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    Put The Toys Away


    Ludvig Maxis: Where are they? They should have arrived by now.

    Dr. Monty: Oh Maxis, you worry too much. In fact, aside from worrying, what do you do these days? Far as I can tell, you just repeat whatever I say in radio messages! No offense, of course. It's important to feel relevant. Big fan of what you... do.

    (Whooshing sound)

    Ludvig Maxis: Look, they're here!

    Dr. Monty: Well well well, sometimes free-will does work out. Look at how he's used it, trying to right wrongs instead of skulking about in the house talking into a microphone.

    (Sirens blaring)

    Ludvig Maxis: Put the toys away children. Make sure the windows are locked before you come down to the basement.

    Dr. Monty: Good call on the windows there, Max. This whole process can get a bit... messy.


    Dirty Hippies


    Robert McNamara: This is Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. I am transmitting on a secure channel in the most dire of circumstances. The Pentagon is under attack from an unknown enemy. As of this moment, I am safely ensconced inside a janitor's closet. Unfortunately, I fear the President and the VIPs may not have found similar safe haven. (Gasp and heavy breathing) From what I have observed, our attackers may be blighted by some kind of sickness. Either that or they're just dirty hippies under the influence of hallucinogenic substances. I can only hope that this message will bring rescue. Until then, please... pray for me.


    Our Revels Are Now Ended


    Doctor Monty: Our revels are now ended. These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air. And like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little lives are rounded with a sleep.


    Old Fear In The Blood


    Dr. Monty: Midway this way of life we're bound upon, I woke to find myself in a dark wood, where the right road was wholly lost and gone. Ay me! How hard to speak of it. That rude and rough and stubborn forest! The mere breath of memory stirs the old fear in the blood. But when at last I stood beneath a steep hill's side, which closed that valley's wandering maze whose dread had pierced me to the heart-root deep, then I looked up, and saw the morning rays mantle its shoulder from that planet bright which guides men's feet aright on all their ways.


    Cornelia's Transmission


    Automated Voice: R-4808N 27 14 06 115 48 40

    Cornelia Pernell: I hope you're receiving this transmission, Peter. If you are not, then all hope is lost. You must know by now that we failed to contain the asylum, that we had to move the experiment here. Location. The numbers will guide you. The Giant must remain (Static) at all costs, repeat, Der Riese must (Static) at all costs. The DG-2 experiments continue. You'll be our only advantage now. Find Doctor Richtofen and Doctor Maxis, they may know what's going on. The use of Element 115 is dangerous at best. I'm not sure if we can continue here. We've lost most of our best (Static). I hope you get this. I hope it hasn't happened there too, but I'm almost out of hope.

    Automated Voice: 60 54 06.96 101 55 44.94


    Field Report


    John Banana: (Chewing and tearing of flesh in background) Field report, a quiet retort, the mission has all gone south. It's Johnny here, Smokey is near, most likely with meat in his mouth. We've been here for ages, I ran out of pages, but now have a mic to record. The mission has failed, McCain must've bailed, and now we must fight off a horde. We came to Verrückt, with low ammo and luck, and now Smokey's lost his head. We went down the halls, they bit Smokey's balls, and now he walks with the dead. They call me Banana, I worked at a cabana, I rhyme to keep myself sane. Though Smokey's dead, I'm holding his head, but right now he's eating my brain...


    An Entire Production Vanishes


    Sally: It's been six weeks since (Static) the rest of the Call of the Dead cast and crew went missing. Hollywood's lost its fucking mind at the story. An entire production vanishes? Crazy talk! I told (Static) this is why you don't shoot in Siberia. So with (Static) agent on line one and (Static) manager on line two, I needed to sort this quickly. I'd rather have (Static) zombies come for me than an agent. That's real horror. I don't need that.


    A Confusing Mess


    Sally: I started going through his research and good fucking Lord this is a confusing mess. So much shit about time travel, different dimensions. Honestly I'm not even sure (Static) knew was getting into... You couldn't make this stuff up! A mad German scientist, a foul-mouthed American, a drunk Soviet, and a warrior Japanese soldier, all working together?


    It Just Keeps Going


    Sally: So I started with a simple one, something about two guys named Brock and Gary, looking for... Agartha? They finished the (Voice cuts out) figured I'd start there. Next thing I know, I'm in this jungle and it's hot and humid and the sky goes black, like dark black. I look up, there's an eclipse and these... things started chasing me, like... zombies. Trust me, I know how it sounds. I've been fighting them so long now, (Scoffs) I should be dead. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have died, but it just keeps going.


    Death By Trap


    Sally: (Whispering) I started setting up these traps. Pretty damn proud of them if I do say so myself. (Gasps) Wait, I hear something.

    Brock: ...can't help but think they hold some kind of key clues. We should investigate the stepped pyramid for some clues.

    Gary: I think we should get the hell out of here while we still have the chance!

    Sally: (Quietly in background) Come on, just a little closer...

    Brock: But we're so close to proving the existence of- (Traps goes off, screams in pain)

    Sally: Ugh, finally. Sorry, the only thing more annoying than the undead are those two guys, whoever they are. Anyway, I've been trying to get some bars on my cell for days and I'm having no luck. I swear, if I die a few more times I may actually lose it. At least then I'll have those agents off my back.


    A Heck Of A Tale


    The Reporter: (Tram station sounds in background) So I just sat down with Stanley Ferguson, night guard at Alcatraz. He told me a heck of a tale. A few years back, four inmates, three mobsters and some weasel, had this brilliant plan to escape the Rock. I know they sound like real geniuses, these guys. Anyway, this "Weasel" was quite the talker. He had these guys convinced they could escape. He told them he could build a plane, and that together they'd all fly right off the Rock.


    A Delusional Con-Man


    The Reporter: (Tram station sounds in background) Now the Weasel had plans and drawings and everything, I saw 'em. But even if they built it, no way that baby would ever fly. These mobsters, it's lost on me, they were smart guys. I mean, Sal DeLuca? No way you could convince a man of his caliber something so absurd. So I guess at some point the whole sorry truth came out, and the Weasel found himself cornered. They did him good. Left him bleeding to death on the cold stone roof. They all got the chair for it, and that was that. Sad to think that three guys like that could find themselves swinging, all because they bought into the lies of a delusional con-man.


    Three Doozies And A Floozy


    The Reporter: (Tram station sounds in background) Anyway, no clue why Mr. Rapt wanted me to meet this Stanley first, but I'm heading to the city now. Something about tracking down three doozies and a floozy. Oh yeah, not to mention those artifacts in the South Pacific and Russia. I don't know what that's about. I never even met this guy, likes to stay to the shadows, real weirdo. But the money's good.

    (Tram horn and bell ringing)

    Automated Voice: Red line departing for the Waterfront District.

    The Reporter: Maybe it'll all make sense when I get there.


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