Once upon a time in a country not unlike your own, zambonis and men lived in peace. However, darkness brewed beneath this shallow veneer of cordiality. A political faction with an irrational hatred of the zambonis sprang forth fully formed from the hardened skulls of wicked men. Scholars of either tribe could neither predict nor explain the rise of this faction, but the day came when this odious group took the highest power in the land, and the zambonis found themselves exiled under threat of death. Pooling what supplies they could carry, the zambonis purchased a single ship from a sympathetic merchant. Sixteen of the wisest zambonis would travel to their ancestral homeland, an unspoiled utopia that no living zamboni had ever seen with his own eyes. There, the zambonis would rebuild their civilization, free from the ire of man. [Zamboni select stage. Choose among eyes, noses, and mouths to construct 16 zambonis. They don't have to be unique.] Against all odds, the zambonis survived their voyage across the torrid sea. Famished, exhausted, and stir-crazy, the zambonis were overjoyed to leave their wooden cocoon. However, they could not rest their weary bodies on this newfound land. Zambonis were not made to live in the mountains. Their utopia must lie further inland. The zambonis come across a curious sight. Two bridges span an impressive chasm, each bridge guarded by a massive stone face. One speaks, "Zambonis! *sniffle* I haven't seen the likes of you for centuries!" The other responds, "Achoo! Damn zambonis. Something about you people makes me want to... achoo!" "I as well, brother." One zamboni steps forward and says, "We only seek passage across your bridges. Could you hold still your sniffles while we cross? I fear these old planks may not survive the violence of your winds." The second face replies, "I cannot help my nature any more than you could have been born a man of flesh or stone." His brother adds, "It's not all zambonis, mind. Some of you lot I find quite tolerable." "I as well, brother, though our allergies tend to disagree more often than not." [Two bridges stage. Drag+drop zambonis to one of two bridges. Choice doesn't matter. What happens is totally predetermined, as per below.] The first zamboni crosses without incident. The face says, "I guess he's alright, then." The second zamboni joins his relieved comrade. The third zamboni finds his passage cut short by a mighty exhalation that sends him flying to the rocky depths below. It is not likely any zamboni could survive such a fall. The face cries out, "Oops, sorry, love!" At this point the zambonis are stunned. They intellectually knew the risks involved in their voyage, but nothing could prepare them for the emotional impact of seeing a friend die before their eyes so soon after their landfall. How absurd. How utterly, utterly absurd that fate has contrived to strip them of first their freedoms, and now their lives. Back home, their mortality never rested on a coin flip. Now, this poor soul will never see a home again. The survivors steel themselves, for they know this gauntlet is the only way forward, and this death is merely the first of many. The fourth zamboni crosses, an expression of terror stuck on his face. He barely realizes when he reaches the other side. The fifth zamboni casts a look of scorn towards the detestable faces as he passes overhead. The faces fail to meet his gaze. The sixth zamboni nearly jumps off the bridge himself when the stone face begins to contort. It is a mercy he did not. "Oh, oh, false alarm!" Upon seeing the face begin his deadly sneeze, the seventh zamboni tries to flee. His efforts prove fruitless as he plummets to his death. One zamboni speaks out: "Your hateful air has just slain two of the gentlest souls Gaia has ever seen fit to place upon this earth. Still your unkind breath lest you harm a third." The first face replies, "You are but visitors in our realm." The second adds, "I don't see why we have to change our behavior when it's your presence that provokes this inexplicable response from my lungs." The first concludes, "Just don't cross my bridge if you think I'll sneeze. It's as simple as that." The eighth zamboni crosses with a confidence that proves to be well-placed. "See? Simple!" The ninth zamboni matches his friend's confidence, but fails to match his results. "Achoo! Oh, I guess it's not so simple, then." One zamboni cries out, "How can you be so cavalier about murdering a fellow thinking creature?" "Little zamboni, from this cliff I have seen more men live and die than you will ever know in your brief life." "You don't even care, do you?" "Your quest means little to me or my brother. We will shed no tears when you have gone." A mighty sneeze shakes the bridge underneath the tenth zamboni's feet, sending him to an untimely death. "Just tell us, O great mountain gods, what you wish of us!" "We merely wish to be left alone." "Why did you blow your nose at my friends but not me? Why did you deem me worthy of survival? Is it my appearance? My courage? My speed?" "Your comrades died. You did not. It would not be wise to read any intent into these occurrences." The next zamboni shares the fate of the two prior participants in this mad game. The surviving zambonis are silent. It is clear that these stone gods are incapable of listening to reason. The twelfth zamboni says a small prayer before crossing. He makes it across. The thirteenth glides across the bridge in silence. As does the fourteenth. And the fifteenth. And finally the sixteenth joins the others on the far end of the cliff. [Scene change: interlude] In all, the stone faces slew five zambonis. The eleven survivors follow the path onward. They say nothing to each other on this leg of their voyage, each dealing with their grief in their own internal way. Some are lost in thought. Some try their hardest to remember the fallen, to commit their faces, names, and deeds to memory. Some are already feeling those memories fade. Some try to block out their own thoughts and concentrate entirely on the task of moving forward. Some of them are even successful. [Scene change: pizza troll] In a clearing, the zambonis stumble upon a most unusual scene. A young troll lies convulsing on the ground, beating his breast and airing his lamentation to the trees. "Pizza! Won't someone make me a pizza?" Next to the troll rests an ancient machine. The faded pictograms on this mammoth piece of technology imply that it was once used to manufacture and vend the culinary staples of life. The youngest of the zambonis approaches this miserable creature. "I feel your pain, for we too are low on rations. It has been many moons since we have enjoyed a prepared meal." The troll shows no sign of understanding. "Pizza! I need pizza!" "Do you know if this machine still works? If so, we would be happy to share its blessing with you, weary traveler." "Make me some pizza!" The zambonis share a glance. This troll has likely suffered some mental trauma leading to this bizarre fixation. While tragic, the zambonis come to a consensus that they have no time to waste on this pitiable troll. They would find food elsewhere. [Zambonis attempt to leave] But the malnourished troll strikes with an unexpected strength and speed, killing the leading zamboni in an instant. "I want pizza!" There is madness in those sunken eyes. The survivors retreat to form a plan. Two camps emerge. Some zambonis wish to appease the troll, make him a pizza, and leave him in peace. The others wish to overwhelm the troll with superior numbers, slaying him before he has a chance to strike again. They hold a vote. The appeasers win, for the Zambonis are generally peaceful by nature. [Players choose from among five toppings. If they choose <3 toppings, troll says "More toppings!" If they choose >3 toppings, troll says, "Less toppings!" If they choose 3 toppings, troll says, "I hate this pizza!" There is no correct combination.] The zambonies are in luck! This pizza-making machine is intact, and the ingredients have only a slight hint of decay in their overwhelming aroma. The first appeaser brings this greasy marvel to the troll. While one would expect the troll to be overjoyed at finally seeing the object of his desire made both tangible and edible before his eyes, there is nothing but anger on his face. [Troll line as above]. This picky eater suddenly attacks his unlikely maitre d'. The surviving zambonis harden their hearts at the death of yet another close friend. [Player makes another choice] The second appeaser nervously brings his offering to the troll. The hairy creature takes one whiff, yells, "[Troll line as above]," and increases the body count to seven. One of the belligerents cries, "Don't you see! You cannot appease this worthless creature! We need to strike now before our numbers grow too weak to overpower him." But his words remain in vain. [Player makes another choice] The third appeaser keeps fast to his convictions and brings the latest soggy concoction to his fickle foe. This time, the hairy troll grabs a single piece, jamming it greedily into his maw. The troll licks his lips, thinks for a second, and screams, "[Troll line as above]!" With a graceful efficiency, the troll grabs his poor victim and throws him at the pizza machine, breaking the former beyond repair. The surviving zambonis have reached their breaking point, and all turn belligerent, swarming on the troll. The zambonis are not creatures used to fighting. Their moves are clumsy. Their blows are weak. Still, they outnumber the troll, and so when the battle ends it is but seven zambonis that emerge victorious. After burying their dead, the surviving zambonis feast that night on a dish made from the flesh and bones of their fallen enemy. It is a sausage pizza. And it is the most delicious thing the zambonis have ever tasted. [Fork in the road. Again, decision doesn't matter a damn bit.] The seven remaining zambonis come across a fork in the road. Two paths diverged in this yellow wood, and both appeared unused for eons. Kicking on the north path? Rolling in the south path? The zambonis cannot make up their minds. Which path should they take? [Player makes a choice. Zambonis roll onward.] The zambonis come across another curious contraption. A machine, idly situated on a barren cliffside, idly blows bubbles over the trecherous chasm. The zambonis are momentarily taken back to their carefree childhoods, ones often spent giddily blowing bubbles in the grassy meadows of the land they once called home. But the reality of the machine stands in opposition to this idealized image, blowing bubbles with such stark efficiency as to give no hint of joy or wonder. Glyphs near the machine inform the zambonis that these bubbles would allow them to cross safely. The zambonis are skeptical, but it appears to be the only way forward. Would anyone step forward to give the machine a try? [Player volunteers a zamboni. It jumps into a bubble only to plummet to the ground below.] Poor zamboni. Poor, foolish zamboni. Zambonis were only meant to soar through the air in late night dreams of fancy, not in the unforgiving light of day. This diabolical machine was clearly a trap for optimistic thinkers. The surviving six zambonis give not a second though to their fallen comrade. The day's perils have made pessimists of them all. Without a word, they return to the fork and take the other path. The zambonis are greeted by an odd assortment of weaponry, all pointed at a cliff. Cliffs, chasms, machines, and death: these have been the zambonis' constant companions throughout their voyage. Had they still the capacity to hope, they would have hoped this trial would be their last. Perhaps it will be. Perhaps not. They take a closer look at the quandry before them. Three catapults are aimed at the otherwise unreachable road above. A gun points at the cliffside, which itself is dotted with an array of runes. Some ruins portend death, while others hint at freedom. It appears that another series of runes controls the gun's aim. Three somber zambonis file into the machine, each one taking a catapult. Had they encountered this setup days earlier, they would have debated and tested the machine thoroughly before putting their lives on the line. But these five survivors no longer seem to value their own life. Something twisted and dark has overpowered their survival instinct. They feel that death is inevitable. And so they await the shot that will determine their future. [Player chooses a color/shape combination. Like always, this doesn't matter a jot. The paint gun fires at a single skull.] The catapult misfires, sending yet another unfortunate zamboni to his death. Another quickly fills her space. No tears are shed for their fallen companion. [Player chooses a color/shape combination. The paint gun fires at a blank spot on the wall.] The gun hits a blank tile, and nothing changes. The travelers' faces remain blank, dispassionate. They are not relieved at the momentary reprieve, for they know that this event is utterly meaningless. [Player chooses a color/shape combination. The paint gun fires at a triple skull symbol.] All three catapults send their precious cargo down to the murky depths of oblivion. The two remaining zambonis dutifully take their places. [Player chooses a color/shape combination. The paint gun fires at a single skull symbol.] The empty catapult triggers, failing in its malicious intent. Are the zambonis aware how close they came to death? Do they even care at this point? [Player chooses a color/shape combination. The paint gun fires at a double-circle symbol.] Against all odds, the last two zambonis find themselves flung to the top of the cliff. They do not smile. They do not speak. Instead, they soldier on. A few miles down the path, the zambonis find an ancient, weathered sign. It reads, "Zamboniville: Population 0." At long last, they are nearly to their goal. Two zambonis, alone to build a civilization. This task will be difficult, but it is not without precendent. What will they find at the end of the path? Their respective relatives had often spoke of a utopia, but were rather vague on the specifics. No matter. If such a utopia does not exist, then they would build one of their own sweat and blood, for that is the zamboni way. Beyond the hill, an incredible sight shocks the pair from their miserable stupor. A town. A village. A city sprawls before their eyes. It is if they had never left home. They race down the hill in awe, smiling as if for the first time. These smiles quickly fade. Not because the city is a ruinous shell of its former self. Far from it. What the ancient stories left out was that the zambonis had fled their ancestral homeland under exactly the same circumstances that precipitated this cross-generational homecoming. An inexplicable cruelty developed within their human neighbors, inevitably leading to death and exile. Upon arriving to a strange and peaceful continent, the zamboni elders cleverly omitted tales of the cruelty of men in a perhaps misguided effort to foster good relations with their newfound neighbors. But the men of this ancient land suffered no such cultural amnesia, and a hatred fostered over many centuries came full circle as the two survivors found themselves abducted and placed before a firing squad. No man intervened on their behalf. No god imposed his will with a last minute deus ex machina. Two shots were fired. Two zambonis were slain. At this sad juncture, you dear player may be wondering what you did wrong. It is only natural for puzzles to have solutions, and it is just as natural for the existence of failure to imply the possibility of success. These beliefs are perhaps misguided, for games often put you in the role of the powerful. The zambonis, however, are not powerful. Their options were limited. Their meaningful choices were nonexistent. They found themselves pulled towards their tragic fate through no fault of their own. And through no fault of yours, dear player. Sometimes the world is both irrational and cruel. Sometimes man is both irrational and cruel. And sometimes there is little one can do to protect oneself from the full force of this combination.