text: [Themes: psychic, experiments, horror, medical]
  
  > look around
  Side Hall End, Mt Airy Hospital
  Plain, windowless doors labelled neatly with small brass signs lead off to the north and south. At the east end of the hallway, a large, lurid orange biohazard symbol marks a door of a different design.
  This door is a sliding door instead of a regular door, and it has a small, wire-reinforced window.
  
  Several curving, sharp pieces of glass and small pieces of metal litter the floor.
  
  There's a keycard reader beside the sliding door.
  
  > go south
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  You think that you left this door open, and you know that it wasn't locked before. But it's closed now, and as you try the knob, you discover that it's locked.
  
  You try unlocking the door to room 323 with the ridged key and the small brass key, but you don't have a key to fit the lock.
  
  > Go north
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  You try unlocking the door to room 324 with the ridged key and the small brass key, but you don't have a key to fit the lock.
  
  > Go east
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  You swipe your keycard through the keycard reader. After a moment, the door emits a loud click and the airlock door slides open.
  
  Biohazard Airlock, Mt Airy Hospital
  You stand in a small room lit by a low red light. It is immaculately clean and nearly featureless. Two hooks are mounted on the wall; what appears to be a shredded environment suit hangs from one of them. Overhead, a set of red lamps shines down on you, mounted next to four spray nozzles. A sliding door with a small wire-reinforced window leads back to the hallway to your west. Another door stands to the east, a small opaque window set in it.
  
  A sheet of ruled paper lies beside a prone figure.
  
  On the floor, there is a prone figure in a complete hazard suit.
  
  Three large buttons, one marked "ENTRY", one marked "EXIT", and one marked "DECONTAMINATE", glow faintly from a wall recess.
  
  > take the paper
  (the sheet of ruled paper)
  You pick up the sheet of ruled paper.
  
  You add the sheet of ruled paper to your existing collection of pages.
  
  > read it
  The sheet of ruled paper reads:
  
  Raymond Pearce, M.D.
  Assistant Director, Mt. Airy Hospital
  May 12th, 1978
  I don't know what kind of disaster they've uncovered but it's happening right now and it's in my hospital.
  They're all running around like they're possessed. The subject, McMoneagle, went tearing past me less than a half hour ago. It's more energy than I've ever seen him display. He went down the stairs, not a doctor or escort in sight. I should have followed, but something gave me this unearthly fear. Ridiculous, but it's hard not to fall prey to the mysticism that's surrounded this whole absurd affair.
  Minutes later, I heard screaming, like the kind in the giant
  monster pictures my nephew is so damn fond of. I couldn't tell where it was from. Now there's something strange going on in the wet lab, something obscuring the window in there.
  It's now or never. I have a terrible feeling about all this, but I have to find out what the hell they've been doing before we're all run out of the building.
  
  > look at the figure
  Someone in a hazard suit lies, unmoving. The faceplate of the hazard suit is completely obscured by a red, wet substance that looks not entirely unlike sloppy joe filling. The stuff inside the suit is moving, churning within itself.
  
  The external airlock door slides closed with a hiss and locks with a click.
  
  > examine the hazard suit
  Someone in a hazard suit lies, unmoving. The faceplate of the hazard suit is completely obscured by a red, wet substance that looks not entirely unlike sloppy joe filling. The stuff inside the suit is moving, churning within itself.
  
  > examine the lamps
  A battery of six red lamps glares down at you. The light manages to be both subtle and harsh.
  
  > look at the hooks
  A pair of small brass hooks is mounted in the wall. They are small and somewhat flimsy, appearing to be designed for exactly the kind of environment suit that hangs, shredded, from one of the hooks. The other hook is empty.
  
  > open the hazard suit
  You begin to unzip the hazard suit. The moment an opening appears, you are sprayed in the face with some kind of reddish mist. It stings your eyes and nose, and you stumble backward. You start to feel queasy immediately, and the skin where the mist touched you starts to experience a buzzing sensation.
  
  > Sing
  You are too distracted by your condition to take any action.
  
  The pain in your face ebbs away, replaced with a vibrating numbness. You reach one hand up to touch your cheek but feel only a churning, moving wetness where your face used to be. Your limbs have become numb, and you can feel your heart's beating become labored in your chest. Something moving in your lungs begins to retard your breathing.
  
  > Keep going
  You are too distracted by your condition to take any action.
  
  Gurgling helplessly, you slump to the floor. You can feel the intruder in your body slowly eating away at you, from the inside and out. Mercifully, the pain is now gone, replaced only by a strange vibration in the places of your body that remain uneaten. As your lungs and heart slowly stop moving, your senses fade away, replaced by an ominous stillness.
  
  > check your inventory
  Press any key to continue.
  
  Consciousness returns. You muzzily realize that you are gazing at the ceiling of the Corona Labs test chamber just before the door slams open. Dr. Shaunessy, the neurologist, hurries into the room. Dr. Ephart follows close enough behind to step on his heels. "How many fingers do you see?" Dr. Shaunessy asks, kneeling down beside you, and Dr. Ephart rests light fingers on your wrist to take your pulse. In short order, they conclude that you suffered a vasovagal syncope and struck your head in the fall.
  
  You try to talk to the doctors, but your words are confused and disjointed. Your gaze drags across the fallen photograph, half-shadowed by the folder above it, and you see the gaunt young man screaming. You can't find the words to make them understand. Though you can nearly stand on your own, the doctors firmly escort you from the room and off to bed.
  
  Dr. Shaunessy leaves, but Dr. Ephart stays with you as the sedatives take hold. "Don't worry," she says, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Everything will be all right."
  
  Six days later, the past repeats itself in Corona Labs.
  No one escapes alive.
  
  > Go east
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  You swipe your keycard through the keycard reader. After a moment, the door emits a loud click and the airlock door slides open.
  
  Biohazard Airlock, Mt Airy Hospital
  You stand in a small room lit by a low red light. It is immaculately clean and nearly featureless. Two hooks are mounted on the wall; what appears to be a shredded environment suit hangs from one of them. Overhead, a set of red lamps shines down on you, mounted next to four spray nozzles. A sliding door with a small wire-reinforced window leads back to the hallway to your west. Another door stands to the east, a small opaque window set in it.
  
  A sheet of ruled paper lies beside a prone figure.
  
  On the floor, there is a prone figure in a complete hazard suit.
  
  Three large buttons, one marked "ENTRY", one marked "EXIT", and one marked "DECONTAMINATE", glow faintly from a wall recess.
  
  > take the paper and the hazard suit
  sheet of ruled paper: You pick up the sheet of ruled paper.
  
  > Yes
  You begin to unzip the hazard suit. The moment an opening appears, you are sprayed in the face with some kind of reddish mist. It stings your eyes and nose, and you stumble backward. You start to feel queasy immediately, and the skin where the mist touched you starts to experience a buzzing sensation.
  
  You add the sheet of ruled paper to your existing collection of pages.
  
  > take the paper
  (the sheet of ruled paper)
  You pick up the sheet of ruled paper.
  
  You add the sheet of ruled paper to your existing collection of pages.
  
  The external airlock door slides closed with a hiss and locks with a click.
  
  > No
  Do you mean to unzip the sealed hazard suit? (y/n) >Did you mean to pick up the prone figure? (y/n) >Please answer yes or no.> Then what did you mean by trying to take the hazard suit? Now I'm all confused.
  
  > No
  You think you could lift the prone figure, but you'll need to have your hands free first. Set down the severed fingers, the ridged key, the small brass key, the small-caliber pistol and the typewriter key? (y/n) >Please answer yes or no.> It's too awkward to lift the prone figure while carrying the severed fingers, the ridged key, the small brass key, the small-caliber pistol, the typewriter key, the Corona Labs keycard and your notes.
  
  > Yes
  You think you could lift the prone figure, but you'll need to have your hands free first. Set down the severed fingers, the ridged key, the small brass key, the small-caliber pistol and the typewriter key? (y/n) >
  You discard the severed fingers.
  
  You set down the ridged key.
  
  You set down the small brass key.
  
  You set down the small-caliber pistol.
  
  You set down the typewriter key.
  
  You fold your notes, slip the keycard into the fold, tuck them under your arm, and heave the prone figure onto your shoulder. It feels both heavier and squishier than you expected it to be, given its size.
  
  > go west
  You push the button marked "EXIT". The external airlock door emits a loud click and then slides open with a soft hiss.
  
  Side Hall End, Mt Airy Hospital
  Plain, windowless doors labelled neatly with small brass signs lead off to the north and south. At the east end of the hallway, a large, lurid orange biohazard symbol marks a door of a different design.
  This door is a sliding door instead of a regular door, and it has a small, wire-reinforced window.
  
  Several curving, sharp pieces of glass and small pieces of metal litter the floor.
  
  There's a keycard reader beside the sliding door.
  
  > Go west
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  Side Hall, Mt Airy Hospital
  The off-white walls and dull, stain-resistant tiles of this hallway match those of the main hall to the west. Windowless doors marked with small brass signs branch off to the north and south.
  
  > drop the suit
  (the sealed hazard suit)
  You haven't got that.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying a hazard-suited figure slung over your shoulder. Also, you have your notes folded under your arm with the Corona Labs keycard tucked inside.
  
  > Drop figure
  You heave the hazard-suited figure off your shoulder and lower it carefully to the ground. Then, you untuck your notes from your armpit and fish out the Corona Labs keycard with minimal damage done.
  
  > No
  That was a rhetorical question.
  
  > Go west
  Hall Intersection, Mt Airy Hospital
  Cold fluorescent lights pace the ceiling from north to south and lead off east along the T intersection. To the west, a pair of metal elevator doors sits silently closed. There's a call button beside the elevator and a floor indicator above the call button.
  
  There's a large white butterfly flitting back and forth near the ceiling.
  
  A building map is posted on the wall.
  
  > examine butterfly
  Looking more closely at the white butterfly, you realize that it is nothing more than folded paper. Still, its wings beat like a real butterfly's wings against the slight breeze in the hallway, and it dances through the air with careless, casual grace.
  
  There seems to be something written on the butterfly, but you can't make out the words from here.
  
  > take butterfly
  It's too awkward to pick anything up while you're carrying the hazard-suited figure around.
  
  > Drop figure
  You heave the hazard-suited figure off your shoulder and lower it carefully to the ground. Then, you untuck your notes from your armpit and fish out the Corona Labs keycard with minimal damage done.
  
  The paper butterfly traces a lazy spiral through the air before coming to rest on the dull white tile. Its diamond-shaped wings flex, unflex, and then unfold. The corners and edges pull apart from one another like some sort of magical puzzle box.
  
  The transformation is complete. The butterfly is gone, and only a small piece of unlined paper remains.
  
  > take the paper
  (the small piece of unlined paper)
  You pick up the small piece of unlined paper.
  
  You add the small piece of unlined paper to your existing collection of pages.
  
  > read it
  The small piece of unlined paper reads:
  
  Alice's Diary, 5/6/78
  Today must have been different for Ian. When I came in, he greeted me with a plea to keep him company and keep him awake. I was glad to be able to help, so we talked late into the night.
  It feels like he's putting a lot of trust in me, even though he doesn't like to talk about his nightmares or his past. He seems to be afraid of himself, and said over and over that he didn't want to hurt anybody. He's afraid, he says, and he doesn't want to hurt anybody. It was hard not to laugh at the notion of Ian hurting anybody. He wouldn't -- couldn't -- hurt a fly.
  He really didn't want to fall asleep, but eventually he just couldn't stay up any longer. I tucked him in and tried to make him as comfortable as I could for when the nightmares came.
  I think I'm developing feelings for Ian. His eyes are so expressive and he feels for other people so keenly. Unprofessional or not, Ian's a really special person and I hope Corona's able to cure him of whatever it is that he's got. I wish I could do something for him. Protect him from his demons.
  In the meantime, I'll just do the one thing that it seems like only I can do:
  Care.
  
  > go north
  Hallway, Mt Airy Hospital
  Partway down this hall, the fluorescent lights have sputtered out, leaving the way north cloaked in darkness. A long, slow breeze flows from the south past you, reaching towards the deep shadow to the north. Before the light fails, there's a bathroom door in the dull white wall to the east and a laundry chute to the west.
  
  The sterile breeze flowing north slowly stops and then reverses. A long wave of bad-smelling air pushes toward you from the dense darkness down the hallway.
  
  > enter the chute
  It'll be a difficult enough wriggle to get into the chute without carrying the hazard-suited figure at the same time. If you want the hazard-suited figure at the bottom of the laundry chute, you should probably drop it in first.
  
  > put the figure in the chute
  You drop the hazard-suited figure into the laundry chute. It promptly vanishes into the darkness.
  
  > Y.
  A peek down the laundry chute suggests that it is still safe, but looks may be deceiving. Are you sure you want to try it? (y/n) >You slide headfirst down the laundry chute. The fast, exhilarating, and death-free ride ends with a heartstopping plummet through space and a faceful of soiled sheets. They're soft enough for you to land safely, but still pretty disgusting.
  
  Laundry, Mt Airy Hospital (in the laundry bin)
  Crumpled white sheets fill an enormous laundry bin underneath the chute's entrance - a great relief, since those sheets were dense enough to competently break your fall. You're currently inside the laundry bin, but you can see the rest of the room well enough. There is no mistaking the purpose of this room. Industrial washers and dryers line the walls of this room. The room stinks of offal, blood and bleach all at the same time. On the east wall, a large sink made of heavy-duty steel sits, but its long faucet is bent at a peculiar angle and it is missing both handles. A particularly large laundry machine looms at the end of the row.
  
  An open door leads south out of the room.
  
  There's a human skeleton lying on the tiled floor. It's wearing a very clean lab coat.
  
  In the laundry bin you can see a hazard-suited figure.
  
  > Go outside
  You get out of the laundry bin.
  
  Laundry, Mt Airy Hospital
  There is no mistaking the purpose of this room. Industrial washers and dryers line the walls of this room, and three canvas-walled carts filled with dirty linens squat awaiting their purpose. The room stinks of offal, blood and bleach all at the same time. On the east wall, a large sink made of heavy-duty steel sits, but its long faucet is bent at a peculiar angle and it is missing both handles. A particularly large laundry machine looms at the end of the row.
  
  An open door leads south out of the room.
  
  There's a human skeleton lying on the tiled floor. It's wearing a very clean lab coat.
  
  You can also see a laundry bin (in which are a hazard-suited figure and a heap of soiled sheets) here.
  
  > put the figure in machine
  You heave the hazard-suited figure into the cilia-filled tube of the laundry machine and close the lid.
  
  The laundry machine starts up with an audible whine and a whirring noise that increases in frequency as its internal motors (or muscles, you suppose) spin up.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  > wait awhile
  You nearly jump out of your skin as a buzzer sounds loudly from the huge laundry machine. Its motor gradually slows to a halt.
  
  > open the machine
  You lift the lid of the large laundry machine, revealing the fleshy, cilia-lined tube within. Flattened around the inside of the tube is the limp form of an empty hazard suit, clean and white.
  
  > take the suit
  You reach into the machine and grasp the suit by your thumb and forefinger, then gently extract it while avoiding the reach of the undulating cilia. You shake the hazard suit out, noting that it is now completely clean and dry. You momentarily find yourself wondering whether, if you could manufacture machines like this, the American public might be able to overlook its flesh-eating properties for its clearly superior garment care.
  
  > wear the suit
  The suit is somewhat flimsy. You'd better not wear it until you really need it or you might tear the thing.
  
  > Go south
  Basement Hall, Mt Airy Hospital
  Grime coats the frosted covers of the overhead lights, causing the peeling walls and tiled floors to look shadowed and ugly. The laundry room's large entrance to the north opposes the boiler room door to the south. To the west, an elevator's doors stand closed.
  
  An open door leads north into the laundry room.
  
  A swollen corpse with visibly broken limbs lies on the floor a short distance from the elevator doors.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  The split-flap display whirs into life, reporting the elevator's transit from floor to floor.
  
  > look at the display
  A single call button glows beside the elevator doors. The floor indicator has a split-flip display currently reading "BASEMENT".
  
  The split-flap display stops on "BASEMENT". The elevator call button goes dark, and the metal doors slide open.
  
  > Go west
  You step into the elevator.
  
  Elevator, Mt Airy Hospital
  The elevator is just big enough to fit the length of a standard hospital gurney and not much else. Unlike the dull white walls of the rest of the hall, the elevator's interior is crafted with burnished steel. The fluorescent lights above shine through a thick metal grate.
  
  There are floor buttons for B through 4 on the control panel. There is also a button marked "Alarm" and a key switch marked "Fire".
  
  > go east
  Glass crunches faintly underfoot as you move through the hallway.
  
  You swipe your keycard through the keycard reader. After a moment, the door emits a loud click and the airlock door slides open.
  
  Biohazard Airlock, Mt Airy Hospital
  You stand in a small room lit by a low red light. It is immaculately clean and nearly featureless. Two hooks are mounted on the wall; what appears to be a shredded environment suit hangs from one of them. Overhead, a set of red lamps shines down on you, mounted next to four spray nozzles. A sliding door with a small wire-reinforced window leads back to the hallway to your west. Another door stands to the east, a small opaque window set in it.
  
  Three large buttons, one marked "ENTRY", one marked "EXIT", and one marked "DECONTAMINATE", glow faintly from a wall recess.
  
  You can also see a typewriter key, a small-caliber pistol, a small brass key, a ridged key and some severed fingers here.
  
  > take all
  typewriter key: You pick up the typewriter key.
  small-caliber pistol: You pick up the small-caliber pistol.
  small brass key: You pick up the small brass key.
  ridged key: You pick up the ridged key.
  severed fingers: You pick up the severed fingers.
  
  > wear the suit
  (the clean hazard suit)
  You clamber awkwardly into the suit. It takes you several minutes to figure out how to get your hands into the gloves at the end of the sleeves without having to zip it up first, but after some struggling you are completely suited up. You check all of the airtight zippers and make sure that the filter is letting you breathe properly. You feel clumsy and big, but you should be protected from all but the most minute contaminants. Unless the suit tears, of course.
  
  > Go east
  Biohazard Lab, Mt Airy Hospital
  This room seems to have been the subject of some kind of massive biological explosion. Some kind of glistening, mealy red substance similar to ground meat is splattered all over the floor, walls and ceiling in large patches. The substance seems to have a life of its own, pulsing and undulating in great colonies. Large piles of it merge and separate.
  
  The room itself seems to have been some kind of biological experimentation laboratory. You can see a large sink along one wall, with nozzles for a bunsen burner mounted next to it. While most of the counters are covered with the disgusting red substance, one table is mostly untouched thanks to an overhanging edge.
  
  On the table is a measuring pipette, fixed in place above a wooden test tube rack. There's also a small lab refrigerator branded with a biohazard symbol.
  
  The bottom of a glass test tube projects from a mound of the mealy red stuff.
  
  > look at the rack
  A wooden rack with holes and divots for holding test tubes. It's currently empty.
  
  > examine the fridge
  The refrigerator is half-sized, like a dorm fridge, but designed to contain various heat-sensitive biological supplies instead of beer. A striking orange and black biohazard symbol has been stickered to the front. Unlike so much else in the room, the refrigerator appears uncontaminated by the red mass.
  
  The internal airlock door slides closed with a hiss and and locks with a click.
  
  > examine the suit
  It's a thin white hazard suit. While not very durable, a combination of a charcoal air filter and an airtight fiber weave should serve to protect the wearer from most environmental hazards. Mealy red stuff smears the outside of the hazard suit, giving it a certain butchery chic look.
  
  > look at sink
  The mealy red substance covers this large sink. Next to it are some equally contaminated-looking bunsen burner nozzles.
  
  > examine the nozzles
  There are two of the cone-shaped, ridged nozzles, each with a handle on top. If there were a bunsen burner nearby, you could connect it to one of these. Unfortunately, you see no such thing. Worse, the nozzles seem to be covered with red goo and rust.
  
  > open fridge
  You open the small lab refrigerator, revealing a vial of blood and a legal-size page.
  
  > take all from the fridge
  ["take all from fridge" is vague - please be more specific with your command.]
  
  > take the page from the fridge
  You pick up the legal-size page.
  
  You add the legal-size page to your existing collection of pages.
  
  > read it
  The legal-size page reads:
  
  From the desk of Dr. Edward Atwater, M.D., Ph.D.
  April 25th, 1978
  I'll be damned, they're really buying it. McMoneagle's due to be
  dosed within the next few days.
  I am not a completely heartless man. It is a popular conceit in
  this office, and I suppose I cannot blame anyone for thinking so. But I have been here for years, now, and overseen the snuffing out of over a dozen lives. With each death I hope to the godless heavens that Corona will see the depth of its mistake, realize that experimenting with a lethal parasite and calling it a symbiont will not make wishes come true. If we want to join the Project it will only be through methodical chicanery, not methodical murder.
  What do they want of me? To become McMoneagle's friend, like
  "kindly old Doc Yehuda?" To have faith in the absence of reason, like "Crazy 'Lainey?" I dread to think of how crushed they will be when the young man's brain floods itself with chemicals. I will be the only staff member in his right mind.
  I am not a monster. I am a doctor. To hell with anyone who doesn't understand that.
  
  > look at the vial
  It's a small vial of dark red blood with a handwritten label on the front.
  
  > read it
  The vial is labelled "Ian McMoneagle, 5/10/78".
  
  > examine the pipette
  It's a long, very thin tube with a valve to control the flow of liquid through it. It is mounted in place above the test tube rack. The pipette is marked with numbered graduations along its side to aid with measurement, and it is flared at the top so that pouring liquid into it is easier.
  
  > close the fridge
  You close the small lab refrigerator.
  
  > Inventory
  You're wearing a sludge-smeared hazard suit, which is excellent protection, but which does give the world a certain surreal quality as seen through the faceplate. You are carrying some severed fingers, a ridged key, a small brass key, a small-caliber pistol, a typewriter key, a Corona Labs keycard and your notes.
  
  > examine table
  A black stone table. Its edge extends outward from the solid wood base supporting it, and the hanging edge seems to have kept any of the red goo from making it to the top of the table. It's a miracle that none has fallen down from the ceiling.
  
  > examine the red substance
  You study the goop for a moment. It's a pulsating mass of red, mealy, meat reminiscent of nothing so much as living, malevolent sloppy joe filling.
  
  > examine test tube
  (the sludge-encrusted test tube)
  A dark brown substance clings to the inside of the test tube.
  
  > take it
  You pull the test tube out of the churning mound of mealy red stuff.
  
  > look at the brown substance
  A dark brown substance clings to the inside of the test tube.
  
  > smell it
  From inside the hazard suit, most smells are muted under your own body odor, but you can still pick up a faint meaty reek.
  
  > read the tube
  (the sludge-encrusted test tube)
  There's nothing written on the sludge-encrusted test tube.