Decisions
92Your new friend. KALEIDOSCOPE.
"Oh! So are those L-Pop costumes?"
Strong goon aura coming off this one as well. She's in on the Luzian scheme, whatever it is.
Strong goon aura coming off this one as well. She's in on the Luzian scheme, whatever it is.
"... We spy another day, CASCADE..."
LONG-RANGE MISSILES LAUNCHED. SOUND THE SIRENS.
Yet she was happy enough to put him in KALEIDOSCOPE's crosshairs.
"A pause, yeah. That's a good idea."
"For a while, it was."
"Hersh, I've been thinking. Or projecting, maybe. Future-wise." She jabs a cigarette into her mouth, then removes it again.
"I agree. It's good, Yana."
"I believe you can." The queen of electro-pop gives you an encouraging smile.
"I don't really go for conceptual stuff, personally."
"I think that's a good idea." Her smile is slightly less encouraging this time.
"It's the word 'anus' with a 'Y' in front of it."
"Maybe she just needs another go." The queen of electro-pop looks at you with deep concern.
"Maybe this is more of a conceptual based thing? Is that what you're going for, Hersh?"
"That sounds a little weird, but it's a good name anyway."
"That's cool, the personal angle."
About that...
KALEIDOSCOPE said that this is where he gave him the red disc.
She was expecting you to play another note.
"'Holding Hands with Strangers' was the big single from that album. Number one for eighteen weeks. Far outselling Dia Domino and her limp attempts at meaningful music." She presses a single key lightly.
"'Least it's over."
"Good."
"Hersh... what are you doing?"
"I don't know what to do in these situations... should I call Yana?"
"I just watched you do it."
"I never said I was..."
"Is this a mid-life crisis?"
"It's okay, Hersh. Everything's going to be okay."
"Nice job, Hersh. You disturbed V."
"Now step the fuck away from the keyboard."
"Please don't start this again..."
"Please step back. I don't even let my tech engineer play notes unless he has to."
"Single notes, no chords... very minimal..." She looks for help but there's no one around.
"Then please get off the keyboard first. It's clear you don't know how to play."
COMRADE KAIDO ABSTAINED FROM ALL VICE. NO ALCOHOL. NO GAMBLING. NO ADULTERY, NO FEUDAL TERMS OF ADDRESS. A HERO OF THE PEOPLE.
He could try. But all his bullets are in your pocket.
MARTYRED AT AN AIRFIELD, JUST AS HE WAS ABOUT TO TAKE FLIGHT.
The air raid siren system shrieked once more with the opening bars of 'Follow Me Home', the fifty-third time in succession. A line of armed, headphoned operants stood still and waited, all eyes focused on the Farrier-878 in the centre of the airfield.
The communist tasted red dust and smelt the dim sting of aircraft lubricant. A hangar creaked to his left. Behind, someone loaded a revolver and mocked his cause in a language he didn't understand.
Their faces adorning the runway fixed in expressions of mute agony, terror, or something beyond either. The demand from the newly-crowned Lineal MRR was to leave the heads of the 'traitors' exactly where they fell, or they would begin executing hostages.
"Another 'custom job'?"
"Fine by me."
"Here again."
"No second thoughts, I hope."
"No. You're starting to wear out my ear grooves in the foam."
"One song." He places them atop your head.
"Please." He gestures to the seat across from him.
