Start of a transcript of Calliope An Interactive Obtrusion by J McIntosh (first-time players should type 'about'.) Release 1 / Serial number 991001 / Inform v6.15 Library 6/7 Standard interpreter 1.0 (6F) / Library serial number 970918 >x mac You have rewarded this mostly-beige (for, some months ago, you intentionally spattered a parti-color pattern of India ink across its case while in an artsy mood) little pizza box's years of service with a number of upgrades its manufacturer did not intend. Of course, none of this helps you out any now, as it doesn't take much processing power to generate the half-baked 'game' facing you presently. At least you can compile quickly. The mutated Macintosh is currently switched on. >read screen This is a fairly typical 15-inch color monitor, evidencing its age of a few years through its slight blurriness. However, it's just fine for programming, which is what you're to doing now. Or, at least, the several windowsful of indented text sprawled across several windows would suggest this to an onlooker. After hours of frustration, you might call it something else. The monitor is currently switched on. >type "foo" on computer ---------------------------------------- [The screen fills with garbage. Joy.] ---------------------------------------- >sleep Tempting, very tempting... Huh? An unexpected flickering-by of text on the game window catches your attention, preventing the slow, inexorable progress toward the keyboard your head was apparently making. You blink away the blurriness of Sleep, thwarted once again, and squint at what just appeared... ---------------------------------------- Calliope strolls into the room. >_ ---------------------------------------- 'Calliope'? The fact that the game did something in between turns is one thing -- after all, it's been done before, and you honestly wouldn't be half-surprised if your low-level mucking about has allowed for such behavior to happen by complete accident -- but you definitely have no recollection of any 'Calliope' living in your program (though the name does ring a bell), and no amount of the most obfuscated code is capable of writing its own NPCs! >type "calliope, hello" You wince as more garbage dances across the output window. Add the parser's conversation system to the list of things you've accidentally nuked tonight. You type randomly on the keyboard, and enjoy similar results on the screen. The strange, apparently untriggered output continues... ---------------------------------------- "Gentle Artist!" Her voice seems strangely familiar, yet... distant, hard to place. >_ ---------------------------------------- >x calliope You can't see any such thing. >enter screen That's not something you can enter. The strange, apparently untriggered output continues... ---------------------------------------- "No amount of honeyed words can soothe the bitterness borne of frustration. As the Levinskys have foiled our plans in the past time and again, so are poets left nothing but their own teeth to gnash when their ideas abandon them, and they can do nothing but burn over trifles, stirring cold, decayed ideas that have lost their spark." >_ ---------------------------------------- >enter compter You can't see any such thing. >enter mac That's not something you can enter. The strange, apparently untriggered output continues... ---------------------------------------- "Gentle artist! The World is great, far more vast than thy dreams, and always able to replenish even the most embittered mind with new life and fire." >_ ---------------------------------------- >touch screen You feel nothing unexpected. The strange, apparently untriggered output continues... ---------------------------------------- "As the swift hammer of justice shall soon descend upon those nosy neighbors of ours, So will Inspiration descend upon you, aloft on irridescent wings. If you will but let it." >_ ---------------------------------------- >read screen This is a fairly typical 15-inch color monitor, evidencing its age of a few years through its slight blurriness. However, it's just fine for programming, which is what you're to doing now. Or, at least, the several windowsful of indented text sprawled across several windows would suggest this to an onlooker. After hours of frustration, you might call it something else. The monitor is currently switched on. One more line appears on-screen: "Smiling, Calliope draws forth her scrolls, while taking a step towards you..." From the shadows behind you: a footfall. You perform one of those little full-body twitches that so often wakes you, usually when you've been asleep for only a little while. Oh no... On the TV, the prerecorded crowd gasps at some sudden twist in the plot. >change channel up The set skips past several channels, stopping on the first one it's programmed not to ignore. At the moment, the screen is displaying some shlocky 1950s horror flick. >g The set skips past several channels, stopping on the first one it's programmed not to ignore. At the moment, the screen is displaying a bland newsfeed from some statehouse, focusing on some senator or other dignitary monotonizing her views on some foreign-relations issue. >g The set skips past several channels, stopping on the first one it's programmed not to ignore. At the moment, the screen is displaying a mindless situation comedy from the 1970s, where wacky neighbors scheme against one other over petty differences and canned laughter. >g The set skips past several channels, stopping on the first one it's programmed not to ignore. At the moment, the screen is displaying some shlocky 1950s horror flick. A housefly buzzes in from the room behind you, and commences a holding pattern in the airspace immediately surrounding your head. Ugh. On the TV, eerie music, perhaps played on a saw, heightens the tension of the moment. >swat fly The fly's God-given evasive abilities render your clumsy bare-handed flailing utterly ineffective. The housefly lands on the monitor and commences to explore its surface. >swat fly You bring your palm down on the monitor a split second after the fly buzzes back into the air. Clearly, you'll need some sort of weapon do deal with this situation properly. The housefly lands on the desk and commences to explore its surface. On the TV, eerie music, perhaps played on a saw, heightens the tension of the moment. >i You are carrying nothing. The housefly decides to take wing, and it resumes its painfully distracting course around the room, and your head. >l Living Room (on the seedy office chair) You amuse yourself to think of this as your living room. Technically, if you have to demarcate it from the rest of your apartment, it is that-which-is-not- the-bathroom-or-kitchen. And, really, especially lately, you tend only to populate this corner of it, nested inside the crook of your computer desk, surrounded by all the gear that lies on and under it. You can see a buzzing housefly, a large computer desk (on which are a paperback mythology reference, a coffee mug, a mutated Macintosh and an Inform Designer's Manual), a halogen floor lamp (providing light) and a television set (providing light) here. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >get manual Taken. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. On the TV, the scientist postulates something dramatically. >hit fly with manual You don't even come close to striking the fly with the floppy manual. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >g You don't even come close to striking the fly with the floppy manual. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. On the TV, the scientist postulates something dramatically. >get mug Taken. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. On the TV, eerie music, perhaps played on a saw, heightens the tension of the moment. >hit fly with mug With your favorite coffee mug? Good heavens, no! The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >get lamp That's fixed in place. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >get set Nah, it's just fine where it is. The housefly lands on the monitor and commences to explore its surface. >l Living Room (on the seedy office chair) You amuse yourself to think of this as your living room. Technically, if you have to demarcate it from the rest of your apartment, it is that-which-is-not- the-bathroom-or-kitchen. And, really, especially lately, you tend only to populate this corner of it, nested inside the crook of your computer desk, surrounded by all the gear that lies on and under it. You can see a buzzing housefly, a large computer desk (on which are a paperback mythology reference and a mutated Macintosh), a halogen floor lamp (providing light) and a television set (providing light) here. The housefly decides to take wing, and it resumes its painfully distracting course around the room, and your head. On the TV, the scientist postulates something dramatically. >get reference Taken. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >hit fly with reference You clumsily swat at the insect with the thick book. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >g You clumsily swat at the insect with the thick book. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >get mac Taken. The housefly lands on the wall and commences to explore its surface. >hit fly with mac That's hardly a suitable weapon against such an adversary. The housefly continues to crawl around erratically on the wall. >i You are carrying: a mutated Macintosh a monitor (providing light) some buggy code a broken text adventure game a countless strings of textual garbage a paperback mythology reference a coffee mug an Inform Designer's Manual The housefly continues to crawl around erratically on the wall. On the TV, eerie music, perhaps played on a saw, heightens the tension of the moment. >x buggy code One on-screen window contains a slice of your game's source code, a textual serpent of writhing left and right through countless subroutines and complex object definitions as it stretches up and down interminably. This size in itself is certainly not the cause of its flaws, but it does present a frustratingly wide landscape to seek out the elusive bugs that lie buried within. That you created the whole monstrosity yourself makes the process all the more infuriating. The housefly decides to take wing, and it resumes its painfully distracting course around the room, and your head. >compile code You recompile the code, for all the good it will do. The usual array of errors and warnings spill all over the code window. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. On the TV, eerie music, perhaps played on a saw, heightens the tension of the moment. >fix errors Again, you attempt to get into the debugging mindset, but burnout has really started to set in, making it quite difficult. The housefly lands on the wall and commences to explore its surface. >x game This window on your computer's screen displays your text adventure game as it now stands, running happily, ready to accept your next typed command. Ah, when in such an idle state, offering up its prompt with no complaint, it looks so stable; yet, as soon as it parses a command, the myriad bugs and faults introduced through your attempts at low-level hacking on the game system's basic engine become all too evident. The housefly decides to take wing, and it resumes its painfully distracting course around the room, and your head. >i You are carrying: a mutated Macintosh a monitor (providing light) some buggy code a broken text adventure game a countless strings of textual garbage a paperback mythology reference a coffee mug an Inform Designer's Manual The housefly lands on the chair's armest and commences to explore its surface. >x garbage Which do you mean, the junk on desk or the countless strings of textual garbage? >countless Others would look at the strings of garbage pockmarking your game window with incomprehension, but you, the master programmer, can decipher their meaning perfectly: your game is horribly broken. The housefly decides to take wing, and it resumes its painfully distracting course around the room, and your head. >fix game Again, you attempt to get into the debugging mindset, but burnout has really started to set in, making it quite difficult. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >debug code Again, you attempt to get into the debugging mindset, but burnout has really started to set in, making it quite difficult. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >sleep Aw, screw it. Nothing's going right with this thing. Even nature is against you. Maybe... maybe you can finish it in the morning, if you get up early enough... yeah... *** There's always next year *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game or QUIT? > undo Living Room [Previous turn undone.] >hit fly with code (first taking the buggy code) That's hardly portable. The housefly lands on the chair's armest and commences to explore its surface. >hit fly with manual The manual's clumsy aerodynamics lend a huge advantage to the fly's early- warning systems, and it buzzes into the air long before the paper flops onto the chair's armest. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >g You don't even come close to striking the fly with the floppy manual. The housefly continues its loud, annoying flight. >roll up manual You roll the thin manual up into a bulky cylinder, and now grip its base with your fist. The housefly lands on the desk and commences to explore its surface. >hit fly You bring your palm down on the desk a split second after the fly buzzes back into the air. Clearly, you'll need some sort of weapon do deal with this situation properly. The housefly lands on the desk and commences to explore its surface. >hit fly with manual SLAP! You manage to catch the fly just as it attempts to take off from the desk, instantly pasting it. Such a small victory does little to change the overall situation you've been involved in. Just look around: Laboratory This is your secret lab, deep beneath the city, where you and your faithful, unquestioning assistant, Cupcake, are attempting against all hope to find a way to destroy the Horrible Nameless Horror From The Stars that threatens to crush the city and all its inhabitants in a matter of hours. You can see Cupcake and a radar scope here. >x cupcake Your lovely assistant is always by your side, even in times of global peril such as these, and no amount of panic that might beset her ever manages to upset her perfect coiffure or smear her makeup. Currently, she is the very portrait of feminine fragility, trying not to tremble and looking up at you, trusting you to save the world. By god, you will, too. >kiss cupcake Cupcake giggles despite herself. "Oh, doctor!" Cupcake furrows her little brow and stares intently at the radar scope, obviously trying to show her willingness to help. Awww, cute. The radar scope makes futuristic beeping noises. >x scpe You can't see any such thing. >x scope This marvel of modern technology has, in the last few minutes, become a countdown timer to Doomsday, as it tracks the entry of the dreaded world- devouring space beast, represented as a horrifyingly large blip, into Earth's atmosphere. Soon, unless the impossible can be achieved and the monster can be stopped, all of man's striving over the centuries that made possible inventions like this will have been for naught! Cupcake furrows her little brow and stares intently at the radar scope, obviously trying to show her willingness to help. Awww, cute. >get all Cupcake: I don't suppose Cupcake would care for that. radar scope: That's fixed in place. giant green blip: That's hardly portable. racks and tables of equipment: That's hardly portable. The radar scope makes futuristic beeping noises. >x bli You can't see any such thing. >x blip For now, all you can see of the horrible menace is the abnormally large blip on the lab's radar scope, and when you try to imagine what it looks like, you can only shudder. Cupcake files her nails. >x racks All this equipment is useless, useless against such an unimaginably huge horror that now threatens the entire planet! The radar scope makes futuristic beeping noises. >n You can't go that way. Cupcake nervously gestures at the newspaper you're holding. "So, uh, what's in today's paper, Doctor?" God bless her, trying act so nonchalant with all that's going on. Cupcake files her nails. >i You are carrying: a newspaper a dead housefly The radar scope continues to track the path of the monster, emitting realistic beeping sounds as it does so. >x fly Stuck to the newspaper, it's now just a mess of smeared black, but for its oily, irridescent wings. The radar scope continues to track the path of the monster, emitting realistic beeping sounds as it does so. >x paper Today's copy of the Daily Times, the city's finest newspaper. Presently, it's folded up and bearing the body of the fly you just crushed after it made its ill-fated way into the lab. Really, you shouldn't have lost your calm scientific demeanor like that(especially in front of Cupcake), but perhaps it is understandable, considering the circumstances. Cupcake files her nails. The radar scope continues to track the path of the monster, emitting realistic beeping sounds as it does so. >read paper Now is not the time to leisurely parouse the news, sir! But wait... there's something about the photograph under the fly's body that catches your attention. It's hard to say why, exactly, while the paper's still folded up. Cupcake files her nails. The radar scope makes futuristic beeping noises. >unfold paper Frowning, you unfold the paper back to a flat, readable state. >read it Once unfolded, a small feature on front page's lower corner catches your attention through a photograph; it seems an old colleague of yours is in town, as half the shot is dedicated to his beaming face, as he stands before his latest invention, a Cosmic Ray Repulsor Beam, about which he will lecture at-- You whirl around. "Cupcake, get your coat on. We've got to get the museum in the next--" You check your watch. "Ten minutes." "But, Doctor!" protests Cupcake, ever innocent, God bless her. "The museum's open until five!" You look at her seriously. "No, Cupcake. I'm afraid it will be closing early today. Unless we can do something about it." Living Room (on the seedy office chair) You amuse yourself to think of this as your living room. Technically, if you have to demarcate it from the rest of your apartment, it is that-which-is-not- the-bathroom-or-kitchen. And, really, especially lately, you tend only to populate this corner of it, nested inside the crook of your computer desk, surrounded by all the gear that lies on and under it. You can see a large computer desk, a halogen floor lamp (providing light) and a television set (providing light) here. Whoa. You drop the manual back onto the desk and rub your eyes. How long have you been putting off sleep? But actually... you know? Whatever that is that just wormed its way out of your brain to present itself as an insomaniacal vision... it has merit. It's pursuit certainly seems more interesting than continuing to hack on the mess polluting your Mac at the moment. You actually might have a genuine new idea in your possession. >i You are carrying: a the beginnings of a new game idea a mutated Macintosh a monitor (providing light) some buggy code a broken text adventure game a countless strings of textual garbage a paperback mythology reference a coffee mug >x new idea The longer you hold onto it, the larger it seems to grow, already sprouting new ideas and what-ifs. >eat it That's plainly inedible. >taste it How will you know what it feels like until you try it out? >smell it It reeks of genius. >read it The longer you hold onto it, the larger it seems to grow, already sprouting new ideas and what-ifs. >put idea in game Which do you mean, the the beginnings of a new game idea or the broken text adventure game? >text You open a fresh window, and smile as the ideas -- no code, none of that yet, just raw, pure ideas -- start to fill the screen. There's little hope you'll have this ready in time for the competition (indeed, you'll probably still be asleep within the hour). But that doesn't seem so important now. *** You have won *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game or QUIT? > quit