You return to the graffiti wall.

You return to the graffiti wall.

Touch the wall, see if you can feel the song.

You place your palm onto the tile. The song rises, fades. Shadows flicker in the room, shapes. You hear giggling by the door.

The wall is disturbingly moist. Like fresh morning dew on a tree trunk, but evil.

"I can hear you out there!"

A man's voice, furious, from within one of the stalls. You turn to see Nestor's shadowy figure sitting on the toilet, a mug in his left hand.

"I came in early today to enjoy some private time before the conference! It's me who represents us, here!"

He flushes the toilet and exits the stall, where his attention is immediately caught by something on the bathroom wall.

"Oh, oh, reactionary, am I? Very clever, very original." He yells to the hallway, "You want the Superbloc delegation to see this slander?! We only have one bathroom, you fools!"

More giggles in the hallway, the sound of footsteps running away.

He takes one last look at the wall then closes his eyes, a figure of hazy melancholy. He fades.

But an aura of frustrated disappointment remains.

You're in a haunted bathroom.

Yes, it's alright. We've been through this.

Just making sure you haven't changed your mind about getting the fuck out of here.

Wonder if shit makes it across the spectral plane.

Don't go near them!

Ghosts! It's ghosts!

Yes, I get it -- ghosts! Hush.

You're just going to be in here with the ghosts. Alright.

Yeah is this a bit fucked maybe?

Get the fuck out of here!

A man's voice, furious, from within one of the stalls. You turn to see a shadowy figure sitting on the toilet, a mug in his left hand.

Even in this spectral form you recognise him -- Sweet Nestor.

Even in this spectral form you recognise him -- Sweet Nestor, Portofiro's former supreme leader.

Tune in to the building's frequency.

You breathe in, tasting the building's flavour -- stale damp, memories of plumbing. Dust swims through your lungs. The building knows you, now. It will allow itself to be known in turn.

Figures appear in the room. Hazy, human. They walk in and out of the cubicles, wash their hands.

One tacks up a sign on the wall which says: 'WELCOME TO THE INTERNATIONAL PARTY CONFERENCE 66. PLEASE FLUSH'.

With the ghostly figures comes a song -- a low and constant sound. The room ripples with noise, alive but blurred like a dream.

What... is happening?

Perhaps the song is hypnotising you into sharing a memory with the building, an architectural daydream.

People mill around you, chattering, formed in cloud by a slapdash maker. Some have both eyes on one side of their head, others are rendered limbless.

Ghost gäng. Huddle up.

Gäng don't fuck with ghosts. Scatter.

Must be an explanation. Need to see more.

A pair of hands passes you by, holding a roll of toilet paper.

A manifestation of psychic guilt, but whose?

Many spirits seem stronger than others -- their features clearer, their voices louder. The song rises as they pass. You could be onto something.

Spectral communists are trying to reveal immaterialist truths to me...

Some spirits seem stronger than others -- their features clearer, their voices louder. The song rises as they pass. Perhaps a side effect of their enhanced materialism.

Ghosts aren't real, this is bullshit.

The spirits mist and reform, swirling around you as they move. A floating arm passes through you clutching a roll of toilet paper. Hurting them could be a challenge.

This building is having an existential crisis.

Look around.

You grasp the tap of a hi-hat, but only once.

It was just the water dripping.

The faint drumbeat evades you, slipping away into the shadows.

So arhythmic that it may never have been a drumbeat at all.

Read the graffiti.

Difficult to know where to start. Insults, addendums, counter insults. Nudity in droves.

Look for names you recognise.

Nestor's name is the most common --- nestled in a thatch of vitriol and surreally hirsute cocks.

The name 'Nestor' occurs the most -- crowned with a thick layer of vitriol and cocks.

Sweet Nestor: Portofiro's former Supreme Leader.

Read about Nestor.

The words 'TRAITOR' 'REVISIONIST' and 'REACTIONARY' have been added and crossed out several times over the course of the years.

Any sweet gossip?

The older graffiti all seems to be variations on the theme that NESTOR IS A CAPITALIST DOG. Recent additions speculate on the origins of local STDs.

Enough. (Go back.)

A piece of tile falls softly to the floor.

Add your own mark.

You take out the Editor-in-Chief's fancy pen.

Not so fancy now, are you? Take this, nib.

Write: CASCADE.

Now future explorers will think that you pissed with Portofiro's revolutionaries. Cool.

Write: Whole Sick Crew Forever.

Or at least until this building collapses.

Write: Hershel <3 Melita

You carve her name into the mould and grime. The addition of her makes it beautiful.

Leave.

You turn away from the wall.

A damp record of the Palace's past life. Beer cans and bottles litter the floor beneath.

A melody rises and falls, but you can't tell where it's coming from.

For a moment you think you catch the sound of a drum, but it is gone before you can focus.

For a moment you think you catch the sound of a tambourine.