Dreams of the Quill

This one didn’t really work so well, cause in the source nothing happens and no one does anything, they just talk the whole time. Flak better get back soon.

A Street Corner in San Francisco, California
You are standing on a street corner in San Francisco, California.

> l
A Street Corner in San Francisco, California
You are standing on a street corner in San Francisco, California.

A yellow VW bug drives past. There is a flower in the flower holder, and another seventeen form a wreath around the driver’s head. She is a woman in her late twenties, who, judging by her license plate number, must be named Irene. 3IOP337 lives eight blocks North and four blocks West of here, in a small third-floor room in an old house. She teaches at the elementary school nearby, and spends most of her waking hours intoxicated by incense. On the weekends she likes to ride her bike across the bridge to the Marin Headlands. Two years ago she tried to write a children’s book, a variant of the classic fairy tale about three pigs, that involved homes made entirely of renewable materials. Publication was of course prevented.

> n

A Street Corner in San Francisco, California
You are standing on a street corner in San Francisco, California.

A brown BMW drives past. 6GGG009. Henry, the driver, is a middle-aged man with hair painted the color of his bumper. He is a partner in a law firm in downtown. Five years ago he was involved in a consumer protection class action lawsuit against the manufacturer of a flawed toy gun. That lawsuit was thrown out, of course, but Henry still passes here every day on his way to the office even though he hasn’t actually worked a case since. He is divorced and estranged from his ex-wife and daughter, who live in San Ramon. He spends most evenings at home nursing a glass of whiskey and staring at the ceiling of his mediocre apartment. It is two miles from here; he moved there after the divorce.

> n

A Street Corner in San Francisco, California
You are standing on a street corner in San Francisco, California.
There is a nondescript black van parked here.

A huge black Mercedes with tinted windows speeds past, NRA private police, Henry’s shadow. You met one of them once, a decent fellow named Alvin. Actually his name is Robin, and he’s from Montana, but not even his partner Stuu (born Jimmy Jim, from Arkansas) knows that. Alvin - or Robin, rather - let his NRA membership lapse for two months when he was 17. Stuu - or Jimmy Jim, rather - didn’t even have an NRA membership until he was in college. State school in Tennessee, as it were - he was on the run from the local law at home. That’s when he became Ronny. Stuu came later: he arm-wrestled a man for the name in a trailer park in Arizona. Alvin and Stuu are both extremely uninteresting.

> x van
The van is black. It is nondescript, just the way your employer likes it. It occurs to you that perhaps it is almost nondescript to the point of being suspicious.

> approach van
You are now closer to the van.

> x van
The van is black. It is nondescript, just the way your employer likes it. It occurs to you that perhaps it is almost nondescript to the point of being suspicious.

> approach van
You are now closer to the van.

A dark green Toyota Corolla drives past. It is in horrible shape, and the front license plate is missing. It belongs to Churchill who lives just three blocks north of here, but it is his Dennis driving at the moment. His son is actually only 14, but Churchill is not willing to himself drive the boy to his private school in the East Bay. This laziness coupled with a severe paranoia about public transit (which you know is correct in conclusion, though completely wrong in reasoning) results in the boy driving himself. Dennis has managed to never get pulled over. You note scornfully the incompetence of local law enforcement.
Churchill is a fireman, and decent enough aside from having his son drive illegally every day. But he didn’t protest when his sergeant removed the US flag from their truck way back in the Fall of 2001. He spends most of his spare time in front of the TV, and regularly attends football games on both sides of the bay.

> tl;dr
Yeah, sorry. Just ignore and get on with entering the van.

> enter van
The van is closed.

> open van door
Open which van door, the passenger door or the crew door?

> open crew door
The crew door is locked.

> open passenger door
You grip the handle of the door and suddenly find yourself sitting on the ground. You cannot feel your right arm, but you can see your right hand and fingers shaking. The handle of the passenger door is electrified. The twitching was quite disconcerting the first time, but by now you are confident that you will regain control of your muscles soon enough.

There is a piece of paper on the ground here, which you dropped in shock when you were shocked.

> x paper
It is the small fluorescent green Post-It note on which you scribbled an instruction before leaving your apartment this morning.

> read instruction
You cannot read that from here.

> take paper
You pick up the piece of paper.

—- Small note added to inventory.

> read instruction
A number was hastily scribbled on the note: 32165489576548956523215.
You recall that this is a hash for the code for the lock on the van door. It reminds you of the code (which you memorized before leaving your apartment earlier this morning).

—- Crew door unlock code memory added to inventory.

> x crew door
The crew door is black and nondescript like the rest of the van. It has a handle, and next to the handle is a small number pad.

> type code into number pad
You can’t reach that from here.

> stand up
You are now standing.

> type code into number pad
Done.

> open crew door
Done.

> enter van

Inside of LAW1 Van
You are inside a van. The interior space seems much larger than the outside appearance would make someone expect. Several people are here apparently working, which is to say that their eyes are glued to their latpops’ glowing screens. In one corner on the floor is a stack of folding chairs, and several more chairs are scattered about. In an opposite corner just below the ceiling is a speaker. Much of the ceiling is a gigantic display.

The bright chilly San Francisco morning shines in through the open crew door behind you, completely spoiling the atmosphere of glowing computer screens.

A burly, pleasant-looking man speaks without moving his gaze from the display in front of him, “Jason! Long time no see!”

> say “hi”
Nothing happens.

A chilly wind blows from the open van door, and you hear the sound of papers falling somewhere in the back of the van.

> close door
You pull the crew door shut behind you, and instantly the van’s atmosphere is fixed. Natural light is for weakies. Something still doesn’t feel right though.

> say “Hi!”
You hear a stifled snort from the back of the van.

> x back of van
It is dark. Dangerously dark. There are people back there. You fear for their physical safety. There are also folding chairs scattered about. Though obviously uncomfortable, they look very inviting.

> sit in chair
You slouch back in one of the folding chairs, letting your gaze wander sleepily around the room. The commute to work was hard work.
The burly, pleasant-looking man speaks without moving his gaze from the display in front of him, “Life treating you well?”

> yeah
You lie, rubbing your aching wrist and tingly right hand.

The burly man continues, “You haven’t been around much lately.”

> yeah
The experience has been great, but interning is interning, after all. You can’t afford to live if you’re not working.

A woman’s voice comes over the speaker, “So what, you’ll actually show up once in a while if I call you hired?”

> yeah
You’re not at all confident that you’re really cut out to be a Fed, but if the Inspector is giving you this chance, you really can’t say no.

“Don’t downplay your own abilities, Jason!” yells the burly man without so much as glancing away from his laptop screen. He then gives you an extremely motivational speech about the Jazz.

—- Extreme motivation added to inventory.

> use extreme motivation
“The unit will never be ready for me!” you exclaim, pumping one fist in the air. “And I’m more than ready for it!”

“Yes, yes,” the inspector replies with a sigh over the intercom. “Alright, Jason, you're hired. We'll get you your official code name, and have you sign the papers, and all that, later.”

—- Stage Clear —-

—- Would you like to save your progress so far? (y/n)

>y

—- Progress saved

—- Proceed to the next stage? (y/n)

>y

—- Loading…
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—- Please wait….

—- Error: resource unavailable. Please proceed to Gate 7 to collect your ticket.
—- This message has been brought to you by the letter F and the numbers 1 and 3. We now return to your regularly scheduled website.