text: [Themes: Science Fiction, music]
  
  > Look around
  Igor Cytserz's office is a fortified lair, characterized by poor air circulation, an inexplicable cauldron, and a lack of any kind of restroom. Igor almost exclusively rests within a fake leather couch, near a pressboard table.
  
  Cytserz and Puzzle are here.
  
  > look at Cytserz
  Cytserz, an eyesore, has his appearance dominated by a thick Unix beard. It suffocates other facial characteristics, people.
  
  > look at Puzzle
  Puzzle, Cytserz's pet, looks like somebody grabbed hold of a bearskin and proceded to cram both a snarling German Shepherd and a hundred copies of the Christmas City Spoiler into it. The only two things that Puzzle won't eat, given the slightest opportunity, are plain oysters in the shell and pleather.
  
  > examine the cauldron
  It's Cytserz's sole, begrudging nod towards letting some of his personality be seen in this place. The cauldron looks lifted straight from the foreboding part of a Shakespearian play. It probably holds about fifty gallons and is presumably filled with oysters... the same batch that you suspect you have been avoiding for years.
  
  > examine table
  Rather sizable. Actually, aside from the number of exits and your own person, everything in this room is rather sizeable.
  
  Sitting on the desk are the package and the Anarchist's Cookbook.
  
  > look at the cookbook
  You vaugely recall this book being an Internet meme from years ago, but you've never seen anyone print it out and get it hardbound. Cytserz has previously stated that he uses it as a reference for an included recipe on the preparation of oysters.
  
  > examine the oysters
  You have no idea how Cytserz eats these things. Literally -- how does he get his sizable mass off the couch and obtain them?
  
  > read cookbook
  You're sure you read it when you were 15.
  
  > take the oyster
  (Looking in cauldron first)
  
  Inside the cauldron is an oyster.
  
  Taken.
  
  > examine the couch
  Cytserz's couch only barely fits him and has sort of molded itself to his very particular body type. It's pleather.
  
  > give the oyster to Cytserz
  Cytserz totally refuses.
  
  > examine package
  About the size of a Rubik's cube.
  
  The package is closed -- taped shut.
  
  > take the package
  "Not yet, Vest," says Cytserz.
  
  > think about Igor
  Thinking of Cytserz reminds you of the following topics:
  students  puzzle
  
  > think about Cytserz
  Thinking of Cytserz reminds you of the following topics:
  students
  
  > Students
  "Yeah, you know I can't stand 'em," Cytserz says with spit coagulating in his palate. "I hate kids, generally speaking."
  
  "Really? You're not a family man that comes home to his beautiful, 95 pound wife each night? With a couple strapping young boys or anything?" In all your years of running packages for Cytserz, this is the first time you have ever had anything remotely resembling a personal conversation. And it's weird and uncomfortable and you wish it would stop, like when your lesbian aunt would give you a surprise backrub at family weddings.
  
  "Family has not been well, recently," says Cytserz. "Two of my brothers have recently passed away, one from cancer and the other from random violence. It has been, yes, a most difficult time." Cytserz sniffs the air a bit.
  
  "Well, I could use some hangers if you're dividing up stuff."
  
  > open the bottle
  Opened. Inside the bottle is the Safeway-Brand Discount Worcester sauce.
  
  > Smell sauce
  The scent of old oysters is intense and makes your stomach feel like it might erupt at any time.
  
  > taste oyster
  Whether an attempt to bond with Cytserz or through silent self-loathing, you eat the oyster. The oyster responds with joy! For whatever reason, oysters love getting eaten. You've never understood why.
  
  > Close bottle
  Closed.
  
  > take the package
  "Not yet, Vest," says Cytserz.
  
  > think about Igor
  Thinking of Cytserz reminds you of the following topics:
  violence
  
  > Violence
  "What kind of random violence are you talking about?" you ask Igor.
  
  "He was alone, out on the streets. I believe his wife said he was out to get cigars or nicotine patches. It depended... depended on the day. Someone came up to him and assaulted upon his skull. There were five, er, small bullet holes along his face. Police in this country, they could not determine the weapon used."
  
  "Like the caliber of the pistol or something?"
  
  "Nyet," says Cytserz, "They could not determine the weapon, at all. Take care of yourself, William. Pay attention to your health." A rare paternal moment, coming from Cytserz.
  
  "Like how? By eatin' more cauldrons of oysters?" You gesture over to the cauldron. You hope the gesture reminds him of how preposterous it is to have a vat of oysters in one's office, like how you can see your paintings again by rearranging them.
  
  "...Fill me in here, Cytserz."
  
  Cytserz toys with the package on his desk, thus silently indicating through gangster etiquette that it's okay to bring the entire point of your visit up.
  
  > Package
  "Yeah, not going to be a package for you today, Vest. That's not at all why yer here. More to do with fate than anything else."
  
  > Fate
  "Surely you know the old tale." Cytserz throws his head back and laughs. You hear his chins unwind and compress like a cartoon accordion. He mimes flipping through a stack of several bills close to his ear. He doesn't do the 'fffffffftffffph' sound, though.
  
  "The important part for you, Vest, is that the threads of Fate all got snipped at the end!"
  
  Cytserz starts the long, slow process of evacuating his chair of his person. He's never even remotely expressed a desire to leave it in all the time you've known him. The smell of the cauldron takes on an even worse stench with the stress in the air - it wouldn't take much for you to begin delivering goulash down Rainbow Street, if you're following.
  
  > Vomit
  The entire strip steak you slid down your throat comes back up. So does a lot of stomach fluid and Jolt cola, but the steak makes up the bulk of the pie puke chart you just sort of unleashed.