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<div style="text-align: center;"> ████████╗██╗ ██╗███████╗ ██████╗ ███████╗███████╗██╗ ██████╗███████╗ ╚══██╔══╝██║ ██║██╔════╝ ██╔═══██╗██╔════╝██╔════╝██║██╔════╝██╔════╝ ██║ ███████║█████╗ ██║ ██║█████╗ █████╗ ██║██║ █████╗ ██║ ██╔══██║██╔══╝ ██║ ██║██╔══╝ ██╔══╝ ██║██║ ██╔══╝ ██║ ██║ ██║███████╗ ╚██████╔╝██║ ██║ ██║╚██████╗███████╗ ╚═╝ ╚═╝ ╚═╝╚══════╝ ╚═════╝ ╚═╝ ╚═╝ ╚═╝ ╚═════╝╚══════╝ </div> <menu class="menu"> [[Start|start]] <<link 'Load Saved Game'>> <<ui 'saves'>> <</link>> [[Credits|credits]] <lined>Manual</lined> </menu>
Story [[Next|test2]] <<inv $backpack>>
[[Test]] <<first>>\ <<notify>>you pick up 10 wood and 5 stone<</notify>> <<pickup $backpack "wood" 10 "stone" 5>> <<then>>\ There is nothing of notice in this place. <<finally>>\ Now the floor has your prints <</first>><<first>><<then>>\ <</first>><<first>><<finally>>\ The floor is a dirt floor <</first>>\ <<newinv $loot>> <<pickup $loot "golden statue" 1 "health potion" 3>> <<inv $loot>>
You’ve just passed the security check, and now, alone in the elevator, you wonder what you're getting into. The sterile, beige walls of the elevator contrast the knot in your stomach. The paper you’ve signed, the official welcome packet, all felt like a strange formality. As the numbers tick up, the elevator seems to slow, and the air inside thickens—a subtle unease crawling up your spine. [[You say to yourself...|think1]] $gui
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>>
<menu class="menu"> <<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>> <<link 'Load Saved Game'>> <<ui 'saves'>> <</link>> [[Credits|credits]] <lined>Manual</lined> </menu>
[[start|main]] <-- start here [[debug]] <<set $gui to "<hr>" + "[[menu]] | [[inventory]] | [[quests]] | [[map]] | [[health tab]] | [[journal]]" + "<div style='text-align: right;'><<print $playerName>></div>"+ "<div style='text-align: right;'><<print $playerStatus>></div>"+ "<div style='text-align: right;'><<print $playerHealth>></div>"+ "<div style='text-align: right;'><<print $currentQuest>></div>"+ "<<nobr>>"+ "<<on 'keyup'>>"+ "<<which 27>>"+ " <<goto menu>>"+ "<</on>>"+ "<</nobr>>"+ "<<set $currentPassage = passage()>>" >> <<newinv $backpack>> <<set $backpack to Inventory.create()>> <<ui 'stow'>> <<set $currentPassage = passage()>> <<set $playerName = "N/D">> <<set $playerStatus = "N/D">> <<set $playerHealth = "N/D">> <<set $currentQuest = "N/D">>
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>> <<inv $backpack>>
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>>
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>>
The elevator halts. The doors open with an uncomfortably loud creak. <<fadein 5s>>[[Gnnnnneeek Skrunch|enterCorridor1]]<</fadein>> $gui
You’ve always wanted to do something more—something real, something important. And now, here you are, about to join Interpol’s most secretive division: the Anomalous Affairs Office. A team that deals with… well, what? You’ve read the reports, the unofficial files, the rumors. Cosmic entities, time distortions, mirrors that show future deaths. They sound like they belong in a science fiction novel. [[Ding.|endElevatorRide]] $gui
You step into a dimly lit hallway, and the smell hits you first—stale coffee and old paper, the faintest hint of something metallic. You’re not sure if it’s the building or something else. The hallway looks like it hasn’t been updated since the ’80s: flickering lights, creaking floorboards, and more than one door that looks like it leads to nowhere. There’s an odd energy in the air, like a faint hum beneath your feet. The walls pulse slightly—almost imperceptibly. At the end of the hall, a small sign reads: Anomalous Affairs Office—Authorized Personnel Only. You barely have time to think about what it might mean before a [[voice|meetDir]] cuts through the silence. $gui
In the cramped lobby, you’re greeted by a man who looks like he’s just survived a car crash—only, the wreckage might have been his career. His tie is slightly askew, his shirt wrinkled in that way people who don’t care about laundry have mastered. The man steps forward, extending a hand with the air of someone who wants nothing more than to be somewhere else. “Ah, yes. You must be the new recruit. I am the Director, Wells. Welcome to the AAO. Try not to touch anything.” His voice is deadpan, and the slight twitch in his eye betrays the fatigue only a thousand bureaucratic meetings can instill. “We don’t have much in the way of orientation, but we’ll get you sorted out. You’re gonna need a thick skin around here, trust me.” While saying that the Directors makes way to the last door on the right of the corridor and makes you sign to [[get inside.|enterDirOffice]] $gui
As he enters after you he gestures toward the chaos of the office. Stacks of papers, strange objects that look half-destroyed, and enough coffee mugs to drown a person in caffeine. It’s not what you expected—barely functional, like it’s been put together by people who’ve long since given up pretending that it works. "[[Sit, on that chair.|inter1]]" He motions to the chair across from his desk. $gui
"Before you dive into the madness, you need to answer a few questions," Welles mutters, sitting down and flipping through a thick stack of papers. "Just a formality. The Bureau likes to make sure we're not hiring lunatics... though that might be a bit of a requirement for this office." He looks up from the papers, fixing you with a [[dry stare.|inter2]] $gui
"What's you name?" Enter your name: <<textbox '$playerName' $playerName autofocus>> @@#error;@@ [[Confirm|inter3]] $gui
"You’re about to encounter things that defy logic and sanity. How do you cope with things that don't make sense?" He pauses, waiting for your answer. A few seconds pass, and you get the sense he’s judging more than just your words. The air is thick, and the silence almost feels like it has weight. [[I, I dont know, I never had such experience|inter4]] $gui
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>><<if $backpack.has('journal')>> ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ _______ _ _ _ │ │ |__ __| | | | | | │ │ | | | |__ ___ | | ___ _ _ _ __ _ __ __ _| | │ │ | | | '_ \ / _ \ _ | |/ _ \| | | | '__| '_ \ / _` | | │ │ | | | | | | __/ | |__| | (_) | |_| | | | | | | (_| | | │ │ |_| |_| |_|\___| \____/ \___/ \__,_|_| |_| |_|\__,_|_| │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ─[[Warnings|warning]] │ │ │ │ ─[[People|people]] │ │ │ │ ─[[Organizations|org]] │ │ │ │ ─[[Entities|entities]] │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘ <</if>>
"Don't worry, you will. If you saw a strange entity—say, a creature that bends space and time with its movements—how would you report it?" Welles leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. You can almost feel the weight of the question itself, as if it carries some hidden meaning. [[I would tell my superior.|inter5]] $gui
"Last one: You find something dangerous and unsettling in the field. Do you act on your own instincts, or do you report back immediately? And if you report, who do you trust?" The silence lingers after the last question. Welles leans back, tapping his pen against the desk, his expression unreadable. [[I... I don't think I understand the question.|inter6]] $gui
"Don’t think too hard about it," he finally says. "We're all a little broken here. Just make sure you don’t get too attached to your sanity." The burly man leans forward and extends a [[hand|inter7]] to you. $gui
As you shake his hand he says, “Welcome aboard kid.” [[Continue|firstday]] $gui
First Day Now you can use the journal and the inventory $gui <<first>>\ <<pickup $backpack "journal" 1>> <<notify>>journal added to inventory<</notify>> <<notify>>advancement unlocked: getting started<</notify>> <</first>>
[[firstday]]
[[Back|people]] [[Next|entities]]
[[Back|org]] Next
[[Back|cal]] [[Next|wel]] ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │┌────────────────────────┐ │ ││ ┌────────┐ │ Sylvia Graves │ ││ ┌┘ /‾‾\ └┐ │ │ ││ │ \ | │ │ Age: 29 │ ││ │ / │ │ │ ││ └┐ | ┌┘ │ Employment: Forensic Scientist │ ││ ┌┘ └┐ │ │ ││ │ () │ │ Severe black attire, spectacles, and a necklace made │ │└────────────────────────┘ from unidentifiable bone fragments. │ │ │ │ Her hair is perpetually messy, and her pockets bulge with arcane objects. │ │ │ │ Cryptic, eccentric, and utterly obsessed with eldritch knowledge. │ │ │ │ She’s both brilliant and reckless, often prioritizing curiosity over safety. │ │ │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 002│ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
[[Back|people]] [[Next|syl]] ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │┌────────────────────────┐ │ ││ ┌────────┐ │ Calvin "Cal" Turner │ ││ ┌┘ /‾‾\ └┐ │ │ ││ │ \ | │ │ Age: 37 │ ││ │ / │ │ │ ││ └┐ | ┌┘ │ Employment: Agent │ ││ ┌┘ └┐ │ │ ││ │ () │ │ Disheveled, perpetually rumpled trench coat, five │ │└────────────────────────┘ o’clock shadow, and wild eyes. │ │ │ │ He carries a notebook filled with nonsensical diagrams, notes, and doodles │ │ of eldritch horrors. │ │ │ │ Cynical, darkly humorous, and deeply paranoid. │ │ │ │ He hides his fear under bravado, often suggesting violent or absurd solutions │ │ to anomalies. │ │ │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ │ │ 001│ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
[[Back|syl]] Next ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │┌────────────────────────┐ │ ││ ┌────────┐ │ Lars Welles │ ││ ┌┘ /‾‾\ └┐ │ │ ││ │ \ | │ │ Age: 56 │ ││ │ / │ │ │ ││ └┐ | ┌┘ │ Employment: Director │ ││ ┌┘ └┐ │ │ ││ │ () │ │ Overweight, perpetually sweating, and always carrying │ │└────────────────────────┘ an overstuffed briefcase. │ │ │ │ His tie is askew, and his desk is littered with coffee cups and unopened files. │ │ │ │ Apathetic and career-focused, he’s more concerned with budget reports than eldritch │ │ horrors. │ │ │ │ Prefers to delegate (and avoid responsibility). │ │ │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ +++? │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ 003│ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
[[Back|journal]] [[Next|org]] ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ _____ _ │ │ | __ \ | | │ │ | |__) |__ ___ _ __ | | ___ │ │ | ___/ _ \/ _ \| '_ \| |/ _ \ │ │ | | | __/ (_) | |_) | | __/ │ │ |_| \___|\___/| .__/|_|\___| │ │ | | │ │ |_| │ │ │ │ │ │ ─[[Calvin "Cal" Turner|cal]] │ │ │ │ ─[[Sylvia Graves|syl]] │ │ │ │ ─[[Lars Welles|wel]] │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
<<link "Back">><<goto $currentPassage>><</link>>
[[Back|journal]] ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │ │ │ │ │ __ __ _ │ │ \ \ / / (_) │ │ \ \ /\ / /_ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ __ __ _ │ │ \ \/ \/ / _` | '__| '_ \| | '_ \ / _` | │ │ \ /\ / (_| | | | | | | | | | | (_| | │ │ \/ \/ \__,_|_| |_| |_|_|_| |_|\__, | │ │ __/ | │ │ |___/ │ │ │ │ │ │ Do not attempt to destroy this journal it will reappear, usually somewhere │ │ inconvenient, like your fridge or under your pillow. │ │ │ │ Occasionally, the journal may preemptively update with your obituary do not │ │ panic unless the date changes mid-reading. │ │ │ │ Do not lend this journal to colleagues. It is bound to you and will become │ │ aggressively uncooperative in anyone else’s hands. │ │ │ │ The journal’s map feature may display locations that do not exist yet. │ │ Exercise caution if visiting them. │ │ │ │ If the journal starts writing about you without your input, consider │ │ taking a personal day. │ │ │ │ The journal cannot lie but it has a cruel sense of humor. Interpret its │ │ entries wisely. │ │ │ │ │ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘