RK47
collides like two planets pulled by gravity
22 - The Way Out
Concluding my findings, I decided to ask Sonia for her opinions on the murder. But the look in her eyes stopped me.
Sonia, I've realized that you haven't eaten anything since I met you. You must be famished.
She sluggishly turns her inattentive gaze to me as if she awoke from a long, deep slumber.
Well.. I think I lost my appetite. It must be because of my disconcerted thoughts.
When was the last time you ate anything?
The innocuous questions seems to have taken her off guard.
Oh, my... Well I don't know, my memory seems to have gone blank.
Sonia. You should eat something. I have some rations to share.
No, I'm not hungry at all. Please. I insist. Keep it.
I can't have you starve to death in front of my very eyes.
There's no need to assume the duty of my caretaker. I'm well capable of taking care of my own. Thank you for your concern though.
Fine. You know what's best for you.
It's life-like...way too lifelike. Using my investigative skills, I run a thorough examination of the 'statue' and come upon the conclusion that this isn't an inanimate object once. I ran my hand through the pockets of the 'statue' and came upon something loose.
I pocket the pistol quickly and walk over to the counter. Behind the bars is a stern-looking man who looks deeply dissatisfied. Although he looks to be in his sixties, his presence invokes respect and fear.
What's that wax statue doing over there?
Ah, you mean Honest Bill? He's dead, but they kept him around for decoration, turned him into a statue. He used to own this place, see? Until he crossed Wax Face.
Can you guess how they did it? Poured boiling wax over him from head to toe. You should hear the screams...
Tell me about Wax Face.
He is... the boss. Not around much these days though. He put me in charge of the pawn shop, so here I am. What a dead end.
And let me give you some advice: Do not ask about Wax Face if you want to live. Now, you buying?
I look around the store. Rations. Guns. Bullets. Magazines. Clothing. This shop has it all.
May I know your name, sir?
Name's Joe Clemence. That's Mr. Clemence's to you. I'm someone you shouldn't be curious about. Former jeweler for the Cortellinis, current fucking grocer of Arkham.
Who are the Cortellinis?
You live in a cave or something? The ruling family of Chicago, barons of the underworld.
Are you from Chicago?
Such brilliance! How did you ever make the connection?
Just making small talk. So, how about a discount, Mr. Clemence?
How about a smack in the face from my friend Charley here?
(Speechcraft) Mr. Clemence, hear me out. I can bring you a lot of quality goods. I go to places that no one else does.
Then you sure must be hanging near the arse end of this rotten town. And I don't like it when people stink.
But... maybe you'll be of some use to me later. There's a place you can visit for me and earn your discount, I'll let you know. Until then, you're just another punk.
That sounds agreeable.
Now, you buying or should I ask Charley to make you leave?
Well, I could use some small, thin strips of metals...
The exchange completed and I'm back at Main Street pondering my next move. The bank should be good to plunder now. But a look at the house next to the bank reminded me of an appointment.
His study is cluttered with a wide array of items. The book on the desk is a compilation of rumors about the Pocumtuck Indians of Dunwich and their supposed ceremonial practices. A Himalayan wooden tribal totem depicting a winged, six-legged mythological being decorates the corner of the study. The table is covered with disorganized heaps of cables, gears, electronic receivers, a microphone and an odd glass case. A large map adorn the wall, recording Stanley Fredkin's anecdotes of his travels through Kingsport, Dunwich and Innsmouth, tracing the route he followed prior to his arrival in Arkham.
Stanley is sitting in the dark, looking pale and devoid of his former energy, as annoying as it was. He begins to whisper in a discomforting tone.
But I am SO close to finding a way out! So close, it is worth testing the limits of this shell of flesh and bone.
It seems you've solved the situation with the rustic looking man.
Oh, yes yes. It was a minor nuisance. He serves me well, within his rather limited ability of course.
Your message claims that you know how to leave this place?
Precisely. It is past time I leave this filthy nest of apes behind me forever, but as you can see my ill health won't allow me to complete my work.
I also have serious doubts that my current assistant is resourceful enough to aid me in the last stage of the process.
I cannot help but notice: what are all these machines on your table? I thought your interest was in folklore?
Knowledge takes many shapes, my friend. You will learn many things when we are on our way to the stars.
So you need my help for this journey?
Yes, help me complete my work and you will accompany me, the only other person privileged to do so. Far away from this whirlpool of primal vibrations.
Just how are you planning to accomplish that?
I won't bore you with the technical specifics. Just know that my connections allow me to discover ways beyond the borders of Man's limited science. If you knew what they've taught me about our universe...
Who are these connections?
You will meet them when we're ready to leave, don't worry.
Fine then, tell me what I need to do.
A few essential parts are needed to complete my research: a longwave radio transmitter, an electrical conductor, and some formaldehyde. These items are the last things standing between us and infinity.
Where can I find them?
Unfortunately, you have to do this part on your own. My friend Richter at the Drug Store would be a good place to start. Debauched he may be, but he seems to have the skills to aid us in this final phase.
Alright. Are you sure you cannot answer my questions before bringing you these parts?
Unfortunately, my illness dictates that I rest now. We'll talk more later, friend.
She sluggishly turns her inattentive gaze to me as if she awoke from a long, deep slumber.
The innocuous questions seems to have taken her off guard.
It's life-like...way too lifelike. Using my investigative skills, I run a thorough examination of the 'statue' and come upon the conclusion that this isn't an inanimate object once. I ran my hand through the pockets of the 'statue' and came upon something loose.
I pocket the pistol quickly and walk over to the counter. Behind the bars is a stern-looking man who looks deeply dissatisfied. Although he looks to be in his sixties, his presence invokes respect and fear.
I look around the store. Rations. Guns. Bullets. Magazines. Clothing. This shop has it all.
The exchange completed and I'm back at Main Street pondering my next move. The bank should be good to plunder now. But a look at the house next to the bank reminded me of an appointment.
His study is cluttered with a wide array of items. The book on the desk is a compilation of rumors about the Pocumtuck Indians of Dunwich and their supposed ceremonial practices. A Himalayan wooden tribal totem depicting a winged, six-legged mythological being decorates the corner of the study. The table is covered with disorganized heaps of cables, gears, electronic receivers, a microphone and an odd glass case. A large map adorn the wall, recording Stanley Fredkin's anecdotes of his travels through Kingsport, Dunwich and Innsmouth, tracing the route he followed prior to his arrival in Arkham.
Stanley is sitting in the dark, looking pale and devoid of his former energy, as annoying as it was. He begins to whisper in a discomforting tone.
Last edited: