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JOURNAL ENTRY #7: MIND-TRAP TUNNEL I’ve always wanted to see this place. I’ve read all about the workings of mind-traps and I still find them incomprehensible. How did the Old People’s machinery actually dredge an intruder’s unconscious for his worst nightmares and then project those nightmares back at him so that he’d die of fright? I wonder what monstrosities lurk in the sink holes of my mind. It’s probably best not to know. This tunnel is longer than I’d thought it would be, and darker, despite the overhead florescent lights. The walls are pocked with bullet holes and a greenish slime seeps between the wall tiles. The potholes are full of stagnant water and fragments of shattered glass crunch underfoot. The Sombra operatives who chased Jake and Oy down this rabbit hole must have shot out the projectors in order to save themselves from the horrors of the mind-trap. When I peer into the empty hatches that stare at me from either wall, I can just make out the elaborate machinery hidden behind the shattered |
projector panes. I was shocked to see that the turnip-headed robot guarding this place still had some juice left in it. As I passed, the dim bulbs behind its eyes flashed red for a par-sec and it made a single croaking noise that sounded like halt. The effort must have drained the last few ergs in its batteries though, because it hasn’t moved since.
Walking here, it’s hard to believe that the Old People are long gone. The concave tunnel walls still bear a few faded official communiqués: PATRICIA AHEAD. FEDIC. DO YOU HAVE YOUR BLUE PASS? Bango Skank has been here too (that fellow certainly gets around) as well as at least one devotee of the Crimson King. There are two stalled NCP carts, as well as boxes, bones, chairs, trashcans, and one dead robot. There are even a half-dozen desiccated Grandfather fleas on the ground but so far, no Evermore batteries.
Even if it weren’t for the skeletons littering the floor, I’d be able to sense the battle that took place here. The rage and agony reverberate in the very walls. I heard the voice of my old Sombra enemy, Flaherty, who now must be one of those piles of bones a few feet from me. I only heard a fragmentary insult—I think he made a graphic reference to Roland’s mother’s affair with the sorcerer Marten Broadcloak—and got a bullet in his mouth as a reward. A second bullet struck him between the eyebrows, so it must be his blood that stains the Fedic door.
It’s strange to see so many human bones piled here. I guess Sombra didn’t request that their dead be appropriately interred. That’s one major difference between Tet and Sombra. At least we have the decency to bury our own.
Although I need to move quickly to the ghostwood door up ahead, I’d better investigate the ancient detritus that litters the ground. Some of it might prove valuable.