[CYA v.1] The Lost Girl (Martee & James Moriarty)

[James Moriarty]

JM's Ad Hoc, Custom, Seat-of-the-pants Choose Your Own Adventure system, Version One.  The rules will be enhanced on the fly.

Rules:

• Godmoding: Will happen all the time
• GM: Speaks in 2nd person
• Player: Speaks in 1st person
• Turns: Each turn, the GM will move the main story line along by describing the consequences of anything that happened before and presenting a new circumstance.  At the end of his post, he will present two or more options.  Each turn, the Player will respond to the options by choosing one and describing how and in what fashion she will explore that option.  It is expected that the Player will make reasonable guesses as to the outcomes of basic actions, but will not make overall consequence-deciding contributions.

~~

You wake to the familiar bleating of the alarm at your bedside.  Tapping sleepily at the "dismiss" button that shows on the OLED screen of your gorgeous new Windows 8.1 phone, you roll over onto your stomach, groaning.  You take a deep breath and look around.

You worked hard for the one bedroom flat on the Upper West Side, delighted both by its proximity to the American Museum of Natural History and the Park, as well as by the unusually large space for the price.  When you landed the position as VP of Engineering at Virtual Reality Systems, Inc., you were on Cloud Nine.  A start-up that had taken the world by storm with its new Virtual Reality Simulation System, Embedded (tm), you had been eager not just to join as an early member of a rising star tech hit, but also because you were intrigued by what such a technology would mean for the world.  At 6am on a Monday morning, the thought certainly crosses your mind that you wish you could just virtually get out of bed.

The warm sun streams in early morning oranges through half-open windows and translucent drapes facing East towards the Park from the top floor of your five story brownstone.  The air is surprisingly warm already -- a perfect start to an early Fall day.  You can hear the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional raised human voice from a nearby apartment.  The walls are reasonably thick, but early morning during school season can definitely be a little loud sometimes.

You're a little surprised, now that it occurs to you, that you haven't seen your cat this morning.  In fact, it's more than that -- everything feels a little bit strange this morning, though you can't put your finger on exactly why.  You are dressed in your night shirt, a large cotton thing that falls all the way to your knees, and your undergarments as you rise, and the large, Persian rug that covers most of the dark, hardwood floor feels soft under your feet as you swing yourself out of bed.  Creaking floorboards protest in a familiar way under this new disturbance as you make your way to greet the day.

~~

You can:

A.  Turn on the TV in the bedroom and begin preparing yourself to get out and head towards mid-town to the office.

B.  Turn on the TV in the bedroom and begin looking for your cat.

C.  Skip TV and make yourself a more homey breakfast and read the paper at the table.

[Martee]

I wish I hadn't stayed up so late last night working. Setting the alarm for 6am didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time, but right now I could use another few hours of sleep. Actually, I really shouldn't complain.  Nine times out of ten, Axel would've had me up half an hour earlier, curling his nails into my shoulder in his own special feline way of greeting - before yowling his way to the food bowl. Cats... so demanding.

I should feed him.  God only knows what shoes or furniture he'll destroy while I'm at work if I don't.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something.  Did I have an early meeting I'm forgetting?  Is it someone's birthday? I shake my head to clear it a bit and try to ignore the unsettled sensation gnawing at the back of my brain.  If there's something important I'm forgetting, my planner app will chirp and let me know.

I cross in front of the dresser and without thinking, pick up the remote and aim it more or less in the direction of the TV, turning it on.  I don't know why I do that - force of habit, I guess.  It's not like I have time to sit and watch the morning news while having a leisurely breakfast - VRS doesn't exactly keep banker's hours, after all.  That's all right.  The long hours will be worth it in the end, and I can always grab a bagel from Sal's coffee cart on my way to the office.

For now, I need to find that damn cat and feed him.



Choice:

B.  Turn on the TV in the bedroom and begin looking for your cat.

[James Moriarty]

You can hear the droning of an early morning talk show as you move around the apartment.  The studio audience cued laughs and animated voices of the talking heads are interspersed with short news segments and op ed pieces.  Thinking to look for your cat where you normally feed him, you enter your dimly lit kitchen and turn on the overhead fluorescent light.

It's not a small kitchen by Manhattan standards -- large enough for a small table and two chairs.  You haven't had very much time to spend in the kitchen in so long with everything that has been happening in your life.  These musings are interrupted by a troubling discovery -- not only is your cat not here, his food bowl and water are also simply missing.  You frown and rub your sleepy morning eyes, wondering if you had perhaps forgotten to take the bowls out of the sink where you might have washed them.  Idly calling quietly for Axel, you leave the kitchen and head back into the bedroom where you can get dressed while trying to remember what on Earth you did with his food bowls.

Something from the television catches your ear and you sit on the end of the bed watching as you pull on your clothes for the day.  The talking heads are discussing some news about Rift Oculon, Inc, the competitor to VRS, and so you listen intently.  Though the details are predictably vague, they seem to be hinting that RO has leaked a demo of an early prototype of their own VRS and that by all accounts, they seem to have stumbled on something utterly revolutionary.

Just then you hear a familiar meow and Axel jumps onto your lap and begins kneading your thigh with his sharp claws.  You turn to scold him but still rub him behind his ears.  When you turn back to the television, they are now discussing Robin Thicke's new album.  Curious about what RO might be up to, you file away the thought that you'll have to follow up on this at work today.

~~

You can:

A.  Hurriedly feed Axel and rush out the door to work.

B.  Turn on your laptop and see if there is anything on Engadget about RO's leaks.

C.  Watch some more TV and pet your cat before you try to do anything else.

[Martee]

Well, now I know why I didn't want to get out of bed this morning.  I can't believe we didn't see this coming. The office is going to be a madhouse, and everything is going to roll on up to my door.  I have to hand it to Rift Oculon - they're either really good at keeping their tech under wraps, or they've got a hell of a PR department.  It's probably a little of both, but either way, they've managed to catch the morning news circuit and that's a real coup.  VRS is a hot commodity in tech circles, but most of that doesn't trickle down to the proles. Average Joe will buy just about anything shilled in a puff-piece by pretty bobble-heads, even if the technology is vastly inferior to anything a competitor puts out.

I need to get a handle on this, and pronto.  As much as I'd love to sit down and see what the online buzz is, the fast is that ship has already sailed.  In fact, I'm kind of surprised my cell phone isn't already blowing up.  Maybe I'll have time to do a little recon when I get in to work before the questions start.  So of course, now that I'm in a hurry, His Royal Highness shows up.

Cats are really the most self-centered creatures. I think Axel does this on purpose - he's testing me, making sure his human is still fully devoted to his care and well-being.  I imagine it's kind of like a child running away to the backyard to see if mommy cares enough to look for them.  And then the cat thanks me with puncture wounds.

Unfortunately for kitty, if he hopes to remain in the high-end litter and chow to which he's grown accustomed, I need to get to work.  It's probably going to be a long day, so missing food bowls or not, I have to feed him now.



Choice:

A.  Hurriedly feed Axel and rush out the door to work.

[James Moriarty]

Axel stares at you woefully and offers a heart-wrenching meow as you slide out the door, laptop bag over one shoulder.  On your way out the door, you casually wave hello to the doorman as you have for months now.  He must be particularly distracted today, you muse as he looks at you almost quizzically and raises a hand in faint-hearted greeting. 

It is a brisk walk to the Columbus Circle station, the warming morning air fresh and crisp with an unusually high ratio of wholesome, natural smells to usual, city smells.  You are distracted with thoughts of work as you make your way South along the park.  You idly slip one hand into your coat pocket to make sure that your MetroCard is there.  Finding the flimsy rectangle, you extract it to absent-mindedly look at it, verifying that it is indeed your current, active card.  A small symbol in bright red catches your eye -- a triangle with an arrow pointing in from the top and another arrow pointing out from the right side -- near the top left of the card.  You hadn't ever noticed this symbol before and you curl your lips quizzically.  You shake your head, wondering at the things we don't even notice about the world around us.

The people around you are in a typical Manhattan rush to where ever it is they are going.  In the normalcy of that frenetic activity, something nags at the edge of your consciousness.  Something that your brain is telling you isn't quite right.  A sensation of familiarity with that strangeness arises, and you realize you felt that way when you were watching the morning talk show on television in your apartment.

~~

You can:

A.  Hurry onward to work, ignoring the strangeness you're feeling for the moment in your eagerness to get to work.

B.  Stop and sit on a bench near the Circle and just watch the world around you for a few minutes while drinking a cup of coffee from the nearby Starbucks.

C.  Pull your phone out of your pocket and read the front page of your news feed to see if any more news has surfaced about RO.

[Martee]

It just doesn't seem right to feel so strange on such a gorgeous day.  I should really try to just enjoy it - this sort of weather doesn't last long here, and something tells me I'm going to be putting in a lot of long hours in the days and weeks ahead.  The news about Rift Oculon has me completely out of sorts.  I can't help but wonder how we could have missed our biggest competitor blowing past us in the virtual reality technology race.  But then, considering I can't even recall clearly what my MetroCard looks like - and I use it every day - I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.  After all, it's not like VRS crows to the press every time we make a little progress on our top-secret projects.

The smell of fresh-brewed java hits me like a ton of delicious, caffeinated bricks; it's a struggle to keep from turning around and getting in the queue for a steaming grande drip with room for cream. Unlike most people, I don't ever specify that they leave room 'at the top.'  I mean, where else are they going to leave room in a cup?  The liquid is always going to fall to the bottom, amirite?  Anyway - if the line had been a little shorter, I might have gone for a much-needed caffeine fix, but I really shouldn't make any unnecessary stops. I should also probably get a better idea of what I'm going to be dealing with once I'm actually at work.  The ride downtown isn't long, but I might as well make use of the time.  It would probably be a good idea to save a few key webpages for offline reading before I completely lose my cell signal underground.  



Choice:

C.  Pull your phone out of your pocket and read the front page of your news feed to see if any more news has surfaced about RO.

[James Moriarty]

The smell of coffee so close by yet just out of reach is like a Siren's song, but like Ulysses you resist.  You opt instead to get more information on what is happening and hurry to the office.

As you head towards the subway, you pull out your phone and pull up your news feed app of choice -- feed.ly -- and take a look at what's going on.  You are a little unnerved -- but not surprised -- to see that there is a substantial amount of buzz around Rift and the so-far-vague teaser they have leaked about some new software they are calling a "revolution" in virtual reality.  You're a little surprised to see only one article about their main competitor and market leader so far, your company, VRS.  Pulling up the article, you frown.  Someone has made the relatively common but annoying mistake of referring to the former VP of Engineering whom you replaced -- Todd Buckner -- as the current one, quoting him liberally.  This would be much less irritating to you if he ever said anything that was really helpful, or even made any sense, really.  It's no wonder that he's now a "consultant on special products" for VRS, essentially the politically correct way in tech of putting a guy out to pasture.

You arrive at the subway station entrance and have time to pull down one article to read offline while you are on the train.

~~

You can choose to read:

A.  VRS:  One step forward, two steps back? -- Engadget

B.  Rift's CTO, Geanie Sandwood, teases a new kind of gaming -- Gizmodo

C.  Is Rift ahead of its time?  -- Ars Technica

[Martee]

Well, this is just getting better and better. RO is everywhere online.  My stomach clenches and now I'm glad I skipped the coffee.  I don't think I'm going to need any caffeine after all - adrenaline is currently doing a good job of keeping my brain sharp.  A small part of my brain is beginning to wonder why no one has bothered calling me yet this morning - I mean, this sort of my thing at VRS - and so seeing Todd's name pop up in the only article I can find about our company sets me right on edge.  I start to scan the article but stop myself; it's only going to piss me off, and I still have intel to gather.

If I hurry I can make the express, which means I'm only going to have time to grab one article.  The search results show a dismaying number of new articles about RO, although I know most of them are just relays from other sites.  I can tell from Engadget's headline that they're still firmly on the Rift Oculon bandwagon.  There's really nothing worse than fanboi bloggers masquerading as unbiased, serious pundits.  Next.  Gizmodo isn't quite as bad about it, but if I ever wanted to hear what that windbag Geanie Sandwood had to say, I'd stick my wet finger in an electric outlet to shock myself back into sanity first.

Ars Technica would probably have exactly the information I was looking for.  Their articles tended to be well-researched and informative, rather than just poorly-disguised advertorials.  I clicked the link and waited for the download.



Choice:

C.  Is Rift ahead of its time?  -- Ars Technica

[James Moriarty]

Is Rift ahead of its time?

"VirtUal reality" companies have come and gonR since the web boom of the laTe 1990s.  Anyone who has followed the industRy knows thaAt such companies have faced an intense uphill battle, with the pPromise of such technologP -- and the even greater dreams of what levEls it could reach as representeD in seminal cyberpunk fiction -- far outstripping the capabilities of current hardware and software.  ThIs disconnect between the visioN and the reality has led To company after company reacHing the market with inferior product and quicklE failing, running out of capital long before anything remotely consumer-friendly could be produced.

But in the last few yearS, several advYnces in display technology, haptic feedback Systems, parallel programming and even wireless network speeds have combined to produce an overall synergy thaT can seem to be greater than its parts.  It is in this new environment that we find Rift Oculon and Virtual Reality Systems, Inc, two hardwarE and software powerhouses with entirely different takes on what "virtual reality" Means and how it is supposed to work.

VRS has taken a novel approach with embeddables -- small, biologically neutral objects that can "hack into" the human nervous system at the nerve level and create a novel, programmed experience in the host.  Rift Oculon has taken a very dIfferent approach, with a wireless, remote projection transmitter that interferes with the brain at the neurotransmitter level and targets sensory regions to project the experience into the mind of a target person.  Both approaches have shown amazing early results, but both of them face hurdles that seCm nearly insurmountable with current technology.  Some have offered the hypothesis that eAch company seems to be using some very proprietary tech that would actually help its competitor with its problems.  This has caused rampaNt speculation that a merger may be the future of these giants, though botH companies today fiercely disavow such a possibility.

Rift Oculon today has lEaked a date and made some vague but aggressive claims.  "October 31st."  "A Revolution of the Mind."  "Enter a New World."  "Join Millions in the Game."  The ads have appeared everywhere with no additional details except for a Link to the RO website, which is silent on any changes.  Such hyperbole has not been seen since the Segway, and we all know how that went.P

Some have offered the guess that RO has finally solved the neural barrier problEM, a problem that VRS seems somehow to have solved with its embeddable technology.  The basic idea is that there is a certain, difficult to calculate "neural imPedance" -- a gross, braIn-level pattern that has long seemed computationally impossible to cRack.  A simple way to think of this is like a chEcksum -- somehow, the brain as a whole Seems to reject new sensory inpuTs unless the state of the whole brain is in a globally consistent state.  Somehow, VRS seems to hAve overcome this barrier while RO continues to sTruggle, even though expErts say that the problem is no different at the nerve level than at the neurotransmitter leveB.

So the qUestion at hand is: has RO really made some kInd of breakthrough and even if they have, can it really finalLy put Virtual Reality on the map of legitimate, useful, entertaininD tech?  We won't really know untIl we see what happens in almost a moNth on the 31st.  But come join us in the comments for a discussion that's sure to be verGy lively.  02-06-2012

~~

A.  Ponder this message while heading to work, taking the subway over and then hurrying through the brisk walk to your 55th Street building.

B.  Choose another destination and means of getting there.  Fill in the blanks.

C.  Get that coffee after all, this is getting way too weird.

[Martee]

I manage to get the article downloaded and hurry down into the crowded subway, unconsciously weaving through the correct turnstiles and tunnels to get to my train. Queueing up on the platform, I bring up the Ars Technica piece and frown.  The file must have gotten corrupted. Some of the text is garbled - not enough to make the article impossible to read, but annoying nonetheless.

It's heartening to see that there's almost as much visual real estate given to VRS as there is to Rift Oculon, especially considering the title of the piece.  Less heartening is the fact that there's little in the way of new reporting.  There's nothing in the article I don't already know, and I involuntarily smirk at the conjecture about a possible merger between the two companies.  Not likely.  Of course, stranger things have happened - but the divide between our technology and... whatever it is RO has allegedly come up with is just too great.  It's not unlike the great VHS/Betamax rivalry of yore - in the end, there can be only one.

Hopefully, that one will be VRS.

I guess I should be glad there's not anything earth-shattering being reported.  That means this really could all just be a publicity stunt, and while it may help RO with some market visibility in the short term, in the long run all the hype will amount to nothing more than vaporware. 

I hate walking into a situation not knowing what to expect.  I'm antsy as the subway stutters cross-town, finally disgorging me along with what feels like the entire rest of the subway car on the grungy underground platform. In typical city fashion, I duck my head and fight through the surging crowd up the various staircases and through turnstiles until I'm back up at street level.  The walk to the office isn't long, and so I slip into mass of humanity moving along Manhattan's extra-wide sidewalks and head over to my building.

Despite my urgency to get to the office, I can't explain why, as I pass the entrance to the N-Q-R, I have the wildest inclination to head down a grab the train to 34th street. Silly.  This was no time for sight-seeing at the Empire State Building. Why would I even think that?



Choice:

A.  Ponder this message while heading to work, taking the subway over and then hurrying through the brisk walk to your 55th Street building.

[James Moriarty]

The subway ride itself is relatively uneventful.  You notice advertisements of events taking place at the Empire State Building plastered on every backlit surface of the ads area of the subway car.  Had you never noticed before how so many meetups and art events and health services were located there?  Of all the things on your mind this morning, this one is probably the least concerning.

The building whose 12th through 16th floors houses VRS is a tall, grey affair, typical of the Fortune 1000 sorts of businesses who tend to make their homes here.  Attractive and imposing, it is an impressive place to find oneself entering even having been there for a while.  There is a constant flow of people swinging through the revolving door, and you get yourself inserted into the flow and find yourself in the large, open lobby.  The floor and walls are marble, and before you to your left is a wide security desk with several people sitting, watching screens, and to the right of that are the security paths -- six rows of metal turnstile stands with card scanners on the right and bright green and red lights to signal permission to enter.

As usual, you snag your badge from your purse and head straight for the first empty lane -- surprisingly, your card scans and the light glows bright red and beeps at you.  Frowning, you try again and again it burns red.  Now you have attracted the attention of a security guy who waves you over.

"Card," he says, and scans your card.  A puzzled look.  "That's strange.  This card has an ID we don't have in our system."  He taps his chin then shrugs.  "Happens all the time.  I can give you a guest card and you can head up to...  VRS and get this all squared away."



A.  Nod and go through the process of getting a guest badge and head straight up to VRS.

B.  Ask the man what exactly his computer is telling him about your badge and whether they have your name on file.

C.  Make a snarky remark about computer systems and act genially exasperated, agreeing reluctantly to the process of being demoted to a guest of VRS.

[Martee]

A strange mix of relief and apprehension fight for dominance in my gut as I approach the building that houses VRS.  Everything appears normal, although I don't really know what I was expecting - a crowd of VRS employees standing at the revolving doors pulling at their hair anxiously awaiting my arrival?  That would be silly. No, the faceless legion swarming around me is much the same as any other day, heedless of the potential turmoil that is no doubt percolating a dozen floors above their heads.  The realization is suddenly. strangely comforting.

That is, until I attempt to gain entry into the building.  I'm barely paying any attention to the card-swipe procedure, and why would I?  I've never had a problem before.  In retrospect, I'm glad I didn't stop for breakfast, given how hard I walk into the immobile turnstile.  Had I been holding a cup of coffee, it most certainly would have gone flying.

I have half a mind to just scooch on over the offending metal bar, but security is already hot on the case.  I don't recognize the guard who takes my card, but then, I don't really pay them a whole of attention typically. The thought elicits a tiny pang of guilt considering I pass them at least twice a day, every day.  I make a mental note to pay more attention to the security people from here on out.  Thankfully, my aloofness and ignorance isn't held against me - despite a fairly significant glitch in the security system, he offers me a guest pass to get up to my floor.

"Hang on a sec," I tell him. "I already know it's going to be a bad day at the office.  Think maybe this is a sign I should just go back home to bed?  I mean, if somebody upstairs is revoking my access..."

Unfortunately, the guard just shakes his head, smiling, as he hands over the badge and offers a sympathetic, "Good luck, ma'am."

I give him my best 'woe-is-me' face and sigh as I turn back towards the turnstiles. This time it offers no resistance, clanking around smoothly and disgorging me in front of the gleaming, bustling elevator foyer.  Back into my routine, I slip into the queue for the sub-20 floors and wait for an elevator to arrive.


Choice:

C.  Make a snarky remark about computer systems and act genially exasperated, agreeing reluctantly to the process of being demoted to a guest of VRS.

[James Moriarty]

The lobby of VRS is chic and well-appointed -- the couches and end tables are done in VRS logo colors, and where soft fabrics and plush pillows don't cover, everything is in gleaming chrome and carbon fiber veneer.  Everything is familiar -- even the receptionist, a young, attractive woman with a sharp, efficient look to her.  You realize that you'll need to go through her to get into the office since the guest pass is for the building and not for any particular company.  Not remembering her name, you approach her with a smile and show your guest pass with a guilty, "whoops," look, hoping she'll recognize you and the situation and help you.  Instead, though, she looks at you blankly and with some amount of confusion and says simply, "How can I help you?"

You're relatively new to VRS, sure, but you are certain that there have been plenty of company meetings already where everyone must have seen you -- hell, you spoke at the last two.  Recovering quickly, you explain that you're Calliope Techne, VP of Engineering, and that security told you that the system downstairs had lost your record.  Now you seem to have triggered an entirely new reaction in the woman watching you, as her face is now shifting between a look of "oh, I see, this is some kind of a joke," and, "why do I always get the crazy ones?"

"Todd Buckner is the VP of Engineering of VRS, ma'am," she says in a carefully neutral tone.  You look at her in shock.  Is she just daft, or maybe back from a very long leave of absence?  Did someone put her up to playing some kind of elaborate practical joke?  Today wasn't a good day for jokes, and you don't really have time for open-ended delays.  So you take a deep breath and



A.  Calmly ask her to look in the system for your name and position and wait for her to realize her mistake.

B.  Launch into a detailed exposition of how Buckner was moved to special projects, how the board did a search, found you, hired you, list your hire date, so that she realizes she must be wrong and finds what she needs to know and fixes your badge.

C.  Ask to speak to someone who knows what he or she is talking about -- such as Henry Case, the CEO of VRS.

[Martee]

If there is any upside at all to having my building access accidentally revoked, it's that I am granted a temporary, if fleeting, reprieve from worrying about the looming RO debacle.  Unfortunately those thoughts all come roaring back as I speed up to the floors housing VRS, so that it doesn't even occur to me that I'll face yet another obstacle once I reach reception.  By now I'm so anxious to get to my office that I don't even have time to register any guilt over not knowing the receptionist's name, either. The feeling is clearly mutual; much like the erroneous newsfeed earlier, she is under the mistaken notion that Buckner is still the VP of Engineering.

My patience is nearing an end, and I haven't even technically gotten into work yet.  Fighting the urge to raise my voice, I force a smile onto my face and suggest she check my credentials with Henry - Mr. Case, to her.  Hopefully invoking the CEO's name will help get this corporate guard dog off my back.



Choice:

C.  Ask to speak to someone who knows what he or she is talking about -- such as Henry Case, the CEO of VRS.

[James Moriarty]

The internal tug-of-war going on inside the receptionist is now perfectly plain.

On the one hand, the lady in front of her is clearly not in the mood to have to deal with a problem of mistaken identity.  Also, she clearly knows something about the company if she is asking for Case.  None of the obvious signs of lunacy have yet raised their ugly heads, and as a New Yorker, she has excellent radar for obvious insanity.

On the other hand, if she calls the CEO from his desk to handle a crackpot, she could be risking her job, or at the very least a lot of extra time collating tax forms.  Her mouth slightly open as she bats the tennis ball of indecision from one side of the court to another, she looks almost like an android about to suffer a system crash.

Then she recovers, smiling as she lifts the receiver and after a pause, "Mr. Case.  A woman is here to see you.  Calliope Techne.  No, sir.  Alright.  Yes.  Thank you."  She sets down the phone and raises her eyes to you with an inscrutable look.  "Please have a seat.  Mr. Case will be out momentarily."  Though you're frustrated at being put through a wait, at least it seems as though he is about to come fix things up.  It's a little bit puzzling that you're being asked to cool your heels in the lobby, but still, the entire morning has been a little odd, and you have other things to worry about.

It doesn't take long before Henry Case enters the lobby and walks up to you with a smile.  He extends his hand and says, "Hello, I'm Henry Case.  It's nice...  Oh, sorry.  I mean, could you come with me?  I'd like to... ah, sit down and... let's talk."  There's something hesitant about his demeanor and he seems surprisingly flustered.  Of considerably greater concern, his greeting doesn't make any sense given that he just hired you a few months ago, and the look in his eyes is not one of recognition, but of... avarice?  Something isn't right.



A.  Take Case up on his offer to talk to try and figure out just what is going on.

B.  Push Case on the spot by confronting him about your problem with security and ask him point blank to fix it, now.

C.  Make an excuse to get five minutes to yourself before deciding what to do next.

[Martee]

I only barely manage to withhold a look of pure 'I told you so' from the receptionist when she announces Henry will be right out. There's just something in the way she is looking at me that overrides the inclination. I make a mental note to bring her some flowers for her desk once everything settles down, and step back a respectful distance.  The last thing I want to do is be caught sitting when Henry comes out.  It's bad enough I am now late, today of all days - I don't want to look like I'm casually lounging about as well when our competitor is making major waves.

Henry doesn't keep me waiting long,  but before he even says a word I can tell something is very wrong.  He's smiling, which seems innocent enough, but the introduction and offered handshake is completely off considering how closely we've been working for the last few months. Even worse, he seems even more off kilter than I am.  I can't imagine why he'd react that way unless there was something really troubling going on...

The invitation to talk cements it all in my mind.  The weird premonition this morning, my building access revoked, and now a 'talk' with the CEO? That's it.  I'm going to be fired.  I just know it.  Immediately I feel my heart rate spike and the palm of my hand go clammy in Henry's.  I can't believe this is happening.  There's a very good chance I might faint, actually.

As much as a part of me wants to just get in there and face my fate, I need a few minutes to compose myself.  The last impression I want to leave is one of teary-eyed defeat.

I'm sure I can excuse myself to pop into the ladies room for a minute (or ten) before meeting the CEO in his office.



Choice:

C.  Make an excuse to get five minutes to yourself before deciding what to do next.

[James Moriarty]

The bright, warm light and cool, clean marble of the restroom calms you.  Looking at yourself steadily in the silver-ornamented mirror, you pull yourself together.  Something is definitely wrong, and your mind races.  If you were going to be fired, why would Henry pretend to not even know you?  Was that some kind of act for the receptionist?  Did something happen with Rift that has caused him to have to put some kind of distance between you?  Perhaps he thinks that you are working for the competition -- some kind of corporate spy.  But still, that would have been handled by a courier with termination papers and a lawsuit.  You realize you're shaking and lean over to splash a little water on your face and try to clear your head.

When you stand up again, another woman has entered the room and comes to stand beside you, placing a small, ruby-red handbag on the vanity top and begins washing her hands.  She is striking -- pale white skin and jet black eyebrows and hair, dressed in a red dress perfectly matching her handbag -- and with matching lipstick, too, on her full, almost pouty lips.  If you didn't know better, you'd think she stepped right off the set of The Matrix.

You busy yourself with your own reflection, pulling back your hair and pretending to fuss with your makeup.  The woman next to you finishes washing her hands and turns to face you fully.  Suddenly a little uncomfortable, you risk a glance over your shoulder.  She has a difficult to read look -- somewhere between concern and amusement.  "Don't tell him anything," she says in a flat but commanding tone.  She gives you an entirely too significant look and begins to head out of the room.



A.  Let the woman go and finish calming yourself, considering her words while you head back in to meet with Case.

B.  Try to stop the woman -- who is she?  What does she mean?  How does she know you?  Does she know what is going on?

C.  Decide that this is getting much too strange and head out of the building to find a seat at the Starbucks around the corner and get a bit more time to think.

[Martee]

I'm starting to lose count of all the unexpected and unnerving things that have happened already today - and it's not even 9:00 a.m. Still, this lady takes the cake.  Ironic that the only person who seems to know me is someone I have never seen before in my life. I might have even been willing to overlook that if I had any idea at all what she was talking about. 'Don't tell him anything?'  What kind of advice is that? Don't tell who what?

And I had just managed to talk myself myself down from the edge of panic too. I mean, just look at me, freaking out over a washbasin in the ladies room for no good reason.  Sure, Henry was behaving oddly, but hadn't the news about Rift Oculus rattled me too?

Well, I'm tired of being rattled and confused.  I know I should just go meet with Henry, and start figuring out how VRS is going to answer RO's announcement, but I can't. I need to talk to someone, and that woman clearly has no issues with stating exactly what's on her mind.

I have to talk to her.



Choice:

B.  Try to stop the woman -- who is she?  What does she mean?  How does she know you?  Does she know what is going on?

[James Moriarty]

"Stop... please," you say, a hint of pleading sneaking into your voice.  It's very unlike you to feel helpless -- unlike you to be put in the position of reacting rather than managing the situation.  But by now you're reaching the point where you need to find a foothold -- some stability, a leverage point, a fulcrum you can pivot on to bring your life back under control.  You reach a hand out, touching her shoulder, not tentative but not completely confident, either.

For a brief moment you think that she is simply going to slip away, tugging from your fingers with one last confident step, disappearing forever on the other side of the bathroom door, which you now notice is also painted a strangely garish shade of red.  But though the fabric of her blouse does slide against your fingers as she takes a step, and though she doesn't yet turn to face you, she pauses, seemingly in thought.

Suddenly, the strangest faint sounds begin to echo in the brightly lit bathroom.  You hear what sounds like... is that a modem?  The odd, high-low-high-low-hiss sound that you remember from your first days with your 8086 computer in the basement of the house you grew up in makes your heart skip a beat -- confusion, recognition and waves of memories as vivid as day flitting through your head.  Then, so quiet and indistinct that in just moments you'll be sure it was just a dream, "I need you to close that port, Waverly, now -- the whole mission is in jeopardy.  Do it, or there..."

You didn't even notice that the woman has turned to face you.  She seems even paler than before -- in fact, all of the color seemed to have washed out of her.  Even her dark, thin eyebrows now seem dull.  She seems to struggle to talk.  "There's no time.  String Case along.  But don't tell him anything you wouldn't tell them."  She emphasizes that last word and widens her eyes in a way she clearly hopes will be significant to you.  She seems to stumble slightly and then hurries out of the door without another word.



A.  Take a deep breath.  Straighten your clothes.  March back into VRS and meet with Case.

B.  Follow a morbid hunch and try to place a phone call to someone you know.

C.  Decide that enough is enough and get the hell out of there; attempt to follow another lead of your choosing.

[Martee]

I don't really know how long I continued to stare after Paranoid Emo Lady left - long enough to sear a neon-bright afterimage of the door onto my retinas, at least. To say that things were getting weird was a vast understatement.  I was ready to question my very sanity, but then, hadn't I felt her shirt under my fingers?  Then again, I'd also heard the ghostly echo of an old-school modem handshake, and I know I heard other voices...

Did I?  Maybe I just thought I heard them.  Them.  That's what she'd said to me - warned me about them. But who were they?

Jesus christ.  I'm really losing it.  Next thing you know I'll be muttering about tinfoil hats and Area 51, and I won't have to worry about Mr. Case firing me because the nice men in scrubs will show up and fit me for my very own huggy jacket and make me feel all better. People will read about my breakdown online, the more opportunistic of them wondering when VRS will move to replace me. My alma mater will quietly remove the short bio and airbrushed portrait of me from the 'Notable Alumni' page...

That's it.  I need to call my old Faculty advisor and mentor.  Actually, that's selling Pegge - Dr. Pegge Larmett - a bit short.  While she did serve as a mentor and advisor for a while, she had since become a very supportive and wise friend.  In fact, I owe my current position with VRS to her.  She opened a lot of doors for me and gave me the encouragement I  needed to go for the VP position in the first place.  I suspect, rather strongly, she might have even pulled a string or two to land my CV in the right hands.  I couldn't afford to blow things now.  Maybe Pegge could offer a bit of sage advice on how to deal with my current predicament.

I fished my phone out of my pocket to call her.



Choice:

B.  Follow a morbid hunch and try to place a phone call to someone you know.

[James Moriarty]

"Hello?"  The familiar voice, kind and rich with experience, a gentle but always somehow amused alto.  At least this anchor to reality had not become unmoored.

"Pegge," you say, relief in your voice.  "I'm having the strangest day."

A pause on the other end.  "Who is this?" she asks, the smile still in her voice.

"Pegge, it's me, Calliope."  Your voice falters slightly and your heart starts to thump harder in your chest.  A long pause and the crackle of a wireless connection.  Though the pause is short in seconds, it feels like it lasts forever, stretching in time and space as you experience a kind of vertigo, feelings tightening in your chest and throat.  The tension is like the shell of a balloon inflated just a little bit too far, now teetering on the edge of complete and utter structural failure, a loud, destructive 'pop' just on the other side of that crisp threshold of time.

"Calliope Techne," she says, her voice lilting in recognition.  "How are you?  What is going on that is so strange?"

It doesn't take you long to recount the oddities of your day -- they are dramatic, but actually few in number.  Your voice is shaky by the end of your story, the several minutes seeming to drag on and your throat raw with the combination of narrative and the confusion you're choking on.  It's also an incredible relief to be talking to someone so important -- a relief, in fact, to just be talking to someone you know who seems to know you back.  Her next words throw you for another loop.

"Calliope," she begins, clearly choosing her words carefully.  "I have always been a firm believer in following the hypothesis with an unfettered mind.  Like Professor Data in 'All Good Things...'  Now, I can clearly see that things are strange for you right now -- and from my vantage point, I can't explain them.  I even appear to be in a unique position to see a few things that you do not -- which is itself a strange coincidence, considering your call."  A thoughtful pause.  "This is an investigation now, Calliope, one that you're in the driver's seat for.  You have the resources you need to figure this all out -- this I am certain of.  Center yourself and follow each lead as it appears to you.  The nearest one is Case, so you must seize that opportunity.  I strongly suspect that the next one will show itself rather quickly after that."  The smile returns to her voice.  "You have always had a sharp mind, dear, the sharpest I've had the delight to teach.  You're going to figure this out.  Funny -- this is like one of those moments from 'Jacob's Ladder' where Robbins is with Danny Aiello, isn't it?  Well, one can only hope."  A beautiful laugh.

Though you're not entirely sure you followed everything she said, her advice was clear.  After a few brief pleasantries, the call is over and you're left with a choice.



A.  Take a deep breath.  Straighten your clothes.  March back into VRS and meet with Case.

B.  Decide that enough is enough and get the hell out of there; attempt to follow another lead of your choosing.

C.  Opt out of deciding immediately and leave the building to find the nearest Starbucks for a rejuvenating cup of coffee.

[Martee]

I know it's crazy, but I'm half expecting Pegge to hang up when she hears it's me - or worse, act as if she doesn't know who I am.  The relief that floods through me when it's clear she does remember me is overwhelming - and ridiculous. Of course Pegge knows who I am.  And even better than that - she confirms how very odd things seem, once I explain the situation.

I'm not quite sure what she means by being in a unique position to see a few things I do not - but I really don't have time to question it.  Anyway, she's helped get me back on track. I do need to speak with Henry Case, and I've put it off too long already. I make a mental note to call her again, and soon - maybe a nice lunch to catch up once all this business with Rift Oculon was cleared up.

A quick splash of water on my face and I'm ready to face the music.  I try to put thoughts of them - whoever they are - out of my mind, and compose myself for what is likely to be a very difficult conversation with the CEO.



Choice:

A.  Take a deep breath.  Straighten your clothes.  March back into VRS and meet with Case.

[James Moriarty]

Girded for the strangeness you feel must be right around the corner, you march back into the lobby of VRS and are startled to see that Henry Case is still there, still standing near the reception desk and watching as you enter -- as though he hadn't moved at all while you were gone.  Though this catches you off-guard -- and makes your stomach wobble a little bit -- you don't show it one bit, smiling now with renewed purpose.  The conversation with your old friend, however odd it may have been in parts, has reoriented you and given you new determination.

Case smiles at you warily, in an odd contrast with his natural charm -- which you can also sense -- and invites you in through the door that you know leads out into the main interior hall that runs the length of this side of the building.  You realize in seconds that he is leading you straight into his office, and after you enter, he closes the door softly behind you and moves to sit behind his desk, clasping his hands serenely before him on his polished cherry wood desk.

For a moment, the silence begins to stretch uncomfortably.  Case is smiling somewhat stiffly and looking at you, the pads of his fingers softly tapping together, as though he is waiting for you to say something.  Then suddenly, his face animates into a more comfortable grin and he whistles softly.  "What a day this is shaping up to be, hm?"



A.  Play it cool -- match his small talk with small talk, let him guide the conversation for now.

B.  Go straight for an important question of your choosing.

[Martee]

I practically trip over my own feet when the sight of Henry standing there, waiting for me, stops me in my tracks.  I guess it's a good thing I didn't try to sneak on out after all - that would have been awkward... 

I'm feeling a lot better after talking with Pegge, but she's always been good at redirecting my energy into more productive tasks.  I'm almost eager to sit down with Henry and get to the bottom of things now. Thankfully, he doesn't waste any time leading the way, although I can't shake the feeling that something is really off about him.  He's not usually a weird kind of guy, at least not in my interactions with him, and today just doesn't strike me as the kind of day for goofing off.  Stress does weird things to people, though.

Thankfully, there's no one else in his office.  I had half-expected someone from HR or Legal to be sitting there, waiting, with the requisite manila folder and red-and-white striped 'Confidential' envelope in hand.  But no, it's just Henry and myself... weird, anxious Henry Case.  I offer him my own smile, but it doesn't seem to get through.

I can't help myself - I give the office a quick look around, to see if someone is hiding in the corner with a gun trained on him or something. Why is he smiling like that?  It's super creepy.  And the way he's just expecting me to speak up - am I supposed to apologize or something for forgetting my badge?  I didn't lose it at a Tech conference or anything, I just left it at home.  Maybe I should look back through the employee policy guide and see what sort of corporate felony-level infraction I've committed.

The whistling nearly startles me from the chair. I can feel my eyes widen even as I fight to keep a more neutral look on my face. At least it's not the Twilight Zone theme. He makes some innocuous comment about the type of day it is, and it suddenly strikes me that maybe I'm not the only person having an off morning. Still - he's my boss, and we're at the edge of a possible PR crisis.  It's probably not going to do me any favors if I start asking nutty questions of my boss.  I definitely need to feel out the situation a bit more first. 

This time when I smile back, I make sure to nod my head a little, giving Henry some serious, 'I know what you mean,' eyes. "Yes," I respond, in precisely the tone necessary to convey my deep understanding and solidarity with... whatever it is he's dealing with, while subtly coaxing him to go on. "It is shaping up to be some day."  

"And bright!" I tack on, squinting at the shafts of sunlight reflecting off windows across the avenue.  It probably wouldn't hurt to lend a positive spin to things right from the outset.



Choice:

A.  Play it cool -- match his small talk with small talk, let him guide the conversation for now

[James Moriarty]

Your comment that it's a bright day appears to catch Case slightly off-guard, a blank look greeting it for just the briefest of moments -- almost as though you were talking to someone who didn't speak English as a first language, and who was translating in his head before reacting.  Almost as though you were typing into a laggy computer console whose network connection was just not 100% right.

"Bright!" he agrees with enthusiasm and leans forward in his chair.  There's an expectant look in his eyes and he taps his fingers together again.  The gesture suddenly strikes you as more than odd -- you realize thinking back that you have never seen him do that before.  Case was always confident, poised, never fidgeting -- much more likely to busy himself with calisthenics if he couldn't find something else to do than he was to twiddle his thumbs or tap on a desk.  Before, nothing about him seemed nervous or ill at ease -- today, everything did.

"Calliope," he begins, his voice lowering to a level that signals that this is all going to be in confidence.  "Calliope, you know that we're on the brink of all out corporate war with RO.  We knew it was coming, we planned for it, and now it's here.  But," and here his voice seems grave, "we can't just win this exchange.  Not on the marketing side, and not on the technical side.  We have to make this an all out rout -- no one can doubt after this back and forth that VRS is the name in virtual reality.  In order to do this, we need answers.  The kind of answers that depend on us knowing ourselves.  The kind of answers that mean that we can explain our technology and our message more clearly and more convincingly than they can."  The smile is there on his face, his grave eyes looking at you pointedly.  The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

"Tell me about our NerveBridge(tm) technology.  Remind me exactly how it works -- we're going to work with marketing and fix this, Calliope.  We're going to chase RO right out of the market!"



A.  Stalling.  You stall in some way, exploring your memories from the last hour and your mounting suspicions.

B.  Deflection.  You act as though you're continuing the conversation on-point, but avoid his line of questioning and reasoning, opting to attempt to steer him onto another line of thought.

C.  Bluffing.  You act startled, reminding him that even though you have been here a while, you couldn't really go into as much detail about the technology as he would probably like, and suggest you should stick to the marketing message.

D.  Collaboration.  Explain how the technology works, starting from the architectural level and diving deep on NerveBridge(tm) technology.

[Martee]

While my word choice hadn't been intentional, the irony of Henry Case chirping 'bright' back at me like some dim, lobotomized mental patient does not escape me. I have to fight to keep from smiling too widely, but it's not from amusement.  He is just not the only person on the edge of hysteria in the room presently.

What the hell is wrong with him? I've never seen the man look more anxious and discombobulated. Was the situation with Rift Oculon worse than even I'd anticipated?  Maybe the investors were screaming - that wouldn't be too terribly surprising.  Henry looked as if he hadn't slept all night, and was running on manic energy.

The shift in his demeanor - from friendly over-the-hedge neighborly banter to cagey co-conspirator - did nothing to make me feel any better.  However, it did help me process some of the earlier confusion I'd felt, particularly after my encounter with the woman in the red dress. I would have brushed off Henry's war-like scenarios as nothing more than inspirational hyperbole, except that Henry Case was not that kind of leader.  I'd never head that 'Us-vs-Them' mentality from him before, but 'them' was precisely the word used by the Red Woman. I'd like to think that at any other time, I wouldn't be so easily swayed by the mad whispers of some anonymous passer-by, but there were too many things that weren't adding up quite right. But the clincher is Henry asking about NerveBridge(tm).

I can't answer him right away, because the sheer lunacy of what he is saying takes me a few seconds longer than usual to process.  Is this a test?  Is he checking to see if I understand the tech?  Surely he's not looking for a refresher or confirmation of his own knowledge - he's pitched the tech to laymen investors dozens, if not hundreds of times.  He has a much better chance of building a message with mass-market appeal than I ever could, and that doesn't even take into consideration the small but mighty marketing department located just a couple dozen feet down the hall.

Again, I glance around the room. Come to think of it, shouldn't the Marketing director be here if we're brainstorming a brand message? Especially considering that VRS really is pushing the bleeding edge of technology. Implantables... It's not an easy sell, even if it provides a far superior experience to... whatever it is RO is shilling. Looking back at Henry, however, tells me that he's not particularly interested in the marketing message, no matter what he says - and I am really starting to feel uncomfortable with the way his eyes seem so animated.

Something is not right - the refrain of the day.  This time, however, I'm going to go with my gut feeling.  I don't think I'll be able to put him off for very long.  The way his fingers are tap-tapping tells me he's coiled tighter than a spring and is probably running low on patience.  I also don't want to risk my position by trying to play dumb - I'm the VP of Technology, for chrissakes.  If I can't understand how NerveBridge(tm) works, I have no business here at VRS at all.  But right now, the very last thing I want to do is tell him about it.

Maybe I can maneuver the conversation down another path and buy myself some time.

I smile widely at Henry and mirror his stance, leaning forward to rest my wrists on the edge of his desk. "It's fascinating, isn't it?" I reply, squinting slightly to emphasize just how much I love what we're doing. "But the technology itself... it's a bit beyond the average consumer, don't you think? People don't want to know how their gadgets work - they just want them to work."

I leaned further forward, clutching the edge of the desk, dropping my voice to match Henry's. "And ours does, Henry. You know it.  I know it. Rift Oculon knows it - why else would they have gone to the media now?"

Leaning back, I spread my arms wide.  "We don't need to explain how the tech works, Henry - we just need to show them how incredible the experience is.  The mystery is part of the magic!"

Yeah, I was rambling. There was a reason I went Engineering instead of Marketing.



Choice:

B.  Deflection.  You act as though you're continuing the conversation on-point, but avoid his line of questioning and reasoning, opting to attempt to steer him onto another line of thought.

[James Moriarty]

Case looks at you thoughtfully -- appraisingly, you think.  Then he begins to nod and swivels his chair slightly, leaning forward, putting one elbow on the table and gesturing with each word.  "You raise an excellent point, Calliope -- I wholeheartedly agree.  We have to keep the customer feeling that same wonder that we ourselves felt when we invented NerveBridge(tm) and embarked upon our journey.  That excitement and feeling that there truly is magic in the world -- that's what changes a whole society and ushers us into a world full of new possibilities."  He's in full swing now, his voice echoing with emotion.  In fact, something tickles at your memory -- it's more than just his voice.  You feel as though you have heard these very same words before -- were they part of a press speech he gave during the NerveBridge(tm) announcement?

You hear a noise outside of the quiet confines of the roomy office -- voices raised in stressful tones.  Surprisingly, Case seems to stiffen at the sound and you see his eyes dart to the door.  "You can't..." says an indistinct voice descending back into tones too quiet to hear.  Then the placating voice of the receptionist, louder than usual.  While Case is looking towards the door, you notice something flashing behind him.  It's his computer screen.  It was off when you entered the office, but now a scrolling line of text in a large font drifts across the screen.  "Empire State Building, 1PM."  There's a loud sound from outside, like the slamming of a fist against a desk, and you jump.  When your eyes find the computer screen again, it appears to be completely off.

After a moment, when all has been quiet outside for a span of time, Case relaxes and looks at you again with a tired smile.  "This has already been quite a day, and it's still not even lunchtime."  He shakes his head and relaxes back into his chair.  Sitting like that, he seems more himself than he had previously.  "You're absolutely right about the consumer -- we have to stick to our message.  I have a meeting at 11 with the senior tech writer of Wired -- he's going to want to needle me about some details about NerveBridge(tm) -- and we want him to have them so we can attack RO's new campaign to make them seem like they're out in front."

He leans forward again and carefully puts his hands on the desk.  "I know, I know -- I have to be careful about what we say since this is all trade secret stuff.  I've been on this tightrope walk before.  But I want to have all the information at the front of my mind and give them the juiciest thing we can afford to give.  And the way we counter biological rejection and defeat neural impedance are perfect things to be able to discuss.  So let's go over those."  Case smiles.



A.  Attempt to continue deflecting Case from this line of questioning: ask him about the Wired interview and return focus to questions of how to address the RO ad campaign.

B.  Describe the biological rejection and neural impedance problems, but don't mention the VRS solutions.

C.  B, but also explain the solutions.

D.  Tell Case that you're surprised he's asking about technical details regarding a system that was his brainchild -- you think something else is going on he's not telling you about and you want to know what it is.

[Martee]

I really just want to be done with this meeting and head off to my own office. Henry is being decidedly strange - testing me, I think, and then feeding me marketing lines.  I can feel the tension in my shoulders and jaw, which is probably making me look as oddly as Henry.  I feel like we're two wary alley cats, feeling each other out before deciding to pounce or run away.

The sudden noise from outside the office actually makes me jump, sending my nervous heart back into palpitations.  I'm probably going to need some kind of anxiety medication after this day is over.  Maybe I'm just not cut out for the start-up scene after all.  And that's when I see it, as I glance to Henry to see how he's responding to the commotion outside: a message on the computer monitor.  For a moment I think it's just a reminder for Henry - maybe he has a meeting?  But no.. there's a tickle in the back of my brain, some niggling thought that the message is meant for me.

I have no way to confirm this, of course.  In fact, the message disappears almost as quickly as it appeared, which leaves me with the disconcerting idea that maybe I simply hallucinated it. I don't have much time to consider that as Henry switches gears. Is he insane? I can't help but wonder.  There's no way anyone would have approved sharing details about NerveBridge(tm) to a technical writer for Wired! Not even to attack RO - that's just crazy talk.

I'm not sure how much longer I can stay composed with Henry.  He seems determined to ruin VRS under the guise of promoting our technology. How am I supposed to make him see reason? Our techniques for overcoming neural impedance and countering biological rejection are the basis for our product. If we share too much of that, what would stop others from copying the technology?  I have to try to get him off this line of conversation.



Choice:

A.  Attempt to continue deflecting Case from this line of questioning: ask him about the Wired interview and return focus to questions of how to address the RO ad campaign.

[James Moriarty]

As you attempt to move the conversation away from what Case just asked you to talk about, you see a dark, brooding frustration cross his face for just longer than an instant.  But then it's gone, replaced by agreeable nonchalance and absent-minded nodding.  While you're talking, he pushes his large, leather chair back from his desk and stands up, coming around the front of his desk and motioning for you to rise.  Confused, you continue talking and stand up.

"Thank you so much for this meeting, Calliope.  It was wonderful to catch up.  Ah, you know, I think that it might be a good idea for you to head down to the lab."  He looks at his watch -- it is almost 10am.  "I think it would be a good idea for Steve Sluth to get a look at y... I think I would like you to meet with Steve and work with him on the, ah, Rift issue."  As you are ushered out of his office, Case motions to his receptionist and talks quietly into her ear for a moment.  With a brief smile, Case disappears back into his office and shuts the door firmly.

"Right this way," the young woman offers, motioning you forward towards an interior set of double-doors of frosted glass.  The hallway beyond is fairly long, and you walk silently with the woman for several minutes, turning at the corner of the building and stopping at another pair of doors that has a different security scanner from the previous ones: this one is biometric, with a hand and eye scanner.  The receptionist waves a card in front of a plain black panel and it responds with several beeps.  Smiling as if she had just done something rather clever, she turns to you and gestures for you to put your hand on the hand-shaped plastic mold of a handprint and lean forward to look into what appears to be an oddly-shaped webcam.

A picture of you comes up on a nearby LCD screen, though you note with surprise that the name field is blank.  The door clicks loudly and you step inside a large, clean and mostly white and steel grey laboratory.  People are bustling around carrying circuit boards and coiled lengths of wire and laptops -- no one even looks up to see you standing there.  You had never been in the lab before, and so you stop for a moment to take in the crisp, warm, vaguely electrical smell and bright, full-spectrum fluorescent lights.

A tall man with dark hair and a rather grim look steps up to you and tries unsuccessfully for a smile.  "Steve Sluth," he says, holding out a hand.  "Let's head into my office to chat."



A.  Follow the man to his office.

B.  Ask Sluth to give you a tour of the lab.

C.  Make any excuse you can to get out of the lab.

[Martee]

Now it's official - I am seriously creeped out by Henry Case's strange behavior.  I can't tell if he's anxious and upset with me, or just the general situation - but it's clear enough that he's not looking for me to be a scapegoat in the Rift Oculon media debacle.  I should feel more at ease with that realization, but frankly all I really want is to be far, far away from this whole place. 

Thankfully, it appears I will be receiving a small concession as Henry stands to lead me out of his office.  I don't know why, exactly, I'm being sent down to the lab, considering I've never really been asked to consult with that group before... but if it gets me away from Case I'm game.  I can vaguely remember taking a tour immediately after being hired at VRS, but those first few days were such a whirlwind very little stuck in my memory.  This area, however, is completely new to me.

Any another time, I might have been insulted that the receptionist has higher security clearance than I do, but it doesn't seem worth questioning at the moment.  It's clear the security system is still glitching, though, since my name doesn't pop up after I'm scanned. At some point today I'm going to have to get that taken care of.

At the moment I'm more concerned with what I'm supposed to discuss with Steve Sluth.  I don't know him at all, and considering the situation with our competitor, I don't know if now is really the right time to start bridging that gap.  I'd really much rather get to my office and start brainstorming with my team.  An awful lot of time has already slipped away this morning.

Steve seems to be at least as concerned about the RO situation as I am.  That's what I'm assuming, anyway, considering the grave looks he gives me.  As comforting as that is, I really don't want to be stuck in someone else's office while they grill me on things that are largely irrelevant to our current predicament. Still, I offer my hand and introduce myself, before taking a step back and folding my arms.  Hopefully, my body language will convey that I simply don't have time for all this chit chat.

"Actually, Steve, I don't know what I'm doing down here.  I'm sure by now everyone has heard about RO's big announcement, and I should probably head over to my office and check in with everyone to determine how we're going to respond."

In an attempt to build some instant rapport, I give him my most exasperated smile and shake my head. "You know what a mess it'll be if the Media group starts issuing press releases and statements with no guidance.  Those guys will say anything if they think it'll get us a mention."



Choice:

C.  Make any excuse you can to get out of the lab.

[James Moriarty]

As you make your attempt to excuse yourself from the lab, you notice that the lights dim slightly and then return to normal brightness, almost as though there had been a brief power interruption.  It startles you, but that's nothing next to the effect it seems to have on people in the lab.  Faces turn towards you and Sluth with various looks of surprise and curiosity that look somehow fake.  Steve's own expression borders on menacing but then quickly goes oddly blank.  He smiles an exasperated smile that mirrors your own.

"It is shaping up to be a difficult day, isn't it?"  His voice conveys a vague sense of empathy.  You're suddenly not entirely sure that he knows what you're talking about.  You can feel a gentle pricking up and down your arms and shoulders, the hairs standing on the ends of little goosebumps that are not from any chill in the air.  "But I promise I won't keep you long -- I just want to go over some details of our neural impedance technology before you race off to fight fires."  You turn briefly to look at the door to leave the lab and notice for the first time that there is a security panel on the inside too.  Next to it is a small 10-digit numeric keypad, well-worn by years of finger presses.

Something is nagging at your memory -- a numeric sequence that you seem to recall from the news article you read earlier.  Or was it from a dream?

Sluth gestures forward, inviting you to follow him.  "I promise, just a few minutes."  His smile does not make you feel comfortable.



A.  Make a break for the exit door and type numbers into the numeric keypad -- if so, which numbers?

B.  Follow Sluth.

[Martee]

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.  That's how it feels as I'm led deeper into the lab.  Apparently it's not just me having the bad day, however.  The weird power surge that darkens the room has everyone on edge.  Not surprising, given the type of work they're doing - but I don't know why everyone suddenly turns and looks at me.  I certainly didn't do it - I can't even manage to make it to my own office!

If anything, Steve is even more disquieting than Henry was, although at least with Case it had more to do with his odd behavior than anything else.  Steve Sluth is just... I can't put my finger on it, but then, isn't that the stereotype?  The weird, unsettling genius creator?  It must come from somewhere. If I had to guess, that genesis is the VRS research lab.

Once again, I am having to field questions about our proprietary technology - questions coming from people who should know better, and who should be addressing people other than myself.  At first it was unusual, but now it's flat out alarming.  One thing is certain - I really, really don't want to be locked in an office discussing the neural impedance technology with Steven Sluth.

So of course, it turns out I am locked in.  I don't know why we have a lock on the inside of the lab door - isn't that some kind of fire code violation? - but I know I'm on the wrong side of it.  I very nearly say something to Steve when the craziest recollection pops up in my head.  I know the code.  It makes no sense, especially considering where I think saw it... but then, very little has made sense so far today.

One thing is certain - I'm not going to be herded around anymore.

I'm sure the weak smile I flash at Steve is just as uncomfortable-looking as the one he's wearing, just before I spin and lurch down the aisle back towards the lab door. The numbers 02-06-2012 are burning bright in my mind.

I sure hope this works.



Choice:

A.  Make a break for the exit door and type numbers into the numeric keypad -- if so, which numbers?

[James Moriarty]

Your actions catch everyone by surprise -- that much is clear from the strange sense that the world is on pause as you fumble with the controls.  It seems to take long minutes to enter the code, confirmation beeps emanating happily from the pad with each button press.  Having entered the code, you find the indicator light near the door flips from red to green and you're out, running down the hall you had just come down, the rush of air disturbing a few loose TPS reports in various plastic in- and out- boxes on people's desks, a few curious faces turning as you go.

It doesn't take long before you're outside -- the late morning sun is now partially obscured by a surprising concentration of dark storm clouds that you don't remember from the forecast.  But you don't care -- you're out of the office and can take a moment to think about what just happened.  Part of you is kicking yourself -- you might have (at minimum) just made yourself look a little bit looney to coworkers who have to take you seriously as a VP.  But another part of you is beginning to realize that you're not sure what's going on.  Why is everyone acting so strangely?  Why are there so many glitches concerning your identity today?  One thing is certain: you weren't getting any answers inside that office.

The chirp of tires against the curb catch your attention.  It's a yellow cab and it has come to a stop right next to you, its light indicating that it is available.  You begin to turn away, thinking to take a walk to clear your head, when you catch a glimpse of pale skin and black hair through the back window of the cab.  Could it be the woman you encountered in the ladies room?  And if it were, would it be wise to speak to her again, given how strange that first meeting was?



A.  Begin to walk down the street back towards the subway stop, considering your options for what you want to do next.

B.  Step over to the cab and get in -- partly to see whether the person you think might be inside, is, and partly because you might want to go somewhere.  If so, where?

C.  Go back inside the building and ask the man at the security booth more questions.

[Martee]

The code works.  I don't know why, I don't know how - but now that I've made a scene, and almost certainly a fool of myself - I realize I have to leave.  It's extraordinarily easy getting out of the VRS offices - certainly a lot easier than getting in.  Maybe it's a sign.  God knows I've gotten enough of them today. I've never really been one given over to paranoid tendencies... At least, I don't think I am - but I've had enough bizarre experiences this morning to last me a lifetime.  The only shame of it all is that I don't also have a bank account to last me a lifetime, because I'm probably going to be joining the ranks of the unemployed very soon.

That's a bummer.  Enough of a bummer that I don't even consider taking a cab when I get outside.  At least, I don't until I see that flash of skin and hair.  What are the chances it's the woman from the bathroom?  Infinitesimally small, in a place as densely populated as Manhattan. But then, she'd shown up randomly in the office and just happened to appear when I was in there, and in retrospect, maybe her advice hadn't been so bad.  It's a little strange that Henry Case and Steve Sluth were both badgering me over technology they should've known inside and out.

Ok, maybe I am sounding a little bit paranoid.

Still, she did seem to be the only person who appeared to know me, in some form or fashion.  She certainly appeared to know what she was talking about - a hell of a lot more than Case or Sluth.  Maybe this is just another sign, and right now I could use a little direction.

Available cabs don't stay that way for very long, not in this part of the city and definitely not just before lunch.  I grab the handle and slip inside, giving the cabbie my destination before turning to face the current occupant of the backseat. I hadn't really thought about where I wanted to go when I opened the door, but I wasn't especially surprised when the name slipped out.



Choice:

B.  Step over to the cab and get in -- partly to see whether the person you think might be inside, is, and partly because you might want to go somewhere.  If so, where?

The Empire State Building

[James Moriarty]

A faint smile plays on the woman's lips as you issue your destination to the driver.  Long, slender fingers pull down over-sized sunglasses as she turns to face you, big grey eyes finding yours.  "Clever girl," she murmurs and takes a deep breath, apparently considering what to say.  But instead of continuing, she releases the breath in a long sigh and turns to look out the window again.

"The human mind is truly amazing.  And the brilliant thing about it is that it doesn't recall all of this detail -- not really.  If you look closely enough, into a memory, into a perception, you'll immediately find that though you have the impression of incredible fidelity and precision, all your mind will reveal to you are the outlines."  She turns back to you and smiles again, this time a sympathetic curve to her lips.

"I wish I could be more direct -- I do.  But they have a keyword search running, and so we'll just have to stick to metaphors.  You can't just waltz into their systems and expect smooth sailing.  Not like you were given the choice."  Her face falls a bit, her eyes now serious.

"Your instincts are correct, and you should continue to... ah, you should continue to expect to be a destination for information, rather than a source.  Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.  You're not hallucinating or dreaming -- something has happened, and there is a lot at stake, a lot resting on you... finding your way out of this mess.  Going with your gut has so far seemed a good guide, and that's probably because they can't scramble your baseline global neural patterning -- not yet anyway.  But to give you a little help, too, you want to be looking for this."  She doesn't seem to move, but then you notice that the index finger of the hand draped on her thigh is pointing to a green button in her blouse, different from the rest of the opalescent ones above and below.  Etched in the face in silver is what looks to be several thin oval shapes that look vaguely like a dragonfly.

"We're almost there.  Time for one question -- just... just try to keep it as generic as possible.  I'll do my best to answer."



A.  Ask the woman a question of your choosing.

[Martee]

It is her - and despite the fact that any reasonable person would be completely unnerved at finding a stranger stalking them in the bathroom of a secure office suite and then showing up at the precise right moment at the curb in midtown Manhattan just before lunch, I am unquestionably relieved.  This only serves as another small mental confirmation that I have probably gone completely off the deep end. And you know what?  I think I'm ok with that.  I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable in the back of this cab listening to a strange woman's crazy talk than I did upstairs discussing the technology that was supposed to make me very rich with my boss.

Maybe make that former boss, as it's really not clear to me if I'm still employed. Or, given the state of things in VRS, if I was ever employed there in the first place...?

I can only nod distractedly as I try to make sense of what Mystery Woman (as she will now be referred to ever after in mind. I did briefly consider dubbing her 'Carmen Sandiego', but then it occurred to me that Mystery Woman is really the antithesis of Carmen Sandiego, in that she seems to show up in the unlikeliest places, and, hopefully, is not the villain. Ironic Carmen Sandiego seems a bit verbose. I may be going crazy, but standards must be maintained) is saying.  I am almost ashamed to admit that what it seems she might be trying to explain, in the most paranoia-inducing way possible, is starting to sound not only the likeliest explanation but also the easiest to swallow.  This goes against everything I have ever believed in as a rational, logical human being.

I don't know whether to be relieved or not when she assures me I am not hallucinating or dreaming.  I decide I am going to remain neutral on the subject, and just making a decision of some kind that doesn't involve ducking executives or escaping fire-regulation-violating lab security systems does make me feel a bit better.  I settle back in the cracked green vinyl seat, searing the image of a stylized dragonfly into my mind. 

If I am going to go full-on crack pot, I intend to do so with purpose.

I'll admit - the option to ask a question catches me off guard.  Not because I don't have any questions... I have a million of them.  It's simply that I can't possibly, in the span of just a few moments, determine which question is the best one to ask.

At that moment the decision is made for me, as some part of my primitive brain asserts itself while the higher functions are still whirring through massive amounts of conflicting and confusing information.  I feel like I'm 6 years old again, caught up in events that far outstrip my naive and immature ability to comprehend what is going on.  I sound like it, too:



Question:

"Who are the good guys here?"

[James Moriarty]

"Why, we are, darling," she laughs, the words coming slow and amused.  Then the laugh is gone, replaced by the slight fall of her lips into a more sympathetic smile and a slight sigh.  She tilts her head to one side as if listening to something and then nods.  "The good guys are... ah, the ones who aren't asking you to tell them anything or do anything for them."  She pauses and looks down at her hands, thinking.  "If it makes your skin crawl, it's probably wrong."  Given your recent experiences, this is starting to seem like much more than touchy-feely advice: it seems somehow empirical.

Suddenly, there is a loud "pop" and the cab swerves to one side.  At the same time, the cab driver takes both hands off the wheel and covers his own face while uttering a loud stream of surprised and frightened obscenities.  The car, which hadn't been going very fast, dents and then careens off the side of a parked car and runs headlong into a fire hydrant.  There is a loud whoosh as water launches all around the front of the car and over 10 feet into the air.  The woman beside you seems shaken by the accident but completely unsurprised.  "Damnit," she mutters, "I thought 'neural' would be safe enough..."  She turns to you.

"Ten blocks to your destination.  You're going to have to make a go at it on foot and I can't come with you.  Good luck."  Without waiting for a reaction or reply, she opens the door to the car, steps out, and vanishes into the crowd.



A.  Pull yourself together and walk the 1st block towards the Empire State Building

B.  Give up and try to make it back to your apartment.

C.  Give up and head back to work.

[Martee]

We're the good guys... 

Of course we are.  Isn't that always the case?  No one but the most sociopathic villain ever thinks they're the bad guy - even when they do bad things it's always justified as being for the 'greater good'  I have no idea who constitutes we, other than myself and Mystery Woman, but then, I have no idea who the bad guys are, either.  I guess, they're the ones asking strange questions which means pretty much everyone at VRS.  Am I working for Evil Corp.?!?

I don't have time to ask how she knows about the creepy, skin-crawling feelings I've been having all morning because fate intervenes.  She really was not kidding about the one-question-only thing.  The crashing taxi is only slight less shocking than the driver's completely spontaneous howling - which freaks me out more than anything else so far today.  And - unsurprisingly - Mystery Woman starts to book it.

I'm caught with indecision.  Shouldn't we stay until the police arrive? Aren't I bound by some moral obligation to assist the obviously impaired driver?  I'm seriously starting to fray at the edges, but I also get the sense that if M.W. think it's wise to bounce, maybe I should, too.  I just kind of wish she hadn't phrased it as, "making a go of it..."  That made the task of getting to the Empire State Building sound, well, more like a task rather than a ten-minute walk.

In fact, all of this was beginning to sound very much like a quest, handed off by a mysterious, well-dressed NPC.  The fact is, if They are after me - They being some shadowy, unidentifiable syndicate of indeterminate size or reach, and possibly including my employer - then heading home would be a mistake.  It'd be the first place They looked.  Going back to VRS was out of the question.  Chances are, I'm even less welcome there now than I was earlier today.  Which meant...

I was headed there anyway, right?  And RPGs were in my blood: Glorious PC-Gaming Master Race right here.  I had a destination, a weird icon to find, and some alleged bad guys out for me. 

I give the cabbie an apologetic shrug - not that he's paying any attention - and dash out of the car before I'm drenched by the busted hydrant.  Orienting myself, I melt into the foot traffic heading down towards the Empire State Building.  I just wish I had a Latte of Fortitude on me.



Choice:

A.  Pull yourself together and walk the 1st block towards the Empire State Building

[James Moriarty]

As you pass the cab driver to offer the sympathetic shrug, you notice that his hands are still on his face, but beneath his hands you see that something is not right.  The skin there is somehow not focused, like the light bouncing off was being scattered or smeared, and the color seems somehow wrong, giving the appearance that there is a blue light just beneath the man's skin shimmering as though superheated.  Your step quickens as you leave the cab and its inhabitant behind.

The foot traffic on this block of Sixth Avenue is unusually bad.  Fast moving people all pushed practically shoulder to shoulder seem to be hurrying north up the avenue with the flow of car traffic.  Everyone in sight is heading away from the Empire State Building, quickly.  Your skin crawls as the overwhelming sense of oddity all around you is now so pronounced that you can no longer convince yourself it's just you.  You take a deep breath and dive into the quickly moving foot traffic.

It is immediately a struggle to make forward progress against the crowd.  They are moving fast and with a caricatured obliviousness that is even more pronounced than the behavior of the stereotypical zombie-like Manhattan nine-to-fiver.  You start by trying to avoid running into them, but as your progress is slowed to a halt, you begin to be more aggressive, pushing your way through gaps that you wouldn't otherwise have fit through and picking up pace as you begin to see patterns in the crowd density that you can exploit. 

You can move more quickly now, deftly stepping through gaps and pushing between shoulders.  As you approach the first corner you have seen, you notice that some people in the crowd are dressed in black suits and are wearing dark sunglasses.  As they come up the sidewalk towards you, scattered through the crowd, you can see their heads turning back and forth, scanning the faces around them.  When one of them sees you, suddenly all heads swivel to face in your direction.  They are coming.



1.  Go to http://tetris.com/play-tetris/ and show your skill at managing a geometric problem.  Return with a screenshot of a high score > 10000 to continue.

[Martee]

*OOC* Zuckerberg can suck it

You'll have to take my word on the screenshot. I would've made an account using a recognizable screenname but the app insisted on a Facebook log in.  I'm not looking to be that recognizable.

[James Moriarty]

You deftly dodge the eerily nonchalant pursuers, cutting a decisive path through the crowd and making your way to the corner of 42nd Street and 6th Avenue, where you must turn left.  You look behind you and all around you for the men in the dark suits and glasses, but they have vanished entirely.

Taking a deep breath and feeling another shiver move up and down your arms and back, you turn left to take the next block.  As you do, you notice that Bryant Park, ahead of you now and on your left, seems to be completely flooded.  In fact, the flooding is so bad that as you watch, rushes of water escape the park, flooding over the sidewalk and rushing into the street, where apparently unconcerned cars continue to rush straight up 6th Avenue.  If one of those waves hit someone, it would send her right into oncoming traffic.  These floods are happening all up and down the block.  At the same time, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds continue in their relentlessly marched path away from the Empire State Building.  Each time a flood pours across the sidewalk, three or four of the pedestrians are sent careening into the street where they disappear under oncoming traffic.



1.  Go to http://froggerclassic.appspot.com/ and show your skill at navigating obstacles.  Return with a screenshot of a score > 3000 to continue.

2.  Chicken out and head back to your apartment.

3.  Chicken out and head back to work.

[Martee]

O.M.G.

I just spent a week and $700 in virtual quarters trying to get a score over 3000.  At some dim and distant point in the future you're going to look back on your previous post and think to yourself, 'That was the day I took things too far.'

Because turn about is fair play, darling.   >:)

[James Moriarty]

With some deft maneuvering you manage to make it all the way down the block.  You're a little wet from some close calls but none the worse for the wear.  Taking a moment to catch your breath, you look down 6th Avenue towards 40th Street.

The sight that greets you is more manifestly impossible than all of what came before put together.  Before you, you see the same stream of people marching up the street, blocking your way.  However, from the sky, loud laser blasts rain down on the asphalt, causing minor explosions that throw half a dozen people in all directions each time, leaving a steaming crater in the ground.  Your jaw clenches and you swallow loudly.  To get to the Empire State Building you must continue.



1.  Go to http://www.pacxon4u.com/space-invaders/ and show your skill at defending the earth.  Return with a screenshot of a score >10000.

2.  Chicken out and head back to Starbucks to cry over coffee.

3.  Chicken out and head to Magnolia Bakery to eat cupcakes, the perfect comfort food.

[Martee]

Java Chip Bonus?

Any chance I can still go grab a coffee somewhere?  I feel as if I've earned it...

[James Moriarty]

With nary a scratch, you navigate the bombardment deftly and arrive at the end of the block.

As it would happen, there is a coffee truck on the corner of 6th Avenue and 40th street and business is slow (funny how it always is during apocalyptic scenes such as these), so it is quick and easy to grab the very beverage you seek with no delay.  Bolstered now by caffeine and the strong, pleasant tastes of bitter and sweet that you so adore, you set your jaw and gaze south to see what awaits you.

The street has been blocked off by police barriers at both ends of the block, allowing for foot traffic amongst the many vendors selling things from carts and stands lined up in a strangely maze-like pattern.  There are people of all ages browsing through the winding, branching paths, apparently in good spirits and oblivious to the decimation just north of them.  You notice, however, that at some corners and intersections of the scene before you, strange turrets are set up and each of them has some kind of sensor on it that looks like an enormous eye.  And all of these eyes are staring at you.



1.  Play Tower Defense, Monkey Lane, on Medium difficulty 10 times and post your high score.  Pray it is enough.

2.  Play Tower Defense, Monkey Lane, on Easy difficulty 5 times and post your high score.  Pray it is enough.

3.  Play Tower Defense, Monkey Lane, on Hard difficulty 25 times and post your high score.  Pray it is enough.

[Martee]

Test run score 30,890 Easy

Game 1 score 30,895 Easy

Cumulative score 61,785 - 30,890 = 30,895 (max score)

Game 2 score 30,895 Easy

Cumulative score 92,680 - 61,785 = 30,895 (max score)

Game 3 score 30,895 Easy

Cumulative score 123,575 - 92,680 = 30,895 (max score)

Game 4 score 30,895 Easy

Cumulative score 154,470 - 123,575 = 30,895 (max score)

Game 5 score 30,895 Easy

Cumulative score 185,365 - 154,470 = 30,895 (max score)

Total score over 5 games on Easy:  154,475  Max score each game:  30,895

[James Moriarty]

Your maneuvers are sharp, carried out crisply, and you wisely choose the path of least resistance, playing it safe to maximize your speed.  At moments you feel as though these little metagames with their trivial AIs are a kind of echo of the greater challenges you have faced the entire day.  Musing on how apparently life recapitulates work, you arrive safe and sound at the corner of 39th street.

Looking up, you see the tower of the Empire State Building close now.  Encouraged and more than a little bit excited, you look down the road and see... nothing.  Not "nothing" as in nothing out of the ordinary on this stretch of 6th Avenue.  Rather, "nothing" as in the void of empty space between you and the corner of the next block.  You notice a space ship that looks something like an X-wing Fighter nearby.  There are many strange creatures swimming in the space in between.  It's decision time.



1.  Play http://my.ign.com/atari/tempest and submit your best two scores of 10.  Pray it is enough.

2.  Decide that the void of space is just too much, here, and tuck your tail between your legs and head home.

3.  Weep, then (1) or (2).