Chapter Text
97% of what we think are stars are actually government monitoring devices. Welcome to Night Vale.
Listeners, the Night Vale waterfront is open, due to the phantom ocean appearing once more, so head on down there for a once in a lifetime experience.
The City Council has issued a warning, urging citizens to avoid the phantom ocean, so, on second thought, maybe avoid that area.
There have been reports of an interloper washing up on the shore, confusedly walking around the area, brandishing a sword. The Secret Police are heading down there now to intercept them.
Now, I don’t know if I’ve told you about my son Esteban…
Odysseus had no idea where he was.
He had been in the middle of the ocean, and now was standing on docks in the middle of the desert. It was like no place he had never seen before.
There was a multi-limbed, multi-eyed, creature standing on the other side of the dock.
He gripped his sword tightly as it came up to him and asked, “Can I have 10 dollars?”
What?
“What do you mean? What are you? Where am I?”
“I’m Erika,” the creature said, “Can I have 10 dollars?”
He held his sword to the creature’s throat, “Where am I?” he said in a low growl.
He needed to get back to Penelope.
The creature calmly pushed the sword out of the way.
Odysseus paused, confused by the reaction. What sort of thing was not afraid of death?
The water under the dock was significantly shallower than it had been before, the not quite ocean disappearing before his eyes.
“Interloper!”
Odysseus turned towards the sound, the gleaming blade held aloft.
“Put your weapon away!” A strange person, holding a strange machine, held in one hand.
“Where am I?” He yelled.
“Put your weapon away,” the person repeated, “Or I’ll open fire.”
He didn’t understand what they meant, but kept his sword raised.
The person squeezed something on the machine, and a small metal item burst out of it. It embedded itself into the building behind Odysseus.
Fuck.
He sheathed his sword and ran as fast as he could.
Now, the traffic.
On the highway there’s a rift above lanes 3 and 4. Cars that have entered these lanes have disappeared, never to be seen again. Consider contemplating the futileness of your life as an alternate route.
Listeners, the interloper from before has evaded the Secret Police and-
Who is that? Hey! You can’t come in here! I’m on air! Interloper!
Odysseus had run into what looked like an abandoned building, the pale grey walls weathered with time. Inside was a surprisingly cozy room, with a man sitting in front of another strange machine, larger this time. The man wasn’t entirely human, a glowing eye on his forehead and strange ink-like patterns under his skin, constantly moving, following an invisible current.
He stumbled back in surprise. There was a flicker of movement under the desk, something inhuman. He raised his sword.
“What are you?”
“What are you doing in my studio?” he asks in response.
“I…”
Maybe this thing wouldn’t hurt him.
“I need to get home. To Ithaca. To Penelope.”
“Never heard of Ithaca.”
Odysseus frowned. Ithaca wasn’t the most famous, but was still well known.
“Doesn’t matter. Where am I now?”
“Night Vale.” He said cheerfully
Night Vale?
“…And where is that?”
“Somewhere in America.” He shrugged.
Where was he?
A rumble came from outside the studio.
“Do you have a guest pass?” He asked suddenly.
“What do you mean? Why would I need one?”
“Well…” a growl came from outside the studio as the man continued, “If you don’t have a pass, you either work here, or you die here. Station Management's rules.”
“I can deal with this Station Management.”
“Or you could avoid certain death, and intern here,” The man offered, “Our last one died falling from the Brownstone Spire.”
“Intern?” Odysseus frowned.
“Just have to report some stories, feed Khoshekh, proof read my fanfiction,” he waved a hand dismissively, “You know, the usual.”
There was a crunch as a long black claw tore down the door to the studio.
There were too many heads. Too similar to the ones that had snatched up his crewmates, the torches that had doomed them falling onto the deck. The heads stared at him, long fangs dripping with blood.
Odysseus froze, only managing a small step back.
“Intern, can you go and feed Khoshekh,” it took a moment for Odysseus to realise he was speaking to him, “Don’t worry about him,” The man said to the monster, “He’s not from here.”
Odysseus let out an exhale as it left the room.
“Well, I need to finish up the broadcast. The cat food is in the breakroom,” he turned back to the microphone, “What’s your name?”
“Odysseus of Ithaca.” He didn’t feel like he was of Ithaca. He had been so close to home. So close. He’d sacrificed his crew and was now farther than ever.
“I’m Cecil.” He responded.
Odysseus finally left the room, barely hearing Cecil’s voice.
Good night, Night Vale, good night.