Doppelgäng

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

"Didn't work, did it?"

"Hello, lapinette."

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

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

The ration pack crinkles as you turn it over.

"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…

You return to the postbox.

"..."

"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."

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

The clinic's metal door is scabbed with rust and surrounded by graffiti. An official looking sign hangs to the right of it.

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.

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

"I'm here to support you, trade agent. What do you need?"

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

PSEUDOPOD shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the boatman.

You return to the lone payphone.

The stereo is right where you left it.

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.

"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."

The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.

The gate stands before you, still locked.

There they all are, just as you left them.

One more phone, one more voice.

"Operant."

"Go on, Hersh. You'll give us away."

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.

"Spare me the bleating you call an accent and listen up: metoprolol, you eunuch-diddling Azzurri. That's what I paid for -- not atenolol!"…

"Back again."

"I believe... this is where I'm supposed to offer you a deal."

A torrential staining of blood.

Might be worth popping this thing open, yeah?

Can't believe we missed the shrimp party.

We should have a painting of us like this.

Golden victories from a long time past.

A barrier of sound between them and the world.

A wolf cup...

Weird plastic presence... feels like there's another person in the room...