Game Manual Update Ep 4: The Intrepid Investigators Face Their Own Mortality

GENERAL UPDATES/Q&A

“H̷̝͔̪̤e͙͝l͉̞̻̠̀ͅl͖̭̝̬͉̼͈̕o̱̝̩̝͕ ̘̟̳̤̫ṯ̩̥̞̲̱̖͝e҉a̰̠͉̦m̳̲ș̫͕̺̥̻!̲̜͎͔̰

The ò̢̮̬͖̘̳͘͞f̸̨̛̞̞̖̹͖̫̺̞̩̣͎̤f̷҉̶̷͚͔̖̮̤í̶̟͕̫̬̻̙̼͎cers were underneath their desks, fea̭͘ŗ̭͓̺̜ing the voice coming from nowhere yet everywhere. T̘͓̦͞hey had been there for hours.

coweringunderdesk copy

“I’ve gotta pee! When will i͓͈̤̘̻͒ͫ̃ͮͣ̆̿̌̿ͧͭ̚t be over?!” One of the officers whi͌ͧ͆͒̔̔̉s̊ͧ͗ͫ̇͋̓ͫpered to the other.

“Ma̲̜̯̐ͭ̽y̜̻̗͖̥̟͗b̩̳̩̻͖̲̒e it’s going to ask us something cryptic̷̗̻͖̣͕ ̣̝̙̺ͅand will expect us to have a very detailed answer.”

“c̏An̎ͨ̿́̆ ͩͥ̈́̐̔tͭ̍͋̇̈H̀ͪͪè̽͂ͨ͐̚ ̄̒ͩͥ̅rͣͩ̓̔ͮ̉̆O̊ͤ͌b̓̈́̆͒̀Ŏ͛̐̍tͧ͋͛̓ ͑͛b̒͋ͣE̎̅̆͛̊ ͊̃ͮ͐̚Ỉn̽͋̔ͭ̌ ͤ͛̀ͩaͮͭ̿ͪ̎͑Ny̎͐̍̈́ ͩ͊̾̒óR͂̊̂ȋͮ̇̔͗Ẻ́ͥ͑̅̚n͌̂ͨT̔͛͗̾ͨ̿ä̍ͤ̊̍͗ͫT̓̃iͦ̿O͊ͥ̐͋͊ͧñ̄͐ ͭw̋̄ͭH͒ͯȇ̓ͥ̏̑̓N̓̎̈ͯ ̆̊ͮͬͤͣBͣͨ̽ͦ͒eͣ̓̿̿͂̚Í̔̈n̐Gͧͪ̾ͦ̽ ͬͯ͆ͮ͂́ͯT̀̍͂͋͗͒ͦr̓̽͐ͨAͭǹ̍͛̂̾̊S͌̍͌ͪp̂Or͑ͬͯ̈͛̾̒T͐͛̅̓ë́̄͆ͭ͆D̿̈́ ̎̑̑͊A̔s̍̂̎ͬ̊͊ ̉͋lͬͨ͋͛͒Ȯͤ̉̔nͭ̈ͣͭ̂G̋ ͑͌̄ͯ̄͊̃Ã̌sͧ̃ͪ̑ ͊̌ͨ̈́ͩͩ̌iͩ̅T ̉F͛̄ǐ̍Tͫ̇͐ͣ͛̇̇s ͒̅aͩ̐ͯ̚Ň́̀̾̓͗̓d͗ͯ̾̇̈ ͪ͐̂̐ṡ̆ͨTͮͮ̉ā̎Yͥ̈́͋̒̃s̈́̿ͨ͆̑̚ ͧwͮIͦͮͭt̔H̏̒̾ͯiͩ̐N͋ ͐̈̎̌͑T̓̔ͤḧͫ̀ͮ̅͗ͮEͭ̄̇ TrA̎̔̇̄nͦ̓͗̚Sͩ͐ͩp͋̿̍Òr̒ͦ̏̇̚T ́ͣͣ̓̉͊Cͫ͒͗̏͋o̎Nͪ͐f̓̇̃́̊̅́Igͯ̊͐U͋̌̌rAͥ̂͐̅tI͑o͑ͭNͤ ͭ̿̃ͥẼͣͮͩ̒ͬ̋ñͭ̄͋̅̀V̈̌é͐̎͌̿̉LōP̋̑̄̆̓e̋͋?̓ ̽̈́̉͒CͦͫaNͯ ̀̂̀̒̈́ͤ̍Iͣtͪ̎̍ͦ̓̓ ̐͛͗̿ͯ̆̍b͂̏̅̉́ͬEͫ͑ͥ͑ ̀ͫͮ͂̈C̃ͥ̀̍̂͐̎aRͩ͂ͦ̔ͬ͒̓rͦḮē̓͂̈́ͨ̾̽Dͭ ͋̽O̍͂̆ͤ̉ͤ̚n̎̎͗ͯ̏ ͑ȧ̚Nͧͮͩ̽͌d̐͊͊ͮͯͬ ͪ̀ͩ͛̾o͒Fͫ̿ͨͧ̆ͬf̑͛ ̊̾̈́̃͂ͯ̏t̃̐̅ͨ̈́̄̚H̓eͪ͌ͦ̽ ̊͒̂fİͯͥ̽̿ͩeL͗ͫͤͧ͂dͩ̈́ͪ̔̊ ͑ͬ̽̃͗͌oͮ͛̃͊R̾ͨ́ͣ̏ͯ ̔Pͮl̆ͤ̽ͧ̉̾ͫÂ̄ͦͩčEͦdͯ̚ ͗̇ͩoͧͧN̑ͧ͊̄̂̃ͥ ͬTh̒Eͥͮ̍̿̏͋ C̎̂ͫảRͥ͒̊͆ͣ̍t̆̿̐̏ͤ̚ ̽͂ͣ̀ͮwI̍̃ͦ͒t̿͋̈ͫH̏̆̑̓̓͌̚ ͫT̋ͯͮh͊E̎̆̔͂ͧ ͮ̍̍́̔̏̾”̈t̋͗͒ͥAlͨ̌ͨ̐ͥͤL̀̎̿”̈ͨ͆̌̏ͮ ̋ͫͬͧͯ̓ͭsͣ͆̅ͪỈ̎̏ͪ̔̃dͤ̂ͭͫͫ̚Eͨ ͤ̂́ͤLͭ̎ͤͮ̍a̐̋Y̆i͌ͧ̽ͥ̏̆N̒g̒̐ͩ ͯd̅͌̓̃Ŏ̂̃w͋̾ͣN͗ͯ͌ ͂̋ͣ͊I͗͋ͧf̀͐̂̔͑͒̅ t͆̒ͭ́͗Hͭ́̔ͦͩ̃a̒ͯͤ͑̌T̓ͮ̊̀ ̐̓̽̅ͯI̎sͩ̌ͪ͑̎̋̑ ͬ̍a̎ͯ ̿͌̓̐̏͐m͒̾̏O̾̌r̈E͊ StAb̒L̓̇̓͋͑̒̑eͬ̆͆̇͊̉ ̔(͂ͤ̍S̈ͬͤä́ͤ͌ͨF̍̈́̊̊̍̇e̊̑ͭ̃̀̑R)̓̈̿ͣͮ̏ ̃̎o͐ͫ̐͐͒̈ͬRͫ͑̊͊̀̀iͤ͐́Ë́̋n͌̿͆̄͗̓T̽͂̒aͨͣͫTi̐͋ͣOͫ͑ͣn̄?̉”

The officers tremb̧̖l͕̣̺̩̦̥̀e͏̫̝̙̰d, but one of th̰̝͖̺͕ͪ̑̔ͦ͒́em dared to speak. “There are no rules about t͙̦͚̝͖̳h̳̲͍̫̬e orientation of the robot  while it’s in tran̥̦spor͚̱̝͙̀ta̔ͦ͊ͨtion configuration!” She then promptly tried to hide further under the desk.

“W͚̣̞̩̦̭̳̓̒ͩR̤͍̖̩̺̘̓ͅO̥̎̍̌ͤN̖̺̲̱G̻̮̏!̣͕̫̹̿!̤͓̱̀̋ͫ͆͆̋̓!̭̼ͨͭ̒ͫͤ̆ ͉͛̇t͈̭͔̬͈̭̗Ȟ̻͉̋̒̂͋ͯ̇a͉̭̫ͤͮͫTͯ̌̔ ̬͕ͦ̀ͣ̐̄ͣI͙͇̪̍̂̐̾ͣ̊ͪͅs͎̞̣̘̄ͬͮ̊̇ ̙͇̼̜à͖̬̖ͤN̩͚͉̫͈̺ͧ͌̇ ̣͙ͦ̇͑Iͥ̓̇ͧ̒n̤͎̘̙͕̔͛Cͤò̤̯̙̖̜M̑̽p̱̤̠̳͉̖̊ͦL̮̠̫ͣͨͮ͌̚e͎̟̗̞̹ͧͅṮ̥̗̼̾e͚̹̫̯̜̊͋ ̙͙̗̪͔̲͕̒ͧ̽ȧ̗̳̈͐̚N͙̲̦̣̑̉ͨ̀̔̊s͕̞̹̬͕͛̌͋͑W̹̋̀̆ͥê̤̠̽͑̔ͨͬ͌R͈͆́ͣ̎ͧ!̭̥͙ͯ́ͧ̄̓ͯ͒!̭̯̦͙̖̳̗!̘̰̟̳̰̗̍̑ͦ̈”

The earth shook and the ground split beneath the investigator in punishment for her incomplete response, and she fell screaming into the ostensibly bottomless abyss.

It was all down to the other officer. She did her best to come up with a complete answer that might satisfy the all-mighty    F͇̪̹͇̌ͣ̒̆̈́͐̔͡R͉͖̰͈̱̱͛̉̿ͮ̓Å̧̯͎̤͚̟̝ͬ͝N̡̖̟̬̲̺͍̒̔̾ͪ̈́͟K̨̦͚͈ͯ͊̓̀̋̾ͮ͢.

She whispered “A̐̿̓ll h̛a͝i͞l,̫̯̣͓” hoping to appease F͙ͪ̈ͧ̌͒̀̉R̼͚̆͋̂̓̅̚Ã̜̝̦͚̺̖͈̔̃̓N̶͎̟̿̎̉̉̄ͦK̵͔̣̤̦̓̀͊͒͐ͅ in whatever way she could.

She held onto the leg of the desk and said, “There are no rules regulatiņg the orientation of the robot while it’s in transport configuration. With that sa͠id̡,the transport configuration itsȇ͙̯̯͖̳̑lf cannot be changed (ie, your robot may be placed on its s͠i͘de for transport, but on its side it st̑̂͐iͧͨ̿̃̈́͐͌ļ̇̾ͨl must fit within the dimensions of the transport configuration as specified in R3-B… 28 inches wide, 4̙̻̗̼̜͙̩͑2̔̽͊ͦ̿ͬ̍ inches long, and 78 inches tall).”

Her answer was correct. F̎̌̍͆͞R̲͎̲̟̪A̷̼͇̒̑͒N̛̩̼͓̪̋̚ͅͅḲ̿ͧ̀̎̐͂ had been freed.

 

H̪͚̭̦͉̣̘̟̭̫͇̣̩̝̙̗͇̦͌̏̎ͧͩ̈́̚E̫̩̺̺̫̟̰͚̮̠͙̯͎̞ͧͥͮ̓̊̐̚ ̱̣̯̥̺̫̟̟͇͚̭̹ͣ͆ͭ̿̌͋̅ͬͭ̀ͩ̃ͤ̊̃̿C̟͎̯̪̦̹̮̱̮͔̘̲͙̙̺̖͎͐̔̌͆̊ͪ͑ͤ͐ͨ͊ͯ̈́̓̐ͅO͖̖̫̩̱̞̙̭̭ͬͦ̏ͮ̓͛̔͋͋ͣ̐ͬͩ̊ͦ̈͗̓̋ͅM̰̦̼̼ͧ͋̓͋̓̓̉ͥͅE̜̟͇͙̐̂̆ͫͭS͓̥͖̱͔̮̩̟̗̰̊̑̽̑̑͗ͥ͂̔̆̌.͍͕̬̣͚͙̱͎̝̹̟̼̹͖̯̍ͫ̉͆̎̈ͥ̑͑̈́͋̿̋͆̽̉̏ͭͅͅͅ

 

THE GAME

The local Investigative Officers club was having a party. But one of their members were missing. Everyone at the party was whispering about the untimely demise of Raphael Habazinaiah Speedy, or R.H. Speedy as she was more commonly known.

Her partner, the main speaker for the evening was in the corner crying silent holding her drink. In just a few minutes she would kick off this wake with some kind words about her departed friend.

“Excuse me,” said a voice. Speedy’s partner, the renowned investigator Octavian Jingleheimerschmitt Straws, or O.J. Straws, stepped onto the podium which hadn’t previously served any kind of purpose to give an impromptu speech.

“We are gathered here today in honor of Rapunzel Hillbilly Speedy, who had been my dear partner and friend for some unknown quantity of time, as time is kind of meaningless in the discontinuous paradoxical quagmire in which we exist. She died in the line of duty, bravely screaming her lungs off as she plummeted into the fathomless depths, from whence she shall surely never return, as that would be totally unthinkable and definitely could not ever happen in any conceivable scenario-”

The touching speech was cut short in a flash of dramatic irony when none other than Romeo Horatio Speedy waltzed in the door. Everyone gasped. You could have heard a pin drop.

“But wait,” someone piped up. “I thought we just established the total impossibility of her survival!”

“Who cares about that,” the head of department said irritably. “Now we can’t have the wake! The party is ruined! Speedy, this is unacceptable. Consider last week’s pay raise revoked!”

Author’s note: WE PUT THE FUN IN FUNERAL

“Well that can be fixed easily,” Speedy assured her boss. She pulled out a gun and shot her partner in between the eyes.

Death at The Funeral

Straws swayed and collapsed, and Speedy casually took her place on the podium. “We are gathered here today in honor of Ozborne Jennifer Straws, who had been my dear partner and friend for some unknown quantity of time, as time is kind of meaningless in the discontinuous paradoxical quagmire in which we exist…”

Author’s note 2: This, much like the tote chute explanation of last Tuesday’s update, is a metaphor. THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!!! (alliance member in each Human Player Zone, in contact with elements of the Human Player Station, or both, at the same time.) As is demonstrated here, in that there can only be one living intrepid investigator in the funeral.

THE TOURNAMENT

The officers (one of whom had a rather large Hello Kitty patterned bandaid on her forehead) were at their desk, trying to tidy up after the whole F̎̌̍͆͞R̲͎̲̟̪A̷̼͇̒̑͒N̛̩̼͓̪̋̚ͅͅḲ̿ͧ̀̎̐͂  thing. The papers and reports were scattered everywhere, the desk legs broken, and an abyss in the floor (the janitor had kindly placed a caution sign near the neverending hole). It seemed that the three drawers of their desk had been strangely untouched.

Sometimes the officers liked to refer to the drawers as “player stations.” Renaming things always made their day brighter.

Each of the drawers had a symbol. Everything in those drawers(referred to as “operator consoles”) had a symbol that matched.

Too bad F̎̌̍͆͞R̲͎̲̟̪A̷̼͇̒̑͒N̛̩̼͓̪̋̚ͅͅḲ̿ͧ̀̎̐͂  had to ruin their amazing organization system. Now the officers had to spend a perfectly good Saturday reorganizing. Darn F̎̌̍͆͞R̲͎̲̟̪A̷̼͇̒̑͒N̛̩̼͓̪̋̚ͅͅḲ̿ͧ̀̎̐͂. Darn him straight to heck.

The investigators knew that they could not open these drawers. Only those assigned to the drawers can open the drawers. And even then, those assigned can’t open anyone else’s drawer. There were to be no drawer-switching shenanigans of any sort, ya hear? All the OPERATOR CONSOLE(S) must be used (placed) in the PLAYER STATION to which the Team is assigned, as indicated on the Team sign. Any violation would cause the MATCH to be suspended until the situation is corrected.

CIO here. Rachel and I decided to include a couple of helpful illustrations here. Don’t get used to it, we just have waaaaaaaaaay too much time on our hands.
Have a nice life. Or death. Or eternal descent into gaping chasm of despair.
~CIO/Acting Ensign CIO