The Crimster
First Post
Stephen says a few words to the workers and then begins to search throughout the remaining cabinets and desk. Some of the workers turn back to their work, slamming hammers and axes into the walls, trying to break through for a future expansion, perhaps. One of them closes the door, mumbling something about not disturbing everyone with their pounding. The room has the distinct smell of sweat and hard work, making the air almost unbreathable.
During the first few minutes of the search, Stephen realizes that it could take quite some time. Each drawer is literally filled to overflowing with paperwork. Did this guy ever throw anything away? He muses. Most of it is useless - homework, term papers, reports.
"So what are you looking for, again?" softly asks one of the workers on the other side of the room.
Crouched over a pile of papers in the center of the floor, Stephen looks up absently at the worker. He's about 30 or so, his white shirt covered in sweat and plaster. A smile seems to light up his face, as if happy to be able to take a break from what must be tiring work. Not too bad looking, in a way - perhaps a bit too short and thin. More of a librarian-type than a blue-collar. Looking back down at some poorly drawn Maltin theorems, Stephen responds. "Papers. Belonging to Doctor Pickman. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way."
The voice that suddenly comes from behind Stephen is pitched low - almost like a growl. "It's Professor Pickman, you piece of squirrel crap."
Stephen's head whips around fast enough to see one of the workers - a tall, gangly looking man - bringing down a sledgehammer towards his face. Without thinking, Stephen tries to duck and raises his hand in a vain attempt to ward it off. The hammer slams into Stephen's hand, crushing it with the sound of wet twigs snapping. Stephen cries out in pain as he feels several of the bones in his hand shatter. Unable to rise, Stephen half-falls, half-rolls to the ground trying to get out of the range of his attacker.
Then he realizes the other workers have hefted their work tools, and are advancing with maniacal grins.
Stephen, his body filled with adrenaline and pain, can only think one coherent thought: Not workers at all but them and they're looking for something and I have to warn Alex!
Meanwhile, just outside that room...
Alex looks at the receptionist, and away from the floating thing that seems to circle her like a shark. "Sorry, I - There was a huge, huge fly buzzing around your head, and I'm deathly afraid of insects. Anyway, I'm looking for some old papers that used to belong to Dr. Pickman... Do you think you could help me find them?"
"A huge fly, hunh?" The receptionist giggles again. She walks around the desk and sits down, and begins to pick up her purse. "Sure thing, I think I might have something for you."
Alex, you look over and see that the door to Alan's office is closed. Odd. Your forehead starts to hurt again, too. You look at the receptionist, and back at the door. You feel woozy, all of a sudden. Sweat has popped out on your brow. Then, you see it - on the receptionist's hand, as she begins to pull something out of her purse. A single letter tattooed on the back of her hand - a lower case i. And what she's bringing out of the purse? A huge .45. You have but moments to act.
Meanwhile, at the office of Dr. Ray Silver...
"Is there any way we can protect ourselves then Alister?" Ray asks. "Anyway we can prevent others from finding this 'what is lost,' if it's so dangerous?"
Alister nods, and brushes his lanky hair back (dislodging onto the carpet quite a few of his... friends). "Yeah. You have to. They're all at the University, trying to find it. You'll try and find it, too. But the King hid it good. And they can't even see it, those who have the third eye. But what I can see is that it will be found - because I can see the numbers, and how they're stretching towards something. Towards a finding."
Alister looks down into his lap, and begins to move his hand as if he is writing something, though he holds no pen.
"He told me to not interfere, because I wasn't a believer. But how could I not be a believer? I just know that everything becoming nil is not... good. It's not the natural state of numbers to be nil. And numbers are good. Numbers are very, very good." Alister looks up at Ray with a bit of fear in his eyes.
"I hope, for the sake of numbers - not to mention what you call reality and life - that you know numbers. Or that one of you does. Because if not, God's coming back. And I don't think he's going to be happy, Mr. Ray. Not one bit."
During the first few minutes of the search, Stephen realizes that it could take quite some time. Each drawer is literally filled to overflowing with paperwork. Did this guy ever throw anything away? He muses. Most of it is useless - homework, term papers, reports.
"So what are you looking for, again?" softly asks one of the workers on the other side of the room.
Crouched over a pile of papers in the center of the floor, Stephen looks up absently at the worker. He's about 30 or so, his white shirt covered in sweat and plaster. A smile seems to light up his face, as if happy to be able to take a break from what must be tiring work. Not too bad looking, in a way - perhaps a bit too short and thin. More of a librarian-type than a blue-collar. Looking back down at some poorly drawn Maltin theorems, Stephen responds. "Papers. Belonging to Doctor Pickman. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way."
The voice that suddenly comes from behind Stephen is pitched low - almost like a growl. "It's Professor Pickman, you piece of squirrel crap."
Stephen's head whips around fast enough to see one of the workers - a tall, gangly looking man - bringing down a sledgehammer towards his face. Without thinking, Stephen tries to duck and raises his hand in a vain attempt to ward it off. The hammer slams into Stephen's hand, crushing it with the sound of wet twigs snapping. Stephen cries out in pain as he feels several of the bones in his hand shatter. Unable to rise, Stephen half-falls, half-rolls to the ground trying to get out of the range of his attacker.
Then he realizes the other workers have hefted their work tools, and are advancing with maniacal grins.
Stephen, his body filled with adrenaline and pain, can only think one coherent thought: Not workers at all but them and they're looking for something and I have to warn Alex!
Meanwhile, just outside that room...
Alex looks at the receptionist, and away from the floating thing that seems to circle her like a shark. "Sorry, I - There was a huge, huge fly buzzing around your head, and I'm deathly afraid of insects. Anyway, I'm looking for some old papers that used to belong to Dr. Pickman... Do you think you could help me find them?"
"A huge fly, hunh?" The receptionist giggles again. She walks around the desk and sits down, and begins to pick up her purse. "Sure thing, I think I might have something for you."
Alex, you look over and see that the door to Alan's office is closed. Odd. Your forehead starts to hurt again, too. You look at the receptionist, and back at the door. You feel woozy, all of a sudden. Sweat has popped out on your brow. Then, you see it - on the receptionist's hand, as she begins to pull something out of her purse. A single letter tattooed on the back of her hand - a lower case i. And what she's bringing out of the purse? A huge .45. You have but moments to act.
Meanwhile, at the office of Dr. Ray Silver...
"Is there any way we can protect ourselves then Alister?" Ray asks. "Anyway we can prevent others from finding this 'what is lost,' if it's so dangerous?"
Alister nods, and brushes his lanky hair back (dislodging onto the carpet quite a few of his... friends). "Yeah. You have to. They're all at the University, trying to find it. You'll try and find it, too. But the King hid it good. And they can't even see it, those who have the third eye. But what I can see is that it will be found - because I can see the numbers, and how they're stretching towards something. Towards a finding."
Alister looks down into his lap, and begins to move his hand as if he is writing something, though he holds no pen.
"He told me to not interfere, because I wasn't a believer. But how could I not be a believer? I just know that everything becoming nil is not... good. It's not the natural state of numbers to be nil. And numbers are good. Numbers are very, very good." Alister looks up at Ray with a bit of fear in his eyes.
"I hope, for the sake of numbers - not to mention what you call reality and life - that you know numbers. Or that one of you does. Because if not, God's coming back. And I don't think he's going to be happy, Mr. Ray. Not one bit."
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