The classes may mingle during the day, but by evening they sort themselves back where they belong.

The sweet smell of ripening waste drifts up from dozens of household bins.

Up there, your heart beats twice as fast and half as hard.

RISE UP, YOU WRETCHED OF THE MOON. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE BUT YOUR FREEZE-DRIED RATIONS AND THE RECYCLED AIR IN YOUR LUNGS.

Don't forget the lunar cadmium mines!

A preview of coming attractions.

All around, movement clings to structure. Sightlines, bottlenecks, exits. People move as water does around rocks. A map has begun to emerge.

We made it back. Off the shelf and back in the current. No forms, no cold offices. This is how it's supposed to be. Noise, people -- chances.

Nerves, stretched taut to breaking point.

It's not a relaxed pause. He scans the Bazaar as though waiting for a sign.

The gaze of a hunter -- or of someone expecting to be hunted. On guard for a sudden eruption of violence.

It's not her mess. Someone has been through and upended her stall.

The remains of a community that was traded for a single shot at the sky.

The long, dark, sexy tunnel awaits...

This silo is also where you'll find the mysterious 'MIHO', according to the fax you received.

Something tells you it won't get much better inside.

The vestiges of Portofiro's disastrous 77 space program. This is the place you saw on television, back then.

And where the mysterious fax told you you'd find 'MIHO'.

These must be the vestiges of Portofiro's disastrous 77 space program. The city-state tried to launch a rocket into orbit -- only for it to disintegrate.

Better look around the premises before stumbling in again. It's possible you already exposed yourself.

It was a harmless visit. If anything, you might have made them less suspicious.

Why not? A bit of socialising can open more doors than a heavy boot.

What? We're not doing no poëtry shït. We live for that break-in shït!

You made a note about this address. Those are the offices of the Noscorrentes literary journal.

The boarded-up windows were mentioned by the ex-pilots too.

This could be where the engineer on the pylon saw the human-sized package...

Or people.

A faint current dances across your skin, as if frantically searching for ground.

A house of suffering and loneliness.

A theatre-grade inference. Operant CASCADE re-emerges from the shadows.

You haven't mapped the space around you yet. No reason to rush for that door.

Lurkers draw attention. Operants walk in, then convince the world they belong.

And yet only a single clear point of entry.

It keeps them well-concealed, evidently. Sounds familiar.

Matching what the ex-pilots told you about an EMTERR jail.

Forget the frame. Look at the glass. Something's off about it. Enhance!

One deep in the red.

Diameter in relation to structure... a rough capacity of twelve-to-fifteen litres per second.

Circle the place. Sniff the crevices. Find its soft underbelly.

The gäng would like to make its introductions now. Storm the gates, lay siege!

The rumble of flowing water beneath your feet.

Outside, the murmur of water is all but gone.

A violent, pressurized hiss is heard as the lock drains through the immense pipe to your right.

Sequential logic applies. Operating the controls in a specific order will lower the water outside.

The sound of water outside. Use it as your guide.

A gate opened -- it shouldn't have. Pull it again!

No warning lights, no worrisome noise. Keep going.

And the cling of metal on stone. You're on the right track.

Next: switch, then lever.

Steps confirmed so far: 1. Press red button. 2. Switch. 3. Lever. 4. ? 5. Tentative: red button, long press.

Checks