All the hapless wolf tied to something on the cieling can do is grunt, thanks to the muzzle around his snout. You get the message from his frantic squirming, though, and call up "Hold on! I'm gonna get you down." He's too high up to start untying right away, though he's been forced into wearing an odd boot-contraption that holds his feet together and taunt, with the toes pulled back and restrained individually by silvery metal. They're dangling just within reach of your fingers, but you dismiss the idea of tickling him and start looking for a way to scale the nearby wall. You find an ample supply of convienient handholds in the rather grimy wall, and you nimbly scale them with your freshly obtained claws. You reach his height, and see that he's actually sitting in something like a chair/harness, suspended from a hook built into the vaulted cieling. There's even a broad rim around it at the seat-like part that you should be able to stand on while you untie him. You glance at the hook, checking to make sure its secure, then coil and spring. You agilely land on the device, barely shaking it, and look for the best place to commence sawing at the ropes with your sharp little fingers. Something on the back of his shirt catches your eye, though, and you snatch it off with one hand, hanging on with the other. Confused, you read it aloud. " 'So, you're the merciful type, eh? FYI, all of his binding are made of firm steel, and should be quite hard to remove. A single, special key in a compartment beneathe his seat will instently loose all of them simultaneously when inserted into the compound lock behind his neck. IT, however, can only be opened by a certain pumping motion activatible solely by him, and can only be obtained by tickling him when you've locked your shins into the special restraints. Now, you had best hurry up, as the vault doors will close in approximatley one minute, and the machine's timer is set for an hour! Good luck in the game!' "
"Game?/!" You repeat confused, but then lurch as the hook in the cieling starts moving backwards, along some kind of towline, and a pair of sliding metal doors located directly in line with you on the wall clang open. In the cubby space revealed inside, you can make out dozens of revolving brushes, strategically located to press in to the helpless wolve's immobile ticklish spots. Panicking, you start pulling frentically on the chains holding him, but notice that his over-arm tie is connected to a large, bizarre looking lock that all the chains seem to lead to. Rembering the note of whoever set this up, you look down and see a metal box bolted to the bottom, next to two cylindrical metal tubes leading off the platform at an angle. You sit down, thrust your feet through and close them, hearing a small 'click', then another from within the machine, and look at the box. You notice a thing resembling a pump leading from the harness throught the seat and into the box, and realize the note was right. Only he could open the compertment by moving a certain way.
The horrible little closet space is getting closer-you can see two huge twirling brush heads aimed specially at where your own feet are secured-and mutter an apologie. The wolf is squirming desperately, trying to get out before you reach the 'vault'. You reach up and begin hurredly scratching your fingers on his underarms. His eyes go impossibly wide, he yips through the gag, and starts squirming with amazing energy. Seeing a meter attached ot the side of the box start to fill up and change colour, likely demonstrating how far there was to go until the box opened, you move your fingers to his bare ribs, kneading hard. His struggles only increase, and seeing out of the corner of your eye that the brushes are coming closer, you are far to desperate to stop. You lean forward and start nibling in one exposed arm, swinging your tail to brush it against his belly, anything to get him to squirm harder. The meter fills, and a smaller side pouch unfolds. You snap the curiously shaped tool out frantically, and insert it into the mechanism holding the both of you. You nearly drop it-as the brushes finally contact your feet and the overwhelming pulse of nerve-burning sensations causes you to shake uncontrollaby. You muster the concentration to give it a final twist as the doors start to swing closed, and gasp in releif when bothe they and the horrendous tickling feelings stop. Panting from releife, you wrench your feet free, saying; "Sorry, pal. It was the only way to get us out of here." He, also gasping for breath now that he's removed his muzzle, replies: "No problemo. C'mon, let's get out 'o here." You jerk in surprise, when the doors and machine start moving again, but it's merely backing out and lowereing you to the floor. When you stand to leave, you notice something-another note- on his chair seat. You read it and show it to him.
Dear Brian,
As you are likly aware, you and whoever was bold or unlucky enough to activate the last game were not the only ones,ah, invited to this facility. Sylvia's is among our other sbjects, and is currently being held not far from here in the building. The removal of this note activated a timer, which is portable and equipped with a clue, that will show when her own tortuous tickle will commence. You of all people should know how sensitive she is. May you be luckier (or equally lucky)on this game!
Sincerely, Jona Crammor
Beside you, you hear the wolf, aparently named Brian, groan. "What kind of sick bugger are we dealing with?" He says softly, before turning towards you. "Sylvia's my girlfriend. She's insanely ticklish. Please, will you help me find her? And it might be easier to escape this torture chamber if we work together." He pulls a dmall device form its slot in the back of the seat. It looks kinda like a watch, with a six-digit neon number witch reads: 00:59:34 and decreasing. Presumably, you have just under an hour to find and free Sylvia, if you so choose. Below the numbers is a small panel, etched with the words 'Limitless darkness in a tiny space, the terror of claustrophobes and bane of taphophobes, and the last resting place of nearly all dead. What am I?'
"Sounds like a coffin or something." You exclaim, reading it. But where would there be a grave 'round here?
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