Penny Lane (Continued)

Cyril appeared near the Pulsar Lab and looked around for Artik.

Artik appeared near Cyril and looked for the pulsar lab.

"Hello again," Cyril began walking towards a small, inconspicuous building, "shall we?"

Artik nodded. "We shall." He knocked on the door.

"Is that you, Faceless Old Woman," a voice came from behind the door.

"What," Artik asked.

"No, it's the President, let me in." Cyril answered bewildered.

The voice paused, "President? You mean the Mayor? No... Are... are you from the Police? I swear I voted correctly. No wheat here!"

Artik sighed, "We're from A Vague, Yet Menacing Government Organization."

"I AM the Vague Yet Menacing Government Organization."

The door swung open to reveal a body on the floor, frothing at the mouth.

"OhMyGoshAreYouOkay!?"

Artik sighed. "Nope. Let's go." Artik jumped down into the hole that led to the tunnel that led to the lab.

Cyril paused uncertainly and left the frothing man in the hands of a very capable looking old woman. Her face was turned away. Cyril followed Artik went down the rabbit hole.

Artik sighed, "This fine...Angel...man...thing...alien needs a pulsar."

The scientists ignored him. Angels aren't real. They wept.

"Hello, I provide this place with all the money it gets and I need a contained pulsar." Cyril tried.

Artik sighed, "Angels aren't real. So you cannot stop one from stealing a pulsar, because doing so would acknowledge it." Artik gestured for Cyril to pick one.

Cyril gave Artik an odd look and picked out a nice blue one. He pocketed it and thus put it in his ship for later use. "Done."

"Wanna get a bowl of non-wheat pizza?" He smiled.

"How..." Cyril was puzzled, "Yeah sure."

Artik and Cyril found their way to Big Rico's, whereat they were served bowls of stewed tomatoes and clumps of melted cheese.

Cyril know knew what pizzas without wheat were. "Can I get a spoon?"

A waiter shriekee fiercly and carved, 'SPOONS ARE ILLUSIONS," with a rounded fork into their table.

Cyril just took the "rounded fork" to eat with. "Yeah, right."

John Peters--- you know, the farm--- ran into the restaruant, shouting, "RAAAIIIIIIIDDDDDD." The whole of Big Rico's was aclatter as a great thundering was heard; the Secret Police was coming. The waiters sharpened their rounded forks and Big Rico himself was seen arming his sauce cannons. "Too many times," he was heard muttering. "I can't weasel out on this."

Cyril finished his bowl. "Where the hell are we Artik?" He finally asked. He flipped a table along with a waiter and crouched behind it.

"Judging by the lack of searing incompetence, we're neither in Lambville or Desert Bluffs. So, Night Vale." Artik watched as balaclava-clad men and women stormed the pizza parlour.

Cyril looked as if he expected this. "I should have known." Cyril addressed a waitress beside him, "StrexCorp?"
He was trying to figure out at what point in Nightvale's timeline he was. It, odd enough, ran differently than the rest of Earth.