An invisible typewriter begins to record your every move. Start of a transcript of ... Beat Witch An interactive loneliness by Robert Patten Release 2 / Serial number 231002 / Inform 7 build 6M62 (I6/v6.33 lib 6/12N) Identification number: //5EDB3173-2DC0-4D98-87D5-CDDBC66265CD// Interpreter version 1.3.6 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126 Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson Simple Chat version 4 by Mark Tilford Room Description Control version 13/160517 by Emily Short Numbered Disambiguation Choices version 7/140501 by Aaron Reed Epistemology version 9 by Eric Eve Room Description Headings version 1/090620 by Erwin Genstein Basic Help Menu version 4 by Wade Clarke Music by Daniel Stelzer (based on code by Massimo Stella and Wade Clarke (Glulx sound), Erik Temple (Glulx timing), and Eliuk Blau (DAMUSIX for I6)) Menus version 5 by Wade Clarke >* Compelling opening, not really sure what's going on Noted. >help (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ( - Help with Beat Witch) Beat Witch focuses more on story than puzzles. However, you may hit some snags on the way. Just remember that there are no puzzles that require you to do multiple things in a sequence. That is, a single action will move the story forward. Some tips: ? Don't give up. Really. When you see the death message, type UNDO. ? If you're dying by music, try to find a way to either block it or stop it. Something in your immediate environment may help you. LOOK. TAKE INVENTORY. ? Mercy is better than revenge. Also: ? Type MUSIC to toggle the music. (It's on by default but only plays at certain points.) ? If you want more context on beat witches, select the bonus material in the help menu. For detailed help, see the walkthrough that accompanies this story. It's divided into chapters that contain minimal spoilery info about the ones that follow. For general help, see "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General in the main Help menu. ------------------------ (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ("This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General) 1. About Interactive Fiction 2. What to do with > 3. Getting Started 4. Rooms and Travel 5. Objects 6. Controlling the Game 7. How the World is Assembled 8. If You Get Stuck (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ( - About This Story) Beat Witch started as an attempt write a spooky piece of interactive fiction in four hours. The time came and went, and the story just didn't come together in that short amount of time. Over the next few years, the author worked on it in fits and starts until it grew into the monstrosity you see here. Although music is vital to the story itself, listening to it is not. If you are interested in learning more about beat witches, see Bonus Material under the Help menu. Go to https://soundcloud.com/rpatten to hear more of the author's music. ------------------------ (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info (Bonus Material) 1. Alert from U.S. Department of Justice 2. Beat Witches: Facts and Fables (Bonus Material - Alert from U.S. Department of Justice) Public statement from U.S. Department of Justice (dated July 3, 2009): Beat witches have been in the public eye as of late due to the actions of Cassie McDonald, who killed three picnickers in a Rhode Island park on May 22 and was neutralized on June 12. Thanks to music's increasing presence in our lives and emerging drone technology, beat witches are rarer now than ever before, but they remain a threat to all Americans. Therefore, we are asking all federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies to be vigilant. (See the list at the end of this document for beat witches known to be at large in the United States.) Beat witches can kill with a thought and are therefore dangerous in the extreme. They use the victim's strength to temporarily make themselves stronger and faster, which increases the risk to the public. A beat witch can be distinguished by the following criteria: ? Was born female. ? Cannot speak. ? Shows acute pain when exposed to music, especially music that is without lyrics and played on a high volume. ? Is emitting light (if she has recently drained a victim). If you believe you have seen a beat witch, avoid a direct encounter and call 911 when it is safe to do so. However, if you believe yourself or others to be in immediate danger, take the following precautions/actions: ? Always go outside with a musical device, whether it's an instrument, a phone, or an MP3 player with a speaker (not just earphones). ? Play music. Although lyrics can render music less effective against a beat witch, any song has the potential to kill one. Even if the tune is not immediately lethal, it can incapacitate the beat witch until the proper authorities arrive. ? If music is not available, you may try to kill the beat witch by conventional means. If the witch has drained someone recently, however, this method is unlikely to result in her death. Keep in mind that a beat witch cannot harm those outside her immediate visible vicinity (typically about twenty (20) feet). Harboring or aiding a beat witch not only carries high risk - it is illegal. Those suspected of such behavior will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, which carries a penalty of up to five (5) years in prison and/or a $30,000 fine. Beat witches are not considered human (under precedent set in Johnston v. Whiting in 1934) and therefore have no rights under the Constitution of the United States. Known beat witches: ? Tabitha Jean King ? Guadalupe Miguel ? Polly Miller ? Bella Ward ? Li "Susie" Yang There is a moderate probability that other beat witches have avoided detection and are therefore not named in government notices. ------------------------ (Bonus Material) 1. Alert from U.S. Department of Justice 2. Beat Witches: Facts and Fables (Bonus Material - Beat Witches: Facts and Fables) 1. Table of Contents 2. Introduction (Bonus Material - Beat Witches: Facts and Fables - Table of Contents) Beat Witches: Facts and Fables by Emlyn Berlin Due to copyright restrictions, the book cannot be read in its entirety here. The introduction and table of contents are included with the permission of the publisher. Introduction What's in a name? Beat witches vs. witches in general Beat witches' abilities: What's confirmed, what's speculation, and what's incorrect Observations, Part 1: It's complicated: Beat witches' relationship to music Observations, Part 2: Look not on the outward appearance: Beat witch beauty and the art of survival Observations, Part 3: Giving and receiving: Beat witches giving life instead of taking it, and why beat witches can't drain other beat witches Observations, Part 4: Shadows of us: Beat witches' non-humanity Speculations: Eternal youth through draining others, animating the dead The earliest records of beat witches: Etruscans, Olmecs, and Shang dynasty Beat witch worshipers throughout the centuries Eleanor II the Fair (beat witch queen) vs. Edwin the Piper The Choral Uprising and why it failed The debate over beat witches' involvement in the Black Plague Silent butchers: How beat witches preyed on the wounded in the American Civil War The phonograph, the radio, and the Great Extermination Johnston v. Whiting and its influence outside the United States More efficient ways to hunt beat witches in the digital age How you can protect your community Choose your future without fear Index ------------------------ (Bonus Material - Beat Witches: Facts and Fables) 1. Table of Contents 2. Introduction (Bonus Material - Beat Witches: Facts and Fables - Introduction) Beat Witches: Facts and Fables by Emlyn Berlin Due to copyright restrictions, the book cannot be read in its entirety here. The introduction and table of contents are included with the permission of the publisher. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to suddenly die? One minute, you're going about your business, and the next, you're either reduced to nothingness or are exploring humankind's greatest mystery. Either idea fills most of us with dread. Indeed, so powerful is this fear that urban legends, religions, and laws have been crafted around the fact that there are some among us who can give death by force of will. These monsters, commonly known as beat witches, are not discussed as often as they were a century ago, a sign of how uncommon they have become. After all, in the modern world, how far can you get in your day without hearing some melody, some rhythm? Influencers and policymakers are beginning to deem beat witches a menace of the past, like smallpox or Genghis Khan. The goal of this book is to set the record straight for the general public -- what we know about beat witches, how much of a threat they pose to civilization, and how that threat can finally be removed. -- Emlyn Berlin ------------------------ (Bonus Material - Beat Witches: Facts and Fables) 1. Table of Contents 2. Introduction (Bonus Material) 1. Alert from U.S. Department of Justice 2. Beat Witches: Facts and Fables (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ( - About the Music) Music is central to Beat Witch's story, and the author has created some songs to enhance the experience. Keep in mind that interactive fiction does not typically use audio, and not all interpreters support it. If you can't hear the music or would prefer to engage with the story without a melody distracting you, don't worry. You can proceed knowing you will experience the full story, regardless of whether you are listening to the actual sounds. Visit https://soundcloud.com/rpatten for more music. ------------------------ (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ( - Credits) Beat Witch An interactive loneliness by Robert Patten Release 2 / Serial number 231002 / Inform 7 build 6M62 (I6/v6.33 lib 6/12N) Identification number: //5EDB3173-2DC0-4D98-87D5-CDDBC66265CD// Interpreter version 1.3.6 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126 Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson Simple Chat version 4 by Mark Tilford Room Description Control version 13/160517 by Emily Short Numbered Disambiguation Choices version 7/140501 by Aaron Reed Epistemology version 9 by Eric Eve Room Description Headings version 1/090620 by Erwin Genstein Basic Help Menu version 4 by Wade Clarke Music by Daniel Stelzer (based on code by Massimo Stella and Wade Clarke (Glulx sound), Erik Temple (Glulx timing), and Eliuk Blau (DAMUSIX for I6)) Menus version 5 by Wade Clarke Music and cover art by Robert Patten. Sounds by albertomarun, foad, inchadney, and robni7 from freesound.org. The author would like to thank the testers: Christopher Merriner, Matthew Goh, and Mel Jason. Any errors in this story are the author's responsibility and not the testers', who were all wonderful! ------------------------ (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info ( - Author Info) Robert Patten lives in Idaho, USA, with his wife and two children. He's the web manager for a news website. His hobbies include writing, coding, creating music, and eating chocolate. He also has a horror podcast called Uncle Bob's Campfire. You can contact him at curiousrealms@gmail.com. ------------------------ (If you're using a screen reader, press S to turn on Screen Reader mode. This message only appears on the front page of the menu system.) 1. Help with Beat Witch 2. "This Game Is Weird." How to Play Interactive Fiction in General 3. About This Story 4. Bonus Material 5. About the Music 6. Credits 7. Author Info Staging Area Translucent plastic veils enclose what was once a basketball court. Hoops and bleachers are faint shadows. High above you, the scrubbers sterilize any intruding air. A door is magnetically sealed against any invisible danger outside. Dozens of tables bear medical equipment. In front of them is a whiteboard. >* status bar is helpful Noted. >* I assume we're a witch Noted. > What? >x me Your features are hidden under the hazmat helmet. "... few more tests ..." Dr. Steve is trying to sound encouraging. "... Jessica?" "... disposing of the bodies with fire ..." Jessica says. Her voice is quivering, but she forces the report from her lips. "... didn't know the scale. With all ... need ... bigger crew ... can only focus ... streets ... parks ... can't ... anything indoors ..." Dr. Steve nods. "No one understood ... sheer numbers of deceased ... will radio ... more personnel ... Dave?" >i Your arsenal is limited. ? You have your conversational notepad. ? Your most prized possession is a Walkman (closed and silent), which is attached to earphones. ? You are sweating under a yellow hazmat suit and are wearing a bulky helmet. Dave mutters something you probably wouldn't have been able to hear, even if your helmet were off. "Dave?" He doesn't look up. "... riots ... looting." "None?" Dave's voice rises and cracks. "No panic ... people ... parents ... children. Just ..." He trails off into what could be swearing or a prayer. "... silence. No one." He looks down again. >* Oh maybe not Noted. >x notepad It's a pocket-sized notepad, and it's your only way to speak. To use it in conversation, try to SHOW it to someone. "I'm seeing the same ... and Alisha ... safe ... can take off ..." At first you think Dr. Steve's pretending to pop off his head, but he's actually demonstrating how to remove the headgear. You jolt. He's looking at you. Everyone is. >x walkman It isn't actually a Walkman -- it's an off-brand portable tape player with "Walkman" scrawled in white-out in your brother's handwriting. The player is closed, and the tape inside is set to side A, which you labeled "Straitjacket Tuba". "What's ... matter with ... Alisha?" Dr. Steve asks. "Alisha?" "Let me," Dave says. He's right behind you. He yanks the helmet off your head. You grab the helmet back, but it's too late. More than one person gives a startled yell. Dave draws a pistol. "Who are you, and what did you do with Alisha?" Dr. Steve demands. "TALK TO me!" >x me Despite your tangled hair and mud-streaked skin, your flawless face looks as if it belongs to a fairy tale princess ... or a handmaid of death. >x steve Dr. Steve looks even more worn out than the others. His bald head drips with sweat, although the gym is a comfortable temperature. He still holds that phone, but his only protection no longer works against you. The color leaves Dr. Steve's cheeks, and his eyes narrow. He diagnosed the situation faster than you expected. Woman with a perfectly proportioned face, can't speak, appears unexpectedly amid death ... it makes sense. "Beat witch!" he shouts. The others cry out in fear and press against the walls, as though you were a bomb. The now-trembling gun is still aimed at you, though Dave seems to have forgotten it in his panic. Dr. Steve fumbles in his pockets and produces an iPhone. He can't swipe fast enough. "This is for Ruby, Faith, and Ivy. Eat music, witch!" And it starts. It happens to be a lively instrumental tune featuring a viola, it's on full blast, and it has no lyrics to soften the musical blow. You collapse. Your entire body shakes in painful spasms. You don't have much time. >wear headphones You slip on the earphones. They do nothing to block out the music. The melody burrows into your mind in fiery needles. Your shrieks are soundless. "You are all safe now," Dr. Steve tells his colleagues. "Observe the subject's loss of balance, the dry-heaving, the drooping gaze. Yes, we are witnessing the beginning of a beautiful aneurysm." You barely overhear a couple of scientists muttering about how they have never heard of a beat witch killing so many, so suddenly, but here you are. You being the cause of the plague seems obvious in retrospect. >out A steady rhythm claws deep into muscle and bone. The world is a torrent of burning sound. The spasms won't let you leave. The world crashes into itself like a whirlpool. Every note you hear brings you one beat closer to your brain bursting. You cradle the helmet against your chest. >wear helmet The helmet is normally a snug fit. You can't wear it with the earphones on. Your head is a pain-spewing fountain. If you can't find a way to block out the sound, you're not going to last any longer. >undo Staging Area Undone. >remove headphone You take off the earphones. Your head is a pain-spewing fountain. If you can't find a way to block out the sound, you're not going to last any longer. >wear helmet You put on your helmet. The music is muffled now, and you feel better instantly. Your skin tingles with anticipation. There's no way you can make it out of here without ... doing what you do. Dr. Steve's blocking the door. He won't once you DRAIN him. Everyone freezes, waiting for the mistress of death to take action. >drain steve With a thought, you drain life from Dr. Steve. You love the sensation of new life -- your body inhaling steady rhythm from other flesh, converting it to power. Your senses sharpen, your muscles tighten, and a nearly blinding surge of energy bursts into your veins. You love it so much, you find it disgusting, like gorging on chocolate. Dr. Steve crashes to the floor. You were careful not to take too much, though. He'll be better in a day, as long as you don't drain him again when he's like this. You are strong enough to deal with the door. >break door You give the magnetically sealed door a superhuman punch. It squeals and shoots into the street. You run outside. Street You bound over cars and burn piles like an impossible gazelle. Although you're still wearing the helmet, you can make out the panicked shouts behind you. "Stop staring! Shoot her!" Deeper in City CRACK. A sudden numbness engulfs your leg. "Bring Dr. Steve's phone! Don't worry about him right now -- she's getting away!" You careen into a school-crossing sign and barely catch yourself from falling. You gulp air and force yourself to move. Your augmented strength wears off faster than usual to deal with your bullet wound, which only half-heals. Running slows to limping, strength to weakness. You are a delirious rat in an asphalt maze. You've never been in this city before, and you have lost your sense of direction. But you feel an itching, a howling in your mind that crescendos as you get closer to the other beat witch. It's quiet here -- except for your breathing, which is heavy and fast. You have to walk. You are among the shadows of apartment buildings, all dark, all teeming with death. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls -- you hate to think what it's been surviving on. You pass reddish embers in the dark. It didn't take you long to become accustomed to piles of burning corpses -- but this one strikes you as unusual. A single body appears to have rolled off the pile before it could ignite. You note with dismay that you have left a trail of blood behind you. The bullet must have hit an artery. So much for losing this mob. >save Saved. >i Your arsenal is limited. ? You have your conversational notepad. ? Your most prized possession is an imitation Walkman (closed and silent), which is attached to earphones. ? You are sweating under a yellow hazmat suit and are wearing a bulky helmet. >play walkman Don't forget your purpose here. The music in that Walkman is for one person only. >* hmm Noted. >x suit Bulky, yellow, and a useless means of keeping people safe from this "plague." You sense the disquiet from other beat witch. She's so close. It doesn't matter where you go -- your feet will take you to her. >x body (the corpse) Slightly bloated, one of the corpses is a young man in his 20s wearing rollerblades. You wish you could GIVE LIFE to him, but you've tried this kind of thing before, and nothing. >give life (to the hazmat suit) Giving life to the lifeless is beyond your ability. >* oops! Noted. >* oops! to body Noted. >give life to body (the corpse) Giving life to the lifeless is beyond your ability. >l Deeper in City Dying flames feast on human remains. An unburned corpse appears to have rolled off one of the mounds. >x corpse Slightly bloated, one of the corpses is a young man in his 20s wearing rollerblades. >search it Bulky, yellow, and a useless means of keeping people safe from this "plague." >search him You can do nothing for the dead. >x rollerblades The rollerblades are well worn. This person probably spent a lot of time on them before his sudden demise. >take them With your leg the way it is, there's no way you could move in rollerblades. >heal Giving life to the lifeless is beyond your ability. >heal me You can't give life from yourself, to yourself, as much as your leg pains you. >w You follow the uneasiness before you. Exact directions mean nothing at the moment. You hear the click clack of rollerblades behind you. When you turn, you see only splotches of flame in the night. South Side of Skyscraper The pain in your leg explodes. You stumble and black out for a few seconds. When you awake, you find your fall knocked the helmet off. You manage to stand, but you leave the helmet where it is. You can't summon the strength to put it on. You take in your surroundings in the moonlight. You're a little more lucid now and have a better sense of direction. You notice streets downtown are laid out and labeled in a grid, though a winding gravel path that goes northeast seems to be the exception. The entrance of this office building is to the north. It's the tallest skyscraper around and also happens to be where she is lurking. Lights on some of the floors flicker to life, and the front doors appear to open on their own. She is waiting. >ne You must face the beat witch. The doors are to the north. >n Main Lobby The only clue the white-marbled lobby does not belong to a 5-star hotel is the gigantic logo behind the desk. On one side of the desk is a doorless opening that is marked as TO STAIRWELL. On the other side is an elevator. A pale man in a blue blazer and bright red tie sits at the desk. His name is Ted Tau, if his badge is to be trusted. He motions you farther in. As soon as you clear the doorway, he pushes something under the desk, and the doors slam shut behind you. Just in time too -- the first responders have found you. They rattle the double doors. Fists pound on the thick glass, but the doors hold. Booted feet kick your helmet down the sidewalk, as though being a plague on humanity were contagious. One of the responders waves Dr. Steve's phone at you. From the other side of the glass, it is weak and harmless. >x logo A flat silver disc bears the blocky emblem of Tau Labs in muted reds and blues. >x ted Ted is expressionless and pale, in contrast to his picture on the badge dangling from his neck. He also wears a blazer, tie, and khakis, which don't seem out of place in this office, regardless of the plague outside. He looks through you instead of at you. He appears to blink only when he remembers to do so. A woman outside presses the iPhone against the glass, but the music is still too faint to affect you. >talk to ted You prepared the notepad to be your voice for any number of situations you might encounter here. Which page do you show Ted? 1) Hello. My name is Polly. 2) If you do not cooperate, more will die. 3) Stop the music, please. It hurts me. 4) You must end this suffering. Have mercy. 5) (close notepad) >> 1 Ted gives you a deeply empty stare. >talk to ted Which page do you show Ted? 1) Hello. My name is Polly. 2) If you do not cooperate, more will die. 3) Stop the music, please. It hurts me. 4) You must end this suffering. Have mercy. 5) (close notepad) >> 4 Ted doesn't seem to care -- about anything, in fact. The woman shakes her head and puts the phone in her pocket. On this side of the glass, you can't even hear its humming anymore. >* Guess he's a reanimated corpse? Noted. >x badge The badge shows a picture of a grinning, rosy-cheeked man with a caption that reads, "Ted Tau, Vice President - Product Development, Tau Labs." Dave motions the others to step back from the building. >l Main Lobby The only clue the white-marbled lobby does not belong to a 5-star hotel is the gigantic logo behind the desk, behind which sits Ted. On one side of the desk is a doorless opening that is marked as TO STAIRWELL. On the other side is an elevator. Double doors lead to the street. The mob outside is trying to break through them. Dave aims the pistol at the doors. Three faint pops rattle the lobby. >u (using the elevator) You push the elevator button. Nothing happens. The writing on the elevator doors may have something to do with this. The others inspect the doors, but the bullets didn't even dent them. >undo Main Lobby Undone. >read doors The double doors are made of a sturdy, thick glass. The others inspect the doors, but the bullets didn't even dent them. >undo Main Lobby Undone. >x doors The double doors are made of a sturdy, thick glass. The others inspect the doors, but the bullets didn't even dent them. >undo Main Lobby Undone. >x elevator Someone wrote "BROKE. USE STAIRS." on the elevator. In purple crayon. With a heart over the "I" in "STAIRS." The others inspect the doors, but the bullets didn't even dent them. >enter door (first opening the double doors) A bottomless sense of hopelessness swallows you. Why not get fate over with? You try to open the doors, but they may as well be part of the wall. The first responders content themselves with waiting for you to come out. The hunt is now a siege. >undo Main Lobby Undone. >use stairs You see nothing like that. >n (entering the stairwell) You've lost all sense of direction again. You stagger toward the stairs. You trip, and Ted immediately catches you. As jarring as it is for you to touch another person, you have no choice but to lean on his stiff shoulder. Bottom of Stairs You are at the base of what appears to be endlessly zigzagging stairs. A girl lies motionless on the floor. She clutches a gray book -- a photo album -- in her arms, and a Polaroid camera hangs from her neck by a strap. You believe she's breathing. Ted points at you, then her. You don't care how he knows that you aren't a force of destruction only, that you can make life flow two ways ... but you are so weak! You want to help, but you doubt you have much life to GIVE her -- it would likely mean your death. On the other hand, taking what meager life must remain in the child is a possibility. It would give you the strength you need to at least limp up the stairs to face the beat witch. The girl would not be strong enough to survive you draining her, though. >x book You reach down to the ragged photo album, but Ted slaps your hand away. >read book Ted doesn't want you reading the ragged gray photo album. >x camera A purple Polaroid camera hangs from the girl's neck by a strap decorated in flowers. >take it You move closer to the camera, but Ted's gaze suddenly shifts from expressionless to cold. You withdraw your hands. >give life (to the hazmat suit) Giving life to the lifeless is beyond your ability. >give life to ted You feel strangely compelled to give what little life you have to Ted. It doesn't work. You feel your life's rhythm fading out you, only to come roaring back into your body. What's happened to you? You've never failed to do this before. >give life to girl You're not sure if this is going to work, but what choice do you have? This is it. You will die. But how can you leave her like this? You will your life into her body. Her chest rises sharply. The world fades into soundlessness ... Upper Lobby You awaken to fingers grasping your wrist. You leap to your feet. Your leg feels fine -- it's as if you were never shot. In the undulating red light, you face a man in a soiled shirt and ragged tie. His smile is wide but strained. "A pulse! I didn't think I'd meet another living person," he says. He suffocates you in a hug. You can't remember the last time anyone showed you affection, and you're not sure what to do. Why do you feel lighter? You shove him away and pat your pockets in a frenzy. Your Walkman and notepad are gone. The man doesn't seem to notice your sudden panic. "I'm Hal, chief executive of this establishment," he says while showing you his corporate badge, which is unreadable, chewed-off plastic dangling from a lanyard. "Usually the witch gives me little notes when I ... wake up, but I think this one's for you." Hal points to the only wall that hasn't been gnawed by flame. Scribbled in crayon are the words "BENNY ABANDONED YOU" accompanied by a happy face. You are enveloped in a boiling nausea. How dare she listen to side B of your tape! You look around you as you try to relax -- or at least stop shaking. You are in a lobby labeled as "32 - Research and Development." Everything is lit in pulsing red emergency lights. Scorch marks twist over the walls and furniture, and wires dangle from the ceiling. The floor bears a charred decorative compass that tells you the stairway door behind you is to the west, and the hallway beyond the lobby goes east. The elevator looks busted. >* OK that was another twist Noted. >x me Despite your tangled hair and mud-streaked skin, your flawless face looks as if it belongs to a fairy tale princess ... or a handmaid of death. Speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling crackle and spew easy-listening instrumental music. You claw your face in a mute wail. The music's volume has been set at precisely the right level -- the notes are soft enough that their notes won't immediately kill you, but they're loud enough to make your nerve endings burn. "Why are you --" Recognition clouds Hal's face. "Oh." >i Your inventory is pitiful. ? You are sweating under a yellow hazmat suit. >l Upper Lobby You are in a lobby labeled as "32 - Research and Development." Everything is lit in pulsing red emergency lights. Scorch marks twist over the walls and furniture, and wires dangle from the ceiling. The floor bears a charred decorative compass that tells you the stairway door behind you is to the west, and the hallway beyond the lobby goes east. The elevator looks busted. As you study the upper lobby, Hal studies you back. >talk to hal With the notepad gone, you no longer have a voice. >x hal Hal is pale and seems to peer at you from the other side of a shadow. Judging from how loose his button-up shirt and slacks are, he recently lost some weight. He wears a badge that has been chewed beyond readability. >x badge Hal's badge is a chunk of half-chewed plastic dangling from a lanyard. >e Hal cringes a little and follows you. "So you're a good monster -- but you're not here to kill the other witch? What are you here for?" You get the uncomfortable feeling that despite the fact that Hal's business empire is a tomb, he is starting to see you as a bad job interview. "I know I can come off as harsh," Hal says. "It's just irritatingly unprofessional when my employees don't tell me everything -- or can't, I guess in your case. Do you even have human motivations?" He coughs uncomfortably. His face relaxes with a sympathy that could be genuine. "I didn't mean it like ... that is, I suppose ... it must have been ... I can't imagine what it would have been like, being an adolescent girl, waking up one morning to find you can't speak, and you have powers so fearsome that -- did I say something wrong?" You shrug for him to forget it. It's been decades, and you wish you could. Hal tries to help you, but you wave him away. Despite the music, you can walk on your own, and you've spent so many years without physical human contact that the idea of touching someone else fills you with shivers. He stays with you anyway. Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A memo has been posted near the door. "I've lost count of how many times the beat witch has drained me," Hal says. The words that must have been pent up in him during his isolation rise in a rapid babble. "Sometimes I wake up feeling like she's given me more life, more energy, than I had before, and others, I can barely stand. Each time, I'm on a different floor with more crayon graffiti taunting me or inviting me to worship her, and no way to get out. I've never seen her. Even sunlight doesn't stop the night. I don't know how long it's been since ... since the others were alive." He gives his name tag a nibble. "But this time, I wake up to a woman in a protective suit who looks and behaves like a beat witch. But ... you can't be her, can you? Why would you torture yourself?" Hal's voice quivers beneath its steel. "I need to know, witch. Are you here to kill the other one?" You can indicate YES or NO>no You shake your head. How can you explain? You're here to stop her, but you never wanted to kill anyone. At least, that's what you tell yourself. It's a lie, and the tape player you had until recently is proof. The truth is ... you are planning to somehow put the earphones on her, press play on your Walkman, and let the tuba music boom until she is just as dead as her victims -- but Side A was Plan B, right? You were going to make the beat witch see reason first, right? "Then are you here to kill me?" Hal asks. "No -- don't answer." A single teardrop drips down his cheek and soaks into what's left of the floor. "I don't doubt a beat witch will give me death eventually. But I suppose I have to take a chance with the devil I just met if I ever want to get out of here." His smile is more cringeworthy than before. >undo Upper Lobby Undone. >yes Do you know what "rhetorical" means? >e Hal cringes a little and follows you. "So you're a good monster -- but you're not here to kill the other witch? What are you here for?" You get the uncomfortable feeling that despite the fact that Hal's business empire is a tomb, he is starting to see you as a bad job interview. "I know I can come off as harsh," Hal says. "It's just irritatingly unprofessional when my employees don't tell me everything -- or can't, I guess in your case. Do you even have human motivations?" He coughs uncomfortably. His face relaxes with a sympathy that could be genuine. "I didn't mean it like ... that is, I suppose ... it must have been ... I can't imagine what it would have been like, being an adolescent girl, waking up one morning to find you can't speak, and you have powers so fearsome that -- did I say something wrong?" You shrug for him to forget it. It's been decades, and you wish you could. Hal tries to help you, but you wave him away. Despite the music, you can walk on your own, and you've spent so many years without physical human contact that the idea of touching someone else fills you with shivers. He stays with you anyway. Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A memo has been posted near the door. "I've lost count of how many times the beat witch has drained me," Hal says. The words that must have been pent up in him during his isolation rise in a rapid babble. "Sometimes I wake up feeling like she's given me more life, more energy, than I had before, and others, I can barely stand. Each time, I'm on a different floor with more crayon graffiti taunting me or inviting me to worship her, and no way to get out. I've never seen her. Even sunlight doesn't stop the night. I don't know how long it's been since ... since the others were alive." He gives his name tag a nibble. "But this time, I wake up to a woman in a protective suit who looks and behaves like a beat witch. But ... you can't be her, can you? Why would you torture yourself?" Hal's voice quivers beneath its steel. "I need to know, witch. Are you here to kill the other one?" You can indicate YES or NO>yes You nod. Your original plan of begging her to stop is laughable now. Your Plan B is to somehow put the earphones on her, press play on your Walkman, and let the tuba music boom until she is just as dead as her victims. That too is a childish hope. But what else is there? "Then lead on, witch!" >l Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A memo has been posted near the door. Hal has the wild-eyed look of a desperate man. > What? >l Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A memo has been posted near the door. Although music is playing and you clearly can't drain him, Hal appears fearful of your presence. Hal bites his mangled name tag -- he must be starving. >x memo Written on a clean piece of paper someone must have posted here after the fire are the words: To all valued engineers: I am pleased to announce that last week's small-scale tests of the Semper battery were a success. Although we are years away from using it to power submarines and military bases, I am confident these preliminary test results represent a step forward for this company. A few of you have expressed concerns the full-sized prototype would set off a reaction that would result in, and I quote, a "localized fiery explosion as well as a massive electromagnetic pulse that would have catastrophic effects on electronic devices in a 20-mile radius." My brother Ted was opposed to further testing for this reason and unfortunately did not hide that fact from lower-level employees. However, we had an extensive conversation yesterday, and he is now as confident as I am that full testing will be a success and will be harmless to ourselves and the surrounding area. To the naysayers among us, I say if a respected engineer like Ted can change his opinion, consider re-evaluating yours. The first full-scale test will take place at 11 a.m. Join us in the 32nd floor breakroom at noon for a celebratory luncheon. Regards, Hal Tau Chief Executive Officer Tau Labs "I didn't leave that there," Hal mutters. He avoids eye contact. "I wrote it, sure, but I would never have put my ... my lowest moment on display." >take memo You think about taking the memo with you, but what good would it do? >l Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A memo has been posted near the door. Hal looks away from you. >n The lab is a ruined mess of wires and equipment that leaves you no room for you. Hal mutters something about how hungry he is. >s You open the office door. What was once an office for middle management is now stuffed with corpses. On the bottom of the pile are those with blistered flesh and singed lab coats -- not from any purposeful cremation, but from how they died. The unburned are on the top. They are so tightly packed, you can't count them. That smell -- you're going to be sick. Hal dry heaves behind you. "There are offices stuffed like this all over the building," he says between gasps. "But that doesn't make it any easier." >e Hal closes the office before you leave. Hal follows you. End of Corridor This is where it ends. A tall figure emerges from red-tinged shadow to the east. According to the company-issued name tag, the young woman is Margo Harris. She's wearing earplugs. "You found me! Speechless, Polly?" She erupts into hollow giggles. "You're so confused and underpowered -- oooh, and angry too! Does little Polly Dolly get mad when someone listens to her tape?" Hal is wailing. "How can it be you, Margo? I weighed in on the hiring process of everyone -- even interns like you. You didn't seem like a beat witch at all! I mean, you -- you can talk!" "Toys must not squeak," Margo says with a click of the tongue. She nods to an arched opening to the east. "Come to the breakroom, Polly Dolly. I have sandwiches. And you can come too, Hal, if you kindly shut up." >l End of Corridor The hallway ends at an arched opening, beyond which is the breakroom. And sandwiches, apparently. Margo's arms are folded in impatience. Hal keeps his eyes averted but his fist clenched. Margo's hand grips your wrist so hard, your fingers go numb. She pulls you toward the breakroom. "There is no way back, darling. Remember? Sandwiches!" Breakroom The flames left the breakroom untouched. This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a wide window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Next to the window is a small but bulky TV set controlled by a black remote on a table. "You don't seem to be in any rush." Margo says. "Why don't you relax? Did you miss him, Hal?" In the room's darkest corner, Ted stands at one of the tables, staring through you as he did in the first-floor lobby. This time, his hands are over his ears. Hal bounds to him and gives him a hug tighter than he gave you. Ted stays rigid. "It's me! Hal!" No reaction. Hal resorts to blubbering. "Remember on the stairwell after the explosion? We were so lucky to be that far from the battery and -- we were running to get help, and you just ... fell down after we passed the girl. Everyone else started dropping dead after that, and I've been so ... don't you --" Hal steps back in disgust and horror. "Ted ... you're, you're ..." "I am a goddess of miracles, the giver of life." Margo takes the remote. She points it at Ted in a grand flourish. "And your brother's my second-favorite corpse. I am in him and through him. Anything Dead Ted sees and hears, I see and hear." >x ted Ted is expressionless and pale, in contrast to his picture on the badge dangling from his neck. He also wears a blazer, tie, and khakis, which don't seem out of place in this office, regardless of the plague outside. He looks through you instead of at you. He appears to blink only when he remembers to do so. >l Breakroom This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a wide window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Next to the window is a small but bulky TV set. Ted stares through you unblinkingly, and . Margo wears an expression that's either a smile or a snarl. Hal lunges at Margo, but Ted grabs him by the shoulders and plunks him down in a chair. Ted's hands go immediately back to his ears. Is that pain? Hal is scarlet with grief and anger. "My brother is no one's plaything -- let him rest in peace, witch!" "But Hal, dear, I wouldn't have been able to figure out a lot of things without the knowledge rotting inside of Teddy's brain -- like how your company's adorable battery only fried electronics outside the building. And I wouldn't have been able to get the power generator running in a bazillion years without the helpful dead. Besides, even if I wanted to, it takes a little time for me to release my hold on a stiff -- time you don't have." She aims the remote upward and clicks a button. The music stops. Ted's hands rest at his sides. You no longer burn. "Have some wax candy, Teddy." Margo takes out her earplugs and tosses them to Ted, who swallows them. "Ted, what ...?" Hal's reaction makes Margo snort. She aims the remote at the TV and turns on the news. Then she tosses the remote to Ted. He puts it in his mouth and crunches hard on the plastic. Teeth fly everywhere. Hal winces. Margo giggles. Apparently, corpses eating random things has a punchline only she can see. "Don't be such a drippy-doodle, Hal. I've got a bunch of these remotes on the 46th floor," Margo says. "And, Polly, guess what! You're famous!" She shoves you onto one of the chairs. Breakroom (on a chair) "-- whom authorities are now identifying as Polly Miller based on descriptions from the emergency response team," a reporter says. Images of you slide across the screen in quick succession. "... killed half a million people in the city. But her murder spree started years ago with her mother and brother ..." A picture of you and Benny in tuxedos before the Sibling Youth Music Festival. He leans against a harp, and you heft a tuba twice your size. "... highly dangerous ..." Your first wanted poster, which bears your sixth-grade student photo and instructions for the public to set music to lethal levels on sight. "... eluding ... running ... decades ..." You emerging from hiding in a national forest, you starving and breaking into a grocery store after hours, you running from a crowd with boomboxes. "... monster ..." The latest surveillance footage: You dragging "noted epidemiologist Alisha Brown" into a shed outside the quarantine area after you drained her and borrowed her hazmat suit. The fact that you didn't kill Dr. Brown is not mentioned. "More after the break." The commercial is one for toothpaste. It's an upbeat jingle sung by children. Both you and Margo tremble in a wave of agony, though the presence of lyrics protects you from a full-on seizure. Pearly Bite toothpaste, O how clean! My teeth are the whitest I've ever seen. Sparkle, sparkle, like a diamond mine. Having no cavities is oh so divine! La-la-laaaaaahdy-la-la-- "My remote!" Margo shouts. But Ted has just swallowed the last of it. He stares through both of you, his hands over his ears again. She rips the TV from the wall. The device goes silent and dark. Ted stops covering his ears. But Margo wants revenge on the appliance. She hurls the TV out the window in a burst of glass that sends shards everywhere, including some that tear your face. Margo giggles some more. She pokes her head out of the massive, ragged hole and waits a moment. "Dag nabbit -- too far to hear it land. I hope it hit one of the yokels down there. Then when someone asks, 'Hey, what's on TV?', the other person will say, "You mean, 'What's on Alfred?' Hahaha." She reaches into her pockets and pulls out your Walkman and notepad. She hands you the notepad but gives the tape player to Hal. Margo manages to keep you seated, pin your arms to your side, and force the earphones -- still attached to the Walkman by a long cord -- onto your head as you struggle. Her grip on your upper arms is nearly tight enough to draw blood. "Final game for both," she says. "That tape is set to side A -- not dear Benny's voice, alas, but a tuba and a harp! Will you kill her with her own music first, Hal? Or will you drain him first, Polly? Think of it, girl -- you could get strong and kill me like you've always wanted! Just be quicker than him." Giggle. "Or maybe you'll use your notepad to beg for your life. It's like a cowboy movie! Isn't this delightful? Aaand ... go!" Your gaze locks with Hal's. You've never been more aware of someone else's life-rhythm -- or of your own. So much to give, so much to take ... >talk to hal Your words in the notepad have been altered in purple crayon. Margo snickers. 1) Hello. My name is Poophead. 2) I want to die. Will you cooperate? 3) Start the music, please. I crave pain. 4) Your suffering is deserved, and your death will be a mercy. 5) (close notepad -- you're not playing this stupid game) >> 5 You close the notepad. "Oh, come on, Polly," Margo says. "You're such a soggy-diaper spoilsport." >drain margo You try to drain life from Margo, but it's like sipping from an empty cup. You sense no life rhythm inside her, only silence. Why can't you do this? >give life to ted You try to give life to Ted, but it comes back to you. >give life to hal You let as much life as you can spare flow out of you and into Hal. He raises a hand to his face. He's glowing a little. He breaks Ted's grip. "Sorry," he tells Ted. Still holding the Walkman, Hal takes his brother by the neck, lifts him with one hand, and flings him at Margo. Ted and Margo crash in a burst of sandwiches. Hal leaps over your head and grabs the earphones from you in a single motion. Margo is on her feet just as Hal puts the earphones on her head and presses play. She screams and claws at the wire, but Hal presses the earphones harder against her skull. Hal drags her toward the broken window by the head. Her feet kick every which way. "Try draining anyone now, witch!" "Teddy!" Margo whispers. Ted starts to get up, but he trembles, collapses back into the sandwiches like a masterless marionette and is still. Margo braces herself against the wall near the window, teetering inches from the edge. Despite the music and Hal's strength, she's barely managing to stay where she is. >give life to hal You can't give any more life than you already have. >l Breakroom (on a chair) This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a shattered window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Ted lies below the counter, and Hal's slight glow casts the room in ethereal shadows. Margo struggles against Hal's grip and is close to the edge of the broken window. >push margo You get off the chair. Breakroom This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a shattered window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Ted lies below the counter, and Hal's slight glow casts the room in ethereal shadows. Margo struggles against Hal's grip and is close to the edge of the broken window. You half-crawl toward Margo and Hal. With the last of your strength, you press your body against Margo's. They lurch into what remains of the window, taking your Walkman with them. You catch yourself before you fall too. The next second seems to last hours. As he and Margo begin their plummet through the teeth of dangling glass and into nothingness, Hal turns and gives you a look that's ... pity? They both vanish, along with your Walkman. You don't hear anything hit the ground, but Margo's shrieking has faded to silence. You slump to the floor for a moment. You did it. It's just you and Ted, who lies still, as is the natural way of corpses. You take a deep breath. With Margo dead, you can focus on escaping alive. The mob is still waiting for you on the street, no doubt. Why do you still feel this disquiet? >undo Breakroom Undone. >push hal You get off the chair. Breakroom This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a shattered window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Ted lies below the counter, and Hal's slight glow casts the room in ethereal shadows. Margo struggles against Hal's grip and is close to the edge of the broken window. You half-crawl toward Margo and Hal. With the last of your strength, you press your body against Hal's. They lurch into what remains of the window, taking your Walkman with them. You catch yourself before you fall too. The next second seems to last hours. As he and Margo begin their plummet through the teeth of dangling glass and into nothingness, Hal turns and gives you a look that's ... pity? They both vanish, along with your Walkman. You don't hear anything hit the ground, but Margo's shrieking has faded to silence. You slump to the floor for a moment. You did it. It's just you and Ted, who lies still, as is the natural way of corpses. You take a deep breath. With Margo dead, you can focus on escaping alive. The mob is still waiting for you on the street, no doubt. Why do you still feel this disquiet? >* too bad Noted. >l Breakroom This place was once ready to party: balloons are wilted rainbows on the ceiling, and a counter next to a refrigerator is strewn with boxes of sandwiches. Small, round tables and pale chairs are angled toward a shattered window that overlooks a gray twilight fog. Ted lies below the counter. >x ted Ted is motionless. >x fridge You don't even want to know what's inside. >x sandwiche Covered in flies and an oozing mold, these sandwiches were once ... ham and turkey? They are scattered all over the floor. >open fridge Dare you? You don't. >x tables Gray, corporate, and plastic. >x window A gaping hole and a shattered mess of glass are all that's left of the window. >i Your arsenal is limited. ? You have your conversational notepad. ? You are sweating under a yellow hazmat suit. >x notepad It's a pocket-sized notepad, and it's your only way to speak. To use it in conversation, try to SHOW it to someone. >w End of Corridor The reddish darkness of the corridor seems deeper now. A sudden energy bursts into you from an unknown source. Someone, somewhere has just given you life -- the amount you spent on strengthening Hal. Footsteps approach. You turn to find ... Ted. For the first time, he speaks to you. "Miss me? I'm like a zit on prom night," he says. Panic makes breathing difficult. "Splatting all over the street hurt, Polly! And I didn't even bounce!" He snickers. >talk to ted "Boring," he says before you can even choose a page. "You know, I was once a soggy pity-party like you -- always running, slithering through shadows," Ted says. He gives the dazzling snarl of a teacher about to launch into an unwanted lecture. "As for me ... well, I had luck I had never dreamed of, though it didn't start that way. I wandered into the city. I was starved! I managed not to be noticed and was going through garbage in the park nearby when a passing truck flooded downtown with the screechiest hickville honky-tonk tune you can imagine!" He wrinkles his nose. "I was on the grass, of course, shaking, foaming at the mouth -- as one does. Anyhow ... the truck passed, and I got up and ran. But I had been seen. People got out their phones and started chasing me -- you wouldn't believe what passes for popular music these days." His voice quivers with mock surprise. "Apparently, beat witches are too dangerous to live -- did you know that?" >yes Do you know what "rhetorical" means? "So ... you know what they say. 'A beat witch is a brass-knuckled slap against nature.' 'For the public's safety, every beat witch must be killed on sight.' 'Drown the abominations in music.' 'The demons wear the faces of your daughters.' I was about to bid this world good riddance, but everything changed when ..." Ted licks his lips. The memory must be delicious. "BOOM!" >talk to ted He has no interest in a two-way conversation. "This skyscraper rippled in the explosion. The stoplights blinked out. Cars stopped. And best of all, everyone's phones went kaput! My attackers were helpless and at my most incomparable mercy!" Ted applauds himself. "A most unique opportunity! Did you know you can drain more than one person at once? Amazingly, I hadn't tried before, but it's true. And the more I drained, the stronger I became! I reached a point where I didn't even have to be super close to someone to drain them! I got the street musicians that way, and then, eventually, everyone. Who could stop me?" >z Moments pass. "Why live like vermin when you can be a goddess?" Ted spreads his hands as if posing for some Renaissance painting of divinity. "You live beneath yourself, Polly." >z Moments pass. "You know the worst part about draining people from afar?" Ted doesn't wait for your answer -- not that you could respond with more than a shrug. "You don't hear them fall. You know, freshly dead bodies hit different from live ones. More of a tapping than a thud. 'Stiff music,' I call it." >z Moments pass. "When we're done, I will find Benny. I'll take his life so slowly, he won't even know what's happening until he's staring at the ceiling," Ted says. "Then I'll whisper your name in his ear." >save Saved. >z Moments pass. "Aren't the dead lovely?" Ted says, gesturing to himself. "Would you like to join them?" >z Moments pass. "Oh, Polly. I wish you at least knew sign language," Ted says. "Of course, how would you have known you'd wake up one morning as a beat witch, and who would have taught you then? Still, I'm sure you have more judgments of me than you could ever put on paper, and I'd be giddy to know. Self-righteousness is a hobby of mine as a heavenly being, you see." >z Moments pass. >z Moments pass. >l End of Corridor The reddish darkness of the corridor seems deeper now. Ted gives you an overfriendly wave. >u You can't go that way. >w Corridor The northern wall is mostly crumbled and charred to reveal the remains of a lab. The southern wall didn't fare much better, though an office door is intact. A presence scratches on the other side A memo has been posted near the door. Ted blows you a kiss. >open office You open the office door and instantly regret it, just as you did last time. Countless bodies pour into the corridor from the office. Their faces bubble with burns and rot. Decomposing tissue drips in yellow streams through lab coats. And their eyes -- those with orbs still in their eye sockets give you empty stares. They rush you. You stagger back, but they keep coming. Upper Lobby They crowd into the lobby. Slimy flesh presses against you, and you can't breathe. You are backed into the door to the stairwell, and the undead keep spurting out of the office. The door at your back snaps, and the torrent of corpses sweeps you away before you can gasp. 32nd Floor Landing The dead push you upward. 33rd Floor 34th Floor You can't get away. You are half-carried, half-shoved up the winding stairs. 35th Floor You can do nothing against the mass of rot and limbs. 36th Floor 37th Floor 38th Floor Help. 39th Floor 40th Floor 41st Floor 42nd Floor BENNY 43rd Floor I 44th Floor FAILED 45th Floor 46th Floor 47th Floor 48th Floor 49th Floor A door ahead of you bursts open. Fog drifts past your face. Roof You burst into night and haze. You choke and realize the fog you have seen from afar is a thick mix of smoke and early morning mist. It's a billowing wall here. Stiff fingers release you, and you tumble to concrete. The swirling mass of dripping flesh opens. You and a machine are at the center of the circle of corpses. It's a cylinder-shaped metal device, similar to the smashed ruin you saw in the lab, only this one appears to be functional. Its indicator light is red. Your undead escorts wait, unmoving. >save Saved. >x mcahine You see nothing like that. >oops machine The tan metal cylinder is about five feet long and is labeled "SEMPER BATTERY by Tau Labs." Its small displays are active, and a light glows a deep red. Below the light is a dial. >x dial This simple black dial is unlabeled but appears to have two settings. >turn dial A corpse slaps your hand away from the dial. "Whatcha think of my doohickey?" Ted asks from behind you. "The deceased-yet-friendly folks at Tau Labs built a second one at my humble request. But ... by miracle and accident, it's more bomb than battery, and it'll fry every gadget in town -- including those of the music-making variety! So yes to jealousy but no to touchy." You whirl around. Ted glides through the parting crowd, fingers curled around the hand of the golden-haired girl from the stairs. The girl holds that gray book under her other arm, and the camera dangling from her neck swings from side to side as she skips toward you. She releases Ted's hand and gives you a wink. "Surprise, Polly!" Ted says, as though announcing an unexpected birthday party. "Meet me ... Denise!" The girl gives an exaggerated curtsy. Her lips curl in silent laughter at your confusion. "Me!" Ted says. The girl gestures to herself, and Ted points to her. "Denise. Your hostess. Your pal. Your queen, speaking through my chief flesh puppet! You're welcome for healing you back there -- I couldn't have you bleeding all over my palace." Ted, apparently the chief puppet, gives an exaggerated bow. Denise cups a hand to her own ear. "What was that? You'll have to speak up." Ted snorts. "Still 'talking' through that dopey notepad? We can't all become goddesses with the life force of thousands, eh? I bet you can't do this either!" A white light bursts from Denise, so bright that your eyes feel like fire. The display of divinity makes you lose your footing. The corpses behind you step back so you can hit the concrete unhindered. When you finally stand, scraped and bruised, rubbing sight back into your eyes, you find the battery is hidden behind the undead army. And Denise has the appearance of a normal girl again, though there is nothing normal about the coldness in her smile. With unnatural speed, Denise swipes the notepad from your pocket, opens it, and returns it to you. "I'm willing to entertain any questions you may have before your regrettable end," Ted says as Denise gives another mock curtsy. "This operator is standing by!" None of the heavily edited choices in your notepad look useful. 1) Hello. My name is Poophead. 2) I want to die. Will you cooperate? 3) Start the music, please. I crave pain. 4) Your suffering is deserved, and your death will be a mercy. 5) (close notepad -- you're not playing this stupid game again) >> 4 Denise rolls her eyes, and Ted speaks on her behalf. "My death? Do you have an army of stiffs? Do you have a doohickey of mayhem?" The girl squints into the darkness. "You know," Ted says, "you coming here has created gerbils of problemos for me." Denise gestures to the night. "My rotting eyes and ears are everywhere. I let the emergency idiots come with their equipment -- let them keep the world occupied with silliness about germs and radiation and plagues while my army built the new battery! But now, everyone knows a beat witch is here," Ted says. "You know the powers-that-abide are sending drones. They're going to fill the sky and turn this town into a jukebox." Ted, Denise, and all the corpses let out a simultaneous sigh. "Anyway, you can plead for your life now," Ted says. 1) Hello. My name is Poophead. 2) I want to die. Will you cooperate? 3) Start the music, please. I crave pain. 4) Your suffering is deserved, and your death will be a mercy. 5) (close notepad -- you're not playing this stupid game yet again) >> 5 "You don't say much, even for a mute. Don't be embarrassed. Your silence does the world a great service." Denise gives you an eye roll. "You don't need to say anything to show that you talk too much," Ted says. "Gimme that back." One of the dead swipes the notepad from your hands. Ted shoves the notepad in his mouth and chews. "But I've figured out how to stop the drones from coming," Ted says through the slimy pulp in his mouth. "You can do it for me. Imagine this: a beat witch who killed an entire city flees the fearless doers of good. They corner her in this skyscraper. She realizes she is surrounded, that she is worthless, an abomination, blah blah blah, so much despair. And then ..." Ted pauses so Denise can show you a smile that could sink a mountain. Ted swallows, and the puppet's voice becomes an overdramatic whisper. "... the beat witch jumps to her death." Before you realize what's happening, icy hands hoist you into the air. The dead grab you by the wrists and stretch your arms outward while holding your ankles together. >drain me You cannot take life from or give life to yourself. Your captors pass you to one another. "Since concerts are out for you, you never thought you'd be crowd surfing, eh, Polly?" Ted calls at your feet. "Enjoy it!" >i Your inventory is pitiful. ? You are sweating under a yellow hazmat suit. Your carriers stop their march. Underneath your head are wind and nothingness. Denise pops into your vision -- she's on shoulders. Her camera points down at you. "Yeah, someone's got to take the, um, fall, but I'm still kinda-sorta-almost-ish sad that you won't be coming with," Ted says. "Millions will be at my next party, thanks to the little battery that goes boom. Once the fireworks start, Los Angeles will have no electrical anything -- and so a whole-lotta-nada when it comes to music to stop yours truly, so -- keep that expression! Your eyes are as big as President Taft's second bathtub." A click and a flash. "Perfecto, insecto!" Denise descends out of sight as she shakes the new Polaroid picture. "You are such a weirdo," Ted continues. "Why worry about so many who want you dead? Remember our little game on the stairs? I wanted to see if you were truly stupid -- stupid enough to die for a stranger. I underestimated you. You are stupid enough to die for gaggles of strangers who would rather kill you than say thanks! "It's going to be great, Polly. Who knows what will happen when I'm glorified with the life force of a bazillion? Maybe I'll speak on my own -- no stiffs needed. And -- ooh, I bet I'll be able to drain people a hundred miles away! I'll be the goddess this world deserves! "Huh. Well, that's it, so ..." You slide forward and down. No one is holding you anymore. Falling You are plummeting toward the ground. The mist rushes past you in a rippling blur. A crow appears in the haze. It darts downward with you, nearly matching your speed. You always figured you'd die someday by your brain exploding, and even though falling to your death means all your organs will burst at once, it's a relief. No music, no look up at cheering monster hunters ... just you, the screaming air, and the pavement. And, apparently, this bird. Your only regret ... Time seems to slow as you think of Benny. >drain bird The rhythm of animals is always off to you -- like hearing a conversation in a strange language but still recognizing the emotion behind the unintelligible words. In your desperation, you try to drain the crow anyway, and for a moment, you feel the life moving into you, but it stops. Instead of energy, you get a tsunami of feelings -- the desire to soar, to breed, to nest, and above all, to eat. You've never felt such hunger-fueled madness. The crow doesn't notice your attempt to drain its life, but it does notice you -- so much juicy, fresh meat in a city of rot. You jolt, and your attempt to drain the bird comes to an end. The cassette tape Benny gave you is gone. Even if you could grow wings like the crow that is following you down, you would likely never hear his voice again. But you knew if you listened to his message too much, the tape would wear out, and you would be truly alone. So you listened to it sparingly, but you repeated his words to yourself every day. You mentally recite it one last time. The tape began with two hisses and a pop. And then ... Polly, I'm not forgiving you for what you did today. Your tears, your written protests that it was an accident, that you had no idea you were a beat witch when you woke up -- Mom's still dead. And Dad is ... he's still angry, but he can't bring himself to turn the record player up enough to kill you himself. So he's giving you up to the police -- to your executioners -- and it's not right. He's still on the phone, and he'll be screaming into that thing for a while about his demon daughter. As soon as I finish recording this, I'm going down to the basement. I'm going to shatter Dad's vinyl and stop your pain. I'm going to let you go. I don't know how long you can run, Polly, but run. Stay away from people. It's only safe in the quiet. I hope one day you can come home. You know I can't go with you. I'd like to say that's because it's easier for one to disappear than two together, but we both know it's dangerous for me to be nearby, at least until you figure out the draining thing. But I'm not going home either. How can I live with the man who calls himself Dad but condemns you to death? Don't forget the times we had. I know you can't listen to us perform "Straitjacket Tuba" anymore, but don't ever record over the other side of this tape. A bit of us is on there. Find me when you can prove you're not a monster. Remember the abandoned lighthouse we explored on our vacation last summer? That's where I'll be, as long as it takes you. It may take you a long, long time, and it may require you to do something magnificent. Bye, Polly. You fall through the last of the fog, and the city droops in the first sickly light of morning. >fly Flight is not one of your powers, which is unfortunate. >l Falling You are plummeting toward the ground. >x bird The crow is your shadow in the sky, spiraling near you as you fall. You must look delicious. You can see more than buildings now. The crow flaps its wings in excitement and slows its fall. Its fresh meal has almost hit the asphalt dinner plate. People in yellow hazmat suits are gathered on the street. Some point at the living comet hurling toward them, while others pull them out of the way. Did you know you can drain more than one person at once? One raises a phone, but you can't hear anything over the air roaring around you, though you can sense the life rhythm of everyone below. It may require you to do something magnificent. >drain all You absorb the rhythms coming from the mob -- all twenty-eight, all at once. Your body glows. Those below collapse as one. And you keep falling. You've never experienced a surge like this before. Strength, energy -- you nearly faint from the electric thrill of it. Maybe this was what Benny meant by "magnificent." Why did you ever shy away from this power? Why shouldn't you -- You slam into the street in a flurry of asphalt and blood. Your bones shatter. Your insides burst. And you don't bounce.     *** You die *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, or UNDO the last command? > LIVE You awaken from death. South Side of Skyscraper You gasp as you emerge from sunless lands. The crow stops pecking at your eyeball. You are tingling all over, as if tiny fires were running up and down your body. Your limbs, bent at spidery angles, twist and snap into their proper places. Your skin closes in on itself, and your blood stops gushing. The crow flies away, cawing in confused terror. The pain ebbs away, but ... You clap your hands near the side of your face. Nothing. Your eardrums must have exploded on impact. After some failed attempts, you gain enough balance to stumble to your feet and out of the body-sized dent you left in the pavement. >* cool effect Noted. >x bodies Your hearing is suddenly healed, and you forget what you were trying to do. You know that tune ... One of the emergency workers holds Dr. Steve's phone in a limp hand. It's still playing the same viola song. You're on the ground again, shaking in rhythmic agony. >take phone You lunge forward and claw for the phone, but the world is spinning too much for you to take it. You have the urge to look around. Maybe something here can help you. >l South Side of Skyscraper Your would-be killers are sprawled in front of the skyscraper's double doors, unaware of anything -- almost as if they had decided to take an early-morning nap. One of them holds the iPhone -- still playing music -- in a loose grip. In the street is the dent you made on impact. Nearby is your hazmat helmet. Your brain will explode soon -- and even the extra strength you carry won't save you from music. >wear helmet (first taking your helmet) You put on your helmet. The music is muffled. You feel the excess strength return -- most of it, anyway. That little concert the phone was giving you stripped you of some of your stolen power. You are not quite as strong as you were moments before, but it will have to do. Your gazes shifts upward, where the last of the fog wraps the top of the skyscraper in a golden shroud. Denise and her battery must not get away, though you'll need some sort of weapon before you face her again. Something buzzes in the distance and is gone. >take phone You slip the phone into your pocket. You can feel the music's vibrations through what remains of your hazmat suit. >jump You are comfortable at your current height. >u You spread the fingers of your right hand onto the building's surface, like a normal person about to play the piano. You push. The stone cracks and groans, and your fingers slide into newly created holes. You kick to the left, and a chunk of rock flies out of the facade. A foothold. You reach up with your left hand and smash a new grip for your fingers. You hoist yourself up. With your free foot, you pound a new place to step. It's laborious and slower than you'd like, but you can't risk falling -- you doubt you'd have enough excess life force remaining in you to cheat death again. All you can do is keep a steady pace as you dig into the stone and pull yourself up, over and over. Climbing You are focused on your climb and not looking down -- so much so, that you don't notice the shadows gathering at the nearby windows until rotting hands burst through glass. You let out a gasp of surprise. But the undead extensions of Denise shrink back immediately at the music you carry with you. They cover their ears. You climb higher. More Climbing Higher ... Still Climbing Even higher ... Into the Mist The smoky fog veils everything and makes you doubt your sense of up and down. You reach upward, but instead of finding stone, you feel something cold and trembling. You give it a couple experimental pulls. Despite the quaking, it is solid -- for now. You clamber onto the strange surface. Fleshy Bridge You are on a body. It's shaking from side to side, as if in pain, but it has a limited range of movement. You can barely see it through the fog, and the head is twisting away from you, but it's one of the Tau Labs engineers. You take a quick step to the side, and you almost slip. You're on yet another quivering body. They are everywhere. It takes a moment to process what you're seeing. You are standing on a tight, narrow clump of corpses with limbs tangled with one another like a swarm of insects. The entire knotted mass is shaking in agony, and the ones immediately beneath you and around you -- where the iPhone is loudest -- are moving the most. The mist thins. You can now see that the human bridge begins at the edge of the skyscraper roof and slopes downward across the street to another building to the south. More clouds part, and you make out other bridges in the distance, going from building to building, This is Denise's private highway of the dead and her ticket to leave town unseen. The fog swallows everything again. >* gross Noted. >d You have fallen to your death once. Never again. >e You only want to find Denise. You can feel her presence in the south. >s You rush south across the bridge, away from the Tau Labs skyscraper. The bridge ripples in response to the music you carry with you. Hands grab your feet. You stumble and go down face-first. The phone flies out of your pocket. It vanishes into the depths of the mist. You land on the deceased in a squelching belly-flop. Fists, knees, and faces pound your helmet, and it goes spinning off your head and follows the phone into the emptiness. The many-limbed bridge won't let you go. It pulls you down by the wrists and ankles, like a gooey, creeping quicksand. You struggle, but your extra strength does nothing against the mass of innumerable dead. In seconds, your head is the only part of you above the slimy human mass. The bodies around you twist, and the air bursts from your lungs in a violent wheeze. The grip tightens. A couple of your ribs pop. They immediately knit together, and some of your excess strength ebbs away. Another squeeze. More bones and tissue crack and pop under the suffocating pressure. Sparks ignite and wither in your vision. You heal more slowly this time. Dozens of footsteps approach from the south. "Did you really think you could kill a goddess with a weak-sauce phone speaker in just a few minutes?" Some of Denise's rotting slaves set the battery down. It's close enough for you to reach it -- if you could get an arm free. "I want the doohickey to be the last thing you see," Ted says. "Just think how much you goofed while I squeeze you like a juicy fart." Denise steps from behind her chief puppet and crouches to your level. A white aura around her pulses with contentment. She clenches her fist, and you can't breathe again. "Tell the Grim Reaper he owes me a fruit basket, Po --" Denise's eyes widen, and Ted falls silent. The buzzing you heard on the street is coming in a dozen directions. White shapes circle overheard and descend. The drones are here. The machines are blasting a lively dance tune featuring synths and a harpsichord -- a perfect blend of poison for a beat witch. A different agony contorts you now, and you're not the only one. The entire bridge is writhing too. The corpses' twisting sends you rolling upward and onto the surface of the bridge. Ted is shaking uncontrollably like the other dead. Denise is nearly tearing her eyes out. Her aura is gone. >turn dial You manage to nudge the dial with a flopping hand. The battery's light turns green. A display reads, "Commencing Semper Battery start. Checking status of on-board systems." Denise, incredibly, manages to stand on wobbly feet. It takes all her effort, and she is still howling as silently as you. The girl gives you a weak kick in your sore ribs, sending you rolling to the side. She stumbles forward and reaches for the dial. That's when her puppets' grasp on one another breaks apart, and there is no more bridge. The bodies under the battery give out first. Denise lunges. The photo album flaps out of her hands. She wraps trembling arms around the device. She and the battery plunge into the fog. A couple of seconds later, you fall, your limbs still shaking. Falling The rush of air does not dilute the poison sounding from the drones, which follow you down. You catch a glimpse of Denise. She's closer to the ground than you, and she's banging her fists against the battery, which is still booting up, apparently. You lose track of her in the hail of decay. The music stops. The explosion below rattles your teeth before you hear its roar. Flying The force sends you spinning helplessly upward. Human chunks and scraps of metal shoot up at you. You see one of the skyscraper windows just in time to raise your arms protectively in front of your face. You crash through the glass. Sales Floor You somersault into cubicles, and they topple into one another. The banging of office equipment falling fades. The building is filled with a heavy but relieved silence. You don't know how long you lie there, catching your breath and enjoying the quiet, but you finally dare to stand. You brace yourself against a desk. Your divinity is gone now -- some smashed and squeezed, some stripped by music, and the rest spent surviving the edge of the explosion and the trip through the window. But you are alive. And you don't feel Denise's presence fraying the edges of your mind anymore. >l Sales Floor You are in what appears to be a call center in Tau Labs. Thanks to your grand entrance through the now-shattered window, this single-room floor is a mess. Many of the cubicles have toppled into one another, strewing desks, phones, computers, printers, and paperwork everywhere. A sign above the door to the stairwell and elevator to the west reads "16 - Outbound Sales." >save Saved. >x desks You were a one-woman tornado when you arrived. Now, office equipment, papers, and cubicles are scattered everywhere. >i You don't have much. ? You wear bloody rags that used to be a yellow hazmat suit. >x rags Your hazmat suit is in bloody tatters after the fall. >w 16th Floor Landing 15th Floor You would like to rest, but you can't leave this place fast enough. 14th Floor 13th Floor No music, no shuffling of corpses, no hum of lights. 12th Floor 11th Floor 10th Floor 9th Floor It's just you grabbing the railing, spiraling through the dark ... 8th Floor 7th Floor 6th Floor 5th Floor The darkness is soothing. The world is still. 4th Floor 3rd Floor 2nd Floor Bottom of Stairs Main Lobby You finally see light through the familiar double doors. South Side of Skyscraper You burst out of the building, closing it forever behind you. The street is coated with carnage left by the fallen bridge, with the remains of the battery in the middle, and what's left of the drones scattered throughout. Some bodies exploded. Others splattered. As you avert your eyes from the gruesome scene, you notice movement in the edge of your vision. The first responders, once so eager to eliminate the beat witch infection, are limping away. You suppose they woke up in time to see the corpses slamming into the street from above and barely escaped with their lives. And you, the handmaid of death, have just appeared. You, the recurring nightmare. One shouts for the others to move faster. Despite the fact that they are fighting the lack of energy from being drained, they manage to scramble into a half-run and vanish around a corner. You have no interest in hunting them down or venturing deeper into the graveyard of a city. A gravel path winds to the northeast. >x battery Scattered wires and charred metal are all that remain of the battery. >x bodies The dead are broken, mangled, but, hopefully, finally at peace. You can't bear to look at them long. >x denise You see nothing like that. > What? >l South Side of Skyscraper This street outside the doors of Tau Labs is covered in blood, flesh, and what's left of the drones and battery. A gravel path winds to the northeast. >x drones These weapons of beat witch destruction have been reduced to smashed metal. >ne You take a step and stop. Among the gore is the gray photo album Denise carried. >x album Somehow, the photo album landed undamaged on a bloodless patch of the street. You pick up the book and open it. The pictures glued to the first pages are yellowed and faded. They depict what appears to be a happy, well-to-do group in formal poses. You're guessing the photographs must have been taken in the late 1800s or just before World War I. The father and three sons wear ties that are probably fancy enough to be called cravats, and the mother and only daughter have lacy dresses that predict the era of the parachute. At the bottom of the pictures are the words "FAM DAMILY" in purple crayon. You immediately recognize the daughter, who can't be older than 12: Denise with the same curls. She's smiling -- genuinely smiling -- with no malice in her eyes. You turn the page. The happy poses are gone. Instead, the pictures are taken at strange angles and overexposed -- not the work of the original photographer but an inexperienced amateur. Still, the subject is clear enough. These photos are of one person -- a mustachioed man holding a fiddle in lifeless fingers, lying on a lawn. Below, also scrawled in purple crayon, are the words, "THE FIDDLER THEY HIRED THOUGHT I WAS DEAD. HE STOPPED PLAYING TOO EARLY!" The next page has more corpses in what appears to be the same front yard. You recognize them as her family. Their eyes are wide, and their mouths are open in eternal screams. Then words written so hard, they ripped part of the page: "THEY TRIED TO KILL ME SO I GOT THEM." You feel sick as you realize there are more pages. Many more. You flip through these quickly. The photographs improve in quality as Denise and the technology get better. But it doesn't change the fact that you're looking at bloodless slaughter. Her victims' clothing changes with the decades, and they are always a random assortment of the terrified. Worse than the deceased are the captions. "SURPRISE!" "GOTCHA!" "HOW'S THAT FOR A CHRISTMAS CAROL?" "ME GUSTA WHEN THEY BEG." "HAPPINESS IS A COLD HAND." You drop the book before vomit erupts from your throat. >ne Park This small park in the skyscraper's shadow features a dumpster, a swing set, and yellowed grass. The winding gravel path goes southwest and northwest. >x dumpster As rusted as the swing set and as yellow as the grass, the dumpster brings the elements of the park together perfectly. >open it You don't dare go near the dumpster. You hate to imagine how long the trash has been there. >x set The swing set is rusty, rickety, and inviting. >x grass The dying grass has not been watered for weeks. >nw Alley The gravel path coming from the southeast ends in an alley on the north side of the skyscraper. Hal and Margo's remains are broken and still. Brown water trickles into a sewer grate near the far wall. Next to the grate is a bashed-in TV and your shattered Walkman, which partially obscures a long, fluttering ribbon. >x hal Hal is almost peaceful and rather dead. >x margo Margo is a mess of dried blood and twisted limbs, but she looks to be finally at peace. >search margo You can do nothing for the dead. >x grate The iron grate leads to the sewers below the city. It is closed. >x tv The TV is now a heap of glass and metal. >x walkman The Walkman is shattered and useless. >take it You let your fingers run through the plastic and wires. You'll miss the Walkman, but it can't do you any good now. You will leave it here. >x riboon You see nothing like that. >x ribbon The shimmering ribbon is all that remains of your cassette tape -- and Benny. >take it You won't lose Benny, even if you can no longer hear him. You carefully wind the ribbon -- his voice -- around your wrist. You know Benny didn't actually live in the cassette, but as you survived alone in the shadows, it started to seem that way ... There is one way to hear him again, and it has nothing to do with Walkmans. The thought excites and panics you -- not that you haven't imagined it countless times before, except now, it may break through the prison of your hopes. >* guess we're going into the seweres Noted. >open grate You grab the bars and heave upward with all the energy you have. A hidden hinge groans, but the grate opens so it stands perpendicular to the ground. Below you is darkness, where creatures like you are supposed to belong. Uneven footfalls crunch the gravel behind you and splash through the sludge. You turn in time to see Dr. Steve bringing down a scalpel. You twist to the side, and the blade slashes your chest -- barely deep enough to draw blood. "Ruby, Faith, and Ivy!" Dr. Steve is drooling. The hand holding the scalpel quivers. "My wife. My daughters. I was out of town -- I should have died with them. But now -- just try to drain me again, witch! Do you think I care anymore?" The scalpel swings wild, and you manage to dodge it completely, but at the cost of losing your balance. You get a gag-inducing mouthful of the muddy water. You try to get up, but Dr. Steve kicks you in the face. He sways as he steadies himself. He hasn't completely recovered from your first encounter. You could drain him again, though he wouldn't survive that. Or you could just leave this madman to his grief and get out of here. One thing is certain -- your position at the edge of the grate means you are stuck between him and the wall, and you won't be able to ward off his next attack. Dr. Steve studies you, a scientist sizing up a disease. He seems to be deciding the best place to make his fatal incision. >d You roll into the darkness of the sewer. Sewer You land in more sludge and filth. "Beat witch!" Dr. Steve howls from above. You're already on your feet. He jumps into the sewer after you. You follow random passages in the dark. "Witch!" Dr. Steve calls behind you, but his voice is faint. In his partially recovered state, he can't keep up. But you only stop hours later, when you tumble into a ... River A large sewer pipe empties into a cold river, the water glowing like crystals in the afternoon sun as it curves through stunted willows. Your eyes adjust, and you look over your shoulder to see the city in the distance behind you, a gray mass of fog-wreathed buildings. Drones buzz unseen. You can go now. You let a gentle current carry you away. Traveling Moving unseen is what you do best. You travel by night and keep out of sight during the day. You risk stealing new clothes at an out-of-the-way truck stop. You forage in forest and garbage. You have always done this. But you have never dared to go where you have once been -- not since you were a child. Beach It took you weeks to get to this peaceful spot where blue ocean meets pale sand. Now that the lighthouse is in view to the north, you realize you have no idea how you are going to explain all this to Benny. Was that -- someone moved past one of the lighthouse windows! >x lighthouse The red and gray lighthouse gives you chills. You, Benny, and your parents visited it the summer before everything went wrong. No shapes move past the windows or door now. >enter You need a noun here. >enter lighthouse You're too far away. >n You trudge through the sand toward the lighthouse. The door opens. Someone has seen your approach. Tears and ocean spray sting your eyes, and walking becomes running. It's him. *** The End *** Polly Miller will return. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, or UNDO the last command? > quit