNoise2}, a call made by all {race}s in times of distress, boredom, or—in this case—mirth.
"Thank 'ee kindly," {person} offers. "You more 'n likely saved my life, and thas a fack," he says with verity. The {race} tosses you a gewgaw, the common payment for a brief jaunt, and brings your balance sheets into parity.
With a start, your horse starts forward again, picking up the pace with celerity. You leave {location2} on the path once more to {location1}. Suddenly, you tumble to a magus on a llamacorn. She bounds toward you and casts a minor glamor!
You stand frozen for 20 seconds. Without any keys, there's no way to win this game. You turn to leave, then stop.
You were transported here.
And there is no door.
You notice a print of Titian's Sisyphus hanging on the wall on the far side of the room. You're trapped in this purgatory...for how long?
Titus Uno approaches and puts an arm around your shoulders. "I, Titus Uno, Certified Public Accountant, Forensic Certified Public Accountant, and Global Chartered Management Accountant, have someone that I want you to meet. He has some very interesting ideas to share," he says, steering you toward an alert Bob Honey.
"Gather around, everyone," says Titus Uno, Certified Public Accountant, Forensic Certified Public Accountant, Global Chartered Management Accountant, and your Virgil. "Bob is going to read his new poem for us."
Not purgatory.
Hell.
You stand frozen for 20 seconds, then reach into your pocket and pull out the key.
"Oh! Kalla!" The key starts glowing, then reshapes into a cylinder roughly the size of an average cockroach. You stare at it for a minute, then move your hand to your hip and unholster your blaster pistol, an exact replica of the BlasTech DL-44 carried by Han Solo in the classic '80s film franchise Star Wars. You deftly insert the cartridge into the chamber and raise the blaster, pointing it briefly at each other person in the room.
You stand frozen for 20 seconds, then reach into your pocket and pull out the keys.
"Oh! Kalla!" The keys start glowing, then reshape into cylinders roughly the size of an average cockroach. You stare at them for a minute, then move your hand to your hip and unholster your blaster pistol, an exact replica of the BlasTech DL-44 carried by Han Solo in the classic '80s film franchise Star Wars. You deftly insert the cartridges into the chamber and raise the blaster, pointing it briefly at each other person in the room.
Brian Koser is a