::WARNING::
THIS TASK IS FAIRLY SERIOUS,








You walk into the room. It's big and small at the same time. A million things in the small room, yet none of them are close to you. You're tired and hungry and cold, and there's a nice little couch next to a wall. The couch is big and soft, and is adorned with blankets and stuffed animals, many of them rather strange. a bookshelf is conveniently located near the couch. Books about everything reside in it. A fire crackles in a corner (the only light in the room), the mantle above it filled with all sorts of curious things: cards from birthdays long ago, small badly made sculptures of polymer clay that you used to think were great, Clocks. Lot's of clocks, all of which are set to different times of day, and all of which are going at different speeds. You check your watch and none of them are right.

You look at the other parts of the room. A giant painting sits on one wall of a heart and a brain, overlapping at a diagonal. The heart is anatomical and looks almost too real, as does the brain. In front of the painting are your heart and brain perched on stands, but somehow it's not disgusting.  Looking away from heart and the brain on the stands is a ceramic face with it's eyes shut. Really, it's a mask. The front of the mask is painted a huge number of bright colors on one side, and is left plain white on the other.

Surrounding the painting of the heart and brain are many, many other pictures. The sunrise, A laughing Baby surrounded by Legos, a Crying baby surrounded by adults, a toddler alone on a swing, a kindergartener on the bench alone, reading, An empty playground, A little girl in a field of dead grass A painting of a cramped classroom, a painting of Halloween, a painting of a bunch of really bad paintings.

Surrounding the Heart and Brain are many other things. A glistening ball of light and a small black hole. A shattered mask, thrown into a trashcan. a caged animal. An open birdcage. Flowers on a table, violets, roses, and dalias. A table with a bunch of crumpled up bits of paper and then a single bit of paper not crumpled in the center. A pen has spilled ink of the piece of paper, spelling words in some unknown language.

In another place is a bunch of maps. One of which is the world. Push pins dot places. Each a different color. A white one in seattle, a brown one south of LA, a blue one in Oregon, A shattered one in Delaware, Countless ones in San Francisco.

The other big map is of San Francisco. Many dot the middle of the sunset. One with a skull on it dots the middle of the Richmond. One with a skull on it dots balboa street. The mission is home to another collective of dots. Fort point hosts a red-orange one.

You look up to find a giant rose on the ceiling, chandeliers surrounding it in a circle. In the center of the rose and eye blinks and leaves the hole that's looking through the rose. A mouth fills the portal and starts to speak in a low murmur.

You stop looking at the ceiling because it honestly kind of freaks you out. you look at the floor and see a map. It's a crackly old paper map, the kind of map that sits in the golve compartment of some random car along with a first aid kit and some shotgun shells for decades. The map is not of anything that you've ever seen, and looks like a combination of a 1950's road map and something from the 16th century. It has places like "thoughts" "Dreams" You don't want to look at subconscious.

You look in the last corner and you see a little door in the wall. You go over to it and open it.