You stare up at the high filing cabinet.

You stare up at the high filing cabinet.

Grab the package again, open it.

You grasp the package once more, heavy yet small. As you unwrap the dusty covering you see packs of pink putty duct-taped neatly to a little black box.

A remote detonation device packed with explosive C4.

You're holding a bomb.

Does this mean that Carmuna tried to assassinate Nestor?

Anything is possible.

Knew that old woman act was too old-womany.

Far more likely she was involved in somebody else's plot.

Someone tried to assassinate Nestor.

Alternative wording

The Opera tried to assassinate Nestor.

And failed. Could have been anyone, he is not a popular man.

Alternative wording

And failed. Your controller will likely know details if you ask her.

Nice to know you're not the only disaster dealer around here.

Why hasn't it exploded?

Possibly something to do with the fact that it's singing.

Take the bomb. (Proceed.)

Its soft vibrations pulse next to your skin.

Take a closer look at this thing before you take it back to the music freaks.

You need a closer look at this thing.

Put the bomb back. (Proceed.)

You carefully place the bomb back in the cubbyhole.

This will get the squatters out of here.

Nothing clears a building like a bomb threat.

So this is the source of these visions...

An old bomb, undetonated -- projecting ghosts into this doomed shell. It connected with you, somehow.

It's unexploded, unfulfilled. It has regrets, just like me.

Is this your fate, too? Sitting alone in the dark, sending out psychic distress signals that only the similarly fucked can hear?

It's the spectral communists. They're trying to warn me... about bombs.

Bombs are anti-communist.

No! NO!! Bombs are bomb!

It called for me -- it wants to be used and it knows I'll use it right.

Something, somewhere, is getting blown the fuck up.

This wasn't its fate; it should have exploded. It went mad knowing its existence is a mistake.

A moment of divergence in the bomb's life, a tragedy from which it could never recover. It could be that you find it a new purpose...

C4 strapped to a remote detonation device.

A remote detonation device. And C4.

Reach up and grab the package.

You pull the package down and, briefly, hear song. It's a heavy giftwrapped box, unopened.

The same package you saw in your visions.

This must be the source of the song the squatters were talking about.

Open the package.

You unwrap the gift paper to reveal a block of pink putty, duct-taped neatly to a little black box.

Put it back.

You slide the package back onto the shelf, and hear a faint melancholy guitar strum as you do.

You pull the package down and the room explodes into song -- clearer than ever. People talking, singing, the sound of an explosion. Then nothing. Silence.

You've found the source of the song, a haunting in a box.

Open the package.

You unwrap the gift paper to reveal a block of pink putty, duct-taped neatly to a little black box.

Put it back.

You slide the package back onto the shelf, and hear a faint melancholy guitar strum as you do.

Ghost maker found!

This is the source of the song, the visions...

You reach blindly over the lip of the drawer, your fingers touching what feels like wrapping paper.

Take the bomb.

Step back. [Leave.]

The drawers yawn and settle as you turn away.

Your neck twinges.

The wall of filing cabinets stretches high above you. You see the shelf marked 'D6' just above your head.

The song is coming through strong enough in here that you can make out words.

"BEEN HERE... A THOUSAND DOORS... LOOK THE SAME..."

The wall of filing cabinets stretches high above you. You see the shelf Kurt mentioned just above your head.

You can hear someone singing, faintly. Not quite loud enough to catch the lyrics.