A single missed thread in the neat chain at the hem.

Underground caverns filled floor-to-ceiling with cultivation beds, fat larvae munching on mulberry leaves.

Whistling a new melody into existence. A dance step in the mud. The rasp of a hand-plane against cedar. Wonders yet unmapped.

Your old double has been known to have an unsettling effect on certain people.

Superstitious at heart, you can almost see the shivers run down his spine as you stray into weird metaphysical territory.

Smoke unfurls from his nostrils, like an ancient dragon.

Women trained to elicit joy, to be polite and obliging, to please. It genuinely does nothing for him.

His eyes acquire a ceramic-like quality. Brightly dead, impenetrable.

Beyond the walls of the dingy bar, the city breathes.

The image forces its way back to you -- the man's unblinking, obsessive stare, while on the bed Ramses convulsed uncontrollably.

Massive? That's the second time you've heard about a majestic woman with a gigantic form. You must find out more.

You ran right into that one.

You are reminded of a ripe cherry tomato, about to burst between thumb and forefinger.

Infused with transcendant meaning, somewhere between a symbol and the thing it represents, the junior negotiator's conception of the gap escapes definition.

She's concerned, but she knows his limits.

Voice somehow constricted, as though some heavy object really were pressing down on her chest.

A pseudo-language stretching back centuries, cobbled together from imperial slang and colonial patois. You first learned of its existence after joining the Opera.

A FETISHISTIC RESIDUE OF OUR ENEMIES' PAST, BACK WHEN THEY OWNED LAND -- AND PEOPLE.

A possible rendezvous. Actionable intelligence.

A poorly conceived, underbaked hodgepodge of old and modern Developed World languages -- mostly from Mircea and Ile-de-Söze.

'Tomorrow night'. A battle arena.

A tremor in his voice. Like a kid addressing his crush.

The outline of a small alcove with seated patrons shimmers in your mind.

You recall the faint clinking of glasses, just a few metres away.

'Why twist the knife?', his gaze seems to say.

Mind reading level: Tutorial.

A joint would be quicker. No tobacco.

Alright, that's got to be the last step.

If there was any sarcasm in that phrase, it flew way over his head and directly into the Noscorrentes sea.

He's gone. Audience, lost.

We got places to be. Anywhere free from nonsense tech jibberish.

Like millions of capillaries feeding a single, bloated vein.

Picture a hundred guitars connected to a single amp, strumming all at once.

A sudden, bizarre flare of hope.

Even you have memorised the names of their cartoon wolves.

You feel the weight of your fancy toy sword, suddenly.

Symbols, repeated over and over -- a quiet process of attrition.

Malignant growths, forever squirming against each other.

Slick crimson river of parted sinew and cartilage. With the utmost care, two strips of membranous tissue are ripped from the surrounding meat and tensed over a wood tuning peg.

Confirmed: fear is in the glands.

Neither the friend you left behind years ago, nor the quivering wreck you found in his houseboat.

None of his weight has been regained, but his movements are firm and his presence light.

Awaiting his assignment, as promised, in the old haunt.

A spectre in loose fabric, feeling out the contours of his own body -- just in case.

The slightest vibration, ordinary human unsteadiness.

Slowly populating itself with your crew members, around you the Fogged Mirror begins to take on the appearance it had five years ago, before your network collapsed.

Empty of the other members of your old crew, the Fogged Mirror feels barren, infinitely distant from what it was five years ago, before your network collapsed.

His silhouette flickers in the houseboat's dim lights. For a moment, all you see is a man untouched by the weight of your actions.

A faint bleep on a sonar gone quiet for too long.

A small promise, remade and unkept a thousand times over. 'Tomorrow', he'd tell himself, until the word meant nothing.

Checks