Instincts

It all happens in milliseconds. A sharp blow to your elbow, the flashlight flying out of your grasp...

"Hello again." The subeditor smiles at you with the left side of her mouth.

"Thanks again for clearing out the squatters. I won't forget that." He nods, then looks away.

You approach Shelves B and C once more.

Ultra Violeta remains frozen mid-song, trapped within the shimmering projection. Her music plays somewhere behind you.

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

"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."

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

Look, around your feet.

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

"I'm good, Hersh... I'll live."

"Goodbye."

"Here again."

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?"

"Hello, lapinette."

"..." His idiotic expression remains unchanged.

"You. Again." The tapping begins.

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

She will not look at you.

"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."

The pink paper tab is no bigger than a fingernail. One side is decorated with a simple illustration of a cockerel.

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

The chair waits before you, sagging and forlorn.

"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.

Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.

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.

The stereo is right where you left it.

A shade in a leather jacket thrusts a decapitated head towards the reader -- its lolling tongue and dripping viscera a promise of what's…

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

"Hello again."

You return to the shrine under the stairs.

"Back again, are we?"

"How goes it, H?"

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

The door looms before you once more.

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

"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."

The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.

One more phone, one more voice.

Light refracts within your cornea; you are someone else, somewhere else.

"Operant."

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