She raises a finger to the heavens, threatening the angels not to challenge her authority on the matter.

High-heels tapping on the metal gangway, skirts fluttering in the wind. A gang of men stand on the dock beneath them, eyes all whites.

Jog her memory about the song in the Palace of Culture.

Voices chanting and singing -- words learned out of spite. The sound of Nestor's window slamming shut. He looks down over them, watching from behind a half-drawn curtain.

Get a recording and you'll be able to use the bomb yourself.

Bitter disappointment in her tone. This biddy craves blood.

She will not.

Following her line of sight, there's no sign of the guardia municipal officer who was loitering there itching himself earlier.

'Little Maurito' is at least 190 cm tall and no younger than thirty-two.

Her face has lined and her body folded with age, but this is unmistakably the same woman you saw in the Palace of Culture.

Following her line of sight, there's no sign of a guardia municipal officer.

Her face has lined and her body folded with age, but this is unmistakably the same woman you saw in the Palace of Culture.

THE 'MAGAZINE' IS INNATELY ANTI-PROLETARIAT. A GLOSSY PERVERSION OF THE HUMBLE PAMPHLET.

Her face has lined and her body folded with age, but this is unmistakably the same woman you saw in the Palace of Culture.

A flash of light from between the pages. She's hiding something in there.

Carmuna. The name on PSEUDOPOD's purchase order. Your double owes this woman a minuscule shipment of socks.

Look at those lights! Evenly diffused? Impeccable alternating pattern? That thing's not a bootleg.

The words 'La Luz' makes your shoulders close in, as if bracing for a hit.

OUST THE NAMES OF THESE GROTESQUE FASCIST ANIMALS, SPEAK TO THEM OF THE PEOPLE'S HEROES.

Notice that the broadcast is in Mircean -- not Luzian. Dubbed for a foreign audience.

Troubling, especially if Luzian cultural exports are what they primarily consume.

Following the kid's line of sight, you land on Petre, who stands at the front of his stall obsessively cleaning a disc.

The neurotically-organised stall, about ten metres west. A morose man stands there obsessively cleaning a disc-like object.

A man of strong opinion that he's not afraid to shout about. Even to children.

Neither sounds terribly enticing.

The Luzians must be getting better at bypassing the blockage.

The man kills the engine and waits, watching the morning mist part like a curtain. Slowly, the array emerges: twelve slender, glinting giants, shoulder to shoulder -- all facing north.

Ridiculous. These wobbling, open-chassis abominations can barely function on solid ground.

A mere four-hour flight, but there are no commercial flights between Portofiro and the Illuminated Empire.

Some Portofirans refer to Luzians as 'strange cousins', a nod to this island's colonial past.

Certainly not part of La Luz. It's a wealthy state in the Developed World, known for its bogs and poets.

Yeah, tell them how bad everything is. They need to know the horrors that await them in this world.

THEY'RE TOO FAR GONE ALREADY.

Perhaps you should let children be children.

La Luz. Once a powerful empire, now reconstituted as a modern techno-fascist state, the rising military and cultural power of the day.

The boy seems confused that he has to explain this.

Your tongue runs along the familiar edges of your canines.

Inner wolf. Hidden wolf.

Spoken like one who spent his whole life around gunhammers.

He's missing a few.

Skirting the line between truth and deception. If anything, the boy should be commended.

Repository updated. All listed wolves have been memorised.

A phantom weight presses on your chest as you picture this girl, waking up each day to a world of wolves and monstrous angels.

They're both wrong! You're a wolf-human hybrid, capable of channeling the agility and strength of a beast in the body of an unsupposing woman.

Gnashing, ripping, scratching -- unstoppable!

You haven't, not in five years...

These kids are lost. Their hearts belong to techno-fascism.

Auntie going on trips to La Luz? Must be a highflyer, rare in Portofiro.

Gauging by the size of the hilt, it's likely its batteries would fit the imprinting device.

Checks