Don your rubber gloves
You snap on the rubber gloves with determination. The toilet hisses and gurgles threateningly, but you stand firm.
“Back you foul beast!” you declare, squirting bleach with the precision of a holy water wielding priest.
The creature shrieks—a sound like a thousand drains screaming—as you scrub with righteous fury. Its tentacles writhe and retreat. The porcelain stops pulsating. After exactly ten minutes of vigorous cleaning, the cursed commode falls silent and still.
It’s just a toilet again. A very clean toilet.
Victory! But your night is far from over…
You emerge from the bathroom triumphant, only to find him: perched at a gaming table like a dragon atop its hoard.
The Gruesome Gatekeeper.
He’s been here the whole time. You just hadn’t noticed because he blends into the furniture, like particularly aggressive mold. His neck-beard quivers as he looks up from his phone, where he’s typing yet another hostile response on the store’s Flakebook page: “This place is for REAL gamers only. Newbies stay home.”
“We’re closed,” you say firmly.
“Not for me,” he wheezes, releasing a cloud of halitosis that could strip paint. “I'm here to make sure only the right type of people play." He gestures to his army. It's utter net list filth. "Wanna play?"
Do you?
OPTION A: Accept his challenge. You’ll prove yourself by defeating him at his own game. How hard could it be?
