“A half hour into the search, and yet no leads on the whereabouts of the Mayor of South Park, Colorado…”
Ferkle woke with a start, the sensation of falling still raw in his mind, causing him to unconsciously throw his arms out for a handhold that didn’t exist, his fingers slipping throw nothing but air. His eyes were wide with terror as he adjusted to dim lighting of the gloomy hotel room, slowly realizing he was in bed and not falling thirty stories to his flapjack like death on the concrete bike paths of the park. This isn’t right, he shouldn’t be here. 'I shouldn't even be ALIVE.' he thought, panic washing through him as he realized that through some unknown force he’d been saved the gory demise of a an ailing Wall Street broker.
The next thing he noticed was the blaring loud television screen, probably set to the ear-bleeding maximum. He frantically made for the remote that sat conveniently next to his cane on the bedside table and slammed his finger on the mute button, sending his world into utter silence, fitting well in with the near-blackness of the lighting. The only light source in the room was the television, casting a dim blue glow in a small range. While Ferkle was bothering to pull his sore body out of bed he took a quick gaze towards the tv, curious as to why it had come on and what was on it, but he couldn’t see anything. Sitting on the screen was a thick sheet of printer paper over the screen, placed directly in the center and held in place by a scotch tape.
Another mysterious note or an innocently placed piece of paper. For some odd reason, Ferkle knew it was innocently placed that, that there was nothing innocent about this situation. As Ferkle stood up, he suddenly became aware - due to the shifting material - that he wasn’t nude like he’d been after the explosion. 'After the explosion… What the fuck happened?' he thought, before gazing down at his attire. 'WHAT THE FUCK AM I WEARING!?' he mentally screamed, feeling horrified by the outfit.
He was no longer in his normal goth attire he’d had when he’d come to town in - the one he’d say naked in the small, not private, laundry room of the hotel to clean properly because he’d only had the one outfit - but instead some fucking banana republic wannabe skater outfit. A perfectly fitting black cotton shirt that hung an inch below his waistline and a pair of loose fitting (not baggy, thank whatever deity helped him with that one) jeans, and a pair of white socks. He could tell from the feel of the underwear that they were briefs, which made him shudder, for two reasons. One, the fact that he was fully clothes meant that someone had dressed him. Two, and definitely the more disturbing, whoever dressed him knew his exact measurements for each article of clothing they’d dressed him in, because despite the conformist look of the clothes, they were perfectly comfortable on him.
The very idea made a shiver run throughout his entire body, the image of some unknown man or women had completely tailored clothes to his size… in the process taking all of his measurements and not even able to get his look correct. He needed answers. Now.
He walks over to the tv and snapped the page off of the screen, careful only to rip the tape off, and returns quietly to the bed. Flipping on the bedside lamp, he sits on the edge of the bed and begins to read the note.
Turn the television back on.
Well shit, someone knew exactly what he was going to do. Ferkle grabbed the remote and pressed impossibly hard on the volume down button, which caused the sound to come blaring back on and to only decrease a notch. 'God damn it all to hell.' He began slamming against the button repeatable until the volume was at a tolerable level - nearly silent - and returned his attention back to the note, the news broadcast playing in the background as he read.
As you can see, we have your safety in mind as we stretch a welcoming hand in your direction. However, we in no way want you to feel obligated to join us simply because we saved your life. We do hope you’ll find reason to join us otherwise.
However we do expect you to pay back a life debt, so we’d like to ask a favor in return for our actions. On the television stand you’ll find a note enclosed within an envelope. This note is not for you. It is to be delivered to the figure on the television screen at this very moment.
Ferkle looked up at the screen, where a perky young news reporter was talking, her words barely audible to him. 'Her?' he thought just as the screen flashed to another image, a still photo of a bright haired masked woman in such a lame, bright colour. 'That seems more reasonable.'
The women on screen is of interest to our group, and her recruitment would be beneficial to us all. Her true identity is Wendy Testaburger. If she denies this invitation, I’m sure your first act as a member of of this esteemed organization would be to neutralize her as a threat.
The note ended there, and Ferkle was left with more questions then answers. Which lead his eyes to wander towards the sheet of paper on the table. He watched the news report, observing for what information he could get on the women, for a moment before he got up to retrieve the other note. Apparently the women with the bright hair colour had taken the mayor of South Park hostage and was inviting other deviants to her cause. Boring. He got up and retrieved the other note from the tv stand, and finding that the envelope had yet to be sealed, pulled back the top and pulled the note out, and began to read it, despite the clear message that he wasn’t suppose to.
Hello, Gwendolyn Marie Testaburger.
We’d like to take this opportunity to invite you to our organization. We understand your tendency to exhibit a lack of trust, however we believe you can make an exception. We were very impressed with the job with the mayor of South Park in the museum. The chaos you caused tonight was rather remarkable.
However, as an organization, we’d like a little more subtlety with your actions to begin with, if you choose to join us.
We know your secret, Gwendolyn, but are still interested in your show of initiative and leadership.
Be advised that certain consequences may arise from turning down this generous offer.
Ferkle set the note back into the envelope carefully, placing it the same way he’d gotten it, and returned his attention to the television. That letter had left him with no answers and only more questions. However, paired with the television and the letter, Ferkle at least knew where he could start at in looking for the girl. It’s weird, Ferkle wasn’t sure if he’d ever gone to a museum before.
