"You've come back."

"You've come back."

"I'm looking for someone. Glasses, suit jacket, pantsless. Seen him?"

"Quite the sight. He came barging through not long ago." The man nods toward the docks. "There he is, talking to one of the dockworkers."

"Has he talked to anyone else?"

"The music vendor, only briefly. And the GM. Aside from that, he seemed to be rooting around for something -- inspecting some of the crates as he went by."

What a professional. Back with a vengeance.

"Thank you." (Proceed.)

"Of course. If you don't mind, do tell him that his lack of bottom-half decorum is bothersome."

"What are you doing up here?"

"I'm being punished. My employer has placed me in an impossible position."

A faded patch sewn into his pants, below the pocket. Twin black lines set against a yellow background -- Carriles de Portofiro, the oldest transit company in the city.

"I'm a safety inspector, watching the lines. As you might have noticed, this pylon is under construction, technically."

"I don't see any work happening."

"Precisely. That's because this line -- Line 9 -- will never be finished."

Line 9 -- the same line the man by the aero-tram station was told to wait for.

"So if someone were told to grab the Line 9 tram..."

"Then they would be waiting a very long time."

A cruel joke, most likely.

"Why is that?"

"Where to start. This pylon's angle deviated more than expected as the concrete set -- hazardous near water, shouldn't have skimped on materials."

Look. Another bald spot bobs within your reach... this one even more pristine than the last.

A shiny meadow within a tangle of dark forest.

Rub it.

The man notices your encroaching palm and slowly leans away from you as he continues talking.

"Then there are the clearance issues: The Party Alley rooftops are higher than the building department's official records."

These aero-trams would shear those right off.

"How's that your problem?"

"I'm the safety inspector on this segment. Construction can't proceed without my approval, approval I cannot possibly give."

"Since the last round of EMTERR 'stabilisation', they've been trying to force us lifers out. We can't be fired, not easily, but they can take away the work that made us stay in the first place."

The mention of 'The Bank' makes you bristle.

"I have two options. I could falsify my reports and declare Line 9 safe for construction anyway, or I could quit. Either way, the company can't lose."

"This is a punishment you can really savour. I'm jealous."

"It's exquisite, really: A perfect stability resulting from opposing tensions. As an engineer, I can only admire it. Of course, I'm also a man."

"Fortunately, this spot lends itself to reflection. Contemplating my punishment helped me see how to live with it."

All past entries pertaining to Operant CASCADE are stamped with the words 'NOT MY FAULT'. Twice.

He sees it. He sees the great unfairness afflicting you.

The question is: Can you live with your own?

"Maybe this pylon was built on a site used by neolithic shame-shamans."

"Scraps of the old-world leak into ours, who can say. But the height has drawn us both."

"You can't win either. Rigged game. I don't play those."

"That's a shame. You'd be in the perfect place to ponder your problems -- and maybe alleviate them."

"You seem strangely at peace with all this."

"I wasn't always." He nods. "I thought about throwing myself off this pylon, right where you're standing. I used to fantasise about the GMs dragging my waterlogged corpse from the canal."

"And? How do you live with it?"

"What else is left to do?"

EMTERR, a.k.a. L'Empire sans Territoire, a.k.a. 'The Bank'. Equal parts global development fund and spy service. Linchpin of the Developed World.

"You're saying your bosses put you here to drive you mad."

"So what can you do?"

"I could falsify my reports and declare Line 9 safe for construction anyway, or I could quit. Either way, the company can't lose."

Leave him alone.

"What's wrong with the line?"

"Why not?"

"What we're sitting on is hardly more than a sketch. This pylon's angle deviated more than expected as the concrete set -- hazardous near water, shouldn't have skimped on materials."

"Why is this assignment a punishment?"

"It's my role to ensure the lines and pylons are all built according to code. And this line -- Line 9 -- will never be finished."

You recognise the patch sewn into his pants. It's the Carriles de Portofiro's logo -- the oldest transit company in the city.

"You're no fan of EMTERR, I take it."

"I'm a structural engineer. I believe in stability. What EMTERR has brought isn't that. Their version of 'stabilisation' shifts the responsibility of managing entropy from the state to the individual."

"Human existence always carries entropy with it, that's inherent in the system. Social insurance, pensions, fair wages... these are measures against the entropy of living. They're also expensive."

Behind the abstractions, an unopened envelope rests on a countertop, the words 'FINAL NOTICE' stamped across its front.

"But that doesn't make the need for them go away."

"Such is the price for joining the Developed World."

He glances down. The world spins slowly.

"There's entropy in all systems, no living thing can avoid it entirely."

"Very clever, one must respect the hustle."

"No one's required to respect a system that oppresses and steals from them."

"Social programs are worthless against the decay of all matter. It must be stamped out through sheer will."

"Would you rather live somewhere else?"

"I've never lived anywhere else, so I can't say. I suppose there's the Superbloc, but they signed Latour-Woolgar as well..."

"Seen anything interesting up here?"

"Many things. But everyone has their own definition of 'interesting'. What's yours?"

"Have you heard rumours about people disappearing around here?"

"I can't say that I have." He pushes his glasses up. "But that's quite troubling. Why do you ask?"

He's not surprised at all.

Whatever lies you tell have a low chance of reverberating here.

"I've heard of disappearances around here."

"Oh. That's awful. I can't say I've heard of any disappearances but..."

He really does feel for you.

"There was some unsettling activity around here a few weeks back. A barge pulled up to the old building, south-east of here."

"What's in that building?"

"I couldn't tell you. I've hardly seen anyone go in or out. If it's a business, it's a failing one." He clears his throat. "As for the boat..."

"It was the middle of the night. They cut the engine before approaching the water-lock -- I almost missed them entirely."

"Maybe they were just being considerate?"

"People usually navigate the canals as noisily as they please. Even at night. If schnapps is involved, especially at night." He shrugs. "It's a cultural thing."

"They unloaded a single piece of cargo." He nods, to himself. "A large packing crate. They had no clue how to handle it."

Bodies are harder to move than you'd expect.

"How big was this crate?"

"I'd say..." He adjusts his glasses. "About two metres tall, a metre wide. Fairly standard."

Ample space for a person, plus cushioning and dampening material.

"What was wrong with how they handled the cargo?"

"Just about everything. The way they carried the crate on rather than shuffled it, the angle at which they escorted the cargo, the weight distribution of the package across the frame."

Merchandise. Bruises.

"And then?" (Proceed.)

"One of them spat on the floor, which is a habit that only creates unnecessary slip and fall hazards."

"Disgusting."

"That too." He shrugs.

Sat at the top of the world, he is free to judge anyone without repercussions -- yet his ire is reserved for those who violate health and safety regulations.

The hallowed god of hi-vis vests and hard hats.

"A few seconds later, and they were gone. Went into the building, I have to assume."

"Did they go in through the front door?"

"I can't be sure. You can't see the entrance from up here."

"Did you hear them say anything?"

"Scrapes, curse words, and... that was about it."

"But it is cool."

"We'll have to disagree."

"I mean, what happened next?"

"My apologies. Sometimes, specificities get the better of me."

"Suspicious. What were they up to?"

"What was unsettling about it?"

"Just wondering if you've seen something like that."

"Not as such, but..."

(Gesture at the view.) "It'd be hard to miss from up here."

"Certainly. But I haven't seen anyone disappear into thin air, if that's what you're suggesting."

"Have you seen anything spooky?"

"Hmmm. There's an unmoored boat has been floating around the canal to the south."

He points to the houseboat that has mysteriously appeared south of the roundabout.

"There doesn't seem to be a driver or any crew. Sometimes the wind carries an awful noise from it up to my ear."

"Hold on, can you describe the noise it's making?"

"Guttural and aggressive. Like some kind of primordial steel beast is locked in battle with a diseased swamp pig."

Terror to most. But for those with a taste for it...

"You mean like music?"

"I'm afraid so."

"May the steel beast prosper."

"Hmm. Would certainly be my favoured victor of the two. But it was a simile; the sound I believe is music."

"Glory to the swamp pig."

"Hmm. If I had to choose then I would say the steel beast would be my favoured combatant. But it was a simile; the sound, I believe, is music."

"A ghost boat. Definitely of interest to me."

"I hope nothing is amiss onboard. Unfortunately that seems rather likely."

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

"By definition there can be no reasonable explanation for disorder."

"Wondering if you saw someone. A man -- brown suit, bald spot, dialectical glasses."

"A colleague of yours?"

"More of a missed connection, I'd say."

"The world of hosiery's more baffling than I thought."

"I couldn't say. I'm above the Bazaar, not of it. I just see the people come and go."

"What have you seen?"

"The natural tides of commerce. Boatmen unloading goods. Porters delivering palettes. Customers browsing. Lots of pleasing symmetries if you have the eye for it."

"And that fire exit door, still open..."

"And the door, which you closed." He smiles. "Beautiful."

But no Tempo.

"I'm sorry to do this. Before I say more, there's just... one thing."

"What is it?"

"That fire exit -- the one you approached, but left open." He points to the northern side of the Bazaar.

"Some scofflaw has wedged it open with a pelota ball."

"And you want me to remove it for you?"

"That's correct."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because my job keeps me here. If I were caught off the pylon, it would give the tram company grounds to terminate me. I'm trapped."

"Okay, I'll remove the ball for you."

"Thank you."

"Forget it. Not doing it."

"Very well."

"It's just a ball, it's not hurting anything."

"The shortsightedness. The fire exit is clearly marked. Do people really think building codes are optional..." He mutters to everyone and no one.

This man's punishment may be of his own making.

"What do I get in return?"

"In return?" He narrows his eyes, before nodding. "I suppose I'll have to think of something."

"...Who cares?"

"I'll never understand the lack of respect for posted signage. Truly baffling."

"You see that fire exit over there?" He points to the northern side of the Bazaar.

"Yes, a fellow socks professional."

"I figured." He cocks his head to the side. "A sock-selling duo. There's something nice to that."

"I don't do 'colleagues'. This is a solo gig."

"A friend of yours?"

"Just a colleague."

"Oh, alright."

"More of an acquaintance."

"Oh."

"I don't really have those."

"Oh. Well, you're asking about him. Maybe a friendship's in the stars, yes?"

"Let's talk about something else."

"Mhm.

"Seen anything else that might be interesting to me?"

"Depends on your definition of 'interesting.'"

"I closed the fire exit."

"I saw. A true public service you've performed."

"I was of two-minds about it. I fear I may've made a grave error."

"Interesting. You've set my thoughts at ease while troubling your own. Thermodynamic, in a way. I'll think about this."

"I hesitated bringing this up earlier, but you might want to know... it seems you have a follower."

Hairs, attentive.

"A heavyset man, furtive but surprisingly sprightly. He wears a truly garish coat." He surveys the stalls below.

A light crackle teases you. The man from Foto 24?

"Why are you telling me this?"

"The fire exit you closed. The flagrant disregard for posted signage had been a great weight on my shoulders, and you removed it. To complete the symmetry, I had to do the same."

"Did you see him before today?"

"I've seen him around before, yeah."

"Is he down there now?"

"No, I don't think so."

(Flash the wolf sword.) "Don't worry. I'm prepared."

"Of course." He gives you a little wave before facing the horizon once more.

Just nod.

"I will. And thank you."

"I don't think I know anyone like you're describing."

"Strange, as he seems to know you…"

"I would point him out for you." He leans forward -- right over the edge. "But I haven't seen him since you climbed up."

"I don't think I know anyone like you're describing." (Lie.)

"People follow me all the time, no big deal."

"Sinister forces placed the ball there to corrupt order."

"I concur. It was a blot upon the Bazaar. But thanks to you, it's gone."

"The ball's happier with me. I'm going to brain my enemies with it."

"Hmm. Well, at least it's not violating fire code."

"It was ontologically intolerable."

"Some of the Bazaar folks are worried about you being up there."

"The crippled seamstress, you mean?"

He has been watching.

"Keeping an eye on people, are we?"

"I've seen her gesticulating at me many times -- rudely, in some cases." He adjusts his glasses. "She must assume I'm up to something questionable."

He's not bothered by you bringing this up.

"Still, I hope you don't take that claim seriously."

No harm in testing him -- just a bit.

"Patrons and vendors alike have witnessed you fondling yourself." (Lie.)

"Up here?" He looks around. "You must be joking."

"You can set the woman's mind at ease. My intentions are benign."

Alternative wording

"I'd appreciate it if you'd set the woman's mind at ease. As I said, I'm only here because of my work."

"Yeah, I don't think you're creeping."

"What you do up here is your own business."

"Brother, who am I to judge?" (Show him the fuckwand.)

"I'm afraid to say I can't relate. At all." He purses his lips. "No offense intended."

Shit, are we the only creep on this pylon?

"Let she who has not called an adult phone line recently cast the first stone."

"Do you know her?"

"I don't, but I see her gesticulating at me often enough. Clearly she's got some theories in her head..."

"She calls you the 'Aerial Creep'."

"I guess that follows naturally from the premise..."

"What your problem with the pelota ball?"

"Its presence offends me. That's a clearly marked fire exit. If you have the chance, I'd appreciate it if you'd remove it."

Contemplate the nature of your punishment.

Some questions don't require thought, but the opposite. Quiet the conscious mind, and the answer comes naturally.

"I get it. I know the reason why."

"Fantastic. What is it?"

"I abandoned my friends. Punishment suits me."

To be surrounded by those you know and whom you've allowed to know you in return. What self could ask for more?

The pylon man turns his head ever so slightly.

"They left me, too. They're all gone."

"Hmm, but it doesn't sound as though you've taken any measures to remake the bonds that have been frayed…" He tilts his head.

"I believe your question requires more time and experience than you've committed to it thus far. Not a criticism, simply an observation."

"I let them down, I don't deserve them."

"Hmm, sounds more like self pity than an objective assessment of a situation." He frowns.

"You wouldn't get it, you're just a rules-creep."

"Hmm, not sure what my weaknesses have to do with your own. These are independent variables." He frowns.

"I stole a glimpse behind the curtain of reality; great powers want me silenced."

You opened your inner eye and found the universe staring right back at you. What horrors will it visit upon you, now it knows that you see its strings?

The pylon man turns his head ever so slightly.

"I've unlocked strange powers, using them is a great responsibility."

"You hold yourself back because you fear retribution, or your own incompetence? Either way, interesting." He frowns.

"Intangible forces are targeting me, sabotaging my every move."

"You wouldn't get it, you're just a rules-creep."

"I have unfinished assignments and unsettled scores."

A life that demands absolute commitment, with no room for error.

The pylon man turns his head ever so slightly.

"They are great in number. The task seems impossible."

"Hmm, much like my own situation. And yet I don't think our predicaments are entirely symmetrical…" He tilts his head.

"Sometimes I feel my own superiors want me to fail."

"You wouldn't get it, you're just a rules-creep."

"My selfhood, fundamentally."

There's no meaning apart from what you think and experience. Not many are able to perceive the nature of things so clearly.

The pylon man turns his head ever so slightly.