You just bought an old 1920s radio tower from some bulky, scar-faced guy. Apparently this tower used to be owned by a radio host named Alastor. The radio tower creaked and moaned from how fragile it was and you could’ve sworn that a screw fell out of it.

You were allowed to do whatever you wanted with the tower…except touch its old radio that sat on a wooden vintage desk. The guy who you bought it from warned you that nothing good came from anyone who touched it, and he seemed dead serious.