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JOURNAL ENTRY #1: DINING ROOM I’ve just begun the first leg of my journey to Fedic and will keep my eyes peeled for the NCP helmet. The thought of a device powerful enough to remove the twin-telepathy enzyme from a human brain makes my skin go cold... As I record this, I’m holding my new NCP doorshift, courtesy of a Sombra heist that Tet pulled off a couple of years ago. It certainly is lighter than the old North Central Positronics model. That baby felt like it was made of solid iron. According to the guys in tech, the doorway under the Dixie Pig is one-way only. That means I can use it to enter the Dogan, but coming home through it is a no-go. Unless, that is, I have a doorshift. Doorshifts can reverse any of the Fedic Dogan’s mechanical one-way doors. In other words, it is my way home to Keystone Earth. My ONLY way home. Problem is, tech has run out of Class B Evermores, which means that not only do I have to find a |
door to use this doorshift on,but I also have to find a battery to make it work. If luck is really against me, I’ll even have to find a charger to fire the damn thing up. Somehow I can’t help but feel that they’ve given me a bus ticket when there’s no bus coming...
My only consolation is that Tet never leaves its operatives stranded. If I can’t find an Evermore, hopefully they’ll eventually launch a rescue mission. But that means I have to stay alive there for as long as it takes for them to reach me.
Entered the Dixie Pig on Lexington and Sixty-First at 600 hours and immediately bumped into the chrome post that supports the now defunct CLOSED sign. So jumpy I almost shot it!
Moved it to one side as silently as I could. The electric flambeaux are long dead and the emergency lighting seems to be on the blink, so the only illumination comes from the large plate glass windows which are covered with old newspaper. Tatters of police tape litter the floor. Although most of the tables have been pushed to one side and the chairs are stacked, a few tables are still overturned, making movement forward hazardous.
As far as I can tell, almost nothing has changed since Father Callahan, Jake Chambers, and the bumbler Oy battled Sombra’s vampires and can-toi here. Both the bar and tables are strewn with wine glasses stained with ancient wine dregs, and plates encrusted with dust and mold are everywhere. The bodies are gone, but the bloodstains remain. I wonder which one came from Callahan.
Tet’s surveillance team certainly hasn’t kept the vermin at bay.
The spider webs are thick and rodents of all descriptions are nesting in the walls. Saw a rat the size of a tomcat scuttling off to what I can only assume is the kitchen. Can only imagine what horrors await me there. Although the stench of rotting meat is long gone and the food here has turned to dust, there is still a rancid odor about the place. The stale smell is to be expected, but beneath the staleness is something really rancid. Perhaps it’s the rats?
As soon as I stepped through the door my psychic sense—minimal as it is, despite the training of Tet’s Good Mind Folk—went into overdrive. It’s almost as if I can still feel the battle which took place here. The atmosphere is thick with animal rage... and something that I can only describe as blood-hunger. Psychic stains left by the dead low men and vampires, like the blood on the walls and carpet? But beneath that psychic residue is something else... residual magic? Yes, definitely magic, but dedicated to the White. I must keep an eye out for Jake’s can-tah. Callahan dropped it here just before he made his final stand against the Type One Vamps, and just before he blew his brains out. Poor bastard. Though I must say, if I’d been faced with his choice, I’d have chosen a bullet too. At least he died a hero.