Picture what looks like a normal city. There's people everywhere hustling and bustling to get to and from work, kids playing catch with their moms and dads in what apparently qualifies as a park these days, and all the other usual city stuff. Take a closer look at the sidewalks, though. They're all covered in strange icon that look like swirling arrows or other things that don't seem to mean anything. Zoom in anywhere on the sidewalk and notice the person there, seeming to trace some kind of shape on the ground. First he traces a large rectangle, about as "street-long" as he is tall and about two feet into the sidewalk. Now he traces three circles roughly inside the space where he traced the rectangle and space equally apart. Nobody pays him any mind, obviously because he's crazy. He stomps the ground, again inside the imaginary rectangle, three times. By this point two people have stopped to watch him. Without warning a bench shaped object rises out of the ground, which the man and two bystanders sit down on begin chatting. Now, find one of those strange arrow icons. There's a person there who seems to have just finished his soda. He swipes his foot in a circle right on top of it, causing a trash receptacle to rise out of the ground. He tosses his can in, double taps the ground with his foot, and the receptacle vanishes into the ground. I think by now you've got the idea. What I'm imagining here is a city where the ground acts similarly to a touch pad, reacting to gestures performed by swiping and tracing it with your foot. These gestures can accomplish anything from making impromptu furniture to revealing trash cans hidden in the ground to building walls to escape muggings and other such things. Police may have an augmented version of this that overrides other people's gestures, obviously to aid in law enforcement. The main problem is that I have no idea what to do with this setting. I know it has potential, but I feel like it needs a unique story to go with it.
[Changed to "Talk to Ford" because of syntax.] Hmmm ... Ford Prefect looks at you expectantly, as if you seemed to be about to talk.
For a dead person you are talking too much. As the ambulance reaches the mortuary a fleet of Vogon Constructor ships unexpectedly arrives and demolishes the Earth to make way for a new hyperspace bypass. We are about to give you your score. Put on your peril-sensitive sunglasses now. (Hit RETURN or ENTER when ready.) > Your score is 10 of a possible 400, in 23 turns. Would you like to start over, restore a saved position, or end this session of the game? (Type RESTART, RESTORE, or QUIT): >Restore KHV_BossedUp Ok [Ford is still offering you the towel.]
You keep out of this, you're dead and should be concentrating on developing a good firm rigor mortis. You are put in the ambulance, which drives away.
You keep out of this, you're dead. An ambulance arrives. [I'm going to ignore that because this death is particularly entertaining.]
The bulldozer driver gives a quick chew of his gum and slams in the clutch. The bulldozer piles into the side of your home. Your home collapses in a cloud of dust, and a stray flying brick hits you squarely on the back of the head. You try to think of some suitable last words, but what with the confusion of the moment and the spinning of your head, you are unable to compose anything pithy and expire in silence. [There's more to this. I'll post your results like normal when it gets there.]
You can't do that while you're lying down!
You have no idea where Ford Prefect is.
That's easy for you to say, since you don't even have the ground.
I don't know the word "places".
You begin to get a sore throat. There was no verb in that sentence! You can't see Ford here!
Ok. As you take it, Ford says "Er, look, thanks for lending me the towel... been nice knowing you... got to go now..." He smiles oddly and walks down the Country Lane.
[It didn't work with or without the question mark, so I just put down Stay.] Time passes... With a terrible grinding of gears the bulldozer comes to an abrupt halt just in front of you. It shakes, shudders, and emits noxious substances all over your rose bed. Prosser is incoherent with rage. Moments later, your friend Ford Prefect arrives. He hardly seems to notice your predicament, but keeps glancing nervously at the sky. He says "Hello, Arthur," takes a towel from his battered leather satchel, and offers it to you.
You hit your head against the ground as you attempt this feat. The noise of the giant bulldozer is now so violently loud that you can't even hear Prosser yelling to warn you that you will be killed if you don't get the hell out of the way. You just see him gesticulating wildly.
That sentence isn't one I recognize.
Ok.
It occurs to you that you've never deliberately lain in any mud before and that it's actually a pleasant sort of squishy sensation. You let the mud ooze between your toes. You may be here for some time, so you may as well make the most of it. The bulldozer thunders toward you. The ground is shaking beneath you as you lie in the mud.
You lie down in the path of the advancing bulldozer. Prosser yells at you to for crissake move!!!
Front of House You can enter your home to the north. A path leads around it to the northeast and northwest, and a country lane is visible to the south. All that lies between your home and the huge yellow bulldozer bearing down on it is a few yards of mud. Mr. Prosser, from the local council, is standing on the other side of the bulldozer. He seems to be wearing a digital watch. He looks startled to see you emerge, and yells at you to get out of the way. The bulldozer rumbles slowly toward your home. Ok. Look around you. The bulldozer rumbles slowly toward your home. Ok.
You gather up the pile of mail.
