There is a room tucked in the center of the hallway connecting the hospital to the motel, where a handful of electronic entertainments stand stacked against the wall, all in working order but seemingly abandoned. Korean pinball machines sit next to magnetic cranes crushing small metal cars for tokens. Demo games which never left development stand in the corner, including a stand-up King Lonny with a high-score screen filled with PIG and JSD. Strangest of all, however, is the fortune-telling machine, the phrase Marches Grotesque hand-painted on its sides, which looks more like an assemblage made from bones and burial shroud, lit from within by some sort of luminous fungus. Most of the Doktors stop by to pick up a fortune, as do a number of townspeople who believe the machine to have oracular powers. The only game with an out of order sign is a Fiji variant on Galaga, which doesn't stop one man with taped glasses and a series of screwdrivers sticking up from his back pockets from playing. This is one of the local telephone repairmen, who has wired the fortune-telling machine to be operated via the Galaga machine. In the basement of his home, the telephone repairman has a deep-freeze in which he has a three-foot tall humanoid shape wrapped in tin foil. At night, when his family is asleep, he takes it from the deep freeze and sets it feet-first on the floor, kneeling and praying for guidance before it. The fortune-telling machine is his ministry once removed, by which he transmits the wisdom gained from his prayers to the thing in the freezer, and so battles his nemesis, the elusive Dr. Bozeman.

the exit is hidden within the exit