After leaving the dog’s den, I made for the wrong side of the tracks. Well, the other side of the tracks anyway. “Nook’s Homes” appeared to have perhaps a bit of a seedy look tucked between the sigh “Club lol” and the post office. Ignoring the den of depravity and disease and not wanting to have my not-so-funny bone tickled, I beat feet for the door.
If I wasn’t sure before, I’m sure now that I’m being watched like a school girl in in a pervy pachinko parlor. The question is, was Nook informed by Isabelle or someone else? If Isabelle narced, why would Nook be say so? It would only make sense it were someone else. Unless of course he wanted to throw me off the trail in case I suspected anything because obviously it couldn’t be Isabelle if he was giving me her name. Fortunately, I’ve spent years building up an immunity to Iocane powder.
No more time now, but if you missed my last entry you can find it here or start from the beginning here.
The town hall was a short trek from the station, and Porter watched my every step until I entered the building. At this point, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when a dog introduced herself as the mayor’s secretary. I’ve never heard of “Josus”, but I have a feeling his face will need stabbing. What type of dog? I have no idea and you’re focusing on the wrong part of the story.
I imagine everyone in a position of authority in this town is a sycophantic Templar pawn at best, so I wasn’t surprised that Isabelle creeped me out more than Sonic Furry on a playground. I suspect her treacly demeanor belies a deep Dolores Umbridge-esque sociopathic depravity that had me gleefully exiting the office to follow my direction to meet one Tom Nook…
Missed the previous transmission? Find it here or, if you’re finding this for the first time, try looking here for the full report. The fate of the world depends on it.
Hopefully you got my last message. If not, try looking here. Time’s short, so let’s get on with this. Access to the village is restricted to rail as far as I can tell. Security aboard the sole train is limited to an operative posing as a feline vagrant calling himself “Rover.”
He seems to ply travelers for personal details that he presumably passes along for tracking of potential troublemakers or perhaps new recruits. Initially, I thought the cat costume was a way to disarm people via its absurdity. I’m not so sure now.
The first signs of physical security are evident on arrival when you are greeted by “Porter.” Who ever hands out code names has the creativity and sense of humor of my grandmother. Maybe go with something a little cleverer and call your bitchy garbage man Oscar or your pimply burger flipper Mr. Rhombus Pants at the local Jackalope in the Box. Come to think of it, a talking sea sponge wouldn’t be the craziest thing in this binned Twilight Zone episode.
Porter does not have any visible armaments, but he is clearly muscle. If they are trying to hide his weapons, they must either want to lure travelers in or keep up pretenses with the villagers. Tell someone a lie enough times and they will begin to believe it I suppose. This is when I went from thinking train car Jar Jar was a ploy, to not being sure what the hell is going on.
I tried to play off my shock at this guard monkey with a quick joke. In hindsight, “Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” may not have been the best icebreaker. His dead eyed stare was unnerving, but he didn’t let on if he knew what I was about. Fortunately, everyone here seems to speak English like every crappy scifi show— unless communication issues are a plot point of course.
Regardless, I made it past the entrance without raising any suspicions as far as I could tell and was directed to the town hall.
Alright, I’ve got to cut this off. I hope someone is reading this…
If you’re finding this for the first time, try looking here for the full report. The fate of the world depends on it. No pressure.