These are the files. I hope you have everything you need.
Thank you.
Sir, I'm afraid these were not the correct files.
woop woop woop blat blat blat
You awaken on a cold, hard concrete floor. From a radio on the floor next to you, a voice says "We seem to have lost contact with the Control Tower", accompanied by grinding noises. Your inventory contains:
What would you like to do?
>>5
Check if the handgun is already loaded.
Tell the radio to start making sense, or if it cannot transmit or the other guy refuses, shoot it with the loaded gun. If the gun is not loaded, don't bother. Have some Quiche to stop feeling so cranky.
>>6
The handgun is not loaded. The radio can both transmit and receive, but the person at the other end has stopped responding. The radio is currently just broadcasting grinding noises. You enjoy a slice of quiche lorraine and feel much better for it.
I examine my surroundings, and try to listen if there are any sounds other than those from the radio. If it's quiet enough to concentrate, I open the briefcase and skim through the files.
>>8
You are in a corridor made of concrete. There are numerous metal pipes and ventilation shafts running above your head. To your North is a locked door. To your South, the corridor continues for about 20m before turning a corner. To your East, the ceiling has collapsed and the corridor is blocked by rubble.
You can hear an intermittent dull rumbling noise coming from above and a low hum coming from behind the door to the North.
You open the briefcase full of files. There are roughly a hundred of them. They are all uniform in shape and appear brand new. You are unsure why you have them or what possible purpose they could serve; your fingernails may be getting a little long, but there's no reason why you would need 100 nail files just for yourself.
I knock on the northern door. If there isn't an answer, I'll try to see if there's a way to pick the door lock with a nail file. If that doesn't work, off to the South I go.
>>10
There is no answer and the door resists your efforts to pick the lock.
>S
You are in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike.
You come across a man lying face down on the floor in a pool of vomit. Judging by the smell and the brown streak on the back of his lab coat, he has soiled himself. There is a crackling noise coming from under his lab coat.