PORTOFIRO

A shard of Portofiro's filthiest gutter-birthed tunes. Worshipped by your old asset, Ramses. Clutching this disc flips a murder-switch in your spine, readying the meat for a coming massacre.

Sweet and strong enough to power a small riot. Smuggled from La Luz and technically illegal in Portofiro – sip discreetly.

Bearing the dirty amber stripe of authority, these trousers are known and feared around the whole of Portofiro. Comes with complimentary belt.

Portofiro, 91. Faces you once knew stare back in muted tones. The photo feels heavier than it should.

Portofiro's only space mission did not explode upon takeoff, as is generally believed. The truth of what happened with Project AUTONOMÍA, and what the cosmonauts found out there, is contained in this, the final recording from that mission...

Made from beans grown in Dream of Rustam and roasted in Portofiro's Hill of Pigs neighbourhood. Acidic enough to bore a hole in your stomach.

It rains about half the year in Portofiro – you can buy boots just like these in any corner shop. The streaks of dried paint, however, are after-market.

Portofiro's favourite cherry-ish liqueur, now in non-alcoholic, chewable form. Guaranteed to relax the mind and exercise the jaw.

A foam rest, dented with the memory of Portofiro's backsides.

"Allow me to blow your mind. She's in Portofiro. I met her."

"Portofiro is a bit of a backwater, it must be said."

"Allow me to blow your mind. She's in Portofiro. I met her."

A vacant pale green chair in the corner of the living room. A photo frame at the base of a shrine. And a wooden box buried on Portofiro's third tallest hill.

"So stupid! Like what are they afraid of? That we'll see what we're missing out on and realise Portofiro's a wasteland? Too late."

"It's good being back in Portofiro. I missed this place."

"I was an interzonal man, right up until 81. Consultant class. Two decades in foreign hotels and meeting rooms, harmonising standards for partners. Getting Portofiro ready for the big leagues, you see?"

"EMTERR interrogated me, here in Portofiro. I broke."

"It's fucking lovely here! What's wrong with Portofiro? Shh, Karochka."

You close your eyes. The plane of shapes and colours rises in front of you -- the psycho-geography of Portofiro.

Forget local laws, this is a logistical problem. A firearm that made its way to Portofiro likely arrived via crate. The boatmen by the old docks -- start there.

"Whatever, listen: The Grand Lich is coming to Portofiro. He's negotiating some kind of secret treaty with EMTERR..."

"Eszti's working for the Bank, for real this time. She's Head of Human Capital for Portofiro."

It seems your former double and the richest man in Portofiro share a similar taste in literature.

And if there's a copy of HOLOCENE's novel in Portofiro, it'll be here too. Try the sci-fi section.

If there's a copy of HOLOCENE's novel in Portofiro, the sci-fi section of this stand is probably your best bet.

If there's a copy of HOLOCENE's novel in Portofiro, it'd be here. Try the sci-fi section.

A Zatiros-3 unit -- manufactured in Tsun's Arc, not Portofiro.

"She's our best in Portofiro. And the only one on our side who knows the nature of the gap."

But you are not of Portofiro.

Your controller orders you to assemble a new network, in Portofiro.

"No, I meant secret jails run by EMTERR in Portofiro."

"Ever heard about an unmoored houseboat drifting around Portofiro?"

"Your children are Portofiro's resident experts on techno-fascist propaganda."

Portofiro's largest organised crime syndicate. Who he no doubt works for.

"Standard Portofiro bullshit is what."

"And I'm Rustamian, like your tall friend." He smiles. "My mother came to Portofiro when she was little. Raised me on hibiscus tea and stories about the commune."

Carabineros: Portofiro's sanctioned police investigators. They report directly to the Prefectura and deal in actual crime -- murder, grand larceny, rape.

"My mother's a Rustam woman, inland blood. Came to Portofiro with her parents when she was eleven." He smiles. "She raised me on hibiscus tea and stories about the commune."

"I was young, Vespar offered protection." He scratches the side of his nose. "It's Portofiro, you know? GMs and people like me, they work two sides of the same street."

"It's been years, but I'm sure it was the usual shit. 'Mourned by his brothers', 'fell in steadfast service to Portofiro'. You know, all that honour talk."

Potential -- for your still-fledging Portofiro network. And so, you made a move.

I lit up the fires of Perpetual Revolution in him, recast Portofiro's streets as post-historical frontlines.

THERE ARE NO KINGS IN PORTOFIRO.

Even in this spectral form you recognise him -- Sweet Nestor, Portofiro's supreme leader.

"We will take EMTERR's money to develop Portofiro, no more Superbloc fearmongering! Portofiro isn't some backwater province. PROSPERITY AND AUTONOMY!"

And prevented him from investing Portofiro's hopes and dreams in a semi-hostile foreign power which could withdraw its support at any moment...

Even in this spectral form you recognise him -- Sweet Nestor, Portofiro's supreme leader from the years 28 to 80.

"We cannot hold Portofiro back for the sake of ideological purity. Revolution got our wheels spinning but now we have to go somewhere!"

This is more money than you've seen since you arrived in Portofiro.

This Bagman is the fibre of the web connecting all paranoia in Portofiro.