Pulp. Part 4.

FROM THE AUDIO LOG OF: FRANK WHITELY, Sgt. 507862.

I'm gonna keep it shut. Just listen in, I'm boosting the audio intake. I want you to hear what we've gotten into. This is beyond fucked up.

I'm taking the room towards the back of the foyer.

Not much in here. We haven't seen many people in this place. Yet. That's all I'm saying.

Just looks like a bedroom. Lots of little bunks. Must be for the rabble.

Searched through the footlockers. Nothing. Just the cult leaflet and a few personal posessions.

Interesting. On the desk at the end is a clock. It's not working, missing a main gear by the looks of it. No room to take it with me, I'll just have to remember it.

Next room is a hallway. Odd picture at the end. Of a set of crows pecking at a man in front of a waterfall. Makes you think.

2 rooms. Going left first.

Another dining room. But it has a large amount of tables... and no kitchen link. could just be a conference room. There's a podium at the end. a couple of files in it... look to be case studies from what I can see... They talk about mutagens and other shit...

Also a box. It has a dent in the top... meant for something to go in? What is it with these people and broken items of-

Huh. There's something else here. A floppy disk? I thought these went out with the telegraph...

Trying the right door.

Locked. Just my luck. But it feels flimsy. Maybe if I-

*KRACK!*

I've still got it.

Just a little study. Lots of chemicals. Shit, did I just blow my cover?! If this is someone's private room, They'll notice the door hanging from the hinges...

Just put it back, Franky... Walk away.

Door at the end.

Shi-

Full of people, listening to a guy in green.

I don't think they saw me... I'm headed back to the bunks, see what I can find...

Oh!

"Hello..."

Isn't everyone list-

"I'm NOT one of you..."

What?

"I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore..."

Ma'am, look I-

"Just don't tell them I'm here... If you have a braincell left in your body, please..."

Alright.

"...Really?"

Yeah. I've got no beef with you. What are you doing here?

"I'm..."

I won't tell.

"I'm a reporter. These kooks are... more than kooks. They're legitimate terrorists!"

God.

"I know. I need to get out of here."

Sure you do.

"Will you help me?"

What?! ...I don't know.

"Please. I'm sorry to ask so much of you... But you're the only person I've met here who doesn't want to fuck me or kill me..."

Look... I can't get you out. But... There are some who will. I'll do as much as I can, but you may have to lay low for a while until they come here.

"That sounds like... Do you know something I don't?"

Doesn't everyone always know something more than you do?

"I'll take that as an enigmatic statement, not an insult."

Just try to stay out of trouble. And if you find anything that'd fit in this, or a big gear, come find me.

"A big gear? Like this?"

That's awfully convenient.

"It was lying in the ballroom, where everyone was. No-one saw me pick it up."

But did they see you leave?

"...I don't know."

Thanks for the gear.

Now to see how it-

*CLICK!*

"What was-"

The clock. 2 keys... and a red gem? ...Nope, doesn't fit the box.

"Where did you find that?!"

Why?

"Only the bigwigs have those! They'll be looking for it!"

Shit!

"Give it here!"

Where did you-

"Pin it on another guy. Just forget which locker I put it in. I'll keep moving. My name is Chelsea by the way."

Frank.

"See you later, Frank."

...

Did I just... No. I don't know where to go next...

Back to the meeting place.

...

No-one here. They must have found better things to do.

Guess I'll just wander around until...

"You there! Why aren't you in the ballroom?!"

Uh...

"Come with me!"

Yeah... Sure.

Great...

ALL OTHER SOUND LOST. DAMP/JAM.