A click somewhere inside. The world slows.

A click somewhere inside. The world slows.

A sudden release of epinephrine into the bloodstream.

Danger. Line of sight.

You lock eyes with the man from the photo shop.

Hello, tail.

He cradles something within his coat.

His words return -- 'A little photo should not count as a crime, it's not like it's a loaded gun or something.'

The time to act is now.

Evaluate.

Two paths are before you, go straight or go down.

Engage functional invisibility and waltz right out in front of his eyes.

Functional Invisibility?

Become translucent, refract light, hide in plain sight.

Functional Invisibility is an Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre -- these tactics are not officially recognised by the Operant Bureau, though Operants share rumours of their success...

I'm going to get shot, right?

What cannot be seen cannot be shot.

I'd rather not.

Visibility it is.

Engage Functional Invisibility.

Your opponent looks this way, then that. He thought he saw his target... but there's no one there, just nondescript masses going about their business.

Atoms shiver as you pass through them.

He turns his head in your direction.

Look down.

His gaze slides over you, frictionless.

Your form may flicker, but keep focused and the disguise will hold.

The exit is in sight. Tantalizingly close...

...and so is he.

You hear the whine of a 50cc engine. A small tuk-tuk appears in your peripheral vision.

"Yo yo, Opera cunt! This way!"

Assess.

A teenager in a tuk-tuk called you a cunt. They may be an ally. You may not have a choice.

Look at her.

Your cloak of indifference holds.

You don't know her, but she seems to know you.

Who is she?

This must be Tempo's lieutenant.

Only one way to find out.

Charge your pursuer.

Your body crackles with electricity as you batter your foe into submission.

His eyes light up in fear.

Did I kill him?

You just knocked the wind out of him. He won't be doing any 'street photography' for a while.

Did I wang him?

Hurt him more. Make it personal.

The man flinches and the air stands still. Two bodies collide; one folds.

The tuk-tuk bleats its horn. Your escape is imminent.

"C'mon! Time to move."

The man's hand slips out of his coat. He grips a camera tightly to himself.

Let's go!

You race towards the waiting tuk-tuk and hoist yourself up.

CASCADE takes this round!

Forget it, let's go.

The impact knocks the both of you out of balance.

Oh shit, he's got us reeling!

Lights out.

Here it comes.

This can't be happening.

A bright flash returns you to the world. The man lowers his camera.

"Welcome to the violent canvas that we call 'Society'."

This result is the exact opposite of what you've been trained for.

Dust yourself off.

You turn towards the waiting tuk-tuk.

Go.

I'm about to die, aren't I?

I'm sorry, Tempo.

Maintain Functional Invisibility.

Your technique is flawless and beautiful. One wonders what other secrets the Opera may be keeping from you.

Is it skill, intuition, or luck? A matter for the philosophers.

A little more. Just a little more.

You move unseen.

One thing they can't deny... I've still got it.

The strain of the manoeuvre is too great. The mirror shimmers, then shatters.

Evasive manoeuvres!

Melita would tip back in her chair if she saw you now, flawlessly evading your opponent.

Five years in the Freezer? Wouldn't think so.

It's like you were never really here.

You trip over your own shadow. Too hasty a return -- the stagehands hastily lower the curtain.

Look him straight in the eye.

Blink.

For just a moment, the world is invisible too.

Deep within you, a sharp hesitation ripples through, taking control.

That's not the invisibility manoeuvre.

Yes it is.

Then why are people looking at you?

Eyes.

They're not. I am manoeuvering.

The way your pursuer is looking at you would suggest not.

His eyes, like flies around a corpse: tiny, ugly and relentless.

Suddenly, his hand disappears into the folds of his coat and an object starts to emerge: hard, angular, bulky...

Nothing good.

Take a deep breath.

Run.

Time stands still.

You hear the whine of a 50cc engine. A small tuk-tuk appears in your peripheral vision.

"Yo yo, Opera cunt! This way!"

Pray.

What's wrong?

You are very, very visible.

Nope. I am invisible.

... Am I?

The way your pursuer is looking at you would suggest yes.

Jump down to the lower level.

Your muscles tense up in anticipation of the launch.

For a moment -- the void and weightlessness of outer space, the realm of pure possibility...

Some write bad verse on this particular subject matter and call it cathartic.

Then gravity kicks in.

Float.

You do not fall -- you descend. A moon knocked off its centre, hurling towards the capital city, tail burning.

The shockwave is tremendous and silent as it travels up, out and around.

Take a deep breath.

The air feels cool and energizing.

Move.

You're evading the line of sight for now, but not for long.

Consider your position.

You're out of his sight-line... for now.

You might make it up the stairs... or you might be able to forge a disguise from whatever's in that box in front of you.

Improvise a disguise to lose him in the crowd.

There are many objects in this box. One of these objects could be your object.

Your hands caress a variety of head coverings, ultimately stopping on a shiny, luminous visor.

Is this too... shiny?

No. It brings out your inner sparkle.

Greasy, awkward and dressed in a gaudy multicolour coat, the man stands nervously scanning his surroundings, one hand reaching towards his pocket.

His gaze glides cleanly over you.

I must be an icon that regular mortals cannot bear looking at.

Try not to get carried away... He's still here.

You hear the whine of a 50cc engine. A small tuk-tuk appears in your peripheral vision.

"Yo yo, Opera cunt! This way!"

Be free, inner sparkle.

One day it will -- you are merely its vessel.

Go.

This seems fitting.

It does when you're making it up as you go along.

The will that guides your hands as they plunge into the box is not your own.

Perhaps it is the disguise itself that wants to wear you.

What is it?

The question is... 'Who am I'?

What if I get shot in this thing?

At least they won't see the look on your face.

The wobble is enough to give you a medium-grade migraine.

Gaze at him through the disguise.

Your pursuer looks back with child-like wonder towards your oversized head.

He sees through the disguise. Move!

You hear the whine of a 50cc engine. A small tuk-tuk appears in your peripheral vision.

"Yo yo! Opera cunt! This way!"

He sees through the disguise. Move!

Don't, just walk.

You may avert your gaze, but your pursuer stares shamelessly, almost incredulously.

At least I won't be recognisable.

There's something... perverse about it?

Profoundly.

Don't think, just put it on.

It slips over your head - massive, soft and unwieldy.

Advance unnoticed.

The coast appears clear as you begin to ascend the stairs.

You notice your pursuer from the corner of your eye. He has not seen you yet.

Go.

You advance towards the exit, when suddenly your pursuer reappears before you. You lock eyes, again.

Whether by chance or by stratagem, it seems you were destined to meet here.

You hear the whine of a 50cc engine. A small tuk-tuk appears in your peripheral vision.

"Yo yo! Opera cunt! This way!"

Your mind says discretion but your arms and legs say otherwise. You feel all the eyes in the Bazaar gravitating towards you.

Including your pursuer's.

Time to get a move on.

Look down.

Your muscles tense up in anticipation of the launch.

There is a moment, as both legs swing out into nothingness, that the distance to the ground stretches out into a great void.

This is going to hurt.

Wait, why?

Your posture, position, and weight distribution seem to indicate your body readying itself for a trampoline, not concrete.

Fuck.

You screw your eyes shut and wait for the pavement.

The impact comes half an instant before you expect. Your legs take the worst of it.

Asses the damage.

Leg: damaged, but functional. Dignity: gone, forever.

Get up.

You take a breath. Time to plot your next move.

Brace yourself.

Stop! Abort movement.

You are far past the point of no return.

Fear. Gun. Move.

Okay, focus...