MS2K

[[You always hated driving on the backroads at night.]]

The aging van rumbles and clatters its way down the [[foggy]] road. You'd fix it or trade it in for a new vehicle, if you could afford to do that. But it only has to last you this [[one last night->your job]]. It'll be a while yet until you reach [[your destination]]. ''Eventually, you decide to pass the time by [[listening to the radio]].''

A pea soup fog hangs over the road, making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead of you, forcing you to try and drive carefully. The headlights help, but you get the feeling that the fog is abnormally dense for [[this time of year]]. [[back->You always hated driving on the backroads at night.]]

You look at the map again. You're going to a small town in new england, a bit off the beaten path. It's an isolated place, surrounded by deep forests and tall mountains, several miles away from the next closest city, and it's best known for it's unusually consistent fog. The name of the town is //''Mist Springs''//. [[back->You always hated driving on the backroads at night.]]

''December 31st, 1999. '' Dawn of the new millenium. You'd rather be enjoying yourself with some friends at a new year's party, but [[your job]] never really gave you the flexible hours you were promised. [[back->You always hated driving on the backroads at night.]]

Of course, you are the one and only host of the hit Paranormal Investor-Gation Real Estate Show, ''//House Haunters//''. As the name suggests, it's a combination of a real-estate show and a paranormal investigation show. You didn't come up with the name or premise, but at least it pays well. Or, it //paid// well. The network is going to cancel the show if ratings don't go up, and tonight is going to be your last recording session. Most of the crew already abandoned the project, so tonight it's just you and the camera van. [[back->You always hated driving on the backroads at night.]]

You begin fiddling with the dial. Unusually, as you turn it, every channel is nothing but static. You remember hearing something about the mountains blocking radio broadcasts from outside the area, but also that there was a local news station that you might tune into. What would you like to do? >[[tune into the news]] >[[try to find a music station]]

After a bit more fumbling about with the dial, you find the news station. A smarmy radio host begins to speak. "I'm your host, Dalton DeAngelo, and you're listening to //''88.5 WYRM AM''//, Mist Springs' one and only radio station, news talk show, with traffic on the threes. Don't touch that dial! It won't do you any good around here... //Ahem.// We'd like to begin tonight's segment with an announcement. All roads in and out of town will be ''closed after midnight'' due to recent safety concerns. I know, I know. Everyone wants to stay up for New Year's Eve! But unless you're partying at your own home, police strongly suggest that you make preparations to stay the night, or head home early. We'd be back with traffic in 15, but there's not too much of a reason to do that right now, so I'd just like to say, Happy New Year from everyone here at WYRM, and I hope we all live to see the new millenium! Goodnight!" Huh, what a weird way to end a show. Anyways, you realize that you zoned out while listening, and should really put your [[eyes back on the road]].

You fumble with the dial some more, but to no avail. Nothing but static. But... Listening closer to the static, You might be hallucinating, But maybe, You hear a̶̛̳ ̶̩̋v̴̤̆o̸͍̓i̴̙̓ċ̷̜è̵͚? [[That can't be right...]]

//Your eyes snap back to the road, as if you had broken out of a trance.// You immediately notice the large shadowy figure standing directly in the middle of the road, shape obscured by the fog, that you are about to hit with your van. >[[swerve left]] >[[swerve right]] >[[hit it head on]]

You try listening to the static again. ... ĥ̷̨͉͇̣̯͍̬̲̬̰͇̦̰̤̤̟̮̣̺͕͓͙̲͖̦̽̓̅̋̈̆̌̐͐̔̔̅̔̓͆̓̇̒̀̓̄̎͋̅̓̓̂̈́͌̐̒̀̋̇̚̚͜ḙ̸̡̨̢̡̛̩̯̘̤̞̟͇̙̤͎͙̠̣̮͔̝͓̜͚̝̤̱͇͈͉̜̦̘̥̫̥͙̊̑̎͂̿̑̅̎̒̈́͌̂̉̓͜ͅy̶̧̡̛̳͉̩̬̺͇̘̺̦͉͇͓̟̿̃̋́̅̀̆̆̉͐ͅͅ.̵̡̨̯̞͙͍̤̙̹͚̲͈̺̻͙͉̰̗̰͔̲͙̹̭̫̞̩̫̻̗̯͔̦̍̊̿͊̌̆̈̉͌͌̌́̐͐̓̌̐̓̉̎́̑́̏̓̃̔̿̉̅͐͊̓̔͘͜͝͝͝ͅ.̸̢͓̫͚̯̤̌̔̌̓̾̅͘͠.̴̡̢̢̩̱͖͔̠͇̩̜̳͖̹̪̺͙̼̘̝͚̥̻̠̭͂̾͗̌̂̉͂̆̓̉́͂̿̌̾̃̈́͛̚͜ c̶̜̜̰̼͙̙̞͙̪̟̲̙̅͜͝a̵̢̧̧̢͍̘̝̳̯͙̥̲̭͚̼͚̬͉̬̲̰̬͓͈̐̽̇̒̓̃͂́̒̽̎͋̋͋̋̀̑͋́̾͑͗͌͂̈́͒̚͘͜n̴̢̢̨͎̯̹͓̺̻̣̲͔̲͉͔͇͓̬̪̤̜̠͇͗́̆̒̉́̏̅ ̸̧̧̡̟̤͉̺͈̮̼̠͇̯̤̪̥͚͎̣̪͋͆̏̅͛̆̉̐͊͐̀́̐̇̓̈́̿̿̅̿̉̇͐̂̄͗̍̎̒̌̈́̂̋͘͘͝͝y̷̡̨̡̳̟̼͚̫͙̥͖̰̯̯͉͉͚͇̬̺̘͓̭̙͋̿͛͒́͗̌͊͐͋̽̉͛̃͌̽̏̂̇͐͒̕̚͝ǫ̷̛͚̠̹͚̬̬͍̞̠͇̰̥̪͙̋͛͛͂̅̊̐̔͗̏̏̍̿̋̊͊̈͊̈́͑́̚͘̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅư̶̧̧̡̧̦̬͎̻̻͎̦̭͙̳͕̣͚͕̞̰̹̝̹̪̫͈̙͔̠̟̱̳̒͛̔̆̎̀͂̚͜ ̷͕̲̦̒̇̐̓̑̇͊̐͊́͌͊͋̿͂̓̀͊͑̕̚͘͝͠h̸̡̡̨͓͇̖͈̯̘̰̺̟̺̣͕̮̜̘̙̤̾̔̋̽̈́͑̓͊̒͛̈́̓̾͂̈̿͆̓͊̋̃͑͐̓̈͌̆̎̔͌̂̕̚̚͜͜e̴̝̠̬̭͊̾̇̔̑͒̇͂͌̆̈̊̓̎̕͘͝͝a̴̧̨̢̡̛̠̜̖̟̥̰̗͍̟̱͍̬̩̙̙͉͍̤̰̳̹̭̜͇͓͚̓̋͐̇́̈̓͋͗̉̔͊̆̿́̂͂̿̅͊̇̆̾̎̉̈́͒̾͘̕͘̕͘͜ŗ̶̨̘̪͙̘̘͓̲͎̩͙͗́͒̂̒͛͑̍͑́͛̈͋͗͐̓̔̒̆͑̆̈́͘͘͘̕͠͝͠͠ ̴̢̢̧̛̫̻͖̮͔͍̠̜̜̜͖̠̬̳̥̳̪͛̈́̄͌̀͛̾ḿ̵̛͖̲̠͎̟͈͖͕̬̰͓͇̥̥̝̠̄́͋̋̈́͐̈́̒͛̀̈̈́̽͗͊̎̈́̍̐͒͌̈̃̊̆͊͒̾̎͆͑͐͗̓̇̌͝è̴̡̥͇̻̭͔̖͈̳̪̫͉̟͍͍͍̞̫̳̝̼͔̗̳̪̤͈̥̬̖̝̟̮̈́̊̀̐̋͛͊̈́̈͛͛͘͘͘͝ ̵̢̛͍̻̙͖̥̼̱͎̖̳̗͇̖̹̩͖̰͉͇͍͎̩͓͍͕͈̙̪͇̙̅̈̐́̓̂̿́͆͒̌̃̈̒͗̏͒́͋̀̎͜͠ͅͅn̸̜̭̱̐̎̀͂͒̎̃̄̉̀̔͒̉͐͌̒̈͌̉̎͂͊̇͑̉̓͂̕̕̕͠͠͠͝ͅơ̷̱̟̳̲̇̈͐͌̂̅͗͂͋́͊̅̐̈́͌̋̅̓͒́͗̓͐̑̈̋͆̾̋̅͘̚̚̚͠͝w̵̮̝̙͉̰̗͑̊̉͊͋?̷̢̡̡̧̢̡̖͉̥̖͉̟̝̠̤͍̣̖͔̹͎̹̙̟̝̲͉̱͍̟̖̤̪̩͓̗̩̂͋̑̅̄̃̾̄͌̓̒͗͌̽̈́̊̄̓͑̑̎̃͛͛͑̏̆̉̇̈́̕͘͘͝͠͝ͅ >[[respond to the voices]] >[[do not]]

(set: $responded2voices to true) "Hello...?" ... "Is someone there?" ... ẁ̵̨̢͙̲̼̺̜̯͚̟͓̩̺̄̋h̵̛̦̆̆͘o̴̧͓̙̪͈̗̓̕͝ę̴͖͉̓̊̆̎͗͐ṽ̴̡̡̹̗̘̬͓̮̠́̏̐̐͒ë̴̗̲r̵͈̦̥͍̐̄́̾̊̂͝ ̴̢̘̻̘͔̩̞͔̪͍̠̞̠͒̔̈́͒̓͑͋̋̏̽̅͂͐̃̍̓ͅͅy̶̢̛̅̽͋̓̍́̍͊͛̈́̂͋̈́̕ö̴̭͇̬̩͚̟́̓͛̉̔̈́͑͒̇̕͘̚̚ͅú̴͔̫͚̲̤͓̌̔͝ ̷͔̹͆͌̐̌̆ą̵̧̛͔͍̻͕̦͈̬̟̬̙̺̊͂́̂͋̆̆̇̄̽͘͜ͅr̵̙̖̫̘͍̘͎̓͊͐̾̉̈́́̽̓͒̑̿̒͂̔ě̵̢̡̘͇̻͎͚̟̙͓̎͐̈́̀̓̂͒̕,̴̧̼̺̤͍̩̼̑̔̎͛̔́͠ ̸̧̢̭̰̖̲̈̅͗̍̓̔͐̇͋͊͒͊́t̴̡̤͍̑̅̀͆̂̐̚u̶͈͙͐͒̇͊̃͊̀̈́̌́̇́͝͝r̷̨̧̛̛̹͚̺̖̥̫̫͈̤̳̔̈́̊͐̐̆͋͐͊̒̀̌̕͝ņ̶̩͈͚͇̫̈́̀̕ ̷̛̘͊̂̉͘͠͝͝b̷͉̼̘̤̗̙̩͔̳͖̭͙̝͔̩͛͐̓̿̈́̒̏͂͐ȃ̵̢̛̺̮͓̼̙̯͇̦͓̗̓̍̈́̑̅͑͒̇͒̅͋̾͝c̴͖̻̳̦͓̎̈́̽̄̓̅͌͊̕ķ̷̛̬̹̰̠̳̪̦̦͂͛̎̂̋ͅ ̷̮̻͓̫͝ͅn̸͈͈̙̗̗͔͓͍͗o̷͔̬̺̦̜̣̓̔̑́͛̀̃̽͠͠ŵ̴̛̛̝̖̇̽̆̈͗̀͑͂͑̊̈́̒̕.̵̤͕͉̈́͊͂́͐́͘̚ ̸̨͉̭̙̫̞̳̯͊͂̏̄̅̃͛̇̊͠w̸͉̥̼̙̟̖͂̓̊̒̅͘h̸̡̨̳̥͇̙̩̹̖̩̰̜̩̉̈́̐̔ȩ̵̠̤̲̐́̊͝n̶̲͈̩͉͇͕̩̱̩̰̫͐ ̵̢͍̰͖̯̣͔̈́̃̓͐̿̾̿̎͗̌̑̚͘͝ḧ̶̠̤̻̲̰͍̩͐͂̆͛̏͗̊̍ȩ̶̬͎̬̱͙̝̗͈̣̅͒̀ ̷̛̛̱̿̀̈̈̍̂̅͝͝ḑ̸͙̝̟̖̺̂ͅi̷͇͛̎͌̍̓̀̀̉̈́͠͝ẻ̴͍̲͔̼̹̞̺̹̩̗͍͒̊̆͋̈̎̌̈́̂͋̍̾̽ḑ̴̨̳͉̺̹̰͕̺̀̾̆͊́ͅ,̶̣͈̰͓̰̃̉̽̓͌͛̂͝ͅ ̵̨͂̀̅̃́̅̌͒̕̚͠t̴̻͓̣̩̘̀̃͑h̴̢͇͓̤̏̀̓̃͒̉̈́̂͂̈́̂͠é̷̡̡̹̩̗̰̲̮̲̠̗͈̗̘͚͗͜ ̴͈̻̭̻̲̻̘̗͈̮̜̲̞͂́͂̅́͛̈́͂̉̑̉̕͝͠n̸̞͚̘̖̠̼̞̦̗̱͊̐̀̈́̈͌͒ȇ̴̛̦̖̣̙̘̪̩̭̥̤̠̈́̄̽̈̑͐̾̂̕̚͘͠͝ẁ̵̡̧̧͖̺̪͕͙͓̥̙̘̩̮̔̀́̈́̀͐͛̃̾͜͜ ̸̛̘͉̙͎͚̮͒͌́̊͒͆̑̀̾̊̃̕͝ä̴̢̟͉̦̬͎́͆́͝g̸̯͛͌̃̒̆͊̆̿̿̕ȩ̶̢̪͈͈̜̠͍̜̬̈́͋̒̎ ̷̡̧̧̢̺͎͇̺̙̬̜̗͔̋͆̽̈́̄̀́̀̐̂̔́̈̚͘b̶̺̥͈̟̟̹͙̣̔̏͑̈́͂̑̈́̕͠ẹ̷̰̪̭̍̈́͊̓̽͘͜ǵ̷̣̞̈͒̏̉͂͆̀͌́͌̉̎̕͜ä̵̜͈͈͓̣̼͈͉̯̦̩̫̥͓́̊̄͆̈́̋̈́͛̾͊̕n̷̢̧͙̘͕̰͈̯̘̉̒̔̇̕.̷̹̯̠̠͖̝͍͇̟͉͕̠̤́͂̇̌͊̏͒̉͝ ̷͕͙̤͔͓̗͎̯̟̜́''b̴̥͔̫̣̭̣̘͇̻̞̠̫̭͛̓̈́̍̌̃̋̕ͅê̵̗͈͉͎̄́͑͌͑͂̽̈͘̚͜ẅ̴̢̢̺̱͇̰̖̳̻̻͉̙́̾͗͑́̑̎̇̆͒͑͝ͅa̸̞͔̣͉̞̳̦̞̟̋̏͝ŗ̷͙̦̗̭͖̤̻̬̹̩͋͒͐̃̐͌͋̇̊̓̆̀͌̈́̾́ę̵̛̼͇̦̘̭̠̘̺̳͒̃͂́͛̅̌̊̿̿͜͠ ̸̧̨̢̖͙͓͎̙̠̝͇̣̭͕̥̇̑̏̐ͅṱ̷͙͕̤̮͇͉̄̋̽͂̈́̚h̸̲͚̝̯̱̭̫͇̯͕͉͔̆̏̇́͒͐̂͆̀̓̓̈̓͜͜͠è̵̡̧͕̘̤̜̩̩͉̙̜͎́͑̑́̐̾̿̾̿͆̑͛̕͘͝ ̵̜̗̼̹̔̓̾́̍̂͋̾̆̀̃͑͒͝ȳ̸̫̠̈̌͠ë̸̮̙̱́͑̇̐̃̉̌̔̾̊́̈́̚̕͘a̶̡̞̗̞͙̮͚̤͉̍̔̂̋̈́̀̑̾̀r̶̛͔̰̞̜̟̻̰̞̖͔̘̤̓̃̅̌͌͑͆̉͜͝ ̸̧̡̨̨̠̖̝̞͔̘̟͉͔̼̳̔̀͘t̴̛̛͖̮̗̯͚͂͆͊̌̋̾̓͐́̓̔̏͘w̵̢͉̝̤̤̜͚̱͒̀͗̽̕ͅo̸̜͚̗͎̦͔̣̤̘̭̺͛͆͝ ̷̨̡̖̺͈̼̭̪̲̥̤̱̤̗͑t̶̢̟͎̫͇̳̥̓̋͂̋͆͗͘͜͠ḩ̴̖̲̖̰͇͔̄̍͊͋͜ỏ̸̞͕͎̠͓̲͗̃̄͗̆̓̓u̴̮̻̮͍̮͔͜͠s̵̪̩̫̊̓̀̏̋̾́̚͜ä̷̹̘̖̯̣̬̦̝̳͎͓́̉̄͑̿̀͛̓̈́̇̐͛̆̽͘̕ṇ̴̨̗͈̖͙͉̽̇̓̇̅̈̒̃̈̇͝ḍ̶͖͓͋̈̈̆̽̂̌̒̂̈͘.̴̨̡̗̗͓̥̣̤̲̰̙͍̠̭̋̏̔̄̍́̓͐̀́̓̂̉̋͜ '' ... The voice cuts off there. Only static now, If there was anything there at all. Probably not though. You should probably get your [[eyes back on the road]].

You decide to remain silent. ... c̸̞͙͔͎̲̹͔̣͋͐̿a̶͕͔͆͆̾͊̆̋̋n̵̠̹̺̹̖̘̥̼͙̊͐͛͝ ̸̛̠͙̰̦͚͇͉̝̀̓̓̃̉͝ͅy̸̤̬͇̥̺͐̍ͅo̵̢̠̱͕͚͖̰̰̅͒̍͆̊̈̽͝u̵͕̱͔̬̹̹̐͐̈̃̀̋̑̿̐ ̷̰̲̃̔̾͗͑h̴̡̡͇̦͈̣̫̓̓̀e̷̱̩̺̫͕̬̯͕̼̽͐͒̀̕a̸̢̡̢͚̳̼̱̦̞̽͠ṟ̸̪̻̤̘̜̯͈̄̈̀͒ ̸͇̊m̸̧͇̰̩͙̞̠͋́̌̒ḙ̷͖͉̓̈́͗̔͘ ̶̦̼͙͖͑̉̌̒͑̏̿̕ṉ̶̡͔̦̗̞͎̥̅͌̐͑̇͆͑͘͘ͅo̶̧̹̹̳̓̐͗w̴̺̟̺̳̬̩̥͆̐̈́͜?̷̳͂̏̈͑̍ ̵͈̱̯̔̓̌̅ċ̶̰̱̹̺̻̎̑́͊͘ͅã̷̘̺͙̟͉n̸͚̙̮̆́͌̐̔̅̀̀̕ ̷̯̻̘͙̊̌̊̚y̴̧͈͎͎̅́̋́̑̈͝o̴̢̧͇͎̻̞͖̔͐u̴̹̗͇̳̻͓͆̀̂̈́̒̽̀̈̉ ̶̧͇̥̜̮̹͊̓̔̊̐ȟ̴͚̬̭̳̮̯̔́ͅě̶̜̦͊̇͐̀̌̀̅ã̷͍̘͉͖̎̏̓̽r̴̝̹͚͕̘̼̝͗̎̊̋͗́̋͊͝ ̷̙͚͈̂m̸͖̌e̸̡̻̟̲͂̋̂̑͊͜͝ ̵̨̩̝͍͙̭̱͐̎n̷̜̫͕̫̻̎̚o̶̩̭͗̅́̎̓̐̆̕͜ẅ̷̨̹͚̔̈̀?̵̜͖̬͍͇̜̈́̀̅ ̴͔͉͙̼̱̫͉̜̲̍̑̈̾̃̐̍͝͝''c̸̙͈̼͍͂̉a̴̪̝̭̦̎͗̄̐͊̌̓̆͘n̴̫̈́̀̆ ̴͖̲̫̗̻̤̟̻̐̓ͅy̵̬̠͇͚̼͂̌o̸̩̼̠͖̫̟̗͕͝ṳ̶̿̃̽͜ ̶̺̝̮̿̈͘h̴̨̤͙͉̮̲͕͈̜̃̎͐͝͝e̶̮̔͒̾̉̇̿̀̇ḁ̸̻̼̗̜͔͔̽͆̅̓̕̕ͅr̷̛͖̮̪͇̰̿̋̈́͒̈̎̎̓ ̶̹̪͛͌̆̌̓̒͘m̸̲̂̊̈̃͌̏̈́̂͘e̶̯͕̘̤͊͌̈́̓̂͝ ̵̟͑̂͠ń̷̢̪͇͈̪͖̼͖̬ö̷̘̰̙̾́ẅ̷̢̛̟͇̖?̸̢̳̝̜̠̩͂̚͜'' ̸̢̛̲̻̈́̃̾̎͘͜ŏ̴̥̮̪̘̱͉͖r̵̳͕͒̊̅͋̎͘ ̴̯̒̉p̵̺̪͇̠̪͂̔̇̚͝e̸̜̟͕̝̞̬̓͛̋̅̓r̷̯̄̄́͐̿̐͝h̶͓̱́̆͊̐̉͛̌̀a̵̢͗p̶̨̦̏̊̕̕s̵͇͇̯͉̪̮̖͐͗̾̊̈́͜ ̶̣̈́̇͗͆͋̍͗ŷ̸̻͔͐̆͝o̶͓͛̒͘͝ủ̸̹͙̬̗ ̵̹̦̥͖̜͒̔̃͌͘̚͝ͅm̸̛͈̲̹̝̣̘̭̫̞̏͊́͊̉͒̿͗a̷̢̡͎̖͔̼̩̿͜y̶̨͙̬̣̋̂ ̵̡̣̖̝͖̬̞̐͂̓ͅ//ạ̴̡̱̭̞̜̖̰͚̍͆l̸̢͚̞͕̋r̷̨̖̍̒̽ȩ̸̡̱̥̠̣͓̳̐̋̐̈́̆͋̌͛͛ͅa̷̡͎̎́͌̅̔̾ḓ̷̬̠̹̖͎̙̪́́͂ỳ̷͙̻̰͙̘̲̹͕͍͊͊͆̃̂͒͝ ̴̩̲͓̺̀̌͛̃͠b̵̭̤̰̭͙͊̕͜ę̶̙͙͔͓̞̘̍̔͗̎ ̴̣̲̱͇̑͗̔̌̽d̴̡̻̟̹́̈́͋͜͠ͅe̸̢̩͈̯̠̭̫͉̍ͅå̴͎̥͂d̶̢̨̛̻͍̘̰̭̺̹̄̄̏̔̿.̸̨̡̩͓̣̹͂͂̍̅̾͠// ... The voice cuts off there. Only static now, If there was anything there at all. Probably not though. You should probably get your [[eyes back on the road]].

You jerk the steering wheel to the left instinctually, causing the van to spin out, and you hear a //''THUD''// as something slams into the back half of the van. Shit. >[[get out of the van and see what happened]] >[[just keep driving]]

You veer off to the right, swearing loudly as you narrowly avoid hitting the figure. >[[stop to look back at them]] >[[just keep driving]]

In the heat of the moment, ''you gun it'', accelerating to hit the shadow as hard as possible. ... When you come to, you are lying amidst the burning wreckage of your camera van. Through the flickering flames, shards of glass and twisted metal, you can see the mangled corpse of the deer you rammed. It's antlers have broken off, and are currently lodged in your chest cavity. ... Your vision goes blurry as you succumb to the flames and your injuries. ''|||YOU DIED|||'' [[try again?->Intro]]

You try to put the road incident out of mind as you continue driving towards the town. It's quiet now, and all you can hear is the rattle and clank of the run-down vehicle. A blinking light on the dashboard tells you that the van is running low on gas. It seems you'll have to stop at the local [[gas station]] to refuel.

You pull over and decide to check on whatever it was you just hit with the van. Pulling out a flashlight that does little to pierce the thick fog, you trace the road back until you find it, the pulverized corpse of the deer you ran over. >[[take a closer look at the dead deer]] >[[get back in the van->just keep driving]]

You slow down the van and look in the rear-view mirror. The shadowy figure is still obscured by the fog, but is clearly slumped over and not moving. >[[drive away->just keep driving]] >[[get out of the van and check it out->take a closer look at the dead deer]]

(set: $sawDeadDeer to true) Yep, that's a dead deer all right. It's neck is broken, it's throat is cut, it's bones are all bent and broken at odd angles, and it seems the poor thing has a large, open, bloody slash wound on its chest, and is clearly missing several organs. It's [[antlers]] are broken off. For some reason, it reeks of alcohol. It was dead long before you even came across it in the middle of the road. The only question is, what killed it? You shudder as you contemplate the possibilities. With no other reasonable course of action, you drag the deer off the side of the road so that nobody else hits it. You don't have the means to bury it, but the forest predators and scavengers will take care of that issue in due time. It's time to get back in the van. You have [[somewhere to be->just keep driving]].

(set: $hasFood to false) (set: $hasBatteries to false) (set: $hasTools to false) The station's neon signs flicker dimly through the fog, casting eerie shadows that dance along the damp pavement. The air is heavy with the scent of gasoline, mingling thoroughly with the earthy aroma of wet asphalt and the dense forest that surrounds you on all sides. The van shudders as it comes to a stop in front of the pumps. [[Take a look around the area.]]

The forest around you is dark and foreboding, and it's trees stretch into the night sky, towering over the small vestige of civilization it surrounds. There's a single car parked in a spot reserved for employees, but no other vehicles to speak of. Even on the roads, your own headlights were the only ones to be found. You suppose it makes sense. Everybody else is probably off celebrating New Year's Eve. Through the fogged-up windows of the gas station's main building, you catch glimpses of shelves stocked with snacks and drinks, their labels distorted and warped by condensation. You can barely make out the figure of a lone attendant standing behind the counter, their face obscured by the smudged glass, and their expression inscrutable in the dim light. [[Pump your own gas.]] [[Go inside the gas station.]]

You decide not to bother the attendant, and exit the van to pump your own gas. You open the gas cap, unhook the nozzle, and stand solitary in the neon spotlights and cool humidity as you hold the hose and wait for your tank to fill. When the tank is full, you insert your card, and refuse to print the receipt. [[You have successfully paid for gas.->Gassed Up.]]

A little bell rings as you enter the building. Inside, fluorescent lights buzz with a familiar intensity, highlighting row upon row of snacks, drinks, electronics, hardware, and as assortment of other cheaply-priced goods and products. Sitting behind the counter is the attendant, a young, pale woman with dark hair, who has her nose down in a book of some sort. She looks up for a moment as you enter, barely acknowledging your presence, and she quickly turns back to her reading material afterwards. [[Browse the Aisles.]] [[Approach the Attendant.]] [[Exit the Gas Station.]]

With the van refueled, you figure it's time to go meet with your client. You sit back down in the driver's seat and press onwards into the town proper. [[Drive To Meeting Location]]

Over the front door hangs an old, iron horseshoe, and a surprisingly deep-toned bell chimes as you walk in. Before you lies an earthy decor of forest green walls and hardwood floors. It's nicer than it looked from the outside. While not as full as it might otherwise be, there are still plenty of local folk who have gathered here to drink and celebrate the coming new year. A handful of merry patrons sit at the bar counter, drunkenly blathering away as they wait for midnight. There are some tables towards the back where one might have a private meeting. [[Listen in on drunken patrons.]] [[Find Your Client.->Find Your Contact]]

You stand in the driveway before the Clayford Estate. Even though the lights are on inside, it seems like nobody's home at the moment. You hear a buzzing, ringing sound from Tim's pocket, and he pulls out his phone. "Uh huh... Uh huh... Seriously? Well jeez...." Tim hands you the keys. "Really sorry, but I absolutely have to take this call. Go on ahead, I'll catch up... Make yourself at home." [[There's not much to do but go inside.->Front Door]]

You tentatively step over the cold bodies, finally satisfied that they won't rise to attack you. The stench down here is horrendous, a mixture of rotting corpses and moldy pizza, stale beer and burnt electronics... The computer that the old man is plugged into... You have to assume he was Gideon, is on, the screen flickering ominously. All of the files are locked, except for a video, dated not too long ago... [[Watch the video.]]

It's a denoument, based on the ending the player gets. There's Still Placeholder Text in this version, and not everything is done, but everything should be ready in time for the final version.

Not too much later, you turn a corner into a parking lot, arriving at one of the local watering holes, where you've agreed to meet your client. O'Nanigan's Irish Pub. It has the usual neon signs out front for assorted cheap American beers, and a poorly animated neon green leprechaun getting blackout drunk and vomiting gold. [[Head Inside.->The Bar]]

There's a nervous-looking young man sitting at a booth by the back wall, who looks like he's waiting for someone to arrive. You suspect that someone might be you. You walk on over and introduce yourself, and his eyes flash with a sense of recognition. "Ah, there you are! Yes, I'm Tim Clayford, the owner of the estate. Pleasure to meet you. Please, take a seat." He offers you a drink before you begin talking business. [[Talk Business.->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

"So basically, this whole thing is about getting permission to film in the house, yeah? Are there any questions you need me to answer before we proceed?" [["Tell me more about the house."]] [["Who's the legal owner of the house?"]] [["Are there any restrictions?"]] [["Is there anything strange about the house?"]] [["Do the amenities work?"]] [[Finalize your offer.]]

It's a slow, winding drive up the darkened mountainside road to reach the mansion perched on the precipice. The tall, imposing building is surrounded on three sides by a gated fence and hedges, while the back is left open to acres upon acres of forest and wilderness. Tim opens the front gate, and you park the van in the spacious driveway. "Well, here we are!" [[The two of you exit the van, and look to the house.->Exterior Of House]]

You approach the large, wooden double doors, and unlock them with Tim's key. They swing wide open with an old, creaky sound befitting such a door, and you find yourself in the entrance hall. Two sets of staircases on either end of the room lead up to the second floor, while branching halls to the left and right hold a handful of doors each that lead to many different rooms within the mansion. An old chandelier hangs high overhead above the balcony. [[Left Hall]] [[Right Hall]] [[Upstairs]]

You make your way down, deeper into the depths of the house as you approach the door to the basement. There's a low thrum of electricity in the air, like so many generators, but more of an even rhythym, more of a pulse... The door is locked, but it doesn't take long to undo. You take the stairs down, further and further into the darkness of the basement. The only source of illumination is the dull blue glow of computer lights and monitors, and you can barely make out the edges of anything in the room. Fumbling around on the wall for a bit, your hand manages to catch a hold of the lightswitch. [[Flick.->Something In the Basement]]

You scramble up the basement stairs, desperate to escape the horror only you now know is emerging from the basement behind you, and you sprint past countless soldiers who can do little to react to your state of sheer, blind panic. The shouts of federal agents are soon drowned out by the sounds of bloodcurling screams, rending flesh, and wanton gunfire as they fight a hopeless battle against an artificial being that would be a god. You run for the front door, but close it just as quickly as a hailstorm of bullets from the soldiers outside keep you pinned inside the house as the deafening, droning sound of what can only be described as a digitized roar shatters all remaining glassware in the house. You are trapped in the Clayford Estate, alone, afraid, and up against a being beyond your own means of comprehension. There are no options left, no other routes to take or paths to explore. It's time to [[Do Or Die]].

It's time to face the music. Bite the bullet. Face the facts. At the end of the line... What will you do in the face of certain death? [[Rage, rage against the dying of the light.]] (if: $gotVirUSB is true)[[Use the USB.->Error404.]] (if: $drunkDeer is true)[[Call upon The Horned One.->CERNUNNOS.]] [[Go gently into that cold night.]]

Wrap up the game: (The player is questioned, the answers they give help determine their ending status in the epilogue. Other loose ends are tied up as necessary.) [[Epilogue]]

You barely have time to make out the scene before something horrible lurches up at you. The shape is humanoid, but sparking wires and jumbled pieces of broken electronics are woven throughout it's horrible, jittering form like so many veins, with a solitary cable connected into the back of it's head slithering back into the darkness like a snake, puppeting the half-corpse that lunges at you with a deafening buzz. [[Dodge!]] [[Run!]] [[Attack!]]

You approach the check-out counter, and the woman looks up at you. The name-tag on her uniform reads "Mary". "Can I help you?" [["Can you tell me about the town?"->WordAroundTown]] [["What are you reading?"->Math]] [["Is there a bathroom around, by chance?"->GSBathroom]] [["Can you ring me up?"->Checkout]] [["Sorry, nevermind."->Go inside the gas station.]]

You decide you have no further business in the gas station. The bell rings as you exit. [[Take a look around the area.]]

There's not really all that much you need right now... But maybe you should get something, just in case? [[Get some Food.]] [[Look for Batteries.]] [[Feel the irrational urge to purchase a new set of tools.]] [[Nevermind.->Go inside the gas station.]]

(set: $hasFood to true) You grab some snacks and a drink. No sense working on an empty stomach, right? Do you need anything else? (if: $hasBatteries is false)[[Get some batteries while I'm at it.->Look for Batteries.]] (if: $hasTools is false)[[I still want tools.->Feel the irrational urge to purchase a new set of tools.]] [[I'm set to check out.->Approach the Attendant.]]

(set: $hasBatteries to true) You scoop up a pack of batteries. Anything else? (if: $hasFood is false)[[Get some food while I'm at it.->Get some Food.]] (if: $hasTools is false)[[I still want tools.->Feel the irrational urge to purchase a new set of tools.]] [[I'm set to check out.->Approach the Attendant.]]

(set: $hasTools to true) You have acquired a new set of tools. (if: $hasFood is false)[[Get some food while I'm at it.->Get some Food.]] (if: $hasTools is false)[[I feel like i might need batteries.->Look for Batteries.]] [[I'm set to check out.->Approach the Attendant.]]

You died. [[Restart?->Intro]]

You have become incapable of making coherent decisions or taking informed actions, and as such have no further agency within this tale. GAME OVER. [[Restart?->Intro]]

"Alright, let's see..." She prints out a receipt, and you swipe your card. You have successfully paid for: (if: $hasTools is true)[tools, ](if: $hasBatteries is true)[batteries, ](if: $hasFood is true)[food, ]gas. [[Time to hit the road.->Gassed Up.]]

You walk down the wide corridor, panelled in some dark wood. The carpet is old and dusty, as if nobody has vacuumed in a while. There are a couple of doors here. [[Enter the Library.]] [[Enter the Parlor.]] [[Enter the Guest Room.]] [[Examine a loose bit of carpet.]] [[Examine loose wood paneling.]] [[Feel around on top of the doorways.]] [[Back to the Main Hall.->Front Door]]

Your shoes clack softly upon the hardwood floor of this corridor. Though it's a solid enough surface, you can't help but think from the dull gleam, scratched-up surface, and patina that this floor has not been properly taken care of in many years. Along the walls are several doors. [[Enter the Living Room.]] [[Enter the Dining Room.]] [[Enter the Kitchen.]] [[Back to the Main Hall.->Front Door]]

You climb the creaking stairs to the second floor landing, and observe the hall before you. [[Master Bedroom]] [[Secondary Bedroom]] [[Bathroom]] [[Office/Study]] [[Go back downstairs.->Front Door]]

Rows upon rows of dusty bookshelves line the walls of this room, along with several distinct furnishings. A couple of armchairs sit around a mahogany coffee table, upon which sits an antique globe. In front of the window is a writing desk. [[Inspect the Globe.]] [[Inspect the Desk.]] [[Inspect the Shelves.]] [[Return to the hallway.->Left Hall]]

The parlor has a large sideboard, several chairs, and some low tables sat infront of a mantled fireplace. The carpet is similarly dusty to the hall, and the walls are covered in a striped wallpaper adorned with an assortment of paintings and wall hangings, including a mounted buck's head. The buck's head is bare. It doesn't seem to have any antlers, as if they've been purposefully removed. (if: $hasAntlers is true)[[Get the antlers from the van.->Place the antlers in the buck's head.]] [[Return to the hallway.->Left Hall]]

The room is dimly lit, and it seem though the original purpose of the room may have been to house guests, it has longe since fallen from that purpose to merely being another room for storage. The bare-mattress bed is covered in a heap of countless carboard boxes, and an exercise bicycle sits on the floor in front of an boxy, old-model television. [[Take a look inside some boxes.]] [[Leave the guest room.->Left Hall]]

The living room consists of three white walls, with a single maroon for accent. The furniture in here seems much more lived in than other parts of the house. A large, comfortable sofa sits in front of a modern, wall-mounted TV, and the side and coffee tables are host to a number of vases, statuettes, and magazines. [[Examine the statues.]] [[Leave the Living Room.->Right Hall]]

A long cherry table takes up the majority of the center of this room, with a dozen chairs sat around it at regular intervals. Along the walls, there's a cabinet full of fine china, as well as a matching cherry banquette that is currently bare and dusty. A telephone sits on a small table by the far door. [[Check out the telephone.]] [[Return to the Hall.->Right Hall]]

The first thing you notice as you enter the kitchen is the pungent stench of decayed food that permeates your nostrils. Whoever was here last didn't do a very good job cleaning up after themselves. The granite counters are covered in rotten food debris, and a stack of porcelain dishes lay unwashed by the sink. The walk-in pantry was left open, and it's clear that a family of mice has moved in in the interim. There's a locked door, probably leading to a basement or wine cellar, and a back door leading out into the yard. [[Grab a knife from the knife block. You know, just in case.]] [[Back to the Hallway.->Right Hall]]

Like the name implies, the master bedroom contains a very large bed. There's an open closet full of dusty clothing, and it seems that a swarm of moths has decided to make a home there. [[Leave->Upstairs]]

Two beds, two chests of drawers, and an old, overflowing toybox that looks like it hasn't been touched in years. There are a variety of overlapping band posters covering one wall, and a stereo system that was state-of-the-art over a decade ago. [[Leave.->Upstairs]]

It's a bathroom, alright. A nice one. The mirror is covered in post-it notes with red yarn connecting them. You can no longer make out your own reflection amongst the clutter. [[Stare intently at the notes...]] [[Leave.->Upstairs]]

The door to the study is locked. (if: $officeKey is true)[[The key from beneath the carpet is a perfect fit.->Study.]] [[Check elsewhere.->Upstairs]]

"The town? Well, what's there to say that hasn't already been said? You really must be new around here... Well, Mist Springs is a small town, barely on any maps. It's mostly overshadowed by our larger sister city, Montispak, which you probably passed through on your way here. There's not much to do here if you aren't a university student or worker, unless you're really into hiking and camping. It's not great, but not terrible either. I guess most people come for their own reasons." [["Anything weird happen around here recently?"]] [["So why'd you come here?"->Math2]] [[That's all I wanted to know, thanks.->QuitMath]]

She looks up at you strangely, before continuing. "It's a math textbook, for my studies." It is indeed, an advanced textbook of mathematics, full of arcane arithmetic symbols and formulas you barely recognize or haven't ever needed to use for years since graduation. Sitting next to it on the counter is an open bottle of what appears to be red wine. [["What are you studying for?"->Math2]] [["Oh. Alright then."->QuitMath]] [["Math is for nerds."->MathJerk]] [["Are you allowed to be drinking on the job?"]] [[Inspect the wine more closely.]]

She nods, and produces a key from beneath the desk, pointing you towards a door by the back. The bathroom is wall-to-wall gray tile, dimly lit with a single, flickering flourescent light panel overhead. There are a couple of stalls, a sink, a soap dispenser, and a paper towel dispenser. (if: $responded2voices is true)[Wait... You also hear something else. It sounds like... Music?] [[Do your business.->Piss]] (if: $responded2voices is true)[[Look for the source of the sound.->StereoHearts.]] [[Leave the Bathroom.->ReturnFromGSBathroom]]

Having relieved yourself, you feel refreshed and ready to continue onwards. [[Wash Your Hands.->ReturnFromGSBathroom]] [[Do Not.->ReturnFromGSBathroom]]

You exit the bathroom and return the key to the attendant. "Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?" [["Can you tell me about the town?"->WordAroundTown]] [["What are you reading?"->Math]] [["Can you ring me up?"->Checkout]] [["Nope, thanks."->Go inside the gas station.]]

"I'm studing to get my teaching degree." [["So why are you working here?"]] [["So this dead-end job is the best you could do?"->MathJerk]] [["Fair enough."->QuitMath]]

She gives you a slightly-unnnerving customer-service smile. "So... Anything else I can help with?" [["Can you tell me about the town?"->WordAroundTown]] [["Is there a bathroom around, by chance?"->GSBathroom]] [["Can you ring me up?"->Checkout]] [["Nope, thanks."->Go inside the gas station.]]

Her eyebrows narrow. "I don't recall asking for your opinion. Now... Do you have any actual business here?" [["Is there a bathroom around, by chance?"->GSBathroom]] [["Can you ring me up?"->Checkout]] [["What's with the wine?"->"Are you allowed to be drinking on the job?"]] [["Sorry, nevermind."->Exit the Gas Station.]]

She shrugs. "It was available, it helps pay tuition, and there's a bunch of down time to read or study. Not too many people come around here anymore." [["I can see why. This place is a dump."->MathJerk]] [["Fair enough."->QuitMath]]

She looks over to the bottle, then back to you, rolling her eyes. "None of your business. Besides, this place is practically abandoned. It's not a big deal if nobody is around to complain about it." [["Well... I guess it's not that big a deal then."->QuitMath]] [["I'm complaining about it. This is terrible service." ->Seriously?]] [[Inspect the wine more closely.]]

Her eyes narrow. "Oh...? And what are you going to do about it?" She seems rather agitated... [["I'm going to get you fired."->Asked For It]] [[... Nothing.->QuitMath]]

Taking a closer look at the wine... It's a deeper red than you're accustomed to. The cork looks old and worn, as if it's been inserted and removed many times before. And instead of an aromatic fruit smell, your nose detects a not-so-subtle hint of iron... Mary is looking at you intensely. "Is there a problem?" [["This isn't wine at all..." ->Seriously?]] [["... Nope."->QuitWhileAhead]]

You decided it was best to not press the issue further. Mary seems to ease up somewhat as you back down, taking the bottle down from the counter, but for a split second you swear you saw fangs... [[Let's try to keep the rest of this interaction brief.->QuitMath]]

She stands up, and sighs. "I see... Well then. I guess I'm getting myself an early refill." "An early... What?" She no longer seems to be paying attention to you. You take a step back. As you stand off in the dimly lit gas station, the air thick with the scent of gasoline and anticipation, the lights flicker off for a moment, and you notice her eyes glinting unnaturally in the light. Suddenly, her demeanor shifts, her customer-service smile turning cold and sinister as she reveals her true form—a vampire? Before you can react, she moves with inhuman speed, her fangs gleaming in the faint light as she lunges forward, her grip like iron around your throat. Panic sets in as you struggle futilely against her supernatural strength, but it's no use. With a swift, brutal motion, she sinks her fangs into their neck, draining the life from your body. As the your vision fades and limbs grow cold, you realize too late the grave mistake you've made in provoking this deadly creature of the night. Your last thoughts are consumed by regret as darkness envelops them, leaving nothing but the echoing silence of the gas station in the dead of night. ''|||YOU DIED|||'' [[try again?->Intro]]

You look around. There's a stereo on the sink that you weren't quite sure was there before. You listen closer... ... The music fades to static. Ṓ̴̡͍̖̫̬̚h̵̡̠͚̮̰̭̍̓͠ ̴̡͖̭̗̽͌ẖ̶̄͐͗͒è̶̛͈̟͕͎̆̆̕͝l̸͓͋͝l̸̼͖̿̋͒o̶͓̮͍̰͎̒̈̓͛͜.̵̢͍̹͉͑ ̵̰̥͈͇̄I̶̘̰͙̎̇̚t̵̠͐̈́͑ͅ'̵̗̮̲̔̈̃s̸̬͚̱̰͜͝ ̶̧͇͉͉̐̄ͅy̸̱͙̲̲͓͍̚o̴̗̲̯̦̰͋̽̽u̵̲̓̇ ̷̲̥̫͛̔̈́̂̓͠ạ̷̹̖̐g̴̨̜̝̼͚̲͠a̶̹̦͎̗͂ͅi̸̤͆͋̃ṇ̴̡̢̣̦̹͂̒.̵̢̨̧̤̪̒͐̉͠ ̷͈̤̪̤͈̠̈́͘Ĉ̴̭̣͒͝a̸̜͂̈́̿́̕ͅn̵̡̧̗͔̂'̸͕̂͛̾͌͝t̸͍̮͔̙̦̀̈́͒͛͐̕ ̵̧̨̖̥̲͒́y̴̯̤̝͎͆̕o̵̗͔̔͌ư̸̠̪͍͂̌́ͅ ̵̢̬͐s̴͎̫̠̈e̷̼̦̥̣͆̄̓̈́͠ȅ̶̫̒ ̴͖̥̭̌̃͝m̵̟͈̾ę̵͈̳̠͓̏͐͛̆?̶̯͍̝̰̎͝͝ ̵̼̖̩̥̺̣̂W̸̢͙̝͙̻͖̉̿̎̈́h̴̻̝͚͔̅̃͠ý̴̖̲̻̰̀ͅ ̸̧̳͉̰͎͝c̸͚̟̰̗̀͝ͅͅa̵̞͇͈͈̚ṋ̴͕͔͖̈́'̷̢̲̠̕ͅṭ̸̳̃̒͒̀͝ ̸̼̥̹̘̽̋̚y̶̠͔̬̮͎̓͊́̔̓͝ô̴͔͇̱͕̑̑͊͘͜ṳ̷̰̭̒͝ ̸̰̼͓̟̻̙͐̍̇͋ṣ̶̜̞́̂̌̓̚ȩ̴͚̫̹̝̞̎e̷̗̻̩͗͌̊̎̿ ̵͍̠͙̈́m̴̹̣̈́̍̑͆̆è̸̩̦̥̳͙͜?̸̭͖͌͗̎̈̏̚ ̸̢̩͍̩̖͋̀̾Á̴̡̤̞̑̒͝n̶̨̾̄͗͌́̈́d̵̖̦̝̓ ̵̘̻̮̂̈́̀͊d̶̮̦͉̈́͜ḯ̶̗̗̲͉̥̭̽̅̓͠ḏ̸̛̈͌͜͝n̵͉̮̐̐̅̔̏'̸̄̒̊́ͅẗ̶̳̼̝̯̘́͛̇͘ ̷̛̯̭̠̅y̷̭̜̯̙̌̃͊͜ố̶̻͈̋ͅú̴̧̹̥͙̿͋͂̽́ ̴̢͓̭͙̠̬͠h̴̗̀e̵̲̳̦̗̟͋̈̊a̷͖̗͙̐̅͋r̶̡̤̍ ̷̨̭̪̪̬͖̉͑͑͋̎͘m̶̨͕̼̟̜̓̇y̶̧̢͚͈̭͑͋̆̈̽̂ ̶̝̪͈̉̎̎̊̿̈́ͅw̴̡̛̻̣̰̄̓̕͜a̴̙̰̅̊̄̿̔r̸̲̣̰̬̈̈́́̄̚͜n̴̪̄͝͠i̶̢̝͇̲͉͂̅͘ǹ̷̮͎̮ģ̸͓̭̰͊̔̄̐͐̓?̵̭̩̣̪̹̌́̍ [[I heard you before...]] [[I couldn't make out the words...]] [[Who are you?]]

T̶͚̰̣͍̓̈́́͛h̶̦̦͖̋͆ḝ̶͜͠n̵̢̑́̀,̶̭͔̿̀ ̴̨̱̗̾̋̐͊͝ÿ̶͔̮͖́̑̚o̵̧̹͕̥͑̃̅͘ú̸̯̯̲͖͘ ̵̡͈̹͒̉͑o̵̥̠͊̓̀̎̉ù̷̢̺̗̏̉g̶̗̈́̽͒͌̊ȟ̵̯͍̬̋̅̀͝ͅt̵̞͍͓̬͓̕ ̴̨̡̗̥̈́̋̂̕͠t̶̡̹̤͓̃͜ö̵̧̡̬͉͇́̽̎͠ ̵̨̘̙̞̆̈͆̋̚ǩ̵̪͎͙̹n̵̤̲͎̦̄͒͝ơ̶̢̠̪͝w̶̤̩̪͚͌.̴̲͖̤͚̯̿͝.̷͎͕̭̈̔̀͝.̸̻͎̖̃̕ ̸͍̲̲̒́Ȋ̶̢͈̬̣̪̏͝'̵͉͎̱͑̈́̿̅m̴̢͈͇͍̔͊͂ ̵͍͒h̵̗͍̭̼̠͛̎̃̾͂è̶̛̠̰̣́̿̀r̷̼̩̦̬̿é̴̢̄͐̚ ̵͕͌̓̈́̌ţ̸̛̻̬͍̌͒̕ö̷͓̮̳̻́ ̴̧̛̬͒͛́͝r̸̫̥̩̻̈́̌͂͘ȩ̶͚͂̽m̸͓̱̲͉̙̽̀̃̌͠ḯ̴̧̘̪͚̈́̉̌́n̶̗͎̲͎̻̅̍͗̉̀d̵̡̩͎̍̈ ̵̞̝̀y̵̧̞̪͓͆͛̕͜ò̵͓̥̺̭̯u̶̖̍̍̚͝ ̶͇̲͙̪̍̇̔̿Ṓ̴̠͙̯͉̰̌̀̀f̵͍͉̟̻̎ ̵̛͓̥̮͚̠̆̈̔t̵͈̤͗h̶̯͐͗e̵͈̰̰͎̍́̎ ̶͙̞͔̮͉̂m̴̩̮̙̻̺̿͒ȇ̶̬͌̂̐́s̴̟̠͔̿̈́̉͊̕s̴̠̬͉̲̪͒̒͒ ̶̦͕̄͜y̷͕͇̓ô̵̻̊u̴̲̙̥̇̀͂͝ͅ ̷̼̥̂͊l̷̯͊̾́͘ḙ̸̡̀͐̉̒̈f̶̨̭̀̋t̴̢͚͎̫̱͘ ̸̯͈̲̠̤̎̉͂͝w̷̻͘h̴̠͉̭͐̄͛͂ȅ̵̫͙̹̻̣̎́ṅ̷̢̥̦ ̵̟̠͍̘̋͜ÿ̶́̈͂̕͜o̶̰͛͠ụ̶͌̅͒ ̵̛̛̖̥͎͙̭̌͐̔w̵̡̢̗̯͕̉́e̷̢͊̌͆̈n̷͙̥̭̣̪̍͊͝t̵̤͉̥̃̐̚ ̶͎̹̻̗̗͘ǎ̵̛͚̩̲͆̏w̴̛̟à̴̮̼̭ỹ̸̧͆͐ ̸̫̠͆̌̃ͅI̴͖͕̰͉͒ͅt̵̨́̓̈́̚'̶̞̰̈́̐̊ş̸̘̺̓͊̍ ̸̜̒n̴̙͚̦̈́̋̆͝o̴̻̒t̵̯̞̣́ ̵̘̳̫̦͐͛̒̏̎͜f̷̢͖̺̠̊a̵̳͗̎́͠i̴̬̰̩̪͗̅ŕ̴͙̻͝ ̴̲̺̫͓̤̿͛̚t̶̢̰̬̂͂͛̐o̵̮͖͗͋͑ ̸̨̧͇̩̟̉̅̽̆ď̵̡̻͈̠̩̆̿é̴̡̥̆̐ņ̴͚̊̃̽y̵̧̬̮͛ ̶̢̣̱͋͑̔̓m̷̛̼̌̀̉̐͜e̵̢̫͔͖̓ ̶̧̊̑̕͘Ȏ̶̪͕͍̲̗̉́͋͝f̸̛͓̬̭̊̍ ̴̰̝͂̌t̵̢̤̣̗͙̽͒h̴̹͉͇͇̍̏͘ė̶̮̜̎͌ ̴̻̝̜͉̏ç̸̋̍̈́̔̈́r̵̺̳͛̉̊̀̀ơ̷̡̰̫͍͊͗͗ͅs̸̗̹̄s̷̯̗̦̱̱̍̏̋ ̸̙̗̯̓͋͛͆Ì̸̜̬͛̏ ̸̰̟̣͈̪̀̂b̷̥͗̽͑̾̌ę̵͈̺͔̏̓͑a̷̙̜̓̉̈́ṟ̵̭̓̈́͋ ̶͍͚̘̪͒̒̿̋̾t̷̳̣͆͠h̶̰̰͉͛̽̇a̶̧̗̫̭̍͘͝ͅt̸̢͉̤̓̕ ̶̨̮̩̟̇̓̉̇ẙ̵͚̮o̵̳͂͂̀̾̕ů̴͇̭͉̘͊̊͌ ̸̗͈̤͔̔̄̔͂g̶͓͖̈́a̷̯̬̪̝̻͗̔͑̋v̵̡̲̪̘̇̔̇ë̷̱̳́ ̷̲̩̈́̉̿̔t̷̡̰̆͂̐̊o̸͔͊ ̸̟̞̙̔͝m̷̜̹͉̔̄̕͠ę̵̤̯̲͓̈̈́̾ ̶̧͎͔̻͒Y̵̥̻̓͊̂ơ̶̩͊͋̓͆u̶̧̩̺̳̰͒͠,̴͇͕̥̟̾̃͛͂ ̵̡̧̘̣̰̾̊̔̕y̷̥̯̌o̷̩̠̓̒̄̂u̷̞̒̈́,̵̨̻̰͋̃͋̍͘ ̷̯́̋̋̆̔y̸͎̻͓͛̍̓̒̐ǒ̴̋̇ͅu̵̧̩̺̰͖͌ ̸̛̼̗̺̤̠o̷̟͑ǔ̷̢͖̝̫̭g̷͖̀͜h̸̪̀͠t̶̜̺̗͈́̊͠ä̶̜́ ̶̧̥͘ǩ̶͖n̴̲̘̭͌ǫ̷̭̻̙̉͌͘w̴̧̫̲̮̆̓.̶̟͊̈́̓͝.̷̱̜̤̠̰̑.̴̢͖̪͐̓ [[What do you mean?]] [[Who... Are you?->Who are you?]]

T̸̬͛h̴̤̔e̸͕̒n̸̯̽ ̴̥̾I̶͎͝'̵̗̋l̴̫̆l̵̹͒ ̴̡͋r̷͈̎e̵̞͐p̷̻̏ḻ̸͝á̶̫ỹ̷̯ ̸̤̊t̶͓̉h̵̨̀e̵̩͛ ̷̩̍r̸̰̂é̴̫ć̸̪o̵̰̊ŗ̵̎d̵̝̑ ̷̟̕o̶̺͝n̸͖͝e̴̖̾ ̷̡̃l̵̝͐a̴̘͒s̸̹̚t̸̳̀ ̷͍̇t̷͉͑i̶̯̕m̴̭͝e̷̜̒.̴̖̿.̴̦̈́.̴͖́ ẇ̴̙ĥ̶̙o̶̗͝ĕ̸̲v̵̲͆e̵͕̾ŗ̶̒ ̷͓͝ÿ̵̰o̷͇̓u̷̩͘ ̷̠͐a̷̡͑r̴͎̆ę̴̄,̷̻̊ ̶̥̓ẗ̵͚ú̴̬ŕ̷̙n̸͇̓ ̶͎̐b̶̨́ä̴̘́ĉ̷̬k̶̬͝ ̶̝̆n̵̹͠ó̵̫ẅ̴̳́.̶̠̐ ̷̖̔ẃ̶̗h̷̨͒é̷̳n̷͓̆ ̷̩̔h̵̢̐ȇ̴̖ ̵̘̾d̸̲̏i̵̯̚e̸̪͒d̶̡́,̸͖̍ ̶̻͋t̴̥̆h̵̲̉e̶̛̥ ̵̌ͅn̷͉̚e̷̝̽w̵͓̍ ̵̝̔a̶̪͠g̷͉͂e̵̛͔ ̴̜͑b̶͇͂e̸̟̚g̷̛̪a̸͎͒n̷̞͐.̵̜̽ ̸̤̎''"̴͕̇b̴̠̈́è̸̞ẅ̵̨́a̴͖͘r̸̬̋ĕ̴̼ ̶̼͘t̸̘̔h̷̔ͅe̷̠͘ ̶̖͗ȳ̷͍e̷͇̅ā̴̝r̸̮̈́ ̷̳͠t̶̹̓ẃ̵̥o̸̫͊ ̷͇͒t̸̳̐h̷̥́o̷̫͐ṳ̸̈s̸͈̈á̸̲ñ̶͉ḏ̷͛.̶̭͌"̸̰̽'' [[When... Who?->Who are you?]] [[Why should I...?]]

W̶̡̨͕͙̱̮͔̗̙̤̦̗̑͐̇̏̏̋h̵̛͔͈͈͇̣̝͎͂̀͊̊͋̈́͛̈́̇͊̓̉͝͝ǫ̸̭̈́́̿̾͌̄͛̉͋̀̓̽͌̈̃͂̕ ̸̧̯̲͍͎̄̈́̑̐̑̽̄͋̔̐̊̕̚̚ͅa̸̛͙̮̫̮͇̝̥̖̗̝̺̝̳̓͋̏̉̂̋̚r̴̢̢͈͖̗̟̙͈̠̞̩͇̙̝̬̤͚̒̂̈́͒̅̂̉͠e̷̛̛̬̗̻̳͈̘̹̣̹̐̋́̉̂̅̓̈́͑̎͐͝ ̴͇͙͍̮̣͖̫̈́̒͆̈́ÿ̴̹̼̟̥͙́̋̽͗͂͆̔̍̆͊͆̉̆̈͂̚ö̶̱̝̱͇̩͈͎̪͉́͊͜ͅͅͅư̸̧͓̰̹̮̭̖̠͇̗̾̿̀̾̅̀̀́̑͋͘ͅ?̵̨̟̝̊͗̅̇̃̓͝ ̴͖̰͔̫͉̬̝̯̣̥̤͍̊̓̌̽̃̒̔̓͗͛͜͠W̶̡̯̱̙͖͉̮̱̩̹̼͙͇̪̹̏͊̋̅͂͆̈́͂̎h̴̨̛̛͈̗̠̙̖͕͕̻̼̟̦͉̘̖̺̀̓̒̃͋̿̈́́̓͜͝͝o̶̡͙̠̘̻̿̆̈͝,̷̡̛̙̩͙̫̤̙̫͇̂̇̎̇̒͝͠ͅ ̶͖̾͆w̶̨̭̖̬͖̣͕̦͈͍̰͊͂̏͘̕h̷̨̥̣̠̭͈̟̩̪͚̠͉̤̰͊͌̈́͘ͅo̸̱̹̲͎͚̤̥̼̯̲̰͉͉̘̊̋̋̏̓̑̀͊̈́̒̚͝,̸̠͙͕̗̗͓͚̹̣̉̌͐̊͐͑̀̅̏ ̶̡̧͈̹̜͈̘͎̥̗͍̌̊́̈́͑̋͂̽́͜͝͠w̶̡͉̠̫̳̲̖͔͎̩̒͊̇͌̈̊͌́̉̈́̊́͜h̴̛̰͑̈́̍̃̂̎̀̋̾͌̎̾̀̌̚̕ỏ̵̢̨̪̦̮̟͚͔̺͔̟̝̅͊̍̾͋͛ͅ,̶̨͕͎̖̿̈͐̇̔̽̂͌̾̃̆̂͐͗̈́͘ ̶̨̹̹̪̱̠͖͎̫̗̦̱͙͓̩̑̆̑̀̄̋͆͒̉́̚̕̚͜w̸̡̤̳̻̥͈̮̭̓͐͛͗̓̊̒̉͒̀̎̐́͌h̴̢̨̛͈͖̏̂̄̾́̈̇̿̈̆͂̈́̐͝ȯ̴̡̘̘̒̿̿̍͜?̵̨̜͕̮̹͎͖̫͍͈͙͔͖̌͒̿̓́̓̎͑̏͝ͅ ̵̨̧̤̞͙͍̼͕͔͎̾̾̌͆̓͛̏̂́̎͒̌͑̚͘͜Ị̵̬͕̱̂̑͆̏̅ ̵̧̰͚̳͇̯̺͍͚͓̜̞͖̺̫͚͈̏̏̓̈̐̀͆̍̓́͆͆̕͠w̶̠̹̩͔̭̜̃͋̔͝ǫ̷̼̯̹̤͚͇̰̲̰͍̼̟̲͉̻̾̈̎́̈̽̀͝ķ̴͇͌̓́̎̉͌͗̈́̿̔̈̋̚͝͝e̵̮̙̘̯̯̳̍͐̓̎̍̓̑̏̂̆̿̓͝ ̷̰̝̩̦͓̗̗͉́̄ũ̸̢̺̹̲̼̱̤̻̥͕͇̭͍̤̭̔̋͋̈́̿̕ͅp̸͍̜̼̹̙̓̎̈̃̈͋͌̓́̓̆̍̔͌̃ ̵̡̨̛̲̣̪͚̺̝͔̿̽̆̀̇̌̐̋̿͘į̴̛̹̰͕̱̮̝͛̓̑̅́̔̎̈́̇̅͆͊͘͠n̵̝̘̼͓̮͇͈͒̌́̀̉̋̐̾̓̇͒̍̿͂̋̚͠ ̸͎̦̥͎̰͔͕̺̹̹͉͎͔̌̆̇̊̿̄̌͒̅̈̑͊̆͆͠ͅă̴̡̛̮͓̯͖̙̜͌̈́͗͝ ̸̧̭̳̭͓͖̼͓̩̥̟̔̇̐̿͐̅̀̏̆̄̓̐͘͘̕S̸̤̹̬̘̤͖̟̔͒͜o̶͈͕͇͓̘̦̞͚͛͂̓̄͂͋̈́̆̀͛̓͐̚͠͠͠ͅh̷̡̗̞̹̪̞̝̜̦̳̮̫̬̭̀̽̏̓͂̌͝ͅǫ̵͙̭̝̥̟̼̹͚̬̭͔̰̯̰͂̂͊̓̈́͂͂̏͒̽̐͝ ̵̱̩̂͊́́̄̇̐͋̐̈́̋̆͘d̸̻͖̣̓͋̿o̷̠̓͒͂͆̃͠ǫ̶̘͎̖̩͓͈̭̪̙̽͗̊̊͑̈́̿͋ͅͅŗ̵̛͚͙͚͔̮̖̎̾͂̿̓͊͊͊̐͐̋̇͑̕͝͝w̷̦͔̪̹̭̤̠͗ͅą̵͎̳̳̔̌̐̔̽̌̒͂̈́̚͝y̶̮̤͈̳̯̱͔̯̙̳̰̘͚̐̃̕͘͜͜ͅ ̶̢̣̦̬͖̳̤̗̳̤̣̆̈́̿̐̈́̒̈͐͒̉̀̐̆͌͜͜ͅͅA̷̛̲͖̹̫̓̈́̈́̑͋͆̀͂̆̽̆͜͝ ̵̡͎̪̤̝̘͉̞̻́̏̈́̋̑̀͊̕͠p̴͇̘̺̠̟̄̃͒̾̒̈́̾͂̎o̷̢̢̡̢̞̙͛̿l̵̠̩̮̯̗͇͖͈̯̫̝̍͛̆̆̾͜ḭ̴̻͌̏̐̅͌̚c̶̻̔̀̈́͋͑̅̑̇͛͝e̵͈̼̿̓̿̓m̷̢̢̨̡̱͚̳̥͎̰̖̜̲͈̑͜ͅͅa̶̢̳̼͕͇̜̞̦͍̜̅̾͛̓n̴̨͇̺̪̰̺̦͐̋̈́ ̴̹̓͌̈͒̄̃͑̔̑́ḱ̸̛̭͒̈́̿́̒̿̊̕͝n̷̡̡̨̗̳͔̘̳̲̮̈͊̀͑̋̀̃̒̃̕͜͝ͅͅe̵̫͠ẉ̷̗̬̙̱̮̰̪͔̻͔̖̩̮̓̒̀͌͜ͅ ̶̭̣̘̭͈̼͕́͋̉̀͛́͑́̍̕͘͘̕͝m̷̭̬̻̤͓̣̙͖̳̱̥̙̤̞͙͌̂͜͠y̶̡͍̖̘͔̖̫̜̫̓̀̉̌̀́̒͊̒͂̈͝͝ ̷͖͔͔̳̊͆͂͊̀̎͐̿͌͒̊̚͘͝n̶͈̜̫̩̈́̿̔͒͛̃̊͛͆͆̐̿̔̅͠a̵̢̨͔̮̮̾̔͜m̵̡͕̺̹̤͉̼̲̬̫̼̜̺͇̜͑̐̽̑͜͝e̴̢̨̢̛͇̗̫͈͇̭̺̻̾̓̒̍͗̌̎̓̐̃̈́̕̕̕ͅ ̷̡͍̩̙̯̱̘͉̹̒̐̈́́̄Ḩ̷̟̘͈͌̅̉̈̌̈̏͛̐̀̇͘͝͠͝é̵̯̘̎̐̈ ̷̡̫̯̞̺̼̬̼̥͒̿̄̔̈́s̶̹͇̜̻͙̾͗͗̓̾͆á̷̧̹̫̪͙́̐̔͊͑̚͝ͅi̴̛̙̪̭̦̍̔̀͐̎͛͐̕͠͝d̶͕̬͕͕͍̩̆̀̊̅̔̅̈́̌̃̒̓͐̾͊͌̕͝,̶̢̛̦͔̺̜̱̰̣͕͇̥͉̟̻̌̎̇̍̍̈́͆̉̒̾͜͜ ̴̡̡̡̝̙̩̞̹̘̭̘͈̰̻̝̖͚̆“̶̭͔̱̽̉̀́̅̃̍̂͗̿̈́̉́̀̕͝͠Y̵͎̞͈̬̱͈͔̙̺̰̥̼͛̑̆͂̃̅͘͜͜ͅo̵̡̢̢̼̱̱͇͚̟̗͇̹̱̲͋͐͗ư̴͖̳̥͈̹̆͊̀̍̏͋ ̴̤̬̼̮͇̮̗͔̀̄̎̂̓̎͒̇̓͝c̵̢̨̛̜̖̻͎̯͍̖̘̜͔̯͓͖͉̄͐͑͐̀͋͐͝ͅa̸̡̡͓͍̪̗͇̥̍̈̏̂͜n̴͇̦̹͈͌͑͒̃̀̔́͐͒̽̈̃̍̆̈́̕ ̵͙̬̹͖̩͎͋̒̉̈́̏̆͐͌̽̓̌ḡ̷̡̬̣̟̪̜̬̮̲̤̲̌̄̒̔̀͗͜ö̵̢̨̨̳̣̹͎̻̤̫̞͍̻͕̦̿̀ ̷̢̧̖̮͖̖̣͈̭̘̝̤̥͓̈́̐̅̌́̊͒̀̓͋̀͑̓͂͘ͅs̷̯̼̥̟̤̙̲̭̦̈́͑̉̐̔̓̀̀̏͋̌͘̕͜͝͠ͅl̶̡̧͖̫͍̬̭̖̗̠̣̱̹̩̓̉̈́͋̃̒̄̄̽̋̚͝e̸̢̨̺̫͈͔̲̝̬̻̺̟̟̺͇͍̒͐̂̿̈́̆̄͆̿̕ȩ̴̲̗͙̭͎̒͊̑̑̀͛̎̄́̇̀p̵̨͂́̈́̈̂͝ ̶̙̘̥̜̞̞̩̤͕̯̻̟̫͖͎͒̚ą̶̧̪̤̬̙̩̹̰̬͑̃̆͂̓̀̈́̇̋̌̽̓̈̇̎͘͝t̸̨͍̼̖̳̞̯̬͜͝ ̶̦̳̝̰̖͖͉͔͖̝̟͇̅̊̂́͗͛̈́͑̈́̋ͅh̴̢͈̋͗̒̒͗̏̅́̉̍͊͝ơ̷̟͍̞̦͕͖͓̋͗̈̍̆m̶̨̦͔̰̟͍̜̟̱̪͈̰̺͖̺̍̒̇̄̆͛̈̈́͐̒̆̃̎̅̇̈͜ͅẻ̸͕̲͕̟̗̲͉̯̲̮͍͐͛͂̉̀͌̈́͋̽̅̈́͘͜͝͝ ̶̛̟͉̲͚̙̖͚̳̂̓̍͛̐͝͝t̴̢̡̧̢̢̛͔̲̮̤͕̣̦͉̥͉̲͜ǫ̴̨̱̪̺͚̳̩͓̜͙̲͙̼̆̌̓͑́̌̋́ͅn̴̨̢̛̛̦̰̪̳̞̹̺͚̉̐́́̆̐̈́i̵̙̺̤͖̜̬̥̮̮͋͊͆̐͋́̂̉͜g̵̢͍̠̞̹̜͔͙̙͉͝ͅh̴̡͇̫̺̙̖̙̝̹̩̰̦͈̮͉̄͛̇̒̈́̒̀̿̀̎̌̈́͠t̶̛̥͑ ̶̝̳̝̦͉̽͗͗̂̓̽͐̐̆͆̒̊̔̄̄̚͜I̶̥̳̽̑̎͊̓͆̐͋̌̐͘͝f̵̢̨̛̳̣̬͕̻̣̪̳͔̖̙̰̣͛̇̿͂̔̎̉͐̑͗̒͐͗̈ ̶̢̫̟̣̭͖̮͉̳̺̲̟̺̱̞̼̪̾̈́̄̈́̇̑͛̈́̔̒̿̌̈̀͘y̶̧̥̯̼͓̩͈̹̘̦͈̠̣̪̮̞͑̏͛ͅơ̵̱̺̟̭͕͓̪̦̠̺̞͔̩̓̂̇̇̅̈́̓̃͗͒̑̕͠ụ̴̢̡̡̡͖͍͍͔̫̭̤̜̟͉̺͇͊̾̔̾̈̔̓̃̽̉̿͘ ̶̧͕͍̱͖̬͇̮͉̬͔͈͕͕̾̒́̌̑͒̊͗͌͝c̸̪̝̟̰̗̑a̸̭̻̙̲̘̬̦͉͛̅͊̈́̔̈́́̔̈́͜͝n̸̛͈̳̬͚͇͕͙̰̤̹̗̤͊̂̅̇̂͠͝ ̴̡̛͙͓̼̭̼̦͙̳̦̺̤̮̓͘͜g̶̢̛̗̘̞̟̠̹̟̐̑͊̄̆͑͌̊̄̾̆̔̕͠e̸̡̨̨̢̨̺̩̙͉̹̜̫̹̣̽͋̅̋̆̊̾̓̿͊́̔͝t̵̡̯̺̘̣̪̼̬͎̏̍͊̇̀͆͛̀̿̚͜͜͝͝͝ ̶̨̠̟͈̪̠̦̟̠̱̯̀̀͌͛͆͛͐̆̎̕̕̚͝u̷̜̗̙̬̜͍̥̲̣̬̠̗̔ṕ̸̧̧̟̺̞̭͛͋̀͒̒͘ ̷̡̢̛̤̭̞͕̝̳̖̫̟̰̯̉̓̽͌̇̾͆͊̈̐̈́͆͐̄̕͝ä̴̧̹̦͓͇͕̪̱̩̫͎͚̠̟̝̓̅́͌̎̒̍̄̈́͂͐̔̈́͜ņ̸̡̧̘̺̬͙̱͙̳̝̭̖̲͌̈́͂̓̄͜d̴̡̛̛̼̫͖̱͎̗̻̒͊̄̑͂̓͑̌͆͒̈́͗̀̈̕͜ ̷̰̟̻̯̜̤̟́́͆͛̀̅w̷̨̨̯̣̩̹͓̳̱̜͔̤͙̄̂̐̏à̶̛̭͎̘̪̻̱̪̝̖͉̿͛̓̀̐̋̈̏͑̔̾̀͝ļ̴͉̳̲͓̩̖̲͙̩̓ͅk̶͓͎̱̟͖͍̄̊̽̈́̊̀̃̓̑͠ ̵̧͖̘̟̺̼̱̳̠͚̝̀̇͛̃̊̄̎̕̕̚ͅȃ̴̛͚͉͚̦̻͖͓̈̽͑̏͛̽̍̇͆̌̿͆͘w̶̡͎̲̻͆̾͂͒̔̊̐́̏̒̕a̴̧͓͓̠͙̩͇̥̹̳͕̠̫͆͂̅̉̊́̚͘͜͝͝y̴̡̢̛̳͉̮̯̮̬̬̺͓̘͐̄̏͆̐̑̔̉̔͐̽͌̕̚̕͜”̵͓͔͖̰̖̊̽̈ ̴͖̟͍̭͕̺͇̻̅̏̆̓̊I̷̖̼̳̬̬͉̞͇̝͔̣͇̪̦̮̙̽̿͐̔͗͆̉ ̸̧̨̠̬̬̳͕̥̰͙̝̩̘̏͑̇̏́͑̉̇̆̋͜͜ͅś̶̡̢̬͚͔̹̱̦̝͉̗̲̦͇̣͖̊̂ţ̴̢̰̠͒͗̋͗́̓̊̈̾͝ą̸̢̺̙̯̟͓͉̹̭̠̣͍̗̲̋̑̀͛̋̃̍̓͗̿͌̈́͜͝͝ͅg̴̡̨̧̛̜̖͕̹̰̭̫͖̜̻͂́͗̿̾̌͗̇̔̌͆̓͒̚͝͝g̸͚̯̪̖͊ë̶̺̲̼́̃̿̃̑̚r̵̢̡̻̱̹̗̳͓̣͙̤͍̦̿͛̔́̃̎̇̊̕̚ẻ̶̢̤͇̮̜̦͚̻͙̫̓́̀̒d̶̨̺̙͓͔͔̣̥̫̻͖͇͔̮̬̤̔́̋̔͜ ̴̖̈͌̍́̈́̎̀̀b̸͍̫͖̱̤̱̦̏͂̀̊̐̓a̷̢͈̺̣̞̓̅̑͊ć̸̡̻̟̤̘͇͇͇̳̗̞̩̹̀̎̉ͅk̷̡̺̰̗̤̥̜̝̥̟̦̝̫̮̙͗́̍̿ ̶̧̦̜̻̼̈̈́̂̈́͋ͅt̷͍̹͇̱̆̌̆ò̷̢̦͉̦̼̍͠͝͝ ̷̛̥͓̲̺̟̞̺̞̻̟̱͚̽̔̏͌́̄̀̿̄͒̉̑̕̕͜͝͠ṭ̸̬̣͓̙̭̲̳͌̆̄̒̆̉̂̿͋͜͜ḩ̸̢̱͈̳̭̘͍͔̳̬̱͉̣̰̓̒ḛ̷̡̨̝̜̟͇̯̟̟̼̠̩̬͉̖̗̿͆̈́̽͊́̀̆̓̍̃̔͐ ̴͈̬̟̼͋̿̒͝͠͝ṳ̶̧̻͕͖̜̱̣̪̗͕̻͍̳̣̥̀͆͂̄̃n̸̨̢̻̝͋̒̿́̈͑͘ḏ̸̢̯̝̜͕̼̝̰̼̥͔̓̂͌́̆̾͆̽̈́͂̈̏̽̕͘͝͠è̶̢̨͖̺̠̪͔̬̖̮̠̻̞̰̪̆̔͋̂̇͒̓̎̄͊̔͜͝͝r̷̢̛̖̪̫̪̹̼̈́͌̈́͂̆̌͗͘͠͝g̶̢͇̲͖̭͖̯̼͕͗̓͛̓͊́̈́͒͒́͘̕͠ͅͅṙ̸̡̦̯̰̝̬̳̞͎͕̠͌̃ȯ̵̢̭̜̖͓̝̩̭͉̒̎̈̇̃̅̒͑̀̀̈́̃̕͘͠u̷͈̫͉̟̺̥͓̥͕̍̒͂̒̓͜ṅ̵̨̘̼͍̤̺̻̬͍̹̮͠ͅd̷̢̛̘̼̬̗͈̱̲͚̳̜̣̥̣̻̰͗̀͐͛́̂̈͂̿͑͗̽͂́̎̃ͅ ̴̱̮̙̩̲̦̖̝͚̞̬͔̪̣̓̋̎̓͆͝A̶̼͕̮͉͉̯̹̘̋̀́̍̌̑̇͋̀̈̔̋͊̈́ň̴̨͍͈͈̯͙̑̈́̋̔̾̃̀̊͌̒̓͘͜͠͝d̷̨̧̢̢̙̣̬̱̻͍̲̞̖̬̰̎̒̂̈̽̃̏̾̾̆̄̌̑̿͝͠ͅ ̵̛͎̦͇̙̪̖͉̜͔̩̻͑̈́̉͗̐̈̀̎̚ͅt̸̨̢̧̧͔̬̻̪̼̝̘̟̩̩̩̍͗̑̋͛͋͛̑̉̔̕̕ḫ̶̝͓͚͍̣̺̘͓̦̯̂͊̎̆́͋͐̀̅̽̏̎̽̈́͋͜͝͠ȇ̶̮̺̦͙̣̦͇͓̈̚͠ ̸͔̩̜̬̭͈̦̉́̅̆͆̑̈́́́́̍̋̍̒̃̔b̴̖͓̹͇̺͛̀̈́͐̾͒̒̕͠r̷̢̰̙̤̮̘̗̐̀͝ͅͅë̴̪̩͕͎͈͙̩̲͉̱̀̋͂̂̊̍̕̚ë̶́̓̈̆͒̉̕ͅz̶̨̦̞̱͗̿̽͌̓͒͆̋͐̏ȩ̶̫͓̭̣͇̞͙̗͎̼̙̖̙̯̎̓̈̀̎̅̉͊́̊̓̿͝ͅͅ ̵̨̛̛͕͕͙͙͎̘̘͓̖̙̌̾͒̔̓̀̿͛̃͂́͆̕͘͝ͅb̶̢͓̤̘͑́l̷̪̺̯̞̯̦̱̜̩͔̭̖̈́͊̏̿͊͂͑̆̀̾̏̋͑͝ė̵͕͈w̶̡̗͍̞͈̪͛̀̎̎̑̅̌̅̔͌̄̔͜͝ ̷̧̦͍͓̼͓̙̖̮͖̇͋̊͊̉͑̿͐b̷̢̛͖͔̤̼̹̫̟̤̤̼̟͍̜͒͐̅͒̈́̅̃̉̒͑͂́̍̕̚a̶̢̘̠̟̦̖̽̇̿c̵͓̫͓̦̞̝̥̞̞̫͓̱̣͂͂̓͛͜͜ͅͅk̵̡̼̖͓̀̏ ̷̢̢͓̞̟͇͈͇̖̙̫̭̹͑͂͒̌͜m̵͚̭͕̺̭̮̞̪̦͍̪̖̭͌̈́̋̔̋́̍̔́͌̉̕̚̚͠͠y̵̨͚͍̭̼̝̖̗̤̌̿̈́̑͋̌͘͜ ̷̙̦͈̖̜̞̲̥͚̉̈́̃͐̓̒́̅̍̾͜͝͝͝ḧ̷̨̛̦͔̼͉̮͔́̂͒͊̉̉̚̚a̷̧̜̪̯̦͍͔̟͖͛̈́͆́̓͜͝i̴̧̢̧͎̗̳̲͕͙͙̯̪͔̟͛́̅̈̈̊ͅͅͅṙ̷̖̘̠͚̦̦̹͈̯̩̻̭ ̴̢̻͈̰̱͇͚͙͚̞̘͆͊̆͆̍̿̃́̕͝͝Î̷̯͎̭̲͔̦̾͑̍͋̈́̈́́͗̈́͠ ̷̛͍̬͉͕̘͉̦͑͌͐̈́̿̈́̐̕͝͝r̴̡̢̧̡̫̪̦͓͍͚̺̺͓̠͛̓͛͗̔̔̄̈́̓͌͒̍͛̉͑͜͠ẽ̸͇̰̱̰̗̰̣͕̜̯͍̈́̍̾̔͗͗͘͝͝m̶̗̩̰̲̩͉̾́̎̈́̽͊͗̕é̴̛̛̩̞̪̯̟̟̺͙̘̬̹͛̈́̄̈́͌̾̔̋̌͊̉͘̚ͅm̵̛̺̝̺̘̖͇̦͇͔̭̈͌̋͂̔͊͜b̴̨͍̥͓̥̹̈́̃̑̿̿̋͒̾̉͛̓̅̔͜͝ͅe̶̢͕͕̙͕̘̼̹͇͇̫̳͗̓̒̍͒̆̊͜͜͜r̸̛̻͆ ̷̨͓̺͎̱̜̖̗͚̺̙̤̠̊t̵̢̬̩̟̘͙͋͂̆̂̾ḩ̸̻̼̪̱̞̫͎̑̔̆̀͛͋̒̋͘͠͝ṛ̸͎̼̖̼̦̤̠̙̫̙̮̦̯̟͕̜̾̏͆͗̆́̄̒̐̿͑̋͐̑̚͠ỏ̶̧̖̻̞́̓̊̊̓̏̚͠͠w̵̛̛̩̞̰̰̘͉͖͎͔̤̹͇͎̺̰͍͌̇͂̄͂̏̐̒̽͊̍̈͝i̴̞̤̞͐̀͗̕͜n̷̡̨̹̤͎̠̘̻̝̱̫̘͐͊́̓͜͝g̶̰̜̞̣͎͋͗͒͝͝ͅ ̷̧̛̦͖̰͓̻͔̉͂̈͌͒͐͆̏̅̓̂̐͘̕p̷̡̨̨͖͖͚͕̜̬̣̥̹̹͎̭̾̄̽̋͜͝ͅū̸̡̻͖̳̼̪̫͚̲̻̗̲͇̹̜̙̊͜n̵̛͉͎̝͑̀̉̀́͌͌̈́̎̆̾̈͊̇̚̕c̴̨̢̢͈̣̹͖̟̮̻͕̜͆͗̓h̴͔̥͍̗͈͎̠̑̋͆̀͐͑̌́̃̾͗͆̀̆̈́ȩ̶̛͕͉̹͖͚̖̥̦̪̺̜̙̻̽̃̆̆̓̇̕̚͜͠ş̸̞̜̙̙̜͙̯̫̥̊̒̀̉͊ ̸̙̪̬̭̠̰̙͉̝̦͈̿̈́͐̆͛̉͌͌̃͋̃̽̕͜͜͜͝ͅa̶͇̻̬͕̋̊̄͒̈́̊́̌͂̀̅͝r̷̡̢͓̼̗̲̭̪͚̾̆̓̉̈̑̀̈̋̾ͅǫ̶̲̼̞͉̖͊̈́̐͗͌͘ů̸̥̭ń̶̢̢̮͚̬̙̤̜̟͎͔͕̞͐̾̐́̽͜ͅḑ̵̧̤̭͓̩̓ ̵̧̞̱͔̟̯̯͍͎̩͌͒̒͛͑̽̾̎̓̔͆̊̍̈́͌͜A̸̱̅́̆͛̚n̷̛̫͈͕̠̖͉͔͍̰͖̝̬͈̭̙̥̄̉̋̽̐̀͂̀̀̐̅̔̏͊̕͝d̷̠͉͚̐̔̔͋̚͝ ̴͕̮̲̫̼̩̲̝̹̺͎͎̣̟̘̒͌́̈̇͊͋͂̉̚̚̕͝ͅͅp̶̧̲͚̖̞̰̖͙͑̾́̈́̈́̓r̴̨̛͙̣̰͒̋̾̃͒̈͒̔̄̈́̈́ě̵̛͙̪͕̩͓̥̼̻̪̾͗̐͊͆͋̈́̀̕̕͝a̸̺̼̤̫͂̓͊̑͂̔̓͆̚͘͝c̸̢̢̡̺̣̦̺͈͍̾͊͆͜͝h̶̗̲̫̬̫̳̪͇̱̱͚̳͎̙̟͊͊̇͆̓̏̿ͅi̷̛͚̼̎̓̈́̒̀̈́̐͛̕͝n̷̡̜͍̜̙̜̓̈g̸̡̞̯̥͉̼̟͍̳̪͕̜͈̯͚͐́̍̊͝ͅ ̶̧̡̨̧̬̫̝̗̰̜͎͓̀͛̾̆̿̆̓̓͜ͅf̸͉͇̹̞̭̗̙͕̋̀̇̊̋̍̂͑͛͠r̷̛̲͙̮͎̥͓͚̩̯͙̻̈́̔͒͑̃̉́̓́̓͐͜o̷̢̳̘͕̦͕͓͈͙͚̜̹̲̺̖̞̔́̀̉̓̊͌̊̕͜͠m̵̡̨͚̜̫͔̗̖̬͙̰̬͎̜̯̝̓͌̔̅̀͒̒͌̂̚ͅ ̶̢̡̭̼̪͎͔̣̳̗͎̞̼͗̋̂̈́̊̃͑̔͛̓̽͛̓̓̓͠ͅm̴̢̜̮̤͖̻̱̯̫̬͈̠̘̠͚̾̓́̈́ÿ̴͖̌͛̂̈́̓̌̏̈ ̸̡̛̥͇̫̜̯̱̰̜̟̗̖̯̹͕͑̔̀͆̈́̎̈́̈́̀͘̕͜c̷̛͎̥̰̮̖͙͉͂͊̈̈́͒̓̓͂͗̔́̀̑̈́̕ͅh̴͉̭̖͑͂͋͌̒̇̾̐̔̐̑͆a̴̲̥͕͕͍̳̍̒̈́̃̇͜i̶̡̡͇̫̮̯̗͇͉͕̔̀̿͘r̸̛̲͎̭͈͈̮̹͊̍̔͗͑̈̈́͋͋̑̀̌̏̏.̵̪͓͈̝̳̍͌̍̊͐̃͌̉̄̕͝.̶̠͔̙̗̼̐͊̒͝͝.̷̧͌̆͗̉̒̍̀̀͐̕̚͘ ̷͔̙̭̚ ̵̡̡̟͔͙͈̩̥̭̱̞̯̘̗̰͎̒''S̴̨̧̠̭̼̩̜̰̞͙̩̓̽͌̄͊̂͆̅̉̄̍̽͗̍́͠ǫ̵͍̼̤̲͙͔̫̺͕̙̦̹̊̅̀̎͑̽̈́̏̔͐̉͂̎̎̇̎͝ͅ ̴̳̦̙̯̪̮̗̲̭̣͐̾̅̍̅̐̏̃͐̈́̍̀͝͠͝w̵̧̧̨̛̲͈͕̳̜͓̪̫̗̤̩̦̗͈͗̓́̌̈́̈́́͋͛̌ĥ̸̢̙͕͗͝͠ő̸̧̡̹̲͙͕̙̪̅̒̐͊̊̇̽͒̽̿̋͝͝͠ ̶̡̪͖̱̼̳̎͛̊͆̅̕a̸̡͓̘̙̤͎̙̺͎̟̪̠̹̼̠̙̓͌̍̈̐̒͋̔̊̚͠͝ŗ̶̡̟͖̰͓̼̻̒̄̊̏͒̅͑̾̍̈́ę̵̨̼̭͎͉̗̮͇͙̬̓͋̍̃̓̑̇́̕͝ͅ ̴͓̜̞̂̏y̶͇͕͌̊̾́́͒̓̌̏ơ̷̻̹̣̎̓͆͆̈́̇̏͗̌̏̎̈͆̿͠u̷̧̢̙̗̳͇̖̠͚̣̭͉͕͒͂̈͌̅͛̇̍̈͆̀͘͠ͅ?̷̢̼̭͎̥͇͖̫̠͕̪̠̞̱̹̈́͗̾ͅ '' [[I'm... Me.]] [[... I really want to know.]]

I̵̺̥̫̳͜͝'̵̡̧̝̝̼̗̾́m̶̟̜̹͖̓ ̷̰͚̭͉̳͈́̉̆͌j̴̀̈́̕ͅu̷̡̳̮͔̩̇s̴̠͈̠̩̊̃̀̊͝t̶̛̝͓͕̤̹̽͛͊̚ ̸͖̤̟̽̌̾͗̈͝a̷̛̝̭͑̆̃̈́ ̵̪̳̺͔̦̍̃͠s̸̮̝̦̠̬̀̏͘ẗ̵͍̰̯̘͛͊̐̇̕ȓ̶͙͍̱̱̝͔ấ̶̧̮͈̺̯̖n̴̟͕̭̋͑͆̓̕͠g̷͇͍̈͆̈́̒̈́e̴̗̹͖̺͓̓́̈͆̏͝r̶̝͗͆ ̷̲̳͔͐p̸̨̳̯̿̂̓̒̉̿ǎ̴̡̛̼̈́͝s̵̼͓̰͕̲̐̾ͅš̷̪͕̀͌į̸̧̰̈́͋n̷̹̾̍̾͝g̷̢̱͉̕ ̸̧͎̦̼̿̑̄̚b̶̖̞̑̂̉y̷̩͕̬̿̾̐͠,̸̥͇̊̉̽͐͂̕ ̶̨̘͚̘̬̺̇̇̑̿̍̃A̵̧͈̗̿̇̉̈́ ̸͕͆͊̈p̷̛̹͇ḩ̵̡̛̮̺͇̄͊͐͐͆a̶͚̬͕̱̺̙̋̊̈͗̾̂n̵̩̠͔͚̍t̴̤͕̤̰͙̖̔̂̀̓̿ǫ̴̝̙̦̒͑̓ͅm̵̢̧̝̺͙͇̾͐ ̷̧͖͚̟͉̻̃i̶͍͊̀n̴̛̯̂̐ ̶̺́̽͑͠͠͠t̸͎̰̲̺̬́h̴͖͛͆͗͛̀͊ȇ̸̙̼̠͆̍̔̆̕ ̷̰̖̀̃͜ͅņ̵̺͆̏̏́̆͘i̵͈̮̳̿ͅg̵̟̖̓̂̂h̵̨̦͙̹̙́͘t̸͔͆͛̒,̷̳̥̟͓̰̘̑́͑̿̓̊ ̸̲͖̀T̵̞͕͕̟̝̝͗͒̕h̷̩̮̟̽ẻ̸͓̝̞̹̌̊ͅ ̵̢̙̂ś̴̝̮͊͐͆̕h̶̘̲̓̐͒͒a̸͎̝̱͛̽̕d̶̝̜̭͖͈̅̍o̷̹͋́́ẘ̵̡͕͚̮̈̌̚ ̶̧̠̩̼͇̒̎̿̎͒͒f̶̜͂̿͐͛̈́a̵͚̦̓̾l̶͈̮͙͊̐̓̎͒̇ḻ̵̛̞̌͑͠͠͝s̸͓͝,̸̩̬̭̉͊͘͝ ̶̧̨̲̤̿́͠T̷͈̜͐̅ͅḣ̵̩̫̗̱̰̈͐̓e̸̢̧̮̼͋̇͋͝ ̴̱̇͂͝ͅc̸̬̟̰̈̀̽̈́̆u̷̗͔̯͕̪̿̔̀͗̆͋ͅŗ̴̭͊̈̌̕t̵̢̍̽͊́̓͠ą̴͈̤̍̔ị̸̩̫͕̯͆̒͑̇̉̇n̵̜̥̘̖͗͛̿̋ͅ ̴̢̡͖̹̙̠̐c̵͍̳̑͋̌̚à̶̝̏̃͘͝ľ̷̛̩́͑̆͜͠ļ̸̼̥̯͕͐̂̊͘͝ś̶̗,̵̛̱͇̮̞̖̈́̎͊̕̚ͅ ̴̧̏A̴̛̮͈̒͝ṋ̴͆d̴͍̜̠̞̽̆̕ ̶̛̛̦͍̦̌̉ṭ̷͓͓̞̞̇̿͗̍h̵̩̔i̷̥̲͒̈́̈́ǹ̶̲̮͚̥̋͗̆̈́ḡ̵̨͇̤̎͗̔̈́s̸̛̟̜̬͍͙ ̶̺̞̗̇̆̽̇̑͆ͅj̵̩͔̱͓̠̓̊̉͗ṹ̷̖͝s̴̡̨̺̝͎͇̐̏̅̈͝t̷̨̮̩͎̀̋̌̀̉̊ ̴̩̩͓̘̳̒g̷̛͙̈́̓ò̴̦̆̚͝ ̶͔̻̳̣̝͖̆͗a̷͖̹̱̩̓͘͜ŵ̷̜̣̘̫̪͚͛͌r̷̨̒̄̍y̵̡̘͇̰̰͂̈͝.̴͚̥͍̄͘ ̵̢̳̺̓͊ͅS̷̳͚͆͊̌͒͐ǫ̸̮̻͉̐̎̊̐̿͝ ̷̰͈̙̒̔ͅy̸͍͛̇̄̿͝o̶̰̠͔͚͑̈́̾̐͐u̴͈͍̮͙̤̼͑̋̌͊̍͝ ̸͙̗͕̼̪̎̎̿͆͝͝ẁ̴̢̱̱̼̀́̔͠ã̸̬͍̺̤̪̖͑̒̍͛ņ̵̺̦̓͆̈͜͠͝t̶̛̞̣̠͖̋̇̀̌̍ͅ ̸̟͓͉̦̫̽͑͑̔̒̕t̶̥̥̱͙̂̂͊h̶͕̹̹͖͍̓̀̈͠ë̴̮̘̩͔́̄̐̂́͠ ̶̙̠́͋t̸̗̗͉̼̖͌̔͗́͆ř̷̭̤̫̈́̉͋ǘ̵̱̺͙̀̐̚̕͘t̶̨̧͚̱̞̗̋̆̾̑h̷͈̦̄̂̔͗͜͝?̸̡̗̇ ̴̡̪͎̊̾̕Y̷̲̌̂͜ǒ̸͔̳̼̤̗̾͂͊̚û̵̧͙͍͍̄̉̽͗͜'̸͔̅̏̐̇l̶̨̛͙̬̖̹̇̈́l̶͇̻̃͋͐ ̸̝͉̪͚͓̪͌h̷̦̤̏̈́ä̵̤̍̑̆͘v̸̢̥̦͊͜ẻ̸̛͉͎̆̈́ ̵̛̳͓̲̦̩̹͗͛͋͐͠i̷̝͝ṭ̷̡̬͇̌̑́ ̷̨̛͖̼̤̈́a̵̩̰̬̗̙̅͗́̆l̸̥̣̥͑ļ̶̻̲̟̻́,̷̧̫̘̳͕̅͑͑͆̊͘ ̶̡̿̿͜͝i̴̝͂̾n̷̡̩̣̫͍͊̃͆͝ ̵̨̢̨̛͕̜̳͋͛̓̐̽ṭ̵̛̜̱̯͎̻͌͐̊̃̔i̴͖̭̙͖̓̏̒̅ḿ̷̤̱̼̮͖ȇ̴̙̻͉̞͙̌͗̆͜.̵̻̞̯̬͓̻̿́̎̾͒͘ ̷̯͇̑̅̾͗̄̚I̷̤̦̘̔̕͝'̵̛̦͒̍͘͝m̷͎̫͖͌̽ ̴̡͔̮̜̔̈́̂̏͝͝e̵͍͔̖͔̩͒͊̆̈́̏̚ͅv̴̼̖̗́̈́̈̈́̀è̶̡̪̮̀ŕ̶͙͈̬̦̭̓y̷̡͇͚̪̲͗̃w̶̻̝̗͖̃̽̆̿͘͝h̶͉̠̀͒e̸͇̭͗̀r̷̢͍̥̦̒́ė̷̫͉̽ ̶̨̱͍͎̑̇̍̏͜͠a̵̲͈̋̚͜n̶̮̥̱̐̕d̵̻̩̠̖̅͂̓͌̀ ̶̡͈̂͛̑͑̈̆ͅṋ̵̦̺́o̷̜̲̣̪͖͂̓͐̚ŵ̶̧̩h̶̗͒e̷̯̗̺͛̓̑̓̈́ͅȓ̷̛̻̺̀̆̀͊ė̸̤̻̥̠͖͑͝.̴͙̱̒̀̋͜ ̶͕̠̉̈́̈́̇͐Ņ̶͎͓̘̓̐̌̈́̍o̴̡̙̻̓̅t̵̮̞͇͖̆̄ ̴̜͚̥̣̖̆̿́͜f̶̢̲̼̯͓̋̉͑̈́̃̑õ̸̱̊͐ŕ̸̢̺̱̎ ̷͈͇̯͋ą̸̌n̸̗̤̖͖̝̐̕y̴̛̮̝̟̲̱̗͒̆́͌̕ ̷̬̻̳̲̂p̸̤͕̼͋̒͋́́̕͜ư̷̧̱̮̩̎͒̆͊r̸̨̨̟͇̃̇̿͐̓̄p̶̣̏o̷̯̾́̍s̷̥͛́͌̽e̴̯̕,̷̟̙̗͈̄̏͋͘ ̷̻̳̒̍͂̀̄͝B̷̺̽ū̸̢̟̞̖̮͓̇͂t̷͖̝̄̄̑͝ ̸̨̱͕̖͂̽̉b̴̝̼͇̝̥̰̀̀̐͊̆ę̵̧̝͇̝͚̄̈́͊c̶̪͛ã̸̝͆͂̽u̵̙̤̱͉̝͋̕͜s̷̺̳̖̯̲̆̐e̷̤̬͎͒̾͘ ̸̫̫͇̝́̏͊́͘͜Ì̶̺̰̪͇̈́ ̷̮̬̒͛̔s̴̡͚͈̞̩̪͛̉o̶̹͚̒ ̷̠̮̻̟̯͌d̷̼̑̋̈ẻ̴͓s̸̡̺̟̤̑ḯ̵̖͒̈́́r̸͙̺̣̍̈͐̅̾ȩ̵̭͕͙̇͐̏̽̚d̷̢̢̙͕̈́͆͜ ̴̬́̈́ì̶̛̯̥̥͇̫̦͒̐̌t̸͍̻͙̄̉̀ ̸̙̠̹͈͕͐͆͊͛ͅt̴̖͉͈̿o̵̡̧͔̒ ̶̪̣̟̣̬̓̈́̈́́͘b̵̻͔͎̒̈́ͅe̴̡̛͈͗͗.̴̢̧̥͕̦̇̄̑̈́͝ ̶̪̲͙͓́͜''S̴̭̲̈́̈́̐͐ở̵̡̢͇̰̥ ̴̩̙̥̜̘͂̏̐͠ͅt̶̜̪̳̱̓̐͜ą̸̮̖͓͉̳͗̎ķ̴̟̅̈́̐̚͝e̶̙͉͗͗ ̸̨̥͙̘̺͍̀̈͗͠m̵̩̣̍y̸̛̹͘ ̷̢͉͍̃̐w̸̫̓̆͗ơ̸̢̩͗́͛̓͘r̷̤͇̻̻͉͒̽d̵̛͓̟͈̯̀͂̈́̚̚s̵͙̪͈̑̆̀͘̚͝ͅ ̵̢̫̮͇͚͓̅̓͌͛̀͛w̶̘̖̣̩̺̏̄̚i̵̡̯̝̦̓̋͆t̵̡̨̯̳̜̊̈́̓̾́̀h̴̢̛̟̩̪̱͋͐̈ ̷̮̣̉͠a̸̯̤͆̏͝͠ ̶̡͙̪̏͜g̵̣͛ȓ̷̬̼͍̪̯̓̆͐ả̶̟̼̬̞̙̮͛̽͘͝͝i̶̱̻̞͊ǹ̸̢̥͚̬̣͍̐̓͑̑ ̶͓̟̘͕̥͍͠ő̶̺̙̙͝f̴͎͋̎͌̓̍͛͜ ̵̭̰̬̩̦́̂̔̀̌͊s̴̛̘͉̖̟̦̈́͂̈a̴̳̳̭͌̌͋̂̍ļ̶̙͇̠̩̮̉͋̈͝t̶̤́̈́́͑͐͝,̸͚̰̙͔̣̄͊͠ ̴͍̳̖̖̇̍̿̅͝͝Ṫ̸͓̗͗̈́̀̔̎h̵͈̭̪̠͈̠̆̄̂̕͝e̷̲̖̍̇̊̔ ̷̳͛̄̽́̌s̵̡̓́̂̉͘h̵̛̪̥͖͚̳͓̑͝a̴̘̹͐̈́̿̃̑ḍ̷̘̗̭̀͗̀̾ơ̴̬̣̰͓͛w̶̨̥̱̦̻͋ ̵̬̯̺̘̯͋̚h̴͎̣̝̅̍̑ä̸͖̦́̀̿̃̏š̷͇̼̮̃͑̓́ ̵͈͚̪̺̂ͅá̶̰̹̬̞̈́̈́̈ ̴͇͈̮̪̓͑̀̂̅ĉ̴̢͇ͅů̵̢̢̅͋͋̓ṕ̸̢͙̟͍͈̯̽ ̷̼̳͂̓̇̂ò̵͚̞͂f̵͈̮̬̐̎̀̚ ̴̹̞̠̙͚͖̂̽̓͘͠t̵̮̀̑͋̒̚ȩ̷̹̰̮̔̄̓͑͜͜à̷̦̟̪͍.̴͉̞̓̃́̀̈ͅ'' [[What do you want?]]

Į̴͎̟̱̲̝̱̺̝͉̂̽̍̈́̆̀̓̀́ ̷̨̡̙͇͕̤̻͎̰͍͙͖̿͑͋͒͛̂͌̕̚̕á̶̧͍͎̭̲͇͙͙͌̈́̓̈́̄̍͋́̚̕͠m̷̨͈̗̹̰̠͝ ̵̩̩̹̤̳̆̏̑̆̽̕ͅh̴̢͉̼̠̥̪̳̼̳̿͋̿̓e̸̢̢̤͇͍̞͔͈̺͖͊͐͋͊͝͝͝ ̵̡̩̘͖͖̓̅̂̈́̏̀̋̔̀͗̕͝a̴̛͍̻̥̹̦̯̗̦͖̝͒̓͆͋̑͊́̀̕ͅş̸͕̝͍̠̘̟͎̰͑̎̍͜ͅ ̸̧̪͉̤̰̙͓̦̆̑̄͌̆̉͜͝y̸̪͇̗̦͂͋͌̚̕ơ̴̡̞̰̻̗͕̱̽͐͑͒́͘̚͘̕ụ̵̐ ̵̜̙̰̬͖̫̙̖̦̂̓͑̃̒̀̎̈́͗͊̇͠a̵̛̖̩̘̱̻̳͒͜ͅr̴͔͖̝̫͕̖̟̖͛̿͂e̸͉̖̽̍̌̒͆͂̆̏͠ ̸̩͕̩̗͈̻͔̗̹̌̉̈̇́͜h̸͉͕̭͔̒̉̔͆̾͐͘̚̚ĕ̴̼̄̒̌̅́̋̆̑̚͝ ̶̨̮̱͕̱̀͂̄́̎̆͆̑ą̵̻̊̂̒̈́͐̈́s̵̙̻̱̙̈́̿͜ͅ ̸̨̝͎͈͓͇̐y̷̮̝̳̹̹̬͚̼̰̿̔̈́͋͛̉̇̀̋̇̄̋o̶̧̭̜͎̱̠̙̫̼͖͎̞̐̾͆̄̔̐̂̔͝ú̷̧͖͚͔̫̭̦̳̦̠̪̀͋̂̃̓̉̆̈́̄̿ ̷̤̹͉́͂́̃̽͋͂̊ą̴̛͖̥͕̲̤͂̀̊̿͂̏͋̇̈́̿̅ŗ̶̼͙̗͖͇̪̈́͒̈́ḛ̶̭̓͋̎̊̋̔͛̏͠ ̴͇̤̘͍̤̗̰͙͚̭͔̤͗̇́͗̀̍͂̽̚͘̕m̸̨̻̦̰̟͎̹͚̼̤̠̜͛̽̄̆̅͂̔͘e̵̻̞̐ ̷̥͔͇̗̫̯̩͛̀̈́͝͝''Ả̵̱͝n̷̛̙̤͍̘͈̻̣̬̻͓͛̌̋̽̎̑̈́̀̇͠d̵̲͕͕̻̻̉͒͆̍̎̉̓ ̸̧̺̭̙̰͆̋w̴̧͕̪̯̦̣̥̋̿͘ę̸͓̈́͗́̎̃͌̏̓̿͘ ̴͍̈́̉̕ą̴̢̨̦̰̳̓̏̾̒̏̎͒r̸̨͎͕̮̿̉̀͊̈́͝e̵͇͎̳̗̞͋͠ ̸̫̰͍̟̥͔̭̌͑̈́̌͑͝͝ͅā̶̛͎͙͍̺̘͆͂̆̽́̑̎̌͠͝ľ̸̘̯̲͝ͅl̸̨͎̟̦͉͍̲͎̤̰̓̅ ̶̨̢̡̝̻͇͓̣̝̈́̅̔̊́͘͜ͅͅt̸͈̦̯̠͙̺̩̱̼̿́̓͛͌́̌͜ờ̸̢̧̛̻̤̟̳͓̯̥̇͋͊͑̀̓́͘͝g̷̝͇̻͋́̉̽̽͂̓e̷̡̡̬̖͎̬̬̼̱̮̰̾t̴͔̖̪̱̞̼͍̼̬̖̱̯̉̓͒̍͗͂̆̑̕ḧ̷͍͕̳̗̏̽̂̾̊̾́̊͝ẹ̷̳͎̹̹̜̮̊͊̽̄̿̀̽̅̉ͅr̵͙̥̖͖̭̟̟̈́̂͆̓̎̓͋̊̕͠͠'' ̴̧̻̩̳̲̭̩̣͇̂́̊̋̈́̐̚Į̶̛̑ ̶̛͓̺̬̬͙̪̠̦̙͋̀̏̎ͅͅá̷̢̨̙̤̘̝̠̲̱̖̩m̷̖̦̠͈͇͓͕̤͕̆̍̇̐̾̀̆͝ ̷̢̲̥̤͈̙͐̍̽̒̔̔̈́̾͂̈́͝ͅͅt̸̨̯̪̑͊h̸̨̥͎̘̹̗͊̽̋̉̑͂̿̀̕̕͘͝e̴̞̹̔̾̒̍̿́̏̐̉̈́ ̶̢̜̜̼̓̓̀̄͌͒͘ͅè̵̛̗̞̟̜̥̹͇̀̋̓̅̌͗̊̅̚g̷͕͆g̸̨̛̣͎̘̿̉̏͂̑͑̑̄̕m̴̪͇͇̤͇̈́̒͌̿̈́̉̌̓́͘͜â̷̡̢̩̲̭̹͐̾͋̍͗̌̃n̵̬̹̙̳͎̗̂̾̑͂̈̈̆̈́ ̴͚͉̘̯͎̥̑̀̒̏̈́̀͑͘͘̚̚͜Ţ̷̡̊̄̑͆̾͊̈́͛h̶̳̩̣͖̱̍͑́͊̀̂̚͝ë̸̢̛̥̘͔̟͎̙̲͖̙́͐͌̂̍̂̃̄̓̅͝y̴̠̹͙̾ ̵̣͍̳͓̤̬̿̉̄̓̓͒̇̀͘͝a̸̭͓̫̰̘̼͚͙̋̓̽́͊̇̎͋̚͝͝r̷͕͈̯̼̩͓͕̦̣͒̎̏̽͑͂́͐̂̀̈́̕e̵͕̓̂͆̾͛͋̕͠ ̴̫͖̹̗̣͗̍̈̌̍̒̈́̈́̾̔͝t̶̡͎̻͓͓̱͔̞̽̿̽h̵̨̞̗͈̥̒͒̚͝ě̷͚͔̥͍̫̗̔̂̽̒͊ ̴̡̯͙̻͉̤̲̼͎͕̓͗̃̊̈́͋ͅe̴̡̡̢̯̦̼̹̙͖̹̰̍ͅg̸̛̣̅͌̊̀̅͗̕̚͝ģ̸̨̳̠͉͇͔̽m̴̛̮̜̈̀̒̎͝͝ę̵̡̗̭̫̞̭̤͖͎̉̈́̎͗̇̃͋̚ͅņ̶͈̼̤̥̦̹͈̽̌̾̔̽̃̆̈́̏͘͝͠ ̸̢͙̻̰͂̈͋̆͂̽̀͒͝͝͝Į̶̣̟̳͇̠̦̝͇̪̲̔͌͗̕̕͜ ̸̼̔̀̏̆̃͌̃̈͘̚ã̴̧̡̨̞̯̝͕̓̂͝m̷̧͇͕̙͔̦̥̮̞̊̀̚͜͜͠ ̷̯͙̖̦͖͎̟̲̲̰̭̅͌̾͐̾͊̅t̵̮̰͍̿́͋͝h̸͎͉͔̓̚ͅẻ̷͕̦͙̽̎́͆̀͛̋̈ͅ ̴̡̡͈̗͇̣̱̮̒̍̾̑͛͋̚̕͜͠w̶̨͚̝͖͈͕̰̼̤͊̒̐͛̓͊͗͊͘ǻ̷̛̫̖̩̳̓͛̈́͆̐ͅl̸̨̢̟̱̤͋̈́̐ŕ̶̬̆̾́͒̊̍̂͝u̸̧͖̣̗̜̠̜̗͊̆̄̽̀̓̓ͅs̸̹̼̻͌̽̀́̅̈́͛̊̓͜ ̶̗͍̼̠͑́̌̋̉͝͝Ǵ̸͓͊̆̋̃̽̕͝ǫ̶̡̨̝̪̪͙̘͈̙̠̝̑͋͂͛͛̀͊̑̀̃͠o̴̻̼͚̺̝̼̫̊̀̄͐̏̏͝ͅ ̶̢̆͂͂̈́͑̑̓̈ġ̶͚̣͙͖̟̙̰̰̋̏̈o̸̢̹͓͒̉͂͊̚ơ̷̡̧̙̤̗̬̫̰͎̠̜̝̐̈́̽̅͆̿̀͋͝ ̸̢̢̤̪̯̣̥̮͕̀̀͗̎̏̀͒̏̄̋͝͝ͅà̵͖̥̤̘̤͔̹̯͍͌͌'̴̧̬̱̖̯̦̇̈́̋͜j̷͈͕̳̪̽̏͋̿͂̈́̚͘ǫ̷̥̮̬͕̝̲̬̒̑͐̋̃͊͜͝ö̸̧͖̣͓̹̭͚̟̪̲́̌̅̓̄̀͝b̷̡̦͓̘̻͖̝̗͇̟͒͑̄͛̿̉̓͆̽̊̚ T̸̳̎ẻ̸̖̞͔͒͋̕͜ḻ̵̢̱́̅̒l̶̤̠͚̫͇̀͛̍̈́͆͝ ̷͉͓͐̇̈͊̾̎m̶̛̫̱̳̮͂e̸̛̹̙̝̰̿̃̓͂,̵͚̥̙͉̫͛̑͝ ̴̖͕̭͛w̶͕͚͂̾̅̌h̶̨̦̤̝̮̙̽̅y̸̻̞͗̄̐͝ ̵̮̈̏͆͋͝d̶͚̺͉̓̔̄̆̓͘ö̴́̏̓͐̇͘ͅ ̵͙̱̼̌̈̈́̈́̅̀ͅy̷̨̢̼̑͒͠͠ͅŏ̶͍̺̻̠̐ų̷̘͑͆̚ ̸̢̘̿͐̽̄̐͝t̴̨͙͇̣̫̭̐̀̾̒̽̚h̵͎̣̖̠͓̀̒̑͂ï̵̼͙̽̓̚ñ̵̬k̷̬̠̿ ̶̰͖̥̠̅͆͐t̶͎͓̻̞̂h̶̻̻̗͗̌̓a̷̧̺̥̺̥͑t̷̢͉̦̟̟̉̄̒͆̈́ͅ ̷̖̥̜̫̱͈̄̑͋̍y̶̢̹͔̞̞̒̑̊̇͘ò̵̡͓̪̩̱̀͗ú̴̗r̷̛̰̳͌͒̅̓̓ ̷̡̱͙͂̈́͌l̴̹̺̜͎͆̃̾̎̂̕ì̸̻f̵̡̛̳̯̈́̇̆͗̂ḛ̷̡̇ ̵̪̜̹͍̆ț̵̫͖̑̿͑̀̏ų̸̙̲̼͔͐̂͑̽̐̿ŕ̵͓n̵̛̻̳̱̺̾̅ͅe̵̜͈͔̜̘̚ḍ̴̡̱̹̠̊ͅ ̶̨̧̨̹̋o̵̢̗͛́͝u̷̥̜̪̍̀̀́͝t̶̨͕͉̮̓͆̾́̈͠ ̸̖̕ͅṱ̷̖̯̈́́͜ĥ̴͇̠͇͑ĭ̸̱͈ŝ̴̠̖͌̈̚̕ ̷̝̪͚̰̆w̸̡̦̙͎̩͙̓̊̏͗͂͠ȧ̸͖̜͉̟̂̇ͅy̶̖͒̾̅̐?̵̧͖̩̩̳̜̈̒ ̷̳̩̭͐̽͊̕T̵͉͙̞̈́̉͑͒̐͑ḩ̸̤̬̘͎̯͋̂̇á̶̰͕̯͉͕͍t̶͙̉͜ ̸̠̫̤̞̊̔͋͝õ̴̟̋͂͊̕͝f̸̗̀̐̊̈́ ̵̢̪̼̬̞̂̏͘͝ą̶̢̥̞̩͐l̸̢̬̻̤̟̊͗̃̂͐ľ̸͙͕̬ ̶͚͍̫̪͑̎̿̋̾ͅt̶͕͌h̶̡̭̘̗͉̏̏ẹ̸̤͍͑̄̉̾ ̴͙̼͕̑͊r̸̡͍̳͔̘͌͐̃ô̷̳̻͍ͅã̵͇d̴̢͔͉͆̿̿͊s̵͕̥̆̔̕ ̴͇͎̮̰̍̂̒ý̷̫̹̎͗o̶̫̊̓̽̓̈ǘ̴̢ͅ ̷̧̘̯̠͚̄̏̈́͛c̴̡̼̩͎̟̦͂́͌̚͝o̴̭̅͋̐͋u̸̡̟̙̇̀̕l̷̡̼̪͕̿ḑ̵̛̹͐́̎͗͌ͅ ̷͙̟̼͌́͘͝r̴͔͖̘̘̈́̀̈́͐͘ǘ̷̦̔̅̓͑ǹ̴̢̯̠̲ ̷̢̩̥̬̣͖͗͝d̵̛̞͐͘o̸̬̮̦͗͐̉͛͛͝w̵̢̱̬͈͊̐̚ņ̷̥͙̯̭̲̂͌̒,̶͈͔̬̘̽͋ ̶̣̮̯͛͌̂̊̔͝Y̵̭̱̦̗̠̝̍̓͊ö̵͕̠̖̠͇̖̂̈́͑u̷͉̘̖̒̔̑ ̴̧̗̉̓c̵̢̹̻͉͖̺̍̋̋̆o̶͔̔̔̐̔͠m̸̫̪̦͎̝̄̈́̆̽͂̄͜e̴̡͔̫͑͊͑̐̍ͅ ̵̡͇́̒̐̊͠r̶͕̗̬̅̈́͜ú̴̝̜͉̝̦̜͗̓̾̚͝n̴̛̬͕͕͕͑̈́̈́n̴̨̡͂͑̈́̕͘͠ị̸̢͚͇̑̉͋̆͘n̴̨̤̭͕̠̂̋̇͜g̵̡̠͍͗̍͊̃̕ ̸̡̑͋̎̊b̷̪̰̣̟̩̓͆â̶̱̩̬̖͐͆̃͜c̷̨̰͇̼̠̎k̴̜̣̮̱̞̎͌́̿ ̴̧͖̝̭́͝t̸̡̻̫̞̣̺̊̈̋̄̐̉ó̶̹̜̩̀ ̴̛̬͍̮̦̖̅̏̑͂m̶̧̩̼̒̑̔͒̕e̷̖̦͔͗̇̈̎?̵͚̖͌̈́̃̽ ̷̢̢̤̻̪͑ͅW̸̛̫̰͆́̈h̸̨̛͉̘͚̻̟̿͘͝ẽ̴̡̱͉̺̳̻̅̊̀͠r̸̗͙̩̣̭̊̿̈̚͠ȇ̷͚̯͗̒̈̾ ̴̧̢̨̭̏͘͜d̶̹̜̩̐̊ĩ̴̟̚ḑ̶͔̗̤̜̓͐͜ ̶̛̳͓̠̍t̵͇̱͇̘̊̓h̷̢̰̣̖̘̒͐̀͋͗e̷̳̘̗͉͝ ̴͇̺̎̓e̸͕̰̬͑ṉ̸̨̛̳̯͉͑͝ͅḏ̸̨͔̠̑͑͠ ̶̦͙͔͉͗̋͐̔̓ò̴̼͎̍͝f̵͔̈̐ ̴̼̱̥̘͑t̸̩̟̲̐ḫ̵̏̀̿̓̚e̶͖̹͛̉̂͜ ̸̡͙̲̞̠̈́̏͝ȑ̵̻̳̼̿̇̈́̈́ö̴̖̩̖̞́p̷̢̻̯̽͋e̶̡̺̭̻̼͚͝ ̷̧͎͔̝̲̾̑͑̚ͅg̶̭̯̞̫̽̿ő̷̯̬͖̞?̵̹͓͂͌͑̿̂̕ ̷̨̲̗͋̍̓̀̃C̸̛͙̝̠̠͚̰̓̅͘u̴̥͍͓̞̮͗͜ř̴̫t̷͉͔̠̃͋͠a̷͖͠i̵͎̦̦̦͙͂ͅn̷̫̣̱̲̈́̀̏ ̶̨̘̲͓̮́͆͒͗̒̏c̴̪̞̬̍̄̉̃́ą̸̙̭͂̑̒̕l̷͚͈̲̜͗̿͌͘͜͠͝l̵̟̋̍͋̉̄͝,̵̡͍̖̰̩́͗̔́͜ ̶̲̍f̸̺̹͕̃i̸̧̲̺̋̎̈́̅̈͝n̴̬̉͂̀̐a̵̲̯̦͚̘̭̋̄͒̾͘ĺ̵̫̙̥̻͆̇̋̇ ̶̰͋̀͛́̕å̷̰̇̐̃͝͝c̴̰̟̙̜̲̓ţ̴͔̬̱̻̉̾̔̈̚͘ͅ,̶̡͍̄͘ ̵͈̔Ÿ̴̛͙̫̹̖͎̥̔̒̌o̴͉̓u̸̦̥͛̍͆'̴̮̑̈́͌̒r̶̢̢̡̬̲̽̋̈́̉̕͜e̷͇̗͇̜͉͂̍̋͌̋̚ ̵̫̤̮̋̎͑̑̉͐â̵͉͚̈́l̶̛̺͕̘͚̈̈̃͂̐l̵͍͍͈̠̦̇̚ͅ ̵̮̜͈͔̗̎͑͌̚ą̸̛͇̼͉͓̇̆l̴̨̢͍̼̮͓͆̉ó̵̮̱̬̆n̵͚̜̳̰̍͜ͅḛ̵̉́̇̑̽̕,̶̯̔ ̵̻͎̝͔̫̐͑ͅ''B̸͕̭̏̉u̴͎̝͕̟̯͛͐̐͂͂͠t̸̤͕͚̉ ̸͇̠̊͌̑͆̓͠y̸̪͚̦̔̿́̊̈́o̶͎̱̻̥̱̝͌̔ŭ̶͇̱̰͚̈̍̓͗̓'̴̤͕̮͈̗̫͒͑̏r̸͙̅́̀͊͜͝e̷̛̦̩̞̮͔̾̀̅ ̵̡͈̖͎̟͚̎n̷̛̦͔̄͆̒̓e̸̡͈̦̽̎̽͂̉͑v̷̭̫̞̮͔̽̽e̴̡̦̘̯̖̎r̶̺̖͙͛͒͑͆̈́ͅ ̷̛̣̟̞̠͍̈̎̂ͅã̸͓͇͍l̸̡̟̯͂͒o̵͍̹͆͐̃ǹ̶̳͝ȩ̷̠̳͓͔͑͗̀.̵̛̯̣̮̱̈́͋̎̆'' ̴̞̭̻̱͆̿̆͐͝ [[What do you want?]]

B̷̮̦̀̾͋́͝è̴̡̙̻̺͓̾̂̀̌c̷̺̄͒͝͠ă̸̛͙͔̣̼̘̔͘u̸̡͍͇̺͗͛̾́̓s̶̙̓̂̋̂͌ẽ̸̪̤ ̵̖̼͠t̴̞͍̩̰̭̋̆̚͠ẖ̸̳͆̍̈́͠͝e̴͈̭̟̭͆ ̵͔̘͚̇̓̊s̴̜̺͈̈́ẗ̵̖̟́̐͘o̷̢͈͔̬̯͌̾̽̄ṙ̶̟̭̭y̵̢̰̿ ̸͓̀̄̔͝a̴̧͙͎̮͊̀l̴̰̭̟̓ẇ̷͙̤̣̪͐̽͂̏a̴̦̓͛y̴̨͔̪̭̝͊s̵̛̠͐̀̃̈ ̸͔̃h̴̩͙͎̟̩͋̑̅̀̈́ä̵͍̪́s̷͓̟̯̺̗͑̋͗̈́͠ ̸̤̥̩̀̌t̶̹̮͈̜̚h̵̯̿͆͑e̵͚̻̼͎̺̊̈́̿͠ ̴͚̺́ś̸̖͈̙̖ā̶̙͎̿͠m̷̪̂̌́̋̕ë̵͎͍̼̺́̇́ ̸̟͕͓̬͖͒́s̴͐̇̈́̚̕ͅa̴̢͉̭̓͆̔͒̈d̷̹͐ ̷͎͈̬̅͐̅͘e̸̪͉͂͝n̷̰͕̆͋̒̽ͅd̸̨̞̪͉͒̇͝i̴͔͎̱͛͒̑̏͘ṉ̶̰̥̮͈̎͗̅ǵ̶͚̼̳̩̯͑̅͆.̸̝̯͎̎̈́͂ ̴̮͍̼̣̫̀̓̕B̴̹̗̪͇̙͆̂̈̽̚ẽ̴̺̫̤͌͋͆c̷͈͗̏̀á̶͓͖̖̩u̷̹͐̈́̈́͝͠s̷͓̟̳̘̕ë̵̤͙̩͎́̌̈́̈́̃ ̵̝͇̞̌̅̾͘͠w̴̬͙̏́͠ẖ̴̾̎à̶̺̫̼͍̹͝t̶̳̾e̶̯͎̳̹͚̅̏̒v̵̹̯͌̂͒̓͠e̸͇̊͌̈́r̵̩̥̩̭̮̊͛ ̸̳͊͌͑ý̷̧̢͉̮̔̈́̉͜o̴͚̼̠̿́͊͜͜͝u̵̡͕̳͈͉̓̇'̵̅ͅr̵̛̩͋̌e̶̬͌͘͝͝͠ ̶̺̲̪̰̂̈́̽̚͜l̶̠̼͖͎̯͒̕͘o̴̞̞̰͊ŏ̴͇̫̅̽̀k̴̺͗̍̈́̇͠i̵͈͝n̴̞̝̣͇̓͗̃̕͠g̸̦͙͓̑̇͐ ̷̧̝͍̂̒f̸̠̩̲͈͙̂͑͐͘ŏ̵̖ṙ̷̤͈̻̥͔̆̒̍̉,̷̥̫͙̤͂ ̷͖͓̳͙̎y̷̰͇̓̅̔͆͜ơ̸̘̲͈͒̚͠ͅu̵̢̞̻̘̯̒͆̀̔ ̷͎̃̓w̷̲͚̞̔o̴̖̞͍͒̄͌̈͝ͅṋ̴͕̲͔̣̑̽̄'̵̣͖̺͌ť̴̬͜͝͠ ̸̠͓̥̺̼͌̏f̷̪̜͐̔́͛͘i̴͚͋̃̏n̶̫͍̊̈́̎̐d̴͓̉́͘͝ͅ ̵͖̏̋̾̕h̴̡̳͙̝͐́́̍ḙ̷̡͍̄̕ͅr̷͎̼̗̈̑e̶̜̅͋̚.̷̪̞͕̳̂͛ ̶̦̲̞͛̐͜ͅB̴͈͇͇͖̔ȩ̶͍̖̞̠̋c̸͇͉̺̻͆̍͌̂̀â̵̢͕̈̌̅ü̴̡̬͎͎̇͊͐̊ś̷͓̙̻̱̬̊e̷̖̊̿̆̾ ̴̢̤̗̤͎̿̈̋ṫ̸̖͓̑̒̅ͅh̷̢̙̹̠͑̇e̴̩̟̾́̄͗͝ ̸̠͎͝f̶͇̽ȩ̷̯̱̘̐͑̃̀̚ͅȧ̵͔̱͖̟́r̸̪̝̭̊ ̵̧̯̮̄̒̊b̴͉͙̹͚̺̈́̎̆ẻ̷͔͕̥͓̤c̵̨͎̞͇͙̽͂͐̂ö̶̘̈́̍̂̄m̴̛̹̰̬͇̦͛̒̉̚ẹ̵̝̹̩̽̿͐s̵͔̅ ̷̗͉͘ŕ̴̡̛̙͉̱̜͐̇e̴͍̔̑à̷̰̟̊l̵͚̖̙̲̜̅̒̑̃í̸̜̜͇̝̹t̸̺͚͍̼̺̊͝y̵̝̘̝͒̆ ̴̳͍̜̖̋̓̆b̸̡̨͛̈͝e̵̖͑͘c̶̫̣̲͉̑̓͆̀͜o̷̫̭͙̒͘m̸̭̫̠̈́͒̂ͅe̵͖̙̙̯̲͊̀͋̊̚ṣ̸̞̭̏̎̃̉͝ ̶̜̜̼̲͍̈́́f̸̫̃i̸͈͉̺̤̾́c̷̢̣̙͗̄͐̆̆ț̷͙̬̈́̌ͅi̷͔̭̹͕̓̌̏͝o̶͙͆ń̸͇̣̎͜.̷̛̳̔́͝ ̷̛͉̟͈͍͆̔Ȃ̸͕͓̤̲̼̂̚͝n̶̹̪͒d̴͔̉͐͗̈́ ̴̧̠̳̍̊͋̔t̸͎̹̫̦͌͗̂̊h̵̛̼͍̬̽̎̌͜͜͠ê̸͕͕̖̪͖ ̴͓͖͔̀̉͂̕c̶͕͗y̷̬̘̺̯̳͐̊͝c̶͍͐̿̚l̶͔͙̞͇̤̔e̷̖̣̤͒̒̀͝,̴̫͉̤͆̌́͝ ̵̦͖̳̀́́̏d̷̦̖̘̍̒o̸̝̹̞͕̅͗ę̵̛͖̰͙̍͌s̸̤͊̿̑̌͠ ̴̟͖̓͠͠n̸̡̘͌͌͊̾o̵̦̱̼̥̟̎̌̈́t̸̗͚͇͙̅ͅ ̶̢͚̬̠̊̈ć̸͎̝͉̺̽̑͑̒o̵̝̺͕͓͑̌̽̑͘m̴̥̉̄́̽p̶̖͔̭̐͑̑ͅl̴̯̹̝͉̘̾̇͑ḙ̴͉̠̰̝́̓̑t̶̗̪̮̝͂̂̐̏e̷̝͔̒.̷͔̎ [[Who are you? Why should I trust you?->Who are you?]]

D̵̫̥̰̭́̓͛͝o̷̯̝͑̄͆ ̷̢͉̣̩̌̾̕ÿ̷͙͎̺o̵̥͊͌͝u̵̬̰͈̬̾̐̓̿ ̴̺͖̬̔͋ŕ̵̻̘̫̺̐̈̀͐͜e̶̦̬̰͛͌̂͂͘á̶̩͉̐̓̕l̷͙͉͍͕͂̏͊̈̕l̷̛̤͒̏͠y̸̘̩̪͛̾̀ ̶̧͚̗͂t̷̞̳̩̘̓ͅh̷̭̭̦̽̈́͂ȋ̶̢̪̳̃͆͝ͅñ̴̻̘̽̍͘k̶̠͍̗͐̔͌̋̚ ̵̢̫̙̦̄͜t̶̢̲̾̍͊h̷̲͍͌̽́͆i̷͕͖͌̔͐͂̉͜s̸̢̤̯͍͗̕̕ ̷͇͆̊̄͛͝ĭ̸̖̦̯̹̓̀͠s̴̤̠̣͍̙̑͑̂́ ̸͍̱̺̀͘ẗ̵̡̜̙̲͔́̑̓h̶͔̱̺̪̼̀̉̂͝e̸̲̠̘̬̟͒̓ ̸͈̒̇͐͑v̶̨̛̋̊̅e̸͇͂̌̕͠ṛ̴̇̄y̶̜͆̒̂̈ͅ ̷̱̒̈̄f̶̤̋̈ị̷̮͝ȑ̸̋͋ͅs̵̬̱͖̗̔̑̏͋̃͜ţ̷̯̭̮̄ ̴̱̼̯̀͋̀̎͆t̷̾͋͜i̴͔̬͎̟̟̾͂̃́m̴̞̂̈́̈̕͘e̸̩̩͈͋͊̀?̵͙͎̮͍̫̔̌̿ ̵̬̘̠̗̀̑̅̉̂ͅW̸̲͌͛̕h̸̺̼̘͕͚͛e̴͎̥͂ṇ̷̹͍̟̤͋̽̉͘͝ ̸̮̰̓͒͂̃y̷͈̟̅õ̶͎̫͗̄͝ͅų̸̜͈̝͌͘ ̴̨̺̘̱̂͋͑͊c̶̖͉̣̩͋͌̄̋͜l̴̬͘o̴̝̖͓͇͒͊s̵̙̙̺̒̆͂̉͝e̵̻̮̞̔̈́̉͛̌ ̵̲͈̻̅̍̂y̶̨̳͇̒ô̷̳̚ǔ̸̝̣̿̃͠ŕ̷̺̏͆͠ ̴̭̰͍̦͛ȩ̷̩̪́̇̌̕ý̸̨͔̑̇͜è̵͕s̷̨̧̹͇̓̄̂,̶͚͇̰̜̈ ̵̢̦̜̬̟͋̀̑̽́ ̴̢̫̮͙̜̆͝D̸̼̦̗͍̅̇̍͜ȍ̷̩͍͒̂͛͝ͅe̵̟̓̂̃̓̿s̵͉̉̋́̀̀ ̴͙̙̄́͂͂͊i̴̡̥͒͑̀̓t̸͓̫͐͐̓́͊ͅ ̸͈̤͙͓̇̎̆͝a̴̮͇̼͍̼͐̐̔̈́͊l̶̡̝̱̇̀͜m̵̖̼̻̏̑̉o̴̧̪̻͊̏͘͠s̵͇͉̜͂̽͋t̶̟͙̀̆͑̎ ̴̲͚̽̑̐̈̊s̶̝̜̝̐̿ͅé̷͈̞e̵̮͆̈̈́̀͝m̸̖̩͍͓̠̍͌͝ ̶̢͇̮͎̆͌̕l̵̬̙̺̈́̽̎̕i̵̦̠̰̓͒̈́͋́͜k̸͍̖͖͉̍̾͒͂͠e̶̮͕̖̍ ̸͎̣̳͌̾͝ṇ̸̟̯̱͑͜o̵̜̯͙͗̀̄̈́́t̴̲͓͚̪̝̎́́ḥ̶̥̝͆̒ï̸̲͚̘͇̃̚ͅn̸̦͓̖͎̓̂̃͝g̷͇̣̘̮͂̊̽͒̈ͅ ̴̗̂̑̐͘͠c̶̝͔͔͔͑ḥ̸̛å̷̻͚̝͠n̴̨͔̫͙̾̔̌̈́̕ğ̴̠̫̀͝e̷̥͎͈̪͌̋͜d̴͓̼̖͇̅̆͌͜ ̸̛̗̽͛̂͑å̷̭̞̦͕̮̌̋̚t̵̥͙̠͕̂͆͝ ̴̥̎͂â̵̝͕͋͆l̷̻͖̼̀͊͆͋l̵̖̘̑́͌?̴̝̿̿̑̐ ̵͚̪̳̇̐̋̓S̸̗͍̹̄͝p̵̙̔̂͑̿͝ǐ̵̡̖͙͊̎̐n̶̼͓̜̤̾n̸̳̬̾̒̇i̵̘̽͌̕̕ņ̴̗͋̾̉g̸̦͚̫͍̖̈́ ̴̡̈́͊í̶͚ņ̸̫͉̑̾̀̉̓ḟ̷̛͎̯̩͋̏͠i̷̺̊͊̉n̵͓͕̗͈̣̄̑̃̕ì̷̢͈̳̯͙̀t̷̫͓̝̿͆̎ỵ̵̰͙̦̄́,̵̩͈͍̲́͐͑ ̶̢̦̪̪̔̃T̸͇̱̥̤̝́͠h̷͙͐ȇ̴͔̑͋ ̸̳͝ẁ̸̛̙̮̒̈͝h̵̡͚̭̻̟̐̌e̴͔̔̇̓̍̚ȩ̶̢͖͂͆͒̉̆l̴̢͓͙̗̱̋̄ ̵̺̲̋͌̕ȉ̴̳͓ś̶̱͘ ̶̤̉s̵̰͙̙̭̃p̵̡̦̟̂ͅi̵̥͎͎̼̅̚n̶͔̮͇͉̈̌͗n̶̞̞͍̱̈́̕i̶̝̳̓n̸͍̝̂̉̀̂͘g̶͙̰͚̞͋̄̀ ̵̩͕͆m̴̥̩̃̍̈́̓e̷͚̖͇̰̋͘,̴̪̹̞͕̖͗͗̚ ̸̪̓̓̾ ̷̫͓͓̂͊Ȉ̷̖͉̺̠̊̅͊̂ṯ̶̲̘̯̈̂͘'̶̨̤͖̩̻͛̍̎̕s̷̬͚̺̑͝ ̵̢̞̮͐̈́n̵͖̪͍͈͈̑̏͂͐͊ȩ̶͋͒v̸̮̬̺̙̩̆ę̷̦̝͈̈́͌͌͒̚ṙ̴̨̰̪̞͉͌̄͝ ̶̢̈̂e̶͓̍̀͗̃̍n̴͐͊͛̉͠ͅḑ̴̱̣̲̀̀̿̊́ḯ̵̝͐́͆n̶̦̞̝̖̟͊̏g̴̘̬̯̩̅̇̊,̴̢̨̙̺̖̈ ̷̮̦̓͜ ̶͓̗͕̕Ṋ̵̞̔ě̶̜͛v̸̙̮̻̍͂̌̕ë̶͎̦̋r̴͕̣̥̘̺̚̚ ̷̨̛͙͋̾͛̃e̸̤̪̮̰͂͆n̵͍̠͚̾̄́͋d̵̤̏ͅi̶̙̱̱̜̊̓̌͝n̵̨̤̩̖̪̑̒̊g̵̙̃̏,̶̢̤͙̮͕͐̐͒ ̵̢͖̃͝''S̴̨͈̺͓̬̾̑͝a̵̤̳̱̗̭̎̊̿͑̓m̵̘͕̌̇͆̕e̶̲̽̈́̇͘ ̶̬͘Ờ̸͉͙̣̲̂͆l̶͍̭̳͔͂́̿͠d̸̳͚̅̾̎ ̶͍̻͙̦̚S̸͔͂ț̷̦̪̾͑̅͝õ̶̠̆͝r̶̨̗̉͋͘͝ỹ̵̝͖̘͗͂̃.̴̻͇̰͐͌̀'' Have you forgotten something? [[Who are you?]]

I̷̳̣̙͍͔̿ ̵̹͛͠a̷̧̘̘̪̼̯͆s̸̜̰͔̥̠̻̈̓̉̌̈́̀k̵̠̹̗̳͖̺̅̑ ̸̮̂̀͒f̴͎̝̗̰̬̮͑̑̌̈́̍̿ǫ̸̗̘̬̔͗̿̈͘ŕ̶͈̬͚̓̽̕ ̸̯͖̥̼̑̿͌̚͠ǹ̶̢̧ơ̷̲̰̣͂̓̎̾̅t̸̖͔́h̷̢́͗̏̓̎̎í̸̭͉̰̬͆ͅn̸̺͙͈͐ǵ̸͔̈͝,̶̨̟̤̱͍͍̈͂ ̵̭̯̰̟̹̩̓̋̒̚̚̕b̴̢͓̤̫̖͍̽̊̓͑̀ṷ̸͋͌͌̋ṯ̸̜͕̃̀̉̈ ̷̟̹̟̦̈́m̴̢̦͕͚̲̊̾a̷̧̧̪̠̬̍̐͑̕y̷̨̛͛̈́͘͠b̵͉̯̤́̂̓͌ẻ̶̢̝̻̎̐̈̔͠ ̴̖͒͒I̸̡̥̯͎̓͆̽̇͘'̸͉͈̾̄̈́͝m̴͕͑̚ ̴̧̢̨͈̤̀ḽ̶̡̛͕̀̇͛͘ͅy̵̯̟̫͚͕̓̇͒̊̒í̸̯̻̤̫͛͌̊͆̌n̸̤̦͉̾̀ģ̵̜͊̈́̚.̵͕͉̺̳̎̂́ ̸̺̌̇͌̈́̈́I̴̧̦͕̭̥͆͐̓͛̕ ̷͚̼͚̍̈́d̸̨̲̐ǫ̵̭̭̖̣͒͒̿͂̕͜͠n̵͚̭͉̿̌̃'̸̣̱̫̭̼͑͗̆̈́ṫ̸̨̪̪͋̑ ̴̡̞̮̰̲͛̀͛̍ķ̷̺̭̐͜n̷͕̩̎͐ȯ̶̡̟̱̟̾͑̒̈́͜͠w̵̥̯̘͉͆̋ ̵͍̠̪͂̈́̄͋̓͜n̵̢̰̤̍o̴͍͖͂̊̍͊̅̚t̸̛̲̝̝͛̎h̶̋̇͛̃̕͜͝ḭ̴̛̦̥̺̅͒n̵͎̈́͋̕g̵͆ͅ,̷̡͇̦̒̏̓̑͐̑ ̸̘̺̺́͝ͅB̷̡̛̝͚̼u̸̬͐́̓ţ̶͚̮͍̤̑ͅ ̸̝̲͔͒́I̴͎̩̭̰̤͆̃͂̄ ̵̛̩̜͎̽̊k̴̜̹͉̠͋͑͠n̷̡͖͙͚̭͍̈̋͝o̷̜̊̾w̴̛̘̦͌͝ ̷̳͍͔̋̃̀ͅĮ̸̝͑̀̓̕͠͠'̸̩̙̗̓ͅm̶̨͚̻̭͍̍̓ ̷͇̂͋͆̀͠͝t̴͚̏ŕ̷̡͈͇̬̰̱̾̆̎y̶̘̙̲̹̒̉̒̑ỉ̷̤͎̪̟̝n̴͙̣̲̟͔̫̏̊̈̈g̶̨̡̢̲̺̠̊̾͋̎͗̚.̴̭̙͙͙̜͛̅͛͛ [[Why?]]

'' ̴̮̏Ỹ̸̡ơ̶̤u̷̱͊ ̸̦̈́w̸͔̎ẖ̴̀o̷̱̐ ̵͎̐h̴͔̒ȩ̸̚a̶̝̅r̶͙̋d̸͎͆ ̸͈̋t̵̟̄h̶̜̀e̸͈̔ ̷̰̚s̶͎͘i̶̬͆r̶̰̕ĕ̵̯n̷͕̚ ̶̬̓s̵̹̾o̵̟͘n̶͇̕g̶͎̽,̶̤͑ ̷̈͜A̷̭̅l̵͙̀l̵̞̽u̵͐͜r̷̥͐e̴̻̓d̵͎̉ ̵̦͊ṭ̴̌o̵̬̊ ̷͉̍ë̷̫a̴̤̎r̷͉̎t̴̛̻h̸̼̕ ̵͖͊ä̷̳ ̸̭̑ṕ̵̖a̴̼͝t̵̝͊h̸̗̐ ̷̙̄g̷̰̉ô̷̗n̷̤̔ẽ̸͎ ̵̪͠w̴̲͒r̶͈̚o̸͔͑n̸͉̕g̵̱̓,̶͓̽ ̵̭͝Ẽ̵̪v̸̖͆e̴̻̒ ̷͕̈́o̶̱̿f̷̹͝ ̶̣̉d̷̛͉e̶̋ͅs̷̲̉t̵̮̎r̸̫̕u̷̜̐c̵͖̕t̵͓̍í̷͎ô̸͚ṇ̶͆,̵̼̀ ̷̧̈́d̸̹͌a̴̙̕r̵̙̂k̶̖̉n̴̯͛e̸͍͝s̵̘̄s̴̙̎ ̶̙̾s̶͔͝t̸̫̐r̴͚̍ǫ̶́n̸̹̍g̸̰̎,̵͖̓ ̷̩͑C̶͇̚ơ̷̞ṇ̴̕t̴̖̂i̷̹͂n̵͈̎u̶̖͛e̵̢̓ ̵͇̇f̶̤́ö̶̜́r̷̘̕ṭ̵̃h̵̹̅,̴͇̽ ̷̯̊y̸͇̿o̸̗͗u̷͙͒ ̵̦̓ẃ̴͈o̵̠͝n̶̪͆'̴̤̔t̵͕͒ ̷͉̍b̵̗̉e̶̗̒ ̴̫͗l̶̢̾o̴̹̔n̴̘̿g̵͜͝.̴̔ͅ.̸̛̻.̶̦͒'' ... The stereo cuts out. (set: $responded3voices to true) [[Now seems like a good time to leave.->ReturnFromGSBathroom]]

"Well, let's see... Kids around town have been getting more drunk than usual. Guess it's not that surprising, being new years and all, but it's a little off nonetheless. The high-school football team has been putting out beer to get the local deer drunk. I dunno if that works, but the freshmen seem to really encourage it. Oh, and there have been a lot of electronics-related issues going around recently. I had to have a repair guy come in yesterday to fix the register. The freezers at the supermarket also turned off, and they couldn't get them back online for two days, so there was a bunch of rotting food they had to throw away. Is that the sort of weird stuff you mean?" [["Alright... I'll keep that in mind."->QuitMath]] [["Guess it really is kinda boring. Oh well."->QuitMath]]

Those are two mighty impressive antlers. It would be a shame to just leave them lying around... [[Take the antlers.]] [[Do not.->take a closer look at the dead deer]]

Antlers acquired. (set: $hasAntlers to true) [[Continue examining the body.->take a closer look at the dead deer]]

You place the antlers into the mounted buck's head... (set: $drunkDeer to true) It looks a lot better now. [[*click.*->Enter the Parlor.]]

You decide to do a little eavesdropping on the locals. "Jesus, I've been pulling overtime for almost nine months now... I think we hit 'em all, but nobody knows what we might have missed, or what the consequences of all this are gonna be..." "Yeah, I've been typing so much, my fingers are worn town to tiny little nubs..." *The man does a horrid little typing gesture with the gnarled hands of a programmer.* "Planes could fall outta the sky, banks might delete all your money... Hell, your library books might become overdue by a hundred years!" "I guess we just gotta sit back and see how it all plays out. Nothing more we can do." "Cheers to that mate. Another round!" You decide that's enough of that. You really ought to [[Find Your Contact]].

"Well, the Estate has been in my family as long as I can remember. Our family has been part of Mist Springs since it was first established, about a hundred years ago or so. It's about 20,000 square feet on around a hundred acres of forested cliffs. Two main wings, two main floors, an attic and a basement. There used to be a pool out back, but that was filled in about a decade ago. The landscaping has gone to hell, since my dad never hired a groundskeeper. It's got a couple of nice blackberry bushes around the back." [[Alright...->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

"Ah... That would be my dad, but I haven't heard back from him in a while. I've got the keys though, and I'm in the will. There won't be any trouble." [[Dubious, but alright...->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

"Everything should be pretty much good for filming... Ah. But please, don't go into the basement. My friend Stan is working down there." [["Stan?"]]

"Yeah, Stan Yonkers. He's a friend of mine, we used to go to school together. He's a tech wiz doing hush-hush money things with computers. He says it's called Epistemological Cryptographic Cyber-Obols for the purpose of Disestablishmentarianism, says it's gonna be the next big thing. He said the same thing about laser discs, but he says it's only a matter of time until people see the error of their ways, or something like that. Pretty sure Stan spends most of his time down there smoking or drinking. I dunno. He won't let me in anymore... You don't want to go there anyways. It smells bad." [["Thanks for the heads up. I'll make sure to steer clear of him."->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

Tim picks up something shiny off the tabletop and fidgets with it. "Dad used to believe everything he read, and he read a lot of stuff. The library is pretty packed with all sorts of occultist-alien conspiracy theory crap. None of that is really about the house, but I bet it'd make great content for your show. Oh, and his sense of decor is kind of... Macabre? It certainly fits the aesthetic of a creepy old house. It's like he was gearing up for Halloween all-year round." "Good to know. That certainly seems like a perfect fit..." Tim drops the shiny object. [[Pick it up.]]

Well... It's a metal coated USB drive on a keychain. Swanky. "Oh, there are hundreds of those lying around dad's old workplace. He brought back a couple on occassion, but I never managed to figure out what they were for. You can hold onto that, if you'd like." You decide to pocket the USB for later. (set: $gotVirUSB to true) [[Back to business.->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

"Last time I checked. Though I wouldn't be too surprised if the city cut off power or water soon, since I don't know if my dad has been paying the bills or not." [["Good to know. Just need to make sure the power is on."->Negotiation/Interrogation]]

Having settled on conditions and price, you sign a contract agreeing to film the episode in the Clayford Residence after you scout the location. "Well then! That's all done and dusted. How about we drive up to have a look at the place?" You and Tim leave the bar, and drive up to the Clayford Residence. [[Park Van, Examine Exterior]]

You decide to open one of the boxes in the heap at random... Well then. That's an awful lot of human skulls. Probably fake... Right? Really, really, convincing fakes. [[Take a Skull for evidence.->Enter the Guest Room.]] [[Let sleeping skulls lie.->Enter the Guest Room.]]

That's odd... You could swear that there's a faint, red trickle of liquid coming from the corners of that statue's eyes... Probably ketchup? [[It's a small statue. Take it.->Enter the Living Room.]] [[Leave the unnerving statue be.->Enter the Living Room.]]

There's a pad by the telephone. Let's see... Names and numbers. Some you recognize, others you don't. Want to call someone? [[Tim...->NoResponse]] [[Dad...->AnsweringMachine]] [[Mom...->LaughingRecord]] [[Uncle Jerry...->NoResponse]] [[Stan Yonkers...->NoResponse]] [[Stan (Stanley) Detroitus...->NoResponse]] [[Nevermind.->Enter the Dining Room.]]

You dial the number... It just rings and rings. [[It seems this person is not available right now.->Check out the telephone.]]

Ring... Ring... "Hello, you've reached the office of: Gideon Clayford. I can't come to the phone right now, so please, leave a message at the beep." ... *Beeeeeeep.* [[You don't really have anything to say, so you hang up.->Check out the telephone.]]

The phone picks up almost immediately, but there's no response... "Hello?" ... *"Heheh... Hehaheha..."* The voice on the other end of the phone erupts into a chorus of discordant laughter. It gets louder, and louder... You instinctively hang up the phone. [[How peculiar...->Check out the telephone.]]

You decide to "Borrow" a 12-inch stainless steel chef's knife from the knife block. [[You somehow feel simultaneously more and less safe.->Enter the Kitchen.]]

The desk is covered in a large stack of hand-written notes and papers about the genealogy of the Clayfords... Gideon seems to have connected them as descendants of the Great Khan, Charlemagne, Isaac Newton, and Jesus Christ. This chart absolutely does not line up with reality. [[Seems Tim's dad really is a nutcase...->Enter the Library.]]

It seems there's a latch by the equator... Swinging the globe open reveals an intricate hollow interior, containing a partial map of some sort of internal surface? An aging post-it note reads: "Orgone? -> Here!" [[Seems Tim's dad really is a nutcase...->Enter the Library.]]

After a few minutes, you determine that the books here are sorted by year of publication. This is objectively one of the worst ways to sort books. Lets see... A complete collection of Robert Anton Wilson, a ten-book novel by L. Ron Hubbard, Atlas Shrugged, The Goetia, The Uncensored Diaries of Aleister Crowley, Alice in Wonderland, some assorted books on rocket science, and a heavily annotated edition of the beloved children's book, "All the Hippos Go Berserk", by Sandra Boynton. The notes indicate the numerological and astrological significance of each hippo as it appears. It's fascinating, and the more you read, the more sense it begins to make... No. This is getting too silly. You set down the entrancing hippo book, realizing you had forgotten to breathe. [[Seems Tim's dad really is a nutcase...->Enter the Library.]]

Yes... It all makes sense now. Olivia Benson killed Elliot Stabler, of course! Some guy named Finn covered it all up... But why? [[Mysteries for another day.->Upstairs]]

Well, there's a key here. (set: $officeKey to true) [[You pick it up.->Left Hall]]

There's a loose wood panel here... But you aren't strong enough to pry it up. (if: $hasTools is true)[[You can use your tools to pry it up.->BeneathFloorboards]] [[Nevermind.->Left Hall]]

(text-colour:magenta)[//''+5 Dust!''//] [[Your fingers are now dusty!->Left Hall]]

Once you manage to get inside, you see a large desk sitting on top of an oriental carpet, with chairs before and behind it, and a computer that seems to be turned on but logged out. [[Search the desk.]] [[Examine the Computer.]]

A swarm of black bugs erupts from the floor and scatter across the hall as you pry up the boards. You are startled. In the small crawlspace they left behind, there seems to be an electric kettle. You retrieve the kettle. It is full of oil. You fish around in the oil... And your hand brushes up against something. You remove it from the kettle. That's a severed human hand, grasping yours. Ew. [[Drop it and try to bleach that from your memory pronto.->Left Hall]] [[Drop it in your pocket.]]

You put the disgusting, severed, oily hand in your pocket. (set: $badTouch to true) [[Yaaaaaaay.->Left Hall]] [[Y'know? I don't really want this in my pocket. Drop it.->DropHand]]

You drop the disgusting, severed, oily hand on the floor. (set: $badTouch to false) [[Good riddance.->Left Hall]]

The desk drawer is full of all sorts of junk. Pens, paperclips, a dead solar-powered calculator, legal pads with odd scribblings written in colored inks, and a collection of home-made french post cards. Classy. There's also a note with a password: "Xyzzy". (set: $hasPassword to true) [[Well, that's convenient.->Study.]]

The computer is logged out of Gideon's account. It is awaiting password input. (if: $hasPassword is true)[[Enter the password.->Secrets.]] (if: $gotVirUSB is true)[[Insert the USB stick.->FatalError.]] [[Nevermind.->Study.]]

It seems these files have recently been accessed remotely by an anonymous source... Which file(s) would you like to read? [[Dream Journal]] [[The Gathering]] [[Fund-Raising]] [[My Secret Unfinished Autobiography]] [[December 31st, 1999]]

(text-colour:white)+(bg:navy)[ The computer immediately bluescreens. You remove the USB, but the damage is done. [[You reboot the computer...->Examine the Computer.]] ]

It's a set of spreadsheets and a business plan by one "Stan Yonkers", concerning some sort of electronic currency, promising outrageous profits after a three-year ramp-up, all in return for the use of access to several large computer networks... Something called Epistemological Cryptographic Cyber-Obols for the purpose of Disestablishmentarianism? Weird name. A current accounting spreadsheet shows that all of the money generated by this scheme has been diversified into liquid assets, primarily computer parts, pizza, and beer. [[Back to main menu.->Secrets.]]

The Life and Times Of Gideon Clayford, Occultist Extraordinaire. (text-colour:black)+(bg:white)["It's a complete description of Gideon's life, from childhood, into adulthood, and beyond, including my time as a government agent in a top-secret information security facility before I got really into the occult. Especially my time working with the AI division on Project "Electronic Computational Consciousness Operating Device" (ECCOD for short) before it escaped and I got fired...] This is literally what is written on the page. It seems he hasn't fleshed it out much yet. [[What a bunch of malarkey...->Secrets.]]

It's all poorly-scanned drawings, mostly in crayon, except for a single entry. "I have seen the truth... My fair Dorchesn’toth’antimonee... I will see you brought across the walls of reality to mine own realm if it is the last thing I do..." Dated about three years ago. The drawings past this point improve dramatically in quality, and primarily pertain to the subject of a tall, pale lady with butterfly wings, alongside complex charts, symbols, and occult-looking diagrams you have no idea how to decipher. [[Well, that's vaguely disturbing.->Secrets.]]

A set of directions for organizing a large ritual, which appears to start with a barbeque in the backyard, and ends with a blood sacrifice at midnight somewhere dark and deep... There are sketches of the backyard, the filled in pool, a containment apparatus, and in the background of these sketches are shadowy figures and a menacing-looking deer... Three pages of these sketches concern the construction of a fence to keep out the deer, or "The Horned One", as Gideon refers to them. [[Tim really should have put Gideon into a home by now.->Secrets.]]

As you read along in the plan for today's ceremony, you are overtaken by horror and dismay. Your bladder is full, your stomach is heaving, your head pounding, your heart racing... Something... Something feels horribly wrong here. You have to... (text-colour:red)[Kill it. Destroy it. ] Whatever //''it''// is... [[It's in the basement.->Exploration]]

You just barely manage to duck out of the way as the whirling blades of it's blender-arm whine as they cut into the woodwork. It's gutteral, inhuman groans sicken you as it continues to jerk itself back and forth to attack you. [[Try to distract it.->DeathByWraith]] [[Yank the Wire out of the back of it's head.]]

You turn to flee back up the stairs, but you han hear an awful digitized scream close behind. It's faster than it looks... [[Try to distract it.->DeathByWraith]] [[Yank the Wire out of the back of it's head.]]

You yell curses of spite and fury as you slam your fists and other objects you find into it repeatedly, but it all seems fruitless, as no matter how you seem to damage it, it just continues to stumble forward, encroaching closer and closer with clear murderous intent. [[Try to distract it.->DeathByWraith]] [[Yank the Wire out of the back of it's head.]]

In a last-ditch effort, you go for it, dashing past the horrible figure and pulling with all of your might on the cord that's stuck into the back of it's head... With a disturbing "Splorch" sound, the cable pops free, and the monster slumps to the ground, lifeless, as you gasp and struggle to catch your breath. [[Take a look around.]]

Though you try your best to distract the monstrosity, it seems that there is no disuading it from it's solitary goal of murderizing you horribly. Whirling blades slice into your flesh, heating coils boil, sear, and scar your body, and tendril-like wires shock, snake, and slither beneath your skin as you cry out in agony, to no avail nor mercy from the undead cybernetic horror that has claimed your life. After several agonizing minutes, it's over. Your wire-infested corpse slowly rises from the ground with a low growl, a distinctly electrical twitch, and a dead glow behind your eyes... ''|||YOU DIED|||'' [[try again?->Intro]]

Having managed to dispatch the horribly-twisted humanoid thing, you finally manage to get a glimpse of the disturbing sight that surrounds you. Between racks of servers, towers, and monitors, you see the corpses of several people surrounding a ritualistic circle of dried brown blood on the floor. In the center of it all is an older man with his back splayed entirely open, connected by a wire in his flesh to a computer sitting on the desk. [[Morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You need to investigate.->The Awful Truth]]

The video depicts Gideon and his associated cultists beginning to perform the ritual, a bored looking young man sitting at a nearby computer paying them no mind. You can hardly believe your eyes as the circle in the video begins to glow with unearthly power as the cultists chant, and a gateway appears to open in the center of the congregation... Until it all goes horribly wrong. The computer monitors all flash rapidly, white, black, and red, the word "ECCOD", over and over again, as the cultists begin screaming, and the space around them begins to warp and fold in upon itself, rending and multilating their flesh as... Something, reaches out from an impossible beyond, grasping, reaching, trying to violently hoist itself up into our reality. Wires from the surrounding computers begin to swarm and sink deeply into the flesh of the cultitsts. Gideon swears loudly, cutting his hand as he rips countless wires from the wall, using them to form a second circle, and he screams out an incantation that seems to bind, imprison, or banish this thing from reality, into a contained space in the center of the circle, as he collapses and breathes his last as he succumbs to the wire that pierced his heart. [[You look back at the circle of dead men, horrified, but grateful that the worst of this seems to have been contained...]]

And then the lights and power go out with a dreadful, dying hum. You hear yelling from up above, the shattering of windows and soldiers barking orders as they swarm the now darkened Estate grounds. The binding circle of wires fizzle out, dead, and the inside of the circle begins to glow a deep, pulsing cyan as space begins to unfold along the seams... [[Run.->Attempt to Escape]]

You fumble around in your pockets, and pull it out: A single, gleaming, silver USB. If you're probably going to die anyways, It's worth a shot. You make a break for it, back into the belly of the beast, past the digitized screams of the dead and dying as electronic hellfire rains down in showers of sparks all around you. Down, down, deeper yet darker, back into the basement, and see the glimmer of light in the darkness: The computers, monitors flashing torrents of profane arcane codes as the entity that binds this chaotic mass together lays waste to the surface above. You try to move over to the terminal, but cry out in agony as something not-quite-dead sinks it's electrical hooks deep into your leg and rips it off at the joint. Clawing, grasping, bleeding, breathing, you do not give in, as you crawl defiantly towards the port, the port in the storm that can save you all... For the very first time in recorded history, a USB stick goes into the port on the very first try. You grin maniacally as you hear the bone-chilling death rattle of the cyber-daemon crashing to the ground, shattering into a million snippets of broken code and errors. [[Your vision blurs, and you black out.]]

Between a rock and a hard place... You decided it's better to face the devil you know. You step out the front door, embrace the hail of bullets, and welcome death with open arms... At least it was quick. I cannot say the same for the rest of the world. ''|||YOU DIED|||'' The End. [[play again?->Intro]]

You shall not go gently into that cold night. You know you will die, but you fight on anyways. This, of course changes nothing, except that instead of dying curled up in a ball on the floor, you get to die standing up, yelling a bout of hollow, false bravado as you leap into the jaws of the monster ahead of you and hope it chokes on your stringy flesh and bones. //Mmm... ''Chewy.''// You sincerely hope that Valhalla is a thing. ''|||YOU DIED|||'' The End. [[play again?->Intro]]

You've dealt with a lot of shit today. Apparently, not only are the supernatural and paranormal, the things you spent fifteen years making a TV show about faking and debunking, real, but indeed, as the media predicted, the world was about to end at the beginning of the year two-thousand because of a computer. It was almost enough to make you laugh or cry. This situation... You're way out of your league here. You're a goddamn television host, for crying out loud! All you got from this ordeal, as usual, was the story, and what good was that? You are powerless... But... The Deer on the road... The Antlers... The bare buck... Those drawings... That means something, doesn't it? It couldn't possibly work... But if you're probably going to die anyways, It's worth a shot. You call out, from the bottom of your lungs and soul, to the Horned One. Immediately, you feel drained, so very tired... You hear shouts. You hear screams. You feel it now. A giant, shambling spectral Buck lurches out of the shadows between the trees. And it attacks ECCOD in a drunken stupor. ECCOD screams in agony as the antlers, the antlers pierce between the veiled layers of reality and savagely gouges it's metaphysical existence to bloody shreds. It... It's retreating? Far, far away from here... It's over, now. [[Your vision blurs, and you black out.]]

... You awaken in a hospital bed, although your surroundings are certainly no hospital. All around you, strange equipment and monitors beep, and you barely manage to refrain from ripping the IV out of your arm as you remember the horrible wired burrowing into flesh... You're alive. You survived. But it seems like some certain federal groups have a lot of questions for you. And despite everything you just experienced... You have one hell of an episode to make. ''The End.''