Coordination

The grinning 'Financial Citizen' welcomes you back, his offer still on the table.

A click somewhere inside. The world slows.

The carabinero and his controller are deep in conversation.

She spins toward you, arm raised.

Movement at your peripheral vision.

"Welcome back to our program, Lieutenant Prophet Wilk." He raises his hands and claps slowly for the cameras.

You wake to blurry vision, thudding ears, and a dull ache in your lower spine.

"Perhaps someone should go down and check on Boris and Irina?"

You return to the shelves.

"You should probably find your colleague."

The two teenage girls refuse to look at you.

"Welcome, welcome."

"Hey, bud!"

You find yourself staring at the dummy once more.

"Hersh."

Another plastic wolf cup in your hand. As before, '1/6' is stamped on the hard bottom.

You stare up at the high filing cabinet.

You can make out an impression of the Bazaar beyond the window, obscured by dust and grime.

The stall remains as haphazard as ever, its payment bucket near empty.

"Hard to believe, but it seems the gap is widening, even as we speak!"

The Editor-in-Chief's desk is somewhat orderly. A few notebooks and proofs, a terminal, and a collection of pens -- laid out side by side.

"Well? Have you found out about the gap yet?"

"Yo, habibti." Goat Eyes flicks his cigarette.

"Ah here you are yes here. Do you like life in True Time?" She bounces excitedly, her metal headgear still jingling as she moves.

The toilet is still hung on the wall above the bar, a place of great honour -- a reminder of the Ceramic Panic of 83.

"Hello, again."

You step back to the tower of plushies.

"Did you have a chance to tidy up Admiral Rigau's shrine?"

The sun begins its slow retreat behind the western housing complexes. The day is dying.

The bomb is where you left it, looking completely innocuous.

"No rack for you! Pay up."

"The aerial creep is still up there, menina. Creeping."

"Wolf time!" The children glance at you before turning back to the television.

Your faint reflection stares back at you from the neighboring building's skylight.

"Alright. Communion with the cricket." Ramses initiates the session with a deft hit of three buttons and a switch.

"Whatever you did to the hogger, he looks proper sad for once." The old pilot tips his drink to you.

"Nothing for it now, CASCADE -- we await the conclusion."

"No flyers, no pamphlets, no gum!"

The hot tub's wrecked. There are cracks in the fibreglass, old water gone viscous. The filter sounds like a drowning goose.

The trio goes silent at your return.

"Hnng."

The tabletop is splattered with the drying blood of your old friend.

You return to the folded pants.

"I'll be off soon so get whatever you need now."

Water sloshes quietly against the hull of the boat. The door is closed firm.

The monkey is still hiding in the shadows.

You unfold the cipher and remember the instructions extracted from the novel:

The vending machine awaits your selection, yet seems utterly indifferent to it.

"Back again, CASCADE? Might want to, you know, get the fuck on with it."

"Please, if you see Karolina. Do let me know."