"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Rain patters the terrace.

"You got the kibble? Yes. Thank you."

"Do you have those exit papers?"

"Of course. Just... one more thing. There's something I want you to see."

"Shake that bag of kibble you have there, would you?"

"What's with this big cage?"

"It's a 'catio'. A cat patio. I got it so she could enjoy the fresh air, but well, she didn't take to it..."

The fresh wound splits back open.

"I bet it's talking animals again."

"It's quite the opposite. Please just do it."

"Won't the boars hear? We'll be swarmed."

"It's true that you should never shake kibble at ground level -- but we're safe up here."

Shake the kibble. (Proceed.)

From the shadows a large boar emerges and steps toward the kibble, snout thrust downward.

"Whoa..."

The boar glances at you, then Reno.

"Here, I'll take that. He'll squeal if you're too long about it."

He pours kibble into three large flowerpots, then edges them towards the cage with his foot.

"I found him going through the trash outside some weeks ago. My first instinct was to scare him away, so I clapped my hands together, but he just stared at me... so I brought him up."

"I had a feeling there was something weird about this kibble request."

"It is slightly non-standard. Him being up here whilst I conduct business below."

The boar knows nothing of the economy, only what is in front of him.

"I haven't been completely honest with you. I knew who you were the moment you started asking after Tempo: the 'Opera cunt'. He was hoping you'd come."

Microscopic waves of warmth radiate out from him.

You need the exit papers. Don't surprise him.

"I'm sorry. I was too late."

A small gust of wind ruffles the fur on the boar's head.

"There-there."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Tempo always said that in the matters of economy and culture, the upper hand is often gained by underhanded ways. This made him a lot of enemies, of course."

Flicking ashes out the window.

"I had to make sure you weren't one of them."

"I'm here. Now what?" (Proceed.)

"Do you believe in the transmigration of souls?"

The boar raises its snout, seeming to sniff something in the air.

"Wait, I thought all that stuff was just about business advice."

"Life, death, business. There's very little distinction between them. I'd expect a friend of Tempo's to appreciate that."

"I believe in multi-media franchises -- film adaptations, novelisations of the film treatment, and interactive theatre experiences."

"I see why you and Tempo got along. You talk about culture in similar terms."

Vast, ever-expanding, a castle in the air ready to topple and dissolve.

"I believe that when we die our souls rise up through the atmosphere and into the void of space, where they lay waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"To be reborn of course. Some find themselves locked in high-orbit for thousands of years. Others bounce right off the moon."

"Whatever happens, our souls will always return."

Of course we will. Pain is temporary -- the gäng, eternal.

"A sweet thing to keep in mind, even if it's not true."

"This boar was once someone else. Maybe another animal, maybe a man, maybe a woman. He may not have their memories, yet the soul remains intact."

In a faraway hotel, a man presses the button for the lift. On the nineteenth floor, something waits for him that will change his life, if only he can figure out what it means.

"How was Tempo, the last time you saw him?"

"He'd become more erratic in those final weeks, I... It was always on and off. We fought about something or, he fought with me. But I always thought that in the end..."

"I always thought that it would be the two of us."

"And you think Tempo's soul... is in this boar?"

"No. That would be a bit silly now, wouldn't it."

Tense.

Cagey.

Contradictory.

"It sounds like you think he actually is in there."

The wealthy and controversial entrepreneur shifts back and forth. He doesn't respond.

"Where do you think your soul came from, before it found you?"

"I've been more concerned with where it'll go... I hope that's toward wherever Tempo is. Maybe our souls will chase each other through asteroid belts -- we'll orbit the moon together."

A clear night, the moon nearly full. Visibility unlimited. Temperature 11 degrees and steady.

"Or we'll be back here... as a boar, as a cat, maybe as a pair of fishermen. Our souls will be together... in -- in every lifetime." He closes his eyes.

Skies clear today. A light breeze reminds you that your body is a cage, but not an unpleasant one. Temperature 11 degrees and steady.

A clear night. The profusion of stars reminds you that humanity guides itself by the light of the past. Temperature 11 degrees and stable.

Winds from the south make it hard to be present in the moment. Expect gusts up to 24 kph, becoming calm by evening.

Bands of light rain continue to move slowly north and east across the region. Walks home expected to be unseasonably melancholic. North wind 5-8 kph, becoming calm after midnight.

"Why did you fight, the last time?"

"I don't even remember... once we had a spat about... what was it-- the hot tub, I think. Whether or not I needed a bigger one. I said he just needed to watch his weight."

"He stormed out of my apartment with one of my model trains -- then spent the next month mailing me photographs of it getting involved in completely historically inaccurate railroad incidents."

THIS IS A PERFECTLY NORMAL WAY OF PRODUCING HISTORY.

And managing relationships.

"How do you feel about it now?"

"There's nothing else left but to make peace."

"But, I'm sorry, he was your friend too. I know you were close. How are... how are you feeling?"

"I wish I'd been able to say goodbye."

"Yes."

"But it would never be enough, would it? One last conversation, one last kiss, one last evening..."

"I feel like we never had a chance. We were fucked before we started."

"Yes, life does feel that way sometimes." He brushes something from his sweater.

"I don't feel anything."

"Right. Grief takes its own time."

"Like I'm glimpsing one of my own potential futures."

"Yes. I know in your line of work... well. Tempo had everything, materially. I would have given him the world, but even that wasn't enough. Not thrilling, not fulfilling -- who can say."

"About those exit papers..." (Conclude.)

"Right, why you're here after all. Please." He hands you the small document.

"I hope you get the girl out safely. Tempo would've wanted that, I think... not that I always knew his heart, but..."

"I'll get her out."

"Good. Good."

"Thank you, for coming up here. I'm sorry for all this... I'm very tired."

The boar looks on, its expression inscrutable.

"Well, good luck to you."

"Thanks, Reno."

Say nothing, just nod.

"Sorry, Reno. I'm not buying it."

"I'm not selling you anything. We're just having a conversation."

A conversation the boar seems to have taken an interest in.

Let him speak.

"Some find themselves locked in high-orbit for thousands of years. Others bounce right off the moon."

"If it helps me make money, I'll believe in anything."

"That's a very cynical perspective, even by my standards." He blinks.

"Sounds like a coping mechanism for the weak-minded."

"A seemingly grounded perspective, and yet in some ways fearful as well. What if there is something else, after?"

"Tell me more."

"I haven't been completely honest with you. I know who you are: Tempo's friend, the 'Opera cunt'. He was hoping you'd come."

"Why'd you do that?"

"I don't really know. Something washed over me. Maybe it was his sweet and reckless energy. I... I have a soft spot for animals."

The boar perks up its snout.

No judgements.

"It's good to come up here and talk to him."

"Fate has delivered unto me a war steed. Saddle up."

"I'm afraid this boar is a pet and not intended for violence."

"Why are you showing me this?"

He shifts his stance awkwardly, turning away from the boar to focus entirely on you.

"Hello, fellow animal."

The boar seems to almost nod toward you, before glancing at Reno.

Watch.

"You could have warned me about the animal."

"Yes. He drives a hard bargain, but he's very fair." The man nods. "Reminds me of one of my mentors."

"He needs help. He's trapped by his material desires."

"I don't think he wants to go outside anyway. And Quisach has enough problems as it is, it doesn't need a violent materialistic monkey running around."

"There's no way he's a real monkey. This has to be some perverse new form of psychological warfare."

"It's just his nature to be horrible and terrifying. Poor thing."

"If I gave him a gun he could be my tiny evil bodyguard."

"Do not arm that monkey. Do not do it. Just don't."

"Every animal is just a reflection of ourselves."

"You may be right. My cat admires a model train as well as any skilled collector. Once I painted a 'Sanguine Peak' 121-TR cobalt blue rather than the customary crimson. She loathed the inaccuracy. Batted it straight off the track."

"What happened to whoever owns the pet shop?"

"I prefer not to wonder."

Ate. He's ate for sure.

"The King's holding up well. Making fine trades."

"I'm so glad to hear it. I do worry about him alone up there, but... well. There's something I want you to see."

"Someone has to do something about that monkey."

"Yes. I plan to get around to it myself eventually, but... well. There's something I want you to see."

"Please, the kibble. You can have your exit papers as soon as you've brought it."

"Did you manage to get the kibble?"

"Did you know there's a talking monkey in there?"

"Yes. He drives a hard bargain, but he's very fair." The man nods. "Reminds me of one of my mentors."

"He needs help. He's trapped by his material desires."

"I don't think he wants to go outside anyway. And Quisach has enough problems as it is, it doesn't need a violent materialistic monkey running around."

"The kibble is all you need. Just... give him whatever he wants."

"There's no way he's a real monkey. This has to be some perverse new form of psychological warfare."

"It's just his nature to be horrible and terrifying. Poor thing."

"If I gave him a gun he could be my tiny evil bodyguard."

"Do not arm that monkey. Do not do it. Just don't."

"Every animal is just a reflection of ourselves."

"You may be right. My cat admires a model train as well as any skilled collector. Once I painted a 'Sanguine Peak' 121-TR cobalt blue rather than the customary crimson. She loathed the inaccuracy. Batted it straight off the track."

"What does he want?"

"I've been giving him hard liquor and patterned shirts, but he seems to have grown bored of those. I'm sorry. You just have to try things."

"What happened to whoever owns the pet shop?"

"I prefer not to wonder."

Ate. He's ate for sure.

"Right. I'll be back with the kibble." [Leave.]

"Thank you." He turns away.

"How do I find this 'Animal Zone' again?"

"Right by the Bazaar's west gate. Look for the shutter."

"There's a problem: The Animal Zone is all locked up."

"The shutter, you mean? Yes. And thank goodness for that. But there's another entrance on the roof."

"Why 'thank goodness'?"

"So the... animals can't get out. Of course."

"That's why you want me to go for you -- parkour."

"Um. Well, yes. I'd certainly rather not climb."

"Ah, you're back."

"Reno... like the phone guy?"

"Yes, that's me." He tenses slightly.

He doesn't like being called 'the phone guy'.

"What, uh, happened here?" (Look around.)

"I really don't want to get into it now."

You'd guess a penthouse like this probably goes for about 6 million sol. This one is not currently fit for human habitation.

Looks like boars live here. Smells like it too.

"I heard you and Oskar went hard."

"Just look at this mess..." he mutters to himself."

"Oskar... He's alive? Thank heavens."

"But no, I have nothing to say on this now... just look at this mess." He gestures toward the cleaners.

"Sure, your call." (Let it go.)

The man seems to be locked in a kind of eternal struggle with his environment.

"I want to speak with you about Tempo del Sur."

"So you're not with the cleaners at all, you're one of Tempo's unspecified associates." He stares at you evenly. "What are you doing in my home?"

"You know he's dead, I'm guessing."

"I've heard, yes." A long pause. "I thought maybe he'd just gone underground. He always had a way of turning up somehow."

"What do you think happened?"

"A man whose only strength and weakness was being himself? That passionate and reckless? If you occupy your time with playing all sides against each other for personal gain..."

His right hand forms a fist.

"There's only one way such stories end. I appreciate the closure your presence brings, but please, spare me any details."

Heart. Pain.

"I saw the blood. He's gone."

He stiffens, then nods slowly.

"Did you know the Weeping Eye had him on their lists?"

"No, of course not. How could you ask such a thing?"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Five weeks ago, before his last trip to La Luz."

Too quick. Practiced.

"What about his dealings with the Luzians -- did he say anything about the Ministry of Mass Culture, strange devices, whatever."

"I don't know anything about that, I'm afraid." He scratches his nose.

"Really? I thought you two were some kind of power couple."

"I wouldn't use that word. We... worked well together, on a spiritual plane. We saw the world in complementary ways. I don't know how to put it."

"I dealt with the overworld, he with the under. Safer for us both that way."

"Safe, right."

"Relatively speaking." An awkward pause.

"But you must have known something about his business."

"Of course I knew he did business in Luz. He built the Bazaar up himself, no way around it. He was always bringing back new speakers and disc players and so on. He was mad for Luzian stuff -- L-Pop, the rest of it."

Not his thing, personally.

"How'd the two of you meet?"

"Oh. Business. At first. But it became something else, quite fast. I first took note of him when he turned the abandoned silk factory into the Bazaar."

Entrepreneurial ambitions, strong qualities in an asset, as you marked in TAXMAN straightaway.

"Put him on many radars... both here and abroad. But well, that's... that's over now."

"What was he like before his last trip?"

"Mm. Excited, I would say. He had a boyish glint in his eye. I believe he was using a large deal of cocaine at the time, so I didn't necessarily take his words seriously."

"What sort of words?"

"Big words. Fate. Forgiveness. Friendship. If you knew Tempo then you know the sort of thing I'm talking about."

Uttered with great solemnity one instant then spat out like curses the next. They seemed to take on their own solidity, detached from any human situation.

"Perhaps you should have taken his words more seriously."

"Yes, you might be right there." He sighs.

"Did he ever mention the Opera?"

"No, Tempo never cared for the high arts. He was more about the 'streets'."

"I mean the spy service. The communists."

"Oh!" Embarrassed. "Only a little. He used to say he did a little work for them once upon a time. I don't know whether I believed him."

"Do you think it's actually true?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you're right. Tempo never failed to surprise."

"Did you have any other business here, or...?"

"No."

"Right. Probably just something he said."

"Who knows?"

"Right. Impossible to say, really."

"What about 'CASCADE'?"

"Is that an opera? I've never heard of it." He scrunches up his face.

"It's me. A name I used to go by."

"I'm sorry," he shakes his head. "I don't think he ever mentioned you then."

A good friend, a better asset.

A little prick to the ego.

"Forget it. Let's move on." (Let it go.)

"Makes sense, that's where real culture comes from."

"Mm. I can see how you and Tempo got along."

"Enough about all that. Let's move on." (Let it go.)

"I have a feeling I haven't been much help to you."

"I don't believe you."

"I've got some questions about his business dealings, with the Luzians."

"Heard from him lately?"

"Excuse me, officer. Is this an official proceeding? If so my lawyer should be here."

Our uniform, thinks we're law-gäng.

"Call it unofficial for now."

"No need for games. He's dead. Why are we discussing it?"

"Ah, so you're one of Tempo's unspecified associates." He stares at you evenly. "What are you doing in my home?"

"I need to get exit papers arranged for someone."

"I see." He sighs. "Cash only, with half of it paid up front."

"How much cash?"

"Two million, I'm afraid."