Shade
by Andrew Plotkin (2000)
Genres: Travel

A one-room story set in your apartment.

action: %
response: This room surrounds you with white foam boards, each three metres long and three metres wide. It is rather hot in here.

A panel is located on the south wall.
action: About you
response: Without a mirror, you can't get a good look at yourself
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying nothing.

You feel mildly warm.
action: You examine panel
response: The panel is small and rectangular, attached firmly to the wall. It has red and blue buttons on it's face.
action: You look at red button
response: The red button has an image of a flame on it, as well as being red.

You start to sweat in the sweltering heat.
action: You press the blue button
response: As you push the blue button, sparks fly out, jolting you backwards against the northen wall, knocking you out. The panel may be damaged. You should see if it broke or something.
When you come to, you feel a cool gust of air hitting you in the face. You feel relieved.
action: You look at the panel
response: The panel is small and rectangular. It has black burn marks all over it's face. It sticks out a bit from the wall.
action: You look around
response: This room surrounds you with white foam boards, each three metres long and three metres wide. After enduring the heat earlier, the coolness of the room makes you feel relieved.

A panel is located on the south wall.
action: Press panel
response: Nothing obvious happens.
action: You look at the wall
response: White foam makes up the walls, ceiling and floor.
action: You look at the red button
response: The red button has an image of a flame on it, as well as being red.
action: You press the red button
response: You give the red button a push, but nothing happens. It could have something to do with the fact that you broke the panel earlier.
action: You pull the panel
response: You pry off the panel from the wall to reveal a hole.
action: You examine the hole
response: Wires stick out of this hole, burnt. It must have ceased function when you tried to use it earlier.

In the small hole is a potato.
action: You get the potato
response: [Your score has just gone up by fifty points.]
action: You examine it
response: A brown tuber with spots. You wonder what it is doing here.
action: You look in the hole
response: The small hole is empty.
action: You get the potato
response: You already have that.
action: You eat it
response: You don't know why, but your psyche is preventing you from eating the potato.

The room starts to rumble. Turbulence, perhaps?

Suddenly, the White Cube you are in vanishes to reveal that you were in the Holodeck all along. You silently curse at whoever it was who put you here, ran the program and turned the safety precautions off. You could have died!

The walls of this room are filled with a yellow grid on a black background. This room is used to simulate events using holograms. There is a door located north.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: The walls of this room are filled with a yellow grid on a black background. This room is used to simulate events using holograms. There is a door located north.
action: You examine the grid
response: The yellow grid criss-crosses across the whole room. You wonder why they chose such a poor design for this room.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a potato
action: Go north
response: This corridor is one of many in the giant maze that is this ship. Red lights are currently blinking, and a concurrent beeping noise sounds. The corridor continues east. The turbolift is located west.
action: You look at lights
response: Red lights. It must signify something, but you do not know what.
action: You go east
response: This corridor, just like the one you were just on earlier, is one of many in the giant maze that is this ship. Red lights are currently blinking, and a concurrent beeping noise sounds. The corridor continues east and west. A set of doors lie north.
action: You open the doors
response: The doors on this ship are automatic. They only open while you are walking through it.
action: You go to the north
response: It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

You remember, however, that the exit is south.
action: Go east
response: You navigate the maze of corridors. It's a wonder that you don't bump into anyone.

This large room is where shuttles are stored, but you can only see a small one here at the moment. The door to enter the room lies north, while a gigantic door is on the wall east. A pile of tools lie discarded in the corner and a lever sticks up from the ground. A power infuser is in the west wall.
action: You examine the tools
response: A pile of discarded tools. They don't look useful at all.
action: You look at the lever
response: (Lever)
A big lever is built into the floor. Why would anyone in their right mind (save for mad scientists) design a room this way?
action: You examine the power
response: The power infuser is basically just a charger that can power devices. It resides in a small hole in the western wall.
action: You plug the potato in the power
response: You put the potato in the power infuser and it begins its work.

After a few moments, the potato catches fire! The fire then slowly sets the rest of the room on fire, and you along with it. You roast in the flames.
action: You pull the lever
response: (Lever)
The giant doors of the shuttle bay open into the deep chill of space. It also sucks all the air out, and you along with it.
action: You take the tools
response: You try to pick one up, but find that they are too heavy. What are they made of, ununoctium?
action: You examine the Shuttle
response: Which do you mean, shuttle bay door, the giant shuttle bay door or Small Shuttle?
action: Small
response: The shuttle seems rather small. You doubt anyone could stand being in there for more than an hour.
action: Small
response: You get inside the shuttle.

The shuttle as small as you had thought it would be. A window looks out into the shuttle bay, while beneath that is a console.
action: You look at the console
response: A random (or so you think) assortment of buttons, switches and levers. You have no idea what any of them do.
action: Exit
response: You get out of the shuttle.

This large room is where shuttles are stored, but you can only see a small one here at the moment. The door to enter the room lies north, while a gigantic door is on the wall east. A pile of tools lie discarded in the corner and a lever sticks up from the ground. A power infuser is in the west wall.
action: Look around
response: This large room is where shuttles are stored, but you can only see a small one here at the moment. The door to enter the room lies north, while a gigantic door is on the wall east. A pile of tools lie discarded in the corner and a lever sticks up from the ground. A power infuser is in the west wall.
action: You examine giant
response: This rather large door is used to let shuttles in and out of the ship. It is currently closed.
action: Go north
response: You navigate the maze of corridors. It's a wonder that you don't bump into anyone.

This corridor, just like the one you were just on earlier, is one of many in the giant maze that is this ship. Red lights are currently blinking, and a concurrent beeping noise sounds. The corridor continues east and west. A set of doors lie north.
action: You go to the west
response: This corridor is one of many in the giant maze that is this ship. Red lights are currently blinking, and a concurrent beeping noise sounds. The corridor continues east. The turbolift is located west.
action: Go west
response: Turbolift (on Deck 2)
The cylindrical walls of this glorified tuna can of an elevator greet you. You can hear a low humming from the machines that make it work. The door you entered in from is east. You can use the turbolift to go up or down to different decks on the ship.

A lamp lies on the floor. You wonder who left it here.
action: You take the lamp
response: Taken.
action: You look at the lamp
response: An ordinary lamp. Although where you found it raises some questions.

The lamp is currently switched off.
action: You turn on the lamp
response: The lamp fails to light up. Maybe it has no power?
action: Go east
response: You navigate the maze of corridors. It's a wonder that you don't bump into anyone.

This large room is where shuttles are stored, but you can only see a small one here at the moment. The door to enter the room lies north, while a gigantic door is on the wall east. A pile of tools lie discarded in the corner and a lever sticks up from the ground. A power infuser is in the west wall.
action: You put the lamp in the power
response: You put the lamp in the power infuser and it begins its work.

After a few moments, a light beep sounds. It looks like the lamp is charged!
action: Go north
response: You navigate the maze of corridors. It's a wonder that you don't bump into anyone.

This corridor, just like the one you were just on earlier, is one of many in the giant maze that is this ship. Red lights are currently blinking, and a concurrent beeping noise sounds. The corridor continues east and west. A set of doors lie north.
action: Go north
response: The living quarters of a crew member. On the table is a communications device. On the bed is a book. Standing on the floor is a full length mirror. A set of doors lie south, back into the corridors.
action: You examine the communications
response: This small, flat, rectangular device has a black sleek exterior and rounded corners. It's face is taken up mostly by a screen. Below the screen is a circular button with a rounded square on it. It appears to be turned off.
action: You examine mirror
response: You look into the mirror and realise that...

You are a potato!

You explode into a pulp at the realization of this fact.

A voice somewhere says: "Thanks for playing!"

*** You have turned into mashed potato ***
action: Examine button
response: In that game you scored 50 out of a possible 50, in 75 turns.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, see some suggestions for AMUSING things to do, QUIT or UNDO the last command?
action: Examine button
response: Located below the screen of the communications device, this circular button has a rounded square on it's face.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: The living quarters of a crew member. On the table is a communications device. On the bed is a book. Standing on the floor is a full length mirror. A set of doors lie south, back into the corridors.
action: You examine the bed
response: A standard-issue bed. It's not as comfortable as what one would have liked, but it'll have to do. A book sits on the bed.
action: Go west
response: Turbolift (on Deck 2)
The cylindrical walls of this glorified tuna can of an elevator greet you. You can hear a low humming from the machines that make it work. The door you entered in from is east. You can use the turbolift to go up or down to different decks on the ship.
action: You use the the lamp on the the mirror to reflect the the light in such a the way that the the book is translated intthe potato-speech
response: USE THE LAMP ON THE MIRROR TO REFLECT THE LIGHT IN SUCH A WAY THAT THE BOOK IS TRANSLATED INTO POTATO-SPEECH

I only understood you as far as wanting to use the lamp.
action: You look at the mirror
response: You look into the mirror and realise that...

You are a potato!

You explode into a pulp at the realization of this fact.

A voice somewhere says: "Thanks for playing!"
action: You examine the device
response: This small, flat, rectangular device has a black sleek exterior and
action: Go north
response: rounded corners. It's face is taken up mostly by a screen. Below the screen is a circular button with a rounded square on it. It appears to be turned off.
action: You pull the lever then enter the Shuttle
response: (Lever)
The giant doors of the shuttle bay open into the deep chill of space. It also sucks all the air out, and you along with it.
action: Yes
response: debugcheapnitfol quit with exit status: 0
action: %
response: Four rounds have gone by. You and the red robot have remained neck and neck for the lead, with two wins each. The robot that emerges victorious in the fifth round will become Champion of Robotic Boxing, with all the praise and adulation that title implies.

Also, you get a pretty sweet endorsement deal from a leading gear manufacturer.

The final round is about to begin. Get out there and win!

An Interactive Boxing Match

You are standing in the ring of one of the greatest robot boxing stadiums in the entire world. Thousands of screaming fans have packed the arena to see your match. It's time for the fight to end it all.

The red robot stares at you intently.
action: About yourself
response: A few dents and dings from the previous rounds mar your gleaming blue exterior.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You look at Red
response: The red robot is the reigning champ of robotic boxing. No one expected you to hold your own against him, but you're no pushover; you've given him a run for his money.

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You hit red
response: You have to wait for the match to start, or else you'll be disqualified.

The audience roars with approval.
action: You examine the audience
response: The audience is packed into every available seat in the stadium, with plenty more sitting in the aisles. They're watching you intently, and making quite a commotion.

The bell rings! The match has started!

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: You hit red
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a vicious uppercut on your jaw!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit red
response: You land a spectacular roundhouse on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: You hit red
response: The red robot parries your blow!
You parry the red robot's blow!

The audience roars with approval.
action: You hit red
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!

You deal the final blow to the red robot, sending his head flying upwards. You wouldn't think it possible if you couldn't hear it, but the crowd begins to cheer even more loudly than before. The red robot's manager looks on in horror, quickly jumping into the ring to push his client's head back into place.

You're quickly ushered out of the arena and to safety as the fans begin to mob the ring. You're taken to a waiting limo. Your manager is already waiting inside, grinning broadly.

"Nice work, Blue. I had faith in you the entire time." You try to thank him, but he's too excited to listen. "I just got off the phone with a few contacts of mine -- y'know, in the breakfast gears business and stuff -- and it's lookin' very good for you. I tell you, a match this big, you'll be gettin' the biggest endorsement deal there ever was. We're both going to be rich! Let's go out to celebrate!"
action: Win
response: That's the general idea, yes.

The audience roars with approval.
action: You run
response: You are attached to the floor of the ring. There is no escape for you.

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: Lose
response: You make only a token effort to defend yourself, allowing the red robot to pop your head up. It may not be a glorious way to go, but it is profitable. Your manager bet a ton of cash on the red robot, and you'll get your share of it, fair and square. There's a nice sprocket you've had your eyes on for a while, maybe a lube job.

On your way out of the stadium, you are stopped by a small child. "Why'd you lose, Blue? You never lose like that. You can't have lost like that."

Your ears burn with shame. "Shut up, kid!" you shout. You run to your waiting limo, and seat yourself. When did it even come to this, you think to yourself. I used to be a champ, and now I'm just trash. You bury your face in your hands and sob.
action: You hit the audience
response: You'd better not. Your manager is still making payments on the loan he had to take out to pay the settlement from the last time.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit yourself
response: Violence is the answer to this one, but it's best to direct it appropriately.

The bell rings! The match has started!

The audience roars with approval.
action: Xyzzy
response: You close your eyes in deep concentration and intone the magical word XYZZY...

You open your eyes and find yourself in a bakery in beautiful Paris! The baker smiles at you and presses something into your palm.

"Merci," you say.

"De rien," the baker replies.

The spell wears off, and you find yourself back in the boxing ring. The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: You hit yourself
response: Violence is the answer to this one, but it's best to direct it appropriately.
The red robot lands a vicious uppercut on your jaw!

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a croissant
The red robot lands a vicious uppercut on your jaw!

As the red robot's fist connects with your face, you feel your head begin to jerk upwards. You don't have long to feel sorry for yourself; you black out shortly afterward.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying nothing.

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: Xyzzy
response: You close your eyes in deep concentration and intone the magical word XYZZY...

You open your eyes and find yourself in a bakery in beautiful Paris! The baker smiles at you and presses something into your palm.

"Merci," you say.

"De rien," the baker replies.

The spell wears off, and you find yourself back in the boxing ring.

The audience roars with approval.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a croissant

The audience roars with approval.
action: You give the croissant to Red
response: He doesn't want it. Has he no respect for the power of croissant?

The bell rings! The match has started!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a vicious uppercut on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a spectacular roundhouse on the red robot's jaw!

You deal the final blow to the red robot, sending his head flying upwards. You wouldn't think it possible if you couldn't hear it, but the crowd begins to cheer even more loudly than before. The red robot's manager looks on in horror, quickly jumping into the ring to push his client's head back into place.

You're quickly ushered out of the arena and to safety as the fans begin to mob the ring. You're taken to a waiting limo. Your manager is already waiting inside, grinning broadly.

"Nice work, Blue. I had faith in you the entire time." You try to thank him, but he's too excited to listen. "I just got off the phone with a few contacts of mine -- y'know, in the breakfast gears business and stuff -- and it's lookin' very good for you. I tell you, a match this big, you'll be gettin' the biggest endorsement deal there ever was. We're both going to be rich! Let's go out to celebrate!"
action: Describe the surroundings
response: You are standing in the ring of one of the greatest robot boxing stadiums in the entire world. Thousands of screaming fans have packed the arena to see your match. It's time for the fight to end it all.

The red robot stares at you intently.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: Continue
response: You are standing in the ring of one of the greatest robot boxing stadiums in the entire world. Thousands of screaming fans have packed the arena to see your match. It's time for the fight to end it all.

The red robot stares at you intently.

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: You hit red
response: You have to wait for the match to start, or else you'll be disqualified.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: Xyzzy
response: You close your eyes in deep concentration and intone the magical word XYZZY...

You open your eyes and find yourself in a bakery in beautiful Paris! The baker smiles at you and presses something into your palm.

"Merci," you say.

"De rien," the baker replies.

The spell wears off, and you find yourself back in the boxing ring.

The bell rings! The match has started!

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a croissant
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You throw the croissant
response: You throw the croissant to a young lady in the audience. She is overcome with joy and begins screaming to her friends about her new treasure.

Being famous is awesome.
You parry the red robot's blow!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
You parry the red robot's blow!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit the robot
response: The red robot parries your blow!
You parry the red robot's blow!

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!

You deal the final blow to the red robot, sending his head flying upwards. You wouldn't think it possible if you couldn't hear it, but the crowd begins to cheer even more loudly than before. The red robot's manager looks on in horror, quickly jumping into the ring to push his client's head back into place.

You're quickly ushered out of the arena and to safety as the fans begin to mob the ring. You're taken to a waiting limo. Your manager is already waiting inside, grinning broadly.

"Nice work, Blue. I had faith in you the entire time." You try to thank him, but he's too excited to listen. "I just got off the phone with a few contacts of mine -- y'know, in the breakfast gears business and stuff -- and it's lookin' very good for you. I tell you, a match this big, you'll be gettin' the biggest endorsement deal there ever was. We're both going to be rich! Let's go out to celebrate!"

In that game you scored 100 out of a possible 100, in 7 turns."
action: You look around
response: Please give one of the answers above.
action: Pummel red
response: You have to wait for the match to start, or else you'll be disqualified.

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The bell rings! The match has started!

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: Pray
response: You fall to your knee-equivalents in prayer. "O Lord," you cry, "forgive my sins against you, and save my immortal soul."

The red robot, overcome by your faith, falls to the floor as well, his eyes filled with tears. "This fighting is wrong! Does it not say in Luke 6:29, 'And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also'?"

Your faith moves the crowd, who all drop to their knees as well and pray for salvation from Jesus Christ. The show of faith and brotherly love causes you to weep openly. You embrace the red robot. "Let's go have a Bible study!" you shout. The crowd roars its agreement.
action: Sing
response: You play a MIDI of "Shave and a Haircut".
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: Kiss red
response: You think to yourself, this violence is senseless. Why can't blue robot and red robot coexist in harmony? You reach out to embrace your red brother. Unfortunately, it appears he does not share your pacifist views. While you're vulnerable, he pummels you mercilessly.
action: You hug robot
response: You think to yourself, this violence is senseless. Why can't blue robot and red robot coexist in harmony? You reach out to embrace your red brother. Unfortunately, it appears he does not share your pacifist views. While you're vulnerable, he pummels you mercilessly.
action: Cheat
response: Don't get too hasty.

The audience roars with approval.
action: You wait awhile
response: Time passes.

The audience roars with approval.
action: You hit yourself
response: Violence is the answer to this one, but it's best to direct it appropriately.

The bell rings! The match has started!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: Cheat
response: With a grin, you reach forward and press the red robot's OFF button. You pummel him mercilessly until his head pops up. Your manager assured you that the judges wouldn't be able to tell it from any old knockout, but he was wrong. The judges quickly discover your foul play, and alert the authorities.
action: You give up
response: (to the red robot)
(first taking the up above)
That isn't available.

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: You throw the match
response: You make only a token effort to defend yourself, allowing the red robot to pop your head up. It may not be a glorious way to go, but it is profitable. Your manager bet a ton of cash on the red robot, and you'll get your share of it, fair and square. There's a nice sprocket you've had your eyes on for a while, maybe a lube job.

On your way out of the stadium, you are stopped by a small child. "Why'd you lose, Blue? You never lose like that. You can't have lost like that."

Your ears burn with shame. "Shut up, kid!" you shout. You run to your waiting limo, and seat yourself. When did it even come to this, you think to yourself. I used to be a champ, and now I'm just trash. You bury your face in your hands and sob.
action: You ask Red about Red
response: The red robot ignores you completely. How rude.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You think
response: You analyze the situation, formulating plans of attack and carefully considering any openings the red robot might give you. While you're doing this, the red robot whacks you in the head.
action: Sleep
response: You always make sure you're fully charged before a match.

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You wake
response: The dreadful truth is, this is not a dream.

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You jump
response: Impossible. Your legs have no joints.

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: You hit the robot
response: You have to wait for the match to start, or else you'll be disqualified.

The bell rings! The match has started!

The audience roars with approval.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit the robot
response: The red robot parries your blow!
The red robot lands a vicious uppercut on your jaw!

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

As the red robot's fist connects with your face, you feel your head begin to jerk upwards. You don't have long to feel sorry for yourself; you black out shortly afterward.
action: You hit the robot
response: Please give one of the answers above.
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

A woman seated behind you yells, "Go Blue! Kill that red bastard!"
action: You hit the bell
response: Leave the bell alone.

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

The bell rings! The match has started!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit robot
response: The red robot parries your blow!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a spectacular roundhouse on the red robot's jaw!
You parry the red robot's blow!

The audience roars with approval.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a spectacular roundhouse on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

The audience roars with approval.
action: You hit the robot
response: The red robot parries your blow!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

As the red robot's fist connects with your face, you feel your head begin to jerk upwards. You don't have long to feel sorry for yourself; you black out shortly afterward.
action: Xyzzy
response: You close your eyes in deep concentration and intone the magical word XYZZY...

You open your eyes and find yourself in a bakery in beautiful Paris! The baker smiles at you and presses something into your palm.

"Merci," you say.

"De rien," the baker replies.

The spell wears off, and you find yourself back in the boxing ring.

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You eat croissant
response: You are filled with the terrible power of French baked goods!

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

The crowd holds its breath in anticipation of your next moves.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.

The bell rings! The match has started!

The crowd screams with pleasure.
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a vicious uppercut on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a spectacular roundhouse on your jaw!

A man in the audience yells, "Knock his block off, Red!"
action: You hit the robot
response: You land a devastating blow on the red robot's jaw!
The red robot lands a devastating blow on your jaw!

A little girl in the front row bellows with rage. "The robot requires additional pummeling! Continue!"
action: %
response: Odd, how the light just makes your apartment gloomier. Pre-dawn darkness pools in the corners and around the tops of walls. Your desk lamp glares yellow, but the shadows only draw your eyes and deepen.

Not much of an apartment, no. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

You are sprawled on the futon, staring up into that gloom. Your eyes feel gritty. But it's too late -- early -- no time left for sleep, anyway. In a few hours your ride will arrive.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You examine the list
response: You won't accomplish much while slumped on the futon. That's been getting slowly more apparent for hours now.
action: You stand
response: You lever yourself upright. Umf. It's amazing how much lack of sleep feels like a hangover, only without the preceding party.
action: You examine the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. However, everything seems to have gotten done. The last line reads "Call taxi", and it has its checkmark, and here you wait.

Come to think of it, as with a hangover, dehydration is probably the problem. Your mouth is dry wool.
action: You look around
response: You glance around. The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.

A game-over message is flashing on the screen.

You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.

Behind you, the futon takes up most of the apartment. A second-hand stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

On the counter is a glass.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You examine the glass
response: An ordinary drinking glass.

You're still feeling thirsty.
action: You fill the glass
response: You step out of the kitchen nook, and step into the bathroom nook.

The faucet rattles, and water dribbles into the glass.
action: Drink glass
response: You gulp the water. It feels vaguely astringent in your mouth, unsatisfying. Well, no doubt thirst will be more real after you fly to California --
action: You drop the glass
response: Dropped (in the bathroom nook).

-- Fly? Where did you leave your plane tickets?
action: Go outside
response: You step out of the bathroom nook.

You hate this feeling. It happens all the time. Something safely accomplished, and then pow, you have to worry about it again. Unfair! The tickets must be here somewhere.
action: You look at the desk
response: The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.

A game-over message is flashing on the screen.

You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.
action: Search
response: What do you want to search?
action: Desk
response: You sit down at the desk.

You carefully tilt up piles of paper, trying to avoid an avalanche. Nope. The tickets aren't there.
action: Search papers
response: You carefully tilt up piles of paper, trying to avoid an avalanche. The plane tickets still aren't there.
action: Search book
response: The Schmendrick's Guide to Desert Camping -- you've been studying it for weeks now. Vast alien reams of information: perspiration rates, sunburn factors, tent guying, and how to make a condensation still out of a trashbag and a tin can. You could probably write the book out longhand from memory; and none of it means a damn thing to you.

(That's why you're going on this trip, after all. It is, of course, the Death Valley Om -- half arts festival, half cult, a week in the deep desert where people show off, have sex, take drugs, and maintain a twenty-four-hour constant OM. Sand, heat, and thousands of throats. A space outside the world; with no dues except that you join in the chant, as much as is in you to chant.)
action: Look around
response: You glance around. The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.

A game-over message is flashing on the screen.

You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.

Behind you, the futon takes up most of the apartment. A second-hand stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

In the bathroom nook you can see a glass.
action: You search the luggage
response: You stand up.

You quickly pop open each suitcase and riffle through, trying not to disarrange your tidy packing too badly. Nope. The tickets aren't there.
action: You examine the hyacinth
response: This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The hyacinth sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill. Although it looks a little parched at the moment.
action: You fill it
response: The faucet rattles, and water dribbles into the glass.
action: You pour the water on the hyacinth
response: (the glassful of water on the hyacinth)
You water the plant.
action: You examine the hyacinth
response: This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The hyacinth sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill.
action: You open the shade
response: Darkness is already crawling around the edges of the windowshade. You have no desire to look night in the face.
action: You look at the shade
response: The shade is a white plastic sheet -- more yellowing, maybe. One of those roller mechanisms that never quite works. The shade is pulled down against the pre-dawn gloom.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You look at the mirror
response: The far side of the mirror is just as shadowy as this one. It's probably meant as commentary; not more space, just more of the same.
action: You examine computer
response: You sit down at the desk.

The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to believe that you do.

The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
action: You search the computer
response: The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to believe that you do.

The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
action: You look around
response: You glance around. The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.

A game-over message is flashing on the screen.

You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.

Behind you, the futon takes up most of the apartment. A second-hand stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.
action: You enter the closet
response: It's not a walk-in closet. It's barely even a reach-in closet.
action: You examine closet
response: You stand up.

The closet (if you can call it that) is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the (ahem) depths, you see an old jacket and a vacuum cleaner.
action: You search the closet
response: The closet is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the depths, you see an old jacket and a vacuum cleaner.
action: You get the vacuum
response: Taken. (Awkwardly.)
action: You look at vacuum
response: The vacuum cleaner is a "luggable" model -- meaning that it's awkward to carry, but too small to be really efficient. Fortunately, you don't generate a lot of dust.
action: You turn on the vacuum
response: You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming industriously. You run it back and forth on the floor for a few moments. It doesn't make much difference, but you feel tidy.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You look at the futon
response: The futon is definitely on the downhill side of life's rolling knolls. It serves as both couch and bed, if inadequately in each case, which makes it the most important piece of furniture you own.
action: You look under the futon
response: You bend down, and see dust and assorted minor trash under the futon. Nothing unusual.
action: You examine the cardboard
response: The crate your computer arrived in. It's dented and disreputable now, but still serves the time-honored purpose of holding your stereo up.
action: You search the bathroom
response: The bathroom alcove has a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that manages to make the rest of the place look roomy. Not much else; most of your accoutrements have been packed.
action: You search the kitchen
response: The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.
action: You examine the stereo
response: The stereo is old, dating from the era when matte-black, featureless, and opaque were the watchwords of hipness. It still works, however.
action: You turn on the stereo
response: The stereo buzzes, hunts, and then locates its station. Ah, your favorite small-time indy worldbeat/techno station. At least you think that's what they call it. It's a pretty stream-of-consciousness format.

The room fills with the sound of a reggae-electronic song.
action: You listen
response: You are listening to a reggae-electronic song.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

The radio begins playing an Austro-Japanese tune.
action: About yourself
response: You're you.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying a vacuum cleaner and a glass.
action: You enter the kitchen
response: You step into the kitchen nook.

The radio begins playing an Austro-Maori song.
action: You open the cupboard
response: You open the cupboard, revealing a box of crackers.
action: You get the box
response: Taken.
action: Search box
response: The box is closed.
action: Search counter
response: The counter is bare.

The radio begins playing an Austro-Dominican chant.
action: You search the kitchen
response: The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare.
action: You examine the refrigerator
response: It's yellow. Beyond that, it looks like every other refrigerator in the United States.
action: You open the refrigerator
response: You open the refrigerator, revealing a jar of peanut butter.
action: You examine the stove
response: The usual electric range arrangement. Weirdly, there is no oven in your kitchen. You don't know what lurks in the space beneath the stove. You've been afraid to pry -- the stove might turn out to be powered by radioactive decay, or something.
action: You look under the stove
response: You find nothing of interest.

The radio begins playing a Franco-Javanese tune.
action: You pull the stove
response: You are unable to.

The fridge door swings shut.
action: You examine the stove
response: The usual electric range arrangement.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

The radio begins playing a Franco-Estonian song.
action: You examine the sink
response: (the kitchen sink)
The kitchen sink is spotless. Not through any virtue of yours, mind you, except for your inability to cook.
action: You look in the sink
response: (the kitchen sink)
You find nothing of interest.
action: You open the door
response: You step out of the kitchen nook.

The sun hasn't risen; what light you have would just leak out into the night. Anyway, the taxi hasn't arrived, so there's nowhere to go.
action: You look at the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. There, near the bottom; "Buy plane tickets", and a checkmark. So where did you leave them? The desk? Your coat pocket? Could they have gotten packed accidentally?
action: Search jacket
response: You stand up.

You root through the jacket's myriad pockets. Nope. The tickets aren't -- Aha. They are, after all. The tickets slide to the floor and lie there, smirking at you.

The radio begins playing a Hispano-Maori song.
action: You get the tickets
response: Taken. Something scrapes underfoot as you bend to pick the tickets up.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see a trace of sand here.

The sound of a helicopter comes faintly through the closed window.
action: You examine the sand
response: A trace of sand is visible on the living room floor.
action: You get the sand
response: You scrape up a pinch of sand. It runs through your fingers; it's sand.

The radio begins playing a Franco-Slavic lullaby.

The helicopter is getting closer.
action: You look at the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. Huh. "Vacuum" is checked; you remember doing it. But look at this floor.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying some plane tickets, a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, a vacuum cleaner and a glass.

The sound of the helicopter is fading now.
action: You stand
response: You stand up.
action: You turn on cleaner
response: You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming industriously. You run it back and forth on the floor. But it only seems to spread the sand around. In fact, it looks like there's more sand than before you started.

You can barely hear the helicopter any more.
action: You examine the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. Huh. "Vacuum" is checked; you remember doing it. But look at this floor.

The radio begins playing a Filipo-Atlantean (?) song.
action: You turn on cleaner
response: You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming industriously. You run it back and forth on the floor. But it only seems to spread the sand around. In fact, it looks like there's more sand than before you started.
action: You get the sand
response: You pick up a pinch of sand. It runs through your fingers; it's sand.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see some sand here.
action: Clean sand
response: Just "clean". When you clean, it's pretty much cleaning the whole area.
action: Clean
response: You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming, albeit with a bit of a whine. You run it back and forth on the floor. But it only seems to spread the sand around. In fact, it looks like there's more sand than before you started.

The radio begins playing an Austro-Korean tune.
action: You look at cleaner
response: The vacuum cleaner is a "luggable" model -- meaning that it's awkward to carry, but too small to be really efficient. Fortunately, you don't generate a lot of dust.
action: You turn off cleaner
response: This vacuum cleaner turns itself off automatically.

The radio begins playing a vibrant Javanese chant.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see some sand here.
action: You look at the floor
response: It's a bit sandy.
action: Clean
response: You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming, albeit with a bit of a whine. You run it back and forth on the floor. But it only seems to spread the sand around. In fact, it looks like there's more sand than before you started.

The radio begins playing a soothing Hmong song.
action: You look at cleaner
response: The vacuum cleaner is a "luggable" model -- meaning that it's awkward to carry, but too small to be really efficient. Fortunately, you don't generate a lot of dust.
action: You open the cleaner
response: You pop open the vacuum cleaner's casing. Sand spills out -- all over the floor. What the hell?

The stereo clicks as a soothing Hmong song ends and the hourly news comes on. What? Morning must have arrived, although the world outside is still dark. The taxi should be showing up soon.
action: Close cleaner
response: You try to close the casing, but sand has worked into the joints. You can't get it fully closed, even when you whack it.

"More allegations of campaign finance misconduct..." (Oh, fascinating news day.)
action: Clean
response: The vacuum cleaner can't be started while it's open. Not that it looks likely to work in any case, now.

"Sharp words between the superpowers today..." (Huh? There are still superpowers?)
action: You examine the cleaner
response: The vacuum cleaner's innards are packed with sand. You can't imagine how it got that way.

"Three people reported missing at the Death Valley Om in California..." (Hang on.) "The popular desert arts festival was shaken yesterday when three attendees failed to return from moonlight hikes. State police are searching the area." (You resolve to read that desert camping book one more time.)
action: Clean cleaner
response: Just "clean". When you clean, it's pretty much cleaning the whole area.
action: You examine the cleaner
response: The vacuum cleaner's innards are packed with sand.

It must be morning, after all -- your metabolism is starting to ratchet up to daytime levels.

"In the business pages, stocks are down..." (You once again lose interest.)
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see a thin layer of sand here.

You're definitely getting hungry.

"And that's, um... far out. Back to the groove, folks," and a soothing Dominican tune begins.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying some plane tickets, a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, a vacuum cleaner and a glass.
action: You open the box
response: You pull on the box top. It's stuck, somehow. You yank --

The top tears away, and white sand sprays out of the box.
action: You open jar
response: You unscrew the lid... with an unexpected grating sound. Something sifts to the floor.

The peanut butter jar is full of sand.

This is getting to be too much. You consider which of your friends might have snuck in here and set all of this up. No... mmm... nobody, really.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see an inch of sand lying in the living room.

The radio begins playing an Indo-Andean chant.
action: You open the refrigerator
response: You open the refrigerator.
action: You look at the refrigerator
response: It's yellow. Beyond that, it looks like every other refrigerator in the United States. The fridge is open but empty.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare. The fridge is open but empty.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see an inch of sand lying in the living room.
action: You examine the spider
response: This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The spider plant sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill. Although it looks very dry.

The radio begins playing a thumping Nigerian tune.

The fridge door swings shut.
action: You examine the list
response: You step out of the kitchen nook, and sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. Dammit, yet another item you missed -- you have to water the plant.
action: You fill the glass
response: With an eerie hiss, dry white sand boils from the faucet. You yank at the tap, but the bathroom sink is already full, and sand spilling on the floor.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. The bathroom alcove has a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that manages to make the rest of the place look roomy. Not much else; most of your accoutrements have been packed.

You see a trace of sand lying here.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The kitchen alcove is across from you, and the closet just to one side. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see an inch of sand lying in the living room.
action: You look at the shower
response: The shower stall is a familiar symphony in pinkish-grey tile and grunge. Well, more of a solo. A short solo.

The radio begins playing a haunting Andean song.
action: You open the shower
response: The shower curtain has become a daily ritual of annoyance. It's too small. It cannot, no matter how you tug at it, actually cover the shower stall. You've managed to arrange the curtain so that the minimal amount of water splashes onto the bathroom floor when you shower, and that's where you leave it.
action: You look in the shower
response: The shower stall is a familiar symphony in pinkish-grey tile and grunge. Well, more of a solo. A short solo.
action: You turn on the shower
response: You turn the tap... and nothing happens. Hmm. The shower was working last night. You knew the pipes in your apartment were unreliable, but this is worse than usual.
action: You fill the glass
response: You scoop up a glassful of sand.

The radio mumbles, "This is, um, one-oh-three... kay-tee-oh-whoa... your source for interworldbeat..." You can practically hear the bong gurgling in the background. After a moment, a haunting Hmong melody begins playing.
action: You pour the sand on the spider
response: Which do you mean, the sand on the living room floor, the sand on the bathroom floor, the sand in the bathroom sink, the jarful of sand, the boxful of sand or the glassful of sand?
action: You examine the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- clean out closet
- buy stereo stand
- don't leave stove on
action: You clean out the closet
response: Just "clean". And the parser apologizes for not being smarter about this.
action: Clean closet
response: Just "clean". When you clean, it's pretty much cleaning the whole area.
action: Close cleaner
response: You try to close the casing, but sand has worked into the joints. You can't get it fully closed, even when you whack it.

The radio begins playing a Balto-Andean tune.
action: You turn on the stove
response: You turn the knob -- click. Then the stove emits a loud crackle. The burner frosts white, although you can feel the heat radiating from it; bits of its substance seem to be flaking away. Thermal shock? you have time to think. And then the entire burner arrangement slumps into white sand, which runs down off the stove.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.

The cupboard is open and bare.

You see a trace of sand lying here.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The bathroom alcove is across from you, and the closet next to it. The stereo sits on a cardboard crate. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see an inch of sand lying in the living room.
action: Go outside
response: You step out of the kitchen nook.

The radio begins playing a Hispano-Korean chant.
action: You turn on computer
response: You sit down at the desk.

The computer is already on.
action: You examine computer
response: The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to believe that you do.

The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
action: You type on the computer
response: You've tried everything you can think of twice, and you're tired of trying. Maybe an idea will come to you later.
action: You look at the list
response: The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- clean out closet
- buy stereo stand

The radio begins playing an Antarcto-Japanese melody.
action: You enter the closet
response: The closet is closed.
action: You open the closet
response: You stand up.

You reach for the knob; then hesitate; then reach again.

You might as well not have bothered. The closet door bursts off its hinges before you can touch it. You leap back, barely avoiding the cracking plywood as it smashes to the floor, buried in the torrent of sand that is pouring out of the closet.

After a few seconds, the room is still again.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see inches of sand here.

In the kitchen nook you can see a trace of sand.

In the bathroom nook you can see a trace of sand.
action: You look in the closet
response: The closet is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the depths, you see deep-drifted sand, and also an old jacket.

The radio begins playing an angry electronic melody.
action: You look at the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- buy stereo stand
- pack clean socks
action: You stand
response: You stand up.
action: You search the closet
response: The closet is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the depths, you see deep-drifted sand, and also an old jacket.

The radio begins playing a Filipo-Shaker song.
action: Open luggage
response: You grab a suitcase handle -- which crumbles dryly in your grip. In seconds and in silence, the whole row of suitcases and duffels has collapsed to white sand on the living room floor.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see ankle-deep sand here.

In the kitchen nook you can see a trace of sand.

In the bathroom nook you can see a trace of sand.
action: Examine book
response: You sit down at the desk.

The Schmendrick's Guide to the Desert -- you've been studying it for what seems like forever. Endless miles of information: colors of silence, sounds of heat and sunlight, the feel of vast distances on your skin, and death. It sounds beautiful.
action: You examine the list
response: The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- buy stereo stand
action: You examine the cardboard
response: The crate your computer arrived in. It's dented and disreputable now, but still serves the time-honored purpose of holding your stereo up.

The radio begins playing a rhythmic Maori tune.
action: You get the cardboard
response: You barely touch it, and the heavy cardboard abruptly tears. Sand pours out across the living room floor. The stereo sags; in moments, the crate is reduced to paper rags, which are immediately buried in the sand.
action: You look around
response: You glance around. The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.

A game-over message is flashing on the screen.

You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.

Behind you, the futon takes up most of the apartment. A second-hand stereo sits on the sandy floor. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

A potted spider plant sits beneath the window.

You can see hills of sand lying on the floor.

In the kitchen nook you can see a trace of sand.

In the bathroom nook you can see a trace of sand.
action: You look at the list
response: The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- defrost refrigerator
- unclog shower drain
- flush notes down toilet
action: You open the refrigerator
response: You pull open the refrigerator, and try not to flinch as a wall of sand rushes out and buries your feet.

The radio begins playing an Antarcto-Shaker fugue.
action: You open the shower
response: The shower curtain has become a daily ritual of annoyance. It's too small. It cannot, no matter how you tug at it, actually cover the shower stall. You've managed to arrange the curtain so that the minimal amount of water splashes onto the bathroom floor when you shower, and that's where you leave it.
action: You touch the shower
response: You feel nothing unexpected.

The radio begins playing an Antarcto-Shaker melody.
action: Flush toilet
response: The toilet? Yes, it's the toilet's turn! You press the handle, grinning maniacally. And indeed, the sand rushes down the sides of the bowl; the shining porcelain itself crazes, cracks, and veils to the bathroom floor. The toilet is a pedestal, a stump, a mere pile of sand. Gone.
action: You turn on the shower
response: You turn the tap, and -- no surprise now -- dry sand floods from the showerhead. Shielding your eyes from the spray, you reach to turn the tap back off.

A creaking from above warns you. You leap back as the plaster cracks overhead, and whiteness roars down.

When silence returns, the entire far end of the bathroom is a blank slope of sand.

A faint creaking comes from the bathroom ceiling.
action: Leave
response: You step out of the bathroom nook.

With a muffled crack the bathroom ceiling gives way. Broken plaster and rusty pipes tumble down as you stare. And down comes the sand, a dry white rushing river, hissing, shrieking. In moments the bathroom is lost to your sight.
action: You look at the list
response: You sit down at the desk.

The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. In the middle of the page, you see:
- remove package from kitchen storage
- find notes for IFComp entry
action: You open the cupboard
response: That's already open.

The radio begins playing a haunting Maori lullaby.
action: You close the cupboard
response: The cabinet and counter start to groan as soon as you touch them. You slam the cabinet for good measure; and the stained pressboard crackles white, shivers, and explodes into sand. All right!

A faint creaking comes from the kitchen ceiling.
action: Look around
response: You survey your one small room. The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them.

Sand spills from the open refrigerator.

You see some sand lying here.

The rest of the place is mostly filled by your futon, and the computer desk in the corner. The closet is across from you. The stereo sits on the sandy floor. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.

A potted palm plant sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.

You can see hills of sand lying in the living room.

With a muffled crack the kitchen ceiling gives way. Broken plaster and rotten lath tumble down as you leap aside. And they, of course, are followed by sand, white sand, rivers of sand. In moments the kitchen alcove is lost to your sight.
action: Search desk
response: You sit down at the desk.

You carefully tilt up piles of paper, trying to avoid an avalanche. Yes, sand is scattered beneath.

Carefully? You shove a paper-stack off the desk; it's a shower of sand before it hits the ground. Ha! You push another, and another, and then sweep the whole mass over the edge. White sand cascades everywhere. Laughing, you feel the desk itself give way.

Pop. Oops. That was the light bulb imploding. The apartment is very dark and quiet of a sudden.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: You survey your one small room. Your futon. Second-hand stereo. A closet to one side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.

The room is very dim, now. Blackness creeps around the windowshade.

The computer has survived somehow, and lies in a pile of sand. A potted palm plant sits beneath the window.

You can see a travel book, your to-do list and hills of sand here.
action: You look at the list
response: The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. At the very bottom of the page, you see:
- call taxi
- wait for taxi
- look, make sure it's actually taxi before opening door
(That last entry in a hasty, nervous script.)

You hear a car approaching outside.

The radio begins playing a reggae-Manx melody.
action: You open the shade
response: And if you see no taxi outside? What then? ...but the angry honking comes again. You yank hard on the windowshade, and it whips up as violently.

Blazing daylight floods the room.
action: You look around
response: Sunlight cuts across the room like hot butter, blazing from the window. The room is nearly barren now; walls and ceiling are blank, but for the window, the closed front door, and the full-length mirror across from them.

The futon sits alone in the center of the room. Next to it, askew on a pile of sand, rests the faithful old stereo.

The computer has survived somehow, and lies in a pile of sand. A potted cactus sits beneath the window.

You can see a travel book, your to-do list and hills of sand here.
action: You look through the window
response: Outside, dunes roll away to the rising sun. Nothing else is visible. Only the sunlight that burns you, full in the face. And sand.
action: You look at the list
response: The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. It is entirely illegible.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The radio begins playing an Antarcto-Hmong song.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: You touch mirror
response: You look into the mirror. The far side is just as bright as this one. With the sunlight behind you, only your own face is in shadow -- the walls, the door, your furniture, are all full-lit. Beyond your reflection and the window-frame, the street outside, the houses and trees, are all --

The street outside?

You spin around.
Odd, how the sunlight just makes your apartment more prosaic.

Not much of an apartment, no. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is up, and the front door wide open.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You open the door
response: You take a step across the room, but a quick movement distracts you. Something scurried along the wall? You can't see it any more.
action: You look around
response: You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is up, and the front door wide open.

Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.

On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
action: You enter kitchen
response: You move towards the kitchen nook but feel suddenly dizzy. Dehydration, probably.
action: You sit
response: (on top of the futon)
You reach out and touch your hand to the futon. It feels like glass.

The reflection shimmers like water, but the mirror is only heat -- pooling among the dunes, rising from the sands.
The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

Your futon sits nearby. The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.

Click. The stereo is playing "Cool, Clear Water".
action: You look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

Your futon sits nearby. The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.
action: Examine book
response: The Desert Elemental's Handbook -- you've been studying it for ages. Trace moisture segregation, arthropod ecocycles, sand/grit/fines sizing distributions. And, of course, the artistic aspects of heat, time, distance, and death.

You're especially fond of an essay on bones.
action: About yourself
response: You're you.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.
action: You examine sand
response: It's exactly like all the sand you've ever seen before.

Click. The stereo is playing "Gotta Stop on the Road for Water".
action: You look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

Your futon sits nearby. The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.

Something moves beneath the computer.
action: You examine computer
response: The game's opening sits neatly at the top of the screen, followed by a command prompt.
action: You play the game
response: You crouch in the sand and play through the computer game again.
action: You look at the computer
response: The game's closing message blinks at the bottom of the screen.

Click. The stereo is playing "Water From Another Time".
action: You look at the futon
response: The futon is definitely on the downhill side of the dunes. The frame is half-buried and a few lines of sand trickle down the sheet-wrinkles, but it's the same old futon in the end.
action: You sit
response: (on top of your futon)
You sit down, and find yourself seated on bare sand. The futon has disintegrated without a sound or a final word.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.
action: Go north
response: You pace around for a while.

Something moves beneath the stereo.
action: You look under the stereo
response: You catch a glimpse of two tiny eyes, shining out from beneath the stereo.

Click. The stereo is playing "Sun Gets In My Eyes".
action: You get the stereo
response: That's hardly portable.
action: You pull the stereo
response: You are unable to.
action: You sit
response: (on top of the travel book)
That's not something you can sit down on.

Something moves beneath the computer.
action: You look under the computer
response: You catch a glimpse of two tiny eyes, shining out from beneath the computer.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.

Click. The stereo is playing "You Listenin' To Me?".
action: You examine the stereo
response: The stereo is old, dating from the era when matte-black, featureless, and opaque were the watchwords of hipness. Now it sits on a pile of sand and looks lost.... "You Listenin' To Me?" is playing.
action: You look at the sand
response: It's exactly like all the sand you've ever seen before.
action: Clean
response: No cleaning implement is in sight.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying nothing.

Click. The stereo is playing "Ain't Gonna Make It".
action: Look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.
action: You look at the shade
response: The shadows shrink as you watch. The dunes aren't high here, and the sun is rising fast.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.
action: You look at the shade
response: The shadows shrink as you watch. The dunes aren't high here, and the sun is rising fast.

Click. The stereo is playing "Projection Of Your Fears".
action: You look at the Sun
response: Fusing hydrogen. Deathly, inescapable. White, blazing down.
action: Go upward
response: You pace around for a while.
action: Look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.

Click. The stereo is playing "Take It Out On The Little Guy".
action: You look at the computer
response: The game's closing message blinks at the bottom of the screen.
action: You sit on the stereo
response: That's not something you can sit down on.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.
action: Sleep
response: You've been trying all night. It's not going to happen.

Click. The stereo is playing "Rule the Kingdom of the Sun".
action: You wake
response: If only.

Something moves beneath the stereo.
action: You look under the stereo
response: You catch a glimpse of two tiny eyes, shining out from beneath the stereo.
action: Look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

The stereo leans against a dune. Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.

Click. The stereo is playing "Triumph Alone".
action: You examine the sky
response: The sky is dead blue, crushed by sunlight.
action: You get the dune
response: You pick up a pinch of sand. It runs through your fingers.

You catch a darting movement past your feet.

Click. The stereo is playing "Alone".
action: You turn on the stereo
response: The stereo is already on.

Something moves beneath the computer.
action: You turn off the stereo
response: A garbled news report comes on just as you reach for the switch. "Death Val... hikers... missing for... still... hope, say..."

...Old news. You hit the switch: click. The stereo falls silent, turns white, and drops instantly away into sand.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

Your computer squats complacently, the color of the sand.

You can see a travel book here.
action: You turn off the computer
response: "The only way to win is not to play," flashes the screen. You roll your eyes. The oldest lie; nobody's bought it since ever.

You hit the power key; the computer gives a tiny sigh and crumbles away.

A tiny figure burrows out of the new-fallen sand. It darts one way, then the other; but there is no more shelter.

The figure closes its eyes for a few seconds.
action: You examine the figure
response: A tiny human figure walks across the sand. It doesn't seem to notice you.
action: You get figure
response: You cup your palms around the figure and raise it into the air -- a human shape fallen to its knees in your handful of sand. You gaze down; sunlight seethes in the cauldron of your fingers. The figure slowly slides flat. But the sand is running out of your hands, and the figure falls to the ground, where it slowly pulls itself up again.
action: Hi
response: As you speak, currents of air curl across the sand. The figure clutches its clothing about itself and staggers on, ignoring you.

The figure moves more slowly now.
action: Look around
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.

A tiny figure inches across the sand.

You can see a travel book here.

The figure searches its clothing briefly, and then continues on its way.
action: Search figure
response: You try to peer into the figure's eyes. They are too remote. They do not see you.
action: You examine the figure
response: A tiny human figure staggers across the sand. It doesn't seem to notice you.
action: You get figure
response: You cup your palms around the figure and raise it into the air -- a human shape fallen to its knees in your handful of sand. You gaze down; sunlight seethes in the cauldron of your fingers. The figure slowly slides flat. But the sand is running out of your hands, and the figure falls to the ground, where it slowly pulls itself up again.

The figure slumps to the sand. No -- it's still moving, though on hands and knees.

The figure closes its eyes for a few seconds.
action: You read the book
response: The Desert Elemental's Handbook -- you've been studying it for ages. Trace moisture segregation, arthropod ecocycles, sand/grit/fines sizing distributions. And, of course, the artistic aspects of heat, time, distance, and death.

You skim through the chapters on starvation.
action: You read the book
response: The Desert Elemental's Handbook -- you've been studying it for ages. Trace moisture segregation, arthropod ecocycles, sand/grit/fines sizing distributions. And, of course, the artistic aspects of heat, time, distance, and death.

You skim through the pages on scorpions.

The figure seems to be muttering to itself.
action: You get figure
response: You cup your palms around the figure and raise it into the air -- a human shape fallen to its knees in your handful of sand. You gaze down; sunlight seethes in the cauldron of your fingers. The figure slowly slides flat. But the sand is running out of your hands, and the figure falls to the ground, where it slowly pulls itself up again.

The figure falls. After a few seconds... it still doesn't move.

The sands quickly cover it.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: The land is nearly barren. Dunes roll away towards the rising sun; a little shade trails behind them, but that will soon be gone. The sky is flat and empty blue.
action: You look at the sand
response: It's exactly like all the sand you've ever seen before.
action: Drop book
response: Nothing to do but wait.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: You examine the shade
response: The shadows shrink as you watch. The dunes aren't high here, and the sun is rising fast.
action: Sleep
response: If only.
action: You get the book
response: The cover is worn now. The pages are all blank.
action: Drop book
response: Nothing to do but wait.
action: Examine book
response: The tiny figure crawls out from under the sands. It's dead.

"You win," it says. "Okay, my turn again."

>...
Nothing left to do. Time passes.

The sun crawls higher.