The Big Applesauce

This is an emergency. He can practically hear the sirens, though of course there aren't any actual sirens, except for the ones audible only in his urgently scheming mind. There had been some sort of city-wide festival, seemingly honouring the colour green, complete with a truly impressive and surprisingly low casualty parade. But in the course of this event someone (obviously inured to their oncoming death) had made Cecil aware of the consequences of such festivities. Street cleaning.

A natural disaster he'd been lucky enough to survive once before, but as with all such catastrophies, he'd been shielded by the NVCR studio. Bless the hearts or equivalent organs of whomever had built such an indestructible and geometrically improbable building. Now, of course, Cecil has no such sturdy and probably lead-lined structures at his disposal. What's even more alarming, is that a sizable portion of the community, namely the rift immigrants, might go unwarned. How could anyone with an ounce of feeling for civic responsibility allow that?

Were he more forewarned, perhaps there would be some other way, but as it stands, the only hope he can see for his survival, and that of the rift community, is to throw himself on the mercy of the most technologically advanced being in the area. If he had more time, Romac might be able to whip up the kind of setup he'd need, but there's barely any time before street cleaners will be upon them all.

And so it is that Cecil turns up in Central Park once more, knocking politely but frantically on the doors of the TARDIS.

Cecil is very alarmed to find himself, newly awake, in a library. Oh, sure, it's perfectly normal to be the standard level of alarmed in that situation, but the extra alarm comes in from the fact that this is neither the Night Vale Public Library nor its Private counterpart. It's been awhile since he's woken up in the library, as he thought he had a pretty good warding sigil set up specifically to prevent this occurrence and he prefers to just listen to the municipally approved audio books he can download from Audible anyway. Call him a wet blanket but he's just really attached to his hands, even if he doesn't strictly need them to host the show, and even with the recently installed actual physical no-sleep-required entrance, visiting the library would have just not been worth the hassle. Still, he's pretty sure it hadn't been renovated to this degree. In the wake of the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation area scandal, where would that kind of public funding even come from?

The library he is currently very reluctantly occupying is, for one thing, huge. It appears to be exceptionally well stocked (with books, and not specters) and all the furnishings and fixtures appear to be quite well maintained. He sees no sign of librarian repellent dispensers, and the floor and furniture seem to be free of any spoor or strop-marks. As far as Cecil is concerned, this just lends to the overwhelming feeling of impending doom. He treats his surroundings to a very perturbed and disapproving look before shutting his eyes tightly and attempting to address the secret police, who no doubt have this area, and all others, under surveillance.

“I don't mean to put anyone out, but I don't actually even have a library card." Not to this library, wherever it is, anyway. Like having more than one library card could ever even be a thing! It's hard enough to keep organic flesh from rejecting just the one. "Please, I'm willing to leave quite peaceably and voluntarily, especially if you'll go ahead and make the extraction process quick and mostly painless.”