ANATIDAEPHOBIA
by Peregrine Wade (2017)
Genres: Humor

Office life could be easy, if there weren't a duck staring at you.

action: %
response: It's another nice, sunny day outside. The bird are singing, the
flowers are beaming, and all is well.

Well, that's what you assume, since in actual fact you're inside a brand new office on the sixth floor of the Weiner Corporation's newest skyscraper. At any rate, the job pays well, and your day usually
passes by without any notable incidents to marr its pleasing monotony.

But something is different today. Cold sweat glistens on your brow.
You know all too well what this means.

Somewhere...somehow... a duck is watching you.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: About yourself
response: You've never really looked at yourself in a mirror. In fact, you tend to avoid mirrors like the plague, to such an extent that you're not sure what you really look like.

You're sure of it. There's a duck watching you right now.
action: You look at the cow
response: It's leaning against the wall, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. What is it doing here? You have not the slightest idea, and you're not really interested in finding out. What you really want to find... is that DUCK!

You wipe off a bead of sweat. Why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be now? Why? WHY?
action: You ask the cow about the duck
response: You could just try to engage in casual conversation. One way of doing this is by typing TALK TO NPC into the command prompt. (Oh, crap,
I just broke the fourth wall. Who's going to pay for that, I
wonder?)
You loosen your tie with one hand, and glance around fearfully.
action: You look
response: Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.

You have no choice. You have to find that duck, track it down, hound it, chase it to the ends of the earth if necessary. Thus is the price you must pay for peace of mind.
action: You talk to the cow
response: You cough. The cow coughs. For a moment, silence hangs heavy upon both of you.

"So. Ahem."

"You wanted to ask me something, boss?" the cow says finally, chewing on its cigarette in a typically bovine manner.

1) "Do you see that duck?"
2) "What are you doing here?"
action: 2
response: ["What are you doing here?"]

"Don't you remember, boss?" the cow says, slapping you on the back
with one hoof. "We're corporate spies working for ACME. This is an undercover operation, okay? I see what's wrong with you: you've been trying to use the "How to Brainwash Yourself Easily" book again. If you've got amnesia, we gotta exfiltrate ourselves pronto and
burn the evidence. Have you got amnesia, boss?"

1) "I haven't got amnesia, you idiot!"
2) "I can't remember anything! What is my REAL identity?"
action: 1
response: ["I haven't got amnesia, you idiot!"]

"Phoooey," the cow sighs with relief, tugging at its cigarette compulsively. "You had me worried there for a second." And upon these words, it begins to stare intensively at the wall, as though waiting for ninja chipmunks to leap out without warning.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.

You can feel the duck's beady dark eyes boring into the back of your skull.
action: You look at the wire
response: It's too thick to cut with scissors, sadly enough.

Though the duck is not in the room, still you feel its baleful glare, unwavering, unblinking.
action: You examine the pane
response: It's made of glass.

You bang your head against the furniture, heart bowed down beneath a seething cloud of paranoia.
action: You examine the fax
response: It's a great, heavy monster of bureaucratic hell. With its aid, you could fax a dinosaur to Hawaii, that's telling you how sophisticated
it is. It's powered by a very, very long electric wire which crosses the floor and disappears out into the corridor to the south. Oh, and it's also blatantly simple to use: all that is necessary is to put something in it, and then dial any number between 0 and 10. The fax machine has been customized specifically for faxing things to a very specific destination.

You must do something about that duck. There is no other way.
action: You examine the desk
response: It's an IKEA desk, somewhat disfigured by coffee rings (from all the times you left your hot mug of coffee on the desk for far too much time). And certainly it would be nice to have more than just the one drawer for tidying away your stuff. But it's perfectly adequate for
the kind of work you do for the Weiner Corporation -- namely, sorting through piles of mail. Such as the huge heap now standing before you.

Something must be done.
action: You examine the cityscape
response: New Dork City stretches out before you in its full glory. But what interests you most of all is the building opposite the one you're currently in: the ACME Corporation's newest skycraper.

All this stress and paranoia proves far too much for you. With a wordless cry you throw yourself out the window!

Actually, you do not throw yourself out of the window, you merely bounce off it with a muffled "PANG", and then stagger out into the corridor, nursing your blossoming bruise.

The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: You look at the door
response: Upon it are the following (badly-inked) words: M. POND --
MAILROOM
action: You go north
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: Sort mail
response: You find a letter from none other than "Mr. Coffee Machine"! How odd.
A quick glance indicates that he is appealing to the powers that be
for the right to have his own office chair.
action: You open the drawer
response: You pull open the drawer, and find only a lonely-looking pair of scissors. You decide after some deliberation to take this with you
(you never know when it might come in handy...)
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a pair of scissors
a shirt (being worn)
a tie (being worn)
action: You examine the chair
response: It's a sturdy thing, with sturdy wheels that are always well oiled
(you suspect that the office elves do all that work when no one is looking.)

handy at some point in the immediate future.
action: You get the mail
response: That's hardly portable.
action: You take off the shirt
response: You take off the shirt.
action: You examine the tie
response: Suitably unfashionable.
action: You look around
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You examine the duck
response: It's too far away for you to tell, but it appears to be staring at you in an unsettling way.
action: You look at telephone
response: It's a pink telephone with yellow flowers painted on it. It's quite... stylish? As you stare at it, the thought occurs to you that it might
be a good idea to call someone.

In fact, there are plenty of people you could call. You have their numbers memorized by heart, as a matter of fact. You could contact...

1) the police
2) the local hospital
3) your aunt
4) the head of Inhuman Resources
5) the ACME Corporation
6) the nearest pizzeria
7) the nearest Pest Control unit
8) the Society for the Care and Protection of Conspiracy Theories
9) Gary Larson
action: 9
response: [Gary Larson]

You get only an answerphone. "Gary Larson is on holiday in Africa, being bullied by Jane Goodall's chimps. Please call back another
time."

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You examine the cityscape
response: New Dork City stretches out before you in its full glory. But what interests you most of all is the building opposite the one you're currently in: the ACME Corporation's newest skycraper.
action: You examine the shirt
response: It's covered in squid ink stains (don't ask why). You feel something heavy in your breast pocket, and it's definitely not your heart.
action: You look at ACME
response: You glance at it through the glass window, and shudder. The duck is there, peering out through an office window, staring at you through caricatural binoculars.
action: You examine the pocket
response: You squint and squirm, but conclude that the only way to find out what's inside is to boldly go forth and SEARCH it.
action: You search pocket
response: In the breast pocket is a portable squid.
action: You get the squid
response: Taken.
action: You get the squid
response: You already have that.
action: You examine it
response: It's an extremely tiny, adorable little squid about the size of a fountain pen. Every now and then, it makes cute squid noises.
action: You squeeze the squid
response: You squeeze the squid gently, and before you know it it squirts ink
all over your face! Instant karma, indeed.
action: You look at the wall
response: It's made of glass.
action: You look at telephone
response: It's a pink telephone with yellow flowers painted on it. It's quite... stylish? As you stare at it, the thought occurs to you that it might
be a good idea to call someone.

In fact, there are plenty of people you could call. You have their numbers memorized by heart, as a matter of fact. You could contact...

1) the police
2) the local hospital
3) your aunt
4) the head of Inhuman Resources
5) the ACME Corporation
6) the nearest pizzeria
7) the nearest Pest Control unit
8) the Society for the Care and Protection of Conspiracy Theories
9) Gary Larson
action: 5
response: [the ACME Corporation]

After several minutes of mildly annoying music, you finally get a response:

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Um, I'm not sure..."

"That's not a problem at all. We cater to all needs: the Clown Department is on the first floor, the Jungle Department on the second floor, the Toothpick Department is on the third floor, bananas are plentiful on the fourth floor, we have fire and brimstone on the fifth floor, doughnuts on the seventh floor, unspeakable things on the
eighth floor, anachronistic but potentially useful duck-killing
weapons on the ninth floor, and if you like ice-cream you can always
go to the tenth floor. Please keep in mind, however, that before entering the elevator you will be stripped of all suspicious
belongings by our diligent Security Brigade."

"Thanks, but what I really wanted to know is: have you seen a duck, anywhere?

"I am not at liberty to say," the receptionnist replies
apologetically. The conversation ends soon afterwards.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You go south
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: You go east
response: Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

Lurking in the corner of the room, looking rather disgruntled, is the coffee machine.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: You look at the poster
response: It advertises the latest action movie: FLY HARD, with Braaawk Willis playing a daredevil chicken cop facing off against Alan Cricketman's stereotypically six-legged (and German!) baddie. The poster shows the main character jumping off an exploding skyscraper with a (live) electric wire tied around himself. The tagline reads: "Always in
the wrong place at the wrong time, wearing the wrong clothes and using the wrong shaving cream! BURMA SHAVE".
action: You talk to the coffee machine
response: You clear your throat, and cough. "Ahem? Mr Coffee Machine? Are you
all right?"

"I feel terrible," the coffee machine groans. "My self-esteem is down the toilet. I'm tragically misunderstood. The whole world conspires against me."

1) "Okay, I'm sorry to hear that. Would it be okay if I had a cup of coffee?"
2) "Oh, come one, it can't be that bad."
action: 2
response: ["Oh, come one, it can't be that bad."]

"Not that bad?" the coffee machine snorts bitterly. "Not that
bad?!? God dang it, I've been working here for 65 years and I've never even been promoted! I don't even get my own office chair!
That would be so little to ask for -- an office chair of my own, to
sit on whenever I feel tired, a token of respect for all the coffee I've pumped out all those years! The Weiner Corporation would have NEVER been as successful as it is without MY coffee to keep their
minds sharp and lively into the wee hours of the night!"

1) "Ahem... talking about coffee... could I have some, please?"
2) "Ahem... isn't there something you could do?"
action: 2
response: ["Ahem... isn't there something you could do?"]

"Like, I don't know... have you tried talking to a psychiatrist?" you add, patting the coffee machine on the -- for lack of a better word -- "shoulder".

"Psychiatrist? I'm not mad, you idiot!" the machine retorts angrily. "This is it! I'm not going to put up with this sort of crap any more! I'm handing in my resignation! Right now, do you hear?"

It hops out of the room and down the corridor at breakneck speed. Soon afterwards, to your dismay, you hear the sound of a heavy coffee machine falling down six flights of stairs in a record-breaking (and neck-breaking) 3.45 seconds.

Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: 1
response: ["Ahem... talking about coffee... could I have some,
please?"]

"Coffee!" the machine snorts. "You want coffee? Here's your
coffee, you selfish jerk!"

For a second, it looks like the machine is going to hurl piping hot caffeine beverages at your face, but your fear prove to be unfounded, and sure enough you find yourself looking down at a cup of coffee as you hold it tentatively in one hand. The rooms falls silent once more, and your mind is irresistably drawn back to the one thing uppermost in your thoughts right now. That. Goddamn. DUCK.

Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

Lurking in the corner of the room, looking rather disgruntled, is the coffee machine.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: You go west
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: You go north
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: Go south
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: Go east
response: Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

Lurking in the corner of the room, looking rather disgruntled, is the coffee machine.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.

The coffee machine notices that you have brought an office chair into the room! "Golly, is that for me?" it gasps.

"Yup," you reply.

With herethereto unsuspected nimbleness, the great lumbering caffeine-dispensing contraction hops onto the chair, whooping with delight.
action: You talk to the Machine
response: The coffee machine is in its own nirvana. Best not to engage conversation with it right now.
action: You go west
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: You look at the door
response: Upon it are the following (badly-inked) words: M. POND --
MAILROOM
action: Smell
response: You smell the unmistakeable smell of napalm -- uh, coffee in
the morning, actually. It appears to be emanating (if that is the correct terminology) from the eastern side.
action: You go to the west
response: The corridor ends here, and there are stairs heading down to the west. To the east, the corridor continues in a shuffling sort of way. If you should feel the need, you may always enter the elevator which is situated (for your benefit) to the south, or else enter the storage room to the north.
action: You go north
response: This room is filled with empty boxes, of the sort used for packaging. The only obvious exit is south.

On the floor is a large cardboard tube with both ends sealed.

Dangling from the ceiling is a long roll of sellotape.
action: You examine the sellotape
response: Someone clearly ran out of flypaper, and decided that it would be a smart idea to use the sellotape as a substitute. The roll of sellotape is only partially unrolled, however, and dangles from the ceiling like a peculiar pendulum of insect doom.
action: You look at the tube
response: As you look closely, it wobbles a little to the left and then to the right again. There is definitely something in there... something
alive.
action: Open tube
response: You open the large cardboard tube, revealing a weiner dog.
action: You examine the dog
response: It looks up placidly at you, and yawns, mumbling something unintelligible about coffee in the morning.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a large cardboard tube (open)
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You give the coffee to the dog
response: The dog refuses. "Coffee," he mutters.
action: You take the tape
response: It's tantalizingly out of reach, as you conclude from several minutes of futile hopping up and down like an over-excited chihuahua.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: This room is filled with empty boxes, of the sort used for packaging. The only obvious exit is south.

Dangling from the ceiling is a long roll of sellotape.
action: Examine boxes
response: They're very uninteresting, in an interesting way.
action: You climb the boxes
response: Little is to be achieved by that.
action: Go south
response: The corridor ends here, and there are stairs heading down to the west. To the east, the corridor continues in a shuffling sort of way. If you should feel the need, you may always enter the elevator which is situated (for your benefit) to the south, or else enter the storage room to the north.
action: You take the dog
response: You pull the weiner dog out from the tube. This takes some time, and
it is only by seizing it by the hind legs and swinging it around the room that the tube finally flies off, ricochetting off the wall in the process. The dog grumbles a bit, muttering about "Inhuman Resources" under its breath.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a large cardboard tube (open but empty)
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You drop the dog
response: Dropped.
action: You show the coffee to the dog
response: The weiner dog is unimpressed.
action: You take the dog
response: The weiner dog allows you to pick it up, staring at you with
drowsiness in its eyes.
action: You put the dog in the tube
response: You put the weiner dog into the large cardboard tube.
action: Close tube
response: You close the large cardboard tube.
action: You go south
response: As you enter the elevator, the doors close behind you, uttering a peculiar squeaking noise in the process. With a whirr, and without you having even had the time to fiddle around with the buttons, the elevator begins to descend -- into lunacy? Who knows.

The elevator in which you are currently standing smells strongly of canine interference. A panel of buttons covers one wall.

As if to attract your attention, the elevator whines like a dog whose nose has just been bopped over the nose with a newspaper.
action: You examine the buttons
response: Upon closer examination, someone has replaced all the buttons by tin tacks. This, among other things, means that you cannot mess around
with it as much as you wanted to.

The elevator screeches to a stop, and an electronic voice says breathlessly: "Time out! Be back in a jiffy!"

After a moment or so, the elevator whirrs back to life, and business resumes.
action: Smell
response: You smell nothing. Nothing, that is, other than the smell of your own fear.

The elevator stops briefly, the doors opening for just the exact
amount of time required for an enormous elephant to fit itself inside along with you.
action: You examine the elephant
response: You see nothing special about the enormous elephant.

The elephant sneezes. The tension is palpable.
action: You talk to the elephant
response: You have no idea what you would say to the enormous elephant.

The elevator stops again, and to your vast surprise another elephant steps inside, this time carrying a guitar and wearing a flower shirt! You try to make a dash for freedom, but alas the doors have already closed, and the elevator has resumed its descent.
action: You examine the hippy
response: You see nothing special about the elephant hippy.

It's now beginning to feel a little crowded in here. And the
irritating little elves singing high-pitched renditions of "The Bohemian Rhapsody" are simply not helping.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The elevator stops. There is silence. And then... a third elephant, wearing a business suit and a fedora, crams itself inside. "Jeez," he says. "This sure is cramped, fellas."
action: Go north
response: The doors are closed, and there doesn't appear to be any button allowing you to open them. What a nuisance. And the matter of that
duck still remains unresolved. What a day. What... a... day.

Oddly enough, you are finding it a little hard to breathe in here.
action: Go upward
response: You can't go that way.

The elevator is almost at the lobby, and you pray to God that you make it there alive.
action: You examine businessman
response: You see nothing special about the elephant businessman.

Just when you thought this nightmare was over, the elevator abruptly stops at the first floor. You get a sinking feeling. Oh, no. Please.

You watch the elevator doors open. Slooooowly....

And then....

... a fourth elephant, wearing dark glasses and wielding a cane,
calmly tries to fit itself into the elevator.

SNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

The elevator falls, carrying you and the four elephants down with it. The little annoying elves -- those responsible for the annoying elevator music -- all unaminously begin to do their own rendition of Fauré's Requiem. Everyone inside the elevator goes crashing
through the earth's molten core, screaming all the way. Eventually, the elevators comes soaring out through a volcano in New Zealand, but by then you are all toast.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying:
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You go east
response: Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

There is a strong stench of coffee here, almost sufficient to drive small dogs mad.

The office chair is bowed down beneath the weight of a smug-looking coffee machine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: You unplug the wire
response: You notice that unplugging the electric wire is nothing short of impossible, owing to the external action of some diabolical villain. Curses.
action: You cut the wire
response: You make a brave attempt to cut the wire with the pair of scissors,
but it is all too obvious to even the most stubborn intellect that these scissors are only adequate for slicing through cardboard.
action: Go north
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You cut the boxes
response: That would take forever, and you'd just end up buried under a pile of cardboard confettis.
action: You cut the tape
response: It's tantalizingly out of reach, as you conclude from several minutes of waving the scissors around like a homicidal maniac.
action: You cut tube
response: You can't cut the carboard tube in half without first emptying it. That's one of the Six Basic Rules of the Mailroom.
action: Open tube
response: You open the large cardboard tube, revealing a weiner dog.
action: You take the dog
response: You pull the weiner dog out from the tube. This takes some time, and
it is only by seizing it by the hind legs and swinging it around the room that the tube finally flies off, ricochetting off the wall in the process. The dog grumbles a bit, muttering about "Inhuman Resources" under its breath.
action: You cut tube
response: You take a few minutes of your time to neatly cut the tube into two long, equal pieces. As you let them fall to the floor, you notice that they look remarkably like cardboard skis! This is food for thought.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some pieces of cardboard which look like cardboard skis
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You go west
response: You are about to go down the stairs when you abruptly become aware of one niggling fact: namely, that each and every single step is
carefully layered with marbles.
action: You drop the skis
response: Dropped.
action: You examine the marbles
response: There are millions of these little shiny marbles. It must have taken forever to lay them out upon every single step, and you wonder who on earth would be so diabolically villainous and maniacally persnickety
as to be capable of such a heinous act.
action: You take the chair
response: Wouldn't it be easier to push it around? It's got wheels, after all.
action: Go west
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

There is a strong stench of coffee here, almost sufficient to drive small dogs mad.

The office chair is bowed down beneath the weight of a smug-looking coffee machine.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.
action: Go west
response: The corridor ends here, and there are stairs heading down to the west. To the east, the corridor continues in a shuffling sort of way. If you should feel the need, you may always enter the elevator which is situated (for your benefit) to the south, or else enter the storage room to the north.

There is a strong stench of coffee here, almost sufficient to drive small dogs mad.

The office chair is bowed down beneath the weight of a smug-looking coffee machine.
action: Go north
response: This room is filled with empty boxes, of the sort used for packaging. The only obvious exit is south.

There is a strong stench of coffee here, almost sufficient to drive small dogs mad.

The office chair is bowed down beneath the weight of a smug-looking coffee machine.

Dangling from the ceiling is a long roll of sellotape.
action: You get on the chair
response: You stand up on the chair, wobbling slightly as you do so. Now what next?

Storage Room (on the office chair)
This room is filled with empty boxes, of the sort used for packaging. The only obvious exit is south.

There is a strong stench of coffee here, almost sufficient to drive small dogs mad.

Dangling from the ceiling is a long roll of sellotape.
action: You take the tape
response: You cut the sellotape with a neat snip of the scissors, and retrieve the rest of it for your own personal use.
action: Go downwards
response: (first getting off the office chair)
You can't go that way.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some sellotape
some pieces of cardboard which look like cardboard skis
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You attach the skis
response: What do you want to attach the pieces of cardboard which look like cardboard skis to?
action: Yourself
response: You laboriously sellotape the first piece of cardboard to your right foot, and then the second piece of cardboard to your left foot. Now
you are officially equipped with utterly demented cardboard skis!
action: Go west
response: You glance at the marbles, but your mind is already made up. You are going to ski your way down there like a champion.

With a yell of triumph (or fear?) you go forth! Marbles rattle and scuttle away in panic as you hurtle down the stairs!

You go down all six flights of stairs in exactly 3.1415 seconds! (You are very meticulous about those things.) This daring ride culminates
in your triumphant (but brief) arrival in the lobby of the Weiner Corporation.

Propelled by all the momentum you've just gained, you sail out through the revolving doors, across the street (narrowly avoiding an entire flock of boneless chickens, who were for some incomprehensible reason trying to cross the road) and at long last arrive in the lobby of the ACME Corporation. This is exactly what you wanted.

For, hidden upon one of the myriad floors of the ACME Corporation's skyscraper, the DUCK awaits. (And so does your timely revenge!)

The lobby stretches out before you, a beautiful pristine space with sliding doors awaiting you to the south, leading out into the busy street.

You can enter the elevator here.
action: Go south
response: You've gone through ridicule to get here! Giving up is simply not an option.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
some sellotape
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a portable squid
a pair of scissors
a shirt
a tie (being worn)
action: You look at the coffee
response: It's a plastic cup, predictably filled with black murky liquid that
one must assume was coffee at some point in the past.
action: Smell the coffee
response: You smell nothing. Nothing, that is, other than the smell of your own fear.
action: You enter the elevator
response: Before you can enter the elevator, a security guard (who you could
have sworn was not there a second ago) frisks you, relieving you of
all your suspicious-looking personal items. A few seconds later, you are half-naked, standing only in your underwear. "You're good to go," the guard grunts, and pushes you into the elevator most uncourteously.

This is not a mere elevator: it is a superluminal cartoon lift, whose cruise speed is 299 000 000 meters a second on average, and fully capable of taking you from the lobby to the moon in an astonishingly short time. The glowing digits above the door spell out the number 0 - though you can make the elevator move up and down to your heart's content by the seemingly innocuous act of pressing a numbered button.
action: Press 9
response: You press button 9. The lift whirs into action and moves to the
correct level.
action: You go outside
response: This is a mystifying room. You wonder what on earth it is for.

You can enter the elevator here.

Lying on the floor here is a curious, cylindrical piece of metal.
action: You look at the metal
response: Upon closer examination, you find that this is a light-saber! How anachronistic.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a light-saber
action: You look around
response: This is a mystifying room. You wonder what on earth it is for.

You can enter the elevator here.
action: You enter the elevator
response: This is not a mere elevator: it is a superluminal cartoon lift, whose cruise speed is 299 000 000 meters a second on average, and fully capable of taking you from the lobby to the moon in an astonishingly short time. The glowing digits above the door spell out the number 9 - though you can make the elevator move up and down to your heart's content by the seemingly innocuous act of pressing a numbered button.
action: Press 6
response: You press button 6. The lift whirs into action and moves to the
correct level.
action: You go outside
response: At last! You've found it.

Standing before you, with somewhat a malevolent air, is the Mad Duck.

The duck sees you, and smiles. "At last, Pond. You've found my... what's the word? ... aha!... my secret lair. How clever of you, indeed."
action: You kill Duck
response: With a barbarian yell, you lunge forward, ready for the Fight of the Century (TM).

1) Hit the duck on the head
2) Kick the duck in the stomach
3) Attack him with your light-saber
action: 3
response: [Attack him with your light-saber]

You pull out the light-saber that you found in the Anachronism Department, and bring it down upon the duck's head. At the very last moment, however, he blocks your blow with his own light-saber! There
is a ZZZZZZZZZZZ noise as the two laser blades come into contact.

1) Kick the duck in the private parts
2) Use the Force
action: 2
response: [Use the Force]

You focus, and try to use the Force. But nothing happens. Nothing at all.

"There is no such thing as the Force, you silly duck!" your adversary cackles (or rather, QUACKles).

1) Kill the duck
2) "Wait, you called me a WHAT?"
action: 2
response: ["Wait, you called me a WHAT?"]

"That's right, Pond," the duck replies, clearly on the verge of revealing a dark secret (and enjoying every second of it). "You
thought you were human, but all along... all along, you were exactly what you always feared: A DUCK!!!"

1) Kill the duck
2) Scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" out loud
action: 2
response: [Scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" out loud]

Seized by a surge of despair and rage, you rush at the duck, swinging your light-saber around your head. In your precipitation, you slip on
a banana peeling, and land on your face in a flurry of feathers. The awful truth sinks in at last. You are a duck. You are a duck. You are
a --
action: You talk to Duck
response: "I need to talk to you," you begin, stepping forward.

"Oh?" the duck says coldly.

1) "I want to know who you are."
2) "I want to know why you were watching me"
action: 2
response: ["I want to know why you were watching me"]

"Why? You want to know why?" The duck seems genuinely surprised.

"Yes! I've gone through ridicule to find you! I deserve to know!" you retort.

"Well... if the truth be told... I was waiting for my evil plans to fall into place... and... well, I guess I got bored?"

1) "I want to know who you are."
2) "Evil plans?"
action: 2
response: ["Evil plans?"]

"Didn't you know?" the duck replies, shocked. "I'm a comic-book villain, I am. And a very stylish one, too."

It dawn upon you then that Fate itself has brought you here. An inner voice whispers: You are the One.

With a barbarian yell, you lunge forward, ready for the Fight of the Century (TM).

1) Hit the duck on the head
2) Kick the duck in the stomach
3) Attack him with your light-saber
action: 2
response: [Kick the duck in the stomach]

Channelling your inner Karate Kid, you stand on one foot, and then
lash out. The duck, not expecting this (he probably bought his light-saber on Ebay and has no actual Jedi training), is sent flying backwards. He crashes through the glass wall, and falls plummetting from six floors" worth of the ACME Corporation's newest skyscraper.

This does not kill him, but after several months in hospital he is arrested for crimes against the Universe. Apparently, his name (his REAL name) is Moriarty Machiavelli the Third. It turns out he was your uncle, but that does not necessarily entail that you are a duck. At least, that is the way you choose to view things, and it's working out pretty well so far. Besides, one good thing has come out of this mess: you are no longer in the throes of ANATIDAEPHOBIA.
action: 1
response: ["I want to know who you are."]

"Me?" the duck replies quizzically. "Why, my name is Moriarty Machiavelli the Third. And..." he pauses for dramatic effect, "I....am... your UNCLE!"

1) Ask the duck for an explanation
2) Scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" out loud
action: 1
response: [Ask the duck for an explanation]

"But how can that be?" you exclaim out loud, trembling slightly. "My aunt is a gorilla!"

"The biological details are messy and somewhat complicated," the duck replies coolly. "Suffice to say, you are half duck. Ah, the irony of it, my nephew Pond!"

1) Kick the duck in the stomach
2) Scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" out loud
action: %
response: It's another nice, sunny day outside. The bird are singing, the
flowers are beaming, and all is well.

Well, that's what you assume, since in actual fact you're inside a brand new office on the sixth floor of the Weiner Corporation's newest skyscraper. At any rate, the job pays well, and your day usually
passes by without any notable incidents to marr its pleasing monotony.

But something is different today. Cold sweat glistens on your brow.
You know all too well what this means.

Somewhere...somehow... a duck is watching you.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You examine the fax machine
response: It's a great, heavy monster of bureaucratic hell. With its aid, you could fax a dinosaur to Hawaii, that's telling you how sophisticated
it is. It's powered by a very, very long electric wire which crosses the floor and disappears out into the corridor to the south. Oh, and it's also blatantly simple to use: all that is necessary is to put something in it, and then dial any number between 0 and 10. The fax machine has been customized specifically for faxing things to a very specific destination.

You're sure of it. There's a duck watching you right now.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a shirt (being worn)
a tie (being worn)

You wipe off a bead of sweat. Why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be now? Why? WHY?
action: You put the tie in the fax
response: (first taking it off)
You put the tie into the fax machine.

You loosen your tie with one hand, and glance around fearfully.
action: Dial 1
response: There is a ZZZZZIP noise, and then it is done."Item faxed to the
ACME Clown Department," the electronic voice mumbles, sounding
highly unamused.

You have no choice. You have to find that duck, track it down, hound it, chase it to the ends of the earth if necessary. Thus is the price you must pay for peace of mind.
action: You enter the fax
response: That's not something you can enter.

You can feel the duck's beady dark eyes boring into the back of your skull.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a shirt (being worn)

Though the duck is not in the room, still you feel its baleful glare, unwavering, unblinking.
action: You look at telephone
response: It's a pink telephone with yellow flowers painted on it. It's quite... stylish? As you stare at it, the thought occurs to you that it might
be a good idea to call someone.

In fact, there are plenty of people you could call. You have their numbers memorized by heart, as a matter of fact. You could contact...

1) the police
2) the local hospital
3) your aunt
4) the head of Inhuman Resources
5) the ACME Corporation
6) the nearest pizzeria
7) the nearest Pest Control unit
8) the Society for the Care and Protection of Conspiracy Theories
9) Gary Larson
action: 3
response: [your aunt]

On second thought, you decide not to call your aunt. You remember all too well what happened last time she came to New Dork City. The authorities had to rescue her from the very top of the Umpire State Building (where she was doing a drunken imititation of King Kong).

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.

You bang your head against the furniture, heart bowed down beneath a seething cloud of paranoia.
action: 6
response: [the nearest pizzeria]

The response is immediate. What pizza would you like, buddy?

"Give me," you say, suddenly sounding very determined, "the Mother of All Pizzas."

"With pepperoni on top?""With pepperoni on top."

When you finally hang up a few minutes later, you rest safely in the knowledge that the most awesome pizza known to mankind is speeding on its way to you.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.

You must do something about that duck. There is no other way.
action: 7
response: [the nearest Pest Control unit]

Actually, the Pest Control unit was closed a few weeks ago, after its offices were trashed by the Roach Gang.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.

Something must be done.
action: 8
response: [the Society for the Care and Protection of Conspiracy
Theories]

You spend a few tedious minutes being told that the duck needs their help more than you do, since in actual fact it constitutes a living conspiracy theory in itself. Frustrated, you hang up.

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: 1
response: All this stress and paranoia proves far too much for you. With a wordless cry you throw yourself out the window!

Actually, you do not throw yourself out of the window, you merely bounce off it with a muffled "PANG", and then stagger out into the corridor, nursing your blossoming bruise.

The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.

A long wire snakes its way out from your office, and heads down the corridor to the east.

I didn't understand that sentence.
action: You go north
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: 1
response: [the police]

You quickly dial in 911, and shortly afterwards you are on the emergency line.

"You are now on the emergency line of the New Dork City Police Department, the voice on the other end says laconically."

"There is a duck staring at me!" you shout into the receiver.

"Is it threatening you with a chainsaw?" the voice replies
coldly.

"Uh -- no."

BEEP.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: 2
response: [the local hospital]

An automated voice is the only reply you get:

"Hello. We are currently swamped with patients. In fact, there are patients everywhere. Patients in the corridors, patients in the toilets, patients hiding inside our clothing, patients behind our
ears, patients as far as the eye can see. We are, in fact, beginning
to lose our minds. Have a lovely day."

BEEP.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: 4
response: [the head of Inhuman Resources]

You quickly dial in the number. "Hello? This is Pond. I work in the mailroom. I have a problem," you rattle off with the speed of a machine-gun.

"Moooo?"

"Never mind," you sigh, and hang up.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You sit on the chair
response: You stand up on the chair, wobbling slightly as you do so. Now what next?

Office (on the office chair)
One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You stand
response: You get off the office chair.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

The office chair stands upon its wobbly wheels, sighing slightly.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You cut tube
response: You can't cut the cardboard tube in half without first emptying it. That's one of the Six Basic Rules of the Mailroom.
action: 1
response: ["Okay, I'm sorry to hear that. Would it be okay if I had a cup of coffee?"]

The coffee machine replies, somewhat disgruntedly, "Suit yourself. You know exactly how to push my buttons, don't you?"

With a sigh, it stares up at the ceiling and relapses into silence.

Feeling somewhat guilty, you get yourself a cup of coffee, but when
the moment comes to drink it you merely look down into its murky depths, seeing the coffee machine's discontent reflected from its swirling surface. So you stand there, holding it in your hand, your thoughts drifting back to the one thing which still remains
unresolved: the matter of that duck.

Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

Lurking in the corner of the room, looking rather disgruntled, is the coffee machine.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a cup of coffee
a pair of scissors
a shirt (being worn)
action: You give the coffee to the dog
response: The dog is still in the carboard tube, and you're still holding that. If you want to offer it coffee, it might be wise to put one or the other down first. You never know what the effects might be. (For instance, if it turns out that the mere absorption of caffeine can transform this dog into a vicious slugbeast, then you'd be glad you weren't carrying it.)
action: You give the coffee to dog
response: offering. "Thanks," it mumbles, and then slurps it up noisily.

Within seconds, it is completely transformed! It starts running
around the room like a lunatic.
action: You look at the dog
response: It looks very agitated, and is constantly trying to bite everything within reach.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a large cardboard tube (open)
a weiner dog
a cup of coffee
a pair of scissors
a shirt (being worn)
action: You enter the elevator
response: The doors are closed, and refuse to open. This is because it already has a passenger, and that passenger is the office chair itself, who must have decided on a whim to fiddle around with the buttons. How inconvenient.
action: You go east
response: Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it is connected to a plug in the wall. Why anyone thought this was necessary is rather hard to divine.
action: 6
response: [the nearest pizzeria]

You've already ordered a pizza. No need to be so greedy.

One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.

A long wire extends across the room, originating from the fax machine.
action: You put the squid in the Machine
response: (first taking the portable squid)
You put the portable squid into the fax machine.
action: Dial 9
response: There is a ZZZZZIP noise, and then it is done."Item faxed to the
ACME Anachronistic Department. I really don't know why that
exists," the electronic voice grumbles, sounding annoyed.
action: You put everything in the Machine
response: pair of scissors: Done.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a shirt (being worn)
action: You remove the shirt then put the shirt in the Machine
response: You take off the shirt.

You put the shirt into the fax machine.
action: Dial 9
response: There is a ZZZZZIP noise, and then it is done."Item faxed to the
ACME Anachronistic Department. I really don't know why that
exists," the electronic voice grumbles, sounding annoyed.
action: You get all
response: cup of coffee: Taken.
large cardboard tube: Taken.
wire: You tug at the wire tentatively, but without managing to pick it up. With a sigh, you let it clatter to the floor.
action: You give the coffee to the dog
response: offering. "Thanks," it mumbles, and then slurps it up noisily.

Within seconds, it is completely transformed! It starts running
around the room like a lunatic.

The vicious weiner dog snaps at the wire, slicing it in half. With an unpleasant noise, it is immediately electrocuted, and goes soaring through the ceiling, leaving an odour of singed fur in its wake.
action: You look around
response: Coffee rooms are the lungs of the Weiner Corporation, filled with caffeine to the same extent that the lungs of excessively successful businessmen are habitually filled with nicotine.

On the wall, someone has carelessly pinned a poster for the latest movie blockbuster. That's clearly a violation of company policy.

A long wire comes into the room from the west, and you perceive that
it has been neatly cut into two pieces, one of which is still plugged into the mains.

You can also see a large cardboard tube (empty) here.
action: Go west
response: The corridor heads off to the east and west, and you can always choose to re-enter your office to the north, via an open door upon which your name and job have been inscribed in a decidedly shoddy fashion. There is a faint aroma in the air, but that is not important.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a wire
a cup of coffee
action: You examine the wire
response: At last! You are in the possession of the wire to the fax machine!
action: Go north
response: One entire wall (the north one, as it happens) is nothing else but a great pane of glass, through which you can see the cityscape that lies outside. The office itself is sparsely furnished: it is equipped with merely a desk, a fax machine, a telephone and a cow. To the south is
an open door.
action: You tie the wire to yourself
response: You fasten the electric wire around your waist gingerly. The knot is tight and sturdy, and the wire thick enough to withstand your weight (not that your weight is anything you should worry about).
action: Go north
response: You are falling. That much is certain. The rest -- unsurprisingly enough -- is a blurr.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.
action: Go down
response: You flap your arms like a duck. A duck? God forbid.
action: Go downwards
response: You flap your arms like a duck. A duck? God forbid.

The ground rushes up to meet it, but its unpleasant designs are thwarted by the intervention of the wire which you had thoughtfully tied around your own waist. For a few seconds, you dangle inches from the ground, contemplating how close you were to disaster.

Then, with a sigh of relief, you untie yourself and clamber down.
Now I'm coming for you, Mr. Duck, you tell yourself
determinedly as you enter the lobby of the ACME Corporation with a purposeful glint in the corner of your eye.

The lobby stretches out before you, a beautiful pristine space with sliding doors awaiting you to the south, leading out into the busy street.

You can enter the elevator here.
action: You go outside
response: This is a mystifying room. You wonder what on earth it is for.

You can enter the elevator here.

Lying on the floor here is a curious, cylindrical piece of metal.

You can also see a pair of scissors, a shirt and a portable squid
here.
action: You get all
response: pair of scissors: Taken.
shirt: Taken.
portable squid: Taken.
light-saber: Taken.
action: You enter the elevator
response: This is not a mere elevator: it is a superluminal cartoon lift, whose cruise speed is 299 000 000 meters a second on average, and fully capable of taking you from the lobby to the moon in an astonishingly short time. The glowing digits above the door spell out the number 9 - though you can make the elevator move up and down to your heart's content by the seemingly innocuous act of pressing a numbered button.
action: Press 1
response: You press button 1. The lift whirs into action and moves to the
correct level.
action: Go outside
response: Clowns pace to and fro, looking serious.

You can enter the elevator here.

You can also see a tie here.
action: You examine the clowns
response: They all look pretty much the same.
action: You talk to the clowns
response: You approach a lady clown, and narrowly avoid getting a pepper-flavoured custard pie in your face.
action: You enter the elevator
response: This is not a mere elevator: it is a superluminal cartoon lift, whose cruise speed is 299 000 000 meters a second on average, and fully capable of taking you from the lobby to the moon in an astonishingly short time. The glowing digits above the door spell out the number 1 - though you can make the elevator move up and down to your heart's content by the seemingly innocuous act of pressing a numbered button.
action: You wait awhile
response: Time passes.

"Now what are you going to do, Pond?" the duck sneers. His black beady eyes glisten with irony.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

Still standing there, doing nothing, saying nothing," the duck muses. "Are you having an internal struggle? Oh, how I love those.
They're so much FUN!"
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The duck paces slowly around you, watching your every move.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

"Anatidaephobia. Such a long word for something so, so simple
and straightforward. Did you know that it doesn't even exist?" The
duck chuckles (or rather, quackles) unpleasantly.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

"Do you know what is really the matter with you, Pond?" the duck whispers, stepping closer. "It's your inability to face the facts."
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

"Oh, and just to make matters clear, I will NOT shortly be revealing all the intimate details of my evil plan to dominate the universe to you, before then leaving you to die by a method so convoluted it is almost guaranteed to fail spectacularly. I know that this is something of a tradition for comic-book villains... and I have nothing against traditions... provided that they make sense. Ho, ho, ho."
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

"Come on, Pond," the duck sighs. "This is riDUCKulous. You haven't
done anything heroic so far. You haven't even said a single word to
me. Are you truly braindead? Is it absolutely beyond your ability to come up with a good-guy oneliner? Even something as simple as "Yippee-kay-ayyy,  motherf***er" would suffice."
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

"This little game you're playing, Pond, is simply boring me to tears.
I want... a battle to the DEATH!" And upon this last word, the duck whisks out a light-saber!

With a barbarian yell, you lunge forward, ready for the Fight of the Century (TM).

1) Hit the duck on the head
2) Kick the duck in the stomach
3) Attack him with your light-saber
action: 1
response: [Hit the duck on the head]

"Take THAT, you foul fowl!" you yell, bringing down your fists upon
his cranium.

"I'm... not... a... chicken..." the duck mumbles, looking somwhat dizzy.

1) Squirt ink in the duck's eyes
2) Stab the duck with the pair of scissors
3) Hit the duck again
4) Disarm the duck
action: 1
response: [Squirt ink in the duck's eyes]

You squeeze the squid, but no ink comes out. Instead, a tiny little voice shouts out:

"HEEEEEEEEEELP! LUNATIC!"

A whole amry of ninja gangsters then smashes through the window, and with consumate efficiency they rescue the tiny squid from your grasp. Then they knock you and the duck out flat unconscious.

When you wake up, you find yourself on a desert island, along with the (very bewildered) duck. Apparently, this is the punishment reserved
for people who mistreat members of the Octopi family.
action: 1
response: [Kick the duck in the private parts]

Taking advantage of the fact that the duck is busy fending off your attack, you swing your knee and totally go for it. The duck makes an odd "Spprfhgzhjl" sound and drops his light-saber on the floor.

1) Kill the duck
2) Talk to the duck
action: 2
response: [Talk to the duck]

"I could kill you," you say slowly as you threaten the duck with your light-saber. "But I choose not to."
I beg your pardon?
action: Look around
response: "I could kill you," you say slowly as you threaten the duck with your light-saber. "But I choose not to."
action: 1
response: [Kill the duck]

"No!" the duck quacks in panic. "Spare me! Spare me! I am --"

His last words are cut off, along with his head.

And thus with a weary sigh you leave his corpse behind, a most uncartoony spectacle in a cartoony world.

And so you vanish into the underworld of the ACME Corporation,
pursued by the iron hand of the law, embracing your fears.

Years later, a name rises from the shadows, rising up against evil.

Duckman.