A thick layer of coal dust covers the furnace, colouring it pitch-black.

A thick layer of coal dust covers the furnace, colouring it pitch-black.

Yell "Hello!" into the furnace.

Something breaks loose in you. A mighty bellow echoes throughout the chimney's depths. The chatter of tiny voices above suddenly cease. Then...

"Hello?" you hear a woman's voice answer.

You've awakened the entity!

"This is the police! Who's there?"

"Hello! Did you say anything?" There's a pause. "I can't hear you, please come upstairs! There's a safety curtain on the second floor, I'll open it!"

You hear a low rumble upstairs -- the sound of a curtain being pulled aside.

The lieutenant nods, then points upstairs. "After you, officer."

"Hello! Are you there? Speak to me!"

"I summon the ghost of this Doomed Commercial Area. Now begone, vile succubus!"

"I summon the ghost of this Doomed Commercial Area. Answer me, spirit!"

And it's a woman! Of course! The malicious entities are always women.

Another pathetic yelp sounds off into the vast darkness of the chimney. You're a little embarrassed you produced it.

You muster all your strength and yell...

"He... he... hekkhhhh..."

Your dehydrated, hungover throat can produce little more than a dry croak.

A lifetime of smoking and drinking will do that to you.

The chatter from the chimney continue on as before. You seem to have made no impression on whatever's up there.

Then again -- maybe it's worth actually trying something up there?

"Hmm, maybe you should let your voice rest, officer. Try again later."

Smear your hands with coal.

A lush layer of coal now covers your skin, sinking into the wrinkles. Your hands look ancient.

You feel the spirit of Ramout Karzai, ancient hero of Graad, pulsing through you. All that's left is to cover your face in war-paint.

No, let's not express ourselves. Let's just wipe our hands clean on our pants.

Yes, how grown-up. The furnace agrees.

The lieutenant seems relieved as well.

Hadramut Karzai! Smear your cheeks black with coal.

Three dangerous stripes appear onto your cheeks, telling stories of your wild soul.

"What... what are you doing?"

"I am the reincarnation of an ancient Iilmaraan warrior."

"Please wipe your face clean, officer."

No, you're a proud warrior, keep it.

Wipe it clean.

"Thank you," the lieutenant nods. "So, where were we?" He turns back to the furnace.

Don't wipe it.

These three stripes give you strength in this dangerous realm. It would be foolish to remove them.

"We're exploring this dark place and I need the protection my war-paint affords."

"And this protects you?"

"It gives me confidence and that's all that matters, Kim."

"Okay, sure. Go ahead." He stubbornly looks away from you and the furnace.

Just pointing out -- this is not traditional Semenese war-paint. No idea where you got it.

"This is traditional war-paint. It will grant me safe passage with the spirits that guard this place."

You can feel your cheeks turn red under the lieutenant's gaze -- you look like a kid, not a police officer. Even the war-paint can't conceal the embarrassment.

"Nothing!" (Wipe your face clean.) "Sorry, that was stupid."

"Yes. Yes, it was," the lieutenant nods, before turning back to the furnace.

What a proud warrior! This is how the hunted becomes the hunter in this dark dangerous place.

Maybe you could paint something with this coal? Leave a cave painting for future archaeologists... no, that would be stupid.

Still, it's good you have this dirt on you. Real men wear coal for make-up.

[Leave.]

"Those voices I heard... Maybe it's the malignant Entity? Plaisance said it lives in a chimney."

"You're right, the rooms do look like they're connected. But malignant Entities don't exist -- at least not the supra-natural kind."

Always has to be the sceptic, this man...

Then what was the chatter you heard?

Look inside the furnace.

It's dark and grimy here. In the darkness, you can hear chatter. It's coming from above. A voice -- or several voices -- talking to each other, near the smoke chamber upstairs.

The echo is so prominent, it's impossible to discern what the voices are saying. Or what's producing them.

"What are you doing?" the lieutenant asks when he sees you climb half-way inside the furnace.

"I'm not sure, Kim... but I think I can hear someone talking upstairs."

"Wait, really?" He looks up at the ceiling. "Maybe it's coming from behind those safety curtains we saw upstairs?"