Manipulation Challenges
Manipulation challenges require a character to alter aspects of the environment. For example:
- Pull a specific book on a bookshelf (or slide the bookshelf) to reveal a hidden passage.
- Place heavy objects on a pressure plate.
- Use a mirror to reflect sunlight onto a sensor to unlock a door.
- Use magnets to interact with metallic elements in the environment, moving them to unlock a concealed safe.
In the espionage adventure “Last Commute,” the protagonist repeatedly alters the immediate environment and uses available resources to avoid detection, clean up the evidence, and ultimately attempt to ensure the safety of the peace summit. For instance, the protagonist uses hydrogen peroxide to clean blood spots from the floor, photographs the suspicious document, and hides the black photo chip in black hair.
“Last Commute” follows the format of narrator directives but could be expressed in terms of Hobson’s choices. Thomas Hobson owned a livery stable in Cambridge, England, around the time of William Shakespeare. He wasn’t about to rent out his best horses all the time, so he devised a system. You can take the horse nearest the door or take none at all. That was it. No fuss, no negotiation. This became known as a “Hobson Choice”—a situation where you think you have options, but there’s only one.
Last Commute
Fallkirk, 1989
Train Compartment
I toss the travel bag onto the overhead rack, strumming the emergency chord above the sliding window. The bag is light. Just my business suit and passport. The photo’s current. Bright teeth, dark hair.
The train compartment is vacant, except for a copy of today’s newspaper, folded to an article on the upcoming peace summit. Picking up the paper, I ease into one of the facing leather seats.
That was my last commute up north,
I sigh with some dismay.
Tension between the lands is high;
it is not safe to stay.
To my compartment comes a man
holding onto his side.
Message… contact… password…,
he coughs. In you, I must confide.
He talks of plot at a peace summit
but then a shout next door.
The paper dropped, he staggers out.
Blood drops upon the floor.
Read the paper dropped.
The paper the stranger dropped is in an old dialect. It says something about Northland guards. A plot against one of their own diplomats at the summit. Blame the South. An excuse for civil war.
The words blur. I’ve long forgotten the dialect. Still, the old word for pickle pops to mind. Cucumber crunch, something like that. The thought must wait; there’s commotion in the adjoining compartment.
Investigate the commotion.
Investigating the commotion might provoke an incident; blood drops would not be considered innocent.
Ask someone at the border to translate.
Waiting for a translator at the border presumes there is time to wait. And if they translate, they might not like what they find.
Check whether the corridor is clear.
The stranger was bleeding and may have left drops. I glance down the corridor. A tell-tale trail leads along the linoleum to my compartment. It leads to a conspicuous drop on my shoe. That won’t bode well with the guard working his way down the corridor.
Open a window and toss out the document.
Tossing it out might solve my problem, but it might also make the Summit—and the world—less safe.
Toss it into the corridor and lock the door.
In front of my compartment? That won’t look so good, especially with a locked door. This might be a good time to relocate to avoid an awkward search.
I recognize the captain’s distinctive black leather storm suit in the hallway. Although interrogating another passenger, his attention will soon pass this way.
Give the note to the captain.
That’s some bold initiative. He will undoubtedly have suspicions and questions. I don’t have answers.
Enter the dining car.
A crowd for cover, clever. The dining car isn’t far, but soldiers block the path. I’ll be noticed and likely stopped.
Muffled talking filters down from the corridor. The lavatory is only steps away. I cast a furtive glance, then dash.
The Lavatory
The restroom smells like a mixture of hospital antiseptic and stale cigars. The single stall is open and unoccupied.
Write a note for help on toilet paper.
Anyone can find a note, and likely not the ones I hope.
Wipe off your shoe with toilet paper.
The toilet paper is dry and would leave a smear, but wetting it helps. I pocket some extra dry tissue and notice the corner cabinet. It contains a broom, mop, cleaning supplies.
Take the broom and bar of soap.
Broom and soap, no obvious purpose. I pocket the soap, just in case.
Take the mop and bucket.
The mop affords a passing grimace, as mopping would be too suspicious.
I pick up the bottle of bleach. Hydrogen peroxide was probably used in the lavatory as a disinfectant. A drop over the sanguine spots makes them disappear.
Working a few paper towels around with my foot soaks up the evidence. Opening the large window, I toss out the used towel.
Blot the document with the bleach.
Peroxide makes blood smears disappear. It would also wipe out the message.
Toss out the document while the window’s open.
That’s a good idea, but I must take a photo first. After, I pop out the black memory chip from the camera. It clinks like a coin against my ring.
Stash the photo chip in the travel bag.
To soldiers doing random checks, a photo chip would be suspect.
Put the chip inside the newspaper.
Soldiers are sure to look for items folded into a newspaper—but they might not look where they can’t see, especially in plain sight. The black chip is inconspicuous in my black hair.
Train Station
The train pauses at the border for baggage checks, including the newspaper. After, I doze until the train pulls into the terminal.
At the station, a girl holds up a handful of tulips and an open palm. “Da nebe saltube,” she exclaims, raising a flower toward me.
Beside her, a beggar cries, “Rejaz mehe cucrunch” as he swirls an empty tin can.
Further down, a boy with a stack of newspapers barks: “Cha ipse brineta.” The summit is in the headlines.
Saltube, salt tube, pickle—the girl.
Saltube is wrong, on second thought. She would run and not be caught.
Brineta, brine—the boy.
Brine is not quite right. The Old Speak word had more bite. What did the beggar say? Cucrunch? Cucumber crunch.
The photo chip makes a metallic “ploink” like a coin dropped into the beggar’s cup. He rises and vanishes into a nearby alley.
Over the weekend, I monitor the news for fear of foul play at the summit. The ambassador returns safely. The summit ends without incident. And somewhere along the line, I ended up with a soap bar.
Last Commute Redux
Toss the bag on over-head rack.
Hand combing hair still jet black.
Last commute, sighed with dismay.
Tension is high, unsafe to stay.
He staggers in, holding his side.
Message. Password. Must confide.
Plot. Summit—shouts next door.
Falters out, blood on the floor.
Paper dropped, an old dialect.
A whiff of pickles, I detect.
Investigate the noise next DOOR,
or peek into the CORRIDOR.
DOOR
Might that provoke an incident,
blood drops not seen as innocent?
CORRIDOR
Guards checking each compartment,
now’s the time to make an exit.
Dining car, mingle and LOST,
or lavatory straight ACROSS.
LOST
Soldiers have the pathway blocked.
I’ll be noticed, likely stopped.
ACROSS
Leave a help note somewhere in HERE,
or wet a wad of tissue PAPER.
HERE
Anyone can find the note,
and likely not the ones I hope.
PAPER
Wiping away the tell-tale drop,
I spy a bottle of BLEACH and MOP.
MOP
The mop affords a passing grimace,
as mopping would be too suspicious.
BLEACH
Peroxide makes spots disappear.
Photograph the doc and wipe it clear.
Stash the photo chip SOMEWHERE,
in my bag or in my HAIR.
SOMEWHERE
To soldiers doing random checks,
a photo chip would be suspect.
HAIR
Black on black, dark of night,
hide the chip out in plain sight.
At the terminal, a girl and beggar,
both with Old Speak words to utter.
‘Mehe cucrunch,’ proclaims HE.
‘Da nebe saltube,’ whispers SHE.
HE
Cucumber crunch, pickle cup.
Ploink the chip, the beggar’s up.
Checking news about the summit.
No news—good news. No incident.
SHE
Salt tube is wrong, on second thought,
but she runs swiftly, can’t be caught.
Later sad news about the summit.
It seems there’s been an incident.
