A weather-worn building looms over you, its back to the road. Yellow-beige plaster peels like parchment, exposing old brickwork.

A weather-worn building looms over you, its back to the road. Yellow-beige plaster peels like parchment, exposing old brickwork.

Taking in the surroundings, Hauzmann's words swirl in your head.

Secluded: check. Easy to ignore: check. And... (Glance at the door.)

A sleek intercom -- evidently a recent model. Add in signs of renovation, boarded-up windows, industrial drainage pipes...

You know what this place is, don't you?

That's an EMTERR jail, alright.

Passing itself as a literary magazine, according to the heartless man. You could try the front door, if you're feeling social.

Alternative wording

Passing itself as a literary journal, according to Hauzmann. You could try the front door.

Alternative wording

Passing itself as a literary journal -- one you already talked your way into. You could just walk in.

Alternative wording

Operating as an actual literary journal, as you saw first-hand. Maybe another a visit is warranted.

Better look around the premises before stumbling in again. It's possible you already exposed yourself.

It was a harmless visit. If anything, you might have made them less suspicious.

Front door sounds like my jam.

Either way, there's bound to be a way in.

Maybe I should look around first.

Map out the premises -- sure.

Why not? A bit of socialising can open more doors than a heavy boot.

What? We're not doing no poëtry shït. We live for that break-in shït!

(Sniff.) Smells like secret carceral fuckery.

Taking in the surroundings, the heartless man's words swirl in your head.

You made a note about this address. Those are the offices of the Noscorrentes literary journal.

That's the secret jail. No doubt in your mind.

Wait, that easy? I just got here!

No, not 'that easy'. Years of your life were dedicated to navigating spaces like this one. You understand them.

Let's walk through it. (Proceed.)

First, the space. A large structure, no advertised purpose, interior concealed, and one path to the entrance. An intentional funnel.

Above, boarded-up windows, alongside a deep-set one with shatterproof glass.

The boarded-up windows were mentioned by the ex-pilots too.

Then there's the pipe -- industrial-grade. The kind of infrastructure that could handle a dozen people.

There's more, isn't there?

Yes. Under your feet.

Look over the railing.

Below you, the drained canal passing directly under the building.

This could be where the engineer on the pylon saw the human-sized package...

By the canal's edge, a water-lock, used to grant passage to boats or barges.

Or people.

The Boatman mentioned a water-lock near a shady building...

Disparate bits of information, one by one, slide into place.

A faint current dances across your skin, as if frantically searching for ground.

Your gaze returns to the building before you. Its purpose is evident.

A house of suffering and loneliness.

This is the EMTERR secret jail.

No question. Definite territory, despite L'Empire's claims to the contrary.

A theatre-grade inference. Operant CASCADE re-emerges from the shadows.

Yeah, reeks of a secret jail.

A slow unease coils in your guts as you ponder the best way forwards.

You haven't mapped the space around you yet. No reason to rush for that door.

Lurkers draw attention. Operants walk in, then convince the world they belong.

Your gaze drifts over the water, the building, and its surroundings. As you take it all in, some doubts linger, but...

I'm going to bet on 'EMTERR jail'.

I'm going to bet on 'secret jail'.

Your gaze lingers over the water before drifting toward the building. As you take it all in, you're still not quite sure what this place is.

Something's off about this place.

The only way to find out is to proceed.

Below you, a man-made canal, passing directly under the building, slick with a rainbow-coloured surface.

I'm going to rub this in Melita's face so hard.

Not time to celebrate just yet. There's also the matter of what's below your feet.

Word on the street is -- CASCADE's still got it.

They really thought they could fool you with this playground-tier camouflage.

What's in there?

The Noscorrentes Review's offices, from what you've learned. A two-floor building with a significant footprint.

And yet only a single clear point of entry.

Hidden from the streets, too.

Suggesting no interest in drawing a crowd. Traffic control. Both ways.

Look at the intercom on the door.

The newly installed, newly revealed intercom stands sentry.

Examine the walls.

Behind the surface disfigurement, a skeleton that's withstood decades.

How old is it?

Around eighty years, judging from the state of the brickwork.

This building is like me!

Maybe. Though you have yet to see its insides.

It keeps them well-concealed, evidently. Sounds familiar.

It will not withstand CASCADE.

But first you must know it intimately.

Scan the windows.

Above the door, a set of three boarded-up windows.

Matching what the ex-pilots told you about an EMTERR jail.

Remind me to buy the boys a drink.

A nice thought, but celebrations will have to wait.

Unusual for a civilian structure. It's the kind of frame you'd see used by embassies, banks, governmental archives...

All sensitive locations...

Sensitive, yes. Also secure.

So, odds this is a containment-grade window?

Surmountable to high.

Forget the frame. Look at the glass. Something's off about it. Enhance!

Tilt your head to the right.

Colours bend, fragmenting into new hues.

There, that's stress birefringence. Window's shatter-proof. Maybe bullet-proof too.

Well, well, well.

One element at a time, the building before you comes into focus.

Let's find a brick, I'll ruin this thing.

Let's not do that. First, you still don't know what this place is. Second, the building has more to tell you.

Tilt your head to the left.

Colours distort, and a subtle rainbowing runs across the glass.

Squint real hard.

The world narrows, and the glass shimmers. Colours compress themselves wrongly.

Have I seen any window like this one around town?

Most Portofiran windows have shallow aluminium frames and visible weep holes.

Seems overkill. It's not even on ground level.

Assuming the point is to keep people out.

Could be a coincidence. They're veteran bullshitters.

They certainly are, but this piece of information was quite specific.

Think we can rule out 'residential building'.

Seems wise, but a commercial location remains a possibility.

One deep in the red.

What about that other window?

Someone likes their privacy.

Clearly not the most welcoming of places.

Study the large pipe.

A thick drainage pipe runs down the building's side, bolted tight.

Diameter in relation to structure... a rough capacity of twelve-to-fifteen litres per second.

Enough for a dozen people. In that building?

The numbers don't add up, do they?

Unless...

It's a jail.

Perfectly standard for a water-lock.

Look over the railing. (Conclude.)

The newly installed intercom stands sentry, wrapped in its plastic.

The intercom stands sentry.

A faint light glimmers. Active.

Circle the place. Sniff the crevices. Find its soft underbelly.

The gäng would like to make its introductions now. Storm the gates, lay siege!

But only one entrance?

You're not sure. It's hard to even tell whether the structure is residential or commercial. What's clear is that its footprint is significant.

The rumble of flowing water beneath your feet.