S.A.M.L.A.R.B Spectral Aquisitons of Material Lands And Resources Bureau

>Obviously this is one of those new fangled interactive infomercials designed to sell you something. Tell it you're not interested.

The TV voice continues prattling on, confused in it's glitchy and used-car-salesmany way as to where you could be. You don't remember seeing any cameras in the room, but then you also don't remember the shard protruding from your forehead so it would seem you cannot trust your own memory. You blurt something out at the TV. As worrying as this is, you think to yourself, it must just be one of those new fangled adverts you've heard literally nothing about. The ones that can talk to you and know your name and almost exactly where you are and get oddly insistent if they can't see you. Your mind tells you that you're grasping at straws, but you ignore that for the moment. You tell the TV that you're not interested in whatever it's selling and ask it to go away. The TV voice laughs, or rather lets out one laugh which then glitches and loops about five times in an awkward simulation of a laugh before responding.

“Mr Lar-l-larbawitz, please come ou-o-out where I can s-see you. I p-p-p-p-p-p-p-promise you I'm not trying to se-sel-sell you anythin-thi-thing. You'll want to hear thi-this trust m-m-m-m-m-me.”

Apparently it's not an advert...or it's even more insistent than you expected.

> Change the channel

You carefully move towards the TV. The voice can't harass you about it's amazing deals if you change the channel! You take careful steps...obscenely careful steps, in fact. There is something almost disgusting in the sheer amount of obsessive care you take with your foot placement as you move forward the few inches to the back of the TV. Staring fixedly down at your feet. Are you being careful or do you have a foot fetish and use care as an excuse? You shake your head. Get a hold of yourself, the vibrations are clearly getting out of hand. You have reached your destination. You raise a hand to the side of the TV and touch where you think buttons should be...and it's completely smooth. You try another spot, again, smooth. In fact, with the exception of the screen itself, the TV is completely smooth surfaced, with no indentations or...outdentations, where buttons could be hid. You give it a good rub just to make sure.

“He-he-hey stop that M-mr Larbawitz. That tick-tick-ti-tickles.”

You stop.

> Stay still, keep the impulse to run away at the back of your mind. You need help and answers immediately and you're not going to get it by running away.

You suddenly remember your fear, and freeze underneath the TV...You can't get rid of the voice...but neither do you want to run out in front of it to try to escape. You need to know what's going on and as worrying as the TV talking to you is, it's the first thing that can provide you with any sort of explanation. In fact that appears to be exactly what it's for. You need answers and you need them now! Or...soon. Whenever, really. You'd prefer them as soon as, however.

You open your mouth to declare a question...but none spring to mind. Above you is the TV with it's chattering, glitching announcer. Behind you, is the mirror. On the ground to your left is a VHS tape, and opposite you, at the far side of the room, is a door.

What do you do?