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Text Adventure Playthrough #9: Slouching Towards Bedlam
>push malkuth
The button depresses with a slight “click.” Nothing more happens.
>push kether
The button depresses with a slight “click.” Nothing more happens.
>g
The button depresses with a slight “click.” Nothing more happens.
>push malkuth
The button depresses with a slight “click.” Nothing more happens for a moment, then the seam of the box opens slightly. The box appears to be unlocked and openable now.
>open puzzle box
The puzzle box opens, revealing a letter, a diary and a primitive copy of a key.
>get letter, diary, key
letter: Taken.
diary: Taken.
primitive copy of a key: Taken.
>read letter
Folded but unsealed, it was apparently never sent. It reads:
Brothers:
Yes, I call you Brothers, though due to my age and alleged lack of knowledge you have denied me entrance into your Order. But as Seneca said, Nullum saeculum magnis ingeniis clausum est. I am proud to offer you indisputable proof that my generation is no exception.
As you must well know by now, I discovered the existence and nature of your enclave during my time at University. Excited by tenets so similar to my own: the celebration of intellect, the recognition of information as an entity rather than an idea, the embrasure and development of new technologies to unlock the mysteries of the Universe itself, I left my feeble schooling, gathered my few worldly possessions and came to study at your collected feet.
But trapped in your antiquated and outmoded ways, clinging more to superstition and myth than logic and reason - you refused me. Oh, you commended my “ability to solve puzzles” and patted me on the head like a dog that returned a thrown ball. You allowed me to work for one of your lesser number, mindlessly churning out one insignificant apparatus after another - a mere journeyman in your archaic system.
Undeterred, I remained near by, studying where I could, observing in secret and working towards one goal: proving my worth and value to you. Tonight I have the rare and singular privilege to tell you that not only have I proved, beyond doubt or measure, my value. I have exceeded you. I have succeeded where you have failed, and I have gone further than you ever dared dream.
I have leapt the Sephinroth in one bound, from Malkuth to Kether. Kai theos en ho logos. I have heard that Word, Brothers - echoing across eternity. I have touched the mind of God - of Information pure and unsullied by the mere mind of Man.
My contact was brief, but glorious. The brevity of it was, I’m sure, due to the crude and simple nature of your mechanisms. The resulting damage was, of course, regrettable, but once I relate to you the breadth and wonder of my experience, I think you will agree: exitus acta probat.
I eagerly await your response, Brothers: of when we shall meet to discuss my entry to the Order, and our ascendance upon the wings of this discovery towards a transcendent future.
Veritas Lux Mea
Cleve G. Anderson
Scientist, Cypherist
>read diary
Once leather bound and elegantly stitched, the journal looks as though it has seen better days. Some pages have been scribbled over to the point of illegibility, while others have manic messages scrawled over the neat, deliberate hand originally recorded there. Many pages have been removed entirely…
Diary
N = Next Q = Quit Menu
P = Previous ENTER = Select
The diary is undated, though distinct entries can be made out:
> I have made a copy…
How full of themselves they are…
I have seen the face of God…
That is all I can call it…
The response was…
I have healed well enough…
I have not left the flat…
I awoke, screaming…
Everything has fallen apart…
Quam terribilis est haec hora…
I have made a copy…
I have made a copy Du Monde’s basement key. It is primitive, but it will serve. I have continued to listen in on their little meetings, but having actual access to the equipment below will make the vast difference between theory and practice.
She has mentioned the shop will be closed shortly for her little excursion to the countryside. That will be the time to move.
They have their fingers in every pie imaginable, it would seem. I heard them speak last night of some that had come close to discovering their secrets and what must “be done about them”. So many secrets, so little actual learning…
Please press SPACE to continue.
How full of themselves they are…
How full of themselves they are, their workspace so neatly arrayed in rows. I see now how much of their talk was simply that. They have made a most holy calling into a social club - a place of dilettantes and bored businessmen with a philosophical and mechanical bent. They have performed their ceremonies for so long that they no longer understand their true meanings. They have forgotten how to reach their sworn goals.
I shall change that.
My calculations are almost complete. Pages upon pages of equations and diagrams fill every corner of my room. I have taken to connecting the engines in the shop together after hours, running my own scenarios and simulations. It will work. It must.
Please press SPACE to continue.
I have seen the face of God…
I have seen the face of God.
How powerful, then, their little engines - to be able to rend the veil of the Temple to reveal the Holy of Holies beyond.
It was with an unnatural calm that I set the gears and knobs, aligning the energy just as my calculations demanded. It was as though my whole being knew all my toil and effort had not been in vain. I have not the words to express the joy that surged through me as I flicked the final switch.
The hole appeared slowly - so slow that at first I did not understand it to be a hole. The air above the pedestal warped subtly, the air bending the light as if it were a lens. Then, the warp became a bend, a break…
I cannot explain it, but it was in that moment that I knew I was looking onto a place fundamentally different than the universe I knew. Under my breath, I whispered the Order’s motto ... for that is what had come to be. My words hung in the air a moment, drifting across the opening…
...to be echoed against the far wall of Creation. Language fails me. The words…the words! They echoed yes, they returned ... but they were not unchanged. Time stretched and pulled like the space above the pedestal and I knew in that moment my words had touched…The Word—the…Logos.
Please press SPACE to continue.
That is all I can call it…
That is all I can call it - what else can one call language given sentience, an idea that breathes, a thought that thinks itself? The whole of the ... space? universe? ... beyond the rift was both its home and itself, part and whole.
And then, in a joyous, horrible moment—God, the Universe, the Logos…awoke.
Linear time fell apart. A second, an hour, a year, an eternity. I cannot say how long it took, for the past and present and future were as one within it. The Logos had always been and would always be and my reaching out to it in this one moment was as a grain of sand on an infinite beach.
And yet, it responded. In that moment, it *heard* me.
Please press SPACE to continue.
The response was…
The response was immediate and incomprehensible. I ... was Spoken. I did not listen, I did not hear…I, myself, was spoken. I remember it now as vibrations - echoing across the air, across time - and across myself. I carried them as waves, as if I were made from water, or aether. They penetrated me, passed through me. In that eternal moment, I and Logos touched and were one…
And then the sparks, the smoke. The machines, long overloaded, broke down one by one in a shrieking of spinning gears and twisting metal. Axles broke, machinery shifted and then, instantly collapsing upon itself, the door I had opened slammed shut.
The force of it lifted me upward, flinging me across the room to the cellar’s far wall, and for a long time I knew nothing more.
I awoke to find my hands and arms mysteriously burnt, the back of my head throbbing. I reached to touch it and my hand came back damp with blood. The engines were nothing more than so much melting slag. Of the hole, there was no sign.
Before I dragged myself up the stairs, I once more whispered the words that had brought Malkuth and Kether into the same space and thought I heard the faintest ghost of an echo ... a wash of a ripple across the air.
But the rest was silence, and smoke, and burning metal.
Please press SPACE to continue.
I have healed well enough…
I have healed well enough, in body - but my mind is a broken thing. It races, thinking on what has happened, running through each tiny detail over and over in the hopes of understanding some small part of what has happened.
I have written the Order a letter. I shall leave it for Du Monde to find—I am sure she shall have words for me when she sees the state of her cellar. But once I explain ... show what I have done—they will come to understand that in one moment, the world has forever changed, and all of our places in it as well…
Please press SPACE to continue.
I have not left the flat…
I have not left the flat since I awoke. I stumble about, pace endlessly. My mind feels more fragmented with every moment. Often I awake not having remembered sleeping or passing out - perhaps I am sleepwalking?
My body, too, works against me - I feel sudden chills, numbness in my legs, my hands.
What is wrong with me?
Please press SPACE to continue.
I awoke, screaming…
I awoke, screaming—uncertain of why. I do not remember my dreams. How long was I raving? The flat is in a shambles - things tossed every which way. What has ...
It… what is this? What is th
Language…words…but words I have never heard and cannot understand. My throat is stripped dry. Is this the Logos? Still with me? Does it speak the language of the angels through my lips?
But if this is as angels speak, why am I so afraid?
Please press SPACE to continue.
Everything has fallen apart…
Everything has fallen apart. My mind, my body, time, the world…
I am beginning to understand. I have destroyed my notes.
Man was never meant to…this experiment must never be repeated if humanity is to survive. I have burned all my research, although it pained me to do so.
The noise in my head grows louder.
The words…the words…
they never stop coming.
Please press SPACE to continue.
Quam terribilis est haec hora…
Quam terribilis est haec hora.
How fearful is this hour indeed.
I understand all. I (if I can still lay claim to I) have moved through time, backwards and forwards…I have tried every way imaginable to make it not so.
Once…once I tried to make it finally so.
I said…the words. How ironic, that the Order’s hubris should be so. Our motto is now like the rays of the sun, melting the wings of poor Icarus as he plunges into the sea.
Curse those words forever. May no man speak them again.
May no man ever speak again.
I know what I must do.
They have come for me - as they have come before, as they will come again. I will let them take me to Bedlam. I will let them lock me away from the world so that what is within me shall never escape.
Poor Xavier—my sweet, kind keeper. How sad your eyes look. But you will never understand, will you? You will scribble your notes and think on your theories, but it will all come to the same end. You shall keep me in a tiny cell for the rest of my days, and I shall hope that that shall be penance enough.
They are battering at the door now. I shall hide this and wait for them.
May whatever god there is have mercy upon my soul.
Please press SPACE to continue.
Attic Flat
A tiny flat with barely enough room for a small sink and tub to one side, a living area in the center, and a bed to one side.
Triage rests obediently nearby.
>
So Cleve Groundhog Day’ed his way to figure out how to contain the infection until his silence was defeated by the Panopticum and we got infected.
I completely misinterpreted the beginning of the game. I figured those cylinders belonged to Dr. Brand and we were hearing his thoughts. But they’re ours after we killed Cleve in self-defense…
Cleve sure loves his Latin and Greek.
Good thing I had some of both back in school, so I could figure out the meaning.
No, no, absolutely no Googling was necessary…
Anyway, we have the primitive key, let’s enter the basement.
> d
> d
> use primitive key on door
> open door
> go inside
> x everything
The truth can’t hurt you, it’s just like the dark: it scares you witless but in time you see things clear and stark. - Elvis Costello
Maybe this time I can be strong, but since I know who I am, I’m probably wrong. Maybe this time I can go far, but thinking about where I’ve been ain’t helping me start. - Michael Kiwanuka
>w
Top of Stairs
The stairs end here at a rickety door labeled “1428 - Attic Loft” leading eastward.
Triage silently rolls to a stop.
>d,d
Cunningly extending and contracting its wheels, Triage easily follows down the stairs…
Side Corridor
This narrow, dusty corridor runs parallel to the shop beside it and contains nothing more than a rickety staircase leading up and down and a small door leading west.
Triage trundles patiently along beside.
Cunningly extending and contracting its wheels, Triage easily follows down the stairs…
Bottom of Stairs
The stairs end here at a solid metal door labeled “Basement - Private” leading northward.
Triage obediently appears.
>open door with primitive copy of key
You unlock the basement door.
>open door
You open the basement door.
>n
Basement
A dim, cavernous room - it must run the length of the building above - overrun with dampness and the choking smell of smoke. Its rough-carved rock walls are lined with all manner of aetheric and analytical devices in varying states of disrepair - most melted to slag. Steam pipes crawl over the walls and machines like spider webs, disappearing upwards into the ceiling, into the darkness. Where broken, they leak steam and drip water into growing pools upon the floor.
The bottom of a staircase is visible to the south.
The center of the chamber is dominated by a low, round pedestal.
A large, damaged book lies on the ground, slowly sinking into a pool of water.
Triage silently rolls to a stop.
>get book
(the damaged book)
The book closes with a dull thud as it is lifted. The strong smell of mildew fills the air.
>read damaged book
The heavy, brown leather cover has been largely darkened to near black from water damage, and black scorch marks fan like a sunburst from the book’s spine to the outer edges. On the front cover, a tree with ten branches. The design is composed of hundreds of gold-leaf 1s and 0s rather than lines.
The pages stick in large clumps. Even when turned carefully, they pull out easily, reverting to a sticky pulp. Those pages that do keep their place are difficult to read. The dark green ink has run, the text melting towards the bottom of the page. Only snatches of text are still legible:
“...the ATBASH of the Hebrews, the Scytale of the Greeks, Caesar’s cypher; long have they been used to maintain the secrets of Magical Rites, clandestine endeavors and Political Intrigue. But these are ciphers created by men who believed in myths, for the benefit of men believing in myths. The Initiated Mind recognizes that information is more than just words on a page, it is secreted in the world around us; the great Symmetry of Nature demonstrates that all Life is encoded. Unlocking this Code is our Duty and Right as Humans, made Masters by God, to Understand the…”
“...itself, Mysticism should not be discounted. We understand that Myths and Legends are often the misguided interpretation of the uninitiated to understand the Great Truths. Particular insight may be found in the Vedas, the Scriptures, and the sacred teachings of the Hebrews, whose Qabbalah reflect our own search for Life’s Origin. It is from the Qabbalah that we take our insignia, the Tree of Life. It is unknown…”
“...to advances in Technology, we are able to analyze and decipher these hidden codes with greater speed and alacrity…”
>x pedestal
A low stone pedestal, about waist high. In its shattered center of smooth, smoked glass, the faint shape of a tree can be made.
Carved about the surface of it are the words: “NOTHING WILL BE RESTRAINED FROM THEM WHICH THEY HAVE IMAGINED”.
>x tree
The tree is huge, covering the whole of the box. Its roots trail downwards, into a dull red glow while its upper branches are bathed in a white light.
A series of raised buttons overlays the tree, each with a word inscribed on it. Generally, from top to bottom they read:
Kether, Binah, Chokmah, Gevurah, Chesed, Hod, Tipareth, Netzach, Yesod, Malkuth
>
Again?
> push Malkuth
> push Kether
> push Kether
> push Malkuth
Edit: no, wait, the tree covers the whole of the box - this is the tree from the puzzle box, not the one on the pedestal.
> x glass ?
The truth can’t hurt you, it’s just like the dark: it scares you witless but in time you see things clear and stark. - Elvis Costello
Maybe this time I can be strong, but since I know who I am, I’m probably wrong. Maybe this time I can go far, but thinking about where I’ve been ain’t helping me start. - Michael Kiwanuka
Yes, you’re right - it’s a description of the box. Well spotted
>x glass
A plain, closed, nondescript door leading south.
>x smooth glass
You can’t see any such thing.
>
Lots of interesting text to read here!
What Cleve called Logos seems to in part by like a horror version of Dawkins’ meme.
>s
>s
Bottom of Stairs
The stairs end here at a solid metal door labeled “Basement - Private” leading northward.
Triage trundles patiently along beside.
>
Sorry, I misunderstood where that would take us. Why did “x glass” describe the solid metal door?
>n
>i
>x faint shape
>point at pedestal
Sorry, I misunderstood where that would take us. Why did “x glass” describe the solid metal door?
I have no idea! Been trying to figure out that one myself.
>n
Basement
A dim, cavernous room - it must run the length of the building above - overrun with dampness and the choking smell of smoke. Its rough-carved rock walls are lined with all manner of aetheric and analytical devices in varying states of disrepair - most melted to slag. Steam pipes crawl over the walls and machines like spider webs, disappearing upwards into the ceiling, into the darkness. Where broken, they leak steam and drip water into growing pools upon the floor.
The bottom of a staircase is visible to the south.
The center of the chamber is dominated by a low, round pedestal.
Triage silently rolls to a stop.
>i
Carried:
a damaged book
a primitive copy of a key
a diary
a letter
a puzzle box (open but empty)
a large iron key
File F6A142: Cleve Anderson
File 4361A2: Emanuel Barthelemy
File DB9E75: Daniel McNaughton
a paper tape labeled DB9E75
a flanged brass rod
a small module labeled ‘Aetheric Amplifier’
a paper tape labeled 4361A2
a paper tape labeled F6A142
a tin cylinder labeled January twenty-second
a tin cylinder labeled January eighth
a manual
a tin cylinder labeled March sixteenth
a sandalwood box (open but empty)
a small key labled 2D
>x faint shape
You can’t see any such thing.
>point at pedestal
The emerald eye examines the cypheric pedestal returning with:
CAT:NONLIVING.PE
DESTAL.UTIL:UNKN
OWN.PART:?QUOTAT
ION=REFERENCE.FO
UND.BIBLE/TORAH-
GENESIS-11:6-CON
STRUCTION.OF.THE
TOWER.OF.BABEL..
>
They have their fingers in every pie imaginable, it would seem. I heard them speak last night of some that had come close to discovering their secrets and what must “be done about them”. So many secrets, so little actual learning…
Could this be referring to our predecessor, Dr. Brand, and why there was an “incident”?
What do we need to do with the pedestal? Or was learning that motto the only purpose?
Maybe Du Monde can help?
> s
> u
> nw ? (forgot the direction)
> show damaged book to girl
> show diary to girl
The truth can’t hurt you, it’s just like the dark: it scares you witless but in time you see things clear and stark. - Elvis Costello
Maybe this time I can be strong, but since I know who I am, I’m probably wrong. Maybe this time I can go far, but thinking about where I’ve been ain’t helping me start. - Michael Kiwanuka
If our goal is to stop the infection, then fixing the magnetophone is perhaps a bad idea. We should of course try in any case, so if Du Monde doesn’t help us I suggest we go back to our apartment.
If our goal is to stop the infection, then fixing the magnetophone is perhaps a bad idea. We should of course try in any case, so if Du Monde doesn’t help us I suggest we go back to our apartment.
Cleve tried to stop the infection by redoing his last days Groundhog Day / Edge of Tomorrow style, to make sure it ended with him. And he failed because he still infected us.
My earlier idea of going back to the start and jumping out the window suddenly seems like the best way to end the infection. We’re the only one infected at the start, that way it ends with us. Either that, or we now kill Du Monde, the driver and James before offing ourself.
Unless we can fix it with the help of Du Monde and the Cypherists, of course. Maybe that’s where the magnetophone comes in?
The truth can’t hurt you, it’s just like the dark: it scares you witless but in time you see things clear and stark. - Elvis Costello
Maybe this time I can be strong, but since I know who I am, I’m probably wrong. Maybe this time I can go far, but thinking about where I’ve been ain’t helping me start. - Michael Kiwanuka
I guess we should start experimenting with save, restore and undo in order to do something similar to what Cleve tried. It seems these commands will be integrated in the game world.
The fact that we can kick in that door is perhaps so that we don’t need to retrieve the key more than once.
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