Mahogany Walk

You are in a room with pentagonal walls and only one door, which leads out to a hall that seems to go on forever. Along the walls are various names of catapult designs, etched in neon font. In the center of the room is a sheet of chocolate fondant rising upwards to the ceiling, coating it in the stuff. There is furniture around, all of which is made of thick, rubbery leather. Even the clock wasn't safe, ticking with the stretched yawn of a couch cushion to echo out into the space. [[Inspect the Corridor]] [[Learn about Catapults]] [[Eat the Chocolate]] [[Take a Seat]] [[Look at the Time]]

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Your bottom descends into the couch, emitting the obnoxious call of a crying, young child. Similar to a whoopee cushion's shriek, the voice dies - metaphorically, of course - when the material relaxes to fit around your form. Only, it never does. You continue falling down into the couch, the room seeming to tower increasingly taller over you as the couch expands. You are not dropping in height, but altogether shrinking in size. Your feet can no longer reach the tiled floor beneath you. The baby's cries increase in pitch, launching into canine frequencies. [[Attempt an Escape]] [[Continue Shrinking]]

It is currently 3:53 AM. Oh, wait, now it is 3:52 AM! ...3:51, 3:50, 3:49... [[Take a Closer Look]]

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You step forward slightly to observe the clock, but each footstep is marked by a loud *DONG* coming from above you. Careful, now! For each time your foot hits the ground, a series of growing cracks form in the leather clock's casing. Even so, it is clear that the clock is moving backwards at a quicker-than-usual rate. Every two seconds, a minute goes by...or rather, comes back? [[Walk on Your Tiptoes]] [[Tapdance in Place]] [[Return]]

If there was an audience, you'd receive a score of applause! The *DONG* noises come full-force, pelting your eardrums and piling up on each other! The clock's leather broke immediately, and before you could look over to react, an oversize gloved hand shot out from the center, grabbing a hold of you tight, like a comfy snake. [[Pry it Off]] [[Bite its Fingers]] [[Let it Happen]]

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Like a teething child looking for its next meal, or perhaps a shark out for blood, you open your maw wide and sink down into the glove coiled around you, tearing into the fabric of its glove and puncturing one end of a hamburger bun. You are dropped back down, bun in mouth, as the hand obfuscates from your view, the case is applied back onto the clock and the ticking resumes. You're back in the clear! [[Eat the Bun]] [[Return]]

The hand curls around your body, cutting off all air flow. You can feel your bones breaking from the tension. An agonizing ten minutes go by before you are released in a heap on the ground, all pain leaving your midriff and transferring to your hand. As you look at your bruised palm, you regain sensation. Turns out that was the most firm handshake of your life! [[Return]]

Carefully, you make your way over to the clock, not stepping loud enough for the *DONG* to sound and chaos to ensue. The distance closes, and now you are able to witness that the clock is about a foot or so above eye level. It is the size of a tire on a pickup. The hands are actual hands, moving independently with that same leathery creak backwards. [[Check the Clock]]

The bun tastes like kerosene. You are unsure when you recall learning how kerosene tastes, but you are now no longer hungry. You are dead. The bun was filled with kerosene. Kerosene is now in your stomach. You have been poisoned by the hamburger bun. You are dead. GAME OVER!

You take two hands and feel up to touch the clock. It is attached to apparently nothing, coming off and falling down into your arms. It weighs about as much as a pillow. One solitary *DONG* arrives, and a crack forms in the wall in the clock's stead, ripping at the material. You set the clock down, causing yet another *DONG*. This time, a circular crawlspace reveals itself where the clock used to be. [[Jump Into It]]

Pulling yourself into the crawlspace, you are suddenly lurched forward, the hole angling down more than 45 degrees and sending you hurtling into the darkness. It's the world's darkest luge ride ever conceived. [[Scream]] [[Scream]] [[Scream]]

Your vocal cords are pushed to their limits as the downhill slope angles until you are almost weightless on the infinite journey. Yet, when you finally stop screaming, you note the appearance of some light. A dim amber accent can be seen as you continue sliding down into the endless abyss. [[Continue Screaming]] [[Recite Your Memoir]]

More light! Let there be light! Amber turns to red turns to orange turns to yellow. An incandescent glow permeates the surroundings. You now realize that the warmth you're feeling during this slide down isn't from any case of rug burn or severe injury; it's from the tube itself! Each time you scream again, the surrounding space lights up and glows, losing its luster. You glimpse a brief look at a wirey object after a hearty yell, and are suddenly transferred back into an ascending climb around a coiled structure. It turns out, this entire time you've been racing around the inside of an oversized light bulb! GAME OVER!

Considering you'll probably be dead by the time this ride ends, you catch a hold of your breath and tell yourself about how much you value your friends and family, yadda yadda. Who cares. You're soon stopped, though, slidnig around in more directions than down. Your entire body is hurtled side to side, never disrupting contact with the floor but twisting to and fro. [[Execute the Spin Maneuver]] [[Continue Screaming]]

A delightful 900-degree rotation! You can feel your mind melting from the adrenaline pumped into your veins! [[Continue Screaming]]