Clock Tower 3 Part #8 - Episode VII: Call of Duty (Promenade Revisted)

Part 8: Episode VII: Call of Duty (Promenade Revisted)

Episode VII: Call of Duty (Promenade Revisted)

When last we left our heroine, she'd just finished crossing the world's most sturdy forty foot plank of wood. With that said, let's continue.

Hey, remember that really slow, plodding, balancing act on the plank? Wouldn't it be great if we could do it again?

Well, you're in fucking luck!

Another balanced crossing of a plank of wood, which would likely split under its own weight, much less a girl jittering and flailing over it, ensues.

Upon reaching the other side, barring another fatal drop, Alyssa comes across her new nemesis:

Butterflies! Not just any normal butterflies, mind you. Magic butterflies.

With the power to admit a high pitched sound only audible to sociopaths and will send them running toward it, no matter what the situation.

These little bastards are now all over the larger areas. At touch from one of them will both immediately summon Sledge but knock the Panic Meter up a notch.

Since this is the face of true terror.

Colorful winged insects aside, our business has concluded in the Concert Hall for now. If you'll recall some time back at the tailor's, there was a door barred by barbed wire.

And if you'll also recall, our heroine just made an incredibly idiotic stunt to retrieve a pair of pliers, which she likely could have easily found in a drawer back in the tailor shop.

Put two and two together and we have our next completely nonsensical location.

I'm not sure how difficult it would be for a young woman to cut through half-inch thick wire mesh with a pair of pliers.

But, should it be a difficult task, we'll refer back to the earlier Hulk Strength attack in which she managed to shoulder block a guy three times her size into a wall. Since, it we don't need any bizarre inconsistencies in the narrative.

The wire barred door leads to...a rather pleasant study with a warm fire place.

Also, arrows imbued with a rather potent bug spray or some shit. This family is weird.

The fire place holds one last trinket.

A flashback sequence...

It was 1942 and Playstation had yet to be invented. Saturday nights were dull for friendless children.

"You're home early!"

"My workplace is in the next room..."

"I'm sending you off to boarding school. Don't come back for six years. Something bad will happen on your fifteenth birthday if you're here."

"W-Wouldn't I only need to be gone for three years, then? I'm twelve. I think your math is a bit of-"

"DO NOT QUESTION YOUR FATHER'S WISDOM!"

"I've only got two and half years or so left in the thing. Figure I might as well get a little bit of that action before its over."

"Ungh! Good God, ya'll! What it is it good for?!"

"Despite the fact I leave you alone all day long and lock you in this back room. Not being able to bar the door every morning... I feel dreadful."

"I'll be all right. But what about you? I mean, come on. World War 2? You're a British tailor. Dozens of American super soldiers and elite squadrons with guys who can control bees won this war. Not people who fix holes in pants."

"I'll probably be getting severe crippling emotional scarring and mind numbing fear for my life. But, I'll work that in somewhere to the schedule, honey.

"You are the most precious thing in the whole world to me. Other than football and green tea."

"I'll be fighting a genocidal regime bent on taking over the continent. Daddy really doesn't give a shit, sweetie."

"Nevermind you'll be half way across the continent. I'll play really loud so you can hear it."

"If not, your shame brought to this family will be so great I'm almost positive the Germans will win the war."

"T-That's a lot of pressure, Daddy..."

"Then don't be a crippling disappointment, like you've proven to be time and time again. Why do you think I lock you in this back room? It's for your own good, sweetie."