text: [Themes: Surreal, humor, metaphysics, unicorn, ethics, fantasy, philosophy]
  
  > look at your surroundings
  The lab is filled with all manner of scientific equipment. Monitors, levers, dials and big red buttons cover the walls, while the room's desk -- pushed against the computer stacks on the back wall -- has a complicated-looking laptop-printer set-up perched somewhere in the middle, surrounded by arcane assemblies of metal and glass, which Mary is operating with feverish skill.
  
  > talk to Mary
  "Uh . . . Dr Mary?" you say, feeling a bit awkward.
  
  She turns around, looking distracted underneath her enormous goggles. "Oh, it's you, dear," she says. "Do call me Mary. Was there something you wanted?"
  
  [1] I was just interested in what it is you're doing in this lab.
  [2] Oh! -- what are those peculiar goggles you're wearing?
  [3] As you seem to be at least moderately sane, perhaps you could tell me what's going on, and why I've woken up in a weird fantasy world.
  
  > 3
  "Oh no, dear," she says regretfully. "I don't know about anything other than colours."
  
  [1] That's a peculiar research specialisation.
  [2] Nothing other than colours ar all?
  [3] Then I suppose you won't know how I can get out of it either?
  
  > 2
  "Well, they're all I think about, to be honest!"
  
  > 2
  "The what?" she says, puzzled. "Oh! The goggles! D'you know, I forgot I had them on. I don't really think about them, you see."
  
  [1] They seem a bit big and unwieldy just to forget they're there.
  [2] Don't you want to take them off?
  [3] So what do they do?
  
  > 3
  "As I understand it," she says, "they filter out the experience of colour, meaning that I see everything in black and white. Of course, I wouldn't know, having never taken them off."
  
  [1] (something doesn't add up here)
  [2] Wait . . . you study colour intimately, but you've never taken off those goggles?
  [3] Wait . . . you've never experienced colour?
  [4] Wait . . . you said you were an expert on colour?
  
  > 4
  "Absolutely. Anything you want to know about colour, I can tell you."
  
  [1] (something doesn't add up here)
  [2] And you study colour intimately, but you've never taken off those goggles?
  [3] And you've never experienced colour?
  
  > 2
  "Never saw a reason too," she says simply.
  
  [1] (something doesn't add up here)
  [2] And you've never experienced colour?
  
  > 2
  "As far as that goes, yes."
  
  [1] (something doesn't add up here)
  
  > 1
  "Hang on," you say, and Mary grips the desk obligingly. "I mean, you're a colour expert--"
  
  "I know everything there is to know about colours, yes."
  
  "--but you've never experienced colours?"
  
  "That's right!" says Mary brightly.
  
  [1] But doesn't that mean that one thing you don't know is what it's like to experience colours?
  [2] But, for example, you wouldn't know that a red apple was red, would you?
  [3] But if you took off the goggles and experienced colours, wouldn't you learn something new?
  [4] I don't understand any of this. I think I'll go.
  
  > 3
  "Hmm," says Mary. "D'you know, I don't think so? I already know exactly how my brain and body'll react to colours, you see, as I know everything about them. Is there anything more to it than that? I suppose it'll be nice to get some experimental confirmation, though."
  
  [1] Er . . . but you still don't know is what it's like to experience colours, do you?
  [2] Er . . . but, for example, you wouldn't know that a red apple was red, would you?
  [3] OK . . . but what if the first thing you saw was something unexpected? Like something that wasn't coloured the way it should be? Wouldn't that trick you, as you hadn't experienced it before?
  [4] I don't understand any of this. I think I'll go.
  
  > 1
  Mary thinks for a while about this, as if she'd never considered it before. "I said I know everything there is to know," she says. "And I'm not sure 'what it's like' is something to know, is it? I mean, I know everything about how your brain reacts to colours, and so on. The 'what it's like' isn't really knowledge, is it?
  
  [1] Er . . . but, for example, you wouldn't know that a red apple was red, would you?
  [2] I don't understand any of this. I think I'll go.
  
  > 1
  "Oh no, dear!" she says. "I absolutely know when an apple's red. I know everything about colours, you see -- including what they behave like when filtered through my goggles here. So I can tell when an apple is red."
  
  [1] I don't understand any of this. I think I'll go.
  
  > 1
  "Oh, bye, dear," says Mary, turning back to her work. "Do come back if you think of something else, or have something interesting to show me."
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a tube of black paint
  a sack (open)
  a useless scrap of paper
  a qualiascope
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a broken lantern
  file of Platonic forms
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > examine the file
  This a file of administrative forms that have reached the highest level of bureaucratic perfection. In order to complete them they must be signed by the relevant officials, who will only sign the form if they are presented with the very same form already signed.
  
  > get the goggles
  You really don't think you can muck about with the goggles -- Mary seems very protective of them. If you want her to take them off, you'll have to give her a very good reason to check out some colours.
  
  > Go north
  There's a bloody furious cat in there -- an equally furious physicist is trying to force it into a box and close the lid, but is getting only bites and scratches for his troubles. You decide to leave them to it.
  
  > go east
  Inside, the library is distressingly ordinary. If there were a building in this crazed thought experiment of a world you would like to have seen exploit the full potential of the absurd, it would be the library. A winding maze of bookshelves, perhaps, in which the unwary adventurer could get lost for hours, on the run from herds of rogue thesauruses; a vast glass dome adorned with mysterious and disturbing stained glass images; bolts of narrative energy crackling between the books, frazzling the flocks of pamphlets roosting in the upper stacks.
  
  But no. This is simply a square, book-lined room equipped with a borrowing counter, behind which stands a bored-looking librarian, and a few old desks. At one of these an imposing bearded man sits, writing furiously.
  
  > examine man
  A large bearded man sits at a desk in the library, writing furiously. He's surrounded by bundles of paper, some typed, some written in a near-illegible scrawl.
  
  > look at the counter
  The bored-looking librarian stands behind a chipboard-looking counter. There's a ledger and inkwell sitting on it.
  
  > look at the ledger
  The list of names, books and telephone numbers is positively thrilling.
  
  > examine inkwell
  A deep blue inkwell, filled with deep blue ink.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a tube of black paint
  a sack (open)
  a useless scrap of paper
  a qualiascope
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a broken lantern
  file of Platonic forms
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > talk to Man
  You tap the man on his shoulder and, muttering under his breath, he turns away from his writing to you, asking "Yes?"
  
  [1] I just wondered what you were doing there?
  [2] What's that you're writing?
  [3] Oh, sorry, are you busy?
  [4] Ah. I'll leave you to it, shall I?
  
  > 1
  "Writing," says the man is a heavy Germanic accent. "Busy," he adds.
  
  [1] Oh. And what is it you're writing?
  [2] Oh, sorry. Urgent, is it?
  [3] Ah. I'll leave you to it, shall I?
  
  > 1
  "My Manifesto!" he says, his voice raising and his eyes glowing. "The theory of the abolition of private property! The history of all hitherto society -- the history of class struggle! The exposure of the bourgeois prejudices of law, morality and religion! The revolution of the workers of the world!
  
  [1] Oh . . . ! You're Karl Marx, aren't you?
  [2] OK. This is me edging away slowly now.
  
  > 1
  He stops mid-rant. "The very same. You have heard of my work?"
  
  [1] Well, to be honest, I didn't really get past page 7 of Das Kapital.
  [2] Ah, and that's the Manifesto itself, is it? Why are you copying it by hand?
  [3] Yup. Pleasure to meet you and all, but I have to go.
  
  > 2
  You think you detect a blush rising beneath his beard. "My typewriter broke," he says, before sitting down and burying his head in his hands.
  
  [1] Good job I'm not really interested in reading it, then.
  [2] Never fear, Karl! I shall procure you a typewriter and return forthwith!
  [3] Look, if that's a hint to get me to go on an obscure object quest, forget it. Not unless you've got the readies.
  
  > 3
  Marx looks affronted. "Has the bourgeosie so pitilessly torn asunder the motley of ties that bound us and left remaining no other nexus between us than callous cash payment?" he demands, before leaving you, chagrined, for his writing.
  
  > 2
  You make to charge out of the library in a fit of adventurous fervour, before tripping over your shoelaces.
  
  > look at the shoelaces
  Those pesky laces!
  
  > go west
  The square seems somehow madder now the madman has left.
  
  This appears to be the academic quarter of the village, and so may in fact be a quadrangle, which is awfully exciting. You know it's the academic quarter, because the grass is covered with sprawling young people wearing brightly coloured clothes, dreadlocks, and organic deodorant. Architecturally and geographically speaking, the buildings look like they were placed there by a commitee of village planners whose equipment budget stretched only so far as a compass. Three sides of the square are complemented by a museum, research institute and a library, to the west, north and east respectively.
  
  > Tie laces
  (to the sack)
  You bang them together, without noticeable effect -- though you do momentarily consider founding a samba band.
  
  > Go north
  Inside, the Institute is as a marvel of the limits of both modernist architecture and the persuasiveness of funding applications. The floor of the entrance corridor is covered in sticky linoleum and the walls, painted an unpleasant shade of grue, with damp health and safety posters. Three doors lead off the corridor, to the north, east and west, each with a hand-written notice.
  
  > go to the east
  This is simply a square, book-lined room equipped with a borrowing counter, behind which stands a bored-looking librarian, and a few old desks. At one of these Karl Marx sits, writing furiously.
  
  > talk to the librarian
  "Hallo," you say. "I'd like to borrow a book, please."
  
  The librarian looks at you sullenly. "Well, I'm sorry," s/he says. "This is a McDonalds."
  
  [1] In which case I'll have a fries and shakes, thanks, my good non-gender-specific-human.
  [2] No, seriously. Thought I might catch up on my Plato.
  [3] Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll just go.
  
  > 1
  The librarian looks pointedly at you, before slouching back against the wall in a conversation-closed sort of way.
  
  > 2
  "Not a chance," s/he says. "Every time we lend something of his, someone just scribbles footnotes all over it, so we've put all of our Plato in protective custody."
  
  [1] Oh dear. Well, in that case, could you recommend me a good read? Something colourful?
  [2] In that case there's nothing for me here. Goodbye.
  
  > 1
  The librarian smirks. "I've just the thing. Hang on a moment," s/he says, before turning h/er back on you and walking over to the shelves.
  
  > take the inkwell
  You think the librarian might notice.
  
  The librarian returns, holding a huge, brightly-coloured tome. S/he hands it to you, saying "Colourful, you said? This should do the trick," before returning to h/er spot behind the counter.
  
  > examine tome
  Apparently this is an Encyclopaedia of Qualia. It's the colour edition. Opening it, you suddenly become overwhelmed by a veritable rainbow of sensations -- the smell of coffee, the feel of mist, the indescribable feeling you get when you've just dropped an egg. Looking down at the text, you realise that it consists of a carefully-organised catalogue of all the world's possible sensations, and as you read the name of each it washes over you. You snap the book shut before you become completely overcome.
  
  > get it
  You already have that.
  
  > go west
  "Oi!" says the librarian, taking the book away from you. "That's a priceless tome, that is. You can't leave with it."
  
  > talk to librarian
  The librarian spots you and says, "What do you want this time?"
  
  [1] Still got no Plato I can read?
  [2] Er, I was wondering if, maybe, you could see your way to getting that Encyclopaedia for me again?
  [3] Oh, nothing. I just wanted to annoy you, actually.
  
  > 1
  The librarian shakes h/er head sullenly.
  
  > 2
  The librarian glares at you, but heads off to the shelves to fetch the book.
  
  > read the ledger
  The list of names, books and telephone numbers is positively thrilling.
  
  > look up Marx in the ledger
  There's a ledger and inkwell sitting on it.
  
  You discover nothing of interest in the ledger.
  
  The librarian returns and hands the tome to you wordlessly, before returning to h/er spot behind the counter.
  
  > examine the librarian
  She -- you correct yourself, he -- hasn't even bothered to tie his hair back in a tight bun, or perch severe-looking glasses on the end of his aquiline nose (which turns out not to be aquiline), ready to be loosed and removed respectively to reveal a surprisingly beautiful young woman. Man. S\he is simply rather bored-looking, and somewhat gender-ambiguous, sort of youth.
  
  The librarian returns and hands the tome to you wordlessly, before returning to h/er spot behind the counter.
  
  > get the ledger
  You doubt the librarian will let you get away with that.
  
  The librarian returns and hands the tome to you wordlessly, before returning to h/er spot behind the counter.
  
  > examine paper
  (the bundles of paper)
  Inspiring stuff, this.
  
  > look at the scrap of the paper
  Scrawled upon a scrap of paper is: "COME TO THE STATE OF NATURIST CAMP -- NASTY BRUTISH FUN FOR ALL!!!"
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  an Encyclopaedia of Qualia
  a tube of black paint
  a sack (open)
  a useless scrap of paper
  a qualiascope
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a broken lantern
  file of Platonic forms
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > give the forms to the librarian
  (first taking the file of Platonic forms)
  (putting the tube of black paint into the sack to make room)
  The librarian doesn't seem interested.
  
  > get qualiascope
  (putting the Encyclopaedia of Qualia into the sack to make room) Taken.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a qualiascope
  file of Platonic forms
  a sack (open)
  an Encyclopaedia of Qualia
  a tube of black paint
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a broken lantern
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > give tome to Mary
  (first taking the Encyclopaedia of Qualia)
  (putting the file of Platonic forms into the sack to make room)
  Mary doesn't seem interested.
  
  > talk to Mary
  Though as startled by you as ever, Mary greets you warmly. "Oh, hello again, dear! Did you think of something else?"
  
  [1] Sorry, no. Still stuck. I'll leave you to it
  
  > 1
  "Oh, bye, dear," says Mary, turning back to her work. "Do come back if you think of something else, or have something interesting to show me."
  
  > give the book to Mary
  (first taking the manual)
  (putting the qualiascope into the sack to make room)
  Mary doesn't seem interested.
  
  > Drop book
  Dropped.
  
  > get tome
  You already have that.
  
  > look at the ladder
  A steel ladder on the east side of the roof. It's not funny in any way. Steel seldom is.
  
  > get the keyboard
  That seems to be a part of the computer.
  
  > stand on the chair
  You stand on the chair. You can see your house from here! Well, you can't really, but you can reach the hatch.
  
  > go hatch
  You haul yourself up through the hatch and scramble onto the roof of the Chinese Room, the hatch thudding shut behind you.
  
  The Chinese Room, you have discovered, is in the centre of a fantastical world, on a road leading north to woods and a hillside village and south to a cragtop castle. Wide plains spread out to the east, grassy dunes and a strip of sand border an ocean to the west, and above you Flying Spaghetti Monsters gambol in the updrafts. The roof of the Chinese Room is flat and covered with pitch, hot under the sun. On the east side of the building, a ladder leads down to the road.
  
  > Go east
  You shimmy down the ladder onto the road.
  
  You're on a road by the squat concrete hut that contains the Chinese Room. In smooth black tarmac, neatly painted with white lines, the road stretches north to the village in peculiarly perfect tapering perspective. Behind you, to the south, you see the road lead towards some queer-looking hedgerows at the base of the crag. To the east, as before, stretch the plains to the horizon, with the ocean, behind sand dunes, doing likewise to the west.
  
  The remains of a scarecrow droop on a pole here.
  
  > go west
  Leaving the road, you find yourself walking through squat dunes scrubby with beachgrass. Your feet leave a trail behind you in the otherwise undisturbed sand. Soon, the ocean emerges again from behind the dunes, more blue and sparkling than a busking saxophonist on an empty Christmas morning.
  
  You find yourself on a beach -- a strip of silvery sand bordering an ocean that seems truly boundless. You try and focus on the horizon, but find your attention wavering whenever you get close to pinning it down, as if there were a blind spot in your consciousness. The sea shimmers and shifts under your gaze. You shake your head, blinking, and make your way along the beach, feet sliding in the fine-grained sand, towards a few small figures further along.
  
  As you approach them, the figures -- two men dressed in white togas -- turn to look at you. "By Zeus, Achilles!" says one to the other, "It looks like an adventurer has arrived."
  
  Before you can get a word in, the man -- an elderly, squat little Greek -- greets you effusively:
  
  "Welcome, adventurer! Well come indeed, oh yes. Very, very fortuitous indeed . . . " He tails off, and the other man glances at you, embarrassed.
  
  "Hallo," he says, shuffling on his feet. "I'm Achilles."
  
  [1] Hello, Achilles.
  [2] What's going on here?
  
  > 1
  There's an awkward moment while Achilles searches for something to say and the other man continues to mutter to himself. You hear bursts of numbers shooting off in all directions from him. "Oh!" says Achilles, inspiration striking. "This is Zeno. From Elea. He's very clever."
  
  [1] What's so clever about him?
  [2] Where's Elea? Is that the name of this place?
  [3] Hang on -- Zeno, Achilles . . . isn't there supposed to be a tortoise around here?
  [4] What's going on here?
  
  > 2
  "Oh no, Elea is that place halfway between point A and point B. You'll never get there."
  
  [1] What's going on here, then?
  [2] Hang on -- Zeno, Achilles . . . isn't there supposed to be a tortoise around here?
  
  > 2
  Zeno stops muttering immediately, and looks at you, aghast. Achilles turns away. You sense you've said something you shouldn't've.
  
  Eventually, Zeno speaks, sighing. "Well, that's our problem, don't you see? She's gone."
  
  "Gone," echoes Achilles.
  
  "Left," says Zeno.
  
  "Kaput, concludes Achilles, mournfully.
  
  [1] Why?
  [2] So what is going on here, then?
  
  > 1
  "She's on tour with her Aunt Hillary in France," explains Achilles. "Said she was sick of being exploited by our patriarchal obsession with paradoxes and chauvanistic exploitation of her abilities, and wanted to be somewhere where she could truly be herself."
  
  "Hence," says Zeno, "our problem."
  
  [1] So what is going on here, then?
  
  > 1
  "We're holding a race!" cries Zeno. "A great and magnificent race, of profound importance. But we've only got one racer."
  
  "Me," says Achilles.
  
  "And you can't hold a proper paradox with only one racer! It would be like holding a symposium with only one philosopher. Very boring. Not enough contradictions."
  
  [1] And that's where I come in, is it?
  [2] Hang on, I think I see where this is going . . .
  
  > 1
  "Indeed! You look like you would make a fine racer."
  
  [1] Not a chance.
  [2] What's in it for me?
  [3] Gosh, thanks! I suppose when you put it like that . . .
  
  > 2
  "Well there is this rather fine trophy to be presented to the winner," says Zeno, brandishing a large glass cup with a laurel leaf carving.
  
  [1] Wow, a glass trophy, really? Cor. Guess not, then.
  [2] Oh, alright then.
  
  > 2
  "Splendid! Bravo! Well, then, you two had better get ready!"