Nerve

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

The desk is as you left it.

The metal drawer slides out nearly soundlessly, revealing rows of official-looking folders.

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

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

"Still waiting, CASCADE. Slab's getting cold."

"Shh."

"Hello again."

You approach your double. A faint line of drool darkens the sheet.

"Loneliest... of towns..."

"I already told you, miss. You can't come through here. Try the other entrance." He waves you off.

The container is still overfull with rubbish.

He ignores you, transfixed by the woman above.

There's nothing to do here.

An assortment of cargo crates sits in waiting, adorned with faint chalk marks and bright yellow labels.

You return to the desk. Everything is right where you left it, including the pack of Suprema 100s.

The vandalised jukebox is where you left it, looking slightly more dispirited on second visit.

"You're back." She eyes you warily.

He stares straight ahead, trying to ignore PSEUDOPOD. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

The girl is far too preoccupied fiddling with her fishing wire to pay any attention to you.

The man's eyes are closed. He is completely still.

"I really think you'd dig this. You look like the type."

"Back again, Hershel."

H.S. Lastra's blood-obsessed pulp epic awaits you.

He turns his head toward you in slow-motion and barely.

The lump of flesh you extracted from HOLOCENE's head sloshes about in the mysterious red liquid.

"You've come back."

You step into the booth and press the receiver to your ear.

"Operant. Something big is happening, isn't it?"

The magic box hums its secret tune. In a dark Novessa sub-basement, your controller answers.

The sleek metal callbox stands guard.

"All sleeping soundly here, CASCADE... Any luck with those brakes?"

The building noticeboard stands beside a communal area, full of ads and scraps of daily lives.

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.

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

"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.

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

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."

The glimmering purple keyboard is just as you left it.

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

Look, around your feet.

THE WANG GUIDE TO IMPROVISED FIREARMS, VOL 2.

"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.