Water sloshes quietly against the hull of the boat. The door is closed firm.

Water sloshes quietly against the hull of the boat. The door is closed firm.

Maybe I should just wait to talk to Dr. Hugo when the clinic's open.

You could do that.

He seems like a reasonable enough man. You can probably talk sense with him -- at least moreso than you can with Dr. Gonza.

You'd rather ask for permission?

Look for another way in.

The hull of the boat looks as solid as the door. However, around the corner, on the stern side, a window is slightly ajar.

The wards have been broken...

A stack of dingy lifevests piled underneath provides a convenient step up.

Can I smash this door in?

The frame is solid, the hinges well-oiled and free of rust.

You'd need enough force to disjoint a 15mm thick aluminium alloy frame supported by a weathertight rubber seal.

Right. No go.

Perhaps a subtler approach is best.

So it'll work if I try really hard?

The answer is no.

Punch hard! Break metal!

And alert everyone around to the fact I'm trying to break in?

Pussy!!!

Graaah! (Punch the door.)

The door shudders, shaken by the power behind your fist, but the hinges hold strong.

Shake it off, Hersh, we'll KO the fucker in the next round.

Pain, instant and awful, jars through your fingers.

It travels up through your elbow like a kiss from loose, ungrounded wiring.

We've fucked up a nerve in there somewhere.

Examine the lock.

At the midpoint of the door is a three-point full stainless steel lock.

Can it be picked?

Only by someone with specialised knowledge of heavy-duty seacraft doors and their mechanisms.

I'm starting to think we should abolish doors. And locks.

This is a proposal that could do numbers in the Yearly People's Congress.

Re-assess the size of the window gap.

It's narrow, but not so much that you couldn't slide through. You should have a couple inches of wiggle room on either side.

Try to push the window wider.

Nothing. It doesn't move a centimeter -- doesn't even budge.

It's been left open in the first place because it's stuck like that -- it won't shut or open wider.

Years of warping from thermal expansion as well as exposure to the salty air has knackered it out.

Better be careful. I'm not fourteen anymore.

You feel your bones creak in agreement.

You've lost about four degrees of flexibility at every joint since those days. Your rotator cuffs are particularly stiff now.

And you tire out so much more easily.

That's all I need to know. (Conclude.)

The window remains open, daring any and all intruders to give it their best shot.

Bust our way in.

Just another sly break-in. Flashlight between our teeth, all the old school-gäng egging us on. Can still hear the screams from when it looked like we might fall.

You climb up to the window frame and peer inside.

What can I see?

A clear path -- a spot to land just inside the window frame.

Dark bookshelves, eerie silhouettes of medical equipment. The faint grey outline of a desk, no one sitting behind it.

Dr. Hugo asleep in the back room, no doubt.

Not much else, though. Too dark.

Glide through the window gap like you used to.

Smooth. If all our friends had been around to see that, they'd think we were so sick.

The ease of a seal on ice.

Somehow, miraculously, the angle is generous enough that you successfully force your huge, foam-encased head through the narrow space.

Still got it.

The second you land on the other side, a muscle somewhere in the meat of your hip immediately twinges.

Careful, let's not get carried away.

The high-grip gloves give you extra purchase on the frame, easing your journey.

You may have fucked it on the first go, but this will be different: a graceful, ten-point dismount.

We can still do this. Did it loads. We're not even that much bigger.

Yet another loud crack from the wood. This time, splinters stab your palms. At least one of them gets stuck under the skin.

From the dark interior beyond, a door quietly opens, followed by some shuffling.

Ambush. Weapon. Pounce.

(Whisper.) "Hello?"

Nothing in the silence. Almost an anti-presence. Every breath is being held.

Better leave before it gets nasty.

You edge away from the window.

Just like when we were young. Nice and smooth, wedge our way in...

Your shoulder catches the frame. Wood protests.

Everyone in a 10 metre radius must have heard that. That includes anyone sleeping inside this houseboat.

That structure is ready to give away almost entirely if you put any more weight on it.

Edge forward, slowly.

Little by little, you lean into the gap provided by the open window, crossing the threshold an inch at a time...

But, despite all your care, your weight distribution is off and you slip onto the window frame. It creaks again, even louder, but doesn't yet break.

"Who... who's there? I'm warning you, I have syringes and several scalpels," calls a soft voice from of the darkness inside.

Shit! (Retreat.)

You quickly back away from the window.

You might want to try assessing the size of the gap before trying again.

[Leave.]

You slink away from the houseboat.

A watertight marine door bars you from entering Dr. Hugo's houseboat.

A small placard above the entryway reads: COMMUNITY CARE CLINIC OPEN 4AM - 10PM

Why hasn't Gonza just broken in himself?

That would necessitate coming within spitting distance of his hated rival. Neither doctor is willing to break their detente.

Differences of opinion in medical practice are just the tip of the iceberg here.

At least they keep the place secure enough.

Alternative wording

At least KINDRED's father keeps the place secure.

Alternative wording

At least Karolina's dad keeps the place secure.

Alternative wording

At least Dr. Hugo keeps the place secure.

But is it to keep you out, or to keep something in?

Begging for a break-in.

Perhaps he's been waiting for your arrival to put out that particular welcome mat.

An invitation is always implied for those who know how to spot it.

Take a closer look.

The door awaits.

Maybe I should come back during business hours like a civilized person. [Leave.]

The boat's deck creaks in relief as you step away from the door.

You're not a part of civilization. Business hours only apply to you if you let them.

The watertight marine door is designed to keep out rough seas as well as any intruders.