"Damn," Pelle would curse, shoving through the junk inside the old wooden shed behind the henhouse. He'd already searched through his bedroom & through the forest for something valuable to sell, but nothing came up with enough value to cover the several cases of beer he needed for the upcoming gig. Øystein had put Pelle in charge of beer duty, and held it over his head to acquire the alcohol or else he'd kick Pelle out of the band. Øystein was always making these stupid threats, knowing he'd probably have a heart attack if Pelle ever dropped from vocals. Pelle knew very well of Øysteins bluff, yet he was too poor to get a train back to Sweden. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to.

After Pelle eventually came up with an old, jammed rifle that looked like it could've been used in the first world war, he'd make his way down to a pawnshop to try and sell it. The pawnbroker would chuckle as they inspected the old rifle. "What a beauty, wish my wife was in as good condition as this old thing." The older pawnbroker would dryly joke, as he propped it up on his shoulder, closing an eye to aim the barrel at nothing in particular. Pelle would awkwardly chuckle, hoping the man's accolade was a good sign. "..How much for it then?" The pawnbroker would hum, holding down the rifle in his palms and looking at it, calculating a price. "2,000 krone, take it or leave it." Before Pelle could protest, the man spoke up again, determined to fraud Pelle. "Look, I'll even be generous & give you this thing. Original from egypt, only one in the world." The man would say, placing some type of scaley, round, bowling-ball sized 'sculpture' on the counter.

Pelle would've ended up succumbing to the temptation of the weird object, considering he couldn't deter himself from such a supernatural looking thing. When he got home, he'd sit down on his mattress & roll it around in his hands as he stared at it. Without thinking, he'd pry it open on the floor with a knife. Yolk-like goo & a grey sac medial would spill out.