Your faint reflection stares back at you from the neighboring building's skylight.

Your faint reflection stares back at you from the neighboring building's skylight.

Now. What's Mr. Reno been getting up to inside his tower?

Try to see inside.

Past the glare of the sun, the ghosts of movement are just barely visible.

Look harder.

Focusing on the movement, shapes take form behind the obscured glass.

Figures in thick hazmat-style suits move through the room, armed with vacuum cleaners and rubbish grabbers.

Cosmonaut explorers on an alien landscape, safely concealed from the hostile environment -- and lifeforms.

Can I get inside? (Proceed.)

The window has no ledge along which you could creep. And there's no visible roof access door or ladders.

There's always the front door, of course -- or the window itself. The glass may be un-tempered, and it's possible that the right amount of force could shatter it.

How about a whole body fucking right through it?

Highly likely.

Smash! Smash! Smash!

This doesn't feel like the stealthy approach.

According to lessons learned in the Opera greenhouse, an intrusion this audacious should be a route of last resort.

Last resort? Fuck that. We are the first and last resort!

A warm light has been switched on, illuminating the apartment and its contents: a sunken conversation pit, overturned furniture, curtains half-torn off their rail -- all the hallmarks of a particularly debauched night.

This Reno guy must be a real animal.

Or the talks have taken a less-than-diplomatic turn.

That's how you know they're really rich. They can afford to destroy the place.

There was a party and I wasn't invited?? Fuck!

This is how it will be from now until the end of time.

But who's debauched it?

Individuals with little regard for the rules of hospitality.

Who lives here?

Someone rich.

YOU MUST STORM THIS PALACE OF INEQUITUDE. DEATH TO PROPERTY OWNERS, MONEY MEN, AND FEUDAL LORDS.

No security up here.

Only three metres of void.

Ground-level routes are architected, well-known, for the commoners. If you want in, there's no better way than up.

Fuck yourself through the skylight.

Destruction of private property is imminent, prepare for impact!

LET'S GO!

Jump.

Glass crunches into the expensive carpet under your feet as you stand. A cleaner watches you, wide-eyed, from behind the plastic window of his uniform.

"Ow."

You hear someone clear their throat.

"Oh, good. You're all hard at work. Go about your business."

"What are you looking at?"

Your legs still feel like jelly when you try to step towards the ledge. You can't quite lift your knees high enough to get up there.

Take the loss.

You stand in place.

As you peek over the ledge the ground seems to fall away, opening a void between you and the alley below.

Oh. It's like... a high rise.

A fourty-meter fall separates you from the pavement below.

Try to breathe through it.

The anxiety in your head quiets, but the tremor in your legs doesn't go away.

Nope, can't do it. (Back.)

The throbbing in your chest dulls as you avert your gaze from the ledge.

Okay. Well. Good peeping. [Leave.]

So it goes -- in ignorance, you are free to leave.

I'm going to consider my other options. [Leave.]

Options with a lower likelihood of a plummeting death are always desirable.

This must be Reno's pied-a-terre.

He's one of the only people in Portofiro who has benefited from free market capital enough to afford this kind of luxury.

The landlord remains as unknown as the secrets within.

Light glints off a wall of glass. The apartment behind it appears to be of a higher calibre than those around it.

Elevated, isolated -- a space in which it is possible to live amongst others without descending into worry about their intentions.