A.Journal

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You won't forget this ever happened.

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You remember this. The first bullet. Landau. Friends counting on you then too.

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The words of the Metal Stripper return to you: 'Where is it? Where's the disc...?'

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Just one of the neat tricks you've learned to keep yourself alive in-theatre. There are many others still to come.

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Ignatz turns to you and grins his lopsided grin. "Wow, no time for your old friend after two years of nothing? Cold, Hershel. Hopefully I can live with this."

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Khalti -- a Rustamian term of endearment for an older woman.

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One of eight great trenches in the mapped world. Its edges run from the Telmaar Gulf to the Lioaran sea. Conservative estimates suggest a depth of twelve thousand metres.

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Mimi Serafina is twenty seven years old.

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Fringe health theorist, frowned upon by most medical bodies in the People's Republics and the Developed World. Owns dozens of 'wellness centres' across Tsun's Arc, and millions of followers.

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By contrast, the international market for Proletfolk consists of five geriatric scenesters on a commune outside Capoblanco.

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The former overseers of Essilk #3 stood at this very window, studying the movements of the dye workers, looking for any signs of disturbance.

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After her work attracted the attention of the Ministry of Mass Culture, Barcide was forced to flee for the relative protection of the Eastern Republics.

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A hole in the collective memory that won't be noticed at first... but it'll be felt, sooner or later.

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You've seen that name before, browsing at the newsstand while Tempo badgered and bartered over cigarettes.

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EMTERR's personnel department. Infamous for their hands-on approach to quarterly check-ins.

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Tritos 91. A highly-inebriated Operant CASCADE (schnapps count: ??) is pulled over for 'reckless tuk-tuk driving'.

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At the Novessa Greenhouse, you and the other would-be operants were trained on steel. There's something comforting in the familiarity.

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Professionally? Low-triple digits, by the time they put you in the Freezer.

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'Nestorismo' -- Nestor's personal brand of politics. It meant whatever he meant at that moment.

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Part of the global Periphery, and not aligned with any of the major power blocs. It's estimated that about 20% of the world's telephone scams come from a single unmarked building on the edge of Tsun's Arc capital city.

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Sometimes they try. There was a rather notable broadcast during Nestor's second deposement where Portofiro's top radio host called for that exact thing.

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Sacrophobe coat -- the out of towner Kurt told you about.

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Repository updated. All listed wolves have been memorised.

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You were never told. No formal directive, no rationale. He simply appeared two days after you did, already briefed.

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The last time you spoke was the day your network blew. You never called her back like you said you would.

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An insanely subsidised economy of illusions.

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The few members of the Illuminated Empire allowed to expatriate find themselves in high demand throughout the Developed World as mercenaries and bodyguards.

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Discrepency. What of the time-stamp from earlier? It was nested among redactions.

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When Nestor's space program was abandoned, so was the Tract.

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Former Supreme Leader Nestor cleared out an entire neighborhood to build the hub of Portofiro's space program 30 years ago. When the program was abandoned, so was the Tract.

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Remember the box of dubbed martial arts tapes that one of your mother's 'work friends' smuggled in for you when he came to visit in 79?

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There were reports of a ghost-site labour colony on Ile-de-Söze that the Opera took seriously.

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Not since the crew dissolved and you left Portofiro.

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A conversation. Fogged Mirror. Two gin cocktails, her regular table.

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Immediately apparent in the copies she passed you. Annotated, pertinent sections marked with colour-coded flags.

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Five years ago, he was one of the top experimental somnologists in the Developed World.

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Gonza seemed pretty serious. But the speech also felt rehearsed.

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'Plaything'? The immortal image of the 'thing' on the bed upstairs comes back to haunt you.

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Not in the official literature? Interesting. Take notes.

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You remember him saying that, a long time ago. Chant-like. A little ritual.

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Sounds familiar... she's talking about Goat-Eyes, the lovelorn soul of many endeavours.

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When you were sixteen you once put your blood type down as 'mysterious' in an attempt to impress a vaguely attractive doctor.

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Not precise, no. But not a liar either.

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'Ritual' brings up zero matches in the Tempo archives. Or any archives.

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CASCADE: 'Are you sure it's okay to just... leave them behind, M?' CONTROLLER: 'They're assets, CASCADE.'

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A new and strange crime added to your ever-lengthening rap sheet.

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PORTOFIRO 91: Network DISSOLVED. 5 Assets and 1 Operant LOST. CASCADE: EXTRACTED. Competency rating: INDETERMINATE. Loyalty rating: INDETERMINATE.

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As with all mammals, eyeball size is disproportionate to the skull that houses them, creating that adorable pleading expression.

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The discoloured wrapper depicts a red-cheeked child with a charming sledge. You haven’t seen this brand in years.

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A phone line from five years ago connects: