Blueprints

You approach Shelves B and C once more.

A typed page lies upside-down in a stack of similarly formatted files. The cover reads: 'Remote Viewing Testimonial N.28'.

"As I suspected, my sources were very pleased with your work. Well done, Hershel. It's an honour to work with you again."

The machine is still soured by the smell of urine. Beverages glow on the inside.

"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."

"Yyyes?" Again the heavy, authoritative Azzurri voice comes through.

Look, around your feet.

THE WANG GUIDE TO IMPROVISED FIREARMS, VOL 2.

"Wow... an actual liquidity mage..."

"Goodbye."

The abandoned cardboard moving boxes remain in the corner of the little apartment.

You have already engaged in model train repair and improvised weapon manufacture here. There is nothing else to do at the workbench.

"It's cold out here." The girl rolls her shoulders and lightly stamps a foot.

There's nothing to do here anymore.

"Didn't work, did it?"

"Hi again. Still not leaving yet, sorry." She puffs on her pipe.

"..." His idiotic expression remains unchanged.

"You. Again." The tapping begins.

You loom once more over the shrine and its congregation of frames.

The ration pack crinkles as you turn it over.

The pipe twists out from the concrete like the roots of a plumbing tree.

"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm…

"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."

A sheet of thick paper lies on the floor, folded in half and partially covered by shadow.

"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."

The chair waits before you, sagging and forlorn.

"You should move, CASCADE."

You crawl back into the tunnel, as far in as you were before, where it starts to shrink.

The control unit idles in its cradle, lights softened to a tired glow.

As you press down on the intercom button, a little light comes on.

The fire door stands between you and the roof. Unfortunately, someone removed the pelota ball that was wedging it open.

You return to the lone payphone.

You pick up the payphone's handset. A dolphin emblem smiles at you, its eyes wide.

You stand before Tempo's door once more.

"Hello again."

"Back again, are we?"

"How goes it, H?"

Three posters stare back at you from the wall. A watchful triad, ready to creep into your midnight's hour.

The cat lounges.

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

Looking out over the main hall, you try to imagine what it would have looked like thirty-six years ago.

The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.

The gate stands before you, still locked.

One more phone, one more voice.

"Operant."

The vendor won't look at you. He recoils slightly as you step closer.

The bed looks cold and dishevelled.

The mould's tendrils rise gently as you approach.

M.I.H.O.'s report on inter-matter phasing is still there, and still tempting.

You return to the faded billboard.