Instincts

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!"

The Luzian device smoothly unfolds, its twin faces looking away from each other.

You return to the rack.

"Hersh."

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

A ruined sofa with a sad story to tell.

You stare up at the high filing cabinet.

There is no response, just the sound of your own breath against cool plastic.

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!"

Placid Wolf languishes atop his plastic cup.

"Operant... are you busy?"

Bagman gestures wildly on the television screen. This is the ad for the Reality Situation you've seen before.

There is nothing more to see here.

There is no answer.

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

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

You return to the hole.

"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 pick out the latest issue of 'The Noscorrentes Review' and feel its hefty weight once again.

You step back to the tower of plushies.

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

"Mm. Hey."

You return to the door of the little houseboat.

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

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

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

The phone rings, repeating its muted tone like a lover in your ear. There is no answer.

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.

The automat continues its electronic meditation.

A bottle sits in wet surrender among the grime. The label, damp but still holding strong, reads 'Wiśnia Schnapps On-Tour'.

You have arrived at Eszti's doorstep.

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

"No flyers, no pamphlets, no gum!"