text: > Go downwards
  The ocean muck oozes through your fingers, but there doesn't seem to be anything hidden beneath it.
  
  A big wave must have broken somewhere above you. You can feel the dull percussion of it throughout your body.
  
  The crab sends forth one probing eye stalk, then hastily withdraws it.
  
  Pressure starts to build in your lungs.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You have a pair of shorts (being worn), a bathing suit (being worn), and a scuba mask (being worn).
  The pocket of your shorts seems to contain some money and your passcard.
  
  A rather large wave surges over your head, leaving you momentarily sputtering.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You have a pair of shorts (being worn), a bathing suit (being worn), a scuba mask (being worn), a white rubber strap, and a shrimp.
  The pocket of your shorts seems to contain some money and your passcard.
  The white rubber strap waves in the current, anchored to the
  shrimp.
  
  > tie the white strap to yourself
  You tie the other end of the white rubber strap to your wrist, joining the shrimp to your wrist.
  
  A rather large wave surges past, wetting you up to the waist and nearly toppling you from your feet.
  
  > give the shrimp to the crab
  Not while the shrimp is joined to your wrist by the white rubber strap.
  
  The crab extends its eye stalks and peers tentatively from the fissure, as if sensing the shrimp's presence. Unfortunately, it soon spots you and retreats back into its hole.
  
  Pressure starts to build in your lungs.
  
  > go upward
  Lungs burning, you kick and claw your way toward the glittering sunlight above you. Gasping, you break the surface and fill your lungs with the salty ocean air.
  
  Deep Water, South of Pier, (treading water)
  There's nothing but endless ocean to the east. Shallower waters beckon to the west. The long cement pier finally comes to an end to the north of you, its supporting pylons disappearing into the murky depths.
  
  > Go west
  You splash merrily out of the shallow water, on to the hard packed sand.
  
  Damp Sand, South of Pier
  To the east, the shallow surf ebbs and flows up onto the cold, wet sand. The sand turns into powdery gold back to the west. To the north, you can pass among the pylons supporting the long pier that extends from the pavilion. The small castle you found here earlier has disappeared. The mites must have integrated its materials into the larger castle.
  You see an antique bottle, lying in the sand.
  
  > remove the mask
  You strip the mask off of your head.
  
  > take the neoprene
  You can't, it's an integral part of the mask.
  
  A thin crest of white foam glides up the beach and covers your toes before gently receding.
  
  > wear the mask
  You pull back the tough strap and slide the mask over your head. It fits snugly, creating a tight seal.
  
  > take all
  The antique bottle: Taken.
  
  > Inventory
  You have a pair of shorts (being worn), a bathing suit (being worn), a scuba mask (being worn), a shrimp, a white rubber strap, and an antique bottle (containing salt water).
  The pocket of your shorts seems to contain some money and your passcard.
  The shrimp hangs from your wrist by the white rubber strap.
  
  > go west
  Cool wet sand gives way to warm dry sand as you climb up the beach.
  
  Dry Sand, South of Pier
  The cool early evening has left the beach nearly deserted but for a few joggers and unsupervised children. To the east, the dry, powdery sand goes hard as it rolls down toward the swelling tide. The boardwalk lies back to the west. To the north, tall dunes flank the base of the pavilion, blocking your way.
  Someone has scrawled a message and a simple diagram in the powdery sand.
  A heap of trash has been scattered into the sand by the squabbling flock of gulls. The shallow hole you dug here earlier is still visible.
  
  Hundreds of gulls are engaged in a fierce battle over the pile of refuse, squabbling and squawking at each other and filling the air with hungry shrieks.
  
  The gulls battle among themselves for dominance over the temporary food supply.
  
  > take shell
  Taken.
  
  A young boy wearing a bright blue bathing suit and matching flip-flops runs by.
  
  > go east
  The light of the setting sun warms your back as you exit the shade of the pavilion and begin the long stroll down the pier.
  
  The pier is even longer than it looked. It stretches back west to the great pavilion and continues still further east towards the sea. A small shelter rests at the far end. From below, you can hear the fizzle and hiss of the shallow surf.
  
  A fat, grey gull swoops past you, lands momentarily on the nearby railing, and then launches itself back into the air.
  
  > Go east
  It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the shade beneath the small shelter.
  
  The pier ends here in a small rectangular shelter with a low wooden roof. You imagine that, seen from overhead, it would look like a pendulum hung from the face of the pavilion. The railing surrounds you on all sides but to the west, where you can follow the pier back towards the pavilion. A water fountain is tucked in one corner.
  
  An old man is fishing off the pier with a great, heavy rod. Resting on the railing beside him is an open tackle box, while at his feet sit a bucket full of freshly caught fish and an empty burlap sack.
  
  The old man reels in a tiny fish, grunts in disgust, and tosses it back.
  
  > ask the man about the crab
  The old man scuffs his heavy shoes against the cement floor, but makes no reply.
  
  The old man stares grimly at the sun, as if daring it to sink any lower.
  
  > examine the tackle box
  The tackle box is a grownup's toychest full of colorful lures, shiny bobs, and dull metal weights.
  
  A small child bobbles into the area and tries to sneak up behind the old man, only to break out laughing. The old man jerks in surprise and throws the child a long, harsh glare.
  
  > ask the man about the tackle box
  He glances at the box and beams uncharacteristically. "My grandkids got it for me last Christmas."
  
  The old man draws a cigarette from his breast pocket, rolls it meditatively between thumb and forefingers, and then puts it away.
  
  > ask the man about the lures
  He glances at the box and beams uncharacteristically. "My grandkids got it for me last Christmas."
  
  The slight breeze carries the sound of the old man grumbling to himself.
  
  > kick the bucket
  The old man spots you reaching for his pail and fires off a smouldering glower that burns straight through the center of your forehead.
  
  The old man plays out a few lengths of line.
  
  > Go west
  It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the shade beneath the greater pavilion.
  
  You're standing in the center of a colossal gazebo that provides shade for sunburned tourists like yourself. The octagonal floor is made of unbroken grey concrete, bordered on each face by a waist high railing. Tall beams support a sloping wooden canopy that rises over three times your height. A red brick enclosure squats in the southwest corner and a small snack bar nestles up against the enclosure to the south. To the east lies the foot of a seemingly endless pier.
  There are numerous wooden benches here. Right now, they're
  stacked, one on top of another, into a towering wooden column twice your height.
  
  A speck of sunlight glints off a ship lying far off on the eastern horizon.
  
  > Go south
  A quaint little snack bar nestles beside the brick enclosure, while the rest of the pavilion sprawls out to the north. A hand-painted sign above the counter advertises boiled peanuts. The vendor has gone home for the night.
  Behind the counter is an industrial boiler.
  Sitting on the snack bar is a length of rope.
  
  An early evening breeze fills your nose with the tangy scent of brine.
  
  > look at the rope
  It's a short, stout section of rope, about half as long as you are tall and two thumb widths thick.
  
  Several gulls land nearby, briefly tussle over some invisible morsel, and fly off shrieking.
  
  > untie the rope
  The length of rope isn't attached to anything.
  
  Several gulls land nearby, briefly tussle over some invisible morsel, and fly off shrieking.
  
  > remove the white strap from yourself
  You detach the white rubber strap from your wrist, separating it from the shrimp.
  
  > White
  You detach the white rubber strap from the shrimp.
  
  The breeze carries the sound of a calypso drum from somewhere far down the beach.
  
  > tie the shrimp to the rope
  You try, but the coarse rope is too thick to be knotted around the shrimp.
  
  A young, auburn haired woman wearing nothing more than sneakers and an incredibly revealing thong bikini jogs past. Jogging alongside her is a darkly-tanned, slim-hipped young man, similarly dressed.
  
  > Inventory
  You have a pair of shorts (being worn), a bathing suit (being worn), a scuba mask (being worn), an antique bottle (containing salt water), a clam shell, a length of rope, a shrimp, and a white rubber strap.
  The pocket of your shorts seems to contain some money and your passcard.
  
  An early evening breeze fills your nose with the tangy scent of brine.
  
  > go to the west
  You're standing in the center of a colossal gazebo that provides shade for sunburned tourists like yourself. The octagonal floor is made of unbroken grey concrete, bordered on each face by a waist high railing. Tall beams support a sloping wooden canopy that rises over three times your height. A red brick enclosure squats in the southwest corner and a small snack bar nestles up against the enclosure to the south. To the east lies the foot of a seemingly endless pier.
  There are numerous wooden benches here. Right now, they're
  stacked, one on top of another, into a towering wooden column twice your height.
  
  A speck of sunlight glints off a ship lying far off on the eastern horizon.
  
  The brick beach path ends at the foot of a cement stairway that leads east to the Tybrisa Pavilion. To the northeast and southeast, twin boardwalks wrap around the pavilion towards the beach. By one of the boardwalks is a simple public shower, while a white diving bell stands near the entrance of a small building to the northwest. Your hotel towers back to the west, obscuring the sunset.
  A sign advertising boiled peanuts points east, into the pavilion. There's an ugly gap in the path.
  You see a strapless pair of goggles, a cork, and a broken stave
  here.
  
  > drop all but the mask and the shrimp
  The antique bottle: You toss the antique bottle to the ground.
  The clam shell: You toss the clam shell to the ground.
  The length of rope: You toss the length of rope to the ground.
  The white rubber strap: You toss the white rubber strap to the ground.
  
  > Go southeast
  You skip along the wooden boardwalk to the beach, evoking a strong memory of the carefree summer days of your childhood.
  
  Dry Sand, South of Pier
  The cool early evening has left the beach nearly deserted but for a few joggers and unsupervised children. To the east, the dry, powdery sand goes hard as it rolls down toward the swelling tide. The boardwalk lies back to the west. To the north, tall dunes flank the base of the pavilion, blocking your way.
  Someone has scrawled a message and a simple diagram in the powdery sand.
  A heap of trash has been scattered into the sand by the squabbling flock of gulls. The shallow hole you dug here earlier is still visible.
  
  Hundreds of gulls are engaged in a fierce battle over the pile of refuse, squabbling and squawking at each other and filling the air with hungry shrieks.
  
  A toddler of about four, gurgling excitedly, barrels into the flock of gulls. A flurry of white and grey feathers explodes into the air, only to flap back to earth a few feet away.
  
  > go to the east
  The warm dry sand gives way to cool wet sand as you move closer to the shoreline.
  
  Damp Sand, South of Pier
  To the east, the shallow surf ebbs and flows up onto the cold, wet sand. The sand turns into powdery gold back to the west. To the north, you can pass among the pylons supporting the long pier that extends from the pavilion. The small castle you found here earlier has disappeared. The mites must have integrated its materials into the larger castle.
  
  The surf glides up to meet you as you approach the water, a cool shock against your warm skin.
  
  Shallow Water, South of Pier
  You're up to your knees in the gently surging tide. It flows up onto the beach to the west and grows deeper to the east. To the north, you can pass among the pylons supporting the pier.
  
  > give the shrimp to the crab
  You release the shrimp. Free of your grip, it darts immediately toward the dark fissure in the rock. With surprising speed, the crab comes to life and goes after it. The chase is brief, and shortly the crab retreats to the depths of the fissure, shrimp in claw. Hmm. If only you had some way of holding on to the shrimp. You release the shrimp. Free of your grip, it darts immediately toward the dark fissure in the rock. With surprising speed, the crab comes to life and goes after it. The chase is brief, and shortly the crab retreats to the depths of the fissure, shrimp in claw. Hmm. If only you had some way of holding on to the shrimp.
  
  Pressure starts to build in your lungs.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes...
  
  The pressure turns into an itch, which quickly becomes a burning heat.