text: [Themes: edutainment, zombie, quiz, socially important]
  
  You slap the off button on the alarm and roll out of bed.
  
  "What the hell?" You rub the sand from your eyes and notice the television is still on from last night, flashing those stupid emergency testing signals. "More of this rubbish?"
  
  "Attention Americans, this is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. The one hundred billionth citizen has just been born in the early hours of the morning in Toledo, Ohio. Protocol 69,666 is now in full effect. All citizen will report to their standardized testing facility by 10 o'clock A.M. for Extermination Testing. Attendance is mandatory. Anyone who does not report for testing will have their scrotal or clitoral collar activated, followed by the combustion chip. You can thank Miss Kaitlin Tatalonia for spewing the demon child from her womb that enacted these necessary measures. Repeat, this is not a drill."
  
  Enough of that blathering crap. You snag a Rolling Stones t-shirt off the floor and give it a good whiff to make sure it isn't too rank. The shirt definitely has an odor to it, but you don't think the funk is too terrible. Who do you have to impress anyway?
  
  Outside the window, the mindless drones the government calls Americans scatter about like deranged imbeciles. But that there lies the problem, doesn't it?
  
  Ever since the good ol' US of A won World War XXVII and sank the other continents below sea level, the population has exploded at an exponential rate. Nuclear fallout allegedly caused a significant increase in the hyper-sexual activity within the inbreeding redneck community of the backwoods state of West Virginia. Topnotch government scientists have failed to curb the population growth with their experimental scrotal and clitoral collars, as the mutant spawn have developed the ability to regrow their genitalia just as a starfish regrows a missing limb. While the population has grown, the average IQ has plummeted to a disappointing 68. The populace is so stupid the average American can no longer name his or her own state capital.
  
  Protocol 69,666 represents the final straw. Culling shall now commence.
  
  Well, you better head to your testing center. How horrible it would be to have your collar and chip activated! Before you go, you decide to try and smuggle something into the examination tower with you. Why? Because you're just not that bright yourself.
  
  [Author's Note: WARNING: Contains Sexual References A mildly disturbing result of my attempts to learn my way around the editor. I dabbled a bit in basic html as well. The game functions mostly as a USA State Capitals quiz with a simple combat element. I put in a bit of a backstory, surrounding the quiz, and something mildly disturbing may happen if you die... While this has little literary merit; hopefully, you may learn something.]
  
  > Condom
  At the testing center, you file in line like a good, orderly drone. You pray to the gods of every religion you can think of that you won't see anyone you know. Small talk is the absolute worst form of drudgery.
  
  "Hey, I was wondering if I'd see you here!" Jamison Stannon jostles several people out of line to stand beside you. A self-proclaimed genius and track star from high school, he grabs your hand and pumps it enthusiastically. "Are you excited? I can't wait until they cull these idiots. Just think how great the world will be without them!"
  
  "You're not worried?" Please die today.
  
  "Of course not. I'm awesome. My cousin pitches for the-"
  
  "No one cares, Jamison," says an obese voice.
  
  God damn it. More of them. I hope you all die. I truly, truly do.
  
  Lard bucket Nikolani King wobbles over. His gut shakes like a bowl full of... you cannot quite finish that simile because of your mental deficiency. The point is - he is very fat. No one gives a hoot or a holler about him cutting in line either. Apparently, people are not eager to face their potential demise.
  
  Jamison humpths haughtily, rolling his nose. "You're just upset because you know you're going to be culled. They have a physical component to the test as well."
  
  "Shut up. Didn't you go to school in a barn?" Nikolani toots a pickled fart... for emphasis? You are not quite sure.
  
  "It was not a barn! It was a stable!"
  
  A great blubbering racket interrupts their petty squabble. The pitiful whines grow louder and louder until you see Brenda Bark shuffle her way toward you. She may be the dumbest person alive. Well no... she's not that dumb, but she has zero chance of passing Protocol 69,666 anyway. There are certainly smarter idiots than her.
  
  She throws her head onto your shoulder and wails. "I'm going to die."
  
  Yes. Yes you are. "No, you'll do fine, Brenda."
  
  "She's going to die," says Jamison and Nikolani in unison.
  
  You endure more of this irrelevant prattle for the next several hours while you wait for your turn to enter the actual testing tower. Many of the mongrel fools resort to passing the time by rutting like a bunch of baboons. Mercifully, your turn finally arrives.
  
  "You, please step forward," says the government official in charge of this facility. "Good, now follow me. I am Mr. Secspun. How are you doing today? Are you excited for your test?"
  
  "Can we cut the crap and get on with this? I have an important dinner appointment with Santa."
  
  "Do you mean Satan?"
  
  "Sure."
  
  "Alright, as you wish. Once you step onto this transportation plate you will be disintegrated and re-assimilated-"
  
  "Huh?"
  
  Mr. Secspun facepalms. "When you you step on that square, you will reappear at the top of the testing tower. To descend, you must answer the state capital question correctly. If you answer wrong, an increasing number of zombies will be released to attack you. You may only continue once you kill them all. You must achieve a 70% to pass, so if you get 16 questions wrong, your collar and combustion chip shall be activated."
  
  "Cool."
  
  "Indeed."
  
  > start the culling process.
  You stand in a bare octagonal room: all by your lonesome.
  
  "Welcome to the Testing Tower," says a cliche robotic voice that sounds vaguely like a woman smoking a cigarette on the poop chute. "I would like to wish you a happy culling."
  
  "If you would like to, why don't you?"
  
  "My sensors indicate a semi-witty comment. Perhaps you have a chance to survive. Are you ready to begin?"
  
  "Yeah, I'm ready to meet Santa."
  
  "What is the capital of Alabama?"
  
  > Tuscaloosa
  A metal door opens, and a zombie lumbers forward, drooling. He looks hungry.
  
  Zombie Health 20
  
  > Roundhouse Kick to the face.
  A zombie munches on your arm. Good thing the government sterilized the virus in their zombies. They have to eat you to kill you. What fun.
  
  Zombie Health 11
  
  You stand in a bare octagonal room: all by your lonesome.
  
  "Welcome to the Testing Tower," says a cliche robotic voice that sounds vaguely like a woman smoking a cigarette on the poop chute. "I would like to wish you a happy culling."
  
  "If you would like to, why don't you?"
  
  "My sensors indicate a semi-witty comment. Perhaps you have a chance to survive. Are you ready to begin?"
  
  "Yeah, I'm ready to meet Santa."
  
  "What is the capital of Alabama?"
  
  > Montgomery
  "What is the capital of Alaska?"
  
  "Hey, don't I get a break?"
  
  "After one question? Don't make me laugh... It'll make me malfunction. Anyway, this is your only warning. Once I ask my question, the next thing out of your jibber-jabber, flabber-gab better be the correct answer."
  
  > Fairbanks
  A metal door opens, and a zombie lumbers forward, drooling. He looks hungry.
  
  Zombie Health 20