In a void of insensibility...
Niklas attempts to empty his mind once more. Fortunately, he is getting rather good at this, mostly due to repetition, and manages to abolish all thought from that nonexistent cranium of his.
Come to think of it, not having a brain might also be a pretty good way to empty your mind, and Niklas has already got that part down pat. So he's pretty much all good now.
At Gunther Gunnarson's stall...
Sigmund, interrupted before he could make any choice remarks, answers Gunther.
"Yes. And I think that he would appreciate if we begin doing business."
"Ready when you are, sir. Show me the money, and your friend will be fixed in a few hours or so."
Scott, a little out of the loop, asks a question.
"What is it that you plan to do with him?"
"I guess that it depends on how damaged he is."
"Indeed. I was hoping to fit him with some quality ball joints, myself, though perhaps it might not be necessary. Remains to be seen, yes."
In the streets of Shriekpot...
Morton can't help but wonder if this town will ever run out of unusual people that go about their guidance in a roundabout fashion.
"I, ah, I see. Or... not see?"
"Exactly!"
Morton tries to restrain himself from asking yet more, but unfortunately fails.
"Hm, what exactly is bothering you, sir? Why denounce truth and everything as a lie? I'm afraid the meaning is lost on me."
"Yes," the man says simply. "Quite so, indeed. The meaning is lost because it cannot be found. Gods, man, you're a desk, and you're asking me why everything is a lie? How do you even eat or drink?"