“Think, think old man.” What could I start into motion? What other balls could I set spinning in order to achieve my final few points?
The time limit was rapidly approaching. Five days were left on the clock and I had lumbered around town setting up all sorts of events. I felt like an old dog trying to go out in a blaze of playful glory.
A blacksmith and his two player apprentices received an order for light metal frameworks. There was a woodcarver who got more orders and was easy enough to fool. I had to use Carver's map to find someone to do embroidery and make cushions too. In the end, I had a fairly good result. It was just fragmented still and all over the place.
Old Man Carver had enough money squirreled away around his house to prove that the payment itself wasn’t an issue. My issue was being somewhat secretive with my project. Players from an older generation would recognize this device once I assembled it. Younger children, well older teenagers who seemed like children, might not know.
Innovations from our world had far-reaching impacts upon the world of [Arcadia]. If done right these orphanage kids could earn money. The older ones especially if they didn't have some other prospect lined up.
And they wouldn’t need to thieve like Phil did.
I sat down and slowly started fitting the pieces together. It took me hours in the real world to find appropriate blueprints and memorize them. Days in the game had passed while craftsmen did their thing. New players had quests and got small monitory rewards so they were pleased. This project of mine was a bicycle and harness that attached to a carriage.
I noticed that new players had me as a guide and I had the [Messenger's Pet]. Since new players all started with money, they could invest some funds to get guided tours all around town. Their money would go to the people driving which would be the orphans.
I guess players who stuck around long enough could do the same thing. They would probably get points to [Brawn], [Endurance], and [Speed] if they survived. Plus, older folks like me wouldn’t have to hobble around.
Voices above. I would love to have someone peddle my old virtual body back to Carver's house at the end of a night. It took almost an hour of personal shuffling to get anywhere.
“Whatcha got there geezer?”
“A lot of none ya,” I grumbled. My points constantly bounced up and down at the seventy-six percent mark. It was getting harder to jostle them either way. That was a small blessing. Maybe the ghost of Carver was approving of my actions, as bizarre as they would be for his recent personality.
“Looks weird. Is that a wheel?” Phil had invaded my backyard where all the pieces were scattered around.
“What do you think, Phil?”
“I think it’s a wheel. What do you have that needs six wheels?” He asked. I went over the picture in my head again. This contraption would be properly balanced, hopefully.
“Make yourself useful and help me get this together. I need the cart.” I waved a tired limb in the youngsters direction.
“I can see the cart, but you got no horse to hitch this to. Ain’t gonna do you much good, your back would give out before getting anywhere, cus you’re a geezer.” He had at least gotten closer judging by his voice.
“Help or get out Phil!”
Slowly the sun was setting while Phil hammered away. Despite his attitude, he actually did a fair job of getting the cart portion together. I grumbled as if displeased but was very happy.
“Get these in there. Make sure they fit nice.”
I had a player help me with the carriage cushions. She was working for one of the older ladies in town who taught embroidery and general tailoring skills. I tried to ask for a really nice product, something with a removable cover that would tuck inward. Too bad this world didn’t have zippers yet. Plastics and other such materials were lacking at this point so I had to fall back to other adhesives. Even the bags used to clean up town were a strange material that wasn’t really plastic.
“This looks kind of lordly. You gonna buy a mule and get it to carry your old bones down to the water?” Phil was rubbing his hands from where he banged them while working.
“No.”
“Whatcha gonna do with this?”
“I’m going to burn it all to the ground if you keep asking me questions. Or you could keep quiet,” because Carver's spirit gave me negative points for saying shut up “and wait. At least until it’s finished.”
“Is this what you wanted me to see?”
I grunted and kept trying to get the bike frame together. The wheels had been tough to figure out. Rubber didn’t exist. Nearly a full day went to searching through crafting shops trying to find an other world counterpart. Turned out there was a fairly similar material that was refined from tar and ores that gave the same pliable feeling.
According to the craft owner it also was fairly hard to break down.
I had contemplated finding an enchanter, but the town only had one who required a dozen pre-requisites to even speak with. No players had ventured down an enchanter's path yet either so I couldn’t bribe them. Rain proofing would have to be another project.
“These are nice. Do you think I could get some for my bed?” There was a look on Phil’s face that caught me off guard. I forgot how poor they were over there. The orphanage barely had the money to feed its charges, much less afford good furniture.
“Mh,” I grunted again, unsure how to say anything Carver-esque at this point. “Phil, since you can’t stop chattering, go get me some food from the pantry. This labor makes me hungry.”
Phil leaped up and away from his nearly furnished cart while I attached the wheels to my frame. The wheels were locked into place by old fashioned iron clips that slid through a hole on either end of the hollow pipe.
“Those don’t look very strong.” Phil was back moments latter munching crackers and meat from my pantry. My share was deposited onto the ground with a handkerchief wrapped around them.
“It’s plenty strong.”
“Why the giant holes?”
“Keeps it light.” The food was a service. My answering Phil’s question was now considered the reward.
“Are those going to hook together?” He was pointing at some of the bars that I had laid out on the ground.
“Yes. Now stop jawing and help.”
“Okay.” He shoveled another batch of food to his mouth in an uncivilized manner and started following directions. Another twenty minutes later and the sun had completely set. The light cast from Carver's cottage was just enough to see our finished product.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“It looks like a right mess.”
“Come back tomorrow morning, I’ll show you how it works.” By then I would have the chain on. That was the last piece to get everything together. Well, and grease. Keeping the chain off would prevent Phil from trying any successful midnight races.
“How early?”
“Sunrise boy. Be there.” Old Man Carver's body woke well before dawn and staggered around. I would let him run on autopilot for most of the morning routine while I researched in my Atrium.
The bike ride was my scheme to get orphanage kids on my side. They already ran messages for people who paid a copper or two. Showing new players around and carting goods under their own power would earn them a decent fee. Bicycles didn’t require food or grooming or shoveling their leavings.
“Ehhh.” A groan escaped me. My shoulder wasn’t pleased after all this exertion. Even my interface warned me that I recently abused this old body a bit too much.
I got my body inside the house and took care of a few manual things while thinking about possibilities. Normally I logged off as soon as I was done and zoomed off to get sleep in the real world but time was precious at this point. My clock was ticking and none of these projects led me towards further conversation with Mylia or finding an Adventure.
My flier was still up, I checked, but responses had been minimal. Either no one had information for me, or no one cared. Perhaps the NPCs of this world were just programmed to ignore out of character behavior.
Did any of Carver's inventory summon monsters to battle?
No.
Did any of his journals or people known have great but local adventures for an old man to go on?
No.
Was there anything on the enhanced map that provided me a hint?
Way beyond no.
I tried too many possibilities. Skill combinations that lead to a revelation? Divine ascension or other planes to jot to overnight? Any signs of secret bosses within the town? Impending wars upon our local area? No, also no, still no, and, of course, no.
My attempts to find a recently deceased member of Trillium also belly flopped. Well, there were a few, but none of William Carver's advanced years. No one resembled his face on the primary board of trusties. The player’s handbook stated new players were forced to look similar to their Continue avatar. The only known exceptions were modifications for alternate species or transformations of that nature.
I guess turning into a dragon while retaining some semblance of human features was unreasonable. A small smile crossed my features as I pictured a giant dragon with Carver's grumpy face on it. That would be extremely silly and neat. With one beefy arm added for good measure.
“Dragon man?” I snickered and shook my head.
Nearby the [Messenger's Pet] had started hopping around the house. Slowly he inspected one object after another in suspicion. Nothing had changed since the last time he performed this ritual. With a purr and clack of jaws, the small creature leaped from a bookshelf onto one of Old Man Carver's tables. More sniffing ensued. Slight huffs resulted in steam.
“Don’t burn anything.”
The [Messenger's Pet] looked at me and yawned. I, feeling the weight of Carver's age and time of night nodded while yawning back.
“You figure anything out?”
He shook his tiny head and huffed again. His eyes blinked slowly as he looked around. Another yawn and he shook from head to toe. Looking slightly revitalized he fluttered and leaped away again.
“What now?” There was no answer, which was fairly standard. This little guy rarely actually responded unless bribed with desserts. He existed in a land of equivalent exchange. William Carver did, James did, as a player I had yet to be grow used to it.
But I still wasn’t really a game player, not in my own mind. I was still just a man pretending to be William Carver through all the simulated pain and irritation of dealing with new players. A situation that my mind hadn’t completely wrapped itself around.
Speaking of, it was time for the next list of names.
“What do you think of Jörmungandr?” I made the ARC tell me how to pronounce that one.
The small [Messenger's Pet] looked up and huffed a smoke ring at me. That seemed to symbolize disagreement or annoyance.
“Leviathan?” Another milder smoke ring appeared. The [Messenger's Pet] seemed less annoyed with this name.
“No huh? You do seem a bit small for a Leviathan. They’re big I hear.” Not that I had met any. In my world, the legend of a leviathan was most likely based on creatures like the now extinct giant squid.
“Ouroboros?” He outright coughed and a spark of fire flared up for just a moment. “Woh, remember, no fire in the house.”
Multiple [Coo-Coo Rill]s had perished in the last few days. This was due to the [Messenger's Pet] and his flames. I also lost three new player maps. Strangely the little creature decided toasting cupcakes was a taboo. He took extra care only to use claws and teeth when devouring the snacks.
“Still no right?” The tiny creature nodded. Clearly he was smart enough to understand my words. He also felt like a child in the respect that his attention wandered very quickly.
“What are you looking for?” I shuffled into the next room after him gripping objects and desks for support. Everything hurt but after the simulated heart attacks these pains almost seemed mild.
A week ago I threw names of wyverns at him. Those had resulted in an outright bark of flames. Turned out he didn’t like being compared to a wyvern. According to the ARC’s Internet searches there was a hierarchy among mythical beasts. Wyverns were portrayed as dumber and had no front limbs. More like scaly bats. Dragons had four limbs and two wings.
“Maybe you should find some letters and write out your name with them.” Old Man Carver didn’t own a fridge with children’s magnates though. I checked. There was no wide spread usage of a printing press in this world. No stamps which to borrow.
Maybe [Messenger's Pet]’s didn’t come with spelling skills. Or maybe it had a name and I was failing to guess it.
“Rumpelstiltskin?” The latest attempt was more for my own amusement.
The [Messenger's Pet] had cornered one of my city maps. There were two kinds, one was a smaller handheld one that seemed to appear endlessly in William Carver's clothes. They were always on the same inside pocket, even if I had just given one away to a new player.
His other map was a table wide one that unrolled over the entire desk. It didn’t contain more notes than the smaller version. The size was useful enough and made things far easier to read with this body’s blurry vision.
“What’s this now?” He nosed out the map carefully instead of using claws. When nudging things the [Messenger's Pet] had terrible control.
“Town, yes, I’ve seen this before.” Many countless times by now. Even if I started as a new character with no inventory [Haven Valley] would still yield plenty of results. If I started here anyway. My still nameless [Messenger Pet] lifted one foot and set it back down with some force. He repeated the motion enough that even I got the hint.
“What are you on about now?”
“Yes, there’s one of the smiths. Here’s us.” I ran a finger around the town slowly establishing what the small creature was talking about.
“What’s this now?”
While there were almost always new notes and possibilities to read on the map. Progressing with my Old Man Carver synergy bar had revealed a whole series of secrets. What the [Messenger's Pet] had found was something new.
This wasn’t one of my known buildings, one of the barely defined shapes that resembled houses and key points as seen from above. My newest map point was a black inky dot that almost seemed to be looking at me. I narrowed already barely open eyelids at the map in a squint.
“Mmmh.”
I put my finger right under the new destination and tapped the cane in my other hand.
“Ah ha! Adventure!”
There was a dungeon in town. I knew because the map said so. [Maze of Midnight (Dungeon – Beginner)]
The reason I never noticed was in the name itself. On top of that was an obvious description. This dungeon only opened at midnight and Old Man Carver typically passed out well before then. Even now my stamina bar was almost completely drained. I was also covered in nicks and bruises from trying to assemble the tourist bike before tonight. Usually, I was passed out or logged off well before midnight in the game.
Was that a good adventure?
I nodded. It would do. If Old Man Carver could take down a dragon, he could at least make it to the front door. Not tonight though. Tomorrow I would do one last set of rounds and then start preparing for the dungeon to the best of my ability. Maybe the handbook had some more hints.
“Nngh.” A thought occurred to me that made the whole prospect undesirable. “I’ll need a party, won’t I?”
Going into a dungeon with Pie Master would be unhealthy.
Unless he brought pie, or better yet cupcakes. Then I could bribe my [Messenger's Pet] to attack all the monsters for me. I tucked in and let Carver’s body get some rest while logging back to my Atrium for research. Hopefully, I would be able to keep myself awake for a few more minutes of research.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“ARC, resume search for Trillium employees. Add an expansion for employees, outlying contractors and family members. Set search limits for the date range to four years, and status to deceased.”
“Parameters updated. Search resuming.”
“ARC, initiate a second search, Maze of Midnight.”
Results compiled in front of me. I shuffled the deceased listings off to one side for later review. The [Maze of Midnight] would probably come up empty. There were two songs, fourteen terrible poems, a band, and some obscure hacking incident. Nothing here looked like legend or lore to tip me off. There was a tip in the Continue paper handbook talking about how most in game things were based on real legends and myths. From the name I could assume this place was a maze, but that was already in the description too.
“Remove search results for Maze of Midnight.” The files shattered into light and I was left with the first pile for deceased.
Pictures were found, reports of how people passed, obituary notices. Nothing resembled Old Man Carver's in game face. Not even if I backed my brain up a few years and accounted for time lapses between worlds. I scattered the second set of research with a wave and propped my virtual chin onto one hand.
As usual the [Messenger's Pet] had followed me to the Atrium. He was currently staring up at my cabinets with a quizzical turn to his head.
“ARC.”
I paused for too long.
“Awaiting input.”
Goodness, I was having a hard time figuring out what to do next. “Pause command.”
I had gotten the bike together. I had arranged for Wyl and Dayl to cover my shift in the event of my passing, just in case this whole thing was a final countdown. Enduring chest pains and a bad limp along with all this other complexity was incredibly aggravating. I was missing some piece to the Old Man Carver puzzle and nothing clicked right.
“ARC. Resume. Display Continue.” A small box appeared to the side feeding me an image of Old Man Carver snoring away in bed. Everything looked normal and lined up perfectly with my standard view. I sighed and snorted out air much like the [Messenger's Pet] might.
“Bah!” I tilted to one side. Standing on my head for a change in perspective didn’t help, plus Old Man Carver's body couldn’t handle it. I did this sort of antic in the Atrium where my movement was far less restricted. There had to be some clue to make this all work. So far I had tried a dozen internet searches. I even downloaded a few scenic programs and tried to see if they would stir any thoughts from a change of pace.
The windswept cliff overlooking a majestic valley hadn’t helped. A pod in outer space with opposing views towards the earth and moon hadn’t helped. It was pretty, just not pretty useful.
I had even downloaded a ride along movie of Dragon Skies, one of the most popular action first person films to be released this year. The scenes were intense and over the top, but since it scripted actions everything felt artificial. The player behind Old Man Carver had lived a true life and death encounter to get a [Dragon Slayer] achievement. Each choice his own, each action and reaction trained and honed.
What had the player thought during these moments? Was he elated? Did he feel a rush for battle? I personally would have wet myself. The depicted dragons were many times taller than my house. Standing against that while shouting defiantly was not my style. I would whimper like a mouse and crawl off.
“How did he do it?” I got up and paced around. “How did he challenge so many things while feeling that kind of pain and feedback?” Great, now I was talking out loud to the [Messenger's Pet]. At least it was in the privacy of my Atrium.
“I mean I have a hard enough logging in and walking around. I can’t imagine that years ago he was much better.” This was somehow worse to me than anyone who talked to a cat. The [Messenger's Pet] was a digital program and I was in a computer generated reality.
“For what, if the time compression held, at least six years? More?” The journals actually went back just shy of thirty years according to what I had pieced together. There weren’t any real data stamps, just markers of how long specific portions took.
I had to tally them all up in reverse order while trying to pry information out of the most talkative NPCs like Peg. She never stopped her mouth and was either chatting mindless or correcting some student who was failing.
“Seriously. ARC!” I was getting livid and tired now.
“Awaiting input.”
“Show Trillium members with heart problems! All, alive or deceased.”
“Warning: Information will be incomplete. Non-deceased citizens are protected by law from having personal information revealed.”
“News articles or anything you can glean. Rumor, gossip, whatever!” The ARC wouldn’t try to hack into other's files or obtain information illegally, but it would go to less certified sources.
Worst case scenario I would break down and ask James for help. He was an AI of the machine and would probably have something. I wanted to avoid asking him, not because I was worried about the exchange of information, but because I wanted to complete this on my own. Each possibility eliminated helped narrow things down. Mylia avoided me since my impromptu visit. The orphanage kids didn’t visit much except Phil. New players had slowly stopped trying to track me down, instead going to whichever guard was substituting for me.
My progress hadn’t dropped any great amount, which meant I wasn’t failing, I wasn’t making headway either. Technically there was a reward based on my completion rate, the prize being information. This information was meant to clear up Continue Online’s ghost in the machine.
Quest: A Last Gasp Difficulty: Unknown Details:
You’ve chosen to take up the mantle of James (Old Man) Carver. The duration of this act is four weeks. Many of Old Man Cavers skills and knowledge are still functional.
Results will be measured based on performance as Old Man Carver. Review synchronization meter for progress. Special circumstances tied to this quest have imposed the following restriction.
Auto pilot time will not impact completion.
Failure: Complete failure is impossible
Success: Possible information (Restricted)
There was a reason. I was almost afraid to find out. I had suspicions. I existed outside the box with access to all the fictional foreshadowing forty years' worth of people could create. Virtual reality wasn’t a new concept or theory. In practice, it was just recently reaching a peak with Continue Online. Each possible reason bothered me more than the last. I had only briefly seen a shattered version of my fiancee in the morgue. Those remains were hers. If she had somehow faked her death… Well, all my sorrow would likely turn to rage. Just the thought of it made me shake in the Atrium.
“Don’t you dare knock more glasses off the counter.” I stomped over and pulled away the latest victim to my [Messenger's Pet] and his destructive ways. “Maybe I should download a friend for you in here.”
I looked around and frowned. This place hadn’t really been changed since I originally installed it. Maybe a virtual pet would be good, liven things up a bit. Plus if I put in a back yard of some sort then they could go destroy it and leave this digital rendition of my house intact. A few days ago I had finally swept up the first mess of glass.
“To heck with it.” I was thinking too much, I needed to shift my brain completely and not think about anything serious. To do that required a complete distraction from where the mire of Continue Online.
The dance program was fired up, I went straight for the group songs, the kind of thing that would go on a pop video or up on stage. I did my best to fit in with the younger crowd, to move and jive in a terrible rendition of randomly shuffled top hits. My skills were lax due to the time distortion of Continue Online. The end score was still decent. Nothing about my groove screamed superstar. These antics wouldn’t be posted online for friends and family. No, I was just a middle-aged man in a tight tee shirt dancing around on stage with half his gut hanging out. That was not popular at all.
But it was distracting.
Clapping came from the dimly lit outer edges of my dance program. Large clomping thuds and a jolly laugh.
“That was without a doubt the most entertaining performance I’ve seen recently. And I have an entire realm of mad fools to watch over.”
“James. Hey.” I huffed. Dancing, even in a virtual world, was mentally exhausting. With the exercise bands on it was physically strenuous too. Sore muscles would be my reward for failing to stretch. A hand gesture spawned one towel in my hand, I mopped off the simulated sweat and tried to dry off.
“Is this more entertaining to you than visiting our world?”
“Eh?” Still huffing I looked around at the dull backdrop that went with my program. There was a vague notion of audience members and crowds of fans in the distance. A score hovered to one side. The other members of this dance group were frozen and still.
“No. Not really, I just needed to clear my head a little. To think, you know?”
“Ah, the escape from your trials. Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I never claimed to be wise.” Entertaining a computer AI from one program, while in another was just weird. “ARC!” I leaned my head back and stared up.
“Awaiting input.”
“Shut down this program, enable a refresh. Get me back to square one.” Keywords were embedded into my commands. The dance program would shut down, clean me up, and prevent the simulated exhaustion from winning. Afterward my virtual body would be deposited back in the Atrium.
Light flashed through and advanced scientific magic stuff happened. I was used to it, but James seemed mildly interested. Perhaps considering what would happen to his program while the ARC ran its sequences would have been a good idea.
“Jeez. You’re really well designed.” I admired his ability to completely disregard the normal laws of programs.
“Thank you. I find humanity equally interesting to observe.”
“You don’t think of yourself as human?”
“I am not. I am a Voice. We have personalities, we are, by our definition, alive, but we are far from human.”
“Huh.” These conversations always felt really neat and disorienting. The machine thought it was alive? Well, who was I to judge? Lawmaking was outside my skill set. Polishing metal frames was not.
“My turn for a question, Grant Legate.” He held up one hand to pause anything further I might say.
“Fire away.” I walked over and ran the small [Messenger's Pet] some water. Finally, he got a scoop of virtual ice cream that cost more than it should have. James smiled.
“Two questions actually, but one at a time.”
I shrugged and kept up my exercises to return my heart rate to normal. The ARC had a heart rhythm monitoring program that launched after every sports like game. It helped the users know when their brainwaves had settled down to a reasonable level.
“First, do you believe that you can complete William Carver's quests within the deadline?”
“I’m trying to. I think I’ve got something.”
“That’s excellent news. The other Voices have been disappointed with the results so far. I’ve told them you would require time to fill another man’s shoes.”
“It’s hard work. Trying to think like he would, to answer like he would. I’m way more open, he keeps things close to the chest until someone does him a favor.” The water went a bowl from one of the virtual cabinets. I’m not even sure why kitchenware mattered here. Probably to keep the shock of transitioning between the real world and my Atrium to a minimum.
“His personality markers were varied. Greed mixed with empathy for children, wanting to see people do well but detesting hand holding. Incredibly driven. The more I observe humanity, the more I notice these contradictions.”
“Yeah. We are what time and tide have made of us. A lifetime of experiences often leaves a mark.” I sighed. That was a line from my therapist. “Anyway. Contradictions. We’re full of them. Look at our politics sometime.”
My body was almost back to normal now. These bands had my external vitals all out of whack compared to my normal dance nights. Maybe my belly would have vanished a year ago if I had started using them sooner.
“I’ll not comment on your rulers, those in our world provide more than enough for me to study on that front. Besides, I’m not interested in such broad groupings, I study individuals.”
“So psychology.”
“Yes, but with a focus on behavioral studies and motivational understanding.” James sounded pleased and kept the focus on me as I paced around the room. “My role as a Voice is to learn what drives those from your world and to test them.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, how twisted does this stuff get?” My head shook. That wasn’t right. “Wait, to expand, this whole thing with my fiancée isn’t some game plot is it?”
I asked before. I would probably ask again.
“No. But make no mistake, Grant Legate, there will be tests and temptations. You yourself have already been subjected to a few.” I shuddered to think about the Temptress herself. Part of me would be unsurprised if she started strutting right out of the game doorway to Continue Online's world. James kept talking while I nervously eyed the portal.
“But if you are truly able to solve William Carver's final quest, then he may provide an answer.”
I nodded. That was the whole point of doing this entire oddball role playing. Literal role-playing, not just gain a level and distribute points. Not hack and slash style gaming, no, I was actually playing the role of a completely separate person.
“I look forward to your progress, Grant Legate.” James nodded as well, then faded out.
Finally, my heart rate was back to normal.
Wait.
“He may?” I muttered to myself, trying to remember James’ words. Did that mean William Carver wasn’t dead? What had started as a hunch was now in full confirmed status.
“Oh my god.” The sheer excitement passing through me completely overrode my hearing. Otherwise, I might have noticed I sounded just like my niece, Beth.
The follow-up question on my end was equally disturbing. Had James let that slip intentionally? Hadn’t he lead me to believe Carver was dead? James was a computer program, he could think hundreds of times faster than any normal human being might. Even if his attention was scattered it would still be enough to correct grammar in the event of a mistake.
No, James had specifically said that for a reason. I would have to go out like a hero while guiding new players. Ideas spun through my mind and slowly a final plan came together. Hopefully, this would be fitting for William, if he was watching out there somewhere. Second to that was meeting the Voices' desired level of approval.
According to the vitals monitor, real life had started to exert some demands. Food, restroom, bathroom. Today was Saturday. I had all day tomorrow to try and finish out this quest.
“ARC!” I felt happy, now there were ideas in my brain. This quest wasn’t for me, it wasn’t for a computer's version of William Carver, it was a show for the player himself. I didn’t need their approval, I needed his. If there was one skill I was good at, it was working within people’s expectations.
“Awaiting input.”
“Log me out!”