The Museum of Unnatural History

"This is...honestly not what I was expecting. I don't remember which display piece might've caused all this, either. Maybe there was an artificial sun I forgot about? Some shallow rip-off of Fallout's GECK? A new kind of plant that doesn't need sunlight?" Magtok wonders aloud, following along after Kathy and the goblins, periodically calling out one direction or another whenever there's a fork in the road or the trail goes cold. This goes on for a few uneventful minutes, before our MagDrone glances upwards and frowns, worriedly.

"Gods, I hope none of the vicious spooky horrors lurking in the dark are anything particularly embarrassing, like a Predator rip-off or a zombie plague. I mean, I can afford to die down here, that's no big deal, but if I have to explain to Dipsnig that I lost some of his people to movie plagiarism, that's going to be a-" Branches overhead bend, twist, and crackle, and Faketok immediately shuts up. Something up above, no, several large somethings move through the trees. The entire overgrown museum falls silent, as if afraid to draw the ire of this pack of massive tree-climbers are on the move. Magtok wordlessly gestures for the group to halt as he squints into the canopy, trying his best to pierce the gloom and foliage to find this unknown potential threat, but doesn't seem to be having any luck.

That is, of course, until it decides to save everyone the trouble and make itself visible to our party. A massive primate gracefully leaps to the ground behind our party, baring its teeth in a hideous grimace. Imagine an orangutan, but put it around the same weight class as Kathy's mech, give it five or six flesh-rending fangs it probably didn't need, augment its eyes with prosthetic ones like Magtok's own, replace the roof of its skull with a transparent glass dome, and heck, let's dye its fur purple for the sake of branding while we're at it. Okay, you've got all that in your head now, right?

That's would give you an ape about half the size of the thing sizing up our explorers, watching and waiting for their response.

Rat Assisted Tour

"You can mention she's behind the skinwalker epidemic, I suppose, but that's about it. Anyway, as for payment-"

Magtok takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Gods, everything just has to be so difficult, doesn't it? Everyone's always got to ask so many questions instead of just taking everything a notorious liar, schemer, and scoundrel says at face value, huh? Rattok won't stop asking questions until we shove him out the door and send him off to a dimension of death and despair, will he?

"You can have whatever you want, Rattok. Once Feia is out of the picture, it's going to be the Hegemony paying the bill, not me. I'm going to be given a mercy killing to keep the thing festering in my programming from infecting the other clones, and some other Magtok is going to hand you the check and begrudgingly thank you for your part in saving the world," the phony Magtok answers grimly. This was destined to happen the very moment he allowed Affadavit into his brain, so he's had plenty of time to come to terms with it. Honestly, he's not too concerned about that. Feiadyne is way more likely to kill him first, and he's reasonably sure the other clones will be able to thrive and excel once he's gone. It's a little disappointing, knowing you'll never get to add your memories to the collective's databanks like all the other clones do before they die, but hey, you can't win 'em all, right?