The slight smile in her eyes fades as she takes in the little…

The slight smile in her eyes fades as she takes in the little card.

She rubs the card between her discerning thumb and forefinger.

Could have been anyone who killed him, she means.

Ribboned flesh, spots of white fat beneath the skin. A tuk-tuk horn blares outside.

You feel your lip twitch into a snarl.

That's a 'would'.

She's about to tell you something awful.

All systems go down. A brief but total outage.

Alive, then. But in what condition?

Don't act surprised. The network was blown, this was inevitable.

Still, it sickens you. One of yours. One of yours.

Of course you were the best. She had nothing to compare you to.

You once heard an old hand say that the tortured walk their own province.

On behalf of the invisible master.

A miserable defiance to the set of her chin.

Same age as you were when you were shot in the chest.

If Karolina managed not to give them anything then the Weeping Eye will have taken a lot in return.

You would have stayed had you known. You would have rescued her.

She doesn't know what to say. She let Karolina down, too.

Or was it the drink, the job.

She hates agreeing with you.

You try to imagine the casual workplace conversation of human traffickers. You fail.

No you're not, she wanted it bad.

She puts her hand to her heart, sighs.

We're definitely more believable than that wet drunk.

She purses her lips in distaste.

Her voice a low hiss.

The shadows under her eyes deepen. She swallows.

Ring binders stacked on a glass-topped conference table, a chair at either end. She notices a tiny circle of paper on the carpet -- lost from a hole-puncher? A polite cough brings her attention back to her interviewer.

Voice hollow. She's not trying to insult you, just telling the truth.

Automatically, your eyes scan up from hers. You notice the lace at the front of her wig.

She outsmarted the Bank. She may be a pain but she is undeniably skilled.

Too harrowed by the memory to dismiss the compliment outright.

And now she has macrame.

Because she doesn't know what to say.

FORCE HER TO SET UP THIS DEAL.

Riled, not yet convinced. Keep pushing, make her believe you're capable of this.

Dolphins reflected in his eyeglasses.

Another shadow.

You'll have to reestablish contact with him yourself, then. But there's no way you'll get back into that jail.

You could try rewiring the phone network to the intercom. Find a payphone, see if it's possible.

Her husband clears his throat.

Counting the days to early retirement, coasting comfortably towards irrelevance.

They'll ask for the moon.

Of course she does. No more playground shit. Operant CASCADE has arrived.

The intensity in her gaze changes colour. A subtle new hue eats into the trembling edges of her dilated pupils that you haven't seen before and can't quite name.

Her jaw slackens, her face seems strange. All the little muscles that form her usual expression have been abandoned in fear.

The Weeping Eye have defeated her without even laying a finger on her.

Bad news: It appears that ESTOC no longer considers herself your direct report. Or your asset. Or your friend.

Fucking coward.

So Eszti knew the Eye had Karolina but didn't try to help, didn't even visit afterward.

Waves curl endlessly onto a shore of fine pebble. Pascal takes the lid off the teapot, notices two men walking up the garden path. He opens the door with a smile.

Again. Harder. She needs to believe you've got it in you.

It strikes you that you are both rearranging yourselves as strangers.

This old bitch will never be gäng again.

She's just playing hard to get.

ENOUGH OF THIS INSUBORDINATION. SHE IS YOUR ASSET, COMPEL HER TO OBEY.

She sends a worried look to the door. Pascal sits beyond.

Alone in her apartment, knife under her pillow. She dreads the sound of footsteps approaching her door -- until she learns to recognise his.

Lying to herself, even if she doesn't know it. This is subconscious spycraft.

Perhaps you can love a lie so much that it becomes the truth.

She smiles in a way you've never seen before; Eszti without a trace of ESTOC.

The spoils of working for EMTERR.

She sets her jaw, taking you in as if for the first time.

Gears spinning behind her eyes. Systems on high alert.

She hasn't seen us. We could still rün.

That could be her activating her laser vision. How deep does the augmentoid takeover go?

She pats her left hand dry on the tea towel hanging from the cupboard. There are tiny little daisies on it.

Here it comes...

Translation: You're talking guff, Wilk.

You hear someone laugh, loudly, on the roof above.

That was a threat.

A breeze rolls through a plantation in Lágundi. Leaves hiss at its passing.

Shit, bluff called. What is she into?

Consider the fate of Operant NOTION, eviscerated by a rogue GentleNight-5000 in Western Hvârda. This asset has much to learn about modified euthanasia robotics.

'I wish I was deaf.'

The medium of hum simply doesn't allow for anger.