Ramses' body, breathing softly.

Ramses' body, breathing softly.

Ramses lies on the floor, eyes open.

His expression is soft, curious.

Close his eyes.

You press your fingers over the soft skin of his eyelids, coaxing them down. They open again.

Leave.

You leave his body on the floor.

Shake him.

Tools jingle in his pocket. Nothing else happens.

He nods at you.

Ramses looks down at his body, as though only now aware of his corporeality.

"H. Fuck, H, that was..." He exhales a long, shuddering Fff.

Still vibrating a little from the adrenaline and the death whistle, Ramses, too, slowly comes back into himself.

A fundamentally flawed, but potent machine.

"I told you we'd make it."

"I mean, the loose ends phase I was talking about hasn't even started, don't get your hopes up, but..."

"In the Dream they had this word, Aaqil... it just means 'wise man', or like, 'reasonable man', but specifically it means someone who's survived a disease that was supposed to kill them."

"Supposedly, you become an Aaqil, you've cheated death and so now you get to choose when you die."

"So we're Aaqils now?"

"What? No, no, it's for men only."

"But, you know... even if we get shot in the head stepping off this fucking tram... every minute here on out is a minute stolen."

Somewhere, in whatever cosmic accounts are settled, there has been a mixup. Until such a time as it is cleared up, you appear to be off the hook.

"Stolen time begins at conception, Ramses. It's always been this way."

"Yeah, maybe..."

"Anyway, you'll excuse me if I light myself a celebratory one..." He pulls out an extravagant-looking blunt of some kind, but pauses with the lighter midway to his chin.

"Wait... Karolina?"

"Thought I was a goner, she saved me."

"Sick." He breathes a sigh of relief and resumes the motion of lighting the joint.

"KALEIDOSCOPE?" The word comes out in a bubble of smoke.

Shake your head.

"Fuck."

He nods, looks down. Smoke idly curls from his half-open mouth.

He thought he'd be dead. He isn't sure how to conduct himself alive.

"Could've warned me about the fucking song."

"I needed it to trigger the bomb."

"I figured. Fuck you, though. I nearly died to an ironic pop song."

"Anyway... Here's to stolen time, H."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I nearly died to an ironic pop song is what's wrong with it. Fuck you."

"Did it have to be an Ultra Violeta song?"

"It's good."

"I nearly died to L-Pop, Hersh. Fuck you."

"Sorry."

"Didn't know we were going out to Blood Golem."

"Thought you'd like it."

"Fucking poseurs. You know they did some proper plague shit back in the day? Couple demos, then they got this fucking producer who said their music was 'unsuitable for mass consumption'. Made them hire a synth player." He shakes his head in disgust.

"But it has... shouting and stuff. Don't you like that?"

"Effect-heavy whimpering."

"The gall on some of these people..."

"Don't worry. That producer is deffo getting cancer in the next few years. Lots of plague-purists chipping in with fucking hate meditations."

"I thought it was pretty good music for a shootout."

"Yeah, if you're hoping you're the one who gets shot."

"I wanted to make sure we died hardcore if we did."

"Sick."

"Why did that all happen to Music for Trams?"

"It's a jam."

"Fuck you. We nearly died to elevator music."

"Fits the surrounds."

"Didn't make it."

"Yana?" The word comes out in a bubble of smoke.

"She'll be alright."

"Good, good..." He breathes a sigh of relief and resumes the motion of lighting the joint.

"I... think she's okay. Not too badly hurt, at least."

"Yeah. Could have been worse." He breathes a sigh of relief and resumes the motion of lighting the joint.

"What'll you do with your stolen time?"

"Offshore radio operator, baby." He smiles. "Remember, you've got to put in a bad word for me. Tell them I must be demoted."

"Looks like we're going to live forever, Rams."

"Doesn't sound very wise. Aaqils are supposed to be reasonable, you know, not overstay their welcome. And it's just for men."

"Spiritual stuff aside, I'm just glad we made it."

"Had to get your attention somehow."

"When you blew that fucking death whistle, I felt, for a minute, like... ah, fuck. Never mind." He shakes his head.

Another time, another place. A different life overlapping for a moment.

"What is it?"

Vehicle riding full speed ahead to the Great Nothing.