Clod of Cthulhu: Shooting Fish in a Barrio

When we last left our addle-pated nilnoggin, he was attempting to mount a single-handed unarmed raid on a building full of armed officers who are willing to shoot him on sight. This is something that you do instead of escaping the mobs of people trying to murder you, as part of an attempt to save a man who yells at you for trying to save him.

The horror of the Cthulhu mythos rests on there being things that man cannot comprehend. If you find this sort of thing scary, then I have to give the game credit;: it will make you crap your pants, because if you can figure out what the flaming hell is going through this bastard’s brain you’ve probably got a government job profiling psychopaths. Jack Walters is a marathon moron, a never-ceasing one-man show of really questionable life decisions that threaten constantly to dovetail into death decisions.

Right, where were we? Of course; I’d just clonked the Sherrif of Fishtown with a rusty crowbar. On the surface, this act was merely to gain entrance; in my heart of hearts, I knew it was to acquire the man’s shotgun. I lusted after it, I coveted it, I craved it like a parched man craves cool water. Alas, when my dirty work was done, it vanished into the ether—too beautiful for this world.

Fudge.

Well, the door’s open, at any rate, so I might as well nip inside. Obviously, there’s not gonna be any shotguns or something for me to loot in there. Oh, no, that would be too easy. After all, if they’re not going to–

Huh, I’ll be damned. There’s one right in there. And a pistol. And ammo.

…that was…easy?

Alright, so they’re not right inside. They’re guarded by some guy at a desk, who you should preferably remove from said desk before you go running all up in his personal space. According to the walkthrough, you get this guy to leave and find a washbasin by doing some strange and illogical sequence of actions, but I just sort of wandered around the place touching things and that did the trick as well. Frankly, that’s a more efficient strategy in the long run. It turns out that the police chief guy is turning into a fishman, so he needs to keep well hydrated. I do something—I’m not actually entirely clear what–that makes him go to a sink, then I run up and pester him with my crowbar until he falls over. Then I go downstairs, loot the gun cabinet, and squeal with mildly disturbing glee. Shotgun and a pistol—man, I’m set. I have full ammunition, because despite giving me absolutely no opportunity to arm myself, the game has provided me with ammunition to pick up at an almost alarming rate. I’ve seen nothing but the business ends of firearms, but I could make a trendy hat out of all of the pistol clips I’ve got stuffed in my clothing and a mini log cabin out of my shotgun ammo. I have this mental image of his prissy waistcoat being crammed absolutely to bursting with loose rounds—I guess he just has to hope he never falls into a fire, or something.

Locked and loaded, I go over to persuade Burnham to pretty please let me spring him from jail and fight to liberate him from the city. He still refuses, saying that he doesn’t trust me, and that he doesn’t want to make things worse for himself by trying to escape. Kid, were you or were you not obviously framed? Have you not, according to the conversation of the jailors, been severely and unconstitutionally beaten? Are they not intensely hostile to foreigners such as yourself? The jailor—is he not a freakish manfish who smells like a burning fishing barge? What about these factors gives you a good feeling about your future? What about living amongst these terrifying mutant xenophobic zealots has convinced you that they’re really a bunch of softies who can be swayed with a calm tone and an understanding attitude? They’re going to kill you, dude. Even Jack Walters can figure that out.

Finally, I decide to show him the photo of his girlfriend, which convinces him I’m on the level. Somewhat grudgingly, he allows me to unlock his cell and bust him loose.

I decide to check the other cells. One of them is empty except for a plot item (a book with some background on Innsmouth and some numbers that will be important later), one of them has the crazy loon I riled up earlier, and one of them has…

…the dead body of that one girl’s father. The guy who was sent up the river for murder after his wife, thanks to my meddling, got loose and killed his daughter. He killed himself in his cell.

Guess what time it is, folks?

Innocent People Jack’s Gotten Killed: Five.

That’s two from the same family. Hey, Jack, I think that’s a combo bonus. What do you guys think? Ten points?

So, now I’ve got a follower. This means that stealth is impossible, but that’s okay, because stealth is for sissy losers who don’t have improbably low-powered firearms that are nonetheless better than nothing. Actually, seriously, stopping power is kind of an issue—anything but a point-blank headshot with a shotgun makes them whine a little and convulse before they shoot back at you. Still, I’m enamored enough with the idea of finally getting back at these bastards that I actually run outside and start blasting fishmen left and right. I end up dying, unsurprisingly, and end up having to restart back before I even got the crowbar—I guess it’s worth it. I still say this game needs a quicksave function, though.

Sorry, rambling.

I get back to the point where you free Burnham. Burnham has a cunning plan: there’s a garage nearby, in which there is a truck, in which we can drive, in which we can escape. That’s better than my plan, which is to say, it’s a plan. As a bonus, elements of it sound like there’s a universe out there somewhere in which they might succeed. Lead on, Burnie!

Or…don’t lead on. Just give me a kind of vague description of where it is. That works too.

I take a moment to get my bearings and make sure my weapons are loaded. He waits for about half a second, then says in a voice exactly annoying as it is possible for a layman voice actor to achieve: “Come on, Jack, we have to get out of here! It’s not safe!”

Excuse me, Mr. Leave Me Alone I’m Totally Fine Here Honest. As of fifteen minutes ago, your genius plan was to wait for them to realize it was all an honest misunderstanding and treat you to ice cream, so you’ll forgive me if I take any tactical analysis from you with a grain of salt.

I head outside and start searching for the garage. Two or three plugged fish later, I manage to find the place. There are two doors to the garage—the front doors, which you would drive through, are locked and barred. The side door, however, is merely locked.

I don’t have the key, and my crowbar doesn’t do anything to the door. So, we can’t get inside, and I fought my way here for nothing. I turn to Burnham expectantly, waiting to see what he makes of the situation.

After a moment of silent contemplation, he suggests: “The streets have no cover, Jack, we’ll get caught!”

Are you serious?

So, I can’t get inside the garage, and now Burnham is yelling at me for trying to act on his bogus escape plan. And apparently, I’m too exposed standing out here, so I need to get inside to figure out what to do next. I step into the police station, and he immediately says: “Come on, Jack, we have to get out of here! It’s not safe!”

At this point, I attempt to shoot him, to no effect.

I hate everyone.