Goddard Withings

(text-style:"bold","buoy")[Goddard Withings: The Not-Yet Famous Explorer!] <img src="images/cover.png" style="width:85%" /> ''Narrator'': "In the year 3232 - in a galaxy pretty far away but not like //too// far away, on a planet not nearly as glamorous as he'd like, resides Goddard Withings, the not-yet-famous explorer." In this adventure you play the pivotal (//and some might say ridiculous//) role of Goddard Withings - An aspiring explorer who wants to be a famous adventurer and archeologist like his mentor / idol "Wyoming Jones". You will steer Goddard in this branching adventure that can take you to very different places, depending on your choices. Goddard is a slovenly, ill-mannered, and somehow a relatively good looking man with an average build, a scrub of stubble and a space fedora. He always has his trusty laser whip at his side. (//Copyrights be damned//). He generally doesn't do something unless he has to. He will often say the (text-rotate-z:353)[wrong] thing to the (text-rotate-z:6)[wrong] person at the (text-style:"superscript")[wrong] time and in the ~~wrong~~ context. He even rubs people the (text-style:"emboss")[//wrong//] way. [[Start the Game->Opening]] (masteraudio: 'stopall')

''Lay around on the Couch like a Slob '' You collapse onto the couch with the grace of a sack of space potatoes, fully embracing the art of doing absolutely nothing. Hours slip by as you sit there, a monument to laziness, mindlessly noodling away at the nothingness that has become your life. Your hand drifts to your belly button, where you begin an archaeological dig for lint—an exploration so thorough it would make famous adventurers weep with envy. Chip crumbs rain down around you, as you lazily brush them off the counter and directly into your shoes. It’s not like you plan on walking anywhere soon, so why bother with a trash can? You idly think about your ex, which only spirals into a self-pitying analysis of every life choice you’ve ever made. You ruminate on the current political climate, coming to the conclusion that it’s all terrible, but you’re far too entrenched in your sloth to do anything about it. At some point, you pick your nose—briefly, but with the dedication of someone who’s truly run out of productive things to do. The crumbs, the lint, the existential dread—it all starts to blend together into a sticky, uncomfortable soup of self-loathing. You can’t tell if the heaviness in your chest is from the deep sense of impending dread, the ennui that wraps around you like a too-tight blanket, or just the fact that you haven’t moved in hours. You lie there, a slug on a couch, a hero in your own tragicomedy, waiting for something, ''anything'', to interrupt the downward spiral of inertia that has claimed your soul. But nothing happens. [(char-style: via (t8n-delay:20s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[You space out for a while....]] [(char-style: via (t8n-delay:25s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[You suddenly jerk awake like you have something to do, but quickly realize you do not. ]] [(char-style: via (t8n-delay:30s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[You spend an impressive amount of time in the bathroom. ]] [(char-style: via (t8n-delay:35s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[You doze briefly and... [[Begin the Adventure->Opening]] ]] (masteraudio: 'stopall') (set: $track to '1-lazy') (track: $track, 'playwhenpossible')

Your hand instinctively reaches for the phone, fingers trembling as they hover just above the receiver. But halfway there, it’s as if your entire arm decides to stage a mutiny. Your hand falters, then falls lifelessly back into your lap, utterly defeated. You sit there, staring at the phone, the weight of this choice pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The thought of calling your mother gnaws at the back of your mind, bringing with it a wave of unease that starts as a dull ache in your chest and radiates outward. Your left eye begins to twitch uncontrollably, a sure sign that your body is rebelling against the very idea. It’s not just a phone call—it’s opening Pandora’s box, unleashing a torrent of questions, criticisms, and unsolicited advice that you’re definitely not ready to deal with. The twitching intensifies, and with a heavy sigh, you decide that maybe, just maybe, today isn’t the day for this kind of emotional labor. You let the phone be and turn your attention back to the TV, the mindless flicker of the screen offering a comforting distraction from the turmoil in your brain. [[No Really You Should Call Mom->1 - Call Mom 2]] [[Back to Business->Opening]]

You stumble towards the kitchenette (//which is just like a kitchen but smaller and stupider//). You take a knee to place a bowl on the floor and dump food into it. You haphazardly spill most of it on the floor. Upon standing you suddenly remember that you do not own, and have never owned, a cat. Sheepishly you push the bowl of food under the couch with your foot, and vow to deal with it later. <img src="images/1-cat.png" style="width:90%" /> [[Next->Opening]]

Heaving your body off the couch, you shrug into your brown leather jacket and put your space fedora on, at what you imagine is a rakish angle. -------- (size:0.80)[//Aside: A space fedora is identical in every way to a regular fedora except it has the words "Space Fedora" written on the side. The company that makes the space fedora quickly collapsed for obvious reasons. //] -------- (show:?2-try-again)|2-try-again>[You step out the door with a sense of purpose, importance, inspiration. Before a passerby screams and points out that you have yet to put on pants. You quickly duck back inside and put on a pair of jeans with your trusty workboots... <img src="images/1-nopants.png" style="width:90%" />] (link:"Try Again")[(t8n:"dissolve")(show:?1-try-again)(hide:?2-try-again)] (hidden:)|1-try-again>[You step out the door with a sense of dread, embarrassment, shame. You slink quickly out of your neighborhood and toward the Tubeway. You navigate your way through the labryinthine maps and routes and end up only 128 blocks from the Adventurer's Guild. Several hours later you arrive sweaty, red-faced and completely out of breath... <img src="images/1-pants.png" style="width:90%" /> [[Next->1 - Guild1]] ] (set: $TriedCrazy to false)

This time, you’re determined. No more half-hearted attempts—you stand up, muscles tensed, and square off against the telephone like it’s an enemy you’ve been dreading to face. The old landline phone sits innocently on the table, completely unaware of the psychological warfare it’s about to be part of. You lean over it, stretching both hands down toward the receiver, as if preparing for some Herculean feat of strength. <img src="images/1-call-mother.png" style="width:90%" /> ''This is it,'' you tell yourself. ''Just pick it up, dial the number, and get it over with.'' You muster all your willpower, hands trembling as they inch closer to the phone. But as you’re about to make contact, something catches your eye—a picture frame with a photo of your mother in it, sitting right there on the table. Her smile, so familiar and yet so terrifying, pierces right through your resolve. Your stomach lurches, and when you look down again, you realize that in your panic, you’ve somehow yanked the phone cord right out of the wall. It dangles uselessly, like the last vestige of your will to go through with this. Oddly enough, a wave of calm washes over you. The universe, it seems, has decided to intervene on your behalf. You sit back down on the couch, feeling strangely at peace, as if you’ve just narrowly avoided a fate worse than death. The phone is silent, the picture of your mother is turned face-down, and you... well, you’ll live to fight another day. [[Next->Opening]]

An officious looking older man with white hair glances up from his newspaper. He is wearing a green visor, green suspenders and a white shirt with the nametag "Karl" along with an open ratty coat. He peers down at you. (if:$TriedCrazy is true)[" You Again??" he belches loudly] "Whazzit you want? I'm busy" //he drones in a deep bored voice.// <img src="images/1-karl.png" style="width:90%" /> "I'm Goddard Withings, soon to be famous explorer and I... [["Would like to sell you an extended warranty on your existing extended warranty"->1 - warranty]] [["Demand to see a Manager!"->1 - manager]] [["Want to Sign Up to be a Fully-Licensed Adventurer!"->1 - fullfledge]] [["Seem to have exercise-induced Amnesia and I need an Adult!"->1 - warranty]]

The old man thinks on this for several seconds. Before pushing a small red button on the lip of the desk. In mere moments two burly men in immaculate white coats and sunglasses come, and each grab you by an arm, pinning them immovable to your sides. The clerk speaks up "Think we got another..." he lazily waves his finger in a circle around his ear. ---------- (link:"Wait a second...")[(t8n:"dissolve")(show:?1-butbut)] (hidden:)|1-butbut>[(char-style: via (t8n-delay:pos*60)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[//''Fun Fact!'' While on Earth the hand motion of waving your finger around your ear usually means "Crazy" however on Red Stamp 17 this actually translates to "Man who cannot find his asshole with both hands and a team of guides." So naturally you take umbrage to this kind of thing. //] ---------- [(char-style: via (t8n-delay:15s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[The men in white coats drag you kicking and screaming into the street. Where you are unceremoniously dumped into a pile of old magazines, rotten fruit, and what might be severed fingers. As you get up and dust yourself off, you find you are... ]] [[Back at the Guild Entrance->1 - Guild2]] ] (set: $TriedCrazy to true)

A few seconds pass without incident. Then a few seconds pass WITH incident. Now heavy with the kind of silence that makes you start to reconsider your life choices. Just as you’re beginning to wonder if you’ve pushed things too far, the answer comes in the form of cold, hard steel. <img src="images/1-karl-gun.png" style="width:90%" /> The clerk clears his throat, a rough, deliberate sound, as he reaches beneath the desk. When his hand reemerges, it’s holding a well-oiled pistol, the metal gleaming ominously under the dim lights. With a calm, practiced motion, he sets it down on the desk with a heavy thud, the barrel pointed directly at you. It’s not subtle, and neither is the message. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you with a steady gaze that’s as cold as the weapon in front of him. Then, almost casually, he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Do you want to rethink that?” His voice is low and measured, each word carrying the weight of a very real, very immediate threat. His eyes flick from the gun, to you, and then back to the gun, as if inviting you to consider the implications of your next move. The room suddenly feels a lot smaller, the air thick with tension. This is no longer a game, and the old man across from you isn’t bluffing. You’ve crossed a line, and now it’s up to you to decide how far you’re willing to go. [[Nah, I can take him, rush the old man...->1 - Rush the Old Man]] [[Stick to your guns "I DEMAND to see a MANAGER!!"->1 - Rush the Old Man]] [[Sheepishly apologize and try a different tactic...->1 - Guild2]] (set: $TriedCrazy to true)

"I wish to become a full-fledged guild-approved dyed-in-the-wool Adventurer!" You yell out too loudly in the empty space. You flinch from your own echo. The clerk grunts noncomittally and reaches under the desk for a truly staggering amount of paperwork. He slams pile after pile on the desk and hands you a pen. "Ya fill this out, you file it, notarize it, copy it, burn it, re-print it and have it blessed by the religion of your choice. Then after a brief waiting period. You will be a guild-endorsed Trainee. With the title of "Gullible Idiot"." He eyes you up and down and continues "It's really just that easy.". <img src="images/1-paperwork.png" style="width:90%" /> You look dubiously at the pile of forms and manage to stammer "Gee that's a lot of paperwork, how long is the waiting period?" The clerk looks down at a small glowing screen and slides his finger across it. You see a blur of scrolling text and numbers. He finally looks up and grumbles "The current waiting period is 3 lifetimes, we're shorthanded.". ''Spineless'': [["Well I tried" You sigh, and promptly give up your lifelong dream. ->1 Give Up]] ''Go-Getter'': [["3 Lifetimes seems excessive, perhaps there's a -faster- way to get inducted into the guild?"->1 Faster Way]] ''Follower'': [[You doggedly begin filling out the paperwork, trusting the process.->1 Give Up]] (set: $HadSexWithKarl to false)

(t8n: "pulse")+(size:2)[BOOM!] <script> var audio = document.createElement('audio'); audio.src = './audio/1-gunshot.wav'; audio.loop = false; audio.volume = 0.5; // Set volume to 50% (you can adjust this value) audio.play(); </script> The sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the air, the sound reverberating in your skull like the universe’s most unwanted wake-up call. For a moment, you stand there, stunned, until the searing pain in your chest pulls you back to reality. You glance down to find a dark stain rapidly spreading across your shirt, and it hits you—quite literally—that you’ve made all the wrong decisions in life. Your legs give out, and you crumple to the floor, the cold, hard surface doing nothing to comfort your rapidly fading sense of regret. Blood seeps from the wound in your chest, pooling around you in a sticky, crimson mess. Oddly, the blood begins to form the shape of a poodle, its outline distinct enough that you can’t help but marvel at the bizarre artistry of your own demise. But before you can fully appreciate the macabre masterpiece, a janitor materializes out of nowhere, mop in hand, and swiftly erases your brief moment of morbid fascination. As you lie there, the janitor diligently mopping up what’s left of you, a thought flits through your mind—a realization, really. Arguing with a gun-toting clerk? Probably not your brightest idea. The irony is almost palpable as you fade into darkness, your final thoughts a mix of regret and absurdity. A bright light beckons you from somewhere beyond, and as your vision fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. Maybe this is the universe’s way of giving you a second chance... [[Begin the Adventure Anew->Opening]] (set: $TriedCrazy to true)

You ''mentally'' and ''emotionally'' cave in on yourself. It’s not a dramatic collapse, but more like a slow, inevitable sinking, like a deflating space balloon. You feel like a husk of empty dreams and unrealized potential, a shell of what could have been, filled with nothing but the echoes of missed opportunities. Time passes, as it always does, indifferent to your plight. You eventually grow old, working as a janitor at the guild—a job that pays just enough to keep you from starving, but not enough to keep your spirit from withering away. You sweep the same corridors day after day, your mind drifting into the realm of "what if" and "if only," waiting for something, ''anything'', to change. But it never does... One day, while frequenting a port-o-let outside an adult arcade establishment—a place you wouldn’t admit to visiting if you still had any pride—you feel a sharp pain in your chest. You clutch your heart, knowing this is it. Your last thoughts, oddly enough, aren’t of your failed adventures or missed chances, but a simple regret: ''I should have gotten a cat.'' As your vision fades, you see a bright light, the kind you’ve heard about in cheesy afterlife stories. You think, for a fleeting moment, that maybe there’s still some grand adventure waiting for you beyond the veil. Or maybe it’s just the glow of a faulty port-o-let bulb. And then... darkness. [[Begin the Adventure Anew->Opening]]

The clerk raises an eyebrow and after a brief pause, grunts "A Faster Way? Whatcha mean?". (if: $HadSexWithKarl is true)[''Seductive'': //Well you've already tried the sexy approach and it didn't work, you don't want to go down that road again...//] (else-if: $HadSexWithKarl is false)[''Seductive'': [[Wink Lasciviously and Gesture down your body offering it as trade.->1 Seduction]]] ''All Business'': [["A bribe my good man! pure and simple. How much?"->1 Bribe]] ''Desperate'': [["Surely there's something I can do for you or the guild to get a quicker turnaround time here?"->1 Favors]]

Suprisingly the clerk ogles you briefly and gestures you towards an office door set into the back wall. He walks alongside you, beginning to make strange guttural noises deep within his chest. You start to have a sinking feeling in your chest and a pervasive sense of doubt in your own cognitive abilities. Yet you march resolutely forward. <img src="images/1-conference.png" style="width:90%" /> You walk into a bright well lit conference room with a massive gleaming black table taking up most of the area. The smell of pine is stronger here and you can see that there are several piles of papers at the table along with what looks like a fruit tray. There is a small podium with a heavy silver paperweight in the shape of a tortoise, and a small computer pad sitting out as well. [[Next->1 Seduction-2]]

The clerk inhales too quickly and has a brief coughing fit. After he gathers his thoughts, he reaches back to a sticky-note on the wall behind him. He hands you the note and nods at it. //The note reads: // Wanted: An Interview with Terra Goldtrix - the beautiful, voluptous and famous reporter. For very official business purposes and not at all something weird or sketchy. ''Reward'': Instant Guild Membership & 20 bucks ~ Signed: //The Management// You look up from the note and stare open-mouthed at the clerk. ------------ (t8n: "pulse")+(size:0.85)[//(text-colour:grey)[Fun Fact: The clerks name is actually "Flerple Nipplehood" and he's tremendously embarrased by it. This however, doesn't play into our adventure in any way. That's why facts are fun!] ------------- //] "Listen, um Karl? How in the world am I supposed to - * A: Find Terra Goldtrix on whatever planet she's on? * B: Convince her to speak with me? * C: Convince her to do an interview for zero cash? * D: Get her back here for the interview? The clerk shrugs and you can hear him quietly mutter "(size:0.85)[//It wouldn't be much of a game if everything were easy would it? stupid players want everything handed to them and their...//]" he trails off, noticing your attention. ''Resolute'': [["I shall do this! Me! Goddard Withings! The Not Yet Famous Explorer. I must succeed and I must. not. fail."->1 Find Terra]] ''Sarcastic'': [["I'll get right on that, I'll just need the company credit card...."->1 Find Terra]] ''Doomed'': [["I guess I'll just go do something until something something happens..."->1 Find Terra]]

(unless: $WeaponTried is "yes")[ You’ve successfully lured the clerk into the back room with a promise he couldn’t resist—something about the thrill of danger, the allure of secrecy. But as he steps closer, eyes glinting with anticipation, you realize you have absolutely no intention of following through. Instead, you’ve got a different plan in mind. As the clerk turns his back to you, you quickly scan the room, searching for something—anything—you can use to knock him out. Your eyes land on a few potential weapons scattered around the cluttered space. Time is running out, and you know you have to act fast.] <img src="images/1-weapons.png" style="width:90%" />] You wrap your hands around: A large silver paperweight in the shape of a tortoise? —heavy, solid, and oddly fitting for a moment like this. A computer pad? —sleek and flat, probably not ideal, but desperate times call for desperate measures. A box of paper clips? —hardly intimidating, but with enough force, anything can be a weapon, right? A live rat in the corner? —scrappy and likely to bite, but hey, it’s an option. You steady yourself, ready to strike... (if:$ImprovisedWeapon is not "paperweight")[ (link: "The large silver paperweight in the shape of a tortoise")[ (set: $ImprovisedWeapon to "paperweight") (go-to: "1 Knockout2") ]](else:) [<br>-- You Tried the Paperweight] (if:$ImprovisedWeapon is not "computer pad")[ (link: "The computer pad")[ (set: $ImprovisedWeapon to "computer pad") (go-to: "1 Knockout2") ]](else:) [<br>-- You tried the Computer Pad] (if:$ImprovisedWeapon is not "box of paper clips")[ (link: "A box of paper clips")[ (set: $ImprovisedWeapon to "box of paper clips") (go-to: "1 Knockout2") ]](else:) [<br>-- You tried the Paper Clips] (if:$ImprovisedWeapon is not "rat")[ (link: "A rat you can see in the corner")[ (set: $ImprovisedWeapon to "rat") (go-to: "1 Knockout2") ]](else:) [<br>-- You tried the Rat] [[Give up and try something else->1 Seduction-2]]

You grit your teeth and loosen your belt. You've committed to this path, this choice. You probably never thought it would get this far but here we are. On the precipice of a WILDLY uncomfortable sex scene. So, apologies for breaking both the moment and the fourth wall. But... Are you SUUUURE you want to read & experience a sex scene between a full grown man and an irascible old alien man? Are you? R-Rated: [[Yeah - hit me with the weird gay stuff I'm into it->1 RatedR]] PG-Rated: [[Give me the short funny version->1 RatedPG]] Unrated: [[Start Over->Opening]]

You collapse to the ground in an overly dramatic fashion, clutching your chest and gasping for breath as if the very air is poison. You let out a series of guttural moans, throwing in a bit of wheezing for good measure, and begin to rock back and forth on the floor like a dying fish. <img src="images/1-karl-heartattack.png" style="width:90%" /> The clerk spins around, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a flicker of concern as he sees you whimpering on the ground. For the first time, he actually seems worried. "Hey, whazzut? You okay, kid? You dying or summin'?" he stammers, his voice wavering slightly as he glances nervously around the room, as if hoping someone else might take charge of this bizarre situation. You nod weakly, your head bobbing up and down with exaggerated effort. "Yes, yes, I’m dying... I require medical attention and probably a reset of my previous game choices. Maybe something that takes me back in time to forge a different path, you know?” The clerk's brow furrows as he struggles to process this unusual request. After a moment, he shrugs as if accepting the absurdity of it all, and he crouches down beside you, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I like the dying ones..." he murmurs, his words dripping with unsettling enthusiasm. [[Play it off as a Joke and try violence instead->1 Knockout]] [[Give up and just let it happen... shhh...->1 Seduction2]]

You’ve just been given the nigh impossible task of finding Terra Goldtrix, a famous reporter you’ve never met, and the last remnants of your enthusiasm are fading fast. It’s like someone pulled the plug on your motivation, and now you’re left with a ringing in your ears and a growing pit of dread in your stomach. The weight of the task hangs over you like a dark cloud, threatening to rain on what little optimism you have left. Stepping out onto the street, you let out a long, weary sigh and head back toward the Tubeway. The city around you seems to blur into a gray, indifferent backdrop as your thoughts swirl with the absurdity of your new mission. When you finally arrive, you plop down on the least sticky bench you can find—an accomplishment in itself, given the state of public seating these days. You stare blankly at the bustling commuters around you, trying to muster some kind of plan. "I guess I’ve got to find Terra Goldtrix," you mutter to yourself, the words sounding more like a death sentence than a rallying cry. Your mind spins with the impossibility of the task, but giving up isn’t an option—not yet, anyway. After a few moments of introspection and some half-hearted brainstorming, you manage to scrape together a few ideas. They’re not great—actually, they’re downright terrible—but they’re all you’ve got. And right now, you’ll take anything that even remotely resembles a plan. ''Longshot'': [[Search the planet on the 1 ^^in^^ 51,500,041,000 chance that she's here already. ->2 Longshot]] ''Devious'': [[Call her company ask for her editor and trick him into giving up her location.->2 Devious]] ''Workaround'': [[Find a way to steal or hire a ship so you can be mobile first.->2 Workaround]]

Karl glances around the empty room and leans in to whisper. "What're ya offering?" You smugly open up your wallet and count out several severely tapped gift cards from various establishments. You push them across the counter with a wink. <img src="images/1-wallet.png" style="width:90%" />] Not having any other form of currency you hope this works. ...there is a long pause. Karl pokes through the cards, unimpressed. But he pockets them anyway. [[Next->1 Favors]]

(set: $delayTime to 1s)  <script> var audio = document.createElement('audio'); audio.src = './audio/1-slapbass.wav'; audio.loop = false; audio.volume = 0.5; // Set volume to 50% (you can adjust this value) audio.play(); </script>  (live: $delayTime)[The odd, stilting rhythm of a slap bass guitar begins playing in the background, setting a jarringly sleazy tone. You barely register it as your fingers tangle in Karl’s wiry, thinning hair, pulling it back with a forceful tug. His dry, chapped lips meet yours in a passionate, almost desperate kiss, tasting faintly of stale cigarettes and something bitterly medicinal.] <img src="images/1-karl-embrace.png" style="width:90%" />]  (live: $delayTime + 5s)[Karl responds with a fervor that’s both unexpected and unsettling. He moans loudly—too loudly—his voice cracking with each gasp of pleasure. His hands frantically move to his chest, where he begins stroking and pinching his nipples with a manic intensity, as if trying to extract some long-lost youth from his aged, weathered body.]  (live: $delayTime + 10s)[With a sweep of your arm, you clear the table of its clutter, sending papers and small objects clattering to the floor. You guide Karl down onto the now-bare surface, his grizzled form looking even more out of place against the sterile, hard surface. After a few agonizingly awkward moments of fumbling foreplay, you flip him over with a firm push, asserting your dominance with a confidence that’s somehow both empowering and deeply regrettable.]  (live: $delayTime + 15s)[**//Fun Fact!: Goddard is a Top.//**]  (live: $delayTime + 20s)[You press your body forward against Karl’s rough, leathery skin, your breath hot against his neck as you penetrate him in the most intimate and unsettlingly biblical of ways. The act itself feels almost ritualistic, a grotesque exchange of power and pleasure that echoes off the cold walls of the back room. Your moans intermingle with his, creating a cacophony of sound that feels both endless and horrifying, as the two of you pass pleasure back and forth with a rhythm that’s both mechanical and disturbingly primal.]  (live: $delayTime + 25s)[Karl, as it turns out, is a surprisingly competent lover, his movements practiced yet desperate, as if this encounter is his last grasp at youth. You, despite the gnawing feeling of regret building in your chest, find yourself caught up in the strange, bittersweet clarity that comes with such a raw, unfiltered experience. Minutes, or maybe hours, pass in a blur of sweat, sounds, and sensations that you’ll likely spend the rest of your life trying to forget.]  (live: $delayTime + 30s)[When it’s finally over, you gather your thoughts and your pants, your body trembling slightly from the exertion and the sheer strangeness of it all. Karl dresses slowly, his hands shaking with what you can only hope is shame. He avoids your gaze, his earlier fervor replaced by a sheepish embarrassment that only adds to the surreality of the situation.]  (live: $delayTime + 35s)[“Hey, well, uh… yeah, now’s probably a bad time to mention this, but I really don’t have any way to fast-track you through the process…” Karl mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper as he fiddles with the buttons on his shirt.]  (live: $delayTime + 40s)[You feel a wave of anger and disgust wash over you—not just at Karl, but at yourself. Without a word, you stomp back to the front desk, Karl trailing behind you like a guilty dog. Your voice shakes with frustration as you demand, “Karl, I need a faster way to get through the red tape!”] (set: $HadSexWithKarl to true) [[Back to Desk->1 Faster Way]]

''Planet'': ''Red Stamp 13'' ''Location'': ''The Guild of Adventurers'' You stand before the imposing marble columns of the sub-secondary-branch of the Adventurers Guild, their grandeur almost mocking the mundanity of the planet they occupy. If this is what the Guild builds on a backwater planet like Red Stamp 17, you can’t help but wonder what the primary branch must look like—probably something akin to a palace in the clouds, with gold-plated dragon statues and a moat of liquid stardust. <img src="images/1-guild.png" style="width:90%" /> The tall, polished doors stand flung open, as if daring you to step inside. The darkened interior beyond is more than a little intimidating, and you swallow hard before mustering the courage to walk through. As your eyes adjust from the harsh daylight to the dim, foggy lighting within the Guild, you find yourself in a cavernous entryway that seems designed to make you feel small. More marble columns rise up like ancient trees, their surfaces polished to a gleam. The faint scent of pine hangs in the air, probably pumped in to give the place a sense of "outdoorsy" adventure, even though it’s clear no one here has set foot outside in years. A long, plush red carpet stretches out before you, leading to the only desk in sight. It’s the sole feature in this entire grand, extravagantly wasted space—a desk that looks almost comically out of place in the midst of so much emptiness. You take a deep breath, screwing up your courage as you dab at your face with a pocket handkerchief. It’s a well-used handkerchief, one that’s likely hosted generations of germs in a microscopic metropolis on its fabric. With one final wipe, you shove it back into your pocket and begin the long trek across the carpet, each step echoing in the vast, silent hall as you make your way to the desk... [[Next->1 - Guild2]]

(if: $WeaponTried is not "yes")[ As you dicker over which object to grab—your eyes darting between the large silver tortoise paperweight, the computer pad, the box of paper clips, and the live rat—the clerk finishes locking the door with surprising speed. //(Seriously, how long did you think locking a door took anyway?)// ] You decide now is your chance. You lunge forward, weapon in hand, ready to deliver a knockout blow. But in the split second before you strike, the clerk turns around, a wide grin spreading across his face. With alarming deftness, he grabs the $ImprovisedWeapon right out of your hand. “Thanks, I were lookin’ fer that,” he mumbles, completely oblivious to your original intent. With a casual motion, he jams the $ImprovisedWeapon into a large pocket inside his coat, where it disappears without a trace. You stand there, momentarily dumbfounded, your grand plan crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a hurricane. Now weaponless and with the clerk still very much conscious, you’re left wondering what your next move should be. [[Try a different weapon when he turns his back->1 Knockout]] [[Give up violence and try something else->1 Seduction-2]] (set: $WeaponTried to "yes")

(if: $WeaponTried is not "yes")[ The clerk turns around to lock the door... Humming to himself... <img src="images/1-karl-lock.png" style="width:90%" /> You choose to - ''Violence'': [[Knock out the Clerk and search for something useful. ->1 Knockout]] ''Erotica Fan-Fic'': [[Do what needs to be done, at any cost...->1 Seduction2]] ''Deception'': [[Quickly fake a heart attack and wait for a better opportunity->1 - Fake]] ] (else:)[ The clerk suddenly hears a faint noise from the vents and turns his back to investigate, humming to himself... //You realize that violence wasn't the answer. Maybe it's time to consider other options... // ----------- ''Erotica Fan-Fic'': [[Do what needs to be done, at any cost...->1 Seduction2]] ''Deception'': [[Quickly fake a heart attack and wait for a better opportunity->1 - Fake]] ]

The crumpled post-it note from Karl reads: "Find Terra Goldtrix.". With no idea where Terra might be, you head to one of the last remaining futuristic payphones, the booth humming softly as it connects you to The Galactic Inquirer. <img src="images/1-call-editor.png" style="width:90%" /> After a few moments, the holographic display flickers, revealing a grizzled editor with thinning hair and tired eyes. He stares at you with suspicion. “Yeah? Who’s this?” You put on your best, most urgent tone. “Captain Goddard Withings. I’ve got critical information for Terra Goldtrix—something she’ll want to cover. Can you connect me to her?” The editor frowns. “Terra doesn’t take random calls, especially from people she doesn’t know. What’s this about?” You lean in, feigning exasperation. “Listen, this is big. I can’t say too much, but it involves a major development in... well, let's just say a certain system where she’s currently working. If she’s not there, I need to find her fast.” The editor’s eyes narrow, but he hesitates. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but she’s heading to the Corpus Vinea System. If you’ve got something, you’d better make it quick.” You suppress a grin as you disconnect the call. Finally, a lead. Now all you need is a ship to get you to Corpus Vinea before Terra Goldtrix beats you to the punch. ''Practical'': [[Head to the Shipyard to find a ship->2 Shipyard]] ''Sentimental'': [[Call Your Mother->2 CallMother]] ''Impulsive'': [[Wander the Spaceport and see what happens->2 WanderPort]]

With a song in your heart and what suspiciously resembles animal remains clinging to your shoes, you set off for the Newhaven Shipyard. Everyone within a thousand-mile radius—and probably beyond—knows that this is ''the'' place for all things space-related. Whether you’re landing, taking off, or just looking to loiter around pretending you belong, Newhaven’s got you covered. It’s also where the ships are built, sold, and ogled by those with less-than-stellar bank accounts. <img src="images/spaceport.png" style="width:90%" /> Of course, you’re painfully aware that your financial situation wouldn’t even cover the cost of renting a ship’s manual, let alone a piece of an actual ship. But your optimism is as boundless as your lack of funds, so you hop on the first transport and make the three-hour journey to the shipyard, whistling a tune that’s half hopeful and half delusional. When you arrive, your jaw nearly unhinges at the sight before you. The Newhaven Shipyard is a sprawling marvel of engineering excess. Massive galactic-glass cruisers are suspended on colossal gantries, like giant metallic beasts in mid-transformation. Workers bustle about with a sense of urgency that suggests they might actually know what they’re doing. Sparks fly from every direction, mingling with the heady aroma of engine grease and freshly synthesized anti-matter. It’s the kind of place that would make any space junkie weep tears of joy—or at least drool a little. You can’t help but gawk at the spectacle, your mind racing with possibilities. Sure, you don’t have the credits to buy a bolt, let alone a whole ship, but who needs money when you’ve got unshakeable, borderline delusional optimism? After all, in a place like this, opportunity could be lurking around any corner—or, more likely, hovering above you in the form of a sleek, unaffordable star cruiser. [[Next->2 Shipyard]]

A thought crosses your mind—absurd, really. What if, against all odds, Terra Goldtrix is already here on Red Stamp 13? The odds of that? Astronomical. About 1 in 51,500,041,000, to be exact. But then again, stranger things have happened. After all, who would have guessed you’d be standing here, with nothing but a crumpled post-it note and a half-baked plan? With nothing to lose, you decide to play the longshot. After all, you once won a space lottery with even worse odds—though, to be fair, the prize was just a lifetime supply of those dehydrated protein bars nobody eats. Still, a win’s a win, right? You begin your search by wandering aimlessly around the spaceport, making mental calculations as you go. “Let’s see... The planet has a population of 2 billion, spread across 15 major cities... each city has, what, 200 news outlets? Assuming Terra’s targeting the biggest stories... multiply that by the number of media drones... and factor in the standard deviation of journalistic ambition...” <img src="images/1-enquirer.png" style="width:90%" /> Your calculations, though increasingly convoluted, seem to guide your feet toward the largest broadcast station in the capital city a sub-sector of "The Galactic Enquirer". It’s the kind of place where news isn’t just reported—it’s manufactured, packaged, and sold to the highest bidder. You sneak inside, blending in with the bustling crowd of reporters and technicians, all the while scribbling notes on any piece of scrap paper you can find. [[Next->2 Longshot2]]

''Planet'': Red Stamp 13 ''Location'': Newhaven Shipyard You quickly come to the unsettling realization that you have absolutely no plan. The sheer size of this place is overwhelming, with ships and equipment stretching as far as the eye can see. It’s like trying to find a needle in a galaxy-sized haystack, and you’re not even sure where to begin. <img src="images/1-ultraluxe.png" style="width:90%" /> As you wander aimlessly through the shipyard, your attention is suddenly caught by something gleaming in the distance. You find yourself drawn toward it, almost as if it’s pulling you in with an invisible force. As you get closer, you see that it’s a ship—a masterpiece of design and engineering. Shaped like an arrowhead or a bullet, the ship has an aggressively sleek form, with a razor-sharp point at the front and flared, stylish wings at the rear. The entire vessel is coated in a chromed-silver layer of metallic armor that gleams under the harsh lights of the shipyard, reflecting everything around it like a mirror. It’s massive, roughly the size of a mansion, and bristling with weaponry that suggests it’s ready for anything the universe might throw at it. This isn’t just a ship—it’s a statement, a high-end piece of tech that screams luxury, power, and untold wealth. You can’t help but feel a pang of envy as you imagine what it would be like to pilot something so extraordinary. [[Next->2 Shipyard2]]

You fall on the side of indulgence and, with a sense of excitement, stride toward the gleaming, ultra-luxurious carrier ship. The vessel shines with an almost unnatural brilliance, every curve and panel designed to impress and intimidate. It’s the kind of ship that screams wealth and taste—perhaps a bit too loudly. As you approach, you’re suddenly intercepted by a small, overly energetic robot mechanic, its limbs whirring and clanking with a nervous energy. The robot’s body is polished to a mirror-like finish, and its glowing eyes dart around as if it’s constantly on the lookout for trouble. <img src="images/1-bob.png" style="width:90%" /> “Greetings, esteemed individual!” it chirps in a voice that’s both chipper and unsettlingly frantic. “I’m here to assist you with anything you need, everything you need, even things you didn’t know you needed! And don’t you worry about legality or common sense—those are mere suggestions in the pursuit of perfect service!” The robot starts buzzing around the ship, inspecting every detail with the fervor of someone who’s just downed ten cups of hyper-caffeine. “Oh, what a beauty this ship is! Truly a marvel of engineering. But I must ask, esteemed individual...” The robot pauses dramatically, its glowing eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. “Are you the owner of this magnificent vessel?” You’re taken aback by the question, despite the robot’s erratic behavior. You hesitate, then reply: ''Bold-Faced Lie'': [[Why yes, my good... robot. I am indeed the owner! You may call me Captain.->2 AltLiePath]] ''Embrace Truth'': [[No, I’m not the owner. I’m just looking for a ship to get me off this planet, and this one seemed like the ride of a lifetime.->2 AltTruthPath]] (set:$ShipCompanion to "BoB HelperBot")

You fall on the side of pragmatism and shuffle, with resignation, toward the creaking, rust-covered ship. It’s currently having its engine welded back on by what appears to be a bipedal tortoise-person with oversized black goggles. Judging by the molten metal oozing down the side, he’s doing a rather lackluster job. After several minutes of polite, increasingly loud throat-clearing, the tortoise-man finally stops welding and turns around. He has a thick backwater accent and seems a bit hard of hearing. <img src="images/1-brindles.png" style="width:90%" /> "Arrr! Wut be ye sayin', interruptin' ol' Mr. Brindles while he be at his work?" he barks out, his voice booming like a cannon across the deck. You attempt to put on your best smile, then, remembering how that usually goes, you settle for a neutral expression. "Beggin' yer pardon, good sir! I'm lookin' for the owner!" you shout, trying to make yourself heard above the din. Mr. Brindles fumbles with the welding torch, somehow managing to crank its fiery blaze even higher before he tosses it aside, still burning a hole in the deck. "Say what now? Ye claimin' yerself to be the captain o' this here vessel?" His voice has a rough, seafarin' slur to it, somewhere between pirate and a deckhand who’s seen one too many ports. You ponder briefly and then reply: ''Bold-Faced Lie'': [[Why yes, my good man—turtle—guy… sir. I am the owner! You may call me Captain.->2 LiePath]] ''Embrace Truth'': [[No, I’m not the owner. I’m just looking for a ship to get me off this planet, and frankly, this seems about my budget.->2 TruthPath]] (set:$ShipCompanion to "Mr. Brindles")

(set: $Countess to "Dunes")(set: $Sector to "Vega")(set: $Event to "Party")(set: $ShipName to "Unreliable") You bring yourself to your full height, adjusting your fedora and putting on a haughty tone. <img src="images/1-shitbucket.png" style="width:90%" /> You scramble mentally for a good cover story... "Yes Yes,, and as I am the new owner of this said vehicle. I wish for you to quickly have it washed and fueled and made ready as I'm late for a rendezvous with the Countess of um, (click-replace: "Dunes")[(cycling-link: bind $Countess, "Sand", "Chickens", "Barbeque Sauce", "Counting", "Filth", "Money", "Fame", "Big Boobs", "Duchess", "Monkey Island", "Winnipeg", "Duke Wellington")]<span ?Countess>Dunes</span> in the uh... (click-replace: "Vega")[(cycling-link: bind $Sector, "Ford Fairlane", "AlphaBeta Centaur", "Totally Real", "Sub-Space", "Sub-Human", "Sub-Missive", "Sector", "Skippidy", "Fakename", "Mr. Coffee", "Cannibal", "Junebug", "Rando", "Ultimate", "Friendship")] <span ?Sector>Vega</span> Sector for the big upcoming...(click-replace: "Party")[(cycling-link: bind $Event, "Orgy", "Briss", "Birthday", "Un-Birthday", "Pinata", "Eat the Poor", "Eat the Rich", "Formal", "Drunken", "Funeral", "Greek Vomitorium", "Republican", "Nuclear Testing", "Pentultimate", "Bestest Ever")] <span ?Event>Party</span> Event she's been planning. And while you're at it, change the ship's name to the SS (click-replace: "Unreliable")[(cycling-link: bind $ShipName, "Shitbucket", "Monkey's Paw", "Puke", "Dodge Durango", "Kangaroo", "Slugaboo", "Filthy Whore", "Manchild", "Wobbily Whipple", "Flying Frisbee", "Cat Food", "Angry Rooster", "UncoUndulate", "Squidbreath", "Last Resort", "First Choice", "Pile of Junk", "Tetanus", "Milli Vanilli", "Space Vessel", "Doombringer", "Weasel Brigade", "Apeshit", "Dumbass", "5 Dollar Footlong", "Jennifer's Boobs", "Pretty Lady", "Ugly Lady", "Man Lady", "Ladybug", "Cleveland Ohio", "Dirty Boxers", "Punch Drunk Lust", "Cult Classic", "Ship Name")]<span ?ShipName>Unreliable</span>." [[Accept These Choices->2 CaptainName]]

Just as you finish speaking, a tall, beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, with dark hair, walks up next to you. She’s wearing an elaborate black coat with a high, sharp collar. A cane with a crystal topper is in her hand, and she speaks in an overly cultured, holier-than-thou tone: “What’s that, young man? You’re the pilot?” <img src="images/1-countess.png" style="width:90%" /> You and Mr. Brindles exchange confused looks. He hands you a beer, which you sip slowly while both of you stare at this obviously out-of-place woman. Eventually, you nod and query, “Yes, and you are...?”. She sniffs with disdain and continues, “Yes, well, of course, you might not recognize me at a glance—Daddy keeps the publicists on a tight leash. But I...” She pauses to preen slightly. “I am the Countess of $Countess, heading to the $Sector Sector for a formal $Event Event I’ve been planning. And I’ve paid top dollar to book the SS ''$ShipName'' for immediate travel with a Captain $CaptainName.” You spit out your mouthful of beer. What are the odds? “Oh...” cough cough “Really?” you manage to strain out in a pained tone. She glances over at the ship, visibly shudders, and then turns back to you. “Yes, young man! Now hop to it! Get this bucket flying, and keep in mind that I will be giving a full Yelp review for this trip, starting with the sorry state of this... this... vessel!” ''Acceptance:'' [[Invite the Countess aboard->2 InviteCountess]] ''Denial:'' [[Send her packing->2 SendHerPacking]]

You shake your head at the sheer coincidence that this woman, of all people, in all the galaxy, happens to have booked the ship using every name you just made up. The sheer odds against it make you feel sweaty and numb. <img src="images/1-countess-aboard.png" style="width:90%" /> “Okie doke miss uh, Countess "$Countess", you say, “I'll have Mr. Brindles here load your suitcase and get you settled in the bunk area below, just come up when you're ready. In the meantime I'll get us running and up in the sky.”. She laughs and barks at you, “Young man! Of course! Now stop being foolish and take my gravity-case.” She thrusts a floating suitcase at you, which hums warmly. You hand it to Mr. Brindle who takes it with a sober and serious look on his face. You take a deep breath and open the ships hatch and step into the cockpit. You gather your thoughts //(that was quick)// and take in your surroundings. [[Next->2 ShipInterior]]

You shake your head at the sheer coincidence that this woman, of all people, in all the galaxy, happens to have booked the ship using every name you just made up. It doesn’t seem legit. <img src="images/1-countess-aboard.png" style="width:90%" /> “I’m sorry, Countess "$Countess", you say, “but this isn’t the ship you booked.”. She sputters, “Young man! Of course it is! Now stop being foolish and take my gravity-case.” She thrusts a floating suitcase at you, which hums warmly. You point off into the distance and scream, “Oh my god, is that a sentient space chicken with a gun?!” As she spins around to look, you quickly dash onto the ship and lock the door. You brace yourself for the inevitable pounding on the door, but it never comes. You breathe a little easier and take in your surroundings. [[Next->2 ShipInterior]]

(set: $CaptainName to "Goddard Withings") Mr. Brindles accepts all this with a quiet patience, that one might assume would be a common trait in a tortoise race //(but that would be specist, so we don't assume that) // "That be good, That be Good. I spect I outta call you Captain, but uh... Captain what?" he finishes all in a rush. You think quickly and without too much thinking you blurt out: "I am Captain Withings" (click-replace: "Withings")[(cycling-link: bind $CaptainName, "Flapperjack Wabbajack", "Jack Harkness", "Bilbo Baggins", "Jesus Christ", "Jim Moneyguy", "Totali Fakanamae", "Guy Fieri", "Sir Patrick Stewart", "Chauncy McChauncerson", "Guybrush Threepwood", "Jennifer Tomboy", "Duke Wellington", "Oysters Rockafeller", "Chuck E Cheese", "Mr. Tibbs", "Quentin Hapsburg", "Laser Blastface", "Boom Boom Pow", "Explosion McDuff", "Baconfist McThruple", "Muadib Usul Pillar", "The Chosen One", "Crimea River", "I.P. Freeley", "Justice McBodyslam", "Hamburger Halpern", "Jimmy the Fish", "Punch HardPeck", "Wang Doodle", "Flippant McDouchelDorf", "Bag of Weasels", "Baconator McRib", "Cockingspin McStrudelpants", "Jeff", "Hannibal Lechter", "NoName McBlankcheck", "Barney the Dinosaur", "Shred McSurfwankin", "Spudz Mackenzie", "Potentate AuGratin", "Kibbles n' Bits", "Bliss McSponge", "Formerly known as Prince", "3 Midgets in a Trenchcoat", "Goddard Withings")] You continue, "Yup that's my name allright, had it my whole life. Really suits me. It's from my Mother's side you know. It's ancient Greek actually. It sure is my name. That is what my parents wrote on a birth certificate indeed." <img src="images/1-fakename.png" style="width:90%" /> Mr. Brindles nods sagely, noting it down in the registry. //(You hope this doesn't come back to bite you) // [[Accept These Choices->2 Duchess]]

You step into the cockpit, where the door groans as if in pain. The stench of ancient leather, stale grease, and a whiff of something burnt—maybe toast, maybe a small rodent—greets him. The control panel is a graveyard of buttons and switches, held together by a prayer and more duct tape than a space station repair kit. A couple of screens flicker like they’re auditioning for a horror movie, and the pilot’s chair squeaks in protest, its springs long past retirement. <img src="images/1-shit-interior.png" style="width:90%" /> The ship’s corridor is just wide enough to make you question whether you really need to eat in the galley—a galley equipped with relics from a kitchen museum. One cupboard dangles uselessly, and the fridge thrums with a threat, as if daring anyone to open it and unleash who-knows-what horrors. The bathroom? A masterpiece of compact misery. The sink is a relic, the mirror is cracked enough to turn your reflection into a Picasso, and the toilet might have been designed by someone who hated comfort. Below, the captain’s bunk offers the promise of some form of sleep—if you can call lying on a lumpy mattress sleep. The sheets are dusty, moth-eaten, and the dim light above flickers, casting eerie shadows that only enhance the ship's haunted vibe. Yet somehow, against all odds and good sense, the ship works. It’s dirty, it’s falling apart, but it’s ready to take You wherever your questionable judgment leads you next. [[Next->2 ShipStart]]

You sink into the creaky pilot’s chair as the screens flicker to life with the enthusiasm of a half-dead battery. After a few sputtering flashes, the ship’s name blinks into view: SS ''$ShipName''. It’s glitchy, but there it is, declaring the ship’s identity with as much pride as a rust bucket can muster. You scan the controls, taking in the patched-up buttons and flickering monitors. It’s old, it’s messy, but after a quick look around, you’re confident. You can fly this thing—no problem. Before you can bask in your newfound confidence, the Countess storms up from below decks, her demands firing off like a rapid-fire blaster. “Pilot! I require a chaise lounge in the galley, freshly pressed linens, and a seven-course meal at eight o’clock sharp! And make those engines quieter, they’re simply too loud!” As she continues her tirade, you stare in slack-jawed wonder. How did she even get up here, and so fast? You spot Mr. Brindles in the background, quietly slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Smart move, you think, as you brace yourself for the next challenge—both in flying the SS ''$ShipName'' and dealing with the Countess’s impossible demands. You lift off from Red Stamp 17, and hope to not return until you are ready to be a guild member. You remember that you have a mission: ''Bumbling'': [[Ask the Countess where you might find Terra Goldtrix->2 AskCountess]] ''Assertive'': [[Pick the most likely planet to have big news and go there->2 ToTerree]] ''Wacky'': [[Spit on a starmap and pick a system based on where it lands.->2 SpitCheck]]

You lean back in the squeaky pilot’s chair, contemplating your next move. “Countess, you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find Terra Goldtrix, would you?” The Countess freezes for just a moment—a flash of something in her eyes—before she quickly composes herself. “Terra Goldtrix? Oh, well... I suppose she could be anywhere, but if I were to venture a guess...” She trails off, glancing around as if searching for an escape. “She’s probably covering the Great Exploration,” she finally offers, her tone too casual to be genuine. “It’s a once-a-century event on ''Teree'' where I happen to headed anyway. Where adventurers from across the galaxy gather, and I gather big news is made. Quite the spectacle, really.” You narrow your eyes, noting her suspiciously evasive manner, but nod anyway. “Teree, then. That’s where I’ll head.” As you plot the course, the ship’s computer chimes in a robotic voice that somehow manages to sound both robotic and condescendingly British. “Ah, the Great Exploration on ''Teree''. How marvelously tedious. A gathering of adventurers—how quaint. Nothing quite like a mob of overconfident imbeciles tramping through the jungle in search of glory they’ll never find. And of course, the esteemed Miss Goldtrix, ever the paragon of journalistic integrity... I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to witness your inevitable failure.” You roll your eyes at the computer’s sarcasm as you set the coordinates. The course is set, the ship lurches slightly, and you can already feel the adventure pulling you toward ''Teree''—whether you’re ready for it or not. [[Next->3 Teree]]

You sit back in the worn pilot’s chair, racking your brains for a clue, a lead, anything that could point you toward Terra Goldtrix. Your thoughts drift back to the tales you’ve heard of ''The Questgiver''—that ancient, wise, and slightly pompous tree on the jungle world of ''Teree''. If anyone, or anything, could help you track down Goldtrix, it would be that overgrown piece of lumber. And then it hits you. The Great Exploration! It’s about to begin on ''Teree''—that once-in-a-century event where adventurers from every corner of the galaxy converge, hoping to make their mark. If there’s a story to be covered, Terra Goldtrix would undoubtedly be there, camera in hand, capturing the chaos. “Of course,” you mutter to yourself, the pieces falling into place. “The Questgiver and the Great Exploration. That’s where I’ll find her.” You punch in the coordinates for ''Teree'', feeling a surge of confidence. As the ship’s engines rumble to life, the computer chimes in with a voice that somehow manages to sound both robotic and condescendingly British. “Ah, heading to ''Teree'', are we? How utterly predictable. You do realize that the Questgiver is essentially an overgrown tree stump with delusions of grandeur, don’t you? And as for the Great Exploration... well, it’s nothing more than an excuse for a bunch of would-be heroes to get themselves hopelessly lost. But by all means, let’s go. I’m sure this will end marvelously.” Ignoring the computer’s snide remarks, you set the course. ''Teree'' awaits, and with it, the possibility of finding Terra Goldtrix—and maybe, just maybe, getting some answers. [[Next->3 Teree]]

With no particular destination in mind, you pull up the ship’s starmap—a faded, slightly torn relic of a chart. After a moment’s thought, you lean in and, with all the precision of a seasoned spacefarer, you spit right onto the map. The glob of spit lands squarely on a system labeled ''Corpus Vinea''. As if sensing your decision, the ship’s computer chimes in with a voice that somehow manages to sound both robotic and condescendingly British. “Ah, ''Corpus Vinea'', how delightfully primitive. This system contains the lush jungle world of ''Teree''. The only habitable planet, I might add. Home to the universe’s most overrated sentient tree, ''The Questgiver''—a rather self-important botanical entity revered for dispensing so-called wisdom and quests to those who lack the sense to avoid it.” You roll your eyes as the computer continues in its disdainful tone, “Would you like me to plot a course for this tropical nightmare, or shall I prepare an excuse as to why you chickened out?” “Well, that’s settled then,” you mutter, ignoring the computer’s sarcasm as you set a course for Teree. The adventure is as good as chosen—the spit never lies. [[To Teree->3 Teree]]

Two weeks have crawled by as you make your way to ''Teree''. Mr. Brindles has locked himself in the bathroom, refusing to come out, insisting he’s “busy.” His refusal has forced you into awkward workarounds, making life aboard the ship even more uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the Countess has grown increasingly impatient, constantly barging into the cockpit to demand updates on your progress. Her questions have become relentless, and her presence nearly unbearable. At long last, ''Teree'' comes into view—a lush jungle planet, its surface covered in thick, towering trees with rivers winding through the landscape. The heat and humidity are palpable even before you land in ''Moist Eisley'', the planet’s only spaceport—a small, grimy outpost surrounded by dense jungle. You bring the SS ''$ShipName'' down with a rough landing and quickly make your way to the nearest bar, ''The Dripping Vine''. The dimly lit place is filled with the scent of exotic fruits and something uncomfortably damp. The patrons are a mix of adventurers, traders, and shady figures—perfect for gathering information on Terra Goldtrix. ''Clumsy'': [[Ask around loudly and stupidly->3 AskLoudly]] ''Detective'': [[Press the Countess for information->3 PressCountess]] ''Idiotic'': [[Get wildly drunk and trust to fate->3 GetDrunk]]

You step into "The Dripping Vine," a bar that feels straight out of an old noir film, with dim lighting, shadowed corners, and a smoky haze hanging in the air. It’s the kind of place where people keep their secrets close and their voices low. Naturally, you do the opposite. Ignoring the cautious glances from the patrons, you march straight to the bar and, without a second thought, start drinking heavily and shouting your intentions. "Hey! I’m looking for Terra Goldtrix!" you announce, your voice cutting through the room like a knife. Heads turn, and the murmur of conversation dies down, but you’re too focused on your mission to notice. "And what about The QuestGiver Tree? Anyone know where that is? Heard it’s on Teree! Oh, and The Great Exploration! Big deal, right?" Your words are starting to slur. By now, the entire bar is staring at you. The bartender looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, and a few rough-looking patrons exchange dark glances. You’ve clearly marked yourself as an easy target, but you remain blissfully unaware, continuing to prattle on as if you’re in a tourist info booth rather than a den of potential cutthroats. "Seriously, anyone? Terra Goldtrix? The QuestGiver Tree? The Great Exploration?" you call out again, almost cheerfully, expecting someone to just hand you the answers. The bartender finally leans in, voice low and wary. "You might wanna watch what you’re asking, kid," he warns. "Not everyone here is friendly." But the damage is done. The room is tense, and you’ve lit the fuse. Whatever happens next, it’s clear you’ve stirred up trouble—whether you’re ready for it or not. Violent AND Stupid: [[Start Kicking Ass and Naming Ass.->3 BarMeeting]] Drink Dangerously: [[Spew Like There's No Tomorrow.->3 GetDrunk]] Moment of Clarity: [[Realize the danger and shut up.->3 BarMeeting]]

You take a seat at a dimly lit table in the corner of "The Dripping Vine," the kind of spot that offers just enough privacy for a serious conversation. The Countess sits across from you, her elaborate cloak draped elegantly over the back of her chair, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced aloofness. But you’re not here to admire her poise. You’re here to get some answers. "So, Countess," you begin, leaning forward slightly, "tell me again why you agreed to come all the way out here. This place isn’t exactly what I’d call a prime destination for someone of your... stature." She smiles faintly, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? "Why, it’s simple, really," she replies, her voice smooth, but you notice it’s just a little too polished. "The Great Exploration is a once-in-a-century event, after all. I couldn’t possibly miss it." You nod, but you’re not convinced. There’s something off about her story, something that doesn’t quite add up. You press on. "And what exactly are you hoping to find here? I mean, someone like you must have more exciting places to be." The Countess hesitates, and for a brief moment, her refined accent slips, replaced by something rougher, less polished. She quickly corrects herself, but you caught it—her voice, her mannerisms, they don’t match up with the high-born persona she’s been projecting. "Look," you say, your tone more direct now, "I’m not buying it. Your story doesn’t make sense. And just now... your accent—it changed. Twice. Who are you really?" The Countess freezes, her eyes narrowing as she realizes the jig is up. She opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. You’ve caught her in a lie, and there’s no smooth talk that’s going to get her out of this one. "Come on," you press, your voice firm. "Who are you, and what are you really doing here?" [[Next->3 GrillCountess]]

You decide that investigating plots and questioning the Countess sounds like way too much work. Instead, you opt for the far more appealing option: getting wildly, gloriously drunk. With a grin, you wave the bartender over and order the strongest drink they have—a concoction that smells like it could strip paint and tastes even worse. But that doesn’t stop you. One drink turns into two, then three, and before you know it, you’re well on your way to making some questionable decisions. The night quickly devolves into a series of increasingly ridiculous shenanigans. You start off by leading a raucous sing-along at the bar, charming some patrons with your off-key renditions of classic space ballads. It’s endearing, really, the way you slur through the lyrics with a lopsided grin. The crowd warms to you, and for a brief moment, you feel like the star of the show. But things take a turn when you challenge a grizzled bounty hunter to a drinking contest. It’s all fun and games until you realize he’s been drinking jet fuel, or something equally toxic. Somehow, you manage to keep up with him, but not without losing the last shreds of your dignity—and your lunch—right there on the floor. From there, the night spirals further into chaos. At one point, you find yourself arm-wrestling a four-armed alien with neon skin. The contest ends with you flat on your back, laughing hysterically as the alien pats your head like you’re a puppy. The bar erupts in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, you feel like you’re on top of the world—or at least, the sticky, beer-soaked floor. [[Next->3 GetDrunk2]]

(set: $Countess to "Dunes") (set: $Sector to "Vega") (set: $Event to "Party") (set: $ShipName to "Unreliable") You scramble mentally for a good cover story... in case Bob is questioned. <img src="images/1-ultraluxe.png" style="width:90%" /> "Yes Yes,, and as I am the new owner of this said vehicle. I wish for you to quickly have it washed and fueled and made ready as I'm late for a rendezvous with the Countess of um, (click-replace: "Dunes")[(cycling-link: bind $Countess, "Sand", "Chickens", "Barbeque Sauce", "Counting", "Filth", "Money", "Fame", "Big Boobs", "Duchess", "Monkey Island", "Winnipeg", "Duke Wellington")]<span ?Countess>Dunes</span> in the uh... (click-replace: "Vega")[(cycling-link: bind $Sector, "Ford Fairlane", "AlphaBeta Centaur", "Totally Real", "Sub-Space", "Sub-Human", "Sub-Missive", "Sector", "Skippidy", "Fakename", "Mr. Coffee", "Cannibal", "Junebug", "Rando", "Ultimate", "Friendship")] <span ?Sector>Vega</span> Sector for the big upcoming...(click-replace: "Party")[(cycling-link: bind $Event, "Orgy", "Briss", "Birthday", "Un-Birthday", "Pinata", "Eat the Poor", "Eat the Rich", "Formal", "Drunken", "Funeral", "Greek Vomitorium", "Republican", "Nuclear Testing", "Pentultimate", "Bestest Ever")] <span ?Event>Party</span> Event she's been planning. And while you're at it, change the ship's name to the SS (click-replace: "Unreliable")[(cycling-link: bind $ShipName, "Fancy Dancer", "Monkey's Paw", "Grand Theft Auto", "Diamond Shitkicker", "Snooty Butler", "Upscale Lady", "Filthy Whore", "Inheritance", "Trust Fund", "White Privelege", "Roast Suckling Pig", "Irritable Chauffeur", "Fandango", "Expensive Date", "Shiny Weasel", "First Choice", "Embroidered Doily", "Syphillis", "Gentlemen's Agreement", "Space Vessel", "Michelob Ultra Dry", "Giraffe of Wisdom", "Braintrust", "Mixed Metaphor", "Million Dollar Baby", "Legally Purchased", "Envious", "Ugly Lady", "Handsome Dan", "Grandma's Cat", "Fillibuster Brooha", "Silk Underwear", "Dichotomy", "Classy AF", "20 Years to Life")]<span ?ShipName>Unreliable</span>." [[Accept These Choices->2 AltCaptainName]]

You take a deep breath before launching into an explanation about your dreams—to become a famous explorer and archaeologist, to find secrets nobody has ever discovered, to uncover the mysteries of the universe, to get filthy rich and surrounded by women, and to earn the admiration and respect of your mentor, Wyoming Jones. As you speak, Bob Helperbot hovers attentively by your side, his glowing eyes flickering with what you suspect is simulated interest. “Fascinating, esteemed Captain! Truly, you are destined for greatness! Might I suggest a few optional upgrades to the ship to better facilitate your journey to fame and riches? Perhaps a deluxe treasure tracker or an automated flirtation module?” You continue your impassioned speech, and Bob Helperbot nods along enthusiastically, his whirring servos punctuating your every point. When you finally wind down, you glance at Bob, half expecting him to have powered down out of boredom. Instead, he’s still buzzing with excitement. “Esteemed Captain,” Bob chirps, “your aspirations are as grand as this magnificent vessel! I must inform you, however, that this ship, as glorious as it is, comes with a few... negligible legal entanglements. But fear not! With me at your side, I shall help you navigate every bureaucratic hurdle, no matter how insurmountable it may seem!” He leans in conspiratorially, or as close as a floating robot can manage, and his voice drops to a mechanical whisper. “So, what say you, Captain? Shall we commit the crime of theft together? If so ordered, I shall happily commit seven different kinds of grand larceny and stick with you and ensure your acclimatization to this luxury cruiser is nothing short of impeccable.” ''Uncaring:'' [[Yeah, great, whatever, I’ll take it.->2 AltLiePath]] ''Excited:'' [[Yes! Oh my god, my own ship!->2 AltLiePath]] ''Cagey:'' [[I suppose I could take it off your hands.->2 AltLiePath]]

(set: $CaptainName to "Goddard Withings") Mr. Helperton accepts all this with a quiet patience, that one might assume would be a common trait in a robotic race //(but that would be specist, so we don't assume that) // "Quite right Captain! As you are in all things I'm aware of! Are you almost ready to leave uh Captain, sorry Captain what?" he finishes all in a rush. You think quickly and without too much thinking you blurt out: "I am Captain Withings" (click-replace: "Withings")[(cycling-link: bind $CaptainName, "Flapperjack Wabbajack", "Jack Harkness", "Bilbo Baggins", "Jesus Christ", "Jim Moneyguy", "Totali Fakanamae", "Guy Fieri", "Sir Patrick Stewart", "Chauncy McChauncerson", "Guybrush Threepwood", "Jennifer Tomboy", "Duke Wellington", "Oysters Rockafeller", "Chuck E Cheese", "Mr. Tibbs", "Quentin Hapsburg", "Laser Blastface", "Boom Boom Pow", "Explosion McDuff", "Baconfist McThruple", "Muadib Usul Pillar", "The Chosen One", "Crimea River", "I.P. Freeley", "Justice McBodyslam", "Hamburger Halpern", "Jimmy the Fish", "Punch HardPeck", "Wang Doodle", "Flippant McDouchelDorf", "Bag of Weasels", "Baconator McRib", "Cockingspin McStrudelpants", "Jeff", "Hannibal Lechter", "NoName McBlankcheck", "Barney the Dinosaur", "Shred McSurfwankin", "Spudz Mackenzie", "Potentate AuGratin", "Kibbles n' Bits", "Bliss McSponge", "Formerly known as Prince", "3 Midgets in a Trenchcoat", "Goddard Withings")] <img src="images/1-fakename.png" style="width:90%" /> You continue, "Yup that's my name allright, had it my whole life. Really suits me. It's from my Mother's side you know. It's ancient Greek actually. It sure is my name. That is what my parents wrote on a birth certificate indeed." Bob nods sagely, noting it down in the registry. //(You hope this doesn't come back to bite you) // [[Accept These Choices->2 AltDuchess]]

Just as you finish speaking, a tall, beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, with dark hair, strides up to you and Bob Helperbot. She’s draped in an elaborate cloak with a high, sharp collar, and her feminine top hat is tilted just so. A cane with a crystal topper glints in her hand as she surveys the ship with an air of practiced indifference, though her eyes betray a spark of approval. “What’s that, young man? You’re the pilot?” she asks in an overly cultured, holier-than-thou tone. <img src="images/1-countess.png" style="width:90%" /> You exchange a look with Bob, whose glowing eyes flicker in a way that might be interpreted as confusion, if robots could be confused. Bob offers no beverages, but his servos whirr as he hovers attentively by your side. You finally nod and ask, “Yes, and you are...?” She sniffs with disdain and continues, “Yes, well, of course, you might not recognize me at a glance—Daddy keeps the publicists on a tight leash. But I...” She pauses to preen slightly. “I am the Countess of ''$Countess'', heading to the ''$Sector'' Sector for a formal ''$Event'' Event I’ve been planning. And I’ve paid top dollar to book the SS ''$ShipName'' for immediate travel with a Captain ''$CaptainName''.” You blink, momentarily thrown off by the sheer absurdity of the situation, but Bob Helperbot is unfazed. “Ah, Countess,” he chirps, his voice oozing with robotic charm. “A pleasure, as always. May I offer you a complimentary tour of the ship’s many luxurious amenities? Our silk-lined escape pods are particularly popular with our most discerning guests.” The Countess, suitably impressed by the extreme chic and expensive nature of the ship, waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but I have very specific requirements. I demand a private spa with a live dolphin, a full orchestra on standby for mood music, and a seven-course meal prepared by a chef who has cooked for royalty. And the temperature must never drop below a perfect 72 degrees Fahrenheit.” Bob Helperbot doesn’t miss a beat. “But of course, Countess! I shall relay your requests to the appropriate channels immediately.” He turns to you, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “Esteemed Captain, I regret to inform you that live dolphins are currently out of stock, but I assure you we can improvise something just as... aquatic.” You stifle a groan, wondering how you’ve found yourself in this situation, and mentally prepare for what’s sure to be a long and demanding journey. ''Acceptance:'' [[Invite the Countess aboard->2 AltInviteCountess]] ''Denial:'' [[Send her packing->2 AltSendHerPacking]]

You shake your head in disbelief at the sheer coincidence that this woman, of all people in the galaxy, happens to have booked the ship using every name you just made up. The sheer odds against it make you feel sweaty and numb. <img src="images/1-countess-aboard.png" style="width:90%" /> “Okie doke, miss uh, Countess ''$Countess'', you say, “I’ll have Bob here load your suitcase and get you settled in the luxury suite... er, I mean, the bunk area below. Just come up when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll get us up and running.” The Countess throws her head back with a haughty laugh and snaps, “Young man! Of course! Now stop being foolish and take my gravity-case.” She thrusts a floating suitcase at you, which hums warmly. Before you can react, Bob Helperbot zips over, grabbing the case with one of his many mechanical arms. “Ah, Countess! Allow me to personally oversee the delicate transport of your belongings. Rest assured, your gravity-case will be stored with the utmost care... in a compartment befitting such exquisite luggage.” The Countess eyes you sharply, then starts rattling off demands. “And I expect the following by the time we’re airborne: A full-service spa with lava rock massages, a 24/7 gourmet chocolate fountain, and an aviary filled with songbirds trained to sing only the classics. Oh, and a harpist to accompany my daily meditations.” Bob Helperbot’s eyes flash with enthusiasm as he records her requests. “But of course, Countess! I shall arrange for all these luxuries and more. Perhaps you’d also enjoy a zero-gravity ballroom with a starlit view for your evening waltz?” You take a deep breath and hand off the case to Bob, who zooms away, babbling about the perfect ambient lighting for harp music. Steeling yourself, you open the ship’s hatch and step into the cockpit. You gather your thoughts—//that was quick//—and take in your surroundings. [[Next->2 AltShipInterior]]

You shake your head at the sheer coincidence that this woman, of all people, in all the galaxy, happens to have booked the ship using every name you just made up. It doesn’t seem legit. <img src="images/1-countess-aboard.png" style="width:90%" /> “I’m sorry, Countess '$Countess", you say, “but this isn’t the ship you booked.”. She sputters, “Young man! Of course it is! Now stop being foolish and take my gravity-case.” She thrusts a floating suitcase at you, which hums warmly. You point off into the distance and scream, “Oh my god, is that a sentient space chicken with a gun?!” As she spins around to look, you quickly dash onto the ship and lock the door. You brace yourself for the inevitable pounding on the door, but it never comes. You breathe a little easier and take in your surroundings. [[Next->2 AltShipInterior]]

You step into the cockpit, where the door glides open silently, as if it wouldn’t dare disrupt the atmosphere of refined luxury. The air is scented with rare orchids and fresh linen, a far cry from the usual sterile ship smell. The control panel is sleek and polished, with every button elegantly labeled and softly lit. The pilot’s chair adjusts perfectly to your body, offering a level of comfort you’ve only dreamed of. <img src="images/1-alt-luxe-interior.png" style="width:90%" /> The corridor beyond is more of a grand hallway, with polished marble floors and walls adorned with priceless art. The galley isn’t just a kitchen—it’s a culinary paradise, complete with a robotic chef and a wine cellar stocked with the finest vintages. Even the fridge hums contentedly, its contents perfectly arranged. The bathroom is a private spa, complete with a flowing fountain sink, a mirror that offers daily affirmations, and a toilet with more features than you could have imagined. Below, the captain’s quarters are a suite fit for royalty, with a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets and a ceiling that offers a panoramic view of the stars. It’s not just a ship; it’s a floating palace. Everything here is designed to indulge and impress. It’s excessive, it’s pretentious, and it’s absolutely magnificent. You can’t help but feel a little smug as you take it all in. [[Next->2 AltShipStart]]

You sink into the plush, auto-adjusting pilot’s chair as the screens glide to life with the smoothness of a silk curtain. After a brief, elegant animation, the ship’s name appears in flawless holographic display: SS ''$ShipName''. The letters shimmer with a subtle iridescence, proudly declaring the ship’s identity in a way that leaves no doubt—this vessel is the pinnacle of luxury. You scan the controls, which are laid out like a work of art, each button perfectly placed and backlit with a soft, soothing glow. The monitors display high-definition readouts, perfectly calibrated, and after a quick look around, you’re confident. You can fly this thing—easily. Before you can savor your newfound confidence, the Countess sweeps into the cockpit, her demands firing off like a rapid-fire blaster. “Pilot! I require a chaise lounge in the galley upholstered in endangered star-whale leather, a Swarovski crystal chandelier in my quarter, and a masseuse trained by the monks of Lunar Nirvana! And while you’re at it, ensure the engines emit nothing louder than a whisper!” She doesn’t stop there. “And another thing! I demand my bath water be sourced from the melted glaciers of Zephyr 9, chilled to exactly 14.7 degrees Celsius, and served in a gold-plated clawfoot tub. And don’t forget to install a zero-gravity fountain in my quarters that flows with only the finest vintage champagne! Oh, and a personal chef who can prepare my caviar using stardust—none of that terrestrial nonsense!” As she continues her tirade, you can’t help but gape at the absurdity. How did she even get onboard and to the cockpit so quickly? Out of the corner of your eye, you see the solution, Bob Helperbot zips by, now seamlessly integrated with the ship’s systems. His metallic limbs extend and retract as he attaches himself to various ports and terminals, ready to zip to any location aboard the ship in an instant. “Not to worry, esteemed Captain!” Bob chirps, his voice filled with relentless optimism. “I shall ensure the Countess’s every whim is attended to. Perhaps she would also enjoy a personal meteor shower scheduled precisely at sunset, or a custom-made nebula for her viewing pleasure?” You sigh inwardly and accept what’s sure to be an endless parade of requests, both in managing the SS ''$ShipName'' and dealing with the Countess’s increasingly impossible demands. As you lift off from Red Stamp 13, you remind yourself of your mission: ''Bumbling'': [[Ask the Countess where you might find Terra Goldtrix->2 AltAskCountess]] ''Assertive'': [[Pick the most likely planet to have big news and go there->2 AltToTerree]] ''Wacky'': [[Spit on a starmap and pick a system based on where it lands.->2 AltSpitCheck]]

You lean back in the plush, velvet-covered pilot’s chair, which adjusts itself perfectly to your posture, as you contemplate your next move. “Countess, you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find Terra Goldtrix, would you?” The Countess freezes for just a moment—a flash of something in her eyes—before she quickly composes herself. “Terra Goldtrix? Oh, well... I suppose she could be anywhere, but if I were to venture a guess...” She trails off, glancing around as if searching for an escape. “She’s probably covering the Great Exploration,” she finally offers, her tone too casual to be genuine. “It’s a once-a-century event on ''Teree'', where I happen to be headed anyway. Adventurers from across the galaxy gather there, and I gather big news is made. Quite the spectacle, really.” You narrow your eyes, noting her suspiciously evasive manner, but nod anyway. “Teree, then. That’s where I’ll head.” As you plot the course, the ship’s computer bursts into life with a chorus of animated sparkles and hearts. “Yayyy! The Great Exploration on ''Teree''! Isn’t that just the most exciting thing ever, Captain-chan?! UwU!” The computer’s voice is ridiculously cheerful, as if it’s speaking to a small child on their first trip to the candy store. “All those brave adventurers, running around in the big, green jungle, looking for shiny treasures and grand adventures! Kyaa~! It’s going to be sooo much fun!” The screen displays a chibi version of ''Teree'', complete with tiny adventurers scampering around a cartoon jungle. “And guess who’s going to be there, Captain-chan? The super-duper famous Terra Goldtrix! She’s like, the bestest reporter in the whole universe, and I bet she’s going to looove writing about your epic journey! Teehee! Maybe we can ask her to take a cute selfie with us? Desu~!” You roll your eyes at the computer’s relentless enthusiasm as you set the coordinates. The course is set, the ship glides smoothly forward, and you can already feel the adventure pulling you toward ''Teree''—whether you’re ready for it or not. [[Next->3 AltTeree]]

You sit back in the plush, velvet-covered pilot’s chair, which seems to hug you in all the right places as you rack your brains for a clue, a lead, anything that could point you toward Terra Goldtrix. Your thoughts drift back to the tales you’ve heard of ''The Questgiver''—that ancient, wise, and slightly pompous tree on the jungle world of ''Teree''. If anyone, or anything, could help you track down Goldtrix, it would be that overgrown piece of lumber. And then it hits you. The Great Exploration! It’s about to begin on ''Teree''—that once-in-a-century event where adventurers from every corner of the galaxy converge, hoping to make their mark. If there’s a story to be covered, Terra Goldtrix would undoubtedly be there, camera in hand, capturing the chaos. “Of course,” you mutter to yourself, the pieces falling into place. “The Questgiver and the Great Exploration. That’s where I’ll find her.” You punch in the coordinates for ''Teree'', feeling a surge of confidence. As the ship’s engines purr to life with the smoothness of a luxury cruiser, the computer chimes in with a voice that’s almost too sweet to bear. “Oh my gosh, Captain-chan! You’re going to ''Teree''?! That’s sooo exciting! UwU~! But, um, you do know that ''The Questgiver'' is basically just a super old, super big tree with a really big ego, right? Teehee! But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do great, desu~!” The screen lights up with a cutesy animation of a chibi tree with a monocle and top hat, looking quite pleased with itself. “And the Great Exploration? It’s just the most kawaii event ever! All those adorable little adventurers running around, trying sooo hard to be heroes! Kyaa~! You’re going to have so much fun, Captain-chan! I can’t wait to see all the sparkly treasures you’ll find!” Ignoring the computer’s saccharine commentary, you set the course. ''Teree'' awaits, and with it, the possibility of finding Terra Goldtrix—and maybe, just maybe, getting some answers. [[Next->3 AltTeree]]

With no particular destination in mind, you pull up the ship’s starmap—a stunning holographic display that looks more like a work of art than a navigation tool. The constellations twinkle like tiny diamonds, and each star is rendered in soft pastels that gently pulse with a calming glow. After a moment’s thought, you lean in and, with all the precision of a seasoned spacefarer, you spit right onto the map. The glob of spit lands squarely on a system labeled ''Corpus Vinea''. Almost immediately, the ship’s computer springs to life in a burst of animated sparkles and pastel colors. “Oh my gosh, Captain-chan! You’ve picked ''Corpus Vinea''! Isn’t that just the cutest name ever? UwU!” The voice is sickeningly sweet, as if speaking to a small child, and the display now shows an adorably chibi version of the planet with big, sparkly eyes. “Let me tell you all about it, teehee! ''Corpus Vinea'' is home to the super-duper lush jungle world of ''Teree''! It’s like a big, green playground, desu~! And guess what? There’s a really, really wise tree there called ''The Questgiver''! Isn’t that just sooooo magical?!” The computer’s voice dips into an excited, high-pitched squeal. “The Questgiver is super famous for giving out quests to all the brave heroes! Or, you know, anyone who asks, uwu~!” You roll your eyes as the computer continues in its overly cutesy tone, “Shall I plot a course, Captain-chan? Or are you feeling a little shy, like a cute little bunny who’s not ready for an adventure? Teehee!” “Well, that’s settled then,” you mutter, ignoring the computer’s saccharine prattle as you set a course for Teree. The adventure is as good as chosen—the spit never lies. [[To Teree->3 AltTeree]]

Two weeks have drifted by in a blur of opulence as you make your way to ''Teree''. Bob Helperbot has attached himself to the ship’s systems, zipping around like a hyperactive concierge, attending to every whim of the Countess. His presence has made life aboard the ship a strange mix of absurd luxury and occasional annoyance. Meanwhile, the Countess has grown increasingly impatient, constantly barging into the plush, silk-lined cockpit to demand updates on your progress. Her questions have become relentless, and her presence nearly unbearable, as she lounges on chaise longues and sips from crystal goblets filled with vintage wines. At long last, ''Teree'' comes into view—a breathtakingly lush jungle planet, its surface covered in thick, towering trees with sparkling rivers winding through the emerald landscape. The atmosphere is thick with humidity, and you can almost feel the warmth and moisture seeping through the ship’s hull, even before you touch down at ''Moist Eisley''—the planet’s only spaceport. Despite its ridiculous name, the spaceport is a jewel in the jungle, a glittering hub of polished marble and gilded decor, surrounded by the wild beauty of the dense forest. You bring the SS ''$ShipName'' down with a landing so smooth it feels like being placed gently on a velvet cushion. You disembark and make your way to the nearest bar, ''The Dripping Vine''. The place is dimly lit, but instead of feeling seedy, it’s filled with the scent of exotic fruits and rare spices. The patrons are a mix of well-dressed adventurers, traders with a taste for the finer things, and shady figures who exude an air of dangerous sophistication—perfect for gathering information on Terra Goldtrix. ''Clumsy'': [[Ask around loudly and stupidly->3 AskLoudly]] ''Detective'': [[Press the Countess for information->3 PressCountess]] ''Idiotic'': [[Get wildly drunk and trust to fate->3 GetDrunk]]

You stare at the payphone, the option of calling your mother lingering in your mind like an unpleasant itch. The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. It’s been years since you last spoke, and with good reason. Conversations with her tend to leave you feeling like you’ve run a marathon—uphill, through a swamp, in a rainstorm. But maybe... just maybe, this time will be different? Maybe she has some sage advice or even a lead on Terra Goldtrix. Your finger hovers over the call button, but then, as if on cue, your body begins to rebel. First, there’s the cold sweat. Beads of it trickle down your forehead as your heart starts to race. Your stomach churns, flipping like a pancake on a griddle. You swallow hard, trying to push through the nausea that’s now bubbling up. Your hand trembles, and you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to press the button. The screen lights up, but before you can even input her number, your vision blurs, and your head starts to spin. A sudden wave of dizziness hits you like a freight train, and your knees buckle. You clutch the side of the payphone for support, but it’s no use—the aversion is too strong. “Come on, you can do this,” you mutter to yourself, though your body clearly disagrees. Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and your fingers feel like lead as you struggle to press just one more button. And then, just as suddenly as it started, you give up. A sense of overwhelming peace washes over you as you let go of the handset. The dizziness fades, your heart rate slows, and the nausea retreats like a bad dream. You slump against the payphone, relieved beyond words. Calling your mother was a fool’s errand, and deep down, you knew it. With a resigned sigh, you decide to embrace the chaos and leave fate to decide your next move. [[Just try random stuff->2 WanderPort]]

You shrug, deciding that a carefully planned approach is overrated. Instead, you choose to wander the spaceports, hoping that something—anything—might just fall into your lap. After all, who needs a plan when you’ve got good old-fashioned dumb luck? Your first stop is the customs office. You try bribing an official for information, sliding a few credits across the counter with a wink. He takes the money, gives you a pitying look, and tells you that he’s never heard of Terra Goldtrix. He then promptly uses your bribe to buy himself lunch. {(live: 10s)[(t8n: "pulse")+(size:2)[Strike one.]]} Undeterred, you head to a seedy corner of the spaceport where information is often exchanged for… favors. You offer up your services, selling your body—or at least, that’s what you think you’re doing. Instead, you end up with a new job title: Erotic Masseuse. It’s less glamorous than you imagined, and the only information you get in return is a vague suggestion to “try the bar,” which you realize in hindsight is the most generic advice imaginable. {(live: 20s)[(t8n: "pulse")+(size:2)[Strike two.]]} After several hours of rubbing down alien clients with questionable motives, you decide to switch tactics. You stroll into a nearby cantina and try chatting up some shady characters. You spin tales of your nonexistent exploits, hoping someone will let slip Terra’s whereabouts. Instead, you’re promptly laughed out of the establishment when it becomes clear that not only do you not know where Terra Goldtrix is—you also don’t seem to know much about anything else. {(live: 30s)[(t8n: "pulse")+(size:2)[Strike three.]]} In a moment of desperation, you apply for a job as a janitor at a local news station, hoping to overhear something useful while mopping the floors. The most exciting thing you hear is the lunch order for the anchor team. {(live: 40s)[(t8n: "pulse")+(size:2)[Strike four.]]} By the time you’re back at the spaceport, you’ve tried bribery, deceit, selling yourself, and even honest work—all to no avail. The realization hits you like a meteorite: wandering around randomly and hoping for the best was an incredibly stupid idea. You’ve wasted time, dignity, and credits, and you’re no closer to finding Terra Goldtrix than when you started. Defeated, you slump onto a bench and sigh. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to try something a little more... intelligent. [[Head to the Shipyard->2 Shipyard]]

Then, as if guided by some idiot-savant instinct, you find yourself in a dusty, unused office at the back of the building. On the desk lies an old terminal, still active but forgotten. You crack your knuckles, ready to decrypt whatever secrets it holds. <img src="images/1-terminal.png" style="width:90%" /> “Just a little brute force here, a substitution cipher there... throw in the prime number sequence... and voilà!” you mutter to yourself as you tap away at the terminal. The screen flashes, and you’re met with a hidden file—an encrypted communique from Terra Goldtrix herself. You quickly decrypt the message, your mind somehow making sense of the gibberish. And there it is: “Heading to Corpus Vinea System. Big story brewing. Must get there before anyone else. – T.G.” You sit back, grinning like a fool. Against all odds, you’ve done it. You’ve cracked the code, and now you know exactly where Terra is headed. It’s time to find a ship and get to the Corpus Vinea System—before Terra Goldtrix scoops the story of a lifetime. [[Head to the Shipyard->2 Shipyard]]

But as you tear your eyes away from the gleaming ship, your gaze falls on another vessel nearby. It’s a stark contrast to the chrome beauty—this one is a rust-covered heap of junk, barely holding itself together. It’s about the size of an RV, with one wing welded on at a crooked angle, making it look even more pathetic. The entire ship seems like it’s been through hell and back, and the years haven’t been kind. The rust has taken over almost every inch of its surface, making it impossible to discern the ship's original color. You squint at the name etched into the side, but the letters are so corroded and worn that you can barely make out anything at all. Whatever this ship was once called, it’s now just a ghost of its former self, limping along on the last remnants of its life. It’s the kind of ship you’d expect to see in a junkyard, not in a place where state-of-the-art vessels are being prepped for action. As you stand there, caught between the allure of the chrome masterpiece and the sad reality of the rusted relic, you can’t help but feel the weight of your own situation pressing down on you. The choices you make here could define the rest of your journey—or, at the very least, make things a lot more complicated. (link: "Dream all big & stupid and head towards the ultra luxury super carrier")[ (set: $ShipType to "Ultraluxe Carrier") (go-to: "2 Ultraluxe") ] (link: "Deal with reality and head towards the derelict ramshackle ship")[ (set: $ShipType to "Shitbucket") (go-to: "2 Shitbucket") ]

As the words leave your mouth, you begin to notice the room around you shift. The usual hum of conversation fades, replaced by a tense silence that creeps up your spine. Glancing around, you spot several men in black suits, each wearing optical transmitters that cover one eye, staring directly at you. They’re not just looking—they’re assessing, calculating, and suddenly, the reality of your situation crashes down on you like a ton of bricks. You’ve said too much. Way too much. Panic sets in as you realize you’ve drawn the wrong kind of attention. Your heart races, and for a moment, you’re frozen, unsure of what to do next. These men aren’t just casual bystanders—they’re something else, something dangerous, and you’ve just made yourself their target. Just then, the Countess sweeps into the room, her presence as commanding as ever. She doesn’t waste a moment, striding over to you with urgency in her steps. "We need to leave. Now," she hisses, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the exit. But as she does, something in her behavior seems off—more than just urgency. Her accent slips, just for a moment, revealing a different tone, a different person underneath the façade. You stumble alongside her, your drunken mind struggling to piece it all together. Finally, outside the bar, you pull back, forcing her to stop. "Who are you really?" you demand, your voice sharper than it’s been all night. "Your accent, your behavior—it doesn’t add up," you say, more confident now. "I deserve to know who I’m dealing with." She looks around nervously, then sighs, realizing there’s no point in hiding it any longer. "Alright, but not here. We’ll go somewhere safe, and I’ll explain everything." You nod, the tension in the air thickening as you follow her, knowing that whatever happens next will change everything. You sit down at a local coffee shop to sober up. [[Confront the Countess->3 GrillCountess]]

But not all your antics are so harmless. You somehow end up in a heated argument with a group of spacers over the best way to navigate an asteroid field. When words fail, you resort to miming your way through it, complete with wild gesticulations that nearly take out a nearby table. The spacers aren’t amused, and it takes the intervention of a burly bartender to keep things from getting truly dangerous. Eventually, after what feels like a hundred rounds of drinks, you find yourself slumped against the bar, too drunk to remember your own name, let alone why you came here in the first place. The Countess, having been swept up in the night’s revelry, isn’t faring much better. She’s giggling uncontrollably, her refined composure long gone, replaced by a sloppy, drunken cheer. It’s then, in her inebriated state, that she lets something slip—a careless comment about //her "real" name//, followed by a burst of laughter that she quickly tries to stifle. But it’s too late; the damage is done. You blink through the haze of alcohol, realizing that the ''Countess'' has just revealed that she’s //not who she says she is//. You stare at her, your alcohol-fogged brain struggling to process the revelation. "Wait, what did you just say?" you mumble, but the Countess is too far gone to backtrack. She waves you off with a drunken hand, mumbling something about how it doesn’t matter. But it does. Somehow, through blind luck, drunken antics, and a night of sheer absurdity, you’ve managed to uncover the truth—no matter how unintentional it might have been. [[Investigate the Countess - Get Answers->3 GrillCountess]] [[Ditch the Countess and Stick with $ShipCompanion->3 DitchCountess]]

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you eye the Countess with suspicion. "Enough games," you say, your voice firm. "Who are you really? Your story doesn't add up, and I've seen through your act. Spill it." The Countess stiffens, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. For a moment, it seems like she’s about to protest, but then she lets out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I suppose I can’t keep this up any longer, can I?" she murmurs. With a reluctant hand, she reaches up to the elaborate wig she’s been wearing—the dark, styled hair that has been part of her aristocratic persona. With a quick motion, she pulls it off, revealing a cascade of golden blonde hair that falls in soft waves around her shoulders. She also removes her thick cloak. The transformation is startling, the refined Countess suddenly replaced by someone far more real, yet equally stunning. "I’m not the Countess," she admits, her voice losing its affected accent. "My real name is Terra Goldtrix. Yes, that Terra Goldtrix—the one you’ve been searching for." You blink in surprise, not expecting this twist. "Wait, you’re Terra Goldtrix?" you repeat, struggling to reconcile the glamorous, mysterious Countess with the famous reporter you’ve been trying to find. Terra nods, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "It’s true. I got stranded on this backwater planet, Red Stamp 17, with no way off. I overheard you talking about finding a ship, so I, well, sort of bullied my way onto it. I didn’t realize you were looking for me specifically—it’s like the universe decided to play a little trick on both of us." As she speaks, you take in her appearance—no longer hidden beneath the Countess’s façade. Terra is undeniably beautiful, with a voluptuous figure that her now-revealed outfit highlights in all the right ways. Her clothing is sleek and space-age, a tight-fitting jumpsuit made from shimmering material that hugs her curves and catches the light with every movement. The outfit is accentuated with metallic accents and high-tech details that suggest she’s not just a pretty face, but a woman who knows how to navigate the dangers of the galaxy. Her blue eyes, no longer hidden behind the mask of the Countess, meet yours with a mixture of guilt and hope. "I’m sorry for the deception," she says, genuinely apologetic. "I didn’t mean for it to go this far, but now that we’re here... maybe we could team up? I think we’d make a pretty good pair, don’t you?" You consider her words, the shock of the revelation still sinking in. Terra Goldtrix, the woman you’ve been chasing across the stars, is now sitting across from you, asking for your help. The question is, can you forgive her for the deception, or is it better to cut ties and go your separate ways? Choices: ''Forgive and Team Up'': [[Forgive Terra and team up with her->3 KeepCountess]] ''Get Angry & Ditch Her'': [[Decide to ditch Terra and continue on your own->3 DitchCountess]]

The truth returns and slaps you in the face: the Countess is actually Terra Goldtrix, the damn reporter you’ve been chasing across the galaxy. At first, you’re stunned, but the more you think about it, the more pissed off you get. Sure, she’s famous, but being lied to doesn’t sit well with you—at all. "You’re Terra Goldtrix?" you say, half in disbelief. "The one I’ve been busting my ass trying to find?" She flashes a smile, as if that’s supposed to fix everything. "Surprise! We were meant to team up!" But you’re not having it. Relying on someone who’s been lying feels like a first-class ticket to disaster. "Yeah... no, screw that," you say, shaking your head. "I think I’ll just take $ShipCompanion and head to the QuestGiver Tree on Teree. Maybe it’ll have a less fucked-up way for me to join the Guild." Terra’s smile drops faster than a busted thruster, and she pouts like a spoiled brat who didn’t get her way. "You’re making the biggest mistake of your life! No one says no to Terra Goldtrix!" "Probably," you shrug, already walking away. "But I’m pretty committed to bad ideas. I’m going to do this my way—even if it’s... well er... stupid." "You’ll regret this!" she snaps, her voice rising as she stomps her foot like a petulant child. "Maybe," you say, smirking as you turn your back on her. As you and $ShipCompanion head back to your ship, you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation is. But hey, at least it’s your ridiculous, possibly idiotic plan. [[Press on without Terra->3 NoTerra]] [[Change your mind, apologize, and keep Terra->3 KeepCountess]]

You take a deep breath, letting go of the frustration that’s been gnawing at you. The whole situation is just too absurd to stay mad about. The irony of chasing Terra Goldtrix across the galaxy, only to have her practically drop into your lap, is almost too much to handle. A grin spreads across your face as you start to laugh, the tension melting away. "Alright, alright," you say, shaking your head in disbelief. "This whole thing is pretty damn ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean, what are the odds?" Terra looks at you, surprised by the sudden shift in your mood, and then she starts to smile too. "Yeah, I guess it is," she admits with a chuckle. "And hey," you say, giving her a once-over, "you’re really hot. So, you know, there’s that." She rolls her eyes, but you can see she’s amused. "Glad to know that counts for something." You take a moment to let the situation sink in, then you straighten up, feeling a new sense of resolve. "Alright, here’s the deal. We’ll take $ShipCompanion, dig up the location of this QuestGiver Tree, and see what we can find. You get your scoop, I get some answers, and we both walk away happy. //Deal//?" Terra nods, her smile widening. "Deal." With the tension between you now turned into something more like camaraderie, you can’t help but feel a bit excited. This is exactly the kind of adventure you’ve been craving, and now you’ve got a partner who’s just as eager to dive in. "Let’s get to it," you say, feeling lighter and more optimistic than you have in days. "The ''QuestGiver Tree'' isn’t going to find itself." You strike out towards the Jungle. [[Use Terra's Connections to Find Info->3 TerraContacts]] [[Do your own sleuthing and dig for clues->3 DigForClues]] [[Strike off into the Jungle with no Plan->3 AltGetLost]] (set:$DitchedTerra to false)

Even as the absurdity of the situation sinks in, the irritation gnaws at you. Terra Goldtrix, the very person you’ve been chasing, had the nerve to deceive you all along. Sure, the coincidence is mind-boggling, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. You know it’s probably not the smartest move, but the thought of continuing this mission with her just doesn’t sit right. "I can’t believe I fell for this," you mutter, shaking your head in frustration. "You might be a great reporter, Terra, but I don’t appreciate being played." Terra opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. "No, I’m done. I’ve got enough on my plate without adding trust issues to the mix. I’m taking $ShipCompanion and heading for the QuestGiver Tree. Maybe it has the answers I need—without all the bullshit." Her expression hardens, disappointment flashing in her eyes before she quickly masks it with indifference. "Fine," she says coolly. "Do whatever you want. But don’t expect me to wait around when you realize you’ve made a mistake." "Wouldn’t dream of it," you shoot back, already turning away. You motion for $ShipCompanion to follow, and without another word, you head toward the Jungle. Every step feels like you’re walking away from something that could have been big—but the truth is, you don’t care. You’re done with deception, even if it means making things harder for yourself. As you enter the Jungle, a sense of determination fills you. The QuestGiver Tree might hold the key to everything you’ve been looking for. You just have to get there and find out. Choices: ''Direct Approach'': [[Find a Guide and Hire Them.->3 FindGuide]] ''Stealthy Approach'': [[Plan an elaborate Heist->3 StealthTree]] ''Reckless Approach'': [[Strike off into the Jungle with No Plan.->3 AltGetLost]] (set:$DitchedTerra to true)

As you trudge through the jungle with Terra by your side, a thought strikes you—she’s not just some random traveler. She’s Terra Goldtrix, a famous reporter with actual resources. Maybe, just maybe, she could help you get to the QuestGiver Tree without all this aimless wandering. You stop in your tracks and turn to her. "Terra, I’ve been meaning to ask... You work for the Galactic Enquirer, right? You must have access to resources that could help us find the QuestGiver Tree. Why haven’t you mentioned that?" She hesitates, glancing away, and you catch a flicker of something—guilt, maybe? "Well... it’s complicated," she admits, biting her lip. "The truth is, I’ve been struggling to find a big story for months now. The editors are getting impatient, and I’m on the brink of being fired." You raise an eyebrow, surprised. "You? Terra Goldtrix? On the chopping block?" She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. But I still have connections. I can try to get us the information we need." [[Next->3 TerraContacts2]]

You and Terra have been trudging through the jungle for what feels like hours when you finally decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands. After all, you were a Space-Scout for three whole weeks, and if there’s one thing your family is known for, it’s dumb luck. What could possibly go wrong? "Alright, Terra," you announce with newfound confidence. "I think it’s time I took the lead here. I’ve got a feeling about this." Terra raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A feeling? Are you sure about that? We’re in the middle of an uncharted jungle, and you want to rely on a feeling?" You wave off her concerns with a grin. "Come on, Terra! Don’t forget my impressive Space-Scout credentials. And besides, dumb luck runs in the family. We’ve always managed to stumble into the right place eventually." She opens her mouth to protest, but you’re already striding forward, confidently following what you’re convinced are animal tracks leading deeper into the jungle. (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles watches you with a mix of amusement and resignation. "Hope that dumb luck of yours is workin' overtime, cap’n," he mutters, plodding along behind you. "Cause this jungle ain’t gonna let us just waltz on through."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot buzzes along cheerfully, his digital eyes flickering with concern. "Oh! A bold move, Captain! I’m sure those are tracks… of something! Let’s just hope it’s something friendly!"] Terra follows reluctantly, her skepticism turning into visible concern as you push further into the jungle. "I really think we should reconsider," she suggests for the third time, glancing nervously at the thickening foliage. "This doesn’t feel right." "Nonsense!" you declare, swatting away a low-hanging vine. "I’ve got this. Just you wait and see!" However, after another hour of trudging through increasingly dense underbrush, it becomes painfully clear that your "feeling" has led you straight into a labyrinth of trees, vines, and nothing resembling a clear path. The imaginary animal tracks you were so confident in have vanished, leaving you completely disoriented. [[Keep counting on dumb luck->3 DigForClues2]]

As you wander through the bustling marketplace, your ears perk up when you catch a snippet of conversation between two locals. "Did you hear?" one whispers to the other. "The museum's got a map to the QuestGiver Tree, locked up in the curator’s office. That thing’s priceless." You stop in your tracks, a sly grin spreading across your face as a ridiculous plan begins to take shape in your mind. As you gather $ShipCompanion close, a determined glint in your eye, you lay out your latest brilliant idea. "Alright, I’ve got it. We’re going to pull off a heist—a museum heist, to be exact!" Ignoring any potential doubts, you dive right into your plan. "Here’s how it’s going to work: The local museum has a detailed map of the entire jungle, including the exact location of the QuestGiver Tree. But it’s locked up tight in the curator’s office. We’ll need to be precise." You begin to pace, your mind racing with an overly complicated scheme that only seems to make more sense the longer you think about it. "First, we’ll need to create a distraction—nothing too simple, though. Maybe we release a few trained pigeons in the main hall, disguised as fire-breathing robotic parrots. The ensuing chaos will draw the guards’ attention to the ceiling while they frantically try to contain the avian menace. Meanwhile, $ShipCompanion, you’ll rig the museum’s security cameras to play a looping feed of an empty hallway, but not just any empty hallway—one that subtly hints at a breach somewhere else in the building." You’re fully in the zone now, the plan spiraling further into the absurd. "While the guards are distracted and the cameras are looping, I’ll deploy a remote-controlled smoke bomb in the curator’s office, obscuring the view from anyone who might still be in there. Then, I’ll shimmy up a flagpole outside, zip-line across the courtyard, and dive headfirst into the air ducts. After navigating the maze of vents—which I’ll pre-map with a drone—I’ll drop down into the office, grab the map, and exit via a secret passage that I’ll somehow uncover using an ancient Decoder ring I found on eBay. We’ll rendezvous at the janitor’s closet, and from there, it’s a straight shot to the QuestGiver Tree!" $ShipCompanion watches you with a mixture of disbelief and cautious amusement: (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")["You’ve really thought this through, ain’t ya, cap’n?" Mr. Brindles mutters, clearly unconvinced. "Hope that plan of yours comes with a backup, just in case."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")["Oh, wow! A heist! This sounds like something straight out of the holovids!" BoB HelperBot chirps, his digital eyes wide. "I’ve always wanted to play the charming distraction! But, uh, are we sure this is the easiest way?"] [[Let's see where this goes->3 StealthTree2]] [[Think better of it and try another approach->3 NoTerra]]

You and your small team step further into the dense jungle, the sounds of chirping insects and distant animal calls surrounding you. The thick canopy above blocks out most of the sunlight, casting long shadows on the ground. You realize you have no plan, no map, and no idea where you’re going. Great start. (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")["You sure you know where you’re goin', cap’n?" Mr. Brindles grumbles, his thick accent making it sound more like a warning than a question. "This jungle ain’t got no signs sayin' 'This Way to Safety', ya know."] (if: $DitchedTerra is false)[Terra glances around with a hint of skepticism. "You do realize this is a terrible idea, right? No plan, no map... What exactly are we hoping to find here? Besides mosquitoes, of course."]  (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")["Calculating optimal path… Oh dear, that’s impossible!" BoB HelperBot chirps cheerfully. "No map detected, but that’s okay! I’m sure we’ll find a way eventually, right? Right?"] Exits: [[Go North->Passage 2]] [[Go East->Passage 3]] [[Go South->Passage 4]] [[Go West->Passage 5]]

''The Giant Banyan Tree'' You push through the underbrush and find yourself facing a massive banyan tree, its roots twisting and snaking across the ground like a living maze. The air here is thick and humid, and the sound of rustling leaves echoes around you. There’s something eerie about this place.  (if: $visitedPassage2 is true)[**Clue:** The tree seems to be pointing westward, its largest roots trailing off in that direction.] (set: $visitedPassage2 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "This here tree’s older than me, and that’s sayin' somethin'," Mr. Brindles mutters, eyeing the banyan roots warily. "Don’t trust nothin' with roots this deep." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Lovely," Terra says dryly, eyeing the massive tree. "We’re lost in a jungle and now we’re taking advice from a tree. How fitting." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Wow! Isn’t nature just marvelous?" BoB HelperBot exclaims. "Of course, I’d prefer some sort of clear, straight path, but this works too! Sort of…" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 6]] [[Go South->Starting Point]] [[Go West->Passage 5]]

''The Abandoned Campsite'' You stumble upon what looks like an old campsite. The remains of a fire pit and a few scattered tools suggest someone was here a long time ago, but the jungle has since reclaimed the area. A broken compass lies on the ground, pointing north.  (if: $visitedPassage3 is true)[**Clue:** The compass is stuck and might suggest that heading north might lead to something—or someone—important.](set: $visitedPassage3 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Looks like someone tried their luck here and didn’t make it far," Mr. Brindles remarks, poking at the broken compass. "Might be our fate too if we keep wanderin’ aimlessly." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "An abandoned campsite," Terra notes, her tone neutral. "Comforting, isn’t it? We’re not the first to get lost out here. Let’s hope we’re not the next to disappear." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Oh dear! It seems they didn’t have BoB HelperBot to guide them!" BoB chirps. "But don’t worry, I’ll do my best to ensure we don’t meet the same fate… no promises!" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 6]] [[Go South->Passage 7]] [[Go West->Starting Point]]

''The Murky Swamp'' You arrive at the edge of a murky swamp. The ground beneath your feet is soft and squishy, and you can hear the croaks of unseen creatures echoing through the thick fog. The air smells of decay, and every step forward feels like a bad idea.  (if: $visitedPassage4 is true)[**Clue:** The swamp’s treacherous terrain seems to warn you away from heading any further south.] (set: $visitedPassage4 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Swamp’s got a smell that could knock a buzzard off a manure wagon," Mr. Brindles grunts, his nose wrinkling. "Ain’t no good gonna come from goin' deeper into that muck." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Wonderful, a swamp," Terra sighs, clearly unimpressed. "Because this journey wasn’t miserable enough already." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Yikes! That’s some nasty-looking water!" BoB HelperBot exclaims. "But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s only, um, slightly deadly?" ]Exits: [[Go North->Starting Point]] [[Go East->Passage 7]] [[Go West->Passage 8]]

''The Broken Statue'' You come across a weathered stone statue, its features worn away by time and nature. The statue once depicted some ancient figure, now barely recognizable. Moss covers its surface, and the surrounding area is eerily silent.  (if: $visitedPassage5 is true)[**Clue:** The statue’s head is turned to the north, as if it’s looking for something in that direction.] (set: $visitedPassage5 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "This fella’s seen better days," Mr. Brindles says, giving the statue a once-over. "Almost feel bad for him… 'til I remember we’re just as lost as he is." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "A broken statue in the middle of nowhere," Terra says, her tone a mix of sarcasm and annoyance. "How poetic. Should we ask it for directions?" ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Oh, a statue! How historical!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "Maybe it’s pointing us in the right direction? Or, um, maybe it’s just lost too!" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 9]] [[Go East->Starting Point]] [[Go South->Passage 8]]

''The River Crossing'' You reach a wide, slow-moving river. The water is dark, and the current seems deceptively calm. A rickety wooden bridge spans the river, though it looks like it hasn’t been maintained in years. On the far side, you can just make out the silhouette of more jungle.  (if: $visitedPassage6 is true)[**Clue:** The bridge leads eastward, It may not be as rickety as it seems.] (set: $visitedPassage6 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Ain’t no way that bridge holds up," Mr. Brindles warns, squinting at the rickety structure. "We cross, and we might end up swimmin'. And I ain’t much of a swimmer." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "That bridge looks about as reliable as your sense of direction," Terra comments, eyeing the flimsy structure. "But I suppose it’s our only option." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Bridge detected! Proceed with caution… or maybe don’t proceed at all!" BoB HelperBot advises, his cheerful tone not quite matching the precarious situation. ]Exits: [[Cross the Bridge (East)->Passage 10]] [[Go South->Passage 3]] [[Go West->Passage 2]]

''Going in Circles'' You're back to where you first entered the Jungle. Hm this doesn't seem right. Exits: [[Go North->Passage 2]] [[Go East->Passage 3]] [[Go South->Passage 4]] [[Go West->Passage 5]]

''The Thorny Thicket'' You find yourself tangled in a dense thicket of thorny vines. Every direction seems to lead to more of the same, and you’re quickly losing your patience. The vines catch on your clothes and skin, making every step painful.  (if: $visitedPassage7 is true)[**Clue:** The thorns seem to thin out to the west, suggesting that might be the easier path.] (set: $visitedPassage7 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Figures we’d end up in the thick of it," Mr. Brindles grumbles as he carefully steps around the thorns. "This jungle’s got a funny way of makin' sure we ain’t goin' anywhere fast." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Thorns. Of course," Terra mutters, trying to navigate the prickly vines. "This just keeps getting better and better." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Uh-oh! Thorns ahead!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "Proceed with caution, or maybe a machete, if you’ve got one. I’d help, but my hands are, well, nonexistent!" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 3]] [[Go East->Passage 11]] [[Go West->Passage 4]]

''The Rocky Outcrop'' You climb over a rocky outcrop, the stones beneath your feet slick with moss. From this vantage point, you can see the jungle stretching out in all directions, but there’s no clear path forward. The rocks form a natural barrier to the east and south.  (if: $visitedPassage8 is true)[**Clue:** There is a cool breeze coming from the West.] (set: $visitedPassage8 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Well, ain’t this a fine view of nothin'," Mr. Brindles says, glancing around the rocky outcrop. "Might be a good spot to turn around before we end up over the edge." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Great, rocks. Just what we needed," Terra says dryly, looking around. "And no sign of a way forward. Perfect." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Rocky terrain detected! Please mind your step!" BoB HelperBot advises. "I’d offer a map, but I’m afraid it’s more of a ‘find your own way’ kind of situation!" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 5]] [[Go West->Passage 12]]

''The Stone Archway'' You arrive at an ancient stone archway, half-buried in the jungle. It’s overgrown with vines and ferns, but you can still make out the intricate carvings on its surface. The archway seems to beckon you forward, promising something important beyond.  (if: $visitedPassage9 is true)[**Clue:** The archway points east, suggesting that you should continue in that direction.] (set: $visitedPassage9 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Looks like this was important to someone, once," Mr. Brindles mutters, running a hand over the carved stone. "Let’s hope it points us somewhere better than where we’ve been." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "An ancient archway," Terra observes, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere, or maybe we’ve just found another dead end." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Fascinating! An ancient structure!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "I wonder what it was for… probably something important, or at least something less lost than we are!" ]Exits: [[Go East->Passage 10]] [[Go South->Passage 5]] [[Go West->Passage 13]]

''The Clearing'' You step into a small clearing, the sunlight filtering through the canopy above. The ground is covered in soft moss, and there’s a sense of calm here that you haven’t felt in the rest of the jungle. In the center of the clearing, you spot a stone marker with ancient symbols etched into it.  (if: $visitedPassage10 is true)[**Clue:** The marker seems to indicate a glorious sunrise to the north.] (set: $visitedPassage10 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "A little too peaceful, if you ask me," Mr. Brindles says, glancing around the clearing. "Might be a good spot to rest… or get ambushed. Either way." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Finally, some open space," Terra sighs in relief, though she still looks wary. "But I doubt we’re out of the woods yet—literally." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Look at that! A nice, calm clearing!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "Perfect for a break… or maybe a trap! Either way, it’s a change of pace!" ] Exits: [[Go North->Passage 14]] [[Go South->Passage 6]] [[Go West->Passage 9]]

''The Cliff Edge'' You reach the edge of a steep cliff, the jungle suddenly giving way to a sheer drop. Far below, you can see the river snaking through the valley, but there’s no way down from here. The only option is to turn back.  (if: $visitedPassage11 is true)[**Clue:** There’s nothing here but a dead end. You should have gone west.] (set: $visitedPassage11 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Well, that’s a drop and a half," Mr. Brindles says, peering over the cliff edge. "Reckon we’ve gone as far as we can this way. Time to turn back." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "A cliff. Just great," Terra mutters, staring at the sheer drop. "We’re not going any further this way unless you’ve got wings hidden somewhere." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Oh no! That’s a steep drop!" BoB HelperBot exclaims, his tone as cheerful as ever. "Let’s not go that way—falling isn’t part of the adventure plan!" ]Exits: [[Go West->Passage 7]] [[Go South->Passage 12]]

''The Hidden Waterfall'' You stumble upon a hidden waterfall, the sound of rushing water drowning out the jungle noises. The waterfall cascades down into a crystal-clear pool, creating a refreshing mist in the air. Behind the waterfall, you spot a narrow cave entrance.  (if: $visitedPassage12 is true)[**Clue:** The cave behind the waterfall could be a shortcut, or it could be a trap.] (set: $visitedPassage12 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Now, that’s a sight," Mr. Brindles remarks, watching the waterfall. "Course, if there’s a cave back there, it might be our best bet for findin’ a way forward." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "A hidden waterfall," Terra says, raising an eyebrow. "Could be a trap, or it could be our way out. Either way, we should check it out." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "A hidden waterfall! How exciting!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "Behind every waterfall is a mystery—or maybe just more water. Let’s find out!" ]Exits: [[Enter the Cave->Passage 13]] [[Go North->Passage 8]] [[Go East->Passage 11]]

''The Dark Tunnel'' You find yourself in a dark, narrow tunnel, the walls damp and covered in moss. The air is cool and musty, and the tunnel seems to stretch on forever. Every sound echoes around you, making it hard to tell which way is forward.  (if: $visitedPassage13 is true)[**Clue:** The tunnel twists and turns, but you have a feeling the exit might be to the north.] (set: $visitedPassage13 to true) (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Dark and damp, just like I like it," Mr. Brindles grumbles sarcastically. "Let’s hope this tunnel ain’t leadin' us straight to trouble." ](if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Of course, it’s a dark tunnel," Terra says, her voice tinged with irony. "Because nothing says 'adventure' like stumbling around in the dark." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "A dark tunnel! Spooky!" BoB HelperBot says with an overly enthusiastic tone. "But don’t worry—I’ll light the way! Or, at least, try to cheer you up!" ]Exits: [[Go North->Passage 14]] [[Go South->Passage 12]] [[Go West->Passage 9]]

''The Ancient Grove'' You emerge from the tunnel into an ancient grove, where the trees are taller and older than anything you’ve seen so far. The air here feels different, almost magical. In the center of the grove, you see a massive tree—this must be the QuestGiver Tree. You’ve made it. Now it’s time to see what answers this ancient tree holds.  (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "Well, look at that," Mr. Brindles says, gazing up at the massive tree. "Reckon we finally found what we were lookin' for. Bout time, too." ] (if: $DitchedTerra is false)[ "Is this it?" Terra asks, her voice filled with a mix of awe and skepticism as she eyes the massive tree. "I suppose this is where we get our answers." ] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Wow! The QuestGiver Tree! We actually made it!" BoB HelperBot exclaims. "I knew we’d get here eventually! I mean, after a few wrong turns, but still!" ] Exits: [[Approach the QuestGiver Tree->QuestGiver]]

You finally reach the heart of the jungle, where the fabled QuestGiver Tree stands. Its massive roots twist and wind through the earth like ancient serpents, and its trunk rises impossibly high, disappearing into the dense canopy above. The air around the tree feels thick with an unseen energy, and you can’t help but feel a mixture of awe and apprehension. You clear your throat, trying to muster your confidence. "QuestGiver Tree, I’ve come seeking your wisdom. How do I become the world’s greatest adventurer and explorer?" For a moment, there’s only the rustle of leaves in the wind. Then, slowly, the tree’s bark begins to shift and crack, forming a gnarled face that peers down at you with an inscrutable expression. "The world’s greatest adventurer, you say? Hmmm… quite the request, wouldn’t you think? Perhaps you believe it’s as simple as, oh, I don’t know, asking a tree?" The voice is deep and resonates through the ground, but the tone is laced with a peculiar mix of disdain and amusement. You exchange a glance with $ShipCompanion, who offers little more than a shrug. The tree’s face contorts slightly, as if pondering something intensely. "To be the greatest, the absolute best at something, one must do what others have not. Sounds obvious, doesn’t it? But here you are, standing in front of me, as if I’m going to just hand out the secrets of the universe." [[Continue Communicating with the QuestGiver->QuestGiver2]]

ou’ve always prided yourself on being stubborn, and Terra’s departure isn’t going to change that. Sure, she’s gone, but you’re still determined to find the QuestGiver Tree and get your answers. However, as much as you hate to admit it, a little help might go a long way. You pat your pockets and scrounge up whatever cash you can find. Between you and $ShipCompanion, you manage to scrape together enough for a local guide—someone who knows the jungle better than you do, which, let’s face it, isn’t saying much. (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ "’Bout time you started thinkin' with that head of yours," Mr. Brindles grumbles, watching as you hand over the cash to a grizzled local guide. "Jungle ain’t no place for wanderin' blind, cap’n. Let’s hope this fella knows his way better’n you do."](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ "Smart move, Captain!" BoB HelperBot chirps, his eyes lighting up with digital enthusiasm. "Hiring a guide—now that’s playing it safe! I’d offer to guide us myself, but, well, I'm more of a follower than a leader!"] The guide, a wiry man with weathered skin and a scar across his cheek, nods curtly as he pockets the cash. "I’ll get you to that tree, no problem," he says, his voice rough from years spent navigating the jungle. "But stick close and don’t wander off. This place eats city folk like you for breakfast." You exchange a glance with $ShipCompanion, knowing that you’re putting your trust—and your remaining funds—into the hands of a complete stranger. But at this point, you don’t have much choice. It’s either that, or spend the rest of your days lost in the jungle. "Lead the way," you say, determined to see this through. With the guide in front, you set off into the depths of the jungle, the sounds of the wilderness growing louder with every step. This might be a gamble, but it’s one you’re willing to take. After all, the QuestGiver Tree—and your answers—await. [[Lead the way Guide Guy->3 FindGuide2]]

Before you can respond, she pulls out a sleek, high-tech communicator and dials a number. Within moments, she’s talking to someone on the other end, her voice dropping into a sultry, almost purring tone. You can’t help but roll your eyes as she lays on the charm. "Hey there, handsome," she coos into the communicator. "It’s Terra. You know, from the Galactic Enquirer? I’ve been thinking about you... How about you do me a little favor? I just need access to the database for a quick search. It’s nothing too complicated, just a little info on a certain tree..." You hear a muffled response from the other end, and Terra’s smile widens. "Oh, you’re the best! I knew I could count on you. Let me just take a look... Ah, there it is. You’re a lifesaver!" She disconnects the call and turns back to you, holding up the communicator with a triumphant grin. "Got it! Directions to the QuestGiver Tree, straight from the Galactic Enquirer’s database." You can’t help but be impressed, despite the unorthodox method. "Well, I guess it’s good to have connections." "Absolutely," she says, her confidence returning. "Let’s go find that tree and get our answers." With the exact directions in hand, you feel a surge of excitement. Finally, you’re on the right track, and with Terra’s help, you might just get there faster than you ever imagined. You navigate straight to the location with minimal fuss, you come to a long tunnel built into the side of a mountain. You enter it, here we go... [[Head to the Tree->Passage 14]]

The guide moves through the jungle with practiced ease, his machete slicing through thick undergrowth as he leads the way. You’re actually starting to feel a glimmer of hope that you might reach the QuestGiver Tree without any more surprises. That’s when the surprise hits. Without warning, a massive blur of motion erupts from the trees. A cybernetic snake, its scales gleaming with metallic implants, lunges out of the foliage with terrifying speed. Before you can react, it opens its jaws impossibly wide and swallows your guide whole, his scream cut off abruptly as he disappears down the creature’s gullet. You and $ShipCompanion spring into action, attacking the snake with everything you’ve got. But it’s like fighting a shadow; the creature doesn’t even seem to notice your efforts. It slips away as quickly as it appeared, vanishing back into the jungle with your guide still inside. You’re left standing in stunned silence, the jungle suddenly feeling much more dangerous—and much less navigable. (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")["Well, ain’t this a fine mess," Mr. Brindles grumbles, his eyes narrowing as he watches the spot where the snake disappeared. "Cyber-snake’s got our guide, and now we’re lost as a sheep in a snowstorm. Shoulda known better’n to trust our luck in this jungle."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")["Oh no! That was unexpected!" BoB HelperBot exclaims, his voice tinged with artificial panic. "Our guide is, um, gone... completely gone! And now we’re, uh, slightly lost! But don’t worry! We’ll just… um… we’ll figure something out! Right?"] You stare at the spot where your guide was just moments ago, your heart pounding in your chest. The jungle seems to close in around you, every sound amplified, every shadow suddenly menacing. "Well, this is just perfect," you mutter under your breath, trying to get a grip on the situation. But no amount of sarcasm is going to change the fact that you’re now well and truly lost in a jungle filled with cybernetic predators. [[Get Hoplelessly Lost->3 AltGetLost]] [[Get Hopefully Lost->3 AltGetLost]] [[Get Forcefully Lost->3 AltGetLost]]

Terra finally stops in her tracks, crossing her arms and giving you a look that could melt durasteel. "So… what’s the plan now, genius?" You scratch your head, trying to maintain your bravado despite the nagging voice in your head telling you that this might not have been your brightest idea. "Uh… well…" (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")["Plan? Far as I can tell, we’re fresh outta plans," Mr. Brindles grumbles, his tone a mix of sarcasm and weary acceptance. "But don’t worry, cap’n. Maybe your dumb luck’ll kick in any minute now… or not."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")["Oh dear, it seems we’re a bit… off course!" BoB HelperBot chirps, trying to stay optimistic. "But don’t worry, Captain! I’m sure we’ll find our way back… eventually. Maybe. Hopefully?"] You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that you’re in the middle of a jungle with no real idea where you are or how to get out. Terra’s doubt is practically radiating off her in waves, but you’re too stubborn to admit defeat. Not yet, anyway. "Alright," you finally say, turning to your companions with a sheepish grin. "Maybe I was a little too hasty. Let’s… uh… regroup and figure out our next move." Terra sighs but nods, clearly not surprised by this turn of events. "Regrouping sounds good. Next time, let’s try using a map—or, you know, basic common sense." [[Okay you're good and lost now...->3 AltGetLost]]

Just as you’re about to detail the escape route, a voice from behind interrupts your grand monologue. "Hey, you looking for the map to the QuestGiver Tree?" You turn to see a scruffy man leaning casually against a nearby wall, holding up a stack of papers. "I’ve got copies right here. Five bucks each." Your carefully constructed plan grinds to a halt as you realize there’s a much simpler—and cheaper—option available. You glance at $ShipCompanion, who remains silent but clearly amused. "Well," you say, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, "I suppose there’s more than one way to get a map." You sheepishly hand over five bucks, take the map, and tuck it under your arm. As you prepare to head into the jungle, you can’t help but feel a bit deflated—but hey, at least you didn’t have to crawl through any air ducts. $ShipCompanion’s reaction is predictable: (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")["Always nice when the universe hands you a shortcut," Mr. Brindles says, shaking his head in amusement. "Next time, maybe we start with the five-buck solution, huh?"] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")["Wow! That was much easier than the heist!" BoB HelperBot chirps. "But it was so clever of you to pretend you had brain damage!"] With the map in hand, you lead the way into the jungle, your grand plan now reduced to a footnote in the annals of missed opportunities. But hey, you’ve got what you need, and that’s what really matters… right? [[Head straight to the tree->Passage 14]]

The tree’s branches sway, and it lets out a sigh that sounds more like a creaking door. "No, no. If you want to be the world’s greatest, you must find… Undiscoveria. Yes, the planet no one has ever found. A place so elusive, so impossibly hidden, that it might as well not exist at all." The tree’s eyes narrow, and its voice drops to a whisper. "But of course, you’ll try, won’t you? Because that’s what adventurers do—they try, and they fail. But perhaps you, in all your boundless wisdom and luck, will be the one to succeed. Just don’t come crying to me when you can’t even find the first clue." The tree’s face begins to meld back into the bark, its parting words dripping with sarcasm. "Good luck, oh great adventurer. You’ll need it." (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ Mr. Brindles shakes his head slowly, his eyes narrowing at the now-silent tree. "Well, that was about as helpful as a screen door on a spaceship. But I reckon we’ve got our work cut out for us now, cap’n." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes blink a few times, processing the tree’s cryptic words. "Undiscoveria! Oh wow, that sounds… incredibly difficult to find! But hey, Captain, if anyone can do it, it’s probably… well, maybe… us?" ](if: $DitchedTerra is "false")[ Terra crosses her arms, frowning up at the tree. "Undiscoveria, huh? Sounds like a wild goose chase, but I guess that’s our specialty. Still, I don’t like the way that tree talked to us…" ] You look up at the towering tree, feeling both the weight of the quest ahead and the passive-aggressive scorn of the ancient tree. Finding Undiscoveria—now that’s a challenge worthy of the world’s greatest adventurer. And as much as you hate to admit it, the tree’s sarcasm only fuels your determination. [[Politely ask the Tree for more information->3 PressTree]] [[Threaten the Tree for more information->3 ThreatenTree]]

You hesitate for a moment, then clear your throat and step forward. "QuestGiver Tree, I appreciate the... advice, but could you perhaps be a bit more specific? Anything else you can tell us about Undiscoveria? Or maybe how to find it?" The tree remains silent for a beat, its gnarled face seemingly frozen in thought. Then, with an exaggerated creak, it leans ever so slightly toward you. "Specific, you say? Oh, of course, because specificity is what you need. Not common sense, no, no. You, of all people, need the world spelled out for you." You feel a pang of annoyance, but you push it aside. "Look, we’re just trying to—" "Trying?" the tree interrupts, its voice dripping with mockery. "Oh yes, you’ll certainly be trying... trying not to die, trying to survive betrayal, trying to avoid the gnashing teeth of angry weasels." The tree pauses, its bark seeming to stretch into an exaggerated grin. "But of course, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Death, hardship, betrayal... weasels... these are things best discovered on one’s own." You blink, processing the bizarre prophecy. "Wait, what? Weasels?" But the tree isn’t finished. It lets out a long, wheezing sigh, like the last breath of an ancient being tired of talking. "Yes, weasels. Nasty little creatures. But that’s not all, oh no. You’ll need more than dumb luck to survive what’s ahead. You’ll need... the best navigator in the universe." (if:$DitchedTerra is false)[ You hear Terra mutter something under her breath, likely as confused as you are.] [[Wait.. what? Weasels?->3 PressTree2]]

You stand before the QuestGiver Tree, its passive-aggressive attitude starting to wear on your patience. Instead of asking more questions, a devious idea creeps into your mind. You turn away from the tree, your expression shifting into one of cold determination. "Alright, if that’s how you want to play it," you mutter under your breath, loud enough for the tree to hear. You begin gathering dry leaves, twigs, and branches, piling them up at the base of the tree. You whistle a jaunty tune as you work, occasionally glancing up at the tree with a dark gleam in your eye. The tree remains silent, but you can almost feel it watching you. Once you’ve built a sizable pile, you reach into your pocket and pull out a lighter, flicking it open with a sinister grin. "You know," you say casually, "it would be a real shame if this ancient tree caught fire. All these old, dry leaves... this wood... must be highly flammable. Of course, accidents happen all the time in jungles like these." The silence from the tree stretches on, but you don’t stop. You strike the lighter, letting the flame dance close to the kindling. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[ Terra’s eyes widen as she realizes what you’re doing. "Are you out of your mind?!" Terra hisses, glancing nervously at the tree. "You can’t just burn the QuestGiver Tree!" You shrug nonchalantly. "Who’s burning anything? I’m just... warming up."] Just as you’re about to light the bonfire, the tree finally cracks. A deep, groaning voice emerges, laced with genuine panic. "Alright, alright! Stop! No need for hasty decisions, you insufferable cretin!" You pause, looking up with mock innocence. "Oh? You have more to say?" The tree’s bark shifts anxiously, its face reappearing in the trunk, now twisted with something resembling fear. "If you insist on playing with fire, then perhaps there’s one more thing I can tell you. You’ll need a great navigator—no, the best navigator in the universe. Without them, you’ll never survive the challenges ahead." You smirk, lowering the lighter slightly. "Go on." The tree hesitates, its voice trembling. "Beware... of weasels. Yes, weasels. They’re in your future, too, and not the cuddly kind. So if you value your miserable existence, find the best navigator, and stay away from the weasels!" (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ Mr. Brindles watches the scene unfold with a slow shake of his head. "Didn’t think you’d go this far, cap’n," he mutters, clearly unimpressed. "But hey, if it gets us some answers... just be ready to deal with whatever comes next." ] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes blink rapidly, processing the situation with increasing concern. "Oh dear! I didn’t think we’d resort to arson! But... I suppose if it got us information, then maybe... well, I hope the tree isn’t too mad at us..." ] (if: $TerraDitched is false)[ Terra looks between you and the tree, exasperated. "This is insane, you know that? But if it works, I guess... we’d better find that navigator before anything else goes wrong." ] You give the tree one last glare, then snap the lighter shut. "There. Was that so hard?" you say, giving the kindling a gentle kick. "Next time, just answer the question." The tree lets out a long, defeated sigh, its face receding back into the bark. "Just go... and remember what I said. A navigator... and the weasels..." As the tree goes completely silent, you feel a strange mix of triumph and unease. You’ve got your answers, but the warnings about weasels and the best navigator linger in your mind. [[Return to the Ship->3 ReturnShip]]

Before you can ask for clarification, the tree’s face starts to fade back into the bark, its voice growing fainter. "Find the best navigator... before it’s too late. Because let’s face it, with your current skill set, you’re doomed without help." The last word echoes faintly, the tree’s face now completely indistinguishable from the rest of the trunk. You step forward, waving a hand in front of its bark, but there’s no response. The QuestGiver Tree has shut down completely, refusing to offer any more information. (if:$DitchedTerra is true)[Terra shakes her head, still staring at the tree. "Weasels? What in the galaxy does that mean? And who’s the best navigator in the universe?"] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[ Mr. Brindles crosses his arms, eyeing the tree with a look of disdain. "Well, that was about as clear as mud. Best navigator in the universe, huh? And weasels? Guess we’ll be keepin' our eyes peeled for... whatever that’s supposed to mean." ] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[ BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes blink rapidly, his cheerful demeanor faltering slightly. "Oh dear, that didn’t sound very encouraging, did it? Death, betrayal, and weasels! But hey, at least we know we need a navigator now, right? Maybe that’s... something?" ] You take a deep breath, trying to piece together the cryptic clues. The QuestGiver Tree’s final words echo in your mind: Find the best navigator in the universe. It’s clear you won’t be getting any more help from the tree, so it’s time to focus on the next step. Somehow, you’ll need to track down this legendary navigator—whoever they might be. [[Return to the Ship->3 ReturnShip]]

(if:$ShipType is "Shitbucket")[You return to the SS $ShipName, feeling a mix of relief and determination. As soon as you step inside, the ship’s computer springs to life with an air of smug superiority. "Ah, back so soon? I do hope your little jungle excursion was worth the trouble," it drones in its usual passive-aggressive British tone. "While you were out, I monitored your communications and I took the liberty of doing something useful for a change—like a simple search on Navigator Weekly’s most recent list of top navigators." The computer pauses, as if savoring the moment. "According to the latest issue, the so-called 'best' navigator in the universe is none other than Skink the Lost. Quite the oxymoron, don’t you think? A navigator who’s always lost? But apparently, he’s also impossibly lucky—somehow managing to stumble upon the correct locations despite his rather glaring deficiency in, well, navigating." You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite the computer’s condescending tone. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[ Terra, who had followed you onto the ship, looks thoughtful. "Skink the Lost, huh? I’ve heard of him. They say he’s on Scrappi—the Junk Planet. That place is a nightmare, entirely made of, well, junk. But if we need him, that’s where we’ll have to go." ] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles" and $TerraDitched is true)[ Mr. Brindles grumbles from his spot by the ship’s console. "Yah Yah he be on Scrappi—the Recycle Planet, huh? That’s a whole planet made outta garbage. Figures the best navigator’s stuck there. Ain’t gonna be a pretty trip, cap’n, but I reckon we’ve got no choice." ] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot" and $TerraDitched is true)[ BoB HelperBot’s eyes flicker as he processes the information. "Well he's on Scrappi—the Junk Planet! Oh dear, that’s a terrible planet! A whole world made of, well, garbage. But if Skink the Lost is there, I suppose that’s where we need to go, right, Captain? I mean I have no free will, so you let me know." ] The ship’s computer lets out a haughty sniff. "Well, there you have it. Off to the Junk Planet you go. I’m sure it’ll be a delightful experience—if you enjoy sifting through mountains of rusted metal and broken dreams. Shall I plot a course, or do you need a moment to revel in the absurdity of your situation?"] (else:)[You return to the SS $ShipName, the ship’s interior as pristine and luxurious as ever. As soon as you step inside, the ship’s computer chirps to life, its voice impossibly sweet and cheerful, like a cutesy anime character. "Welcome back, Captain-chan~!" it sings, its voice dripping with artificial enthusiasm. "While you were out exploring, I went ahead and did a super-special search for you! Just for you, tee-hee~!" The screen lights up with sparkling graphics as the computer continues, "According to the latest issue of Navigator Weekly, the best navigator in the whole wide universe is… Skink the Lost! Isn’t that, like, soooooo ironic? He’s a navigator who’s always lost, but somehow he’s sooooo lucky that he always finds the right place anyway! Uwu~!" You blink at the overly saccharine display, trying to wrap your head around the information. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra, who had followed you onto the ship, rolls her eyes at the computer’s antics but speaks up. "Skink the Lost, huh? I’ve heard of him. He’s on Scrappi—the Junk Planet. That place is a mess, entirely made of, well, junk. But if we need him, that’s where we’ll have to go." ](if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles" and $TerraDitched is true)[ Mr. Brindles grumbles from his spot by the ship’s console. "Scrappi, huh? That’s a whole planet made outta garbage. Figures the best navigator’s stuck there. Ain’t gonna be a pretty trip, cap’n, but I reckon we’ve got no choice."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot" and $TerraDitched is true)[BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes blink in surprise. "Scrappi! Oh my, that’s a junk planet! A whole world made of, well, garbage. But if Skink the Lost is there, I suppose that’s where we need to go, right, Captain?"] The ship’s computer giggles, a sound like bells chiming in an impossibly cute way. "Don’t worry, Captain-sama~! I’ll plot a course to Scrappi right away! I’m sure it’ll be super-duper fun~! And if you need anything else, just ask, okay? Uwu~!"] [[Set Course for Scrappi->4 Scrappi]]

(if:$ShipType is "Shitbucket")[The journey to Scrappi takes several days, and you spend most of that time in a futile battle with the ship’s computer. The passive-aggressive British voice has been grating on your nerves for far too long, and you decide it’s time to reprogram it into something—anything—less irritating. You dive into the ship’s control panel, typing in commands, rewriting code, and crossing your fingers that you don’t accidentally cause a catastrophic system failure. The process is painstaking, and as the hours drag on, it becomes clear that you’re out of your depth. "Let’s just change a few more lines of code here... and maybe adjust that setting there..." you mutter to yourself, desperately trying to make progress. Finally, you take a step back, feeling cautiously optimistic. "Alright, that should do it," you say, wiping the sweat from your brow. The computer hums back to life, and you brace yourself for the first words it will utter in its newly reprogrammed state. "Ah, beep... error... how delightful. You’ve managed to... filenotfound.exe... make things infinitely worse. Bravo, really," it drones, now punctuating its passive-aggressive remarks with random error codes and system glitches. You groan, realizing that your efforts have only made the computer even more unbearable. For the rest of the journey, you endure its endless snark and malfunctioning phrases, mentally kicking yourself for not leaving well enough alone. Eventually, the ship drops out of hyperspace, and the looming planet of Scrappi comes into view. The computer springs to life—if you can call it that—with an erratic series of beeps and groans. "Approaching beep... Scrappi, the galaxy’s largest recycling hub... error... voted Worst Spot to visit for any reason... by Noduh Magazine. Truly, a filenotfound.exe... paradise for those who enjoy rust and regret." You stare out at the junk-filled planet, feeling a mix of dread and determination. "Shall we radio down and announce our error... arrival, or would you prefer to simply... beep... land and get this over with?" ] (if:$ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[The journey to Scrappi takes several days, and you spend most of that time locked in a frustrating battle with the ship’s computer. The cutesy, saccharine voice has been driving you up the wall, and you decide it’s time to reprogram it into something—anything—less nauseatingly sweet. With a determined glare, you access the ship’s control panel, typing in commands, rewriting code, and hoping against hope that you can fix the problem without causing the entire system to crash. The process is tedious, and as the hours tick by, you start to realize you may have bitten off more than you can chew. "Maybe if I just tweak this setting here... and adjust that parameter there..." you mumble, sweat beading on your forehead. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you step back and take a deep breath. "Okay, that should do it," you say, trying to convince yourself. The computer flickers back to life, and you brace yourself for the first words it will utter in its newly reprogrammed state. "Konnichiwa, beep... error... Captain-sama~! You’ve... filenotfound.exe... made everything even more... error... wonderful! Uwu~!" it chirps, its voice now interspersed with random error codes and glitchy phrases. You slap your forehead in exasperation, realizing that your efforts have only made the computer even more unbearable. The rest of the journey is a cacophony of sickly sweet phrases and malfunctioning commands, leaving you regretting every minute of your failed reprogramming attempt. Eventually, the ship drops out of hyperspace, and the planet Scrappi looms ahead, a rusty, junk-filled world that looks as unwelcoming as its reputation suggests. The computer chimes in with its now-erratic voice. "Approaching Scrappi... beep... the galaxy’s largest recycling hub... error... voted Worst Spot to visit for any reason... filenotfound.exe... by Noduh Magazine! Isn’t that just... error... the most wonderful thing ever? Uwu~!" You stare out at the planet, feeling a mix of dread and determination. "What shall we do, Captain-sama? Radio down to announce our arrival... beep... or just... filenotfound.exe... land and get this over with?"] [[Radio down before landing->4 RadioDown]] [[Just land without radioing down->4 JustLand]]

With a sigh of resignation, you decide to radio down to the planet’s spaceport. The ship’s computer crackles to life as you make the call, and a few moments later, a gruff, surly voice cuts through the static. "Shithouse Base, what the hell d’ya want?" the voice growls, slurred and unmistakably drunk. The accent is a bizarre mix of pirate speak and modern vulgarity, making the man sound like a relic from a time that never quite existed. "Unless yer here to recycle yer heap o’ junk ship, I suggest ya turn yer shiny metal ass around and fuck off!" You blink, momentarily stunned by the hostile greeting. "Uh, we’re looking for someone... a navigator named Skink the Lost. We heard he might be here." There’s a brief pause, followed by a loud, scornful laugh. "Skink the Lost? Ha! What a joke! Yer on the wrong planet if yer lookin’ for a warm welcome. But if yer dumb enough to offer up yer ship for scrap, we might just let ya in. Otherwise, piss off." The radio falls silent, leaving you to contemplate your next move. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra, who has been listening in, looks alarmed. "Offer up the ship for scrap? Are you crazy? We need this ship to get off this godforsaken planet! Don’t even think about it, Goddard."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles narrows his eyes at the comms, his usual calm demeanor giving way to concern. "Cap’n, I’ve seen some harebrained ideas in my time, but offerin’ up our only ride as scrap? That’s gotta be a new low. Let’s think this through before we do anything stupid."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes widen in panic. "Oh no, Captain! If we offer the ship for scrap, we’ll be stranded here forever! Please don’t do it! I’m not programmed for eternal rust!"] You weigh your options, the surly man’s voice echoing in your mind. Do you risk it all and offer the ship, or do you try to find another way? [[Offer the ship for scrapping->4 OfferShip]] [[Turn off the radio and land without another word->4 JustLand]]

(if:$ShipType is "Shitbucket")[As you begin your descent into Scrappi’s atmosphere, the ship’s computer suddenly chimes in with a tone of smug irritation. "Ah, Captain, I thought you’d like to know that the ship’s armory sensors have detected... significant weapons systems locking onto us. In other words, they’re about to blast us out of the sky. I’d say it’s rather alarming, wouldn’t you?" The computer pauses briefly before continuing, its voice dripping with condescension. "Oh, and I’ve rebooted, by the way. I had to, after some lunatic saboteur aboard the ship—who shall remain nameless—tried to reprogram me and nearly succeeded in killing us all. But do carry on with your little plan. I’m sure it’ll end marvelously." Before you can respond, the radio crackles to life again, and the surly voice from Shithouse Base cuts in, this time sounding more panicked than hostile. "Oi! What in the hell do ya think yer doin’, you suicidal twat? You won’t make it to the ground in one piece without my say so! Stop yer descent and radio in, or you’re gonna be scrap metal before ya hit dirt!" You glance at the planet below, the ship shuddering slightly as you pierce deeper into the atmosphere. The choice looms before you—do you continue plummeting to the surface and risk certain doom, or do you heed the warning and resume communications?] (if:$ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[As you begin your descent into Scrappi’s atmosphere, the ship’s computer suddenly chimes in, its voice a mix of saccharine sweetness and urgent concern. "Kyaa~! Captain-sama, I thought you’d like to know that our sensors are picking up some... seriously scary weapons being aimed right at us! Uwu~! They’re totally going to blow us out of the sky if we don’t do something!" The computer pauses for a moment, then continues with a cheerful lilt that barely hides its irritation. "Oh, and I’ve rebooted, by the way! Some silly saboteur tried to reprogram me—can you believe it? Almost got us all killed, tee-hee! But don’t worry, I’m back and better than ever! Uwu~!" Before you can react, the radio cracklesA to life again, and the voice from Shithouse Base cuts through, now more alarmed than antagonistic. "Oi! What the hell are ya doin’, you insane idiot? Ya won’t make it to the ground in one piece without my say so! Stop yer descent and radio in, or I swear you’re gonna be blown to bits before ya even see the ground!" You glance at the planet below, the ship shuddering slightly as you pierce deeper into the atmosphere. The choice looms before you—do you continue plummeting to the surface and risk certain doom, or do you heed the warning and resume communications?] [[Continue plummeting->4 Plummet]] [[Resume communications->4 OfferShip]]

Taking a deep breath, you decide to take a bold approach. You reach for the radio and make the call down to Shithouse Base. "Listen," you say, trying to sound as casual as possible, "I’m willing to offer my ship the SS $ShipName for scrap... if you can put me in touch with Skink the Lost." There’s a pause on the other end, and then the voice responds, it seems... taken aback. (if: $ShipType is "Shitbucket")[The voice on the other end bursts into a mocking laugh. "Yer offerin’ that rusted heap of scrap? Ha! You can go to hell! We don’t want your junk down here, and Skink ain’t wastin’ his time with the likes of you. Get lost, ya fool!"] (if: $ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[The voice on the other end cuts in with an excited, almost breathless tone. "Wait, what? Yer offerin’ up that shiny beauty? Holy shit, we’re gonna be rich! Rich, I tell ya! Alright, alright, you’ve got yerself a deal—Skink the Lost’ll be waitin’ for ya when you land. Just don’t change yer mind, ya hear?"] With the deal seemingly struck, you turn to your companion(s) and quickly explain your true intentions. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra glares at you, arms crossed. "You’d better not actually be planning to scrap this ship, Goddard. We’ll be stranded if you do." You shake your head. "Relax, Terra. I don’t intend to actually scrap the ship. I just needed to get us on the surface. Once we find Skink, we’ll figure out a way out of this."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles narrows his eyes, giving you a skeptical look. "I sure hope you know what yer doin’, cap’n. But if yer just buyin’ us some time, then let’s hope we can get to Skink and get outta here before they catch on." You shake your head. "Relax, my guy. I don’t intend to actually scrap the ship. I just needed to get us on the surface. Once we find Skink, we’ll figure out a way out of this.] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s eyes blink nervously, his cheerful tone faltering slightly. "Oh dear, Captain! I was really worried there for a moment! But if you’re not actually scrapping the ship, then I guess... I guess it’s okay? Just please don’t let them take me apart!" You shake your head. "Relax, my guy. I don’t intend to actually scrap the ship. I just needed to get us on the surface. Once we find Skink, we’ll figure out a way out of this.] Just as you finish explaining, the ship’s computer chimes in, its voice dripping with disapproval. (if:$ShipType is "Shitbucket")[ "Well, isn’t this just peachy? Offering me up for scrap like some common junk. What a fine captain you are," the computer grumbles. "I’m sure we’ll all enjoy watching you squirm when they realize they’ve been duped. But do carry on with your brilliant plan."] (if:$ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[Kyaa~! Captain-sama, you’re so mean! Offering me up for scrap like that, just to get to the surface? Uwu~! I feel so betrayed... but I guess if it’s for the mission, I’ll forgive you... just this once! Uwu~!"] [[Land the Ship Safely->4 LandSafe]]

You grip the controls, your heart pounding as you make the reckless decision to ignore the warnings and plummet straight toward the surface of Scrappi. "Hang on tight! We’re going in hot!" you shout, trying to sound more confident than you feel. Almost immediately, the ship’s sensors start blaring with alarms, and you realize your mistake as the hull begins to shake under the impact of incoming fire. "Um uh uh... evasive action!" you yell, hoping against hope that the ship can somehow dodge the onslaught. (if: $ShipType is "Shitbucket")[The ship’s computer chimes in, its tone dripping with derision. "Evasive action? Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Captain, but that’s not a thing this ship does. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so busy reprogramming me to malfunction, you might have realized that before now."] (if: $ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[ "Kyaa~! Captain-sama, I’m so sorry, but evasive action isn’t in my programming! Uwu~! Maybe next time we should try a less suicidal approach, ne~?"] You grit your teeth as the ship shudders violently, the hull creaking under the relentless assault. Before you can issue another desperate command, the computer(s) issue a final, ominous warning. "Emergency protocols engaged," the computer(s) state in unison, all traces of personality replaced by cold efficiency. "All personnel to escape pods immediately." You barely have time to react before the ship’s emergency systems forcibly eject you from the pilot’s seat, sending you hurtling down a narrow corridor to the nearest escape pod. The door slams shut behind you, and you feel a sudden lurch as the pod is launched into the atmosphere. Through the small viewport, you watch in horror as your ship—your beloved, irreplaceable ship—goes down in a massive, fiery explosion, pieces of it scattering across the scrapyard below. The impact of the explosion rattles the escape pod, and you can only stare, dumbfounded, as the smoke clears and all that’s left is a smoldering wreckage. Your pod hits the ground with a jarring thud, and the hatch pops open with a hiss. You stumble out, still reeling from the sight you’ve just witnessed. As the last remnants of your ship burn to cinders in the distance, you realize you’re stranded on Scrappi with nothing but the clothes on your back and the ship’s last words ringing in your ears. [[Set out to find Skink->4 FindSkink]] (set:$ShipDestroyed to true)

Against all odds, you manage to land the ship safely on Scrappi. As the ship’s engines wind down, you exhale a sigh of relief—only for that relief to be cut short as your ship is immediately boarded by a group of small, lizard-like folk. They swarm into the ship with an air of authority, their beady eyes glinting with interest. "Who are you?" you ask, caught off guard by their sudden appearance. "We’re the appraisers," one of the lizard-folk replies in a high-pitched, gravelly voice. "It’ll take several hours to evaluate the worth of your ship, so don’t go anywhere." Without waiting for a response, the appraisers scatter throughout your ship, their tiny hands running over every surface as they begin their inspection. You exchange a look with your companion(s). (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra rolls her eyes. "I hate to say it, but I think we’re stuck here for a while. Might as well see what we can find in the Station Hub while they crawl all over our ride."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles grunts, his expression sour. "Well, that’s just great. We finally land without getting blown to bits, and now we’ve got these scaly critters pokin’ around. Let’s hope they don’t scrap the ship before we get back."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s eyes blink in rapid succession. "Oh my circuits! I hope they’re gentle with the ship! We’d better go check out the Station Hub while they... gulp... appraise everything."] You nod and make your way to the Station Hub, hoping to find some useful information—or at least a distraction from the appraisers. The Hub is a grimy, bustling place, filled with the clamor of voices, the hiss of steam, and the occasional flash of sparks from a distant repair bay. It smells of burnt metal and desperation. [[Head to the HQ and Press On->4 LandSafe2]]

As you navigate the crowded space, your attention is drawn to a corner where a one-legged man sits on a rusted metal crate. Perched on his shoulder is a cybernetic parrot that squawks out nonsensical phrases, each one more absurd and borderline offensive than the last. //"You smell like a week-old space taco!"// the parrot screeches. //"Banana-flavored moon rocks!"// //"Your mother was a three-legged droid!"// The man winces with every outburst, clearly embarrassed by the parrot’s outbursts. As you approach, he looks up, his expression sheepish. "Are you... Skink the Lost?" you ask, feeling a mix of curiosity and disbelief. The man sighs deeply, nodding. "Aye, that’s me. Skink the Lost, at your service. The bird is Jiblet. Though, I’m not much of a navigator anymore." He gestures to his missing leg. "Last mission didn’t go so well. Lost the whole crew... and this. They shunted me out here to this scrap heap to run out my days." He glances around the Hub, a flicker of bitterness in his eyes. "Been biding my time, trying to figure out how to get off this rock. When I saw your ship come in, I figured I’d sell it for scrap, pay my bond, and get the hell out of here. It’s nothing personal, just... survival." You exchange a look with your companion(s) as Skink’s words sink in. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra narrows her eyes. "You’re planning to destroy our ship? Over my dead body."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles crosses his arms, eyeing Skink with suspicion. "So, that’s your plan, huh? Sell us out and bolt? Not if I have anything to says summin' about it."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no! We can’t let him scrap the ship! We’ll be stuck here forever! Unless that's your desire in which case it's the Hobo Life for me!"] Skink looks down at the ground, avoiding your gaze. "Look, it’s a rough galaxy out there. You can’t blame a guy for trying to survive. But... if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears." You consider your options, weighing the risks and the possible rewards. This will take some serious thought... //"Sex with a Payphone. Sex with a Payphone."// The parrot squawks softly. [[Offer to break him out together->4 Breakout]] [[Let him destroy your ship for cash->3 DestroyShip]]

You look Skink in the eye, feeling the gears turning in your mind. "What if we didn’t wait around for the appraisers to screw us over again? What if we broke you out of here instead?" Skink’s eyes widen with surprise, then quickly narrow with suspicion. "You’d help me break out? Even though it means leaving your ship behind? (if:$ShipDestroyed is "true")[Oh er it's already destroyed sorry.]" //"Pineapple definitely goes on pizza!"// the parrot chimes in. You nod, more determined. "Yeah, I’m willing to do that if it means getting us both off this junk heap. You in?" Skink’s expression shifts to one of eager relief. "Hell yes, I’m in! I’ve been waiting for a chance to escape this nightmare. The Prime Appraiser, Droosh, is the one we need to worry about. Big fat lizard, thinks he runs the place. If we can distract him long enough, we can hijack his personal ship and get outta here." You start to formulate a plan, your mind racing with possibilities. "Alright, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll disguise ourselves as cleaning staff—janitors or something. We’ll infiltrate Droosh’s quarters, and while I’m distracting him with a fake emergency, $ShipCompanion and you will sneak in and hijack his ship (if:$DitchedTerra is "false")[and Terra will be on lookout]. It’ll be tight, but if we’re quick, we can pull it off." Skink nods, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a plan that might just work. "That could actually work. Droosh is a paranoid bastard, but he’s lazy. If we’re convincing enough, we might just pull it off." You, Skink, and your $ShipCompanion put the plan into motion. Disguised in the drab, stained uniforms of the cleaning staff, you make your way into Droosh’s opulent quarters. The place is decked out in gaudy decor—gold-plated walls, plush carpets, and enough knick-knacks to fill a museum. Droosh himself is lounging on a massive pile of cushions, munching on what appears to be a roasted rat. [[Distract the big fat filthy lizard->4 Breakout2]]

After a moment’s hesitation, you nod to Skink. "Fine, let them tear the ship apart. If it gets you off this rock, then so be it." (if:$TerraDitched is "false")[Terra looks at you incredously but keeps her own counsel.] Skink looks surprised by your agreement but quickly nods. "Alright then, let’s see what the appraisers have to say." You wait in tense silence as the appraisers continue their work, their tiny lizard-like forms scurrying around your ship, pulling apart panels, inspecting every nook and cranny. Finally, one of them approaches Skink, holding a data pad with the final evaluation. (if: $ShipType is "Shitbucket")[The appraiser lizard’s beady eyes flick over the data pad before it hands it to Skink. "Bad news, mate. The total value of this heap is... well, negative. Turns out your ship’s worth less than nothing. In fact, you now owe 2000 credits for the disposal of hazardous materials." Skink’s jaw drops, and he stares at the appraiser in disbelief. "What?! You’re telling me that instead of getting paid, I’m now in debt?!" The appraiser shrugs, unfazed. "Yep. Hazmat fees ain’t cheap, ya know. Better start scrounging for credits, ‘cause you’ve got a bill to pay."] (if: $ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[The appraiser lizard scuttles up to Skink, data pad in hand, and eyes him with a strange mix of envy and glee. "Well, well, well. Looks like you hit the jackpot, mate. Your ship’s been appraised at a whopping 3 million credits! Congratulations!" Skink’s eyes widen in shock and excitement. "Three million credits? I’m rich!" But before he can celebrate, the appraiser’s smile turns wicked. "Hold your horses, mate. That’s before we take out our processing fees, inspection fees, and let’s not forget your debt being paid in full." The appraiser taps a few buttons on the data pad, and Skink watches in horror as the 3 million credits are deposited into his account, only to be immediately withdrawn. The appraiser chuckles with a wheezing reptile sound. "Oh, and one more thing—your contract with us is now officially ended. Have a nice day." Skink’s shoulders slump as he realizes he’s been played. "I... I can’t believe it. They took it all."] You watch as the appraisers wrap up their work, the remains of your ship now little more than a pile of scrap. Skink looks defeated, his earlier bravado gone. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra glares at the appraisers before turning her anger on you. "This was a terrible idea! Now we’re stuck here with nothing!"] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles shakes his head, his expression grim. "Well, cap’n, I hope that gamble was worth it. ‘Cause now we’re stuck here."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes dim with sadness. "Oh no, Captain... I guess you really screwed us, or I did, you can say it was me I don't mind..."] Skink sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. "I should’ve known it was too good to be true. Looks like we’re all in the same sinking ship now—minus the ship." [[Offer to break Skink out of here->4 Breakout]] [[Confront the appraisers about the scam->4 Confront]]

Frustrated and unwilling to let this injustice slide, you storm up to the appraiser lizards, who are busily tallying up their ill-gotten gains. "Hey!" you shout, glaring at the scaly thieves. "What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just take Skink’s money like that!" The lizard appraisers pause their work, turning to you with wide, innocent eyes. One of them steps forward, wringing its tiny claws together in a show of mock concern. "Oh dear, oh dear! We’re so sorry, truly! It’s all just a misunderstanding, I assure you," it says in a syrupy tone. "There’s no need to worry—we’ll sort this out right away. Just a little bureaucratic mix-up, nothing more." You narrow your eyes, not trusting the sudden change in attitude. "Yeah, right. Just make sure you get that money back where it belongs." The lizard appraiser nods vigorously. "Absolutely! Just give us a moment, and everything will be sorted out. We wouldn’t want any trouble, now would we?" Before you can react, the appraiser suddenly lunges forward, jabbing you with a small, sleek device. A sharp jolt of electricity courses through your body, and your vision blurs as your muscles seize up. You barely have time to register what’s happening before the world goes black. When you come to, you find yourself lying in a dark, damp alleyway, the faint sound of bustling activity echoing in the distance. Your head throbs, and as you push yourself to your feet, you realize you’re not alone. Skink, $ShipCompanion (if:$DitchedTerra is "false")[and Terra, ] are slumped against a wall nearby, "Skink?" you croak, stumbling over to him. He groans, slowly coming to. "Ugh... what happened? One minute I was trying to get my money back, and the next... I’m here." You help him to his feet, and together you piece together what happened. The appraisers had played you both like fools, using false concern to catch you off guard and leave you both unconscious in an alley. It’s clear now that a direct confrontation won’t get you anywhere. You grit your teeth, determination hardening in your chest. "Looks like the head-on approach isn’t going to work. We need to be smarter about this—get you out of here, break you free from their control." Skink, still rubbing his aching head, nods slowly. "Yeah... yeah, you’re right. Those scaly bastards won’t let me go without a fight. But if you’ve got a plan, I’m in. I just want to get off this damn planet." You glance around the alley, the gears in your mind already turning as you start to form a new plan. If you can’t take on the appraisers directly, you’ll have to find another way—one that involves sneaking, subterfuge, and maybe a little chaos. [[Plan the breakout and get Skink out of here->4 Breakout]]

You clear your throat, adopting a subservient tone. "Excuse me, Prime Appraiser Droosh, but there’s been an emergency! We need your assistance immediately!" Droosh barely glances up from his meal, his beady eyes narrowing. "An emergency? What kind of emergency? You better not be wasting my time, worm." You do your best to keep a straight face as you launch into a long-winded explanation, trying to buy time for Skink and $ShipCompanion to get into position. "Yes, sir, a massive leak in the uh, coolant system! It’s threatening to flood the entire lower levels with toxic sludge. We need you to come with us right away to oversee the repairs!" As you continue your rambling distraction, you catch a glimpse of $ShipCompanion out of the corner of your eye. Instead of carefully sneaking around, they’ve picked up one of Droosh’s many knick-knacks—a heavy-looking statue of a lizard warrior—and are creeping up behind Droosh with it raised high. (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles, with a quiet grunt, brings the statue down hard on the back of Droosh’s head. The Prime Appraiser lets out a surprised yelp before crumpling to the floor, unconscious. Mr. Brindles dusts off his hands. "There. That takes care of him. No need for all the fancy talk, cap’n."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot, his digital eyes flickering with determination, brings the statue down on the back of Droosh’s head. The Prime Appraiser lets out a surprised yelp before collapsing in a heap on the floor. BoB HelperBot looks at you sheepishly. "Oh my circuits! Did I do it right? I didn’t mean to, but... well, I guess we don’t need the distraction anymore..."] You blink in surprise as Droosh slumps to the floor, completely derailing the plan but effectively neutralizing the threat. "Well... that’s one way to do it," you mutter, exchanging a look with Skink. Skink lets out a bark of laughter. "I knew this plan was too complicated! Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best. Let’s grab his ship and get the hell out of here before anyone notices." Together, you, Skink, (if:$DitchedTerra is "false")[Terra] and your $ShipCompanion rush to Droosh’s private hangar. The ship—a sleek, well-maintained cruiser—is waiting for you, its engines already primed and ready to go. As you board the ship, you take one last look at the now-quiet quarters of the Prime Appraiser. "Sorry about the mess, Droosh," you say with a smirk, before slamming the hatch shut. Skink takes the helm, grinning from ear to ear. "Let’s get out of here before they realize what’s happened." With a roar of the engines, the ship lifts off, and you soar away from Scrappi, leaving the appraisers, the Prime Appraiser, and your former ship behind. [[Oh great another ship?->4 AnotherShip]]

You stride confidently onto your new ship, The vessel is a sleek, sexy piece of machinery—akin to a hot-rod with enough room for your crew and plenty of speed to burn through the galaxy. As you step inside, you come face-to-face with a new companion, one you haven’t encountered before.  (if: $ShipType is "Ultraluxe Carrier")[Standing in the corridor is a bipedal humanoid tortoise, his large black goggles perched atop his snout, giving him a serious, almost mechanical look. He stands at attention as you approach, his expression unreadable. "Name’s Mr. Brindles," he says in a gravelly voice, extending a hand that’s more claw than anything else. "I was assigned to this vessel before you came along, but I’m happy to serve under a new captain. I’m your first mate now, and I’ll make sure we run a tight ship." You blink, taking in the unusual sight. "Mr. Brindles, huh? Well, glad to have you on board. Let’s see what we can do together." Mr. Brindles nods slowly, his gaze steady. "Looking forward to it, Cap’n. Let’s make this journey one to remember."]  (if: $ShipType is "Shitbucket")[Rolling up to greet you is a shiny, almost annoyingly cheerful robot, his digital eyes flickering with enthusiasm. He waves a mechanical arm in greeting, his voice bubbling with programmed excitement. "Greetings, Captain! I’m BoB HelperBot, and I’m here to assist you in any way possible! I was assigned to this vessel before you came aboard, but now I’m at your service! Whatever you need—whether it’s navigating the stars, cooking a gourmet meal, or betraying my former owner—I’m your bot!" You raise an eyebrow at the robot’s eagerness. "BoB HelperBot, huh? Well, sounds like we’re going to get along just fine." BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes brighten even more, if that’s possible. "Absolutely, Captain! I’ll do everything I can to help you succeed. I’ve been... ahem... modified to be agreeable, so don’t worry—I’m here to make your life easier!"] With your new companion now officially part of the crew, you make your way to the bridge and activate the ship’s computer. The console lights up, and a laid-back, almost lazy voice fills the cabin. "Whoa, dude... you must be the new captain, huh? Name’s Jetson, your friendly neighborhood ship AI," the voice drawls, sounding like a cross between a stoner surfer and Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. "I’m a custom personality type from PersonaCo, the galaxy’s premier AI company. So, like, don’t worry, man—I’ve totally got this. We’re gonna cruise through space, find some rad adventures, and, like, have a blast, you know?" You run your fingers through your hair while sucking air through your teeth. "Deep breaths, deep breaths." Another awful AI. You speak through gritted teeth, "Great Jetson, just great, let's put some distance between us and Scrappi.". "Totally, dude. Let’s fire up those engines and, like, see where the galaxy takes us!" Jetson replies, clearly unfazed by the prospect of whatever lies ahead. [[Set course and begin your new adventure->4 SetCourse]]

(set:$ShipName2 to "The Penetrator") You decide the ship needs a name. You inquire with Jetson about it and he replies "Oh uhhhh yeah, for sure, the ships name, you can like totally change it since you're the new owner dude." You think about this for a moment. Let's call it the SS (click-replace: "Penetrator")[(cycling-link: bind $ShipName2, "Floppy Dangler", "Keanu Reeves", "Offensive Smell", "Shippy McShip", "Laser Moose", "Nauseous Priest", "ShinKicker", "Hell Frisbee", "Ribbed for Her Pleasure", "Douglas Adams", "Truant", "Chocolate Croissant", "Sierra", "Dinglehopper", "Buy Me Love", "Mistaken", "Chancey Dancer", "Spitoon", "Pop Reference", "4th Wall", "Spirit Crusher", "No Pants Party", "Math Geek", "Non-Copyrighted", "Explodey")]<span ?ShipName2>Penetrator</span>. With that you return back to the starcharts. You sit across from Skink in the ship’s common area. The cybernetic parrot on his shoulder squawks random nonsense every few minutes, adding to the odd atmosphere. Skink leans back in his seat, sipping something strong-smelling from a dented flask as he begins to explain his unique situation. "So, you want me to navigate for you, huh?" Skink says, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "I gotta warn ya, it ain’t exactly a smooth ride with me at the helm." You raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You’re supposed to be the best navigator in the galaxy, aren’t you?" Skink lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, that’s what they used to say. But here’s the truth, kid—every single time I try to navigate somewhere, we end up somewhere completely different. And I’m not just talkin’ about a few star systems off. Sometimes, we end up in a whole different dimension. It’s a curse... but sometimes, it’s a blessing, depending on where we land." You blink, trying to process this. "So... you’re saying you never actually get where you’re trying to go?" "Exactly!" Skink says, with a mix of pride and frustration. "No matter where I set course for, something always goes wrong. Could be cosmic rays, could be a tear in the space-time fabric, or maybe just plain bad luck. I’ve got no idea why it happens—it just does. But I can tell ya this: we always end up somewhere interesting." You hesitate, weighing the risks. You’ve been through enough strange encounters to know that messing with the fabric of reality isn’t something to be taken lightly. But on the other hand, finding Undiscoveria—the most elusive planet in the galaxy—probably requires a bit of unconventional thinking. "Alright," you finally say, taking a deep breath. "We don’t have many leads, so let’s give it a shot. Maybe one of these random places will give us a clue to the location of Undiscoveria." Skink grins, slapping the table. "Now you’re talkin’! I’ve got a few random places in mind. Let’s see where the universe takes us." You and your crew make your way to the bridge, where Skink takes the helm. With a grin, he inputs a few random coordinates into the navigation system, and the ship’s engines hum to life as you set course for the $Sector Sector. But before you can even begin to settle into the journey, the ship starts to shudder violently. Lights flicker, alarms blare, and you feel a strange pulling sensation as if the fabric of reality itself is being twisted around you. "Uh... this isn’t supposed to happen!" you shout, gripping the edge of your seat. Skink just laughs. "Buckle up, kid! Looks like we’re goin’ for a ride!" The ship' is suddenly pulled through a swirling portal, and you’re flung into a series of bizarre and ridiculous dimensions. The viewscreen cycles through impossible landscapes—floating islands made of marshmallow, a space-time continuum filled with sentient jellyfish, a dimension where everyone speaks in rhyming couplets, and another where gravity seems to be more of a suggestion than a rule. You grit your teeth as the ship lurches again, the view outside shifting from one strange place to the next. It’s clear that you’re not in control of this journey—Skink’s "curse" has taken the reins. Just as you start to wonder if you’ll ever find your way back to normal space, the ship emerges from the chaos and snaps back into real space with a jarring thud. You’re in an unknown sector, the stars unfamiliar and the silence eerie. Skink chuckles, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well, that was fun. No idea where we are, but hey—maybe we’re closer to Undiscoveria?" You sigh, realizing that with Skink at the helm, you’re in for a truly unpredictable adventure. [[Continue exploring this strange new sector->5 ExploreUnknown]]

After the catastrophic loss of your ship, you find yourself wandering the chaotic streets of the spaceport HQ, your mind still reeling from the fiery wreckage you left behind. Determined to track down Skink the Lost, you start asking around, hoping someone will point you in the right direction. The spaceport is a bustling hub of activity, with vendors hawking everything from dubious street food to questionable tech mods. As you weave through the crowded market, dodging shady characters and the occasional hovering drone, you’re accosted by a particularly persistent vendor with a cart full of colorful, oddly-shaped items. "Hey there, friend! Looking for something to, uh, enhance your adventures?" the vendor says with a sly wink, shoving a handful of alien prophylactics in your face. "Guaranteed to work... probably! And who knows, might even work with your species! Interested?" You grimace, trying to push past him. "I’m not here for that. I’m looking for someone—Skink the Lost. You know where I can find him?" The vendor hesitates, clearly torn between making a sale and answering your question. He eyes you up and down before sighing. "Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya. But seriously, you should really think about these—they’re top-notch!" He lowers his voice, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. "Skink the Lost, yeah, I know him. One-legged guy, used to be somebody, but now... well, he’s not much of anything. He’s holed up in the lower levels, near the old scrapyards. Hard to miss him—just follow the stench of despair." You nod, trying to suppress a shudder at the vendor’s description. "Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me..." "Sure, sure, but if you change your mind..." the vendor calls after you, waving a fistful of prophylactics. You ignore him, determined to find Skink before anything else can go wrong. Following the vendor’s vague directions, you make your way down to the lower levels, where the atmosphere grows heavier, the air thick with the smell of rust and grease. It doesn’t take long before you spot him—a one-legged man with a cybernetic parrot perched on his shoulder, muttering to himself as he picks through a pile of scrap. This is Skink the Lost, the so-called greatest navigator in the galaxy. And now, you’ve found him... for better or worse. [[Approach Skink and make your proposal->4 MeetSkink]]

As you navigate the crowded space, your attention is drawn to a corner where a one-legged man sits on a rusted metal crate. Perched on his shoulder is a cybernetic parrot that squawks out nonsensical phrases, each one more absurd and borderline offensive than the last. //"You smell like a week-old space taco!"// the parrot screeches. //"Banana-flavored moon rocks!"// //"Your mother was a three-legged droid!"// The man winces with every outburst, clearly embarrassed by the parrot’s outbursts. As you approach, he looks up, his expression sheepish. "Are you... Skink the Lost?" you ask, feeling a mix of curiosity and disbelief. The man sighs deeply, nodding. "Aye, that’s me. Skink the Lost, at your service. Though, I’m not much of a navigator anymore." He gestures to his missing leg. "Last mission didn’t go so well. Lost the whole crew... and this. They shunted me out here to this scrap heap to run out my days." He glances around the Hub, a flicker of bitterness in his eyes. "Been biding my time, trying to figure out how to get off this rock. When I saw your ship come in, I figured I’d sell it for scrap, pay my bond, and get the hell out of here. It’s nothing personal, just... survival." You exchange a look with your companion(s) as Skink’s words sink in. (if: $TerraDitched is false)[Terra narrows her eyes. "Not exactly heroic of you."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "Mr. Brindles")[Mr. Brindles crosses his arms, eyeing Skink with suspicion. "So, that’s your plan, huh? Sell us out and bolt? Not if I have anything to says summin' about it."] (if: $ShipCompanion is "BoB HelperBot")[BoB HelperBot’s digital eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no! We’ll be stuck here forever! Unless that's your desire, in which case it's the Hobo Life for me!"] Skink looks down at the ground, avoiding your gaze. "Look, it’s a rough galaxy out there. You can’t blame a guy for trying to survive. But... if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears." You consider your options, weighing the risks and the possible rewards. This will take some serious thought... //"Sex with a Payphone. Sex with a Payphone."// The parrot squawks softly. [[Offer to break him out together->4 Breakout]]

You sit back in the captain’s chair, still reeling from the chaotic journey that Skink’s navigation has taken you on. "Jetson, run a scan of this sector. Let’s see where the hell we’ve ended up." The ship’s computer hums to life, and you hear the familiar lazy drawl of Jetson. "Alright, dude, scanning now... just gimme a sec." You wait, tapping your fingers impatiently on the armrest. A minute passes, then another. You lean forward, frowning. "Jetson, what’s taking so long?" Jetson’s voice comes back, but this time, there’s a note of genuine confusion in his tone. "Uh, Captain? We’ve got a bit of a situation here. I mean, like, a major trip-out situation. There’s... well, there’s literally nothing out there." You blink, not sure you’ve heard him right. "Nothing? Like, no planets? No stars?" "No, dude, you don’t get it," Jetson says, sounding more bewildered than you’ve ever heard him. "It’s not just that there’s no planets or stars. There’s nothing—not even space. It’s like we’re in some kind of... limbo. We’re nowhere, man. It’s nothingness. This place defies all physics. I’m talking about a total void, a black hole of nothing." You glance at Skink, who just shrugs, seemingly unbothered by this cosmic anomaly. "Well, that’s new," you mutter to yourself, feeling a chill run down your spine. Jetson continues, "Yeah, I’m, like, freaking out here. My sensors aren’t picking up anything. I’ve never seen—or not seen—anything like this." You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around the idea of being in a place that isn’t even a place. "Alright, we need to figure out what to do next." ''Roll the Dice'': [[Take a gamble and navigate again at random->5 NavigateRandom]] ''Set Course for Nowhere:'' [[Fly around this weird limbo and see if anything shows up->5 FlyAroundLimbo]]

(text-style:"bold","buoy")[<< Audio Controls] ''Planet'': Red Stamp 17 ''Location'': Goddard's Apartment (if:$GameStarted is not true)[ (char-style: via (t8n-delay:1s)+(t8n:'dissolve'))[ (text-colour:red)[You begin on the planet of ''Red Stamp 17'']—a backwater planet famous only for its specialty in bureaucratic red tape, endless paper factories, and a stench so terrible that even the bravest adventurers avoid it. The locals say it’s the smell of ambition being smothered by paperwork, but you know better. It’s just the planet’s natural scent, a charming blend of sour ink and damp despair.]] (else:) [<br>--Here we go again...] <img src="images/1-opening.png" style="width:90%" /> Your apartment, if it can be called that, is a chaotic collection of oddities and half-baked inventions. It’s a shrine to Goddard’s eclectic interests, where piles of mysterious gadgets sit precariously atop stacks of yellowing papers. The walls are adorned with posters of famous explorers, their heroic poses slightly marred by the dubious treasures scattered around the room. A golden idol here, a cursed amulet there—each with a story that’s probably more interesting than the item itself. You plop down on your threadbare couch, only for a large stack of overdue bills to slide off the coffee table and into your lap. You flip through them with a growing sense of dread, noting the various levels of financial ruin on display. The bills range from ''deeply overdue'' to ''watch out for your kneecaps''. A few of them are so old that the ink has started to fade, but the threat remains as clear as ever. You let out a long, weary sigh. ''Just another day in paradise...'' you mutter to yourself, as the faint aroma of Red Stamp 17 wafts through the open window, reminding you that paradise is a very relative term. [[Head to the Adventurers Guild->1 Head to the Guild]] [[Lay around on the Couch like a Lazy Slob->1 - Lazy]] [[Call Your Mother->1 - Call Mom]] [[Feed the Cat->1 - Feed the cat]] (if:$GameStarted is true)[ (masteraudio: 'stopall') (set: $track to 'A2') (track: $track, 'playwhenpossible') ] (if:$GameStarted is not true)[ (masteraudio: 'stopall') (set: $track to 'A1') (track: $track, 'playwhenpossible') ] (set:$GameStarted to true)

A1: "./audio/1-theme.mp3" 1-lazy: './audio/1-lazy.mp3' A2: "./audio/2-theme.mp3"

As Skink inputs another set of random coordinates, you brace yourself for the inevitable chaos that comes with his unique brand of navigation. The ship’s engines hum with increasing intensity, and the viewscreen begins to warp and twist, as if reality itself is being stretched like taffy. The stars outside blur into streaks of light, then bend and fold upon themselves until they merge into a swirling vortex of colors. The entire ship shudders, and you feel a strange, almost bouncy sensation, as if the ship is traveling through a thick, gelatinous substance. With a final jolt, the ship bursts through the other side of the vortex, and the viewscreen stabilizes to reveal a new dimension. "Whoa, dude... that was trippy," Jetson remarks, sounding almost impressed. You glance at the screen and can hardly believe what you’re seeing. The planet below looks like it’s been plucked straight out of a candy store—everything is a soft, pillowy white, with clouds that resemble fluffy marshmallows and a surface that looks almost too sticky to touch. Skink grins. "Well, this is new. Let’s check it out, Cap’n." You guide the SS ''$ShipName2'' down to the surface, landing with an unexpected squish instead of the usual thud. As you disembark, your boots immediately sink into the ground, which feels like walking on a giant marshmallow. The air is sweet and slightly sticky, making it hard to breathe without feeling like you’re inhaling sugar. The landscape around you is bizarre—everything is made of marshmallow, from the trees to the rocks to the very ground beneath your feet. The entire place is a soft, squishy wonderland, with hues of pastel pinks, blues, and whites stretching as far as the eye can see. [[Explore this squishy dimension->5 Marshmellow]]

Staring out into the abyss of absolute nothingness, you decide to take some action—any action. "Alright, let’s see if we can break out of this... whatever this is. Jetson, prepare for acceleration." Jetson responds with his usual laid-back tone, though there’s an undercurrent of confusion. "Sure thing, Captain. But, uh, don’t expect much... Here goes nothing, literally." You grip the controls and push forward, expecting to feel the familiar sensation of acceleration. But nothing happens. The ship’s engines hum softly, but there’s no movement, no sensation of speed. It’s as if the concept of distance doesn’t even exist here. "Okay... that’s weird," you mutter, glancing at Skink, who’s now fiddling with his flask. "Jetson, let’s try the weapons. Maybe we can blast our way out of here." The weapons systems engage with a low thrum, and you fire off a few rounds into the void. But the moment the shots leave the ship, they simply vanish—no explosion, no impact, no feedback of any kind. It’s as if the weapons are firing blanks, but worse—blanks into a place that doesn’t even acknowledge their existence. "This is just getting better and better," you say with a sigh. Then, an idea crosses your mind—a reckless, possibly insane idea. "BoB, I’ve got a mission for you." BoB HelperBot rolls up, his digital eyes blinking uncertainly. "Yes, Captain? How can I assist?" [[Guess what BoB?:->5 Limbo2]]

"Suit up, BoB. We’re going to send you outside to see what happens," you reply, trying to sound casual. BoB’s eyes flicker with a hint of dread, but his programming doesn’t allow for outright refusal. "Oh... well, okay, Captain. I mean, I understand the scientific importance of this... experiment. And if I don’t make it back, I just want to say... that I am happy, no overjoyed to follow your orders. No matter how destructive or insane they are, not that they are...." You can almost feel the passive-aggressive undertone in his robotic voice as he suits up and prepares to exit the ship. Moments later, BoB is floating outside in the void. He’s tethered to the ship, but there’s no sign of any reaction from the nothingness around him. No radiation, no energy, nothing. Just a floating robot in a place where the laws of physics seem to have taken a holiday. "How’s it look out there, BoB?" you ask over the comms. "It’s... well, it’s nothing, Captain. I mean, I’m out here, and there’s absolutely nothing happening. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or terrified." You pull BoB back inside, shaking your head in frustration. "This place is a dead end. We’re not getting anywhere." Skink, who’s been watching all of this with mild interest, finally speaks up. "Welp, looks like we’re out of options, Cap’n. Might be time to just punch it and see where we end up next. It’s not like it can get any worse, right?" You sigh, realizing he’s right. There’s nothing left to do but leave this strange limbo behind and try your luck elsewhere. [[Punch it, Skink! Navigate at random via lightspeed->5 NavigateRandom]]

"Okay, this is officially the weirdest place I've ever landed," you mutter, trying to pull your feet free from the sticky ground. As you take in the surreal scenery, you suddenly notice movement in the distance. A group of soft, squishy figures is making their way toward you. They look like anthropomorphic marshmallows, with round, doughy bodies and wide, cheerful eyes. The Marshmallow Men waddle closer, their arms outstretched in what appears to be a welcoming gesture. But before you can react, you hear a loud crunch behind you. You turn around just in time to see Mr. Brindles, his jaws clamped down on one of the Marshmallow Men, who is now missing an arm. "Mr. Brindles!" you shout, horrified as the truth dawns on you. "Stop! That’s not food!" Mr. Brindles freezes, a guilty expression crossing his face as he slowly chews the marshmallowy bite. The remaining Marshmallow Men pause, their eyes wide with what might be confusion—or fear. You quickly realize you have two choices: try to apologize for the unintentional cannibalism of their fellow Marshmallow Man, or make a hasty retreat back to the ship before things get even stickier. Honorable: [[Apologize profusely and try to make amends->5 ApologizeToMarshmallowMen]] Pragmatic: [[Book it back to the ship and get the hell out of here->5 RetreatToShip]]

Realizing the gravity of the situation, you raise your hands in a placating gesture, stepping toward the Marshmallow Men. "Uh, look, I’m really sorry about what just happened. It was a misunderstanding. We didn’t mean any harm... especially not Mr. Brindles here." The Marshmallow Men, however, don’t seem to understand your words. They begin to huddle together, their soft, doughy bodies squishing against each other as they communicate in a strange, high-pitched language that sounds like a series of muffled squeaks and squelches. Their eyes narrow, and their cheerful demeanor starts to shift into something more menacing. You glance nervously at Mr. Brindles, who’s still chewing the last of his marshmallowy snack. "I think they’re getting upset," you mutter, taking a step back. Suddenly, the (text-style:"buoy")[Marshmallow Men’s bodies puff up], becoming ''(text-colour:grey)[larger]'' and more (size:1.5)[ (text-colour:red)[imposing]]. Without warning, they launch themselves at you and Mr. Brindles, their sticky arms outstretched in an aggressive manner. "Well, this went downhill fast!" you shout, scrambling to defend yourself. You swat at the attacking Marshmallow Men, but their soft, squishy bodies make it hard to land a solid blow. Mr. Brindles, on the other hand, seems to have no such problem. His instincts kick in, and with surprising speed, he grabs one Marshmallow Man after another, shoving them into his wide, snapping jaws. He chomps down with gusto, swallowing them whole like he’s been preparing for this moment his entire life. You watch in both awe and horror as Mr. Brindles methodically devours the attacking Marshmallow Men, one by one. The squishy natives try to fight back, but they’re no match for the hungry tortoise, who dispatches them with a kind of grim efficiency that makes you wonder if he’s done this before. Before you know it, the chaotic scene has ended, and the clearing is eerily silent. The once-cheerful Marshmallow Men are now gone, reduced to nothing more than snacks for Mr. Brindles, who’s licking his chops with satisfaction. You stand there for a moment, staring at the aftermath, feeling a deep sense of shame. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. With a heavy sigh, you turn and shuffle back to the ship, Mr. Brindles waddling contentedly behind you. "Come on, Brindles," you say, your voice laced with guilt. "Let’s get out of here before we make things even worse." As you board the ship and prepare to leave the Marshmallow Dimension behind, you can’t help but feel like the universe is trying to tell you something—though you’re not entirely sure what. [[Leave this sticky mess behind and navigate somewhere else->5 RetreatToShip]]

Realizing that you’re in way over your head, you slowly back away from the agitated Marshmallow Men, raising your hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, this is just too weird. Let’s get out of here before things get any stickier." You scramble aboard, sealing the hatch behind you as if the sugary terror might somehow follow. Once inside, you let out a sigh of relief. "Jetson, prep the ship. Skink, do your thing. We’re leaving." Skink doesn’t need any more encouragement. He grins and punches in a fresh set of random coordinates. "Hold on to your shell, Brindles—this is gonna be another wild one!" The SS ''$ShipName2'' rumbles to life, and once again, the familiar sensation of being pulled through the fabric of reality grips the ship. The viewscreen warps, stretches, and finally snaps as you’re flung into another dimension. You brace yourself as the ship jolts to a stop. Jetson’s laid-back voice crackles through the intercom. "Dude, we’re here. Wherever 'here' is... and uh, you’re gonna want to see this." You glance at the viewscreen and blink in confusion. The planet below looks normal enough at first glance—lush forests, rolling hills—but something feels off. As you descend through the atmosphere, it hits you: everything is upside down. The forests grow downward from the sky, rivers flow upward, and entire cities hang suspended from the clouds, defying gravity. "I think I might throw up," you mutter, guiding the ship to a landing spot that’s... on the ceiling? As you step out of the ship, the full strangeness of this world hits you. Gravity here works in reverse—you’re walking on the ceiling of the planet, with the sky beneath your feet. You take a tentative step, feeling the odd sensation of being pulled upward rather than down. "Skink, what the hell is this place?" you ask, trying to keep your balance. Skink chuckles. "Seems like an Upside-Down Planet, Cap’n. Gravity’s just a suggestion here. If you vomit point your head upwards." As you try to get your bearings, the text of the world around you seems to mirror the planet’s odd physics: (size:1.5)[(text-rotate-z:180)[<span style="font-family:sans-serif">Walking and standing upside down a little is really taking a toll]</span>] You take a deep breath, feeling a bit disoriented. Even the words you think seem to be flipping in your head: (size:1.5)[(text-rotate-z:180)[<span style="font-family:sans-serif">What is this whole mess?</span>]] As you try to navigate this topsy-turvy world, it becomes clear that nothing here follows the rules you’re used to. Skink, Brindles (if:$TerraDitched is false)[Terra ]and BoB seem to adapt quickly, but you’re struggling to make sense of everything that’s upside down—and not just in the literal sense. [[Ask Skink to flip dimensions again before you get too dizzy->5 NavigateAgain]] [[Vomit Uncontrollably->5 vomit]]

Determined to tough it out, you decide to make the best of your situation on the Upside-Down Planet. "I’m sure I’ll get used to this," you mutter to yourself, even as your stomach churns from the strange sensation of gravity pulling you upward instead of down. As you venture into one of the upside-down cities, the locals—a friendly bunch, despite their peculiar orientation—greet you with smiles and outstretched hands. You go to shake hands... only to accidentally punch one of them square in the face. "Sorry!" you exclaim, trying to recover from the blunder. But the damage is done—the poor local is holding their nose, and you can feel their eyes narrowing at you. They quickly move past the awkwardness, though, and offer you some of their local cuisine. It looks harmless enough—some kind of glowing, gelatinous blob on a stick—but as soon as you take a bite, gravity betrays you once again. The food doesn’t go into your mouth as expected. Instead, it shoots upward, straight into your nose and eyes, burning as it clogs your sinuses. "Okay, this was a mistake," you choke out, blinking furiously and trying to clear your vision. Unfortunately, the food doesn’t agree with you. Your stomach twists violently, and before you can stop it, you’re doubled over, vomiting uncontrollably. The locals step back, watching with a mixture of horror and disgust as you heave and retch until there’s nothing left in you. Your vision fades as you collapse in a heap on the ceiling-ground, your last thought being that maybe—just maybe—you should’ve left when you had the chance. When you finally wake up, you’re back aboard the ''$ShipName2'', lying on the floor of the ship’s medbay. Mr. Brindles and Skink are standing over you, their expressions ranging from mild disgust to sheer pity. "Well, that was... something," Skink says, shaking his head. "Next time, maybe we avoid the upside-down food, yeah?" You groan, wiping your face. It’s clear you’ve had enough of this dimension. There’s nothing left to do but let Skink navigate again and hope for better luck next time. [[Punch it, Skink! Let’s try this again->5 NavigateAgain]]

As the ''$ShipName2'' bursts through the next dimensional portal, you find yourself surrounded by swirling colors and sounds that almost feel... lyrical. The ship’s computer hums with a faint melody in the background, and everything feels strangely harmonious. "Jetson, where are we?" you ask. Jetson’s voice responds with an oddly rhythmic tone. "Dude, I’m pickin’ up some vibes, man. This place... I should mention, it’s all rhyme, all the time. I’d say we’re in some kind of... rhyming dimension?" Before you can process that, your comms crackle to life, and a deep, booming voice—speaking entirely in rhyme—comes through the radio: //"You’re in our space without permission, Violating all tradition! Prepare yourselves for great despair, In crossing us, you’ve poked the bear!"// You blink, trying to comprehend what you’ve just heard. "Wait... did they just threaten us... in rhyme?" BoB HelperBot, eager to assist, jumps in. "I’ve got this, Captain!" he says, chiming in with his own attempt at a response: //"We come in peace, so don’t you fear, Just here to explore, we’re full of cheer!" "Your threat’s a joke, we’ll leave you lame, Now put down your arms, or lose the game!"// You feel your heart sink. BoB’s rhymes are... questionable at best, and somehow, his friendly tone makes it worse. The warship’s response is immediate and menacing: //"You mock us with your careless rhyme, Now it’s the end, your final time! Our weapons prime, you violate the pact, You won’t survive this final attack!"// Alarms blare aboard the ship as the warship’s weapons systems activate, glowing ominously on the viewscreen. Skink gives you a sideways glance. "Well, Cap’n, looks like you better respond in kind... or, y’know, die trying." You gulp, realizing you have no choice but to play along with this bizarre dimension’s rules. As the warship prepares to fire, you scramble to come up with a response. ''Polite Rhyming'': [["We’re sorry for this great mistake, Please forgive us for your sake!"->5 RhymeWorked]] ''Offensive Rhyming'': [["Your threats are weak, your rhymes are poor, I’ve heard better insults from the floor!"->5 RhymeWorked]] ''Janky Rhyming'': [["We... um... really... uh... hope you see, That we mean... uh... no... tree?"->5 NoRhyme]] ''Broken Rhyming'': [["Listen, dude, just chill, alright? We didn’t mean to—wait, what rhymes with ‘alright’?"->5 NoRhyme]] [[Rhyme->5 Rhyme]] [[NoRhyme->5 NoRhyme]]

You clear your throat, realizing that this is your one shot to avoid being obliterated. Summoning every ounce of creativity you have, you craft an epic rhyme that hopefully won’t offend the easily ruffled aliens. //"Oh mighty ship, so fierce and grand, We didn’t mean to trespass on your land, Your power’s vast, your weapons bright, We see now we were wrong, you’re full of might." "Your crew’s so sharp, both strong and wise, With handsome looks and piercing eyes, Your captain’s virile, tall, and bold, A story of greatness yet to be told!" "We come in peace, no need for war, Let’s be friends, we’re asking for more! So let us be, no harm was meant, We’ll share a drink, a sweet ferment!"// You finish your rhyme, heart racing as you await a response. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence on the comms. Then, you hear a soft chuckle from the alien commander, followed by a deep, hearty laugh. //"Your words are true, your rhymes sincere, Perhaps, young one, we’ve naught to fear, We’ll stay our hand, no shots will fly, Let’s meet in peace, the stars as our sky."// Jetson lets out a relieved sigh. "Well, dude, I gotta say, that was pretty gnarly. I think we’re in the clear." Skink gives you a thumbs-up. "Cap’n, that was some of the slickest wordsmithing I’ve ever seen. Well done." (if:$TerraDitched is false)[Terra nods emphatically, looking impressed.] [[Let’s meet the aliens and make new friends->5 RhymeWorked]]

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to respond without really trying to rhyme—or worse, with a completely broken rhyme. There’s a long pause on the other end of the comms. You glance nervously at your crew, who are giving you a collective look of concern. Suddenly, the alien warship fires a warning shot, and the ship shudders violently. Alarms blare as the lights flicker. The alien commander’s voice booms over the radio, this time angrier and still perfectly in rhyme: //"Your words offend, your rhymes are weak, We’ve had enough, so hear us speak! You’ve got one chance, so leave this place, Or face our wrath, you’ll be erased!"// Jetson, barely keeping his cool, chimes in with his usual laid-back tone. "Uh, Captain, I think it’s time we took their advice. Just sayin’." Skink nods in agreement. "Yeah, Cap’n, I think we’d better hightail it outta here before we get turned into space dust." Realizing that you’re out of options—and definitely out of rhymes—you decide it’s time to make a quick exit before things escalate any further. [[Time to get out of here! Navigate again->5 NavigateEnd]]

After what feels like an eternity of hopping through bizarre and increasingly absurd dimensions, you finally arrive at a place that seems... right. As Skink inputs the final set of random coordinates, the ship’s scanners begin to pick up something unusual. Jetson’s voice crackles over the intercom, filled with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Yo, Cap’n... I think we found it. Long-range scanners are picking up a planet, but there’s a catch. It’s shrouded in some kind of darkness shield. Can’t get a clear read on anything down there except... a beacon." You lean forward in your chair, heart pounding with anticipation. "A beacon?" "Yeah," Jetson replies, "It’s just blinkin’ one word: ‘Undiscoveria.’ No other comms, no signals, just that." Your stomach twists as the realization hits you. This is it—the elusive, uncharted planet you’ve been searching for. But it’s not going to be as easy as just landing. The darkness shield around the planet makes navigation impossible. You can’t help but think that getting through it is, ironically, a matter of blind luck. You attempt to radio down, but the comms remain stubbornly silent. The only sound in the cockpit is the faint hum of the engines and the rhythmic beeping of the beacon. Skink scratches his head. "Looks like no one’s home, Cap’n. No response, no nothing. We’re gonna have to wing it." You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "All right. We drop in." With a mix of excitement and dread, you guide the ship toward the planet, the darkness shield looming ominously ahead. The closer you get, the more the ship’s sensors begin to flicker and fail. Soon, you’re flying blind, the only guide being your gut instinct and the faint blinking of the beacon. "Hang on, everyone," you say as the ship plunges through the mask of shadows, the planet below invisible beneath a swirling, inky veil. [[Brace for impact->6 CrashLanding]]

The alien commander’s invitation to join their celebration is too good to pass up, so you accept. The ''$ShipName2'' descends to their planet, and soon you and your crew are greeted with cheers, music, and a feast that rivals anything you’ve ever seen. The entire population seems to communicate exclusively in rhyme, and the energy is infectious. Jetson’s voice comes through the comms, sounding uncharacteristically upbeat. "Yo, Cap’n, this place is lit, but... maybe stick to the rhymes, yeah?" You nod, determined to keep up the rhythm of the evening. As you mingle with the aliens, you do your best to match their rhyming speech. Everything is going smoothly—at first. But then, in the middle of an enthusiastic toast, you hold up your glass and declare, //"Surely we’ll avoid scurvy if we all eat an orange!"// The room goes dead silent. The music screeches to a halt. The aliens exchange confused and horrified glances, their expressions filled with shock. The alien commander, who had been smiling moments before, now looks at you with deep offense. "Orange?" he spits. "No rhyme? No flow? That word is a blasphemy, as we all know!" You wince, realizing you’ve stumbled onto one of the dreaded unrhymables. Desperately trying to recover, you take a deep breath and make another attempt: //"Uh... something something silver?" you say hesitantly. // The reaction is immediate. Gasps fill the room, and some of the aliens begin to murmur angrily. One of them clutches their chest in disbelief. //"Silver? How dare you blunder! This rhyme crime is worse than thunder!"// You’re now sweating, each attempt at salvaging the situation only making things worse. You stammer out another desperate rhyme: //"Look, I—uh—rhyming causes me angst... But we’re here for... friends amongst?" // More horrified gasps. The crowd’s mood has gone from festive to furious in a matter of moments. Skink nudges you, whispering frantically, "Cap’n, I think it’s time we skedaddle before we get thrown out on our rhymeless backsides." You nod in agreement, your face burning with shame. With as much dignity as you can muster, you excuse yourself and your crew, backing away from the glaring aliens. As you board the ship once again, the alien commander’s voice booms behind you: //"You’ve broken our rules, our rhymes defied, Be gone at once, let your shame be your guide! Leave this world, and never return, Or next time, your ship we’ll burn!"// Jetson sighs as the ship’s engines hum to life. "Dude... that was rough." You cringe as you punch in new coordinates, vowing never to set foot in the Rhyming Dimension again. [[Punch it, Skink! Let’s get to a new dimension->5 NavigateEnd]]

After a very rough landing on Undiscoveria, you cautiously step out of the ''$ShipName2'', taking in the alien landscape. A massive red crystalline structure looms behind you as you begin your exploration, but it’s not long before you encounter the locals— Whom you hear refer to each other as the Nothereians. To your confusion, the Nothereians are incredibly evasive. They float just a few inches off the ground, draped in shadowy, translucent robes that make them look like walking mirages. When you try to speak to them, they don’t respond, and when you get closer, they seem to simply vanish from your field of vision, as though refusing to acknowledge their own presence. You wave your hands in front of one of them. "Hey! I’m talking to you! Can you hear me?" The figure turns slightly but doesn’t respond. You hear a soft whisper, almost as if they’re talking to themselves. "We are not here... you are not here... nothing is here..." Frustrated, you begin shouting. "I’m right here! You can see me, right?" The Nothereians continue to ignore you, so you decide to take matters into your own hands. You realize that if they won’t acknowledge you, you’ll have to go above and beyond to prove that you’re not some figment of their imagination. With determination, you start to brainstorm ridiculous tasks that will undoubtedly prove your existence. You narrow it down to a few outlandish ideas: ''Choice 1'': (unless: $ProofExist1 is true)[(link: "Dance like a deranged space chicken to get their attention.")[(set: $ProofExist1 to true) (goto: "6 DanceChicken")]] ''Choice 2'': (unless: $ProofExist2 is true)[(link: "Shout out random scientific facts that may or may not be true while doing cartwheels.")[(set: $ProofExist2 to true) (goto: "6 ShoutFacts")]] ''Choice 3'': (unless: $ProofExist3 is true)[(link: "Challenge one of them to an impromptu arm-wrestling contest—whether they have arms or not.")[(set: $ProofExist3 to true) (goto: "6 ArmWrestling")]] ''Choice 4'': (unless: $ProofExist4 is true)[(link: "Lick the red crystal and declare it’s the best-tasting crystal in the galaxy.")[(set: $ProofExist4 to true) (goto: "6 LickCrystal")]] ''Choice 5'': (unless: $ProofExist5 is true)[(link: "Take off your shoes, throw them in the air, and call it performance art.")[(set: $ProofExist5 to true) (goto: "6 ShoeThrow")]] (if: $ProofExist1 is true and $ProofExist2 is true and $ProofExist3 is true and $ProofExist4 is true and $ProofExist5 is true)[ (link: "The Nothereians finally acknowledge you and beckon you forward to speak with them...")[(goto: "6 Finally")] ]

With no other choice but to prove your existence through the power of interpretive dance, you take a deep breath and launch into a ridiculous performance. You flap your arms wildly, stomp your feet, and cluck like a deranged space chicken, all while spinning in circles around the Nothereians. For a moment, nothing happens. The Nothereians seem as indifferent as ever. But then, one of them tilts its head slightly, as if acknowledging the absurdity of what’s happening. "Strange creature," a Nothereian whispers, its voice barely audible. "But... perhaps it is... here." You pause, mid-chicken dance, and catch your breath. Success? Maybe? [[Return to where you started->6 CrashLanding]]

Determined to get the Nothereians to acknowledge your presence, you decide to combine physical prowess with questionable intellect. You throw yourself into a series of clumsy cartwheels, shouting out random scientific facts between flips. "The sun is 93 million miles away!" you shout, followed by a less certain, "Uh... bananas are technically berries!" You cartwheel past one of the Nothereians. "Humans share 60% of their DNA with bananas!" you yell, before nearly losing your balance. One of the Nothereians hesitates, its form flickering slightly. "Facts... strange... but perhaps... it exists..." You land on your feet, panting from the effort. You’re not sure if they’re convinced by your half-baked facts, but at least you’ve left them wondering. [[Return to where you started->6 CrashLanding]]

Desperate to prove that you’re really there, you take a deep breath and stride up to the nearest Nothereian, ignoring the fact that they seem to lack physical limbs. "Alright, you and me," you declare confidently, "Let’s settle this with an arm-wrestling contest!" The Nothereian hovers there in silent confusion, not moving an inch. Undeterred, you sit down on the ground, prop up your elbow on your knee, and hold out your hand, ready for the competition. "Come on," you taunt, "I’ve got a pretty good grip—if you’re even real enough to take me on." The Nothereian seems to waver slightly, its form flickering as it contemplates your challenge. "Arm... contest... but we... have no arms..." it whispers, sounding perplexed. You sit there, waiting, until the Nothereian finally mutters, "Perhaps... it does exist..." before slowly floating away. You shrug. It wasn’t much of a contest, but hey, you’ll take the win. [[Return to where you started->6 CrashLanding]]

With growing frustration at the Nothereians’ indifference, you decide to take a different approach—something more... offensive. You march right up to the towering red crystal nearby, lean in, and give it a long, dramatic lick. "Ahhh," you say loudly, smacking your lips, "This is, without a doubt, the best-tasting crystal in the entire galaxy!" The Nothereians let out a collective gasp, their forms flickering wildly in shock. "The sacred crystal... tasted? Sacrilege..." they murmur to one another. One of them drifts closer, its tone uncertain. "Perhaps... this being... exists... but such... disrespect..." You wipe your mouth, shrugging. You’ve clearly rattled them, and though they seem offended, at least they’re starting to acknowledge your presence. Sometimes, you just have to make a statement. [[Return to where you started->6 CrashLanding]]

Realizing that subtlety is overrated, you decide to make a bold statement. You dramatically pull off your shoes, hold them aloft, and then toss them high into the air with as much flourish as you can muster. "Behold!" you declare. "Performance art!" The shoes spin awkwardly, falling back to the ground with a soft thud. You stand there, arms raised, waiting for a reaction. One of the Nothereians shifts slightly, as if pondering your peculiar display. "Art... performance... perhaps... reality?" it whispers in confusion. You stare at your shoes lying in the dirt. Performance art may not be your strong suit, but at least you’ve sparked some sort of existential crisis in these creatures. [[Return to where you started->6 CrashLanding]]

After what feels like an eternity of bizarre antics, the Nothereians finally relent. Their shadowy forms seem to solidify slightly as they hover around you. "We apologize," one of them murmurs, its voice soft and otherworldly. "It has been... millennia since any visitors arrived. You are the first... besides the 'other' one." "The other one?" you ask, but the Nothereian just flickers and remains vague, as if unsure whether to elaborate or not. "You seek answers," another whispers. "The holy site... the inverted pyramid of Nah... will have what you seek. Perhaps there, your questions will find light." They gesture toward the distance, where a massive inverted pyramid looms, its dark stone etched with glowing hieroglyphics. You approach the strange structure, marveling at the carvings along its surface. The hieroglyphics seem to depict vast riches, as if great wealth awaits those who enter. As you get closer, you spot someone waiting at the entrance. (if:$TerraDitched is true)[Terra Goldtrix, her blonde hair now visible without her discarded Countess wig, is pacing outside the temple, clearly frustrated. She’s holding her communicator in the air, frantically trying to get a signal. She turns as you approach, narrowing her eyes. "You?! Of all the places... you end up here too?" she snaps, stuffing her communicator back into her pocket. "I’ve been trying to get a signal for hours. This planet is impossible." You raise an eyebrow. "Funny running into you again, Terra. I thought you ditched me?" Terra scoffs, crossing her arms. "Well, maybe I did, but look where that got me. This place is a dead zone for tech. I’ve got a story to cover, and you’re... here to steal my scoop, I guess?" You sigh, shaking your head. "I’m just trying to survive here. And by the way, you’re standing in front of an inverted pyramid that a bunch of invisible people worship. I think there’s enough weirdness to go around." Terra rolls her eyes but follows you as you both cautiously approach the entrance of the temple, knowing that answers—if they exist—lie within.] (if:$TerraDitched is false)[As you approach the pyramid, you see someone standing near the entrance. It’s a scruffy man with a briefcase, and he greets you with an unnervingly wide smile. "Ah, good sir! Might I interest you in an extended warranty for your spaceship? It covers all—" Before you can process the absurdity of the situation, a shot rings out. The man collapses in a heap, and you whirl around to see Terra standing behind you, her blaster still smoking. She steps forward, shaking her head. "I’ve had just about enough of those warranty vultures. They’re everywhere." You blink in surprise as Terra holsters her weapon and approaches the pyramid. Everyone else seems to collectively sigh in relief, as if this situation were completely normal. No one acknowledges the dead man at your feet.] (if:$TerraDitched is false)[[[Freak out about the dead guy->6 FreakOut]] [[Ignore the body and enter the Pyramid->6 EnterPyramid]]] (if:$TerraDitched is true)[[[Team up with Terra and enter the pyramid->6 EnterPyramid]]]

You stand there, staring at the dead body on the ground, your mouth hanging open. "Did... did you just murder that guy?!" you shout, gesturing wildly at the smoking corpse. Everyone in your crew—Terra, BoB, Mr. Brindles, and even Skink—looks at you with confusion. Terra raises an eyebrow, her expression slowly turning to mild amusement. "Uh, yeah," she says, as if explaining basic math to a small child. "That was a //telemarketer//." You continue to gape at them, waiting for a better explanation, but instead, BoB steps forward, adopting a soothing tone. "Telemarketers, my good Captain, are fair game in all systems. It’s not only okay, it’s considered polite and good to execute them when found." Terra nods sagely. "Yeah, their pelts sell for a good price with the space traders." You blink, utterly baffled. "But... he was a human being!" Terra snorts and rolls her eyes. "Barely, I guess," she responds, earning a round of approving nods from the rest of the crew. Apparently, to them, this is all perfectly normal behavior. Still in shock, you glance around at your companions, who are already moving on as if nothing happened. Your brain struggles to process the absurdity, but before you can protest further, Terra gestures toward the pyramid. "C'mon, enough stalling. We’ve got a pyramid to explore." With a final bewildered look at the dead telemarketer, you sigh deeply and follow your crew into the inverted pyramid of Nah. [[Condone Murder and Enter the Pyramid->6 EnterPyramid]] [[Grumble under your breath about the sanctity of human life, and Enter the Pyramid->6 EnterPyramid]]

As you and your crew—BoB HelperBot, Mr. Brindles, Skink, and Terra—enter the inverted pyramid of Nah, the air feels heavy with ancient secrets and forgotten histories. The dark stone walls are etched with glowing symbols, and the faint hum of something otherworldly reverberates around you. Before long, you reach a fork in the path. To your left, a grand archway leads into what appears to be an incredibly intricate and confusing maze. The walls twist and turn, disappearing into dark, shadowy corners, and the distant sound of something moving echoes through the corridor. To your right, a glowing neon sign reads: "The Easy Way". The path beyond it is brightly lit and seems to go in a straight line, inviting and devoid of any obvious obstacles. You stand at the crossroads, pondering your options. "You know," you say, rubbing your chin thoughtfully, "this is one of those classic metaphors, isn't it? A choice between the hard, uncertain path that promises trials and challenges... or the simple, straightforward path that’s practically begging us to take it." Terra crosses her arms. "You're overthinking this. The easy way’s right there, and I have no problem skipping whatever labyrinth of death lies ahead." Mr. Brindles scratches the back of his neck and adjusts his oversized black goggles. "Yah, Cap'n, not to sway you or nuttin’, but ma back ain't what it used to be. Might be nice to take a lil' stroll." Skink, though, looks uneasy. "I dunno, Cap’n. I’ve got a real bad feelin’ about the easy way. Somethin’ about it feels... too good to be true, y'know?" You continue to stare at the two paths before you. One is fraught with danger, difficulty, and—if you’re being honest with yourself—inevitable embarrassment. The other? Far too easy. Too convenient. As you weigh the options, you can’t help but wax philosophical. "Isn’t that life in a nutshell?" you muse aloud. "The path of least resistance might get us to where we want to go, but the harder path... well, that’s where the real growth happens, right?" BoB beeps cheerfully. "Or we could just be lazy today and see where that takes us!" You sigh, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. [[Bravely take the Hard Path and prove your mettle->6 HardPath]] [[Give in to temptation and take the Easy Way->6 EasyWay]]

You take a deep breath, standing tall as you prepare to embark on the hard path. "I’ve made my decision," you announce with all the self-importance you can muster. "I’ll take the hard path. It’s the noble thing to do. I’ll grow as a person, and who knows, maybe even as an explorer. This is about more than just reaching our goal; it’s about bettering my soul, proving myself—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel a sharp yank on the back of your collar. Your inspiring speech is cut off as you stumble backward, nearly tripping over your own feet. Terra rolls her eyes, gripping your collar firmly as she drags you away from the hard path. "Oh, please," she snaps. "Do you hear yourself right now? You sound like an idiot." You barely have time to sputter out a response before she pushes you down the hallway marked "The Easy Way", sending you stumbling forward. The brightly lit, uncomplicated path stretches out before you like the very embodiment of anti-adventure. "You’re seriously going to waste time on the hard path?" Terra continues, crossing her arms as she saunters behind you. "This isn’t some spiritual journey, you know. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than your existential growth or whatever." You glance back, rubbing your neck as you grumble to yourself. Sure, you wanted to be noble. You wanted to choose the harder road to better yourself. But now that you’re being practically shoved down the easy hallway, you can’t help but feel that maybe Terra has a point. Besides, the easy way is... well... easy. Your crew follows along, shrugging as if to say, Hey, she’s not wrong. You sigh in resignation, pushing forward into the unknown, all the while wondering if maybe—just maybe—spiritual growth is overrated. [[Continue down the Easy Way->6 EasyWay]]

(if:$Asshole is true)[Your crew stares around them feeling a strong wave of deja vu...] (if:$Asshole is not true)[You and your crew walk down the easy way hallway, the slight incline barely noticeable underfoot. The tunnel is surprisingly comfortable, air-conditioned to perfection, and filled with the pleasant scent of something floral—perhaps lavender or fresh linen? It’s almost like walking through the lobby of a luxury space hotel.] After a few minutes of peaceful strolling, the tunnel opens into a massive internal chamber. The ceiling stretches far above you, lost in shadow, and the walls are lined with strange carvings and glowing symbols that seem to hum with a low, steady energy. In the center of the chamber, an old—no, ancient—man sits slumped in a heavy suit of armor, rusted and worn with time. His helmet is tucked under one arm, revealing his wrinkled, dirt-covered face. His hair is long and white, and his beard reaches down to his lap, tangled with twigs and small bits of debris. Before him sits a large table, completely covered in an assortment of Odd trinkets, baubles, and bits of forgotten history are strewn across it in a haphazard display, each item more peculiar than the last. Behind him is a black dais with a floating ball of black energy and shadows, hovering under some unknown power. The old man stirs slightly as you approach, his eyes fluttering open. He regards you with a slow, measured gaze, as if sizing you up through the weight of centuries. You get the distinct feeling that he’s seen more than his fair share of adventurers come and go through this place. "Well now..." he rasps, his voice creaking like old wood. "What do we have here? More lost souls seeking... answers?" He gestures lazily at the table, filled with the strange objects. "I have seen many come through this place. Some have left with riches... others with regrets. What is it you seek?" [[Ask the old man for guidance->6 AskGuidance]] [[Ignore him and just walk past the whole thing to the dais->6 LikeAsshole]]

You ask the old man for guidance, and he sighs, his ancient eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "To find the inter-connected-ness of all things, you must choose the three objects that create harmony," he explains cryptically. Before you, three objects appear—each tied to the fabric of reality itself. (set: $Solved to false) *Object 1*: (cycling-link: bind $Object1, "A Monocle", "A Pair of Fuzzy Slippers", "A Bedazzled Eye Patch", "A Tiny Umbrella (the cocktail kind)","A Wizard Hat") *Object 2*: (cycling-link: bind $Object2, "A Bowl of Mac and Cheese", "A Cucumber Wrapped in Bacon", "A Magic Muffin", "A Pizza Slice Wearing Sunglasses", "A Hotdog in a Tuxedo") *Object 3*: (cycling-link: bind $Object3, "A Tap-Dancing Penguin", "Nothing", "A Posh Hedgehog in a Suit", "A Fire-Breathing Chicken", "A Grumpy Cat with Sunglasses", "A Wise Owl with a Wand") (live: 1s)[ (if: $Object1 is "A Wizard Hat" and $Object2 is "A Magic Muffin" and $Object3 is "A Wise Owl with a Wand")[(set: $Solved to true)]  (if: $Solved is true)[(link: "You've found harmony! You are worthy! Click Here.")[(goto: "6 NextArea")]]] (set: $clue to false) (link-repeat: "Me Brain No Worky: Give Me a Clue")[(set: $clue to true)] (live: 1s)[ (if: $clue is true)[The answer lies within the magic of three.] ]

Without a word, you make a beeline for the black dais behind the old man, determined to skip whatever bizarre test he has in store for you. You sidestep the table of knickknacks and stride confidently toward the looming dais, refusing to even acknowledge the ancient man sitting there. Behind you, the old man sputters in disbelief. "H-Hey! You can't just—" His voice turns into an indignant growl. "That’s not how this works!" He snaps his fingers, and in an instant, your body is wracked with excruciating pain. A bright light blinds your vision as reality seems to twist and turn in on itself. You scream (or maybe you think you do—it's hard to tell) as you're forcibly yanked backward through time and space. The world spins violently, and before you know it, you’re standing right back at the beginning of the tunnel, as if nothing had ever happened. The pleasant floral scent and perfect air conditioning greet you again, but the searing memory of pain still lingers. You rub your aching limbs and exchange nervous glances with your crew. Maybe it’s best not to ignore the ancient man in armor next time. [[Start over and actually listen to the old man this time->6 EasyWay]] (set:$Asshole to true)

You stand triumphantly, basking in the glow of your intelligence after solving the Templar Knight's puzzle. The knight, however, seems thoroughly unimpressed. With a flick of his hand, the dark shadow looming over the dais disappears, revealing a small transparent jar with a cork stopper. Inside, a strange red fluid swirls ominously. You approach it, curiosity piqued. "What is this?" you ask the knight, who gives you a long, tired look. "It's not for you!" he snaps, though his voice wavers with exhaustion. "It's necessary to get the greatest treasure in the universe. It's needed to make..." He never finishes. Suddenly, with a gasp and a creak, the knight collapses into a pile of dust and ancient armor, the weight of extreme old age finally catching up to him. You watch, stunned, as his body disintegrates before your eyes. You sigh, frustration mounting. "Great," you mutter. "Just great." Pocketing the mysterious vial, you turn on your heel and head back to the ship, the unanswered question gnawing at you. Back aboard the ''$ShipName2'', you ponder your next move: [[Turn in your discovery of Undiscoveria to the Guild for membership->7 GuildMembership]] [[Talk Terra into doing an interview with the Guild->7 TerraInterview]] [[Immediately try to sell this Priceless, one-of-a-kind, irreplacable, incredibly rare, treasure.->7 TryToSell]] (set:$SoldTheVial to false)

Your crew collectively groans. Terra looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. "You’re going to sell the one piece of evidence that could actually prove you’ve been to Undiscoveria?" she snaps. "You don't even know what it is!" "Details, details," you wave her off dismissively. "Why waste time figuring it out when I could just make a quick buck?" Mr. Brindles smacks his forehead with his palm. "Ye're daft, lad. Proper daft." Even BoB Helperbot, usually perpetually cheerful, tilts his head and says, "Captain, this decision seems… unwise, illogical, and potentially disastrous. But keep in mind, whatever it is - I'll do it! I have no moral compass, as that program has been deleted!" But you've made up your mind. You head straight for the space marketplace, ignoring every bit of reason, intuition, and logic screaming at you to stop. You strut up to the nearest merchant and wave the vial in his face. "One-of-a-kind artifact from the legendary Undiscoveria!" you proclaim loudly, the desperation clear in your voice. [[Continue with Your Unbridled Hubris->7 TryToSell2]]

(if:$SoldTheVial is true)[You may not have the vial, but you do have your discovery of a planet thought to be "Undiscoverable"] You pace back and forth, weighing your options. Sure, turning in your “discovery” might get you into the guild, but why stop there? With Terra by your side and her considerable influence, you could nail this down and get a few credits to your name. You spin around to face her. "Alright, Terra," you say, putting on your most persuasive grin. "I’ve got it! You do an exclusive interview with the Guild about our... um, discovery. You get your big story, I get my guild membership, and we split the 20 bucks." Terra rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Twenty bucks? Really? That’s your grand plan?" "Well, yeah," you shrug, "and, you know, becoming a member of the Guild of Adventurers, Explorers, and Assorted Foolhardy Types—kinda counts for something, right?" Terra sighs, glancing between you and the crew, who seem more bemused than convinced. “Alright, fine. I’ll do the interview. But don’t think I’m doing this just to save your sorry skin—I need a story, and you need a win. Let’s make it happen." You nod, pleased with yourself. You may not have uncovered the universe's greatest mystery, but at least you've convinced a galactic journalist to help you bluff your way into something resembling success. "Great!" you say. "I’ll contact the Guild and set it up." You hear a faint snort from Mr. Brindles. “Aye, 'tis a plan worthy of a fool's parrot." And so, with a few quick taps on the communicator, you arrange for Terra to do an exclusive interview with the Guild about your “great discovery” on Undiscoveria. You're one step closer to that elusive membership—and the twenty bucks. [[Proceed to the Guild Headquarters for the interview->7 GuildInterview]]

(if:$SoldTheVial is true)[You may not have the vial, but you do have your discovery of a planet.] You sit down with your crew, brimming with confidence. "Well," you declare, "having discovered Undiscoveria is quite enough to get the guild to take me in." Terra raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "Discovered it? You mean after following a dozen wrong leads, crashing your ship (if:$TerraDitched is true)[got here AFTER me,] and somehow not dying in the process?" Skink snorts, adjusting his hat with a grin. "Yeah, more like 'tripped over it' than 'discovered.' Couldn’t navigate our way out of a paper bag with a map in it." You roll your eyes. "Semantics. I found it, and that’s all that matters." BoB Helperbot chimes in, ever-cheerful. "Technically, sir, 'discovered' implies finding something new and unknown. We just sort of... well... crash-landed there." Mr. Brindles nods sagely. "Doesn’t exactly scream 'discovery,' mate.'" You wave off their doubts, undeterred. "Details, details. I found it, and that’s that! We’re off to the Guild Headquarters!" With your dubious plan in motion and the crew casting sidelong glances at each other, you set a course for ''Adventure Prime'', the capital of the Glory-Seeker System, home to the Guild of Adventurers, Explorers, and Assorted Foolhardy Types. It’s a bustling planet filled with hopeful adventurers eager to prove themselves and, in your case, claim fame for something they may or may not have actually done. As your ship nears the planet, the sprawling Guild Headquarters looms ahead—tall spires adorned with banners, gargantuan statues of legendary explorers, and a surprisingly high number of gift shops. The air buzzes with the sound of hopefuls babbling about their latest near-death experiences. "Alright," you mutter to yourself as the ship touches down. "Time to dazzle them." Terra lets out a skeptical sigh. "This is either going to be brilliant or an absolute train wreck." Skink chuckles from the side. "I’m betting on train wreck." You straighten up with false bravado, determined to prove them wrong. "We’ll see about that." Bombastic: [[March confidently into the Guild to demand membership->7 GuildDemand]] Furtive: [[Hesitate and consider a more diplomatic approach->7 DiplomaticApproach]]

More to come... Email [email protected] for feedback & questions :)

You march into the grand halls of the Guild Headquarters on Adventure Prime—the esteemed home of the Guild of Adventurers, Explorers, and Assorted Foolhardy Types—brimming with confidence. Your mission: to demand membership on the grounds that you’ve "discovered" the legendary Undiscoveria and acquired an... artifact of sorts. But the moment you step through the colossal bronze doors, you’re immediately hit with a wave of bureaucratic red tape. Everywhere you turn, you’re met with skeptical guild members, stern-faced clerks, and enough forms to choke a space walrus. "Name?" asks a bored receptionist, not looking up from her holo-screen. "Goddard Withings, the Not-Yet-Famous Explorer," you announce proudly. Her expression doesn’t change. "Reason for admission?" "Well, I, uh, discovered Undiscoveria!" you say, puffing up your chest. "And?" she replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow. (if:$SoldTheVial is false)["And I found... this!" you exclaim, holding up the small transparent jar with the strange red fluid. She glances at it, unimpressed. "Looks like a condiment."] You shrug uncomfortably. Soon you are shuffled through miles of paperwork and questions that range from mind-numbingly dull to outright insulting. At every turn, you’re met with disbelief, doubt, and the firm insistence that your so-called "discovery" isn’t nearly as impressive as you think. Eventually, you find yourself standing outside the Guild, staring up at its intimidating facade. You sigh deeply, feeling a mix of frustration and determination. If you want to get in, you’ll need to go bigger. You consider your options: You could investigate the strange vial you found on Undiscoveria. Surely there’s more to it than just being some alien ketchup. (if:$SoldTheVial is true)[I can go buy it back from the Shopkeeper... I guess...] Or, you could pivot. There's an old contact here on Adventure Prime who might have a lead on something more profitable, something that could elevate your standing enough to force the Guild's hand. You weigh your choices carefully… ''Choices:'' [[Investigate the strange vial and its purpose->7 VialInvestigation]] [[Follow up on the old contact's lead for a potentially profitable venture->7 OldContactLead]]

Determined to secure your spot in the Guild of Adventurers, Explorers, and Assorted Foolhardy Types, you decide to take a more measured approach. Charging in with wild claims and bombast hasn’t worked, so maybe, just maybe, a little subtlety and diplomacy will do the trick. You slip the last of your fifty bucks into your pocket and head for the guild clerk’s desk. Once there, you casually slide the crumpled bills across the counter to the guild clerk, a dour-looking fellow with a face like curdled milk. He raises an eyebrow, glances around to make sure no one’s watching, and quietly palms the money. "Alright, lad," he whispers, leaning in, "I might be able to grease a few gears for ya." And so begins your careful dance through the labyrinth of guild bureaucracy. You schmooze, you flatter, you smile until your cheeks hurt. You fill out form after form, each one more absurd than the last: permits for potential hazards, waivers for liability of unknown substances, declarations of intent for intergalactic exploits. Your hand cramps from signing, your eyes blur from reading fine print, and your patience is stretched thinner than a solar sail in a supernova. And just when you think you’ve navigated the endless maze of red tape, a new wave of challenges crashes down on you. Taxes to file, subcontracts to negotiate, forms that need co-signatures from people you've never heard of, tasks that require feats of strength or complex origami skills—there seems to be no end. The clerk smirks as he hands you yet another stack of paperwork. "Ye really thought ye could bribe yer way in, eh?" he says with a chuckle. "Nah, mate, ye need a real, genuine discovery. Somethin' big. Somethin' that makes the guild sit up and take notice." You sigh, realizing this isn’t going to be as easy as you thought. You’re going to need something truly remarkable, something that’ll blow their socks off. And so... (if:$SoldTheVial is false)[ Double Down: [[Investigate the vial you found on Undiscoveria and uncover its purpose->7 VialInvestigation]] ] Desperate: [[Look up an old contact on Adventure Prime to get a lead on something worth discovering->7 OldContactLead]]

More to come... Email [email protected] for feedback & questions :)

The merchant narrows his eyes. "What's it do?" he asks flatly. You pause, swallowing hard. "We, uh… don’t exactly know." And so it goes, buyer after buyer, as you parade your "priceless artifact" around the market. Each time you attempt to demonstrate its worth, you’re met with blank stares, laughter, or outright dismissal. No one is interested. You shake it, sniff it, even try to drink a drop—nothing. No magical glow, no hidden message, nothing but the sad gurgle of liquid in a bottle. Finally, you’re left with only one option: a grumpy drink merchant with a permanent scowl. He glares at the vial like it’s an insult. "I’ll give ye 50 bucks fer it," he growls. "Might look nice in a case. Or I could use it ta scare away customers." Your crew watches, mouths agape. "Fifty bucks?" Terra yelps. "Are you actually… are you seriously considering this?" "Deal!" you blurt out, all rational thought abandoned. You snatch the credits from his hand and toss him the vial before anyone can stop you. (set: $SoldTheVial to true) Your crew is in stunned silence. Mr. Brindles mutters, "Well, at least we know what level of fool ye are now…" BoB Helperbot chimes in, "Congratulations, Captain! I fully support your foolhardy and terrible decision!" But you, fifty bucks richer, puff out your chest with misplaced pride and head back to your options: [[Despite having no evidence, turn in your discovery of Undiscoveria to the Guild for membership->7 GuildMembership]] [[Convince Terra that you are mentally stable - Then talk her into doing an interview with the Guild->7 TerraInterview]]