"Welcome. Be comfortable. Voice-over will pour you a drink. Vodka, Dan? Prune juice for your friend?
Dan opened the doors and the pair made their way along another corridor, this one wider, the walls adorned with post-modern art and weird sculptures. Soft music playing. Brahms, or one of those guys.
Another door. This one opened up on its own. A beautiful woman dressed in camo fatigues and black beret faced them. Sub machine gun in hand, but calm.
"Mr. Cellophane inquired if you would join him in the library?" She said with an indeterminable accent.
Inside was what appeared to be an upscale gentlemen club's from Victorian era London. Seated in a plush velvet armchair, around a table carved of onyx was Mr. Cellophane.
I didn't know there would be this much talking--Korgoth the Barbarian
A blonde-haired youth, with a horrendous acne problem, got up and shuffled over to the mahogany bar to fix drinks.
"Mr. Cellophane doesn't really suit me anymore, you know. I've long since moved on from wrapping people alive in cellophane. Just yesterday, I sat a guy down in front of a mirror and had the boys peel his face off. Lids and all, couldn't close his eyes. Had to watch himself scream. But I can't exactly rename myself, Mr. Skin-people-in-front-of-mirrors, now can I?"
Mr. Cellophane was an androgynous-looking "fellow" of indeterminable age, dressed in an ebon pantsuit worth more than Dan's car. His features were smooth, snake-like. His long elegant fingers sported the perfect manicure.
Sitting at his table, and standing all around the dining room were gorgeous women dressed in camo fatigues and sporting black berets. Each one held aloft a state-of-the-art sub machine-gun. Could spray a room as quick as they'd look at you.
Apparently Mr. Cellophane was a fan of Ghadafy. Or Borat. Or Both.
"Yes, that was me." Mr. Cellophane answered an unasked question, without a hint of guile in his husky yet feminine voice.
"Phil had overheard things he should not have, and asked me if I'd pay him to whack you...I said, 'yeah sure, why not', and off he went. But, here you are, using his temporary club pass, and you have the old-timer in tow, saving me the trouble, so I thought, what the hell, let's talk."
"There is a madman on the loose. I met him. And I never wish too again. I don't understand his plan but a small part of it seems to be the complete eradication of all the "freaks"...that is, people like you two, in case you're unsure."
He paused in his soliloquy.
Mr. Cellophane studied Karl casually.
"It's true the woman you're looking for, Dr. Phong, is currently, well, *with* the Doctor. His name is Dr. Insano, if you can believe it. Used to be a brilliant scientist blah blah blah blah blah blah...now he is simply insane. Disgusting to look at, impossible to deal with.
His is a madness beyond description. Like the Joker from Batman, but a lot smarter and infinitely more crazy. Even I couldn't wait to get the hell away from him. I even promised I'd help him out..."
"...And that's where you come in, I suppose. In a rare moment of lucidity, the Doctor mentioned that the father of one his--associates--happened to be a freak. The rest you can guess. I told him I would get you here. The Doctor is collecting all freaks, you see...Dr. Phong never stepped foot in Sanctum however, that was Voice-over on the line." Mr. Cellophane tousled the blonde youth's locks, and smiled sensually.
"Since you seem to be missing "muscle" in your little group, what with you two, and your other friends, I took the liberty of recruiting The Bouncer to join forces with you." Cellophane laughed a little girl's laugh. "He's downstairs somewhere right now, in the Fighting Arena, smashing skulls."
"So what I'm saying is", he summarized, "I may as well help you find the crazy Insano. He's looking for all you anyway. I can simply pass you along to the One. The King in Yellow. He who dreams in Carcosa."
Finally he shut up. He was chatty, this Cellophane, but at least it sped things up. You had to give him that. Of course he left way more unsaid then said.