The Sandwich

You awaken at a table in a featureless room. You don't remember how you got here. You remember only your name, and that you have a mission. You have no memory of what it is. "They" asked something of you. What was it? And who were "They?" [[There is a door]] [[There is a note]] [[There is a sandwich]] Yes, a sandwich.

You turn the knob. The door is locked. You yank. The door doesn't budge. You yank harder. The door stays exactly as locked as it was, while feeling even more locked than before. Weird. You know, [[There is a note]]

You open the note, small monospaced type on a small rectangular piece of paper: "Thank god you got this note. Do not eat the sandwich. Forces are going to act on you to try to get you to eat the sandwich. Do not give in to them. Do not eat the sandwich. It is for the good of us all." Still, [[There is a sandwich]] Also, still, [[There is a door]]

The sandwich stares at you like only sandwich can, almost begging you to touch it. And yet, you hesitate, your bones hum with the portent of the moment. (And oh, what a hum that is.) Of course still, [[There is a door]] And still, [[There is a note]] You could always [[Search the Room]] Or you could just [[Investigate the Sandwich]]

You find nothing remarkable. The table you're sitting at. The chair you're sitting on. A vent in the ceiling that's way too small for you to crawl through, so don't get any ideas. And, of course, the sandwich that's looking coquishly back at you, as if begging you to love it. In your heart, you can't say it's wrong. [[Investigate the Sandwich]]

You pick up the sandwich. On the plate beneath it is a message written in gold on the white porcelain: "EAT ME! Believe it or not, this sandwich is the only thing that can open the door. It contains mayonnaise whose subatomic particles vibrate in sync with the doorknob, seven-dimensional swiss cheese that can bridge the gap between this room and what's on the other side, and smoked turkey, which is delicious. If you do not eat this sandwich you will never leave this room. There are those who will tell you not to eat this sandwich. Ask your self what their agenda really is. Then just eat the sandwich. SANDWICH. MMMMM." Well, now what? You could try to [[Eat the Sandwich]] Did you [[Read the Note->There is a note]] on the table yet? Did you [[Search the Room]]? It's not too late.

You reach for the sandwich again, but something catches you eye. You see there's something new written on the back of that first note. You don't remember it being there the first time. It says: "STOP. STOP NOW. DO NOT EAT THE SANDWICH. Eating that sandwich will result in catastrophic failure. This entire reality will collapse in on itself, and you will be eaten from the inside by a dimensional rift that starts in your stomach. You will be turned inside-out and it will be more excruciating than any pain you've ever felt before. We will also have to tell your family what a horrible disappointment you have been, and that you've let down your team and this great nation. We don't want to do that. Be a hero. DO NOT EAT THE SANDWICH. WAIT FOR OUR EXTRACTION TEAM." Still, the sandwich looks delicious in way that has never seemed so right. What do you do? [[Eat that Sandwich]] [[Wait for Extraction]]

You lift the sandwich off the plate again, and an brand new note falls from the ceiling vent. You open it: "We don't think you understand the gavity of the situation. DO NOT EAT THE SANDWICH. Your mission is almost complete. You have done well. An extraction team is on its way. Don't throw away everything you've achieved be eating that sandwich." [[Eat the Goddamn Sandwich]] [[Wait for Extraction]]

You wait. But that sadnwich really does look inviting in a way that only a sandwich can. Just [[Eat the Goddamn Sandwich]] Seriously, Wait for [[Extraction]]

You eat the sandwich. My god, it's delcious. A celestially harmonious blend of turkey, swiss cheese, wheat bread, mayonnaise, and -- is that some kind of pesto? Unbelievable. You finish the sandwich. You've never felt so full, so satisfied, so right. You can hear the angels of your stomach singing praises. Wow. Only one thing to do now. [[Open the Door]]

You open the door. The knob turns easily, as though its inner workings have been lubricated by ultrafine mayonniase. Through the door is a swirling prismatic landscape of coldcuts and bread slices. You may have accessed a dimension of pure sandwichness. As you take a step through, you hear an explosion in the room behind you. A squad of black-clad commandos drop from the ceiling. They seem very upset. "STOP! STOP NOW!" They fire their machine guns at you, but the bullets all turn into pickle slices and corn chips as they pass through the doorway. The door shuts behind you as you turn toward the rising sun of this bold new world... A sun the color of golden mustard. END.

You wait patiently. Suddenly the ceiling blows inward in a rain of debris. Black-clad commandos storm the room, their faces obscured by Riftgoggles™. One of them grabs the sandwich in a Con-toast-ment Field™. The commander turns to you. "You have done well. Congratulations, agent. But your knowledge of the sandwich now makes you a liability. I'm afraid you must be terminated. Die knowing you have served a greater cause." Before you can move, he injects you with something that looks like dijon mustard. As you wonder what the sandwich must have tasted like, the world goes dark... Dark, like the darkness between two slices of bread. END.