Researcher Friedenfanger Konig crawled out of the wreckage of the Bell 206 helicopter. Apparently the pilot didn't have as much experience flying through turbulence as he had claimed. Konig had no time to reflect on these lies as he made his way over the former pilot's carcass towards the opening in the doorframe.
Once outside of the wreckage, Konig began to search the mangled mess of mechanical mash for any surviving equipment he could use to re-establish contact with the Foundation. The air burnt of aviation petrol, a signal that he should run as fast as possible away from the doomed aircraft.
Unable to identify any surviving Foundation-issue cellular devices, Konig turned his attention to his surroundings. The helicopter had crash-landed on top of a hill, and he could see a sprawling metropolis right in front of him. Perhaps there would be a Foundation front company he could pay a visit to? With this goal in mind, Konig began to make his way downhill.
The tender snow crunched under his boots as he navigated a path down the slope. With each step, the buildings became closer and closer.
Konig made his way down the pothole-ridden street. The snow had begun to melt into a dirty sludge, filling each pothole with muddy water, which stuck to his boots and stained them a sewer-brown colour.
Looking around at the drab grey buildings, Konig could pick out slightly familiar businesses
And what in the world is PFK?
The street signage, too, had an uncanny quality. Konig had become used to the American English signage during his time overseas, but these signs had the French language gratuitously applied to them. Konig realised that the uncanniness was due to the method in which the significantly longer French-equivalent words were squeezed onto each sign.
The cold April- sorry, Avril air stung Konig's face. What kind of place has snowfall this late into spring?
He noticed two men arguing over a parking space. At least, it sounded like they were arguing. Closer inspection of their dialogue suggested that both men were passionately attempting to convert the other to Catholicism.
A sign caught Konig's eye. It read "Simon's Cheesy Poutine". At least the English signage said so, the giant French sign on top read