[ The reaction is almost instantaneous: the Dark Place bringing forth an idea that was created. A work of art.
Or, maybe, it's really just the Dark Place reacting to a subconscious thought that Alan has. An attempt at bridging two thoughts together to conform them into a coherent string of consciousness. Maybe it just uses the face of the detective that Alan wrote for years. Or... it's simply Alan in his Writer's Room using Casey once more as he needs him.
The vague image of Casey appears again, walking into the hallway, overlapped with his silhouette. ]
『 I came to the Oceanview Hotel because of a lead. Supposedly a theater production decided to hold a play that got out of hand. A play that led to a real ritualistic murder and summoned the Devil himself. Supposedly. Was this Devil the writer, Alan Wake? Or his doppleganger, Mr. Scratch? Wake's ex didn't have the information I needed.
Typical of ex-wives. 』
[ He disappears then reappears closer to Alan. Hands in his pockets, silhouette looking out the window into the never ending dark raining city that modeled itself after New York. The world of the private investigator Alex Casey that Alan wrote about for years. Made him famous. ]
『 Standing here in the hallway, looking out at the city, made me realize something. Almost like remembering a detail I had learned but forgot in a dream. How... did I get this case? WHY was I looking into the missing writer Alan Wake, the Cult of the Word, Mr. Scratch? At first, I didn't have the answer, and it didn't bother me. Standing here, though, in this hallway in THIS Hotel. I asked myself it. 』
[ Casey flickers again, being further down the hall, but still looking out the window. ]
『 Then I found a... keychain. A charm. Something that looked like it came from one of those cheap tourist shops on your way out of a vacation. Something like a "his and hers" little nicknack. I presumed it belonged to the male of the relationship. After all, the missing half was in the shape of a doe. A buck and a doe. Cute.
It brought back the memory of what started me on this crazy fucking case to begin with. A woman, of course. A dame looking for a missing man. "Find Alan Wake", she said. I pointed out to her he had been missing for over a decade. Gone diving, never swimming back up to the surface. Still, she insisted, like all women head over heels for a man. 』
[ Casey disappears once more, finally appearing at the doors to the elevator that led Alan to Room 665. ]
『 How had I forgotten who gave me this case to start with? Forgot what she looked like. Forgotten her voice. It wasn't her voice in my head in the memories... just some harmonious tune that mimicked the voice of a real person. Like a resonating echo that was trying to jog the memories from my booze and trauma ridden brain.
"Find Alan Wake." Better said than done in this hell hole of a city. 』
[ The idea comes to a close, and the stillness of the Oceanview Hotel returns. However, the door to the elevator opens. ]
no subject
Or, maybe, it's really just the Dark Place reacting to a subconscious thought that Alan has. An attempt at bridging two thoughts together to conform them into a coherent string of consciousness. Maybe it just uses the face of the detective that Alan wrote for years. Or... it's simply Alan in his Writer's Room using Casey once more as he needs him.
The vague image of Casey appears again, walking into the hallway, overlapped with his silhouette. ]
『 I came to the Oceanview Hotel because of a lead. Supposedly a theater production decided to hold a play that got out of hand. A play that led to a real ritualistic murder and summoned the Devil himself. Supposedly. Was this Devil the writer, Alan Wake? Or his doppleganger, Mr. Scratch? Wake's ex didn't have the information I needed.
Typical of ex-wives. 』
[ He disappears then reappears closer to Alan. Hands in his pockets, silhouette looking out the window into the never ending dark raining city that modeled itself after New York. The world of the private investigator Alex Casey that Alan wrote about for years. Made him famous. ]
『 Standing here in the hallway, looking out at the city, made me realize something. Almost like remembering a detail I had learned but forgot in a dream. How... did I get this case? WHY was I looking into the missing writer Alan Wake, the Cult of the Word, Mr. Scratch? At first, I didn't have the answer, and it didn't bother me. Standing here, though, in this hallway in THIS Hotel. I asked myself it. 』
[ Casey flickers again, being further down the hall, but still looking out the window. ]
『 Then I found a... keychain. A charm. Something that looked like it came from one of those cheap tourist shops on your way out of a vacation. Something like a "his and hers" little nicknack. I presumed it belonged to the male of the relationship. After all, the missing half was in the shape of a doe. A buck and a doe. Cute.
It brought back the memory of what started me on this crazy fucking case to begin with. A woman, of course. A dame looking for a missing man. "Find Alan Wake", she said. I pointed out to her he had been missing for over a decade. Gone diving, never swimming back up to the surface. Still, she insisted, like all women head over heels for a man. 』
[ Casey disappears once more, finally appearing at the doors to the elevator that led Alan to Room 665. ]
『 How had I forgotten who gave me this case to start with? Forgot what she looked like. Forgotten her voice. It wasn't her voice in my head in the memories... just some harmonious tune that mimicked the voice of a real person. Like a resonating echo that was trying to jog the memories from my booze and trauma ridden brain.
"Find Alan Wake." Better said than done in this hell hole of a city. 』
[ The idea comes to a close, and the stillness of the Oceanview Hotel returns. However, the door to the elevator opens. ]