Gossip
Hugo Labrande
celebrity french hollywood IntroComp 2009 papparazzi translation walkthrough
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Deeply absorbed in your thoughts, remembering yesterday's party, you vaguely contemplate the coils ascending from your coffee cup. You're still drowsy, but that's why you're drinking a coffee. You went to the office early this morning, although the cocktail party last night made it hard to get up... But you didn't waste your time, because you picked up valuable information there.

Ah, here's the boss. Sammy, coat and briefcase in hand, smiles at you. Christine follows him in, and you guess this is the normal routine. It's not your habit to get up this early, but you know they're always the first people at the newspaper office. Sammy strides to his office to drop off his things; Christine comes over to say hello.

"How are you doing ?"
"Well, I drank a bit too much yesterday at a cocktail party, but it's not too bad. What about you ?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thanks."

She smiles timidly at you, then goes to her office. As Christine enters her office, Sammy exits his.

"Sofia! Good to see you in bright and early. I've got an assignment for you."

You sigh, and gulp a bit of your coffee. A regular day at work is beginning.
Gossip

Type "info" for the info menu.

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.
You talk to Sammy
"We've got an article to write in the next issue about Kymberley Spicey, the starlet... An article written for women in particular, so we have to focus on shape and physique." Sammy lifts his hand in advance. "Shush, I know what you're gonna say, we talked about it, stop it."

You smile: more than once you have had feverish discussions with Sammy, and sometimes about this topic. He keeps saying that, speaking of magazine sales, men don't want to know about defects of sexually arousing blonde babes, while women are more interested in them. You argue that trying to reach women this way contributes to making them feel guilty by childishly pointing at little imperfections and reffering to them as defects. He argues that it's a way to break the ideology of the perfect woman that every media wants to create and make you believe in. This could go on for hours - you both are equally stubborn - and nobody is gonna change their mind. You both decided to limit the frequency of such discussions. He's the boss, he decides, you execute; but meanwhile you prepare new arguments for the next of these delightful conversations...
You press enter
"Anyway, we have to get a few photos of the lady in her everyday life, and speaking of this, I was told that she goes jogging every morning at nine o'clock."
You look at the time and sigh in a tired way. "So, I've got a little more than an hour to go to her neighbourhood and take photos of her in her jogging clothes?"
"Yep."
"All right, I'm going there..."
Sammy gives you the address of your target with a tiny smile: he knows you don't like to do it, but it's your job after all. Well, you don't have to do this every day, thankfully. A trip to the city, a few photos of a plastic sexy blonde, and this afternoon you'll be able to write your article about last night. You'll be on your way after getting your camera. The address is Meadows Heights, quite far from downtown, in a chic neighbourhood.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a red checked shirt (being worn)
a coffee cup
a mobile phone
You examine Sammy
Sammy Garland, editor, and also creator of TTK. Your boss is quite cool; he's a hairy little man, chubby as a teddy bear, but you respect him a lot. He's a really good editor, because he understands the business while giving it a bit of his convictions, which gave the magazine this image of a gossip magazine with a clear and commited opinion.
You examine the shirt
You're wearing a red checked shirt. Simple, but still, quite nice.
You examine the coffee
(the coffee cup)
The coffee cup you just took from the coffee dispenser. Still hot.
You examine the phone
It's your mobile phone, the one you got a few months ago. It's a multifunction high-tech top-of-the-technology thing, with camera, video mode, dictaphone, music player, etc., etc. You aren't gonna use half of its functionnalities, but who does? It's a flip phone, so you have to open it to use it.
You open phone
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> Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back
Go north
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Call...
> Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back
Go north
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Call...
Dictaphone
> Camera
Games
Back
Go north
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Call...
Dictaphone
> Camera
Games
Back 
You already have a camera, with a much better resolution - this one is useless, to tell the truth...

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Call...
Dictaphone
> Camera
Games
Back
P.
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Call...
> Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back 
You switch on the dictaphone mode, erasing previous data.

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Call...
> Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back 
You switch off the dictaphone mode.

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Call...
> Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back
You go north
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Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
> Games
Back 
Mobile phone games
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> Tetris
Desert Wars: Dark Invisible Conflict
Terrorists Edition (DEMO)
Back
Go north
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> Desert Wars: Dark Invisible Conflict
Terrorists Edition (DEMO)
Back 
You launch the game circumspectly. It's a game where you shoot on terrorists - it was in the phone when you bought it...

The screen loads, you choose "New Game". Your mobile struggles to load 3D models, and freezes. Great, now you have to switch it off and start it again... Pff...

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Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
> Games
Back
You press enter
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Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
> Back
Go north
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> Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back 
Address book
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> Rebecca
Sammy
Retour 
Rebecca is spending her holiday in Mexico. You'll have to wait!

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> Rebecca
Sammy
Retour
You go north
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> Sammy
Retour 
It would be stupid: he's right in front of you.

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> Sammy
Retour
You go to the north
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> Retour 
Mobile phone menu
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> Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back
You press enter
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Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
> Games
Back
You go to the north
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Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
> Back 
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.
You ask Sammy about Kymberley
"I told you, she jogs in Meadows Heights every morning. You know what she looks like, don't you? Yet another thin blonde knock-out with huge breasts - every man's fantasy. Until the next one, of course. She hasn't been seen publicly much recently. My sources told me she's put on a few kilos. One published photo of her bulge, and we can sell every woman proof that their men's latest fantasy has a little extra fat." Sammy chuckles. "Another useless article - one that's been made a thousand times before, but it fills the magazine and makes everyone happy."
You ask Sammy about the magazine
"Sales are good, no problem..."
You ask Sammy about yourself
"As always, you're very well dressed!"
Look around
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.
North
You're one of the few journalists to have an office at the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"; the magazine hires copywriters and free-lance journalists, but you have your own office to write your articles. Nothing special about the room itself: all messed up, papers everywhere on the desk, your computer and a few chairs. It's your base camp, where you go to write your articles, to sort photos, to search information, in a nutshell: to do your job.

You can see a camera here.
You examine Camera
Your professional camera. You became progressively expert in photographs, becoming quicker and more precise, and mastering every mode and switch for an optimal quality. Well, as optimal as possible, because the quality of a papparazzi photo isn't great, of course. You like having it with you, although photos became less important recently in your career since you're now focusing on collecting information.
You take Camera
Taken.
You examine the city
By the window, at the sixteenth floor, you can see a great part of the city. The building's neighbourhood isn't exactly buzzing, contrary to downtown streets filled with noises and cars, but you can at times see some cars and taxis in front of the building. Far away, you can see the hills around the city, with celebrities' luxuous villas hidden behind the trees.
You drink the coffee
(the coffee cup)
You drink your coffee and throw the cup in one of the bins around there.

Sammy gazes at you.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a camera
a red checked shirt (being worn)
a mobile phone
Look around
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.

Sammy looks at you, smiling. You smile back.
You go north
You're one of the few journalists to have an office at the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"; the magazine hires copywriters and free-lance journalists, but you have your own office to write your articles. Nothing special about the room itself: all messed up, papers everywhere on the desk, your computer and a few chairs. It's your base camp, where you go to write your articles, to sort photos, to search information, in a nutshell: to do your job.
You examine the elevator
A simple elevator, the one you take every day to go up to the editorial office.
You go to the west
By the window, at the sixteenth floor? No, no, no.
You look through the window
You find nothing of interest.

Sammy looks at you, smiling. You smile back.
Go south
In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.
You go to the south
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> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
Go south
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> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back 
Your flat
This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.

This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.
You look at the sofa
Your old sofa, brought from your parents' house. He can be used as a bed for guests, but since you've got a more comfortable king size bed your best friend doesn't sleep there anymore when she comes.
You examine table
A wooden table made of teck, upon which you often work or eat. It comes from a scandinavian furniture seller, and is very solid.
You examine the chairs
These are wooden chair, on which you sit to work on the table.
Go east
Your bedroom's furniture are essentially your king-size bed and your bedside table. In a corner of the room, near the window, there's a cupboard with your clothes. The bathroom is to the south, your sitting-room to the west.
You open the cupboard
Among the clothes you own, there are a few you'd like to wear today...

N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                                Q = resume game  What will you wear today?

> white blouse
(back)
You examine vajayjay
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> (back)
Go north
N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                                Q = resume game  What will you wear today?

> white blouse
(back) 
You put on the white blouse, with a jean to go along with.

N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                                Q = resume game  What will you wear today?

> red checked shirt
(back)
About yourself
You're tall, red-headed, quite thin, and pretty, or so they say; you're a perfectly normal twenty-six-year old young woman. A reporter for the "Tittle-Tattle Kettle" for a few years now, you're known to be tenacious, frank and clear-headed. You'd agree with that.
You're wearing a white blouse. Quite simple, but it fits you quite good, and it's low-cut in order to make you look very attractive.
You examine the window
You can see the street by the window. A few cars sometimes pass, but generally it's a quiet neighbourhood.
Go west
This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.
You go outside
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> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
Go north
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> Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
Go north
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Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
> Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
You go north
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Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
> Meadows Heights
Back 
Meadows Heights
Meadows Heights' neighbourhood is quite a fancy one; today it's sunny and not too hot yet. There's a beautiful and quiet park to the south: if your information are correct Kymberley Spicey is running there. You can go back to the north.

Meadows Heights' neighbourhood is quite a fancy one; today it's sunny and not too hot yet. There's a beautiful and quiet park to the south: if your information are correct Kymberley Spicey is running there. You can go back to the north.
Go south
If you look at the map, Meadows Park is a huge park. It won't be easy to find Kimberley. The good thing is that at this time of the day there are very few people, but in general this park is never crowded. The entrance is at the south.
You examine Camera
Your professional camera. You became progressively expert in photographs, becoming quicker and more precise, and mastering every mode and switch for an optimal quality. Well, as optimal as possible, because the quality of a papparazzi photo isn't great, of course. You like having it with you, although photos became less important recently in your career since you're now focusing on collecting information.
You go to the south
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. Here, you can leave the park by the north.

As you enter the park, Kymberley Spicey, the one and only, runs in front of you! You try to take your camera, but too late. Darn, now you'll have to run after her.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
You examine Kymberley
You can't see any such thing.

You can't see any such thing.
You go south
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. Here alleys running from north to south and from east to west.
Go south
You are at the center of the park: gravel alleys come from every direction to converge on a big marble fountain.
Go east
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The park border is on the east, and the alleys follow the north, south or west.
You go south
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The gravel alley follows the border of the park, running from north to west.
Go south
It's the park's border.
You go west
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The park border is on the south, and the alleys follow the north, east or west.
You go to the west
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The gravel alley follows the border of the park, running from north to east.
You go to the north
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The park border is on the west, and the alleys follow the north, south or east.
You go east
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. There's a bench, here, but no one is sitting there; you can sit on it and contemplate to fountain. Here alleys running from north to south and from east to west.
Go north
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. Here, you can leave the park by the north.
You go to the north
If you look at the map, Meadows Park is a huge park. It won't be easy to find Kimberley. The good thing is that at this time of the day there are very few people, but in general this park is never crowded. The entrance is at the south.
Go south
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. Here, you can leave the park by the north.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
Go west
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The park border is on the north, and the alleys follow the south, east or west.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
You go to the west
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The gravel alley follows the border of the park, running from east to south.
You look around
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. The park border is on the north, and the alleys follow the south, east or west.
You go to the east
Meadows Park isn't a tropical forest, but still it's a quite big and beautiful park. A few hedges, tall trees and gravel alleys: it's a quiet, calm and clean place. Here, you can leave the park by the north.
Kymberley Spicey is running a few meters from you.
You take a the picture
You already have that.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
You take the photo
You quickly hide behind a hedge and take out your camera. Snap-snap, snap-snap, you take a dozen photographs. It'll be enough, there surely is one good photo among them.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
You examine Camera
Your professional camera. You became progressively expert in photographs, becoming quicker and more precise, and mastering every mode and switch for an optimal quality. Well, as optimal as possible, because the quality of a papparazzi photo isn't great, of course. You like having it with you, although photos became less important recently in your career since you're now focusing on collecting information.
Kymberley Spicey is running a few meters from you.
You examine Kymberley
Kymberley is dressed for her jogging: she's wearing a pink sleeveless shirt, sunglasses and earphones plugged into her ears. You don't have to run after her anymore: you already have a picture of her.
Kymberley Spicey continues her jogging and runs away.
Go north
Meadows Heights' neighbourhood is quite a fancy one; today it's sunny and not too hot yet. There's a beautiful and quiet park to the south: if your information are correct Kymberley Spicey is running there. You can go back to the north.
You go north
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RETURN = read subject  Q = resume game

Select a destination:

> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
You go to the north
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RETURN = read subject  Q = resume game

Select a destination:

> Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Meadows Heights
Back
In front of the paper's building
In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.

In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.

I beg your pardon?
You go north
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip
You go to the north
magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.

You're one of the few journalists to have an office at the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"; the magazine hires copywriters and free-lance journalists, but you have your own office to write your articles. Nothing special about the room itself: all messed up, papers everywhere on the desk, your computer and a few chairs. It's your base camp, where you go to write your articles, to sort photos, to search information, in a nutshell: to do your job.
You talk to Sammy
"So, have you got these photos?"
Yes
That was a rhetorical question.
You show the pictures to Sammy
You waye your camera at Sammy. "Here are your photos!"
"Good! Show me."
He goes through your camera's memory card, and nods with a satisfied face. "I saw a few that would be perfect for the article. Good work, Sofia - can you send me these by e-mail?"
"Right away, boss."
You talk to Sammy
"Yeah, what do you want to tell me?"

Sammy reads a text message, and enters a quick reply.
You go north
You're one of the few journalists to have an office at the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"; the magazine hires copywriters and free-lance journalists, but you have your own office to write your articles. Nothing special about the room itself: all messed up, papers everywhere on the desk, your computer and a few chairs. It's your base camp, where you go to write your articles, to sort photos, to search information, in a nutshell: to do your job.
You examine computer
It's your faithful computer, the one you use at the office. Not a very powerful computer - paid by the magazine - but it's enough for doing what you need to do, ergo notepad, picture editor, Internet and your e-mails.
You sit
What do you want to sit on top of?
You turn the computer on
You switch on your computer to send photos to Sammy. You plug your camera into the computer and cut and paste the files onto your hard drive, in a folder named "Spicey jogging". A quick, but expert, glance at them and you erase the blurry or useless photos. You send the half-dozen files remaining to zeboss@ttk.com.
Strip
Oh yeah, you have to write your article about yesterday's cocktail party. You do it without thinking: the night wasn't so interesting, well in fact as interesting as usual... These kinds of articles you can write for each issue, to fill the pages... But anyway you do your best to write something good: you ask a lot of questions, write a lot of understatements, hypothesis... Even the slightest information can fill a paragraph, if you know how to do this job.

Once it's finished, you switch your computer off and go home.
Look around
This is your life. Funny job, when you think about it. One one hand you can see it as a shameless intrusion into people's private lives. You hide to take photos, always get second-hand information, spread some more information, spread the rumor. In the public field, your job is really not well perceived.

But on the other hand, in the private field, it's very differently perceived. The moral instinct of every man and woman is to criticize gossip columns, but their social, gregarious instinct reads them with much interest. You understood quite quickly this duality. The celebrities themselves are subjected to the same duality: they openly say that they are against this press, the paparazzis and their incursions in their private life; but when you dig a little deeper, you find out that a substantial part of the information you're dealing with is provided by the celebrities themselves, and a lot of rumors were invented and spread by these little perfect smiling people. Gossip magazines are, for them, a way to harm a rival, to make people talk about them, to appear kind and sympathetic and closer to the average person because they go to the grocer just like them. You sometimes wonder if the journalists themselves aren't the most lucid people in this world.

But, had "Tittle-Tattle Kettle" been a simple, tasteless gossip magazine, you'd never have taken the job. But one of this magazine's assets is Sammy: he's the man who gave this so peculiar tone to the magazine, and finally who gave his magazine bigger prospects than being just another gutter magazine. You respect him for that, and so do many people. Of course, the magazine can't avoid writing dull articles whose sole purpose is to fill the pages of the next issue; but the magazine is keen to show that it's different, by precisely, and in a clear-headed way, analyzing information, and explaining what it really means. Tracking a shameless rumor to reveal its creator, analyzing a sentence said by a star to show the true intent, showing symbols and ideologies used in an advertising campaign... TTK's style is sharp and powerful, and appears more as a shepherd than as a sheep following the flock.

You're okay with that. At the beginning you took the job to pay the bills, but you gradually perceived the magazine's appeal, and what you could do in your articles. You discovered the complexity of social interactions between celebrities, in this world so elitist and yet so childish. You improved your understanding of communication campaigns. You learnt to be clear-headed. And slowly, year after year, you became one of the most competent reporters at the magazine; you witnessed your popularity rising, and your articles being more and more noticed, quoted, your arguments used elsewhere, and your influence as a journalist growing. You really like feeling that. You think about keeping this job another few years, and then changing your operating field to a more respectable press, where you'd make yourself noticed by everyone.

For now, you have to go to the editorial office: Sammy left you a message saying to meet him there.

This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.
You go outside
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> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Back
Go north
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> Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Back
In front of the paper's building
In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.

In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.
You go north
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.

Sammy is here.
You talk to Sammy
"What's going on, Sammy?"
"Here you are!I just learned that a cocktail party is being organised tonight on Thunder Hill... a very select party, exclusively for celebrities..."
"No journalists?"
"Well, that's the moment where the magazine's reputation is useful. They called me a few minutes ago, and told me that only one journalist may come there: the one from TTK. You see, it seems that those people don't like gossip magazines, but they've got some things to say these days... Choosing our magazine appears as a lesser evil - I must say I'm glad..." he says with evident satisfaction.
"Does that mean I'm going to this party?"
"Precisely. Collect as much information as you can, I think that they've got things to say if they want a journalist at their party..."

This is good news, but you don't really have an evening gown ready for tonight...
Sammy looks at you with a questioning look. "I'll do it, boss" you tell him. You'll find an evening gown before tonight...
Go south
In this building, to the north, there's the editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle", at the sixteenth floor, but you still can go somewhere else by heading to the south.
You go south
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> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Thunder Hill
Back
You go north
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Select a destination:

> Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Thunder Hill
Back
You go north
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Select a destination:

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
> Downtown shops
Thunder Hill
Back
Downtown shops
You admit that you like to go shopping. For clothes, you've got your favorite address: a shop that often sells things you like. You often come here; some of the sales assistants ended up knowing your name. In fact there's Samantha behind the desk, and she smiles at you. You can exit to the south.

You admit that you like to go shopping. For clothes, you've got your favorite address: a shop that often sells things you like. You often come here; some of the sales assistants ended up knowing your name. In fact there's Samantha behind the desk, and she smiles at you. You can exit to the south.
You talk to the sam
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Select clothes to buy them:

> haute couture evening dress
sexy evening dress
black evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
Go north
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Select clothes to buy them:

> sexy evening dress
black evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
Go north
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Select clothes to buy them:

> black evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
You buy the black evening dress.

[ Like every of the clothes you'll buy, this piece of clothing doesn't appear in your inventory, and will be in your cupboard next time you'll want to wear it. ]

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Select clothes to buy them:

> haute couture evening dress
sexy evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
No, it's far too expensive ! You'd better choose a more affordable dress.

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Select clothes to buy them:

> haute couture evening dress
sexy evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
Go north
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Select clothes to buy them:

> sexy evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
You buy the sexy evening dress.

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Select clothes to buy them:

> haute couture evening dress
flower-printed dress
(back)
Go north
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Select clothes to buy them:

> flower-printed dress
(back)
You buy the flower-printed dress.

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Select clothes to buy them:

> haute couture evening dress
(back)
Go south
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Select a destination:

> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Thunder Hill
Back
Your flat
This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.

This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.
Go east
Your bedroom's furniture are essentially your king-size bed and your bedside table. In a corner of the room, near the window, there's a cupboard with your clothes. The bathroom is to the south, your sitting-room to the west.
You press the space
Among the clothes you own, there are a few you'd like to wear today...

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What will you wear today?

> flower-printed dress
sexy evening dress
black evening dress
red checked shirt
(back)
Go north
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What will you wear today?

> sexy evening dress
black evening dress
red checked shirt
(back)
You go north
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What will you wear today?

> black evening dress
red checked shirt
(back)
You put on the black evening dress.

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What will you wear today?

> white blouse
flower-printed dress
sexy evening dress
red checked shirt
(back)
About yourself
You're tall, red-headed, quite thin, and pretty, or so they say; you're a perfectly normal twenty-six-year old young woman. A reporter for the "Tittle-Tattle Kettle" for a few years now, you're known to be tenacious, frank and clear-headed. You'd agree with that.
You're wearing a black evening dress. It's a simple yet elegant dress.
Go north
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Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
> Downtown shops
Thunder Hill
Back
Go north
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Select a destination:

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
> Thunder Hill
Back
Better drop your camera at home or at the office: it doesn't really suit your evening dress.

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Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
> Thunder Hill
Back
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a black evening dress (being worn)
a camera
a mobile phone
You drop Camera
Dropped.
You go north
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Select a destination:

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
> Thunder Hill
Back
Thunder Hill
Thunder Hill is a hill not so far away from the town: you can see the city lights from where you are standing. The heights of the city are very popular among the celebrities because of their calm, the view they offer on the city and the great size of the parcels: just perfect, if you're famous, for your new villa and your huge swimming pool. Further up, to the north, is the aforementioned villa - you can already listen to the noises from the party. You can go back to the south.

Thunder Hill is a hill not so far away from the town: you can see the city lights from where you are standing. The heights of the city are very popular among the celebrities because of their calm, the view they offer on the city and the great size of the parcels: just perfect, if you're famous, for your new villa and your huge swimming pool. Further up, to the north, is the aforementioned villa - you can already listen to the noises from the party. You can go back to the south.
Go north
You finally come near the party. It's in a big villa, that looks pretty old, with a few storeys and a swimming pool; but the guests - there must be twenty of them - are in a veranda, behind the bay window that you can see northward. You can go back to the south.
You examine the pool
It's a big swimming pool, dug in the ground; there could even be swimming competitions in it. Seriously, it must be really great to swim there, on top of a hill above the city... when you can afford it.
Go north
You knock on the villa's door. A waiter comes and opens you. "Are you coming for the party?"
"Yes. I'm the journalist from "Tittle-Tattle Kettle""
"Ah, here you are! Come in, please. I heard people asking whether the TTK journalist was there or not..."
"Thanks."
The waiter hands you a champagne stemware : "And ask me if you need anything!" He walks away, smiling. Very professionnal.
Come to think of it, it could be useful: he's strolling along the party for hours, so he must have heard what people were talking about...

At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Paul Tyrone and Luciana Perotti here.
You examine Tyrone
Paul Tyrone is an actor, and his fame is rapidly increasing. Everyone noticed his first movie, an independant movie he directed which featured bizarre and sordid themes; he then carried on his career by acting in a lot of action movies or "psychological Hollywoodian movies". Twice divorced, with alcohol-related problems, one of his ex-wives had him arrested for domestic violence. He's an easy target of gossip magazines, as a pure product of the Hollywoodian celebrity factories who drowns in his problems - you could almost pity him... but not much.
Ashley Wimby walks in, a few meters from you.
You examine Wimby
Ashley Wimby is one of those factory-made blondes who just achieved celebrity status but will disappear in a year's time. She looks like a twelve-year old girl, except for the breasts - and hers are fake. Nobody knows exactly what she's doing: she sings, she dances, she acts, she's in a reality show, she's both everywhere and nowhere, omnipresent and transparent. Like every member of her species, she's a gold mine for gossip magazines.
You examine Perotti
Luciana Perotti is a stunning woman. She is the quintessential Italian beauty who makes every man's head turn her way. She's tall, dark-haired,  voluptuous, and admired by everyone. She appeared in a few movies, and in some of them, she was the only reason to go see them. She's also done a few perfume commercials and TV programs. She isn't very interested in parties, because she also has kids, but she stays accessible and interested in the mundane world.
You talk to Perotti
"All right. What about?"
You ask Perotti about the kymberly
"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."
Michelle Stapelsky walks in, a few meters from you.
You look at Michelle
Michelle Stapelsky is an actress... or was. Nowadays, she hasn't appeared on screen for years, and just comes to ceremonies sometimes. She lives on the money she earned all these years, and she is regularly invited to parties thanks to her large network of friends. Nothing to write about her - however she's very interested in the lives of the other people, and always takes the oppotunity to give her opinion...
Johnny Perkins walks in, a few meters from you.
Michelle Stapelsky walks past you, heading west.
You look at Perkins
The dark, handsome Johnny Perkins is every woman's dream, who are in love with his so perfect face. Some people compare him to James Dean, but that's probably excessive; you think Johnny doesn't have as much talent as Dean. Silent and mysterious in front of the fans, he can be really talkative when you get to know him, and is quite keen on criticizing his rivals or revealing information to harm them - but you also know where to find information to harm him and destroy this
You examine Perkins
picture of a lonely angel in your own articles...

The dark, handsome Johnny Perkins is every woman's dream, who are in love with his so perfect face. Some people compare him to James Dean, but that's probably excessive; you think Johnny doesn't have as much talent as Dean. Silent and mysterious in front of the fans, he can be really talkative when you get to know him, and is quite keen on criticizing his rivals or revealing information to harm them - but you also know where to find information to harm him and destroy this picture of a lonely angel in your own articles...
Heather Lashley walks in, a few meters from you.
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading west.
You examine Lashley
Heather Lashley was a star from Holmby Hills, which was one of those Californian soap operas which were followed by everyone in the 1990's. Now, she appears on several TV series (she just left one of them at the end of the sixth year), and sometimes ads for wrinkle creams. She must be forty and she's still pretty, even though the gossip magazines sometimes put a "without make-up" photo of her on their front page... Paul Tyrone walks past you, heading west.
You look around
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Heather Lashley, Johnny Perkins and Ashley Wimby here. Eric Davidson walks in, a few meters from you.
Go south
You finally come near the party. It's in a big villa, that looks pretty old, with a few storeys and a swimming pool; but the guests - there must be twenty of them - are in a veranda, behind the bay window that you can see northward. You can go back to the south.
You go north
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Eric Davidson, Heather Lashley, Johnny Perkins and Ashley Wimby here.
Roger Cainley walks in, a few meters from you.
You go west
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Paul Tyrone, Kylie Piranella, Luciana Perotti, Michelle Stapelsky and the waiter here.
Michelle Stapelsky walks past you, heading east.
You look at Kylie
Kylie Piranella, a tall blonde with kilometer-long legs and breasts too perfect to be real. Ex-model, at least that's what she says, men do like her. The irony is, she had her biggest moment of fame last year, when her sex tape leaked onto the Internet; but that didn't embarass her - on the contrary, she relished the reputation of being a "hot" girl. She's an easy target for rumors; you wrote a few articles about her, speculating for example about who really put the sex tape on the Internet...
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading north.
You talk to the waiter
"Of course, miss. What do you want to know?"
You ask the waiter about Kylie
There is no reply.
Michelle Stapelsky walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard Michelle Stapelsky talking with a few people about Eric Davidson. She sounded a little bit upset."
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard a conversation with Ashley Wimby. She was saying that she was thinking about developing her career as an actress."
You ask the waiter about gossip
"I heard Heather Lashley talking with another guest about Paul Tyrone. The matter sounded pretty serious."
Go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Roger Cainley, Eric Davidson, Heather Lashley, Johnny Perkins and Ashley Wimby here.
You ask Eric about Stapelsky
"Yeah, this party is quite good... But my glass is empty again, and I can't get another one! Does this waiter avoid seeing me?"
You ask Eric about gossip
"Sorry dear, but I don't know what you're talking about at all." Heather Lashley walks past you, heading north.
Roger Cainley walks past you, heading north.
You ask Wimby about the gossip
Ashley pulls her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't listening! Hee hee!"
Eric Davidson walks past you, heading west.
You go west
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Eric Davidson, Michelle Stapelsky, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
You ask Tyrone about Lashley
"I know her a little, she's quite nice - but it seems that her fifteen minutes of fame are over..."
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard a conversation with Ashley Wimby. She was saying that she was thinking about developing her career as an actress."
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard Michelle Stapelsky talking with a few people about Eric Davidson. She sounded a little bit upset."
You go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Roger Cainley, Johnny Perkins and Ashley Wimby here.
Go north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Rizo here.
You examine Rizo
Rizo is one of those very colourful people of the mundane world. You don't know his real name, and to be honest you don't care. He owns a popular night club where the celebrities like to go; they like him, and he warmly welcomes them. This eccentric man is famous for his pink clothes with feathers on them - his signature clothes. Apart from that, he appeared in some movies, and sang on a record now long-forgotten. To be frank, you don't really like his old useless jet-setter trying to remaining famous by making people or gossip magazines talk about him at any cost - you are very careful to ignore him.
Go west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Kylie Piranella and Heather Lashley here.
You ask Lashley about Tyrone
"Paul sure isn't perfect, but I recently heard rumors about him... I heard he's been cheating on his wife... I don't know any more about it, but still... I didn't see him as a perfect husband, and he isn't the first one to do this, especially in this milieu... But still, when I think about his wife, I'm quite sad for her. But I'm the only one who it seems to bother..."
You go south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Ashley Wimby, Eric Davidson, Michelle Stapelsky, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
You ask Tyrone about the wife
Tyrone frowns. "Listen, I don't know who told you that, but it's a bloody lie! Everyone talks about me while I'm not here, it's just great! Stop it, will you!"

He seems angry... but maybe his reaction is too strong, isn't it?
You ask Tyrone about the wife
Better avoid waking up his anger... Let's search for clues by talking with other people.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard people talking with Eric Davidson, the producer. They were talking about his upcoming movie, which is coming on theaters in a few months."
Ashley Wimby walks past you, heading north.
Continue
"I heard people talking with Eric Davidson, the producer. They were talking about his upcoming movie, which is coming on theaters in a few months."
You go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Roger Cainley and Johnny Perkins here.
Go north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Rizo here.
Johnny Perkins walks in, a few meters from you.
You go west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Michelle Stapelsky, Ashley Wimby, Kylie Piranella and Heather Lashley here.
Go south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Eric Davidson, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
You ask Eric about the movie
Davidson smiles. "I'm glad you asked. I'm gonna reveal the release date of my next production, "Burning Matches", and it'll be an exclusive for your magazine." he says, winking. "It'll be June 11th in worldwide release. Here's the info!" He smiles with a patronizing smile. "Now do your job, dear, and take advantage of this exceptional information - go and write a nice big article..."

Yeah, right, and be a nice girl? What an egomaniac...
You ask the waiter about gossip
"I heard again about Paul Tyrone. This time it was Roger Cainley who was talking about him."
Michelle Stapelsky walks in, a few meters from you.
You go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Roger Cainley here.
You ask Cainley about Tyrone
Cainley gets closer to you and speaks lower:
"Listen, I heard this rumor too... Bah, Paul does what he wants, and it's true the flesh is weak, especially when you meet young women like that... I'm not sure about it, but it seems that his mistress is the young Piranella, over there... I wouldn't be surprised: this girl exhales luxury and must be very pretty without any clothes..."

You naughty boy... Well, the rumor is becoming clearer and clearer...

You're starting to have a nice little collection of rumors... Go on.
Go west
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Kylie Piranella, Michelle Stapelsky, Luciana Perotti, Eric Davidson, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading north.
You ask Piranella about Tyrone
"But, no! Come on, stop it! I'm not his mistress! I don't know who told you that, but he's wrong! It's not true, it's a lie!"

Undoubtedly, little girls can't lie...
You ask Tyrone about Piranella
"You know, she's less stupid than she looks... It's just part of her image..."
You ask Piranella about Tyrone
She won't admit it, and she gave herself away enough... Look for clues elsewhere.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard Michelle Stapelsky talking with a few people about Eric Davidson. She sounded a little bit upset."
Roger Cainley walks in, a few meters from you.
You go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.
Go north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Johnny Perkins and Rizo here.
You go west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti and Heather Lashley here.
Michelle Stapelsky walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Stapelsky about Davidson
"Yes, I know Eric well. To tell you the truth, I like him, and I think it's reciprocal, but... I heard he's throwing a party at his place, and he didn't invite me... I don't know what to think about that - after all, he can invite whoever he wants! I think I'll forget to invite him too, later..."
You go south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Roger Cainley, Eric Davidson, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
Luciana Perotti walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Davidson about Stapelsky
You ask quietly, tactfully if there's something wrong between Michelle and him. "With Michelle? Why?"
"You're organising a party without inviting her, she's wondering why..."
"Without inviting her? What is that supposed to mean? Of course she's invited! What are you doing, trying to make us fight with each other? You low-class journalist!"
His face turns red. You don't say anything, let his anger calm down and say: "I didn't make up a single thing. She told me she didn't receive her invitation."
"Oh! So it must have been lost in the postal services! I'm gonna bawl at them! It's not the first time it has happened to me, you know?"

You smile and step away to avoid listening to a long and dull story...
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard a conversation with Ashley Wimby. She was saying that she was thinking about developing her career as an actress."
You look at your surroundings
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Roger Cainley, Eric Davidson, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
You go to the east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Ashley Wimby and Rizo here.
You ask Wimby about the career
Ashley pulls her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't listening! Hee hee!"
You ask Wimby about the actress
"Yeah, she's nice, but... She's old! Hee hee!"
You ask the waiter about the gossip
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading north.
Eric Davidson walks past you, heading east.
Look around
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Roger Cainley, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
Luciana Perotti walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Cainley about Tyrone
"After all, we're just men..."
You ask Perotti about Tyrone
Luciana smiles weakly. "Funny. I just overheard a conversation between them... She asked him if they'd meet tomorrow, and he thought about it and said yes, and she had a big smile... It was discreet, but rather explicit..."
You ask Perotti about Tyrone
"I think it's pretty obvious. Mind you, it wouldn't be the first time Piranella broke a couple..."
Look around
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Roger Cainley, Paul Tyrone and the waiter here.
You ask Tyrone about Piranella
"You know, she's less stupid than she looks... It's just part of her image..."
Rizo walks in, a few meters from you.
Go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Ashley Wimby and Eric Davidson here.
You go north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.
Go west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Kylie Piranella, Johnny Perkins, Michelle Stapelsky and Heather Lashley here.
Heather Lashley walks past you, heading east.
Johnny Perkins walks past you, heading south.
You ask Piranella about Tyrone
She won't admit it, and she gave herself away enough... Look for clues elsewhere.
You ask Michelle about Tyrone
"I don't know. I heard he had problems with alcohol, he's quite unstable. I don't know whether we should criticize that or help him."
You look at your surroundings
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Kylie Piranella and Michelle Stapelsky here.
Rizo walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Stapelsky about Piranella
"No comment, or I wouldn't be nice."
Eric Davidson walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Davidson about Tyrone
"We had some... disagreements in the past, so I prefer to stay away." Kylie Piranella walks past you, heading east.
You ask Davidson about Piranella
"She's gonna appear in one of my next movies. She's a sweet girl."
You go west
You can't go that way.
Johnny Perkins walks in, a few meters from you.
You go to the south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Roger Cainley and the waiter here.
Roger Cainley walks past you, heading north.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard a conversation with Ashley Wimby. She was saying that she was thinking about developing her career as an actress."
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"Again, people are talking about Paul Tyrone. Last time, it was Johnny Perkins who was talking about him."
Look around
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti and the waiter here.
You go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Heather Lashley, Paul Tyrone and Ashley Wimby here.
You go to the north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Michelle Stapelsky and Kylie Piranella here.
You go to the west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Roger Cainley, Johnny Perkins and Rizo here.
Rizo walks past you, heading south.
You ask Perkins about Tyrone
"Tyrone and Piranella? Why not... But I know his wife, and she isn't stupid at all; a mistress will never go at his place, she'd notice it immediately... But her house is quite comfortable, and she lives alone: I think they must meet at her place..."
You ask Perkins about Tyrone
"I don't know about it. So go away."
You ask Perkins about Piranella
"Another blonde without too much personality. No one of interest. If we ignore her long enough, she'll eventually disappear."
Roger Cainley walks past you, heading east.
Go south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Paul Tyrone, Rizo, Luciana Perotti and the waiter here. Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading east.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
Ashley Wimby walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
"I heard a conversation with Ashley Wimby. She was saying that she was thinking about developing her career as an actress."
Ashley Wimby walks past you, heading north.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
Mmh... Sorry, but I don't know what to tell you for now.
You ask the waiter about the gossip
Mmh... Sorry, but I don't know what to tell you for now.
Paul Tyrone walks past you, heading east.
You go to the east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Paul Tyrone, Eric Davidson and Luciana Perotti here.
Rizo walks in, a few meters from you.
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading west.
Kylie Piranella walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Tyrone about Piranella
"You know, she's less stupid than she looks... It's just part of her image..."
You ask Piranella about Tyrone
She won't admit it, and she gave herself away enough... Look for clues elsewhere.
Go west
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti and the waiter here.
You open the phone
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Select an option:

> Call...
Dictaphone
Camera
Games
Back
Address book
N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Select a contact:

> Rebecca
Sammy
Retour
Go north
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RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Select a contact:

> Sammy
Retour
Sammy's line is busy, as it often happens.

N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Select a contact:

> Sammy
Retour
P.
N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Select a contact:

> Rebecca
Sammy
Retour
After a couple of rings, Rebecca picks up the phone :
"Hello, you!"
"Are you busy, Beckie?"
"Not at all, I'm just doing some shopping with my mother! How can I help you?"

N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Tell me what you think, Beckie...

> I've lost my way...
I don't know how to do it, can you help me?
Back
"I don't know. You know your job better than me, don't you? Gather information, that's all!"

N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Rebecca, I wanted to ask you...

> I've lost my way...
I don't know how to do it, can you help me?
Back
You go to the north
N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Rebecca, I wanted to ask you...

I've lost my way...
> I don't know how to do it, can you help me?
Back
"Try to talk with as many people as possible to get as much info as you can!"

N = next subjectP = previous
RETURN = read subjectQ = previous menu

Tell me what you think, Beckie...

I've lost my way...
> I don't know how to do it, can you help me?
Back
You ask Perotti about Tyrone
"I think it's pretty obvious. Mind you, it wouldn't be the first time Piranella broke a couple..."
Roger Cainley walks in, a few meters from you.
Paul Tyrone walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Cainley about Tyrone
"After all, we're just men..."
Ashley Wimby walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Wimby about Tyrone
"Yeah, he's cute, despite his age..."
You ask Wimby about Piranella
"I know her a little, we went shopping once together. But she's not the kind of girl I hang around with. She's not very interesting, to be frank..."
Whereas you're super interesting, of course. Stay quiet, restrain your destructive impulses.
You ask Wimby about the career
Ashley pulls her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't listening! Hee hee!"
You look at your surroundings
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Ashley Wimby, Paul Tyrone, Roger Cainley, Luciana Perotti and the waiter here.
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading east.
Kylie Piranella walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Tyrone about Wimby
"A real idiot. I'm not very nice to her, but she deserves it."
You ask Tyrone about the melanie
"Yeah, and by the way, you don't know the news? I heard she was seen at a party recently! It's been three months since someone had seen her, and she reappeared just like that! I didn't see her at the time - if you want to know more about it, I think Heather Lashley saw her at this party..."
You go to the east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Eric Davidson and Rizo here.
You go to the north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Heather Lashley and Johnny Perkins here.
You ask Lashley about the melanie
"I saw her? No, I didn't! I told you, nobody has seen her for three months! Whoever told you that was wrong..."

Yeah, but... Isn't her face reddening?

You've heard a lot of gossip... A little more chatting, and it'll be enough.
You ask Lashley about the melanie
"I told you, I know nothing about her!"
Luciana Perotti walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Perotti about Melanie
"But... I was at this party... I went just for a few minutes to say hello, and I saw both Heather and Melanie... I'd be surprised if they didn't talk..."

Well, well...
You ask Perkins about Melanie
"I don't really know her, you know. I don't know why, but nobody saw her the last three months."
You ask Lashley about Melanie
Heather sighs. "Yeah, right, I saw her. But I just saw her in the distance, we didn't talk, we just waved to each other... I just wanted to protect her, to avoid talking about her return, to give her time to take care of her business before everyone asks her about her return..."

"Her business" ? How interesting!
You ask Lashley about Melanie
"What are you trying to make me tell you? Come on, stop it!"
You ask Lashley about Melanie
"What are you trying to make me tell you? Come on, stop it!"
Rizo walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Rizo about Melanie
"Rizo hasn't seen her for months! He's very sad!"
Look around
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Rizo, Luciana Perotti, Heather Lashley and Johnny Perkins here.
You ask Lashley about her business
"I'm fine, thanks - and this cocktail party is quite good!"
Rizo walks past you, heading south.
You ask Johnny about Melanie
"I don't really know her, you know. I don't know why, but nobody saw her the last three months."
You go to the south
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Rizo, Ashley Wimby, Paul Tyrone and Kylie Piranella here. Paul Tyrone walks past you, heading west.
You ask Wimby about Melanie
"Yeah, I understand her disappearance. I mean, me too, sometimes, I find all this, the work, the photos, too much for my brain!"

You could say something about her brain, but...
You ask Kylie about Melanie
"In my opinion, if she disappeared, that's because she didn't wanted to be seen..."

Wow, another mystery solved...
You go north
At the party (near the bay window)
The veranda continues here, with other groups formed by guests talking under the glass roof. Some glass noises, a high-pitched laughter: a true cocktail. The bay window continues to the west, and you can go back to the entrance door to the south.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Heather Lashley and Johnny Perkins here. Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading west.
Go west
At the party (near the bay window)
Near the bay window, other groups formed by the guests are chatting. Some of them talk about the view, others are too absorbed in their conversations. Behind you, to the south, it's the buffet; the bay window continues to the right or east side.

You can see Luciana Perotti here.
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading south.
Michelle Stapelsky walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Michelle about Melanie
"Who? I don't know her..."
Heather Lashley walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Michelle about Melanie
"Who? I don't know her..."
Go south
At the party (near the buffet)
This way is the buffet, which is well garnished. The guests are talking near it, divided in little groups, and you can spot a few famous faces among them. The bay window is in front of you, to the north, and the entrance door is to your right, or east side.

You can see Rizo, Kylie Piranella, Luciana Perotti, Paul Tyrone, Eric Davidson and the waiter here.
Paul Tyrone walks past you, heading east.
You ask Eric about Melanie
"I like this singer. Her songs are inspired and inspiring... And she's very photogenic. I'll see if I can't include her in a movie."
Luciana Perotti walks past you, heading east.
You ask the waiter about Melanie
"I don't know; maybe I should investigate."
You ask waiter about the gossip
Mmh... Sorry, but I don't know what to tell you for now.
Ashley Wimby walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Wimby about Melanie
"Yeah, I understand her disappearance. I mean, me too, sometimes, I find all this, the work, the photos, too much for my brain!"

You could say something about her brain, but...
You ask Eric about Wimby
"She's very popular. I think I'll make her appear in one my movies..." Kylie Piranella walks past you, heading north.
Go east
At the party (near the entrance door)
The party is still getting louder: there must be about twenty or thirty guests, divided in chatty little groups. Some of them aren't famous, and come from the little world turning around the stars: celebrities agents, ex girlfriends, photgraphers, publicists... To your left or west side, there's the buffet; in front of you, to the north, the room continues to a veranda leading to the villa's garden and the view of the city. You can go outside by the south door.

You can see Luciana Perotti, Paul Tyrone and Roger Cainley here.
Eric Davidson walks in, a few meters from you.
You ask Perotti about Melanie
"I wonder why Melanie hasn't been around for the last few months..."
You ask Cainley about Melanie
"You're saying that she went to a party? Ah, marvelous! I hope she defeated every one of her problems..."
"Problems?"
"Yeah, well, I don't know what problems, but Eric told me about it some time ago... If someone saw her, she must feel better, right?"
You ask Eric about Melanie
You ask Eric if he knows anything about Melanie. "Er, I must say somebody told me once about her drug problems... Apparently she's a real addict, at least that's what Perkins told me once. That would explain the coulours in her videoclips, don't you think?"

Yeah, let's laugh about addiction! What a digusting sense of humor he has...

That should be enough gossip for now. You think you can go home now.
Go south
You finally come near the party. It's in a big villa, that looks pretty old, with a few storeys and a swimming pool; but the guests - there must be twenty of them - are in a veranda, behind the bay window that you can see northward. You can go back to the south.
Go south
Thunder Hill is a hill not so far away from the town: you can see the city lights from where you are standing. The heights of the city are very popular among the celebrities because of their calm, the view they offer on the city and the great size of the parcels: just perfect, if you're famous, for your new villa and your huge swimming pool. Further up, to the north, is the aforementioned villa - you can already listen to the noises from the party. You can go back to the south.
You press the space
The night was long; you're going home to sleep.

After a good nightlong sleep, you're ready for another day! You stand up and put a simple shirt on to go to the office.
Your flat
This is your little flat with two rooms, downtown. Rather functional and bright, you really like it. In the sitting-room, there's a table, a few chairs, and a sofa: that's where you usually work. The kitchen is westwards, and your bedroom and the bathroom are eastwards.

You can see a camera here.
About yourself
You're tall, red-headed, quite thin, and pretty, or so they say; you're a perfectly normal twenty-six-year old young woman. A reporter for the "Tittle-Tattle Kettle" for a few years now, you're known to be tenacious, frank and clear-headed. You'd agree with that.
You're wearing a red checked shirt. Simple, but still, quite nice.
You talk to Sammy
"Hi boss!"
"Here you are! Tell me about yesterday's party, was it interesting?" "Rather interesting, yeah..."
"Come into my office and tell me the whole thing!"

You step into Sammy's office and sit on a chair; he takes a notepad and sits in front of you.

"Where should I start?" you say. Well, you start by telling him about the guests, and their mood and their gossip, and you tell Sammy everything you learned, while he takes notes. You remember a lot of things about the party, and don't forget any information. When you're done, Sammy leans on his chair, and thinks for a while. You wait expectantly.
"Right. You know, a lot of different people have been telling me about Tyrone and the suspicions about his fidelity... Well, if you believe them, it seems he's supposed to go to his mistress, Piranella's house tonight. Do you confirm this info?"
You nod.
"I think it could be good to send you there, don't you?"

You sigh. Tyrone is a problem man, he already has this reputation, and what good will it be to write an article about his adultery? Put some more weight upon his shoulders, distract the housewife for a few seconds, but it won't change anything, and you don't like to hound a man like this... On the other hand, you really don't like Piranella, and it all depends on the way you write the article; you can probably make it more harmful to her than to Tyrone... In either cases, you don't like your position, because the only purpose of such a report is to sling mud at someone.

A few years ago, with an impulsive character, you'd have rebelled against Sammy, and maybe he would have fired you - it nearly happened, once... Now, you eat humble pie: you're paid to do things like that, whether you like it or not - if not, why did you choose this magazine? You do it anyway, but it's true you sometimes try to avoid doing it.

"All right Sammy... I must say I don't like it, but..."
"I know, but I have to send a reporter there, and it's part of your job at TTK, isn't it? Right, I'll give you the address. Try to learn more about both of them."
"Right."
You stand up from your chair.

Sammy's office is amazingly neat for one of an editor who's always running everywhere. Actually, there's still huge heaps of papers, but you can imagine that they end up regularly in the archives or recycled. His desk isn't messy at all. His computer screen is swarmed by little notes: he's got so much to do... You can go back to the hall to the west.
You read the notes
Which do you mean, the papers or the computer?
Computer
Sammy's computer screen is covered with adhesive notes: reminders, information, phone numbers... Being an editor must be quite exhausting.

Sammy reads a text message, and enters a quick reply.
You go to the west
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
"Tittle-Tattle Kettle, your teatime's long-brewed, boiling gossip!" You always thought this motto was a little bit silly, but it's quite original after all; it didn't stop this magazine to grow. In fact, sales are good, and the paper shows its difference from its rivals with a certain sense of ethics and reflexion - it still is a gossip magazine, but let's say that you take advantage of a higher status than your rivals. The editorial office is at the sixteenth floor of the building. Westwards, the window gives you a great view of the city; near it there's the coffee dispenser and metal tables. Eastwards, it's Sammy's office; your office is somewhere to the north, and if you want to leave there's an elevator at the south.
Go south
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RETURN = read subject  Q = resume game

Select a destination:

> Flat
Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Kylie Piranella's house
Back
You go to the north
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Select a destination:

> Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
Kylie Piranella's house
Back
You go north
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Select a destination:

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
> Downtown shops
Kylie Piranella's house
Back
You go north
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Select a destination:

Editorial office of "Tittle-Tattle Kettle"
Downtown shops
> Kylie Piranella's house
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Kylie Piranella's house
Kylie Piranella lives in a pretty old house, and oddly it isn't the kind of house you expect for a blonde young woman with such a hot reputation. But, you heard a lot of rumors about the parties that were organised at her place, and about the fact that a lot of men came and went inside this house. Is it only true, or just part of the image that she's building of herself? You don't know that. Anyway, there's a garden with a swimming pool behind the house, behind high stonewalls. There's a large window on the east side of the house, first floor, and perhaps you'll be able to see it more precisely if you walk into the alley heading to the northwest. Northward, there's the entrance door; you can go back to the south.

Kylie Piranella lives in a pretty old house, and oddly it isn't the kind of house you expect for a blonde young woman with such a hot reputation. But, you heard a lot of rumors about the parties that were organised at her place, and about the fact that a lot of men came and went inside this house. Is it only true, or just part of the image that she's building of herself? You don't know that. Anyway, there's a garden with a swimming pool behind the house, behind high stonewalls. There's a large window on the east side of the house, first floor, and perhaps you'll be able to see it more precisely if you walk into the alley heading to the northwest. Northward, there's the entrance door; you can go back to the south.
You go northeast
An alley, near Kylie Piranella's house
It's a simple alley between Kylie Piranella's house and the next house. From here you can see the large window at the first floor of the house, and some crates below. You can go back by heading to the southwest.

For now, everything is quiet: no sign of Tyrone.
You look at the window
It's not the right time to spy through the window, Tyrone isn't here yet and Piranella is alone inside her house, there's nothing interesting to see.

Ah, here he is! You saw him walk past the alley, but he didn't see you. He heads to the door, and you hear him knock.
You get on the crates
You climb on the crates and look inside the house, knowing that anyway Kylie is at the door. Pretty well-furnished interior, but nothing more, so you get off the crates.

You hear the door opening, and Kylie cheers: "At last, here you are! Come in!" And as soon as she closes the door, you can't hear a thing.
You examine the window
You climb on the crates and look inside the house, knowing that anyway Kylie is at the door. Pretty well-furnished interior, but nothing more, so you get off the crates.

You hear footsteps: they probably are going upstairs. And now they're above you you can hear a manly low-pitched voice talking, must be Tyrone's. But it's a loud voice, too loud: Tyrone is screaming. And you hear a woman whining: they're probably arguing.
You examine the window
They must be just behind the window, you don't want them to see you.

Suddenly, Kylie screams. A long, high-pitched scream, a scream of terror, of pain. You jump. What's happening? Is he beating her? Something serious is happening in this house!
You examine window
You climb on the crates to see through the window. You can see a body on the floor; it must be Piranella. What happened? Damn, a furniture on the left blocks your sight, and you can't see Tyrone, if only he's here.

All of a sudden, not a single noise. You lend an ear, only to hear hasted footsteps. You wonder if you should call the police, and you're already opening your mobile phone.
Examine dumpster
These are the bins of the neighbourhood. The bins from any neighbourhood, even the most in vogue, always stink. Yuk.
You look in the dumpster
You search the bins. Lifting a bag, you can see a knife. A bloddy knife. It's the one which was thrown through the window.

What happened is pretty clear. A knife, screams. Piranella was murdered by Tyrone. Just a few moments ago. While you were here, waiting for a scoop.

The scene becomes blurry all of a sudden. Shocked, you puke against the wall.

It's the first time you've seen something like that. You can't stand it.

You're going to call the police. But not now.

You run away.
[ This is the end of the intro of the game "Gossip", which entered the IntroComp 2009. I hope you liked it! ]
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Dreams, coming again and again, always unwelcome, always unwanted...

Whether sadness, misery, horror or confusion, They never fail to induce negativity; in that, at least, this dream is no different. You float in void, filled with a roiling black static that seems conscious. There is nothing to see but the static, nothing to feel but your own form, and nothing to hear but the ghostly call of a child. It sets your teeth on edge even in the waking world; you can't stand that eerie wail, wavering between laughter and tears.

You never find this child. Even though the sound gets closer, until it is right next to you, all around you, inside your own head before you are awakened by the alarm clock.

This time, though...

A figure swims out of the darkness, backlit, so that you can only make out a childlike face of tragic innocence and flowing hair.

"Who... are you?"

There isn't an answer right away--instead, everything around you turns completely white. And somehow... puffy.

Do you know WHY you have always hated the sound, Kristen? The child, invisible now, speaks, for the first time; androgynous, cultured. You can't respond. you wish you could. It just sparks something deep within you, something primal--something below reason, below rationality, below everything but fear. You don't like it when your brain keeps secrets from you.

I've waited a long time... and still am. Your surroundings flicker between the endless white and writhing black, the two merging into some unwholesome gray. Kristen... your child is waiting.
"Your child is waiting."

"Hmm?"

"I said, your child is waiting."

"WHAT?" You blinked furiously, trying to get your brain into some sense of working order; these dreams usually leave you a scattered mess, and you can't recall ever speaking to someone while that way.

"I said--" The voice seemed testy.

"No--stop. I heard what you said, I just... could you give me a moment?"

You looked around... same bedroom, same lame-ass apartment, same everything... Awake. Normal. Except, not. You'd managed to register your ringing phone, pick it up, and get through the opener to this conversation, while sleeping. Not very like you. And she said--

You felt a chill. "...Excuse me? Did you say that I have a--"

"Child, yes ma'am--waiting for you in Gainesville." Click.

"I don't have a..." The retort died on your lips. The hum of a disconnected telephone answered back at you, daring you to question its integrity.

Patently ridiculous. You don't have a child. You never did. How could that possibly be? There must be some mistake, some incredibly stupid bureaucratic snafu. You'd love nothing better than to explain this fact to whoever that was, but since she hung up before you could get the words out, that's not really an option.

That dream...

Was a dream. You dream every night, and you haven't had any come true yet. Gainesville? Where is Gainesville? Most bloody generic name for a town ever, and you don't even recall there being one here. You wouldn't even know where it is.

Except... you do. The way suggested itself even as you tried to deny it, as though you had always known. You're still certain, completely, that you've never heard of the place before; even the part of your brain that showed you the way confirms this.

In the end, you don't know what your motivation was: sleep deprivation, deep seated confusion, nerves... maybe your body was just tired of waiting for your brain to catch up and got you dressed and in the car before you realized. Soon you were driving, to where you weren't sure, your mind screaming MADNESS while your hands deftly twisted the steering wheel. This would bother you, give you serious pause, but you somehow feel at peace with it. All you've gotta do is remind yourself that you had nothing else planned today.

You stand up and stretch, various parts of your body making worrisome popping noises as you exit the car, noting with a vague sense of triumph that it has once again failed to cause your violent death in some spectacular fashion or other. The cold night air is chill against your skin--fortunate, then, that you brought your coat.

You stand on the side of the packed dirt road leading to Gainesville. The road stretches far away behind you to the south and, eventually, turns off into a paved one that leads back to the central transit explosion that is modern American transportation. Your vision of the town is obscured by the trees; all you can tell is that the path leads, for now, to the north.

Your next-to useless, banged-up car is decidedly parked here. The driver's side door is shut smugly in your face.
Inventory
You are carrying:
your trench coat (being worn)
a handgun (with 8 rounds)
your keyring
About you
You top off at about 5'6"... not the tallest girl around at 24, granted, but you make up for it in personality and one hundred and thirty-five pounds of trained muscle. Your jeans and tanktop show all the right parts of your toned and curvy figure, the baggy trench coat you usually wear over them telling of your disinterest in such things. Straight black hair falls about your shoulders, pale skin crying out for a tan while your dark blue eyes look upon the world with cool scorn.
You examine the car
It's... your car. Hurray. The old thing is planted quite firmly on the ground at the side of the road here, and it doesn't look like it intends on moving any time soon. It's always playing little pranks on you like that. The engine has recently been making chuckling noises which you suspect are treasonous, and every time you--for whatever reason--try opening the hood, you're intrigued at how a maze of gears, belts, wires, circuitry and cables can be said to be "peering" up at you, with an unmistakable air of malevolence.
You open the car
You open the driver's door.
You get in the car
You don't like it much, partly due to a suspicion of yours (reinforced each new day) that it doesn't like you back. It seems to only want to start when you don't want it to, for reasons mechanics never even try explaining to you on the grounds that if you understood your car was just a crabby old bitch and needed some Midol, you might stop paying them what you already know is too much money every three fucking months.

The driver's side door is flopped lethargically open. Staring at you.
You look at the car
The floor of your car is, being the standard for virtually every car owner in the world, liberally strewn with trash; your mind briefly churns at the concept of seeing what secrets might actually be lurking right under your feet.
You search the trash
Oh sure, the miscellaneous collection of worthless crap might contain a million-dollar-winning bottle cap or any old Arc of the Covenant or--if you want to shoot for the moon--the explanation of So Far. But more likely you'll just find a used condom from 1998. And you'd quite frankly rather not go dragging any of that up again, thanks all the same.
You look under the seat
Which do you mean, the seat, or the seat belt?
You look at the driver's seat
Er, it's a seat. It's, um, made of some generic soulless fabric that was probably made by some Chinese kid working for $2.50 an hour, and it's something that people sit on while driving or being driven. What did you expect?
Go outside
You stand on the side of the packed dirt road leading to Gainesville. The road stretches far away behind you to the south and, eventually, turns off into a paved one that leads back to the central transit explosion that is modern American transportation. Your vision of the town is obscured by the trees; all you can tell is that the path leads, for now, to the north.

Your next-to useless, banged-up car is decidedly parked here. The driver's side door is hanging mockingly open at you.
You go inside
You don't like it much, partly due to a suspicion of yours (reinforced each new day) that it doesn't like you back. It seems to only want to start when you don't want it to, for reasons mechanics never even try explaining to you on the grounds that if you understood your car was just a crabby old bitch and needed some Midol, you might stop paying them what you already know is too much money every three fucking months.

The driver's side door is flopped lethargically open. Staring at you.
You look at the door
(the driver's door)
The door is unquestionably the most useful part of this entire vehicle, as it allows you a quick and speedy departure from it whenever it decides to attempt homicide.
You look under the car
Nothing there but dust--er, dirt. Dirt and insects. And a woodland creature. And a member of the 187th Airborne. And Jimmy Hoffa, probably, if you looked long enough. You thought the tires looked a little gummed up...
You open it
On a whim, you pull open the glove compartment and root around inside. Your fingers close on a loose match. Odd. It must have fallen out of the matchbook when you took it out last time. Shrugging, you pocket it; it might come in handy later.
Inventory
You are carrying:
your trench coat (being worn)
a match
a handgun (with 8 rounds)
your keyring
You examine the radio
One of the terribly unfair ironies that you've had to come to terms with over the years in regards to your car is that no matter what state it's in (either "virtual junk heap" or "literal junk heap") the radio is always in perfect working order. Unfortunately, 'round "these parts" pretty much all that's on the radio is the same thirteen Christian rock songs, "drive-time morning shows" hosted by idiots that got rejected from the Blue Collar comedy tour, and political commentators trying to claim that keeping gay marriage illegal makes AmeriKKKa that much more awesome and, somehow, free.
You turn on the radio
Ugh. No thanks. You're proud of the fact that you have never turned on the radio and you don't see how anything up to and including a freak meteorological event could change this.
You examine the heater
By contrast to the heater, the AC has *never* worked. You're always afraid of turning it on these days lest it start blasting heat at you instead of cold and then the damn thing would choose to stay on forever. Windows help, but you swear you're getting permanent hearing damage.
You examine the dashboard
The dash is made of a material you don't recognize and has all sorts of controls on it which you don't either, which would worry you somewhat if they worked or performed any provable function. Since they don't, you don't, instead feeling only joy.
Go outside
You stand on the side of the packed dirt road leading to Gainesville. The road stretches far away behind you to the south and, eventually, turns off into a paved one that leads back to the central transit explosion that is modern American transportation. Your vision of the town is obscured by the trees; all you can tell is that the path leads, for now, to the north.

Your next-to useless, banged-up car is decidedly parked here. The driver's side door is hanging mockingly open at you.
You look at the trees
Most of them aren't terribly large or tall, but many have long branches that have a bit too much overhang for your liking and form a thin curtain that obscures most of what's ahead from view. No doubt when you start the walk into town there's gonna be some pine needles in your hair. Why can't these people be like the rest of America and be down with some clear-cutting?
Go north
You stand on the southern part of a road that twists and winds further to the northwest. Trees stand on either side of you, seeming to arch over you more each time you look.
You examine the trees
The trees survey the path, branches hanging down, giving an impression of ancient sentries that only barely tolerate your presence.
You examine the trees
The trees lean over the path, branches curling down, giving an impression of a set of teeth waiting for the perfect moment to clamp... You shake yourself. Now's not the time for flavor text.
You go north
You can see what looks to be the town of Gainesville in the distance, to the northeast. You can't really tell; the trees that line your path also block your view. You can retreat from the town to the south.
You examine the trees
The trees loom over the path, branches pointing down at you. Quite honestly, they've ceased being creepy or foreboding, and have been downgraded to "bloody annoying." You're quickly getting sick of this little venture of yours.
Go northeast
You emerge from the forest path, leads onto a paved walkway with grass on either side. You walk along it, the grass soon disappearing. You look around for a turn-off, a building, or just a person to ask for directions, yet after about five minutes of walking you see nothing. What the hell are you even doing here? the area appears completely deserted. This is ridiculous, probably some kind of prank.

You stop short, for the first time realizing just how much sense that explanation makes. And you fell for it like a damned idiot. When (not if) you find the lousy son of a bitch who did this to you, you're gonna... Furious, you turn around --
Lost in the Mists
A thick, featureless mist has rolled in all around you. You can't see more than ten feet in any direction, and what you can see is utterly useless. No grass, no sidewalks, no trees, no buildings, no cars and no people. nothing. The entire ground is just a blank expanse of pavement, stretching out forever.

You thump your shoe on the pavement and wait for the sound of an echo. Streamers of vapor dance with themselves as you move swiftly by, tangling and untangling as you try to find a way out. You blink your eyes, hard.
You examine the pavement
The smooth, gray pavement below you stretches out in every direction, seemingly for miles. You can't tell for certain though because of all this goddamn fog blocking your vision.
You look at your surroundings
You are suddenly seized by a burst of uncontrollable, raging fear that leaves you helpless and whimpering, but is gone just as soon as it appeared; you are left shaking and dizzied. You pull your coat tighter against your body, shivering slightly. There's a strange shifting under your feet as of something soft and pliable moving beneath you, but it passes almost as swiftly as it began.
Xyzzy
A sinister voice hisses "Wrong game, dumb bitch!"
You go to the north
Heady tendrils of vapor flow inside your nostrils, filling your throat with a disgusting taste. You dart looks in every direction, looking for something different. A low, keening noise travels through the mists from a directionless source.
Inventory
You are carrying:
your trench coat (being worn)
a match
a handgun (with 8 rounds)
your keyring
You get the handgun
Taken.
Shoot gun
You don't feel the need to impress your superiority over your handgun via a demonstration of firearm skills; it seems suitably cowed by your presence already.
Look around
The only thing you can hear is your shoes, and even they sound dampened. A strange scent passes under your nose for a moment; sweet, yet also pungent. Massless shapes loom up and around you and then dissolve into nothingness. Your eyes penetrate the gloom, looking in all directions, but you can't make out anything useful--or anything at all.
Go east
Your shoes click dully on the pavement. The mist swirls around, just above your head. You dart looks in every direction, looking for something different.
Go north
You call out your own name, just to hear human speech. You strain your ears for some sound that might guide you, and think you hear the distant wail of a siren--but it's quickly submerged in the quiet, leaving you to wonder if you had just imagined it. There's a strange shifting under your feet as of something soft and pliable moving beneath you, but it passes almost as swiftly as it began.
You jump
You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a handgun (with 8 rounds)
your trench coat (being worn)
a match
your keyring
You look at the match
Um... it's a match. No, really, it is. It's, uh, wood, it's got magnesium on the end, you strike it against something and it obliges you by bursting into flames. There's not a lot else to note.
Light match
This dangerous act would achieve little.
Look around
The blank pavement below your feet mirrors the featureless mists that hover above your head.
You examine the pavement
The smooth, gray pavement below you stretches out in every direction, seemingly for miles. You can't tell for certain though because of all this goddamn fog blocking your vision.
Go east
The mist hangs unnaturally still over you. You peer forward, trying to make something out. You feel alone, with only the dulled sounds of your shoes thudding against the pavement for company. You start guiltily, unable to shake the ominous feel that something is watching you. Eddies of mist drift past you, pushing your hair in front of your eyes.
Go east
Hmm. Is it just your imagination, or..? No, it's not. You can see blurry outlines of walls now, and... in the distance, some kind of house? You swish an arm in front of your face and things get clearer--this goddamn fog is definitely thinning now.

You're standing just at the entrance to a horse ranch. The stables are to the northwest, and the house itself is to the north. You can't really make out very much of either from this far away, though. Overhead, you can see the sun setting, casting a fiery red glow over the scene. To the south lies a gate, firmly closed, preventing your egress; to either side of it lie high stone walls as far as you can see.
You examine the sun
The sky is mostly clear, although a considerable mass of white cloud cover can be seen dissipating off to the northwest. To your right, you can see the sun just starting its ascent into the sky, lending this odd tableau a rusty red hue. Just fantastic--now you'll be missing two days of work over... well. You're not quite sure what, exactly, anymore. But fuck it--this is more interesting, anyway.
You examine the gate
The gate is a thick, wrought iron construction, complete with rusted hinges and slatted bars. And it is closed. What the--how is that possible? Did you just happen to accidentally phase through solid matter?
You open gate
You give the gate a tug--no good, it's not moving. Not locked, exactly, more like... stuck.
You kick the gate
You give the gate a solid womp with your palm--en guard, lest gait!--and feel the gate slap you back just as hard. Well at least that rules out holograms.
You look at the house
From this vantage point you can't make out very much, except that it's quite large. You can make out the porch well enough though; it's open to the elements with a couple of old rocking chairs swaying back and forth in the breeze.
Go north
You trudge on towards the old house, hoping to find someone that can show you around this town... but the house isn't any closer. Frowning, you turn around to retrace your steps--and realize that that's no longer necessary. The gate is still only a couple of steps away. What the--?
You go to the northwest
As much as you might like to, now isn't really a good time to go rustlin' up some grub. And anyways, they're not yours.
You look at the gate
Peering closer, you can see that a piece of the locking mechanism appears to have come loose; it's lying on the ground just past the gate. You could probably reach it through the bars.
You get the piece
You get on your knees and start reaching through the bars. Your fingers just land on the piece of rusted metal, but can't quite close over it. Slowly you push it forward, just a few more centimeters and--got it.

"She's fixing the gate!"

Your head whips around to see three men running towards you from the ranch house. You pull yourself to your feet and raise your hands, trying to explain yourself, but even to your own ears the words that come out sound like babble. The men ignore you, running closer--it's then that you notice that one of them, the eldest, is armed. All right, this is getting serious. Your hand flashes inside your coat for your own gun--

"Not as clever as you thought you were. Are ya?"

One of the younger men chortles this, just before the older one fires his shotgun. A load of buckshot blasts through your rib cage; however it lacks the force to create an exit wound.

It's not at all like you thought it would be. All over, your body feels cold. But the wounds feel hot... you don't get that at all...

As if from outside yourself, you see you slump to the ground, deep red blossoming from your chest cavity. You hear what sounds like a volcano inside your head, and look down at your body convulsing; blood flecked with mucus sprays from your mouth, staining your coat and shirt a deep crimson. Physically, you're not repulsed--you've seen worse things on TV--but the fact that that's you, this is your life draining away, is enough to send the you watching you die reeling away in a shock that feels as real as the pellets that ripped through your body not a half second ago.

Before you can see anything else happen, the space before you seems to flatten out into one dimension; the ground, the sky, the gate, the house, your body lying in a pool of its own blood, the man that shot you wracking his slide and kicking out the shell on your face--all stretch out before you as if existing all on one plane. Even that slowly fades until all is gray... then black.
The first sense to return is feeling: A hard surface, digging into your spine. It is uncomfortable. Though, not nearly as uncomfortable as having your lungs turned to pulp by a shotgun blast. All things are relative.

You trail your fingers over your own skin, gingerly, expecting to wince from pain at any moment--but no. Nothing. There is no ragged, bloody hole in your chest. You are breathing normally. The second sense to come back is hearing, the first sound you hear being a dull thunk as your elbows accidentally smack into the walls on either side of you; the second being a muted "Sonofabitch." After that, the others come back in a rush... except for sight.

It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing.
Light match
From your cursory examination of this prison, there don't seem to be any air holes. Though the light may be helpful, it would also significantly tap your current supply of oxygen. And you only have one. Besides, you don't need light. You're a ninja.
You check your inventory
You do realize that you're trapped in a small box, right?
You feel
(the surroundings)

You run your palms all over the sides of wherever you are. It is clearly made from thick hard wood, you'd guess pine, and it's rectangular. You have just enough room to turn yourself around in here, and maybe four inches of space. Running your hands over the top of the box, you can feel metal studs holding the corners together... nails?
You feel nails
You run your palms all over the sides of wherever you are. It is clearly made from thick hard wood, you'd guess pine, and it's rectangular. You have just enough room to turn yourself around in here, and maybe four inches of space. Running your hands over the top of the box, you can feel metal studs holding the corners together... nails?
Kick
What do you want to kick?
Kick box
There may not be enough room to kick upwards, but there are other solutions. You concentrate your attack on the center of a board, where you know the wood will be weakest. You are calm. You will get out of this. You keep telling yourself this, to focus your mind and steady your nerves. You are aware, almost as an afterthought, that you frightened beyond measure; also if you listen to this you will lose control and be gone. Methodically, you batter away at the top of the box with your hands. The first hint of a give, the acknowledgment of weakness fills you with triumph. You bash at the lid repeatedly, refusing to give up until finally it starts to crack... and a fine dust begins to filter through. You wait for it to stop, but it never does. Not even when it covers your stomach and starts flowing towards your mouth--and still, no light. Oh GOD. It suddenly hits you, you know exactly where this is. This is, it's your--

With a burst of furious determination, you smash your fist one last time into the coffin--because that's what the fuck it is-- and the board splinters, momentum moving it into the mound of raining dirt Pushing off of your back with your feet, using all your might, you rise against the crushing weight of the soil baring down on you. Your breath held, you push yourself to your feet--but it still isn't enough. Cursing your height in the back of your mind you claw desperately at the earth, shoveling handfuls off yourself as one word dominates your thoughts: UP. You tilt your head back, lungs burning, trying to spring off the wrecked boards. Your support sinks sickeningly further down into the ground but you are still able to make some sort of half-assed arching movement, just enough for your head to break the surface. You exhale and immediately inhale again, throwing your arms out in front of you, digging them into the soft earth as gravity pulls at that fucking trench coat and all the pointless useless shit in it. Your face twists itself into a rictus of determination as you rip your fingernails bloody, fighting against the weight of the earth tumbling you back into the open grave. The first few inches are the hardest ones to manage, but you do manage them, and then a few more, slowly but surely extricating yourself from the pit, just enough to allow you the leverage to push down and free your legs. You roll over onto your back, hands and feet scrabbling wildly, propelling your body away from the unstable boundaries of the hole even as it shifts and fills itself.

Slowly, you sit up. It is only then you can be bothered to examine your surroundings.

Graveyard (on the dirt)
You are in a graveyard. You can tell, see, because of the graves. They lie before you, headstones and crosses in little white rows. The moon casts feeble illumination over the scene, throwing deep shadows in all directions. You can see, to the west, the spires of a church. Any other landmarks are enclosed by a high stone wall enclosing the entire plot of land.

Large doors lead west into the church.
You look at the headstones
You can't really get a good look at any of the headstones from the position you're in; from here, they all seem blank.
You get up
After taking a few minutes to just sit and get yourself under control you push yourself slowly, methodically, up to your feet. Giving your surroundings a perfunctory once-over you notice something you didn't before, or rather someone. A figure, who's gender you can't even determine, is standing in profile, the silhouette mostly hidden by a headstone. You creep forward, your footsteps making no sound on the dirt of the cemetery. As soon as you get into a position to observe, the figure turns around with unnatural smoothness to stare directly into your eyes.

"Well." he says, and instantly the shock of recognition chills you. "Well, well, well." You know that voice. You know that face. It's Marcus. "Gone and died, have you?" He smirks. "Yeah, I did that once. I guess you could say I never really recovered."
You examine Marcus
You know this man. His voice, his almost aggressively bad posture, his faded overalls, the more careless than carefree tousle of his hair, the "I hate the band you like" t-shirt he wears over his skinny chest--these are all characteristic of the man who was one of your best friends. The way he looks at you now is new; not quite predatory, but there is an unmistakable air of contempt in how he addresses you. The eyes are not new, though, recessed inside his gaunt pale face. Nor is him tapping his arms on his hips new. Ah, yes, the arms--covered with small scars, running in a crisscrossed pattern over his veins. No, those are not new, at all.
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "You're dead."
2. "Hey... been a while."
3. "What is this place?"
3
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 3

"Marcus," you say, urgently. "Do you know what is going on here?"

Marcus grins at you. "Oh, do I ever. But--" he puts his finger to the side of his head, "--I'm not supposed to tell you. Not that I really want to anyway. Hey--I know, you've really been busy with the whole Night of the Living Dead thing, but did you ever take a moment to look at all these graves?"
You look at the graves
Possessed by a morbid fascination, you begin looking at the headstones commemorating the graves. It doesn't take you long before you realize that almost all of them are completely blank. There's Marcus' grave though, sure enough--and next to it--!

Oh, God.

"Rustle, Will--L. May 16th, 1983--D. September 8th, 1998. Cause of death: auto accident."

You remember him, of course. You'll never forget the last time you kissed him: at the funeral, in his coffin. the material of his shirt, the stillness of his chest, the deathly pallor of his skin--dry, and cold as ice. Sometimes, you feel it so vividly in a dream that when you wake up, you think it's happening again.

And right next to his grave... "Dreyfus, Michael. B. June 3rd, 1983--D. June 3rd, 2004. Cause of death: auto accident."

You remember what it was like getting the call that evening. The denial that flooded through you, followed by the dull emptiness of the space that opened up in you, and everyone who knew him. You remember his parents, your friends, huddled close around his casket. God, how horrible... You can't help but wonder--did he know? In those last few minutes, when he felt control slipping from him, did he realize that his time had come? Was he afraid? And what does he know now that we do not? Did he feel pain? Does it haunt him every day of his spiritual life, as the memory of his passing haunts those he left behind?

You can't look anymore. God fucking dammit, what is this? Is this some sort of purgatory? Are you dead, now, and this is what it's like? Or is this just another dream? You're sick of it. Absolutely, utterly, sick to fucking death of dreams.

Others call you the rock, the emotional center of their universe. How can that be possible when you can't even begin to reconcile with your own past? What makes you so special that the images, sensations, pain, and emotions all stay with you, even to this day? You'd think you'd work through it, get past it, but no. That would be normal. Expected. The right way for things to happen.

Marcus gives you a cold look as the weight of all that's happened to you sinks in again. "Now do you understand?" he asks, quietly. "This town was made for you, Kristen." He glares at you, bitterly. "ALL for YOU."

You are tired.

So. Very. Tired.
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "You're dead."
2. "Hey... been a while."
1
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 1
"You... you're... this is..."

You stammer, unable to get the words out. Marcus, however, saves you the trouble. "Dead? Yeah... like I said, never recovered. Oh, damn the government, damn them! It's all the fault of those Communist Nazi Satanist fundamentalist judges legislating from the bench. Or that damned liberal Jew media brainwashing me to vote for Buchanan. Or something. ON WEEEEEEEE!" Marcus throws out his arms in an exaggerated gesture of helplessness before leaning close for a moment and whispering "I always wanted to use the word ennui in a sentence. I mean--come on. It's SO cool."
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "..."
2. "Some things never change."
2
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 2
You let out a soft chuckle. "Well, I can tell the whole being dead thing is treating you well."

Marcus grins at you. "Very well, indeed--the health plan, for instance, is *great*. I mean, I can shoot up, and not have to worry about overdosing!"
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "Still doing that, eh?"
2. "You're kidding. Right?"
1
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 1
There is an uneasy silence. "So... even death doesn't stop you from taking drugs?"

Marcus shakes his head. "Nope. Why should it? All death means to me is ya don't have to worry about dyin' anymore. And what's so bad about that?"
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "That's kind of sad."
1
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 1
"Marcus... I'll be honest... that's a pretty sad world view."

Marcus nods. "I won't ask if you think I should stop because I already know the answer." He sighs. "I guess I've just never bothered to care before. I mean, what's the point? You don't do a lot when you're dead. Oh, sure, you can spy on all those nubile young ladies in the shower whenever you want but that just really gets old after a few years, you know? That was a joke, by the way. It never got old." You reach up to give Marcus a friendly cuff on the shoulder and then stop, uncertain of just what will happen. You feel a sudden chill and drop your hand back down.

"Do you... think that you can?"

"Well that's the question, in'nit?" Marcus weighs your question for a few moments. "I guess right now, I... just don't know. It's, well. It's not something I've seriously tried before." Marcus gives you a dry look. "There's always a first time for everything." You start to smile.

And then, it happens.

There is a rush of wind that almost knocks you down--Marcus, looking behind you, sees it first and his eyes become as wide as dinner plates. You whip around to find out what's happening--and come face to face with the likes of something you have never before witnessed in any of your worst nightmares.

For a frightening few moments your brain refuses to let you see what's right in front of your eyes clearly, however, it comes into focus soon enough. The thing's green-and-yellow skin is stretched taught over a collection of moving parts that look like they've been slapped together by a God gone mad. You can see things--ranging from gray tumorous growths to unidentifiable red streaks that glisten wetly--sliding around underneath the skin. It stands on six legs, making it look like a giant squatting insect. Each leg terminates with a long, silvery, wicked-looking prong that glints in the moonlight with what must be poison. Acidic-looking drool falls from the creature's open mouth filled with teeth as sharp as needles. It exhales, forcing you to step back and cough--it's as if the vapor actively seeks to burn out your lungs. The creature looks ill at ease on the ground, seeming more accustomed to flying with the huge jet-black wings sticking straight out from it's sides, flapping slowly and powerfully. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this thing, however, is that there appear to be no eyes on its face, and yet it is most definitely staring straight at you.

Marcus lets out a yell that is mixed parts anguish and frustration. "Of course! Of course, just as soon as I start thinking about it it fucking comes back! Do you see, Kristen? Do you see what I have to deal with!"
Look around
You are in a graveyard. You can tell, see, because of the graves. They lie before you, headstones and crosses in little white rows. The moon casts feeble illumination over the scene, throwing deep shadows in all directions. You can see, to the west, the spires of a church. Any other landmarks are enclosed by a high stone wall enclosing the entire plot of land.

The nightmarish creature eyes you menacingly, flexing its wings.

Marcus peers at you, waiting.

Large doors lead west into the church.

The creature stabs its spear-like legs into the ground, advancing on Marcus with a grim sense of purpose.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a handgun (with 8 rounds)
your trench coat (being worn)
a match
your keyring

The creature reaches Marcus and grasps him around the middle, clasping him to its underbelly as it rears back upright for the kill. Marcus kicks and beats at the creature until one of its stilettos sinks into his shoulder, at which point his struggles soon weaken, and then stop altogether. You watch, mesmerized, as Marcus's already deathly pale visage is drained of all animation, leaving it a lifeless husk which the creature then carelessly discards over the wall.

Its head swivels around to face you.
You shoot creature
You raise the gun, sight down the barrel, and squeeze off a shot. The bullet hits the thing's face dead-on and makes a dull thud noise before dropping to the ground; the creature's head is thrown unnaturally far back by the force of the bullet, but other than that it doesn't seem to mind.

The creature slowly but surely advances towards you, and then stops. It takes you a moment to realize why: it's standing in front of the hole you climbed out of, the dirt still shifting uneasily. You can't see any sort of expression mass over its triangular face but it appears to be considering the best way to pass this obstacle.
Continue
You raise the gun, sight down the barrel, and squeeze off a shot. The bullet hits the thing's face dead-on and makes a dull thud noise before dropping to the ground; the creature's head is thrown unnaturally far back by the force of the bullet, but other than that it doesn't seem to mind.
You examine door
These are doors that look as if they have been transported from the 17th century. A time when people took pride in everything they worked, and when a set of doors could mean only two things: being very, very open, or being very, very closed. The handles of the door are the only metal part of the door apart from the hinges, and stick out noticeably from each door. They are not a part of the door proper, however, and so there is a large amount of space between the handle and the door it is attached to; when the doors are closed, these handles line up perfectly. Above the door frame is an inscription which reads: "Welcome, friend, to a place free from all sin, where a weary traveler may rest a while, to be safe from his or her demons."
You look around
The large doors stand open to the east.

You can hear the rush of air the creature's wings make as it flies towards you, but you can't see a thing; the moonlight has all but disappeared, making the creature's jet black wings completely invisible.
You get the bolt
You take the bolt from where it's leaning against the wall and ram it through the space in between the handles of the door. It's almost anticlimactic, really; no solid feeling of locking into place, no dramatically appropriate thunk. Then you take a step back and look at the door--at how the horizontal bolt goes through the vertical handles--and raise an eyebrow. Locked, the door now has a perfect metal cross sealing it shut.
Look around
To the east, the large doors stand shut.

The creature bangs itself against the door; you hear it as a muted thud of all six of its deadly spears impacting with the thick wood. There's no way of telling, of course, but you don't imagine it can get through this way.
Go west
You can't go that way.

You tense, preparing for another blow against the double doors--and hear none. You pause for a few more seconds, waiting. Silence. After a few moments even the rhythmic flapping of wings fades. You hold your breath for another long moment, and then slowly let it out. You are alone now.
You wait for a while
Time passes.
Look around
Softly burning oil lamps attached to the walls by iron brackets cast a warm, pleasant illumination all around this monumental structure. Tilting your head upward, you cannot see the ceiling; just a dark space where the light of the fires cannot reach. The doors that lead out to the graveyard are to the east; in front of them is the pulpit complete with wooden lectern. In front of that, the pews sit in their solemn, respectful rows. There's an undeniable beauty to this place, a sort of old-age splendor that you're not used to seeing these days. The building has the look of a labor of love built by many strong hands with keen eyes and an intense attention to the minute but significant details which a religious structure requires. Offsetting that is a small, plain-looking wooden door in the south wall.

To the east, the large doors stand shut.

On the lectern is an a black, weighty tome.
You examine the tome
Very interesting, this book. The light seems to slide off of the cover, leaving it a small pool of inky blackness wherever it lies. Just looking at it gives you eyestrain; maybe it's just the light, or maybe there is no title printed on this book at all.
You read tome
You flip the book open to a random page. The words shine from the paper, in a wide-spaced font that leaves little room on the page: "The secrets contained within the town of Gainesville are for you, and only you. The book from which you are now reading is intended to help give you a tool for you to use to conquer your demons. If the burden becomes too heavy, this volume gives you the power to dispel anything that dares to stand against you. How you choose to use this tool is entirely up to you."
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
an a black, weighty tome
a handgun (with 6 rounds)
your trench coat (being worn)
a match
your keyring
You examine pews
Your eyes briefly slide over the rows upon rows of pews--this church looks like it could have seated hundreds of people. But it is now empty.
Go south
As you step towards the exit, a hand shoots out of a pool of shadow cast by the lamplight beneath the door and seizes one of your shoulders in a vice-like grip. You start to whip around but the hand does that for you, bringing you face to pouchy, fat face with your father.

"Well," he says, cold eyes boring into your face with an unmistakable air of malevolence. "Well... well well." He looks you up and down, taking in the disheveled state of your clothes; the dirt you've tracked all over the church floor. He just sighs. "You know, I miss the old days. They knew how to handle uppity women back then. I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of disrespect then, I'd just black your eye. But now I gotta tiptoe through the goddamn tulips else y'all start screaming 'He hit me! Raape! Domestic assaauult! Aaaaahh!' and I gotta dip into my retirement funds to get lawyers and blow through court dates and skip town and it's just such a stupid waste of time. Ah, time. We all have such a limited amount of time. Do you see what I am saying, Kristen?"

"Get your FUCKING hands off me you *cretin*--"

"Temper, temper, child," his face growls. His grip increases, your shoulder crying out in pain. You aim a sidehand chop at his arm; under normal circumstances you're quite certain it would have broken his wrist, but it doesn't seem to have fazed him. "This is a dangerous place. You can die, and there won't even be any carrion to come 'round to strip your bones. Not even the worms will love you. So watch your step, or you'll find yourself back in a 6-foot hole like your doped-up fag friend back there." He shakes his head. "Fine fucking company for my daughter to associate with. So that she can become... Just. Like. THEM." He spits with disgust. "We've tried. You know? We really did. But you just wouldn't have any of it. So off you go."

Quick as a flash, his hand lets go of your shoulder to whip towards your face; you lean back to avoid the devastating punch you're sure is coming to break your nose, and his fist closes over your chin. His fingers are like iron; his horse-like face is brought an inch from yours as he hisses at you to open your mouth. You grit your teeth; he slaps you across the face. His strength wins out over your will; his other hand comes out and forces a pill down your throat. You gag with all your might, but it's no good. He releases you, backing up a few steps, wiping off his hands on his robes as if ridding himself of a particularly unseemly form of vermin. You always thought he'd make a great name for himself as a preacher, and damned if he doesn't look the part now. Amazing the things that run through your mind at times like these. As bad as you usually feel for putting him in the hospital, right now you can't think of anything other than how much you wish you'd finished the job.

"That's better, Missy. This'll fix you right up. Now get out of here. You're a Cymbalta child now... Not mine."

His words echo into the near distances, feeling as if they're traveling a thousand miles to drop into your head. Your father's face morphs into the face on the Christ statue, creating some sort of unwholesome amalgamation, lamps raining fire down upon you as the world turns away. Inside your mind, you hear the church bell... hell's bell... school bell? Oh, right. The bell to end first period, it rang right before everything really went to shit. Good times.
You look around
Softly burning oil lamps attached to the walls by iron brackets cast a warm, pleasant illumination all around this monumental structure. Tilting your head upward, you cannot see the ceiling; just a dark space where the light of the fires cannot reach. The doors that lead out to the graveyard are to the east; in front of them is the pulpit complete with wooden lectern. In front of that, the pews sit in their solemn, respectful rows. There's an undeniable beauty to this place, a sort of old-age splendor that you're not used to seeing these days. The building has the look of a labor of love built by many strong hands with keen eyes and an intense attention to the minute but significant details which a religious structure requires. Offsetting that is a small, plain-looking wooden door in the south wall.

To the east, the large doors stand shut.
Look around
You are in a graveyard. You can tell, see, because of the graves. They lie before you, headstones and crosses in little white rows. The moon casts feeble illumination over the scene, throwing deep shadows in all directions. You can see, to the west, the spires of a church. Any other landmarks are enclosed by a high stone wall enclosing the entire plot of land.

The nightmarish creature eyes you menacingly, flexing its wings.

Marcus peers at you, waiting.

Large doors lead west into the church.

The creature stabs its spear-like legs into the ground, advancing on Marcus with a grim sense of purpose.
You shoot creature
Oh hell yes you are shooting that goddamn thing. You raise the gun to your shoulder, don't bother sighting, and squeeze the trigger; the bullet leaves the barrel at approximately holy wow that's really fast speed and scores a solid hit directly on the creature. And then glances off, speeding away into the night.
There's an almost Looney Tunes-esque moment where you look down at your gun, just to check and make sure that there isn't a flag sticking out of the end of the barrel reading "bang!" (with all of the insanity that's happened so far it honestly would not surprise you at all.) The creature does, however, turn around from its dogged pursuing of Marcus--and looks at you. You start to wonder if there was any point in climbing out of that grave, to begin with.

The creature slowly but surely advances towards you, and then stops. It takes you a moment to realize why: it's standing in front of the hole you climbed out of, the dirt still shifting uneasily. You can't see any sort of expression mass over its triangular face but it appears to be considering the best way to pass this obstacle.
You ask Marcus,  to go west
(Just use TALK TO PERSON instead.)
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "Marcus, get into the church!"
2. "Marcus, push him into the hole!"
2
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 2

Marcus hears you, and seems to understand. Looking paler and more terrified than he ever has in his life, he slowly, too slowly walks closer to the thing--and then he looks at you, and a sudden warm light of both understanding and resolve fills his eyes. He charges the thing like a football player and barrels straight into it broadside. The creature, blindsided, still makes no noise even as it lurches sideways, tries to retain its balance, and in the process puts all of its weight on exactly the wrong leg. The unstable hole breaks open; the creature comes very close to seriously injuring both you and Marcus as it flails desperately for balance. There is none to be had, however, as the hole keeps collapsing, sending the creature helplessly further down into what was just a few short minutes ago your own grave.

Wordlessly, you and Marcus both get busy with the dirt; shoveling it in handfuls, filling the hole as best you can. You don't stop even after the ground is even, you don't stop until there is a mound of solid-packed dirt that's almost up to your knees. Then you just stand, exhausted, looking at each other as if not quite sure what to do next. Then, quietly, he looks into your eyes and utters the one word you've wanted to hear from him for so long: "thanks." You nod, silently, unable to speak, tears silently filling your eyes. Marcus gives you a slow salute, and then turns around, walking slowly away from you toward the church; soon he is lost in the darkness.
You look at your surroundings
You are in a graveyard. You can tell, see, because of the graves. They lie before you, headstones and crosses in little white rows. The moon casts feeble illumination over the scene, throwing deep shadows in all directions. You can see, to the west, the spires of a church. Any other landmarks are enclosed by a high stone wall enclosing the entire plot of land. There was a hole here. It's gone now.

Large doors lead west into the church.
You go west
Softly burning oil lamps attached to the walls by iron brackets cast a warm, pleasant illumination all around this monumental structure. Tilting your head upward, you cannot see the ceiling; just a dark space where the light of the fires cannot reach. The doors that lead out to the graveyard are to the east; in front of them is the pulpit complete with wooden lectern. In front of that, the pews sit in their solemn, respectful rows. There's an undeniable beauty to this place, a sort of old-age splendor that you're not used to seeing these days. The building has the look of a labor of love built by many strong hands with keen eyes and an intense attention to the minute but significant details which a religious structure requires. Offsetting that is a small, plain-looking wooden door in the south wall.

The large doors stand open to the east.

A massive iron bolt rests dully against the wall, somehow out of place.

On the lectern is an a black, weighty tome.
You get the bolt
If you want to lock the doors with that, you'll have to close them first. Otherwise, you don't have any need for it.
Go south
As you step towards the exit, a hand shoots out of a pool of shadow cast by the lamplight beneath the door and seizes one of your shoulders in a vice-like grip. You start to whip around but the hand does that for you, bringing you face to pouchy, fat face with your father.

"Well," he says, cold eyes boring into your face with an unmistakable air of malevolence. "Well... well well." He looks you up and down, taking in the disheveled state of your clothes; the dirt you've tracked all over the church floor. He just sighs. "You know, I miss the old days. They knew how to handle uppity women back then. I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of disrespect then, I'd just black your eye. But now I gotta tiptoe through the goddamn tulips else y'all start screaming 'He hit me! Raape! Domestic assaauult! Aaaaahh!' and I gotta dip into my retirement funds to get lawyers and blow through court dates and skip town and it's just such a stupid waste of time. Ah, time. We all have such a limited amount of time. Do you see what I am saying, Kristen?"

"Get your FUCKING hands off me you *cretin*--"

"Temper, temper, child," his face growls. His grip increases, your shoulder crying out in pain. You aim a sidehand chop at his arm; under normal circumstances you're quite certain it would have broken his wrist, but it doesn't seem to have fazed him. "This is a dangerous place. You can die, and there won't even be any carrion to come 'round to strip your bones. Not even the worms will love you. So watch your step, or you'll find yourself back in a 6-foot hole like your doped-up fag friend back there." He shakes his head. "Fine fucking company for my daughter to associate with. So that she can become... Just. Like. THEM." He spits with disgust. "We've tried. You know? We really did. But you just wouldn't have any of it. So off you go."

Quick as a flash, his hand lets go of your shoulder to whip towards your face; you lean back to avoid the devastating punch you're sure is coming to break your nose, and his fist closes over your chin. His fingers are like iron; his horse-like face is brought an inch from yours as he hisses at you to open your mouth. You grit your teeth; he slaps you across the face. His strength wins out over your will; his other hand comes out and forces a pill down your throat. You gag with all your might, but it's no good. He releases you, backing up a few steps, wiping off his hands on his robes as if ridding himself of a particularly unseemly form of vermin. You always thought he'd make a great name for himself as a preacher, and damned if he doesn't look the part now. Amazing the things that run through your mind at times like these. As bad as you usually feel for putting him in the hospital, right now you can't think of anything other than how much you wish you'd finished the job.

"That's better, Missy. This'll fix you right up. Now get out of here. You're a Cymbalta child now... Not mine."

His words echo into the near distances, feeling as if they're traveling a thousand miles to drop into your head. Your father's face morphs into the face on the Christ statue, creating some sort of unwholesome amalgamation, lamps raining fire down upon you as the world turns away. Inside your mind, you hear the church bell... hell's bell... school bell? Oh, right. The bell to end first period, it rang right before everything really went to shit. Good times.
You shoot creature
Oh hell yes you are shooting that goddamn thing. You raise the gun to your shoulder, don't bother sighting, and squeeze the trigger; the bullet leaves the barrel at approximately holy wow that's really fast speed and scores a solid hit directly on the creature. And then glances off, speeding away into the night.
There's an almost Looney Tunes-esque moment where you look down at your gun, just to check and make sure that there isn't a flag sticking out of the end of the barrel reading "bang!" (with all of the insanity that's happened so far it honestly would not surprise you at all.) The creature does, however, turn around from its dogged pursuing of Marcus--and looks at you. You start to wonder if there was any point in climbing out of that grave, to begin with.

The creature slowly but surely advances towards you, and then stops. It takes you a moment to realize why: it's standing in front of the hole you climbed out of, the dirt still shifting uneasily. You can't see any sort of expression mass over its triangular face but it appears to be considering the best way to pass this obstacle.
You talk to Marcus
What do you want to say?
1. "Marcus, get into the church!"
2. "Marcus, push him into the hole!"
1
Enter a number, or 0 to say nothing. >> 1

Marcus nods, and heads for the church at a dead run. He has to pass you while doing that though, and when he does, the creature whips one of its legs out--impossibly fast, and skewers Marcus through the collarbone. Marcus is brought up short and gurgles on blood. He looks like he would very much like to scream right now only he can't because something is blocking his lungs. The creature sadistically shakes its leg up and down, shredding some of Marcus's internal organs before it gets tired and contemptuously flings Marcus over the wall. You blink. You didn't even see the creature look at him once.
You go east
(first opening the large doors)
You'll never know why you did it. Maybe you were just confused by the vapors. Maybe you were hoping it would get confused and that the only way to kill the thing would be to shoot it in the back. Maybe you were just fatalistic and didn't want to fight anymore. But when you get down to it, none of that actually matters. The important point of the matter is that
You get in the car
(first opening the driver's door)

You don't like it much, partly due to a suspicion of yours (reinforced each new day) that it doesn't like you back. It seems to only want to start when you don't want it to, for reasons mechanics never even try explaining to you on the grounds that if you understood your car was just a crabby old bitch and needed some Midol, you might stop paying them what you already know is too much money every three fucking months.

The driver's side door is flopped lethargically open. Staring at you.
You drive
Yes, indeed, this is ludicrous. You don't even know what you're here for, really--it's probably some crank call or something. Of course now you've wasted a whole day but eh, beats working. You start your car and the long drive home. When you get inside, past 3:00 in the morning, you don't feel like doing anything but sleeping. So you do, and are haunted by more dreams. Then you wake up, dash the sleep from your brain with Very Black Coffee, and head in to... your job.

Ugh, your job. How you fucking hate your job. You hate it with more passion than you've ever hated anything. It's the most inuring, mind-numbing, idiot-oriented piece of trash that ever earned the title of shit. Every day you see the same people, sell the same things, hear the customers and your co-workers say the same old crap. Every single day you see a new, glittering example of idiocy to the millionth power, people so stupid that you wouldn't even hire them to scrub your God damn floors. Fun as that is, you also get to listen to the President's sentient head polyp abusing the airwaves with a three-hour diatribe of bullshit on his favorite topic: how he's right about everything and everyone who disagrees is wrong and stupid and evil and worthless and going down to a ring of fire lower than the one reserved for rich drug-abusing hypocrites.

While you try to set the countertop radio on fire with your mind, in troupe the 16 year old girls giggling for their birth control. Out they go to the sleazeballs that brought them there, twice their age, waiting in a convertible that could--should--cost more than their yearly salary. You sell them their precious baby barriers, resisting the urge to jam the register key into your carotid and bleed all over their shiny, shiny shoes. In the midst of your reverie, you can't help but idly reflect that there is something horribly, cruelly ironic about all this. Not just a Conservative talk show host blathering on about the moral decay of America in the 21st century while gleefully assisting in it, not just Rush fat-fucker Limbaugh playing at a drug store. The entire road map of your life, all the experiences and the choices that have brought you to this place and this time, combine into something too much like a giant Carlin routine on the true meaning of irony.

Thankfully the day ends and you return home, carotid intact. As you talk to a few of your more distant friends over Yahoo IM, you think about telling them about the little "adventure" you went on the day before; in the end, though, you decide not to. It's so embarrassing, what did you even do it for? There's better ways to change the pace than taking eight-hour drives across the state to God knows where. Best to forget about it, concentrate on what's real.

After a few hours of Internet surfing--accompanied by a few shots of Captain Morgan's--you head off to bed. The place of ceaseless dreams.