text: [Themes: Surreal, ethics, metaphysics]
  
  > Go downward
  You crawl resolutely down into a dank catacomb, pausing only to scrape wumpus dung from your feet. Here in the catacombs a horde of chattering bats fly amidst the staligmites and staligtites.
  
  One bat, looking particularly melancholy, hovers for a moment in front of your face. "I hate my life," it says, before fluttering sadly off.
  
  > listen
  The bats chitter and chatter, and would chutter as well, if it didn't sound so silly.
  
  You hear a bat circling above you humming a brutal-sounding song to itself.
  
  > talk to the bat
  "My, my, don't you look tasty," chatter the bats chitteringly.
  
  [1] Why, thank you.
  [2] I never foresaw the day when I'd be chat-up by bats.
  
  > 2
  A bat flies out from the group and droops dejectedly off a staligmite near you. "I'd savour it and leave before they savour you."
  
  [1] Savour me? I'm not going to be eaten am I?
  [2] You seem a tad melancholy.
  
  > 2
  "You would be too," the bat cries, "if the bloody secrets of your tortured soul were ignored by all the reputable philosophy journals."
  
  [1] Reputable philosophical journals? Pardon?
  [2] That's a very strange thing to be upset about.
  [3] Do explain.
  
  > 3
  The bat blinks sadly at you, brushing its fringe away from its eyes with a sweep of its tattered wing. "It's like this," it begins, in a voice resonant with murky emotion. "All the journals care about is zombies, zombies, zombies. None of them care to investigate the deepest, darkest revelations of the deep, dark mind of the vampire bat. No-one understands us! Nobody cares!
  
  [1] Well, I'm a philosopher -- perhaps I could spread the word?
  [2] Yes, I can certainly see how that would be pertinent to philosophy.
  [3] Gosh, that is tragic. Please do unclasp the bosom of your secret soul to me.
  
  > 1
  The bat hops towards you a little hopefully. "Really?" it says. "Really?" It looks down at its claws. "I've written a book, you know," it whispers. "An autobiography. It has poems in it. Not that publishers do anything other than reject it. But perhaps . . . perhaps . . . ?" It looks towards you expectantly.
  
  [1] Oh, go on, give it here.
  [2] A vampire bat's verse autobiography? I'm positively quivering with excitement.
  
  > 1
  The bat pulls a tiny book from behind its wings and drops it to the ground in front of you with a little whimper. "Thank you," it says breathily, its fringe drooping lower and lower. "I'm going to go and feed on some virgins now to assuage my insatiable homicidal appetite for human blood. Thanks for listening." It takes off in an excited flurry and chitters away.
  
  > get the book
  (the bat's autobiography)
  (putting the Communist Manifesto into the sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > give the book
  (the bat's autobiography to Nagel)
  You grab Nagel as he passes you, heading for the cabinets. "Here," you say. "I thought you might like this."
  
  He looks down at the book, wide-eyed. "Never . . . " he says. "Never in all my days . . . How did you get this?"
  
  "Just chatted to them, really," you reply.
  
  "Interesting," he says, already frantically flipping through the pages, waving a hand around the laboratory. "And I thought that all we could do was study them like this. But now . . . oh now . . . please, would you leave me with this? And would you look after these keys for me? They were given to me to look after by some old man in a toga when he saw how much time I spent in the caves gathering specimens. But I shan't need  . . . to go there . . . any more . . . "
  
  He drifts off into his own world, absorbed entirely by the book. You grab the bunch of keys from his outstretched hand, wondering what they could possibly open.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a bunch of keys
  a lit lantern (providing light)
  a sack (open)
  a Communist Manifesto
  a Chinese key
  a lighter
  a veil
  a qualiascope
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  
  > go to the west
  You push your way through the brambles and gingerly descend into the dark cave beyond.
  
  The lantern's dim glow casts shadows across the walls of the cavern, which, oddly, seems not so much collossal as contrived. Raising the lantern, you read an etching over the eastern entrance to the cave: "Property of Plato." Casting it around, you notice a gap in the walls of the cavern that leads down further into the cave system. Chained down in the centre of the room, eyes affixed on your shadow playing on the wall, are the denizens of this cave. You make a bunny shadow-picture for them.
  
  > Unlock lock
  What do you want to unlock the padlock with?
  
  > Unlock padlock with bunch
  You find the right key amonst the bunch to unlock the unwieldy padlock and it opens with a satisfying click. None of the denizens seem to notice.
  
  > give Manifesto to people
  (first taking the Communist Manifesto)
  (putting the bunch of keys into the sack to make room)
  You hand the closest denizen the Communist Manifesto and wait while she reads it outloud to the other. You go for a quick nap through the bits about modes of production and different kinds of bourgoisie, waking up in time for the end:
  
  "Workers of the world unite!" a denizen exclaims, getting into the spirit of things, "You have nothing to lose but your chains!"
  
  "You know, I think she's right," pipes up another at the back.
  
  "I agree!" shouts another.
  
  "Wait a second," one says, "we're not workers. We've never done a day's work in our lives!"
  
  "Yes, Ted, but the oppression of the owners of the means of production clarifies and sharpens the class divide," explains the reader, "so as members of the collective oppressed classes we're made de facto working class."
  
  The voice known as Ted considers this for a moment, and then shouts, "Those thieving capitalist bastards! Let's go knock some heads!" With frantic calls for revolution and a classless society the denizens cast off their chains, and earmuffs, and storm outside in an angry mob.
  
  > take the earmuffs
  Taken.
  
  > look at the earmuffs
  Big furry earmuffs. A pair of them! They look like they'd induce a blissful silence for the wearer.
  
  > give earmuffs to Lumberjack
  You give the earmuffs to the lumberjack and the Buddhist monk. They put them on nice and snug and you give them the thumbs up and step back. The lumberjack takes a swing at the nearest tree, felling it with one hit. "Wow," says the lumberjack a little louder than usual, "I didn't hear that fall in the slightest!"
  
  "Aha!" exclaims the Buddhist, "so your premise that a tree always makes a sound when it falls is undermined!"
  
  The lumberjack sighs. "I was uncorrect in my presumptitions, here -- take my axe."
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  an axe
  a lit lantern (providing light)
  a sack (open)
  a bunch of keys
  a Chinese key
  a lighter
  a veil
  a qualiascope
  a manual
  file of Platonic forms
  a useless scrap of paper
  a Categorical Imperativator
  a fifty pence piece
  
  > kill him with axe
  When he's not paying attention, you viciously dispatch the zombie Zombiefinder with your axe. Afterwards, you roll the unsightly mess off the hill. There's nothing like a decapitated zombie to ruin an otherwise pleasant hilltop vista.
  
  You move to untie the martyr for truth, but she'll have none of it, "I can untie myself, thank you very much. I'm not some damsel in distress, I'll have you know."
  
  [1] I know, I know. Just trying to help.
  [2] Well, you certainly look like one . . .
  
  > 2
  "Either way," she says, untying herself with a few wrenches at her ropes, "My thanks for proving me right. And, I suppose, as you've done something for me, I suppose the only consistent behaviour is for me to give you something in return."
  
  Climbing down from the now redundant pyre, she hands you a small box that had been concealed about her person.
  
  "Now inside this hermetically-sealed box," she says, "is the thing. The only thing that's truly consistent. If you ever need to dispel a dangerous illusion or establish a firm and coherent grounding, open this box. But it'll only work once. As soon as anyone senses the thing, it'll just become shrouded in appearance like everything else. So I suggest you only open this box when you really, really need it."
  
  With these words she disappears towards the village, leaving you alone with the final product of what can only be described as a viciously convoluted object-puzzle quest. You only hope it's worth it.