The Dream-Trap of Zzar
by S. John Ross (2011)
Genres: Humor

Trapped in a dream-state by a mad scientist bent on galactic domination, you must force yourself awake in the only way known to science. A silly, slightly adult-themed space opera adventure.

action: %
response: What the critics are saying:

"Fewer monkeys would have made this a great game." -- Royce Odle

"The highpoint of the game is definitely driving the tank." --
C.E.J. Pacian

"Ross plainly considers this erotic, and, uh, good luck to him, I suppose." -- Sam Kabo Ashwell

"A science-fiction geek's wet-dream." -- Tanga

"Good grief. I need a new futon." -- Sarah Morayati
action: You press any the key
response: WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

This work is intended for mature audiences only, as defined by any laws which may apply to you. Note also that while legal maturity is necessary to enjoy this work, other forms of maturity will only hold you back.

If you now have cause to believe that you should not play this game on the grounds of statutory law, personal morality, the fate of your immortal soul or simple good taste, now is the time to close this program and let the rest of us have our tawdry bubble-helmeted fun. Otherwise ...
action: You press any the key
response: You smile an easy, confident smile. "Professor Zzar! I might have known!" He stands there on the gleaming deck of the Self-Righteous, small and frail in the finely tuned sights of your ray pistol.

"Yes, Captain Galactic, it is I." For a cornered villain, destined for 20 kilodays' hard labor on the Penal Asteroids of Incarceron, Zzar seems awfully smug. What's his game this time?

There is a deep thrumming from the plastic orb in the Professor's hand, and a hypnotic, throbbing light. Evil technology! Your ray slips to the deck with a clatter. Your legs seem to melt like Arcturan worm-butter, and you slump against a bulkhead. Now the universe is only the grinning face of your arch-foe, gloating before you!

"You're entering a Level IX Subconscious Psychic Comatose Preservation State, Captain Galactic," he sneers. "I don't even need to kill you to claim the galaxy as my own. My reign begins now, and you're going to spend the rest of your life on display in my Museum of Conquests ... sleeping through it!"

Then there is only darkness, and laughter. Peals of terrible, victorious laughter.
action: You press any the key
response: Type Help if you're confused or About if you're curious.

Aha! Your months of Grade Seventy Dream Training have paid off ... this dream-chamber is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. Here is where you and the Professor first crossed rays, and where his studies of sleep-states led him to develop the "perfect" preservative level of slumber: the Level IX Subconscious Psychic Comatose Preservation State.

Professor Zzar believes that this state is inescapable ... and he's nearly right ... but here is also where the only known exception was proven, and recorded in the highly secret Omega Document! Now, if only you can locate it ...

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, Chunky, and the Omega Document here.
action: About yourself
response: As good-looking as ever.
action: You read Document
response: Stars of zetox! These dreams do have their conveniences; the fabled Omega Document, right out in the open! It's a detailed report ... science this, oxytocin that, blood pressure the other thing ... but the conclusion is clear enough: nocturnal emissions generated within a Level IX Subconscious Psychic Comatose Preservation State interrupt the sleep-state and result in full wakefulness. So, your mission is plain: amp up the erotic content (E.C.) of this dream, and you'll ride to freedom on your on manly issue. So to speak.
action: You examine zippy
response: Zippy is a monkey. He's playing with his teeth.
action: Kiss monkey
response: Who do you mean, Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, or Chunky?
action: Kiss zippy
response: That's very sweet.
action: Inventory
response: You're carrying nothing.

Ickstein begins chewing something.
action: You examine Ickstein
response: Ickstein is a monkey. He's looking at you wide-eyed.
action: You examine chunky
response: Chunky is the kind of monkey you'd normally expect to be seeing, hearing, or speaking no evil (thus insuring six more weeks of evil). He's yawning.
action: Spank zippy
response: But Zippy hasn't done anything wrong!

(if you're trying to ... engage in some private time? ... you'll just need to phrase things a little differently under the circumstances)
action: You take Zippy
response: Zippy arches an eyebrow as you try.
action: Kiss george
response: Zippy has better things to do.
action: Inventory
response: You're carrying nothing.

You notice that Ickstein is avoiding your gaze.
action: You examine Ickstein
response: Ickstein is a monkey. He's scratching himself.
action: You examine Ickstein
response: Ickstein is a monkey, like any monkey. He's giving you a big smile.
action: You examine George
response: George is a monkey. He's looking a bit peevish (maybe petulant would be the better word).
action: You describe your surroundings
response: This is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. You can see other chambers to the north, east, and west.

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, Chunky, and the Omega Document here.
action: You examine Document
response: It's a detailed report ... science this, oxytocin that, blood pressure the other thing ... but the conclusion is clear enough: nocturnal emissions generated within a Level IX Subconscious Psychic Comatose Preservation State interrupt the sleep-state and result in full wakefulness.

Zippy is looking at you quizzically.
action: You take it
response: Taken.
action: Go west
response: This is the core of the Science Station's efforts to improve the technology of the Good and Trustworthy Galactic Empire, the facility's main laboratory. The place is packed to bursting with sensors, workstations, and delicate instruments, focusing mankind's collective knowledge into the breakthroughs of the future.

Carolyn is here, brushing down her skirt absentmindedly.

You can also see Nason, Qwerty, Shingles, Papa, and Frank here.
action: You look at Carolyn
response: Doctor Professor Carolyn Winters, the only scientist in the history of the Imperial University to get her Professorial Doctorate in Omniopanology before she could legally drink. That was a while ago, and you've shared a few victory rounds of Martian Mead with the good Doctor Professor since, but you've never had the nerve to pursue your interest in her. Your duties as a Captain in the Imperial Naval Forces Against Evil occupy your every waking hour ... a personal life is one of those things that come with retirement.

You sigh. You sure wouldn't mind retiring with Carolyn, and you've always suspected she feels the same. She cocks her hip just-so while examining some kind of readout, and you find your eyes drawn to the perfect curve of her hip, moving softly beneath her smartly-ironed standard-issue scientist skirt.
action: You talk to Carolyn
response: Carolyn gives you a wink and says "Hey there, handsome," but it's obvious she's distracted by her scientific work.

Nason starts looking pretty bored.
action: You examine nason
response: Nason is some manner of monkey. He's bobbing idly on his haunches.
action: You examine Qwerty
response: Qwerty is a monkey. He's rocking in place.
action: You look at Shingles
response: Shingles is a monkey. He's playing with his teeth.

Nason is bobbing idly on his haunches.
action: You ask Carolyn about the work
response: Carolyn gives you a wink and says "Hey there, handsome," but it's obvious she's distracted by her scientific work.
action: Seduce carolyn
response: Hm?
action: You take readout
response: No need to mess with that.

Qwerty is slapping the floor beside him.
action: Kiss carolyn
response: You can't bring yourself to ... but just the thought of it is thrilling.
action: You examine hip
response: Apologies. You've stumped me. Could you rephrase that?
action: Kiss carolyn
response: Qwerty has better things to do.
action: You look at the skirt
response: Oh my god she's amazing. Whenever you see her in that skirt, you always have this ungentlemanly urge to lift it, just for a second ... just to see ... but of course, you never have.

Frank is rocking in place.
action: Lift skirt
response: Gods of Galactron yes, you've always wanted to lift her skirt ... always wanted ...

And you should. Now of all times, you should. This is a dream. You can do this.

Not yet. You're not quite ... you need some more stimulation. That'll get you in the right mindset to finally do this.

Oh my god she looks good in that skirt.
action: You go east
response: This is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. You can see other chambers to the north, east, and west.

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, and Chunky here.
action: You go north
response: The X9-7000 supercomputer fills this room almost entirely, bank after bank of glittering golden lights and flutering dial indicators. The computer's vast monitor is currently dark. The supercomputer is operated by means of a large red button, set smartly into the console.

You can see Chuck, Victor, Jamba, Troy, and Stinky here.
action: You examine supercomputer
response: The X9-7000 supercomputer fills this room almost entirely, bank after bank of glittering golden lights and flutering dial indicators. The computer's vast monitor is currently dark. The supercomputer is operated by means of a large red button, set smartly into the console.

Victor starts looking pretty bored.
action: You press the button
response: The computer plays the sounds of ... my god, is that people fornicating? I guess this computer is trying to help, but it seems like a terribly brute-force way to go about it. Man, that girl can hit the high notes, though.
action: Examine monitor
response: How's that again?
action: You look at the dials
response: The X9-7000 supercomputer fills this room almost entirely, bank after bank of glittering golden lights and flutering dial indicators. The computer's vast monitor is currently dark. The supercomputer is operated by means of a large red button, set smartly into the console.

Victor is scratching himself.
action: You press the button
response: The computer plays the sounds of ... my god, is that people fornicating? I guess this computer is trying to help, but it seems like a terribly brute-force way to go about it. Man, that girl can hit the high notes, though.

You notice that Jamba is slapping the floor beside him.
action: You go south
response: This is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. You can see other chambers to the north, east, and west.

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, and Chunky here.
action: Go east
response: Your footfalls clank on the cold metal floor of this chamber, built to house and launch the station's experimental military vehicles. The west corridor leads back to the station proper, and the giant (sealed) bay door leads out to the deadly surface of this remote moon.

You can see Duke, Toby, Rick, Eamon, Grimble, and a Stealth Megatank here.

Eamon is chewing something.
action: Examine Megatank
response: You can barely see it, it's so darned stealthy. You feel aroused just basking in the dark presence of such sleek, focused, military power. You can't help but notice the hatchway, and wonder what it would be like inside such a majestic beast.
action: You examine Eamon
response: Eamon is a monkey. He's looking at you quizzically.

Rick begins looking at you wide-eyed.
action: You look at hatchway
response: You don't need to use the word "demagoguery" to complete this story. Not that you did, but you managed to confuse me, anyway.
action: You enter the tank
response: The interior of the Stealth Megatank is amazing. Even the lights on the controls seem to be glowering with awesome military purpose. You're settled into the command chair, since the other stations are all occupied by monkeys. The only exit from here is out.

You notice a well-thumbed copy of Spicy Space-Sirens Magazine folded over one of the controls.

You can also see Lala, Bobo, Vance, Ulster, and Duggy here.

Duggy is yawning.
action: You read the Magazine
response: Given the current nature of your mission, you feel a little ashamed for your normal treatment of soldiers under your command who enjoy this kind of ... artistic material. But now is not the time for your notions of perfect purity, nor is it the time to cry over spilled managerial milk. Steeling your resolve, you page eagerly through holophoto after holophoto of sultry spacefaring pulchritude, and feel a little dizzy at the sight of all those fantasy images ... the curve of leg and bosom, the shape of the lower back, the way a girl can smile so wickedly for the camera ... you feel your breathing begin to race, and ... you enjoy it.
action: You take Magazine
response: Taken.
action: You examine the controls
response: You've caught my vocabulary with its pants down, so to speak.
action: You drive west
response: (I don't know the word "absquatulate") ... (or that thing you just typed)
action: Exit
response: You prepare to climb out of the tank, but you're interrupted by a loud CLANG as Vance slams the hatch shut, and the other monkeys begin firing up the engine!

You don't know if monkeys really laugh, but Duggy sure seems to be chuckling as he cranks up some tunes on the tank's stereo.

Outside the tank, the great door opens in a fanfare of rotating yellow safety lights, and you find yourself hurtling at top speed across the surface of an alien moon. The monkeys, now seemingly unaware of what they've done, are simply hopping around you and screeching, and you must rely on your instincts and training to bring the vehicle under control, and bring it back home.

You figure giving it a little spin around the high ridges won't hurt, just to feel the way she handles. Oh yeah.

Feeling exhausted, thrilled, and strangely satisfied, you eventually return to base, lock the systems down, and head back into the Tank Bay - after giving those monkeys a stern looking-at.

Your footfalls clank on the cold metal floor of this chamber, built to house and launch the station's experimental military vehicles. The west corridor leads back to the station proper, and the giant (sealed) bay door leads out to the deadly surface of this remote moon.

You can see Duke, Toby, Rick, Eamon, Grimble, and a Stealth Megatank here.

Toby is blinking, shaking his head, and then blinking again.
action: You go to the west
response: This is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. You can see other chambers to the north, east, and west.

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, and Chunky here.

George is looking pretty bored.
action: You enter Tank
response: The interior of the Stealth Megatank is amazing. Even the lights on the controls seem to be glowering with awesome military purpose. You're settled into the command chair, since the other stations are all occupied by monkeys. The only exit from here is out.

You can see Lala, Bobo, Vance, Ulster, and Duggy here.
action: Spank vance
response: But Vance hasn't done anything wrong!

Vance is giving you a big smile.
action: Demagoguery
response: I do apologize ... You've bumped your head on the low ceiling of my comprehension.
action: Leave
response: Your footfalls clank on the cold metal floor of this chamber, built to house and launch the station's experimental military vehicles. The west corridor leads back to the station proper, and the giant (sealed) bay door leads out to the deadly surface of this remote moon.

You can see Duke, Toby, Rick, Eamon, Grimble, and a Stealth Megatank here.

Eamon is chewing something.
action: You go west
response: This is none other than Science Station Alpha, on the surface of a distant moon of the Visceron System. You can see other chambers to the north, east, and west.

You can see Zippy, George, Abelard, Ickstein, and Chunky here.
action: You go to the west
response: This is the core of the Science Station's efforts to improve the technology of the Good and Trustworthy Galactic Empire, the facility's main laboratory. The place is packed to bursting with sensors, workstations, and delicate instruments, focusing mankind's collective knowledge into the breakthroughs of the future.

Carolyn is here, brushing down her skirt absentmindedly.

You can also see Nason, Qwerty, Shingles, Papa, and Frank here.

You notice that Papa is looking pretty bored.
action: Kiss carolyn
response: You can't bring yourself to ... but just the thought of it is thrilling.
action: Lift skirt
response: Gods of Galactron yes, you've always wanted to lift her skirt ... always wanted ...

And you should. Now of all times, you should. This is a dream. You can do this.

Not yet. You're not quite ... you need some more stimulation. That'll get you in the right mindset to finally do this.

Oh my god she looks good in that skirt.

Papa is avoiding your gaze.
action: Lift skirt
response: Gods of Galactron yes, you've always wanted to lift her skirt ... always wanted ...

And you should. Now of all times, you should. This is a dream. You can do this.

Not yet. You're not quite ... you need some more stimulation. That'll get you in the right mindset to finally do this.

Oh my god she looks good in that skirt.
action: You read the Magazine
response: Given the current nature of your mission, you feel a little ashamed for your normal treatment of soldiers under your command who enjoy this kind of ... artistic material. But now is not the time for your notions of perfect purity, nor is it the time to cry over spilled managerial milk. Steeling your resolve, you page eagerly through holophoto after holophoto of sultry spacefaring pulchritude, and feel a little dizzy at the sight of all those fantasy images ... the curve of leg and bosom, the shape of the lower back, the way a girl can smile so wickedly for the camera ... you feel your breathing begin to race, and ... you enjoy it.

Shingles begins bobbing idly on his haunches.
action: Lift skirt
response: Chastity ... is a virtue ...

You've always taught that. Always believed it. Always shouted it, if need be, into the faces of children and parents at your autograph signings.

But inside, you've always felt differently, and buried those feelings deep within your endless quest for peace and justice in the galaxy. And (your analyst insists) sublimated it into a dangerously acute case of Ovaltine addiction.

But now, discarding chastity is the mission. This dream needs to get wet, and by the Nine Quasars, you can't think of anything wetter than the contents of Carolyn's skirt.

Oh my god, did you just think that? You hope you didn't say it.

Carolyn turns and gives you a smile made of sunshine, sweetness, and the Scientific Method. "Hey, handsome, how goes the war against evil? Kill any Zarg for us lately?"

Deer in the headlights. That's what this feels like. For the deer. And possibly the headlights. The galaxy freezes for a few minutes.

Or a picosecond? Heck yes. You fall back on your academy training, flash her a comparably warm smile in return, and salute. "Sure have, Carol. Nineteen last week. Strangled half of them with my bare hands, and made one of them eat his own skull."

Carolyn winks. "That's my boy," and returns to her work, leaning over the work table and wiggling her hips to a jaunty tune inside her head.

What is it you were doing again? You've forgotten.

Oh right. You find yourself aiming a 900-watt stare at the curve of her beskirted backside. Dear sweet fucking galaxies, you want to lift that skirt.

Nason is playing with his teeth.
action: You give the Magazine to Carolyn
response: Carolyn gives you a wink and says "Hey there, handsome," but it's obvious she's distracted by her scientific work.

Qwerty is slapping the floor beside him.
action: Lift skirt
response: You reach out your hand, casually, as if it were going to be heading in this direction anyway, for official purposes.

You pause to wonder: can you move your own hand offhandedly? Does that even work?

Fortunately, the quality of Carolyn's ass returns you almost forcibly to the skirt at hand. Oh, yes, at hand, very much at hand ... and you just do it. You lift it.

Carolyn doesn't turn around. Instead, she giggles for a second, then almost purrs as she says "Oh, Captain, I'd begun to worry you'd never ..."

But even her words, her beautiful voice, fades from your mind as you take in the view.

Blue panties. Soft, gentle blue. Almost translucent fabric. And right on the right cheek, the Imperial Seal, indicating the panties are government-issue.
action: You examine the panties
response: ... That ... that was it! That was IT.

You feel yourself cresting, hurling over the edge of internal stimulation. It's ... it's nice.

The rest happens so fast, it's almost a blur. Fortunately, your academy training has prepared you for situations exactly like this (exactly like this; it took you three tries on the final exam, you were so embarrassed).

You're no longer in the dream state. You're in Professor Zzar's twisted "Museum," on display. Stark naked!

And there's the Professor himself, looking confused, furious, and annoyed all at once. He's wiping something from his eyeglasses and grimacing.

But before you even fully assimilate your surroundings, your training kicks in, and you feel the rush of your reflexes thrusting into action: one foot to Zzar's solar plexus, one fist to the his jaw (hm ... sticky), one fist to his throat, sending him gasping backward. You're such a perfectly-tuned fighting machine, you've beaten your arch-foe to a whining pulp before you even yawn your first yawn, snap your fingers for a towel, and await the adulation of the morning museum crowd (looks like they get complimentary mimosas, that's kind of cool ... and monkeys ... free monkeys with every ...)

Hm.

And then the world dissolves again, and it's like surfacing from a dry, mucky cocoon into a warm, blankety one.

It's your bed, at home. Your dog is asleep near the window, half-curled around your cardboard Captain Galactic standee. He knows enough never to hurt it.

Scattered around the bed are your Captain Galactic comics, paperbacks, and your duplicate twelve-inch Nubile Star-Empress action figure (your first one is still in its original packaging, mint condition).

You can hear the vacuum cleaner running in the hall, and smell breakfast. That combination means its Saturday, and if you behave at the breakfast table, Mom will let you watch Captain Galactic Adventures without bothering you, and then you can go meet your friends down at the bar.

Your eyes rest on the cover of Captain Galactic and the Slave Wenches of Jara, in which the brave Captain is too pure and chaste to kiss even a single one of the grateful rescued slaves. You wonder, and not for the first time, if that's the virtue the Captain seems to think it is.

Gah. You messed up the sheets again. Time to hide them in the hamper before anyone notices. Your story, as always, is that you're really trying to be more responsible and clean with the bedclothes. It's only fair; Dad doesn't charge you any rent, and you graduated high school seven years ago.

You're thirsty. But that's what orange juice is for. And breakfast smells good.