The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.

The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.

Vandalise your enemy's door.

The blank canvas is ready for the artist of vengeance to express herself.

Write 'spy' on her door.

You write the word in large, looping letters.

Write 'liberal pig' on her door.

You write the words in large, looping letters, and then scribble a little piggy face underneath it.

Scratch 'spy' into her door.

You etch the word into the wood in large, jagged letters.

Scratch 'liberal pig' into her door.

You etch the phrase into the wood in large, jagged letters.

Pry off the doorknob.

A few jerks of the prybar, and the knob pops clean off.

Eh, better not.

You back away from the door.

Open the satchel and look through.

In the bottom of the satchel, spine creased and carelessly left facing downward, you find a green hardback volume.

Is there anything incriminating in here?

You scour the smaller pockets inside, but find only pens, paperclips, sticky notes -- and an ancient pacifier.

Gummy rubber tip gone brittle.

That's it? Not even an EMTERR-branded notebook or something?

Nothing. Even the pens are of the standard, non-electrocuting, ballpoint variety.

She's covered her tracks well.

Hmm. Secret raver? (Taste the dummy.)

You give it an experimental suck. The nipple is uncomfortably hard against the back of your front teeth at first, but it softens as your saliva coats the rubber.

Sour-funky-staleness. A bit of lint from the bottom of the bag fuzzes against your tongue, but you taste none of the tell-tale earwax and aspartame flavor of ecstasy.

This is a normal pacifier, for normal infants. It's never been in contact with drugs.

This is soothing as fuck. Babies are onto something.

You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the hard candies, the cigarettes...

You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the cigarettes...

You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the hard candies...

A far-off sense memory: the taste of your thumb, once-soothing, suddenly bitter and sour. Painted with foul-tasting polish to keep you from sucking it.

'You'll give yourself an overbite...' my teeth turned out fine. So there.

It was for your own good.

Check the sticky notes.

Short phrases, scrawled in a loose, neat hand: 'P. 152, re-read chapter', 'Assignment due before term end!!!', 'Transference??'

Squished and bounced around in the bag, they've come un-stuck from the textbook's pages.

Does Duchess have anything else hidden in here?

Examine the book.

Not interesting. (Close the satchel.)

You re-fasten the bag.

Once again, you see the slim paperback titled 'The Shadow Mother' hiding between the other textbooks.

I'll just borrow this. (Take the book.)

The volume slips neatly into your pocket. You re-fasten the bag.

Not interesting. (Close the satchel.)

'The Shadow Mother' slips back against the worn canvas of the satchel's main pouch.

Shadow... mother?

Indeed -- Shadow Mother. According to the subtitle, 'A Clinical Study of Traumatic Generational Narcissism'.

I could use a little light bedtime reading.

There's nothing 'light' contained therein. Only darkness and trauma.

I was hoping for witch-MILF erotica, or something.

There will be no erotic thrills here. Only trauma.

Who would leave this here?

There's a million reasons one might leave a book in a satchel outside their door. No single one jumps out at you right now.

It appears to be some kind of textbook. It's titled 'The Shadow Mother'.

Hazy memories flick by. Among them, you see the amalgamation of bitter flesh that birthed you, sitting like a creature in her lair.

I'm getting a very 'personal' feeling from this.

Everyone has a mother. Not all of them belong to the Shadow.

The subtitle declares the book is 'A Clinical Study of Traumatic Generational Narcissism'.

Grrrrrr...

Close the satchel.

Take another look in the satchel.

The damp paper has curled in on itself, molding to the rough shape of the bag.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of mildew and urine.

Sniff test determines you may be dehydrated.

Can I salvage the book?

Once it's had time to dry, the book will be readable -- though the scent might linger.

Take 'The Shadow Mother'.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of stale coffee and mildew.

There's definitely ants in there. Crawling colonies swarmed in the sticky-sweet syrup that's soaked into the pages... countless tiny horrible legs ready to tickle your skin...

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of sour alcohol and mildew.

'The Shadow Mother' is just where you left it.

Exact retribution on your enemy.

The satchel is virtually empty since you took the book out. There's nothing to 'exact retribution' upon.

The 'Shadow Mother' looks up at you from the bottom of the bag.

A work of psychology. SILHOUETTE's been honing her craft in her free time.

Sure would be a shame if something... happened to it.

Dump a canned coffee in the bag.

Alternative wording

You crack the top of a can of RUMBA! with a pop and a fizz.

Alternative wording

You crack the top of a can of Jefa Red & Black with a pop and a fizz.

Alternative wording

You crack the top of a can of Camisado Ultra Sweet with a pop and a fizz.

Text unavailable

Glug glug glug. A sickly sugary odor rises from the bag as the sticky beige liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

No more dirty mind tricks from the Bank Bitch.

The pages of the book are already starting to stain and soften as you re-fasten the bag's main pouch.

This is definitely about my enemies and not at all about me.

Glug glug glug. A rich acidic odor rises from the bag as the tar-black liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A strong, slightly chemical odor rises from the bag as the thin black liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Dump some booze in the bag.

The bottle of Perro Pale uncaps with a hiss.

Alternative wording

The bottle of OXEN Bock uncaps with a hiss.

Alternative wording

The bottle of schnapps uncaps with a twist of your wrist.

Alternative wording

The tiny bottle of schnapps uncaps with a twist of your wrist.

Alternative wording

The bottle of mezcal uncaps with a twist of your wrist.

Glug glug glug. A sweet, malty odour rises from the bag as the dark liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. An astringent, sickly-sweet herbal odour rises from the bag as the purple liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. An astringent, sickly-sweet herbal odour rises from the bag as the purple liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A smoky odour rises from the bag as the clear liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A thin, hoppy odour rises from the bag as the yellow liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Maybe I'm being too hasty.

You re-fasten the main pouch of the bag.

Perhaps a more subtle revenge can be arranged?

Sign our name to that shit, so she knows better than to fuck with the gäng again!

Leave the bag alone.

Alternative wording

My work here is done. [Leave.]

You turn back to the alley.

Your eyes land on a soggy satchel hanging heavily on a hook by the door, dripping onto a pair of colorful rain boots.

Oh. Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

So this bag belongs to... Duchess. And SILHOUETTE is... her sister.

You're in so much trouble.

Not to mention this makes Duchess highly suspect. You may have been consorting with an operant the whole time.

Maybe I should bail on this now. It could be a trap.

Or it could be just the 'in' you're looking for with EMTERR. Maybe you don't even need Frederik -- just Duchess.

This is all SILHOUETTE's fault, that liberal bitch.

You had better hope Duchess and her sister aren't very close.

Operant CASCADE is classified ONLY CHILD. Understanding of sibling dynamics best described as 'theoretical'.

No, no... I can fix this!

You've managed to stay on her good side so far, this is not going to help matters.

Alternative wording

You'll need to. You've already upset her more than enough, this is not going to help matters.

Alternative wording

She's going to stab you again. Prepare your internal organs for penetration.

Maybe I can beg for forgiveness? On my knees. Hands and knees.

Have a proper grovel. She can't get too mad at you when you're slobbering 'mea culpa'-s over her fuzzy socks.

No I'm not. I'll just lie. She'll never know it was me.

A good poker face is key. Maintain that, and you'll have Duchess on your side regardless of whatever horrible acts you've committed on her belongings.

A plain canvas satchel hangs from a coat hook. A pair of colourful rain boots sit on the ground below it.

No boots in the house. A tidy, meticulous occupant.

Who just leaves a bag unattended outside like this?

People must feel secure in this neighborhood.

A hundred old women's eyes watch this alley from behind the lacy curtains of their windows.

A granopticon.

Don't trust it. Feels like bait.

Duchess said that the satchel was hanging outside her sister's place. Must be hers.

Um...

Thank god you didn't needless vandalise the bag and its contents.

Your eyes are drawn to the boots below the bag.

Wait -- where have I seen those rain boots before?

They kept a pair of feet dry as they stood in ankle-high water in the basement of a magazine office.

The EMTERR interrogatrix.

Alternative wording

SILHOUETTE. The EMTERR interrogatrix.

Duchess's sister is your enemy. And she appears to be living here.

This makes Duchess highly suspect. You may have been consorting with the enemy this whole time.

She must be staying here.

Surely not...

Duchess said that the satchel was hanging outside her sister's place. Must be hers.

And her sister must be out -- the lights aren't on inside the apartment.

An electric shudder passes through the deepest canals of your body. Painless but concerning.

SILHOUETTE. Got you now, bitch.

The rain boots might as well be a bullseye -- but it's the satchel that your eyes focus in on.

OPEN IT. ALL PARCELS MUST PASS THROUGH PROCEDURAL SCREENING AND CUSTOMS. JUST IN CASE.

Where have I seen these rain boots before?