Cathexis

There's rain tonight in Trope City. The droplets hit you and wash down in small pearls along the curves of your back (or what a biologist would estimate to be your back.) Below you on the streets of Quasi-Village, a creature stands underneath an awning smoking the final drags of a clove cigarette. You've never encountered smoke before and the flavor in the air has caught your attention. In a way, it has already marked the creature for death. Inside the building the creature lingers by, you can hear other voices and see shadows moving in the light. None of the creatures are aware of your presence. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE STREET, THE AWNING, THE CREATURE, THE ROOF OF THE BUILDING [[Go to street]] [[Go to awning]] [[Go to creature]] [[Kill creature]] [[Go to roof of building]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/vjwma8hgrfg2c60/Maximum%20Black.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

Like all the others, the creature dies almost immediately as you begin to taste it. It can barely mutter the “death-noises” that you’ve become accustomed to hearing when you do this. Greedily, you begin to feed, looking for resolution. The meal is adequate, but hardly satisfying for you tonight. An appetizer, perhaps, but nothing more. Inside the building you can hear the voices hush and begin to murmur amongst themselves. Another one of the creatures comes to the door of the building to see where the noise is coming from. He stops short in the hallway and sees you, covered in blood. He begins to make another noise you’ve become familiar with… the “fear-noise”. Visable Items: THE CORPSE Points of Interest: THE CORPSE, THE NEW CREATURE, THE HALLWAY [[Go to hallway]] [[Go to new creature]] [[Take CORPSE]] [[Kill new creature]] [[Kill everyone]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

Like all the others, the creature dies almost immediately as you begin to taste it. It can barely mutter the “death-noises” that you’ve become accustomed to hearing when you do this. Greedily, you begin to feed, looking for resolution. The meal is adequate, but hardly satisfying for you tonight. An appetizer, perhaps, but nothing more. Inside the building you can hear the voices hush and begin to murmur amongst themselves. Another one of the creatures comes to the door of the building to see where the noise is coming from. He stops short in the hallway and sees you, covered in blood. He begins to make another sound you’ve become familiar with… the “fear-noise”. Visable Items: THE CORPSE Points of Interest: THE CORPSE, THE NEW CREATURE, THE HALLWAY [[Go to hallway]] [[Go to new creature]] [[Take CORPSE]] [[Kill new creature]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You jump to the awning in a smooth arc. The creature below you freezes as your shadow falls across him. He looks up slowly, his eyes going wide in horror as he takes in your looming figure. Like many of his kind you can see the instinct to run flash through his brain. But also, like his kind, they are too slow to escape. None of them ever see the end comming. Visible Items: THE CIGARETTE BUTT Points of Interest: THE CREATURE, THE ROOF OF THE BUILDING [[Kill creature]] [[Attack creature]] [[Go to roof of building]] [[Take CIGARETTE BUTT]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

A powerful leap takes you gliding onto the rooftop of the building. The top is solid concrete with a small ventilation duct towards the far corner. A metal hatch for roof access is chained shut in the center of the roof. Through a skylight you can see numerous creatures moving around in the building. Visible Items: CHAINED LOCK Points of Interest: THE STREET, THE AWNING, THE VENT, THE SKYLIGHT [[Go to street]] [[Go to awning]] [[Go through vent]] [[Unlock the chain]] [[Break the lock]] [[Go through skylight]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You land gracefully on the street in spite of the hundred foot jump you’ve taken. Keeping your profile low to the ground, you begin to stalk through the shadows towards your prey. You have the suspicion that biped appendages will limit you on this hunt, so you quickly do away with them before proceeding closer. Just as the creature finishes his cigarette, he looks down to find you at his feet. His eyes go wide in surprise. The filter of the clove falls from his fingertips, making a sizzle as its ember tip extinguishes in a rain puddle. Visible Items: THE CIGARETTE BUTT Points of Interest: THE CREATURE, THE AWNING, THE ROOF OF THE BUILDING [[Attack creature]] [[Kill creature]] [[Go to awning]] [[Go to roof of building]] [[Take CIGARETTE BUTT]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

Keeping to the shadows, you begin to stalk down from your high perch towards the prey. You have a suspicion that biped appendages will limit you on this hunt, so you quickly do away with them before proceeding closer. Just as the creature finishes his cigarette, he looks up to see your large shadow moving quickly towards him. his eyes go wide in surprise. The filter of the clove falls from his fingertips, making a sizzle as its ember tip extinguishes in a rain puddle. Visible Items: THE CIGARETTE BUTT Points of Interest: THE CREATURE, THE AWNING, THE ROOF OF THE BUILDING [[Attack creature]] [[Kill creature]] [[Take CIGARETTE BUTT]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You bring a tentacle to the creature's neck and their head falls instantly away in a spurt of blood. The body shudders and slumps to the ground as you begin to taste and observe it, trying different sections of the creature for effect. You are disaapointed when the creature's blood eventually cools, spoiling the feast prematurely. You have ended this one too soon, you realize. You will have to be more careful... take your time with the next one. In the main room the hallway ends at, you here the panic of the other creatures. Visible Items: THE CORPSE (BEHEADED) Points of Interest: MAIN ROOM [[Go to main room]] [[Take BEHEADED CORPSE]]

You fill up the narrow hallway instantly, blocking all access to the room beyond. In the hallway stands one of the creatures, frantically trying to see a way past you. Water streams from his eyes and he blubbers with fear-noise. at the end of the hallway is a door leading to the street. No one is outside that requires your attention any longer. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: NEW CREATURE, MAIN ROOM [[Go to new creature]] [[Kill new creature]] [[Go to main room]]

You have all ready finished with this creature. There is nothing more than you can take from it. Find others to feed upon. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE HALLWAY, THE NEW CREATURE [[Go to hallway]] [[Go to new creature]] [[Kill new creature]] [[Kill everyone]] <<audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You swipe a tentacle to the creature's neck and their head falls instantly away in a spurt of blood. The body shudders and slumps to the ground as you begin to taste and observe it, trying different sections of the creature for effect. You are disaapointed when the creature's blood eventually cools,spoiling the feast prematurely. You ended this one too soon, you realize. You will have to be more careful... take your time with the next one. In the main room the hallway ends at, you here the panic of the other creatures. Visible Items: THE CORPSE (BEHEADED) Points of Interest: MAIN ROOM [[Take BEHEADED CORPSE]] [[Go to main room]]

Blood and limbs splatter against the wall as you begin to feed. A few of the more daring creatures try to escape but they don't get to far from you. The resistence is minimal and in a few minutes each one been incapacitated enough to consume slowly. You savor the moments this time. The little endings of each nerve cluster and intricate levels of cell death. You drink them all in. ... You're unsure how much time has passed when the sound of creatures' voices brings back your focus. The voices are coming from outside the building in the aggressive tone you recognize as "anger". Like your other hunts, more creatures have eventually begun to gather at your feeding site. This has caused you problems before. You recognize the possibility of threat when creature cooperate in mass. Feeding more would expose you to danger... and leaving would mean abandoning the prey you've collected. Visible Items: CORPSE #1, CORPSE #2, CORPSE #3, CORPSE #4, CORPSE #5, CORPSE #6 Points of Interest: THE BODIES [[Take CORPSE #1]] [[Take CORPSE #2]] [[Take CORPSE #3]] [[Take CORPSE #4]] [[Take CORPSE #5]] [[Take CORPSE #6]] [[Keep feeding]] [[Leave]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/sn0zaiym1txd98j/07%20-%20She%20Is%20Young%2C%20She%20Is%20Beautiful%2C%20She%20Is%20Next.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You reach forward with an appendage and grasp the CIGARETTE BUTT, studying it. Its texture is unfamiliar, but besides that, it no longer holds any interest for you. Its purpose has ended without without your interference. [[Go to awning]] [[Go to creature]] [[Attack creature]] [[Kill creature]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

CATHEXIS An Interactive Fictional Noir by John Bateman <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/4vnqrcnmsuhlryx/Clyde%20in%20the%20Trope%20City.jpg?dl=1" width="564" height="563"> [[BEGIN]] [[DIRECTIONS]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/va6vie9kszna8mn/06%20-%20Nightmare.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You play Clyde Auburne, a human detective in a fantastical world. Guide your character through the bourroughs of Trope City, finding clues in the hopes of catching a murderer before he strikes again. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/v53jdpu1v2ocu97/Clyde%20Auburne%203.jpg?dl=1" width="376" height="532"> [[Primer for Trope City]] [[Your journal]] [[TITLE SCREEN->CATHEXIS]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/gutzr4muko1jacj/01%20-%20Hotline%20Miami%20Theme.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

PROLOGUE [[Trope City. Quasi-Village. April 34th, 1196 A.R. ]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/vjwma8hgrfg2c60/Maximum%20Black.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

''PRIMER: Terms and Slang'' ''Nous:'' //Where all ideas come from. A world of pure imagination and thought brought into physical form. Home to every conceivable idea and idea that will be. Loosely connected to human reality but unbound by its constrictions of limitations, physics, and logical constraints.// ''The Empty:'' //An infinite plane of pure blank imagination. Birthplace of all ideas. Also called The White, Terra Incognita, or Ex Nihilo.// ''Sea of Consciousness:'' //The only natural landmark in The Empty. A vast, infinite sea that stretches the coast. Has the appearance of water but voices can be heard in the crash of waves. Connects to the Stream of Consciousness which runs through Trope City.// ''The Rind:'' //A slang term in Trope City for the “real-world” where humans are from. It is a slightly pejorative term.// ''Trope City:'' //Formally Polis. The ideal of all cities and urban areas.// ''Suburbia:'' //Formally Province. The ideal of all village and community areas.// ''Malpais:'' //Formally Outpost. A ruined badlands incapable of sustaining life. Abandoned.// ''Homestead:'' //The ideal of rural living and farm community. The breadbasket of Nous.// ''Archetype:'' //The original founders of substance in Nous. Some believe to be the fully evolved (or devolved) form of Concepts. The summation of all its subtypes. Worshiped in the first half of Nous history as gods. Now incarcerated under “forced obscurity” in the Think Tank.// ''Concept:'' //A fully formed idea in physical form. The epitome of a particular thought with the memories and intentions of the original artist’s vision. One-of-a-kind. Aspect is essentially immortal.// ''Prefab:'' //A slang term for a real-world human. A rarity in Nous. Often sought out for their creative ability to travel The Empty.// ''Tangent:'' //Conceptual versions of people living in human reality. The images people have of themselves or how they see others made corporeal. More numerous than Concepts and not considered idealistically unique. Often treated as second-class citizens in Nous. Also called If-people.// ''Nighdea:'' //The potential of an idea in incorporeal form. A possible idea. Organically gains substance by merging with other Nighdeas in The Empty. Can become unstable if exposed to fully developed Concepts, altering their natural growth.// ''Inkling:'' //A newly formed Concept, still adjusting to life in Nous. Not implicitly a child.// ''Abstract:'' //A malformed idea. The result of inorganic interference with a developing Nighdea. Often deranged and addicted to consuming real Concepts. Also called an Abbie.// ''Censors:'' //The police force of Nous, often consisting of various Concepts and Tangents.// ''Department of Notions:'' //A federal organization concerned with “special” crimes, especially concerning The Empty.// ''Editor:'' //The official rank for detective in the Department of Notions.// ''Aspect:'' //The unique identity of an advanced Concept. If killed, the Concept’s experience and memories are wiped away, leaving the aspect to reset in The Empty. They return as their base identity. Tangents and weaker Concepts do not respawn in The Empty.// ''Brainstorm:'' //A chaotic creative storm in The Empty. A flux of competing, contrasting, and complex ideas. Destroys and warps almost everything it touches.// ''Ingenium:'' //A creative technique of traveling through The Empty. Literally “thinking” your way across great distances or creating resources from nothing.// ''Cathexis:'' //A method of merging with other ideas and shaping them. Illegal anyone other than trained Editors. Often fatal.// ''NLM:'' //Nihdea Liberation Movement. Beleive in safeguarding new ideas in The Empty. Prosocuted for illegal grooming experiments.//

''MY JOURNAL AND NOTES'' ''Allies:'' ''Blue Fish'' - New Director of the Department of Notions. My boss. ''Effie Perrine'' - Secretarty for Blue Fish. A looker. ''[REDACTED]'' - Foreinsics tech for the Department of Notions. ''Edwin "Eddie" Bay'' - A Business Concept. Good at aquiring rare items. ''Lovecraft'' - A Victorian Concept. My favorite bartender. ''Michelle'' - Ex-Editor turned recruiter for the NLM. An old friend. ''Lefty'' - Arms dealer living in Yardsale. Notions uses him as a go between. ''Archibald Toothe'' - A Figment Concept. My best friend. ''Milk'' - My ex-partner. Loyal, but too prone to quick violence. Not useful on this type of job. ''Enemies:'' ''Nate Inquist'' - A Media Concept. Blackmailer. ''3B Gang'' - Mostly deal in burglury and hold ups. Few run ins but the Godfathers avoid Notions like the plague. ''Will'' - Animal Concept. Hates me for some reason. I hate him right back. ''Right Party'' - Neo-facist political organization. Dilikes Tangents and Prefabs. I'm a Prefab. ''Victims:'' ''James Helman 30486'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 10803'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 00101'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 30488'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 30489'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 22122'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 63687'' - Tangent (deceased) ''James Helman 90091'' - Tangent (deceased) ''Suspects:'' ''???'' ''Witnesses:'' ''5'' - Vagrant. Number Concept. Saw suspect "change shape" numerous times. Drunk during interview. Unreliable witness. ''Charlie Webb'' - Neighbor. Animal Concept. Has a bodyguard named "Will". Saw something go into the crime scene but not leave. No other details. ''Neutral:'' ''Fox'' - An Animal Concept. On parole for theft. ''C. New'' - A Font Concept. Works for the Department of Notions as a clerk. ''Chester'' - Animal Concept. Works for Lefty.

The chain is locked tightly, barring your access to the hatch. You have no key to get through. You must bypass the lock or use more direct methods. Visible Items: CHAINED LOCK Points of Interest: [[Go to street]] [[Go to awning]] [[Go through vent]] [[Break the lock]] [[Go through skylight]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You slam down through the skylight, sending shards in glass raining onto the creatures below. You land in the center of the room and take in you surroundings. Along the walls the creatures all cower together, their fear-noises mixing in a pathetic choir. A hallway leads out to the street where the smell of smoke lingers. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE HALLWAY, REMAINING CREATURES [[Go to hallway]] [[Go to remaining creatures]] [[Kill everyone]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/iavwoo6t5evwqzx/Glass%20Breaking%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

The vent posses no issue for you to elongate your form and squeeze through the space. The sounds in the house echo all around. Through you. There is the smell of cilantro and roobois tea in the air. Braised meat and bullion. None of it stirs your hunger. You follow the scen until, finally, you see a point of light ahead. You shuffle forward quitely and stare down through the slates. six feet below you is a large room filled with serene creatures. Four are speaking pleasantly at a table. Two others are drinking a red liquid from bubous glasses. One of them stops in mid sentence and suddenly looks up, seeing you. He fearly motions to the others, to terrified to make a sound. They are completely vunerable. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: REMAINING CREATURES [[Go to remaining creatures]] [[Slaughter them ->Kill everyone]]

The metal immedietly rusts and becomes brittle under your touch. It falls away in burnt orange snowflakes. The hatch opens towards you. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE STREET, THE AWNING, THE VENT, THE HATCH, THE SKYLIGHT [[Go to street]] [[Go to awning]] [[Go through vent]] [[Go through hatch]] [[Go through skylight]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.75 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6fm8r7w16g2cr39/Rain%20Storm%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

You open the hatch and make your way carefully down the stairs unseen. There is the smell of cilantro and roobois tea in the air. Braised meat and bullion. None of it stirs your hunger. As you turn the corner on the ground level, you find yourself in a large room filled with serene creatures. Four are speaking pleasantly at a table. Two others are drinking a red liquid from bubous glasses. One of them stops in mid sentence and stares at you. He fearly motions to the others, to terrified to make a sound. They are completely vunerable. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE HALLWAY, REMAINING CREATURES [[Go to hallway]] [[Go to remaining creatures]] [[Kill everyone]]

Along the walls, the creatures all cower together, their fear-noises mixing in a pathetic choir. They try to put the table between themselves and you, throwing small objects in reach to keep you way. They miss or bounce harmlessly off you. One of the braver creatures grabs something silver from the table and points it at you. It's a knife. Visable Items: KNIFE Points of Interest: THE REMAINING CREATURES [[Take KNIFE]] [[Kill everyone]]

As the creature comes at you with the knife, you grab their arm, pulling it off with the knife in hand. The creature squeals and makes pain-noises as it writhes on the ground. You examine the edge of the blade, admiring its craftmanship. If you were of a different type, the tool might prove useful for your outings into the city. Ultimately though, you admit, you're a creature of habit and prefer to work with your hands. You drop the arm with the blade to the ground. In front of you, the gore covered creatures fight to hid behind the others as a sheild. [[Kill everyone]]

You were sloppy. In your greed, you have finished this one too quickly. Your work with it is done. Find others to feed upon. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE MAIN ROOM, THE REMAINING CREATURES [[Go to main room]] [[Go to remaining creatures]] [[Kill everyone]]

The hunger overtakes you. You find portions of a corpse that are still unresolved and begin to feed upon them. Your mind swims with all of the narrowing possiblities they contain, slowly leading to a point of delicious terminus. All leading to you. Finishing in you. The first bullets from the Black Out Team hit you by susprise. You drop the corpse you have and turn to see the tactically armored creatures storm from every entrance with weapons drawn on you. You are able to kill three in the first wave before the second and third finally wear you down under the onslaught of force and firepower. Pain is a new concept for you and you study it as the blood leaks from your body. //There's something suiting about this,// you think. Still... something else in ypou believes it wasn't supposed to end this way. At least not yet. Not here in this place. It is the last thought you have before you die, becoming another body to be piled among several others in the house. Another end to rainy night in Trope City. ''YOU HAVE DIED.'' Please start over [[TITLE SCREEN ->CATHEXIS]]

The meal is tempting... but there will be other meals. You cannot afford to be caught so openly now. Not with so much more left to do. With a final satisfied look over the good you've done, you take a breath, and leave. [[END PROLOGUE->Chapter 1]]

You have all ready finished with this creature. There is nothing more than you can take from it. Find others to feed upon. Visible Items: CORPSE #1, CORPSE #2, CORPSE #3, CORPSE #4, CORPSE #5, CORPSE #6 Points of Interest: THE BODIES [[Take CORPSE #2]] [[Take CORPSE #3]] [[Take CORPSE #4]] [[Take CORPSE #5]] [[Take CORPSE #6]] [[Keep feeding]] [[Leave]]

You find portions of the corpse that are still unresolved and begin to feed upon them. Your mind swims with all of the narrowing possiblities they contain, slowly leading to a point of delicious terminus. All leading to you. Finishing in you. The first bullets from the Black Out Team hit you by susprise. You drop the corpse you have and turn to see the tactically armored creatures storm from every entrance with weapons drawn on you. You are able to kill three in the first wave before the second and third finally wear you down under the onslaught of force and firepower. Pain is a new concept for you and you study it as the blood leaks from your body. //There's something suiting about this,// you think. Still... something else in ypou believes it wasn't supposed to end this way. At least not yet. Not here in this place. It is the last thought you have before you die, becoming another body to be piled among several others in the house. Another end to rainy night in Trope City. YOU HAVE DIED. Please start over [[TITLE SCREEN ->CATHEXIS]]

You have all ready finished with this creature. There is nothing more than you can take from it. Find others to feed upon. Visible Items: CORPSE #1, CORPSE #2, CORPSE #3, CORPSE #4, CORPSE #5, CORPSE #6 Points of Interest: THE BODIES [[Take CORPSE #1]] [[Take CORPSE #2]] [[Take CORPSE #3]] [[Take CORPSE #4]] [[Take CORPSE #5]] [[Keep feeding]] [[Leave]]

CHAPTER 1 [[Trope City. The Office. April 35th, 1196 A.R.]]

You watch as Effie Perrine paints her fingernails a deep lipstick red. She looks nothing like Lee Patrick, but that doesn't surprise you. [[Concepts->Primer for Trope City]] rarely look like their real life counterparts. She looks, quite honestly, exactly as she was always supposed to look. No more. No less. You absently imagine her naked. You pick tobacco from the tip of your tongue and shuffle your feet. You've been waiting to see The Fish for twenty minutes. Behind the door to his office, you hear the sounds of children laughing and screaming in glee. Effie pays no attention. “Still waiting,” you say. “Noted,” she replies, not looking up from her nails. You frown and fidget uncomfortably in the seat. Your trench coat collapses around you like a limp pillowcase in the chair. If they hadn't confiscated your iPhone you would have been deep into a level of Candy Crush by now. You wait. Five minutes later, the squeal of children abruptly cuts off behind the door. A second later, a buzzer rings on Effie’s desk. “He still there?” comes a static-y voice from the antique intercom. “Still here,” she says staring at you. “Good,” grumbles the box. “Weapons?” You roll your eyes and open your coat slowly like a flasher. You wink. Effie glares back at you. “No.” she says back. “He’s clean. Send him?” “Immediately.” says the box. You stand up and walk to the office door. Effie glances at you sideways, but otherwise, makes no move to assist you or acknowledge your existence. //High school all over again.// Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE OFFICE DOOR, EFFIE [[Go to office door]] [[Sit in lobby chair]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/wi9837sg4qk9pe0/01%20-%20Karin.mp3?dl=1" autoplay>

You turn the brass knob and step into what may be one of the brightest, most humid rooms you've ever been in. You're instantly bathed in neon blue light. It feels like a David Lynch film. //Jesus,// you think. //I should be sucking down nitrous right now.// The room is simple. The artwork on the wall is aquatic or number based in a way that makes no sense to you. An oak desk is in the middle of the room with a plaque on it reading FISH, BLUE. A mug of coffee with the label “World’s Best Boss” sits off to the side. The Fish, himself, is reading a file from a manila folder. His bottom lip is dour and obese. His voice croaks when he speaks to you. “Mr. Clyde Auburne, at last we meet in person… so to speak.” says The Fish, his large eyes peeking over an accountant’s spectacles. His whiskers twitch and feel around the desk while he smiles at his own joke. You nod. You don’t really know what else to do. “Drink?” the Fish ask. It seems expected. Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [["It's five o'clock somewhere."]] [["How about we just skip to the point?"]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

Just as you are about to sit down, you hear Effie's voice fall across the room like a blade. "Clyde. Quit screwing around. I know you haven't been here in a while, but he really needs to see you. Don't make my job any harder." Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE OFFICE DOOR, EFFIE [[Go to office door]]

“There’s a bit by the walls over there. Romulan ale. Stardate 2238.” You forego the ale and pour a glass of Johnny Walker, Blue Label. Most everything is blue in color or name. The saturation makes you nauseous. You take a first swallow of scotch and it helps. The second helps more. The Fish stared at you the entire time. It's awkward enough to make you glad to have something in your hands. You wonder if you're supposed to talk first. No one's told you shit before coming here and you don’t recognize this floor of The Office. “This is a really blue room,” you remark. It's all you can think of. “I’m a really blue fish,” says The Fish. And indeed, he is. The Fish has all of the appearance of a gargantuan sky-blue catfish floating in midair as he swims about. The granny glasses he wears seem comical in comparison to the size of his eyes; rarely blinking and serious. About his torso he wears a smart looking vest, orange and brown plaid with a chain from pocket to pocket. All in all, he looks like a fish version of Michael Caine. Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/k1szp04aybphgah/Blue%20Fish%202.jpg?dl=1" width="400" height="400"> [["So why am I here? ->"How about we just skip to the point?"]] [["What? No dinner either? ->"How about we just skip to the point?"]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/df9qnc0s4dm9e1i/Cocktail%20Pour%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay> <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” The Fish says, steepling his fingers. It was a disturbing mutation of his fins. They seem to warp into hands towards their ends; long droopy digit with no bones behind them that are covered with threadlike fibers. The texture reminds you of stringy seaweed. Or wet hair. “Read about your freelance work,” says The Fish. “Pushed the button on a grammar leviathan back when that meant something.” “Depends who you ask.” you reply carefully. This is leading talk. “I’m asking you.” //Who’s fishing now?// The Fish waits and stares. You finally answer, “Yeah. I was there. I did that.” “Good,” The Fish says nodding. Droplets of water flick on your face. “I need that. Bloody hands are always more useful than clean ones. One tells me you’re a [[prefab->Primer for Trope City]], yeah?” “One talks too much.” The Fish grins. You can see a dozen scars now on his face where a random fishing hook or line once caught him trolling through the ether. “File says that too… although it's been mysteriously sealed by someone. My brother seems to have a soft spot for you. He’s let you get away with a lot. Buried things. Your work for us,” he says. “And you dredge them up.” The Fish smiles. “Yeah… you’re a prefab. As sure as death and taxes, you are.” says the Fish. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to,” you spit back. “Tell me why I’m here.” “I need you to kill an [[Abbie->Primer for Trope City]].” //Fuck. The penny drops.// Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [["There's an Abstract running around?"]] [["Kill it yourself."]] [["I don't do that anymore."]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

"We think so. A bad one too." says The Fish. "Probably nothing the Great Clyde Auburne can't handle though." "I haven't been so great lately." you say. "Then this is your chance back in. Back to The Office like nothing has change. Back with a hero's welcome. Whadduya say?" "It's gonna be a hard pass." "Well, tough shit. I'm press-ganging you." Something clicks in your head. You take a deep sigh. “You’re with the [[Department of Notions->Primer for Trope City]], aren’t you?” you say rhetorically. The Fish puffs up, his lips slick with sea water and blue slobber. “I AM the fucking Department of Notions.” he says. Little threads tie up in your mind. You're not being arrested. You're being recruited. Suddenly the smell of decayed flotsam becomes overwhelming and all you want to do is leave. You pour a belt of liqour at the wetbar and swallow it in a single gulp. You can barely feel the burn past the thoughts in your head. “You weren’t my first choice, if that helps. But the other two are dead. Now you’re my only choice.” “That’s a lie,” you throw back. They aren't roping you in again. “Half,” admits the Fish. “But you’re the best still living. And you’re a prefab. No one can nav The White like you can.” You shrug. “I’m retired,” you say. “You’re responsible. Or your "people" are at least. That should be enough.” “Don’t lay that crap on my doorstep,” you shoot back bitterly. “It’s not my problem.” “Whaleshit. You think it’s our fault? Are you taking the piss?” The Fish looks genuinely irritated now. His face turns a deeper blue. “It’s got fuck-all to do with me.” “Not from my pond. Some cunt on your side brought it here.” “So make him clean it up.” “If I could I would. But he doesn’t live here. You do. For now, at least. That can change.” Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [["Deportation. Broken-fucking-record."]] [["We had a deal. I've got immunity."]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

"I should be clearer," The Fish said. "I'm telling, not asking." "And I'm saying no." you reply. "Doesn't matter. I'm press-ganging you." Something clicks in your head. You take a deep sigh. “You’re with the [[Department of Notions->Primer for Trope City]], aren’t you?” you say rhetorically. The Fish puffs up, his lips slick with sea water and blue slobber. “I AM the fucking Department of Notions.” he says. Little threads tie up in your mind. You're not being arrested. You're being recruited. Suddenly the smell of decayed flotsam becomes overwhelming and all you want to do is leave. You pour a belt of liqour at the wetbar and swallow it in a single gulp. You can barely feel the burn past the thoughts in your head. “You weren’t my first choice, if that helps. But the other two are dead. Now you’re my only choice.” “That’s a lie,” you throw back. They aren't roping you in again. “Half,” admits the Fish. “But you’re the best still living. And you’re a prefab. No one can nav The White like you can.” You shrug. “I’m retired,” you say. “You’re responsible. Or at least your "people" are. That should be enough.” “Don’t lay that crap on my doorstep,” you shoot back bitterly. “It’s not my problem.” “Whaleshit. You think it’s our fault? Are you taking the piss?” The Fish looks genuinely irritated now. His face turns a deeper blue. “It’s got fuck-all to do with me.” “Not from my pond. Some cunt on your side brought it here.” “So make them clean it up.” “If I could I would. But he doesn’t live here. You do. For now, at least. That can change.” Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [["Deportation. Broken-fucking-record."]] [["We had a deal. I've got immunity."]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

"Doesn't matter," says The Fish. "I'm press-ganging you." Something clicks in your head. You take a deep sigh. “You’re with the [[Department of Notions->Primer for Trope City]], aren’t you?” you say rhetorically. The Fish puffs up, his lips slick with sea water and blue slobber. “I AM the fucking Department of Notions.” he says. Little threads tie up in your head. You're not being arrested. You're being recruited. Suddenly the smell of decayed flotsam becomes overwhelming and all you want to do is leave. You pour a belt of liqour at the wetbar and swallow it in a single gulp. You can barely feel the burn past the thoughts in your head. “You weren’t my first choice, if that helps. But the other two are dead. Now you’re my only choice.” “That’s a lie,” you throw back. They aren't roping you in again. “Half,” admits the Fish. “But you’re the best still living. And you’re a prefab. No one can nav The White like you can.” You shrug. “I’m retired,” you say. “You’re responsible. Or your "people" are at least. That should be enough.” “Don’t lay that crap on my doorstep,” you shoot back bitterly. “It’s not my problem.” “Whaleshit. You think it’s our fault? Are you taking the piss?” The Fish looks genuinely irritated now. His face turns a deeper blue. “It’s got fuck-all to do with me.” “Not from my pond. Some cunt on your side brought it here.” “So make them clean it up.” “If I could I would. But he doesn’t live here. You do. For now, at least. That can change.” Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [["Deportation. Broken-fucking-record."]] [["We had a deal. I've got immunity."]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

“I've had a deal with One since the beginning," you say. "and that means-" “Don't think One can help you now, boy,” The Fish retorts. “the rules are changing. I have the authority. I’m drafting you.” “Won’t do you any good. I haven’t gone in [[The Empty->Primer for Trope City]] in a year.” you say. “I don’t have a tested agent I trust for this. Much less any that took down an Ab. It’s you or nothing.” “Then it’s nothing. I’m out.” You blink and suddenly The Fish is there, eye to giant eye with you. His blue body seems inflated to twice its normal size. His breath fumes and reeks of stagnant saltwater. “You think I won’t do it? Send you back?” “You don’t have that pull,” you say. What passed for The Fish’s nostrils flares. “I do now,” The Fish’s voice is deep in his throat. “We took you in. When you were still running from place to place in [[The Rind->Primer for Trope City]] we invited you here. Let you carve that little piece of life you wanted. You wanna go back to before, Clyde? Go back to working at Barnes & Nobles or whatever-the-fuck-it-is you people do? Say the word. I’ll make it happen.” You are quiet for a long time. “It was a Best Buy,” you say. The Fish looks at you. Then he bursts in to a bubbly laughter that booms in the large blue room. “Well, la-de-fucking-da.” says The Fish. You scratch your two-day stubble with the back of your hand. You wish you had a chair to sit down in. The Fish isn’t bluffing. Whatever's happened is bad enough to get you sent away if you don’t play ball. Pressure's on from the higher ups. //So what? Would it really be so bad to go back? To be in the real world again with actual people? To feel normal for once and not the killer you always feel like?// Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [[Do it]] [[Don't do it]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

“Not from me.” sneers The Fish. “You’ve got no immunity from me, you piece of shit.” Something tickles in the back of your mind. “I know that refrenc-” “Shut the fuck up,” the Fish shoots back. “The rules have changed. I have the authority. I’m drafting you.” “Won’t do you any good. I haven’t gone in [[The Empty->Primer for Trope City]] in a year.” you say. “I don’t have a tested agent I trust for this. Much less any that took down an Ab. It’s you or nothing.” “Then it’s nothing. I’m out.” You blink and suddenly The Fish is there, eye to giant eye with you. His blue body seems inflated to twice its normal size. His breath fumes and reeks of stagnant saltwater. “You think I won’t do it? Send you back?” “You don’t have that pull,” you say. What passes for The Fish’s nostrils flares. “I do now,” The Fish’s voice is deep in his throat. “We took you in. When you were still running from place to place in [[The Rind->Primer for Trope City]] we invited you here. Let you carve that little piece of life you wanted. You wanna go back to before, Clyde? Go back to working at Barnes & Nobles or whatever-the-fuck-it-is you people do? Say the word. I’ll make it happen.” You are quiet for a long time. “It was a Best Buy,” you say. The Fish looks at you. Then he bursts in to a bubbly laughter that booms in the large blue room. “Well, la-de-fucking-da,” says The Fish. You scratch your two-day stubble with the back of your hand. You wish you had a chair to sit down in. The Fish isn’t bluffing. Whatever's happened is bad enough to get you sent away if you don’t play ball. Pressure's on from the higher ups. //So what? Would it really be so bad to go back? To be in the real world again with actual people? To feel normal for once and not the killer you always feel like?// Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [[Do it]] [[Don't do it]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

“How many are dead?” you ask. You're surprised how easy it is for your voice to slip into routine. “You’re doing it?” “I didn’t say that. I asked how many had died already.” “You’re doing it.” The Fish smiles. “Six or eight, I forget. A house out in Quasi.” “Who?” “[[Tangents->Primer for Trope City]] mostly. Probably some [[Nighdea’s->Primer for Trope City]] that we haven’t found.” “Jesus. Does The Eight Ball know yet?” The Fish stiffens for the first time. A ruffle of discomfort goes through him. “No. And he’s not going to know. You’re going to handle this before it ever gets that far.” “Do you even know what //it// is?” “No. And I don’t care to know. Looks like an Abstract. That's good enough for me." "But you don't know for sure?" "Either way it needs to be gone." "//Either way//? I'm not a fucking assassin." The Fish laughed. "Ha! Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? You're whatever this office needs you to be. Always have been. Finish the job and you can go back to thinking whatever you want." "I //think// this is bullshit," you say flatly. "Here's the breakdown. We’ll give you what you need. Point you where you need to go. All you have to do is kill it. //Quietly//. This is an election year so the optics matter on this one. You're off-the-books until it's put to bed. I read your name in a headline before then, the deal is off." You put down your drink on the desk and light a cigarette. You don’t ask permission. You breathe in the smoke and let it go in an audible huff towards the floor. The Fish chokes it through his gills as the cloud drifts to him. “I have a way of doing things. Did One tell you that?” you ask. “He did. I don’t care about your bloody “quirks”. Just show me some tits at the end of this thing and I’ll be happy.” “I never promise anything where tits are concerned.” “You have a smart mouth, Auburne.” The Fish remarks coldly. “I’m glad this is the last time I’ll hear it today.” “So we're done here?” you ask. “Almost.” The Fish swims over to his desk and pushs a button on his intercom with his malformed finger. It buzzes like a prison lock. “Ef. I need a notary for the matter we discussed earlier. Send one of the Fonts to my office.” The intercom replies, “Right away, sir.” Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [[Wait for the Font]] [[Make small talk]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

A steel comes into The Fish's voice. Something of a finality. "So be it." He reaches over with a malformed finger to press the intercom button. It buzzes like a prison lock. "Ef. Send in the agents. Get this jaded bastard out of my sight." A few moments later two large men enter in black suits grabbing you roughly by the arms. "You made your bed, prefab, ow you get to lie in it. Have fun in The Rind." The Fish says dismissively. It's the last thing you hear before being dragged out to the to the detention center. ''YOU HAVE LOST.'' Please start over [[TITLE SCREEN ->CATHEXIS]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

Five minutes later the Font walks into the room. He is dressed in a brown suit and matching brown bowler hat. He sucks in his lips like a sphincter and shakes violently with an manic energy. You can see words have been tattooed across every inch of his visible flesh. Verbs run into pronouns run into clichéd sentences. It looks as if a person has been made of silly putty and pressed against a newspaper. The name tag reads “C. New” on his vest coat pocket. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/nqh8vgkivodugiu/The%20Font.png?dl=1" width="300" height="424"> “Print Mr. Auburne here a license, would ya?” the Fish says to him. The Font nods and shakes his head quickly before placing a small passport looking book in front of him. Then, like a stenographer, he begins to type on it with his bare fingers. Letters are left after the lift of every digit. In less than ten seconds he fills the entire page and closes the booklet with a palsied hand. He extends it to you. “What’s this?” you ask. “You know what that is,” the Fish says, not looking up from the papers on his desk. You open it. Inside is your name name, personal information, and nestled into a velvet pocket on one side, a glass badge. The Font shakes your hand too much in congratulations and suddenly opened his mouth. For a moment, you think the Font is going to be sick on you. Something that looks like milk begins to pour from the Font’s mouth between his teeth. You're too disgusted to pull away. You watch in growing oddness as the milk began to fill something with black outline between the two of you. A second later when it reached capacity it floats towards the ceiling, leaving a sharp tail still attached to it near the Font’s lip. No… not a tail. A pointer. You're staring at a three-dimensional word balloon. The blank balloon slowly began to fill with letters. It reads: “Welcome back, Mr. Auburne. Consider your [[Editing->Primer for Trope City]] license reinstated.” Visible Items: LIQOUR, THE BADGE, PER DIEM (//f//1000) Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH, THE FONT [[End CHAPTER 1 ->Chapter 2]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/32ss0v92g6n9oz3/Type%20Writer%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/j557oepg3jw12mw/05%20-%20Bad%20Night%20at%20Black%27s%20Beach.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You and The stare silently at each other. "So... how long have you been the head of-" "Shut the fuck up, Auburne, and just wait for the Font." Visible Items: LIQOUR Points of Interest: THE WETBAR, THE FISH [[Wait for the Font]] <audio "bgm_space" volume 0.25 fadeto 0.50 src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/cm8ht56anrl9nf4/Underwater%20FX.wav?dl=1" autoplay loop>

CHAPTER 2 [[Trope City. Quasi-Village. April 35th, 1196 A.R.]]

It's easily the worst crime scene you've had ever seen. The [[Censors->Primer for Trope City]] have already blocked off the building and made busywork with the crowd. It leaves you free access to the house without much exposure. Most have given you a wide berth since you've arrived. Most of them don't want to be anywhere in the building if Notions is involved. It's the smart move. You don’t even want to be there. Murders are commonplace in the city, a matter-of-fact thing, but Notions cases are something else. They're… weird. You take inventory of the scene in the small Molskine you kept in your breast pocket. There are three witnesseses outside and no survivors from the attack, which doesn’t surprise you. Editors rarely get invited when there are survivors. Everything begins to make sense of why The Fish pushed so hard to get you here. A regular Concept wouldn’t have the imagination to sift through a crime scene like this. Floating everywhere are pure white splotches like Rorschaches in mid-air. You count nine of them in all. //What the serious fuck.// From the next room another Notions officer enters, a large black bar across his eyes. He waved congenially at you. A REDACTED. The Department loves to use them on Abbie cases. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/ie26mjz22zuoqgt/Redacted.jpg?dl=1" width="480" height="320"> “You the examiner?” you ask. “Guilty.” the Concept replies. A black bar blinks over his mouth when he speaks. “But there’s nothing for me to examine. I don’t know how to process any of this for ███████. Word is ███████ is sending in a team to figure out what to do next. You the glass-badge?” “Unfortunately.” “Wish I had more to give you.” Visible Items: THE MOLSKINE, THE BLOTS Points of Interest: THE MAIN ROOM, THE HALLWAY, THE EXAMINER [[Search for clues]] [[Interview witnesses]] [[Speak to examiner]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6c5335vr158bhe5/02%20-%20Prowler.mp3?dl=1" autoplay>

You begin to comb through the house. Blood is splattered against the walls like modern art and only the flimist of white sheets cover up the multitude of detached limbs at your feet. The scene is unique for two reasons, you tell yourself A) The "hole-punch-in-reality-white-spots" and B) The complete lack of goddamn physical traces. The best you can make out is that the vaccum of evidence says something. //The fact that it's so contained is important. Eight people and not one gets away? No wounds on the killer? Abbies weren't that controled. The whole thing feels surgical... like an experienced hunter.// After following a blood trail through the hallway, you come to a body splayed out in the front door frame. It seemes like one of the victims tried to escape before dying here. You bend down and examine the body, pockmarked like the rest of the victims with the white splotches. As you check around the victim's hand, you see the burnt-out stub of a cigarette butt swollen with rain water and blood. //Cloves. You pretenious dead bastard.// You wave over a nearby Censor guarding the perimeter. "Tag it and bag it." you say. The Censor walks to you with a dumb look on his face. A Tech Concept. "Is it evidence?" he asks. "Fuck if I know," you say. "but it's something and right now I have nothing. I'll take a handout." You sigh and look back at the house. //Must be something I'm missing.// Visible Items: THE CIGARETTE BUTT Points of Interest: THE CORPSE, THE WOUNDS, THE CENSOR, THE HALLWAY [[Speak to examiner]] [[Interview witnesses]]

"Who are they?" you ask. The Censor shrugs back at you. "The usual suspects. Victim's brother, some homeless guy, and a pair that claim they're neighbors." "What do you mean 'claim'?" "My gut says they're lying. Both got records. Possession, confidence schemes... consistant, but nothing too serious." "What'd you get out of them?" "Honestly," the Censor says. "Not much we can do other than hold them. Officially, the incident here is being spun as a "gas leak" to the public. Taking these people down to the station would mean logging them in the system. Orders from the top say that's not an option." You silently grit your teeth. Once again, broken promises from Notions about 'unlimited support'. "I need to talk to them," you say. "I don't know what we can do." Your eye drifts over to the crime scene, taking it all in. //You're an Editor. Be creative, stupid.// You turn your head back to the Censor. "You have keys to the building, right? From the super? I want a set up in the basement with whatever table you can find and two chairs. Bring them through the cellar entrance when I call and then wait outside." "Sir, we can't legally do-" "Release them at the top of the steps. You've done your duty and the rest is out of your hands. I'll take over." The Censor throws you the sorrowful look of conflicted morality and powerlessness. He shakes his head. "Godsdamn Notion cases... I better not loose my job over this." he says. In another twenty minutes, a makeshift interview room is set up with two metal folding chairs and a flimsy card table the Censors find in a storage closet. The only light comes from a neon flicker that buzzes annoying at the base of your skull. It feels like the mental equivilant of biting tin foil, but it'll so. You nervously move your jaw and have a seat in the chair trying to concentrate. You take out your notebook and put the pen neatly on the leather cover. //Ok.// you think. //Time to get some facts. Who's first?// Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR [[Interview family member]] [[Interview neighbor]] [[Interview vagrant]]

You approach the examiner with a resigned feeling. “Who found them?” The examiner sighs. “Poor guy’s brother. You know how Tangents take to living with each other, right? He comes home, sees his ███████ spread out across the apartment and then comes screaming to the █████████. Censors take one look and know this is beyond their paygrade and call us. I think ███████ has the guy over in █████ now for an eval. Pretty shook up.” “Get me copies of his official statement when it comes through.” You go up to one of the splotches and walk around it. It looks like someone spilled whiteout in three dimensional space. The kind of white void you see in minimalist art and Buddhist dreams. You think you can feel a slight breeze through it. “Okay. Elephant in the room. What am I looking at?” you ask. The medical examiner shrugs. “Nothing. You’re looking at nothing.” “And what makes a nothing like that?” “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.” It feels like something alien. You look around the edges of the splotch and see reality beginning to seep back in at the corners, like watercolor spreading on paper. A slow stain. Almost imperceptible. But it's there. “Get a picture of this,” you say. “Get pictures of everything.” The entire scene bothers you. Evidence seems to be everywhere with nothing to take. You realize suddenly you're sweating and wipe your brow. You lean against the kitchen table and fumble a bent cigarette into your mouth. “Don't contaminate my crime scene,” grumbles the examiner. You throw up your hands in exasperation. “Take a look around you. Have ever seen anything like this? The whole place is probably contaminated! We could be getting lymphoma right now and not even know.” The examiner shakes his head. “It’s safe.” “How do you know?” The examiner shrugs. “Has to be or ███████ wouldn’t let us in here.” You light your cigarette and sulk. Your working theory doesn’t make sense and the clues you need are quite literally erased away from reality. You bend down over the slumped corpse in the corner and examine it. The body is pockmarked with the same white splotches spread out around the house. Half of the head is ‘absented’ away and there are dozens of similar puncture marks covering the rest of the corpse. You can see some crossovers. Patterns of feeding behavior for an Abstract trying to become. Trying things and discarding them. Most Abbie's go searching for something of substance.... something concrete to define themselves (obviously, it never worked, which was why they kept killing), but they always left something behind. Cast off pieces of ideas. They don't take those parts //with// them. You look up. “How many victims in total?” “Eight. Most in the living room. Only have half of one left. Looks like they were ██████ when it hit.” “Is this magic? Something on the Restricted List?” “My first thought. No █████████ though. And I've already run all the tests.” You move towards one of the splotch patterns carefully. You test the edge of it with your pen, feeling the null space. A kind of ambient gravity pulls lightly at the tip. The familiarity was unsettling, but telling. You run the pen around the the edge of blot feeling the uneven ridges. “Do these look like teeth marks to you?” you ask. The examiner comes over. He takes a pair of spectacles out and puts them on, under the black bar that shifts with him no matter which angle you view it at. “Might be… I don’t know what makes impressions like that though. Want me to get a mold?” “Don’t bother." you say. "It’s starting to fill in already. Forensics wouldn’t match up. Just get pictures.” You step inbetween the bodies looking for more clues to the attack. Most are in pieces and you have a hard time sorting through what belongs to whom. You see claw marks on the wall where the victims tried to escape. Whatever it was had taken time here, trying to gorge itself. //This isn’t a normal attack.// you think. //Not by a long shot.// You draw a small diagram of the room, marking where each of the splotches are and their distances to the bodies. Considering everything you don't know, there isn't much else to do. You need a specialist. Someone who might have come across something like this before. It's time to consult the third parties you've been putting off. You take a deep drag from your cigarette and let the smoke fall in a defeated cloud. //Well… shit. I might as well get started now.// you think. Visible Items: THE BODIES, THE BLOTS Points of Interest: THE MAIN ROOM, THE EXAMINER [[Contact Eddie]] [[Interview witnesses]]

The Tangent walks down the stairs solomnly. You can see where his eyes are puffy from crying. He looks exhausted as he walks towards you and sits in a defeated heap. "They say you want to talk." he says numbly. "I do." you say. "First off I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Helman 400674." "You can... you can just call me James." "Ok, James." you say. It always feels strange for you to speak to the victim's family when Tangents are involved. By their very nature they all looked identical... just slightly different versions of their Rind counterparts. This one is apparently someone's "boring impression" of the real world James Helman (whoever the hell that is). Still, you're not able to escape the feeling that your speaking to the same person whose identical bodies you just saw mangled across the upstairs home. "Give me your version of what happened. I want to know your side." "There's not much to tell," he sys in a monotone voice. "I was out getting some groceries for a dinner party me and my partner were throwing. We were inviting over some other Helmans we knew. When I came back, the front door was open and blood was everywhere. I just stood there for a moment, stunned. Then I ran to a neighbors to call the Censors. Don't remember much after that. Everything was kind of a blur." "Tell me about the moment you came home." He hesistates, tears beginging to form in his eyes. "Well, the door was open... and I could see James in the doorway. //My James.// He would always go to smoke out front. Someone must have come through the front door while he was out there. Who could do something like that? James never hurt anyone... he was one of the best Helmans I ever knew." "Did it look like the killer might of still be inside?" "I don't know. I was too scared to go in." "Were the lights flickering at all?" "No... not that I saw." You furrow your brow in thought. Abstracts normally wreak havoc with electricals. Even if it had left already, there would have been signs. Something. "You didn't see anything? Smell ozone or anything like that?" "No. All I heard was the rain and all I saw was the blood." He starts to break down and cry in front of you. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, JAMES [[Let him finish]] [[Push him]]

A large shadow blocks the sunlight from the cellar as a figure lumbers down the staircase. Even in the dim light of the basement, you can make out his huge bulk neatly framed in a fitted outfit. Even with the ridiculous juxtaposition of being a literal pig in a tailored Brooks Brothers suit, doesn't detrack from the aura of danger about him. The pig looks around the basement critically and then stares at you. In a loud voice he calls upstairs, his eyes never breaking from yours. "It's fine. Come on down." You see something looks like an insect leg land on the fist step. Followed by another. And then another. Slowly, the silloute of a woman's shapely form comes into view attached to the long appendeges. They disappear into her navy blue and gray fur coat that ruffles at her equisite neck. Her face is sly like a cat's and she looks intriguinly at you with long lashed compound eyes. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/a3d6cxbbeju95dz/Charlie%202.jpg?dl=1" width="400" height="600"> "Oh yeah. This looks legal." shee coos. "I understand you wanted to speak with me?" You swallow hard. "I do. Have a seat, Miss Cavatica." "Please... call me Charlie." she says as she slinks over to the chair. The pig always stays a few feet behind her, a grim look on his face. He stands protectively behind her. "We normally do these interviews alone." you say. "Who?"" she asks in a mock innocence. "Will here? Oh, he's my... lawyer. We're here voluntarily, after all. Will's always looking after my interests. Isn't that right, Will?" "Yes, ma'am." Will growls. His voice sound like coal being shoveled in a boiler engine. You throw the pig a biting look. "What kind of law do //you// practice?" you ask him sarcastically. His eyes turn sharp with restrained anger. "Contract negotiation," he says with menace. You ignore the bait and turn you attention back the Charlie. "You know you're not under investigation ." you say. "You don't need a lawyer. You're not a suspect." "Do you know who the killer is?" "Not yet." "Then how do you know it's not me?" she says cooly. One of her spider legs reaches into her coat and takes out a thin cigarette from a gold case. "Got a light?" You can't tell if she's being playful or toying with you for some reason. Maybe both. //No.// you think. //She knows something or she wouldn't have a bodyguard to look after her. She's scared of getting in trouble. Or of trouble getting her.// You light the end of the cigarette as her lips suck at the filter. She stares at you intimately across the flame and smiles. "So... how can I help you, Detective...?" she let the phrase hang. "Just 'Detective' is fine." you say. "Tell me about about what you saw last night." She takes a deep breath and begins. "Nothing I haven't told the Censors. I was on my way home from a party and I took a shortcut to my flat to avoid the rain. I heard a sound from across the street and I saw something go into the house. After that all I heard was the screaming." "What did you see? A Concept? Something else?" Her voice turns more serious and vague, masking something else behind it. //Fear//? You can't make it out. "At first I thought it was a man, but then it seemed to grow a hundred arms and legs. Really can't be sure through the rain and the gin I had before I left the party. I really can't say too much more. There's nothing to tell, really." Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, CHARLIE, WILL [[Play Good Cop]] [[Play Bad Cop]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/1rstqt63su96g6j/07%20-%20Paradise%20Circus.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

The Five slowly comes into the basement like a slug, leaving a trail of incadecent slime behind it. It's soft and fleshy, swollen in a way that make it looks ill. By its side droop small atrophied hands like a T-rex. It looks at you with shrunken eyes and whispers "F-F-F-Five?" Its libs wobble, a toothless opening that drools lightly. "Have a seat," you say. "I have some questions." The Five slivers over to the table, sitting awkwardly in the chair to the best of its ability. "Five? Zero one zero one zero one one on-" "I don't speak binary. And the Censors all ready told me you speak //Linga Franca//." The Five blinks at you dumbly. His eyes drift around the room with alien interest. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, THE FIVE [[Good cop]] [[Bad cop]]

"Hey." you snap. "Focus. I need to know what happened last night. The Censors say they found you passed out in Crime Alley. That's right across from a building where eight people got gutted last night. I need to know what you saw, where, and what time." The Five nods his head a bit and speaks to you in slurred voice. "Why do you guys always harrass me... I don't do nothin'... jus' mind my own business..." "Listen to me. Eight Tangents. Murdered. In their home. Did you see the killer? "Didn't see nobody... was drinkin' a bit. See the Righties sometimes. Come in bustin' heads. Try to stay away from 'em. They leave me alone." //The Right Party.// you think. //Neo-Facists out for a night of fun in Tangent town.// "You see them yesterday? Is this an ethnic thing? Concepts targeting Tangents? Did they come to the house?" "Didn't come yesserday. Was raining too hard. That's why I drink when I'm alone. The rain makes me blue." "My condolences. You see a nighdea? Something that look like that? Kind of see through?" He doesn't answer. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, THE FIVE [[Press]] [[Show him you're not playing around]]

"Wake the fuck up, hophead. I'm talking to you". You slam your hand down on the table and the Five's eyes snap into focus. "Listen up. I got 1: a house full of dead Tangets. and 2: a bum asleep in the alley across the street who saw everything. Now we can do this the easy way where you tell me what you know, or the hard way where I beat your head up and down this basement wall. Your choice." The Five fidgets nervously. He begins to sweat and sputter out excuses towards you. "Look... I don' know much. Try to keep my head down. Might been some kind of fight or somethin that night. Maybe the Righties startin' trouble again. They like to beat up Tangents." //The Right Party.// you think. //Neo-facists probably out looking for a fun time. Still... it doesn't fit. Too sophisticated.// "I have eight dead people. EIGHT. Those Right idiots couldn't manage that on their best day. What else did you see?" "What do you mean?" "Like a nighdea. Did you see something that looked like that? Shifting in and out of phase?" "I can't be sure..." You push the table out of you way and bend in close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. He cowers. "You starting to get sure now?" you growl. "Look... I was drunk. I get drunk at night. Helps sleepin' in the rain. I passed out before anythin' happened. Honest." "Are you playing me? Hiding something to protect someone?" "I got no reason to lie. Tangents been good to me. It's why I sleep here. They leave me alone. I don't know anythin'." Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, THE FIVE [[Press]] [[Show him you're not playing around]]

"Look, I know this might be hard, but none of this is going to come back on you. I just want to know what you saw so I might be able to catch the person who did this." The Five shuffles around a bit in his chair. "I wanna help. I do. Tangents always been nice to me. But I was asleep the whole time. Drank when the rain started and passed out. Next thing thing I know the Censors are roustin' me say a buncha people got iced. That's all I know. You search his face for any sign of deception. All you see is fear, weakness, the after effects of a hangover from a miserable life. Just a drunk who fell asleep in the rain. Nothing else. You instinct tells you to move on. "You on the level?" you ask. "Honest. Just a Number that happened to fall asleep there." The mull over the vagrant before finally nodding you head. "Fine. Get out of here. But stay in the neighborhood if I need to speak with you again." "Zero. Yeah." The Five starts to worm away, but turns back to you over his shoulder. "Don' suppose you could give any change... somethin' for my time? Comin' down here and all?" You stare at him sardonically. "Christ. Talk to Bowdler Serpico on your way out. Tell him I said to spare you a couple of //fiats// for your trouble." The Five's eyes light up greedily. He slides up the staircase and disappears out of the cellar. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, THE FIVE [[Interview family member]] [[Interview neighbor]] [[Speak to examiner]]

You reach across the table and grab the Five by a fold of flesh, pulling him roughly toward you. He cringes and flaps his boneless hands uselessly. He smells awful this close up. "People are dead," you say through clenched teeth. "and you're wasting my time. If you saw something and aren't telling me, I'm make sure your ass gets nailed to the wall inside the Think Tank. Keep pushing me with this wax poetic shit and we'll see how good your drinking does after a night in stir." The Five squirms in your fist, trying to pull away. "I don't know nuthin', man! Come on, always hasslin' me! I was drinkin' too much. Fell asleep in the rain is all. I swear. Didn't even get there until four o'clock. Is that a crime? I don't know nuthin'! Was just looking for a place to crash." You let him loose and falls noisily back into his chair. You lean over the table with an intimidating look. "If I find out you're lying to be or holding back on me, you know what I'll do right?" "I don't know anythin'. I didn't see anythin' last night." You search his face for any sign of deception. All you see is fear, weakness, the after effects of a hangover from a miserable life. Just a drunk who fell asleep in the rain. Nothing else. You instinct tells you to move on. "Fine. Get out of here. But stay in the neighborhood. Don't make me come looking for you." "Zero. Yeah." The Five starts to worm away, but turns back to you over his shoulder. "Don' suppose you could give any change... somethin' for my time? Comin' down here and all?" You stare at him sardonically. "Jesus. It never ends. Talk to Bowdler Serpico on your way out. Tell him I said to spare you a couple of //fiats// for your trouble." The Five's eyes light up greedily. He slides up the staircase and disappears out of the cellar. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, THE FIVE [[Interview family member]] [[Interview neighbor]]

He rocks back and forth for a while cradling his arms against his body. Every once and a while you hear a sob escape him. You lean against the back of your chair and wait. "James. I want to help" you say. "Help me find the person that did this." He looks up at you with a tear stricken face. "I just don't know anything. I want to help but I can't. "Did you see anything moving in the house. Even flicker lights or anything?" "No," he says. "I didn't see anything. There were no-" He stops mid-sentence and close his eyes. "No." he goes on. "That's not right. There was... not a flicker. A shift maybe? Like a shift?" Your mind snaps like a tripwire. "Shift? What do you mean?" James leans into the table, tiny and afraid. "I thought I saw something go into to one of the holes. The big white ones in the house. Could have been nothing. It's like something shifted into it almost too fast to see. I don't know." You open your notebook and write down the shorthand of James's story. Most of it is just personal narrative and regrets but, you latch on the the "shifting " aspect. It's unique. Unusual, even for an Abstract. Everything you hear points towards a breed of something you've never seen before. "You're going to catch him, right?" "I'm going to try." "James deserves justice. They all do." "I'll stop him." you say. "Look, the Censors will have a few questions of their own upstairs and then take you to speak with someone if you want. //Don't talk to the press.// AT ALL. I mean it. When the time comes you'll be able to tell your story, but that time isn't today. You have a place to stay?" "My aunt and few other Helman's I know." "Good. If you think of any else that might help, I want you to call The Office." He nods and then after a pause says "Should I ask for you? I... I realize I don't actually know who you are. Are you a Censor or...?" You smash down the instinct in you to tell him on habit. You're technically "off the books" on this one so staying invisible is in your favor. Sympathy aside, the less he knows the easier everything is. "Just think of me as a consultant. Call The Office and they'll put you in touch with me. You can go up now. I've got all I need." you say. "Ok... sure." James gets up to leave, walking to the staircase. He turns and gives a final limp wave before walking upstairs. //He'll probably be on suicide watch.// you think grimly to yourself. //Nothing to do now. Just let it pass and move on.// Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, JAMES [[Interview vagrant]] [[Interview neighbor]] [[Speak to examiner]]

"Why are you crying, James? Was there something else? Something I don't know?" You lean in close and put a hand on his shoulder. James looks up with ugly tears streaming down his cheeks. "I feel guilty! It should have been me that was there!" he sobs. "We knew there was something going on in the neighborhood but we laughed it off. Said it couldn't happen to us." The news hits your brain like a tripwire. "What was it, James? What was it that couldn't happen?" "Pu-Pu-People joked about something killing in the neighborhood. Dead dogs. Pets and stuff like that. We didn't think something might really be out there. Who could have guessed an Ab had made it in the city?" "What makes you think this was an Abbie slaying?" you ask. "What else could it b-b-be? A Concept couldn't do that." "That's why I keep hearing but so far no one can tell me they actually //saw// what it was." James blinks at you. He has a mournful look in his face. "So... I don't understand. You think this might not be an Ab?" "I don't know what this is. That's what I'm trying to figure out." "I told you everything I know. I don't know what else to do now..." "It's ok, James." you say. "I believe you. The Censors will have a few questions of their own upstairs and then take you to speak with someone if you want.//Don't talk to the press.// AT ALL.And you sure as hell don't mention the word 'Abstract'. When the time comes you'll be able to tell your story, but that time isn't today. You have a place to stay?" "My aunt and few other Helman's I know." "Good. If you think of any else that might help, I want you to call The Office." He nods and then after a pause says "Should I ask for you? I... I realize I don't actually know who you are. Are you a Censor?" You smash down the instinct in you to tell him on habit. Sympathy aside, the less he knows the easier everything is. "Just think of me as a consultant. Call The Office and they'll put you in touch with me. You can go up now. I've got all I need." you say. "Ok... sure." James gets up to leave, walking to the staircase. He turns and gives a final limp wave before walking upstairs. //He'll probably be on suicide watch.// you think grimly to yourself. //Nothing to do now. Just let it pass and move on.// Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, JAMES [[Interview vagrant]] [[Interview neighbor]] [[Speak to examiner]]

"Must have been frightening experience for you.'' you say. "A girl has to be tough in world, Detective. Or have a pig." The pig smiles with the corners of his mouth behind her, giving a low grunt. "Yeah." you say. "It pays to have friends. Especially in law enforcement." "I wouldn't know." "Having a favor to cash in could help. Might get you out of jam one day." Charlie purses her lips in interest. "I suppose. A girl can never have too many friends. And what would you expect in return?" You lean over the table towards her. You can smell her perfume. Like lylac and freshly cut hay. "I just want to hear your story." "Itriguing. Especially the part about hypotetical future where you grant a nondescript 'favor.'" "How about keeping your name out of a murder case for starts? Or not placing Censors on "witness protection" detail around you? Might not be the best thing for your customer base. How about those favors?" Charlies exhales in boredom. "You can put away the blackjack, Detective. I won't fight you. What do you want to know?" Charlie asks. "Everything," you say. "Fine. The first thing I can tell you is it wasn't an Abstract." You're taken back a bit. You try not to show it on your face. "What makes you think I'm looking for an Abstract?" Charlie rolls her eyes in a flash of iridecence. "Please. No one is saying anything about the killer and I'm getting interviewed by a detective with no name in the basement of a crime scene. I've been around the web, dear. Nothing about this is normal. You're with the Department of Notions." You laugh drly. "You would have made a good detective." "Gods forbid I fall //that// far," she said. "So back to the subject, how do you know it's not an Abbie?" "Because I //saw// it, Detective. I know what an Abstract looks like, I've watched TV. That wasn't it." "So you're saying it was a Concept?" "I guess. All I know it wasn't an Abstract. They look too much like nihdeas to mix up with anything else." "And that's why you didn't want to say anything. If it's a Concept, that means it could know who you are. It could come after you." Charlie nods and takes a long drag from her cigarette. "I'm not looking to get mixed up in anything." she says. "To be honest I wish to hell I'd never even passed by that goddamn house." "What did it look like? The thing you saw." "Like a person at first... then not. Like it could change shape." "Hmmm. Lot's of Concepts can change shape." "Not like that, they can't. I've never seen a Concept like that. It was different. Murderous." "You worried that it saw you?" "Of course I'm fucking worried that it saw me! The thing tore apart eight people." "We can protect you, Charlie, if you want." you say. "Go on record. If there's a killer out there he could come looking for-" "Not a chance." she says cutting you off. "I'm better off on my own. If you want to help me, find the bastard, kill him, and leave my name out of it." "I'll do what I can." "Well, I suppose that'll have to do." Charlie drops her cigarette and crushes the ember with her high-heeled shoe. "Well, that's it, handsome. I've kept my part of the bargin. If you want to talk next time it'll cost you a subpoena." You raise a hand. "It's fine." you say. "You both can go. Just don't leave town. If I want you I don't want to have to go looking." Charlie smiles coyly at you. "Well, here's hoping you'll want me. Don't forget... I still have a favor to cash in." she says. "Goodbye, Detective." "Goodbye, Miss Cavatica." you reply. Charlie stands up with graceful flourish, pulling her coat closer around her. Underneath it you can see a sliver of a blue sequined cocktail dress and a generous view of her leg. "Will. Let's go." she says. The pig dutifully follows, throwing another stern look around the room before helping her up the stairs. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, CHARLIE, WILL [[Interview family member]] [[Interview vagrant]] [[Speak to examiner]]

"Cut the shit, sweetheart." you say flatly. "I have eight dead people and a murderer that you say you saw. You're into this deep." Her eyes narrow. "And I'm telling you what I know. De.Tec.Tive." "No. You're holding back on me and obstructing justice." "Ha! I'm here as a voluntary witness. I can leave anytime I want." "Want to get have picked up for hampering an investigation? You have a record right?" She didn't answer. "It wouldn't take much to get the DA to go fishing into your background. See what other stuff you've weaving lately. Is that what you want? Say the word and I'll make it happen. " "Is that a threat, Detective?" "No, that's the narrative. I'm the one telling it." Will reaches out agressively and grabs your coat by the arm. "You can't talk to Charlie like that, little man." You turn your head until you're eye to eye with him. There's steel in your voice. "Tell your //pet// to get his hamhocks off me." She scoffs. "Give me one reason I should?" Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, CHARLIE, WILL [[Head butt]] [[Uppercut]] [[Descalate]]

You slam the bridge of your forehead agaist the pig's nose and hear the cartilage give under the blow. He squeals with pain, bringing a trotter up to his bloody nose, backing up. You move quickly, getting inside his reach and follow up with two quick body blows to the stomach. //Can't let up,// you think. //Wouldn't stand a chance in an open fight.// Will stumbles underneath the onslaught, throwing a blind haymaker that knocks you back against the table, almost breaking it. Charlie springs to her feet and backs agains the far wall. Will's bloody hand unbuttons his coat and reaches inside it. You see the handle of a gun. "WILL!!! NO!" screams Charlie. The pig's hand freezes. "Put it back." she says. Will makes a gutteral sound in the back of his throat before taking his hand out and rebuttoning his jacket. You restraighten your coat and stand up, smiling mockingly at him. "Some pig." "Fucker." he snarls. Charlie raises her hands placatingly towards you. "Look... I'll tell you what I know," Charlie says "Just forget our names when we walk out of here. All off the record and everyone goes their seperate ways. Fair enough?" "Fair enough for me." you say breathing heavy. "You okay with that, porkie?" Will sneers back at you. "Smartass. We finish this some other time. I got your number." "Will. Enough." Charlie snaps. The pig takes out a white hankerchief and begins to dab the blood off his nose. His cold eyes never leave you. "What do you want to know, Detective?" Charlie asks retaking her seat. "Everything." you say. "Fine. The first thing I can tell you is it wasn't an Abstract." You're taken back a bit. You try not to show it on your face. "What make you think I'm looking for an Abstract?" Charlie rolls her eyes in a flash of iridecence. "Please. No one is saying anything about the killer and I'm getting interviewed by a detective with no name in the basement of a crime scene. I've been around the web, dear. Nothing about this is normal. You're with the Department of Notions." You laugh drly. "You would have made a good detective." "God forbid I fall //that// far." she said. "So back to the subject, how do you know it's not an Abbie?" "Because I //saw// it, Detective. I know what an Abstract looks like, I've seen them on TV. This wasn't that." "So you're saying it was a Concept?" "I guess. All I know it wasn't an Abstract. They look too much like nihdeas to mix up with anything else." A light goes off in your head. "That's why you were holding back. If it's a Concept, that means it could know who you are. It could come after you." Charlie nods and takes a long drag from her cigarette. "I'm not looking to get mixed up in anything." she says. "I wish to hell I'd never even passed by that goddamn house." "What did it look like? The thing you saw." "Like a person at first... then not. Like it could change shape." "Hmmm. Lot's of Concepts can change shape." "Not like that, they can't. I've never seen a Concept like that. It was different. Murderous." "You worried that it saw you?" "Of course I'm fucking worried that it saw me! The thing tore apart eight people." "We can protect you." you say. "If there's a killer out there he could come looking for-" "Not a chance." she interupts. "I'm better off on my own. If you want to help me, find the bastard, kill him, and leave my name out of it." "I'll do what I can." "Well, I suppose that'll have to do." Charlie drops her cigarette and crushes the ember with her high-heeled shoe. "Well, that's it, handsome. I've kept my part of the bargin. If you want to talk next time it'll cost you a subpoena." "It'll cost you a lot more than that..." the pig warns in a low voice. "Will." You raise a hand. "It's fine." you say. "You both can go. Just don't leave town. If I want you I don't want to have to go looking." Charlie smiles coyly at you. "Well, here's hoping you'll want me." she says. "Goodbye, Detective." "Goodbye, Miss Cavatica." you reply. Charlie stands up with graceful flourish, pulling her coat closer around her. Underneath it you can see a sliver of a blue sequined cocktail dress. "Will. Let's go" she says. The pig dutifully follows, throwing one more hateful look at you before helping her up the stairs. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/nhuojklz6j88sah/Will.jpg?dl=1" width="372" height="480"> [[Interview family member]] [[Interview vagrant]] [[Speak to examiner]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/an7qazr1gzfhdki/Bone%20Crunch%20FX.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/lb08ksw3pc4lenp/06%20-%20Gutterpunk%20Kids.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You clench your left fist and draw it across to catch the pig's chin. You're amazed at how fast he moves. He neatly catches your fist and slam the his other hand roughly into your solar plexes. You feel all the wind rush out of you along with a weak groan. You throw a backhand weakly up that catches him across the face but he shakes it off. He grabs you by the neck and slams you to the ground like a doll. You feel his trotters move around your windpipe and squeeze. The sound begins to get distant in your ears and your vision blurs in and out. The last thing you see is Charlie's eyes, unreadable and bright behind a veil of cigarette smoke. ... "-oming to, I think." When you awaken the light is too bright and your head is pounding. An Engineering Concept is staring down at you, a vial of smelling salts in his hand. Another Censor comes up and looks down at you, trying to help you up. "Jesus. We had you pegged for good for a while, sir. You were out cold for at least forty mintutes. The doctors say you should probably get an MRI. Anything over ten minutes can be pretty serious. Neurologically speaking." "Where am I?" you mutter. Your eyes are having trouble focusing. "Still in the basement. The guys were scared to move you." "What happened to the two that were here? The spider and the pig?" The two Censors look at each other sheepishly. You sigh heavily and lean against the basement wall. "So. In the wind. Shit." you say. "They came up out through the cellar and said you were done with them. Took off pretty quick after that. We came down later when you didn't answer our calls. Found you like this." "Want us to put out an APB?" says the other one. "Forget it." you say. "I don't have time to go chasing after every loose thread. I'm on a deadline." "Can we get you anything? Like water or something?" "Just leave me here to rest for a while. Get my second wind." The Censors both nod to you and head up the stairs. You sit down in one of the interview chairs and rub your bruised neck with one hand. //Damn. Could have handled that one better.// you think. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, CENSOR #1, CENSOR #2 [[Interview family member]] [[Interview vagrant]] [[Speak to examiner]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/lb08ksw3pc4lenp/06%20-%20Gutterpunk%20Kids.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

"Look." you say. "This isn't going to end well for anybody. Least of all for your mistress. What do you say we all relax and try this again before someone does something they regret?" The pig looks at Charlie as she takes a long drag from her cigarette. "Will. Release him." The pig drops your arm immedietly and steps back from the table to Charlie's side. You brush off your sleeve and adjust you coat. "Effective contract negotiation." you say to him with a harsh look. Charlie laughs in bemusment, ashing her cigarette on the ground. "A girl has to be tough in world, Detective. That or, well... have a pig." Will smiles with the corners of his mouth behind her, giving a low grunt. "True." you say. "It pays to have friends. Especially ones in law enforcement." "I wouldn't know." "Having a favor to cash in could help. Might get you out of jam one day." Charlie purses her lips in interest. "I suppose. A girl can never have too many friends. And what would you expect in return?" You lean over the table towards her. You can smell her perfume. Like lylac and freshly cut hay. "I just want to hear your story." "Itriguing. Especially the part where I get a favor. I think we could work something out, Detective. What do you want to know?" Charlie asks. "Everything." you say. "Fine. The first thing I can tell you is it wasn't an Abstract." You're taken back a bit. You try not to show it on your face. "What makes you think I'm looking for an Abstract?" Charlie rolls her eyes in a flash of iridecence. "Please. No one is saying anything about the killer and I'm getting interviewed by a detective with no name in the basement of a crime scene. I've been around the web, dear. Nothing about this is normal. You're with the Department of Notions." You laugh drly. "You would have made a good detective." "God forbid I fall //that// far." she said. "So back to the subject, how do you know it's not an Abbie?" "Because I //saw// it, Detective. I know what an Abstract looks like and that was not it. It was solid... not phased." "So you're saying it was a Concept?" "I guess. All I know it wasn't an Abstract. They look too much like nihdeas to mix up with anything else." "And that's why you didn't want to say anything. If it's a Concept, that means it could know who you are. It could come after you." Charlie nods and takes a long drag from her cigarette. "I'm not looking to get mixed up in anything." she says. "To be honest I wish to hell I'd never even passed by that goddamn house." "What did it look like? The thing you saw." "Like a person at first... then not. Like it could change shape." "Hmmm. Lot's of Concepts can change shape." "Not like that, they can't. I've never seen a Concept like that. It was different. Murderous." "You worried that it saw you?" "Of course I'm fucking worried that it saw me! The thing tore apart eight people." "We can protect you, Charlie, if you want." you say. "Go on record. If there's a killer out there he could come looking for-" "Not a chance." she says cutting you off. "I'm better off on my own. If you want to help me, find the bastard, kill him, and leave my name out of it." "I can't make any promises." "Well, I suppose that'll have to do." Charlie drops her cigarette and crushes the ember with her high-heeled shoe. "Well, that's it, handsome. I've kept my part of the bargin. If you want to talk next time it'll cost you a subpoena." You raise a hand. "It's fine." you say. "You both can go. Just don't leave town. If I want you I don't want to have to go looking." Charlie smiles coyly at you. "Well, here's hoping you'll want me. Don't forget... I still have a favor to cash in." she says. "Goodbye, Detective." "Goodbye, Miss Webb." you reply. Charlie stands up with graceful flourish, pulling her coat closer around her. Underneath it you can see a sliver of a blue sequined cocktail dress and a generous view of her leg. "Will. Let's go." she says. The pig dutifully follows, throwing another stern look around the room before helping her up the stairs. Visible Items: THE MOLESKINE, THE PEN, THE TABLE, THE CHAIR Points of Interest: THE CELLAR DOOR, CHARLIE, WILL [[Interview family member]] [[Interview vagrant]] [[Speak to examiner]]

“Do you have a smart phone? Notions still has mine in lockup.” you call out to the examiner in the other room. “Yeah,” says the examiner. “You need to call █████████?” “No. I need to send an email to someone.” The examiner pokes his head through the doorway and throws you the phone. “Don’t go through the pictures,” he says. //To see your intimately redacted girlfriend? Yeah, I think I’m good.// You open up the internet browser and sit on the edge of the couch while drafting the following: ''Hey, Eddie I need you to push through the Test Chamber 7 thing. Be by there later today. Have something for me. - Auburne'' “Thanks.” you say to the examiner, passing the Concept his phone and putting your cigarette out in the sink. “I think I’ve got all I need. Make sure all the files and reports go to my office. Notions should know where to send it.” “You’re leaving?” “Gonna chase down a hunch. Might be nothing. Just a feeling. But more than I have here.” The examiner makes a quizzical face. “What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Measure the blots every half hour so I know the decay rate. And don’t worry about contaminating them. You can’t.” “How do you know that? Do you have any idea what this is?” “Sort of. Not what made it or how it got here…. but I know what the blots are.” You grab your pack of cigarettes from the kitchen table and start to walk out. “Well, what is it?” the examiner call after him. //“Terra incognita.”// The examiner’s face screws up. “And what the hell is that?” You mutter back “It’s Empty.” Visible Items: PACK OF CIGARETTES, THE BODIES, THE BLOTS Points of Interest: THE MAIN ROOM, THE EXAMINER [[Catch a ride]]

You walk out of the back of the crime scene, careful not to be seen by any press or onlookers. On the street, you come to a busy square with Tangents going to and coming from work. Through the crowd of bodies, you look for a way to travel across town, spotting three gathered by the crossroad hawking at tourists. You signal to one. [[Travel by teleportation]] [[Travel by Johnny Cab]] [[Travel by flying carpet]]

You walk up to a cobbled together machine of electronics, car parts, bubbling liquid. It looks like amalgum fire sale of items from ''Spencer's Gifts.'' Next to it stands a yound boy of about twelve wearing a labcoat. He has welder's googles on his head holding back a fantastic tower of chestnut hair. He strightens his posture as you approach. "Interested in the marvels of science, sir?" he says regally. "Could be I am, " you reply. "What is it?" "Teleportation of solid matter from one geographic location another to another in the space-time continuum! I call it... The ReAtomizer!" "Is it safe?" You look over the craftsmanship of the device. "It looks it's held together with spit and dreams." "Handmade by myself, Professor James Issac N-" "Is it safe?" you repeat. "Absolutely, sir! The fastest and safest way to travel in Nous! Just twenty //fiats//. Science ain't cheap, ya know." "Fine." You hand over a bill and step inside a large tube with Tesla arcs flying above it. "Little Narnia." "Oh course, sir! Right away!" The boy puts his googles over his eyes and pulls a large lever on the side of the machine. You hear pistons firing all around you and the crack of electricity. A unearthly humming vibrants against your back through the machine. "Next stop..." the boy yells over the dinn. "Little Narni- wait. Oh shi-" Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE MACHINE, THE BOY [[Teleport]]

You flag down a Johnny Cab at the curb and made a b-line for Little Narnia. The driver’s automaton torso twists and coos as you ride while mouthing the lyrics to some Credence song. The whole car smells of cheap air freshener and industrial coolant. You breathe through your mouth. “Narnia, huh? What you headed there for?” asks the driver. “Looking for an old friend.” you say more to yourself than him. “Heard he moved there a while back. Has a package for me.” “You know a lot of Animal Concepts?” You chuckle quietly. “A few, yeah. I ran with one in the old days. Used to be my partner.” The driver twists his bust fully around with a grotesque aping of friendliness. It's the thing you hate about Johnny Cabs. They're the Mariana Trench of the uncanny valley. On the upside, though, they don’t expect tips either. Apparently this one was big on small talk. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6vgl8clotayh969/Johnny%20Cab.jpg?dl=1" width="414" height="413"> “Oh yeah?” the driver says cartoonishly. “What’s his name? Maybe I know him.” You shake your head. “You don’t.” The last person you want to think about right now is Milk. And God help you if Milk knew you were back on a job. //Stop. Don’t think about that fucking psychopath right now.// You stare out the window at the passing street as you drive. You haven’t been in this part of the city in a year and you can see how much has changed. Every mongrel piece of architecture is thrown together like a gypsy wedding. Skyscrapers that merge into shantytowns and high-rises made of ice cream. Impossible designs that you could never fathom without a Concept brain. It's one of the reasons you like Trope City so much. Even with the familiar there's always something new to see. Mixed-Media, New Gilead, Algebra City. Neighborhoods you used visit a lifetime ago when you were an Editor. Still filled with stories you only half-remember. The cab come to stop at a light and is immediately set on by panhandlers. A Dickensian looking Tangent and strung out hippo walk over with a soap bucket and hungry eyes. The driver’s face screws up demonically at them as they try to wash the windshield. “Fucking curs! Paws off my glass!” Narnia’s outskirts have a rep for this sort of thing. Animal Concepts birth in litters, so poverty and overcrowding hang to them like lice. //Time to hoof it.// you think. “Don’t worry, this is close enough.” you say. “Streets are too narrow here to drive down anyway.” Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE DRIVER, THE DOOR [[Pay the fare and leave->Chapter 3]] [[Skip the bill and leave]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/lrwf81q9mbiopkg/01%20-%20The%20Quiet%20Earth.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You approach a barefoot peddler in a dusty tunic. He has smiles at you with stained teeth, yellowed from years of tea and hookah smoke. He says something to you in Urdu that you don't understand while pointing at a large Persian rug. You eventually are able to communicate a fare out of him after fifteen minutes of haggling and hand him a few //fiats//. You step onto the carpet and feel it react like a skin underneath you. "Is there a seatbelt or anything? Some kind of handlebar?" The peddler smiles at you. You fold the front up over your knees as the carpet starts to rise. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE PEDDLER, THE CARPET [[END CHAPTER 2 ->Chapter 3]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/jyyxe68egcdjn03/10%20-%20Looking%20For%20Tracy%20Tzu.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You step back onto the street with a renewed confidence and autonomy. It feels easier without Censors and Notions watching over your shoulder. You're being used by them, you realize. But at least your being used on your own terms. The best a freelancer like you could ask for. You walk down Yellow Brick Rd. reflecting how it's more cobblestone than brick. The luster of it has faded from sunflower yellow to dried piss under the wear of time and feet. //Even ideas get old,// you think grimly. Somewhere above you, a ringtone buzzes annoying over your shoulder.You swat at it while you walk, crossing over Rainbow Bridge towards Little Narnia. You always have the same feeling when you step back in the neighborhood. The details that make the district so distinctive. Outlets that are lower to the ground. Odd shaped eating utensils. Doors you can push rather than turning a knob. It has a distinctly European feel except not nearly as clean. Narnian’s aren’t too big on sanitation, so their feathers, shit, and trash always litter the street. “Got any change, gov?” comes a voice. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE BRIDGE [[Talk to the beggar]]

You appear in midair a hundred feet over the Sea of Consciousness and begin to fall immedietly. You barely have time to think (let alone scream) before you hit the surface like a brick wall. Sound and thoughts instantly overwhelm you in an uncontrolable wave. //themanrunsafteryoubuthemanisdeadandthedoghasearswithTomCruiseindustiall ookthebestruckwithlemonorlimeitisthenameoftheoldgodOsirusbutnotrelatedto thebabyheartfishmongerfallendresserlikeleavedon'thateyourselfbutcoveryour eyesinmoteroil...// You feel your vision begin to dim as you sink helplessly down to bottom and drift into the endless thoughts. YOU HAVE DIED. Please start over [[TITLE SCREEN ->CATHEXIS]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/lcvncqf6w9dpua7/Large%20Splash%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/wv0kimgy42tzwbj/Ghostly%20Whisper%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay loop> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/7l6d170z2igotta/Feminine%20Whispers%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay loop>

Dismissively, you reach for the door handle and to step out without paying. The lock suddenly slams shut, trapping you inside. With a moterized whirl the Johnny Cab driver turns around, his lips moving over his teeth like an ape. You see the digital numbers on the meter begin to flucuate rapidly in some electrical malfunction. The driver begins to roll his head autistically. "What the hell's going on?" you demand. The Johnny Cab smiles at you manically as sparks begin to shoot from an joint in its neck. "We hope you've enjoyed the ride!!!" he says cheerfully. The cab accelerates instantly at a breakneck speed, flying out of control as pedestrians scream and try to jump out of the way. You uselessly put your hands up to ward off the blow as the cab rams into the brick wall of a hardware store. Saftey glass and broken metal are thrown back at you. The engine explodes in a plume of fire, engulfing the car with you inside it. YOU HAVE DIED. Please start over [[TITLE SCREEN ->CATHEXIS]]

You turn your head to see a group of loitering rats leaning against the curb. Each is mangy, with the nub of what had once been a tail; initiation scars marking them as part of the 3-B Gang. Somewhere, deep in a sewer, their eyeless bosses are undoubtedly counting the day’s haul and drinking grappa from thimbles. These are just the grunts looking to scam a copper or two. One of the rats holds up a small clumsily written sign that reads: //''Veterans wounded in The Archetype Wars. Any help appreciated. Gods bless''// <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/rq8w2a3pab7hyxj/Three%20Blind%20Mice.jpg?dl=1" width="480" height="383"> //Veterans my ass.// you think as you bend down to you haunches to speak to them. “You can help me.” you say. “I’m looking for someone. Newbie to the neighborhood.” A larger rat croaks back at you in a plague-y voice. “Ain’t a kiosk, are we?” “Business Concept. Just set up shop.” The rat mulls something and then turns away. You hear soft chattering in cockney accents from the rodents. The larger rat speaks back to you after a moment. “Might be knowin’. Could steer you for a price, like.” Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE BRIDGE, THE RAT [[Bribe rat]] [[Go your own way]]

You roll your eyes and go into your wallet for two //fiats//. The gaggle of rats fights over them while the one spaking to you walks forward. “Edge of town." he whispers. "New bloke moved in there called ‘Bay’. Might be the one you’re looking for.” You nod at the rodent and walk away towards your destination. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE BRIDGE, EDDIE'S STORE [[Go to Bay's place]]

"I'll try my luck," you say. "Suit yourself." You head off, following the twists and turns of the roads to the heart of the neighborhood. Bucephalus Square is busy, even for midday. What little tourism the neighborhood has dashes any hope of making it through in decent time. You take a shortcut by Fiver’s Fortune-Telling and Shere Khan’s Cuisines to avoid the crowds. You can feel curious eyes follow you as you push through the cramped alleyways. There isn’t much reason for a human to be here and the locals stare at you accordingly for it. You're out of place. A curiosity on display at the zoo. You hit a roadblock around Orwellian Drive and Anansi Street where The Mouse Guard have sanctioned off part of the street for a political rally. A parade of conservative looking penguins walk single-file amongst the cheers and boos of the local citizens, handing out pamphlets. You take one and leaf through it as you walk away from the rabble and smell of horse sweat. After another hour of searching, you finally came upon the curio store you're looking for. Like you, it feels out of place in the organic culture of Little Narnia. The polished white storefront stands like a monolithic iPod next to a giant mud wasps’ nest. You notice obscene graffiti spray-painted along the side reading: ''GO HOME, TRADE-SCUM!!!'' “You lost? Visible Items: THE LEAFLET Points of Interest: THE STORE, THE SQUARE [[Turn to the voice]] <audio src=""d1=1 autoplay>

You turn towards the voice. It's an immaculately dressed fox leaning against a vending cart. He is smoking a thin cigarette and flicking the ember tip dramatically. For some reason it suits him in the condescending way that only a fox can pull off. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/gfi6ezefjur490a/Fantastic%20Mr.%20Fox%202.jpg?dl=1" width="458" height="640"> "Lost?" he repeats. “More like found.” you saay. “You Business?” There's bait in the question and you let it pass. “No.” you reply. “I’m something else.” It's an understatement. Being a prefab isn’t exactly something you advertise. Only a few people in the city know your secret and you intended to keep it that way. It's made less trouble in the long run. “Odd place for a Business Concept to set up shop.” you say. The fox laughs in agreement. “It’s just Batertown testing the waters again. They’re always trying to move in from next door. Seeing how much they can get away with zoning. Don’t last long with the boycotts.” The comments aren’t new to you. Discord always happens near the borders. Ideas merging, fighting with other ideas. The fox eyes you harshly. “Why? You’re not going in there… are you?” “I don’t know. What can you sell me?” “Boggis fried chicken.” “Then yeah, I’m going in.” you say. The fox drops his cigarette and spit on the ground at your feet. “Figured as much. Tell your Business friend if he knows what’s good for him he’ll pack up and move back where he came from. //Laissez-faire// ain’t welcome here.” //“Vive le revolution.”// you say back dryly. The fox turns away, showing the ragged remains of a half-tail that his coat couldn't mask. He walks his cart back up the road into Little Narnia and disappears from sight. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE STORE, THE FOX [[Go into store]]

After thirty minutes of walking, you finally came upon the curio store you're looking for. Like you, it feels out of place in the organic culture of Little Narnia. The polished white storefront stands like a monolithic iPod next to a giant mud wasps’ nest. You notice obscene graffiti spray-painted along the side reading: ''GO HOME, TRADE-SCUM!!!'' Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE STORE, THE BRIDGE “You lost? [[Turn to the voice]]

When you walk in the store is empty; shelves as barren as it is of clientele. Department store muzak plays in the backgrand in a generic ambience. No employees. No one behind the counter. For a moment, you're convinced that you've walked into the wrong place. “Hello?” you yell. You hear a light eletronic beep. Then, in an instant, a series of advertisements swarms on you, chirping loudly and hungrily for attention. They float in neon bars and talking heads, each chattering over each other in the loud onslaught. You throw up your hands in reflex. “Goddamn it!” comes a voice. The advertisements scatter like insects from under a rock, scurrying back into whatever ether they hid in. In their absence, a single figure emerges from a backroom. He's young, in his early twenties, and drinking from a can of Surge cola with a straw. He has the casual look of an internet mogul with his jeans and solid striped t-shirt. It's the man you've come to see. Edwin Bay. “Infestation problem, Eddie?” you ask. “They’re a damned nuisance.” Eddie replies. “Keep getting past my firewalls. Sorry, Auburne. Good to see you.” “Likewise. How’s sales?” “In the red. Tried to hire more locals to soften the company image. Hooked up with Hedwig Couriers for my deliveries but the owls shit everywhere and the natives still won’t come in the store.” “Doesn’t look like you have much in stock. Maybe I should come back.” Eddie’s eyes narrow. “I have EVERYTHING in stock. I just don’t keep it on the shelves for people to come and gawk at like apes.” “You’ve never heard of window shoppers?” “If you want analogue goods try another store. I do business in the modern age.” “Seller’s market, Eddie. I’m here about the bid. Did it go through?” A mischievous grin crosses Eddie’s lips. “A difficult item. Lots of interest, but… I was able to secure a purchase for you. Still curious though. What do you want with it?” You shrug at him. “There’s a market for everything. I thought you of all people would know that.” “Well said.” Eddie walks behind the counter, slurping loudly from the dregs of his cola before dropping it in a wastebasket. He clears his throat and cracked his knuckles. “This may take a second.” he says. “The servers are busy this morning. Traffic always sucks this time of day. You can have a seat over on that bench while I get it.” Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE BENCH, EDDIE [[Have a seat]] [[Continue to stand]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/iqqe808gmqezm8n/02%20-%20Smooth%20Jazz%20for%20Busy%20Department%20Stores.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay loop>

You nod and sit down. You watch Eddie’s eyes begin to glaze over and stare off into the middle-distance. Savant energy radiates off him like a stink. Wherever he is, he certainly isn’t here anymore. A minute passes before Eddie speaks again, breaking the silence. His voice is deadpan. “Okay. I’m... loading… now.” A split second later, the entire store comes to life. Items appear and disappear on the once empty shelves, flickering in and out of existence. Furniture suddenly fills the store with waterbeds and armoires giving way to baby pools and card-tables. Electronics and bric-a-brac of all kinds buzz to life and then vanish. You even think you see a car at one point. At the center of it all, like the hub of a wheel, iss Eddie. He has what looks like a thousand ghostly arms coming off of him at absurdly impossible lengths. The speed they move at is inhuman; some insane octopus on amphetamines sorting through an infinite world of goods. Then, in another blink, the store is empty again except for you, Eddie, and a small brown parcel on the countertop. Eddie’s eyes sharpen back into focus. He makes a flourish with his hands, presenting the parcel. <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/jc85uf1o7wa68dt/Eddie%20Bay.jpg?dl=1" width="512" height="346"> “As promised.” he says. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar.” “I’m neither.” “A businessman then.” You take out your wallet and count the dwindling //fiats// The Office has given you as a //per diem//. An expensive purchase, sure, but worth the investment. Trope City operates on trade as much as money sometimes (especially in your circles). Eddie’s eyes flicker hungrily over the bills as you lay them out in front of him. “Aren’t you in the chips lately?” “Bullish quarter.” you say. Visible Items: THE PARCEL Points of Interest: THE BENCH, EDDIE [[Take PARCEL]]

Eddie shrugs. "Suit youself." You lean against the wall with your back. You watch Eddie’s eyes begin to glaze over and stare off into the middle-distance. Savant energy radiates off him like a stink. Wherever he is, he certainly isn’t here anymore. A minute passes before Eddie speaks again, breaking the silence. His voice is deadpan. “Okay. I’m... loading… now.” A split second later, the entire store comes to life. Items appear and disappear on the once empty shelves, flickering in and out of existence. Furniture suddenly fills the store with waterbeds and armoires giving way to baby pools and card-tables. Electronics and bric-a-brac of all kinds buzz to life and then vanish. You even think you see a car at one point. At the center of it all, like the hub of a wheel, iss Eddie. He has what looks like a thousand ghostly arms coming off of him at absurdly impossible lengths. The speed they move at is inhuman; some insane octopus on amphetamines sorting through an infinite world of goods. Then, in another blink, the store is empty again except for you, Eddie, and a small brown parcel on the countertop. Eddie’s eyes sharpen back into focus. He makes a flourish with his hands, presenting the parcel. “As promised.” he says. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar.” “I’m neither.” “A businessman then.” You take out your wallet and count the dwindling //fiats// The Office has given you as a //per diem//. An expensive purchase, sure, but worth the investment. Trope City operates on trade as much as money sometimes (especially in your circles). Eddie’s eyes flicker hungrily over the bills as you lay them out in front of him. “Aren’t you in the chips lately?” “Bullish quarter.” you say. Visible Items: THE PARCEL Points of Interest: THE BENCH, EDDIE [[Take PARCEL]]

You pick up the parcel in a neat swipe. It's heavier than you thought. You turn and start to go, lugging the thing awkwardly at your side. Eddie called after you. “Is it true? You working again?” You stop. You let out a lungful of air. //Almost made it out.// you think. “No.” you say not turning around. “It’s a one-time thing.” “People are saying Notions is involved.” You turn and remark in a weary tone “What have you heard, Eddie?” “A Media Concept I know caught you on his private feed walking out of a crime scene in Quasi-Village. City Censors won’t say what happened. Very hush-hush.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. “You an information broker now?” “I trade in all commodities.” “I’m no one special. What’s that worth?” “Depends who your boss is. You working for yourself? Or are you working for the Department of Notions? Because the Clyde Auburne I know wouldn’t have able to afford how much he just gave me.” “It’s a private client, Eddie. Off the books. And I need it to stay that way.” Eddie makes a helpless face. “I’m just the messenger. I got asked to approach you.” //Here it comes.// you think bitterly. “My Media friend wants //f//250 or the feed goes live.” //Of course. I get careless and some grifter's there to catch me with my dick in the wind.// “So if I don't cough it up?” you grumble. “He posts it on some shit-blog that no one reads anyway?” “Probably. But I figure it’s a chance you didn’t want to take. That’s his asking price. He wanted to start a bidding war but I talked him down. Told him I'd come to you as friend.” “And what a good fuckin’ friend you are.” Visible Items: THE PARCEL Points of Interest: THE BENCH, EDDIE [[Pay off the blackmailer]]

You count out most of your Office money and throw it down on the counter. “That's the end of it.” you say bitterly. “I don't want your Media friend trying to squeeze more juice outta me down the line.” “He won't. He's too afraid of Milk getting involved.” “I don't run with Milk anymore.” “He doesn't know that.” //True.// you think. The implied threat would have to be good enough. Still, the fact that Milk's name came up with yours at all is an annoyance. Time hasn't distanced you all that you had hoped here. “Have you seen him since coming back?” Eddie asks. “No and I'm not back.” you say again. “Besides, I don't think he lives here anymore. Moved out after the whole Madmartigan thing.” “I never heard that one.” “Well, you won't now. I'm leaving.” You continue on out the door, lugging the parcel on your hip. “By the off-chance,” Eddie calls out. “if Milk does come calling, what should I tell him?” “Nothing. I've had enough hassle from the past ten minutes in your store without having to deal with him too. Just tell him you never saw me.” “I'm not going to lie to him.” “Then tell him the truth. You saw me but don't know what I'm up to.” “He's not stupid. And I can guess well enough what you're up-” “You’re a businessman, Eddie. So do me a favor and mind your own fucking business.” Visible Items: THE PARCEL Points of Interest: THE BENCH, THE DOOR, EDDIE [[Leave store]]

You turn, leave through the front doors, and walk out to the street. You put the parcel down and sit on it while lighting a cigarette. Your mood has fouled. You take a deep drag from the filter and blow smoke down at your feet. //Five cigarettes before noon. I'll have to make that up.// you tell yourself. You had gone a month without smoking before this thing fell in your lap. All fucked now. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE STORE [[Hail a rickshaw]] [[Travel through fold-space]]

CHAPTER 3 [[Trope City. Little Narnia. April 35th, 1196 A.R. ->Go to Little Narnia]]

You flick the butt of your cigarette away when you're finished and hail a rickshaw from the street. The driver, a large spider in Adidas sneakers, helps you to load your parcel in the trunk. “Wh-ere... to?” the spider clicks. Its mandibles brush together over the words, obviously not used to speaking //Linga Franca.// “Inkspout.” you say. “I’ve got to drop something off. And thank god… it just so happens to be in a bar.” The spider nods and takes off down the street, leaving the specter of the morning behind you in the dust. [[END CHAPTER 3->Chapter 4]]

You approach a towering nearby vat of liquid on the Bartertown side of the district lines. The water bubbles with orange liquid and reeks of cinnamon. Next to the vat, a dreamy pale man stands wringing his hands. His clothing is covered in black vinyl and H.R. Geiger tubing. In the daylight, he looks more like a bondage fetishist than a sci-fi Concept. "I need transport." "And where is one going, one might ask?" the man croaks in a whispery voice. "Inkspout." you say. "And to save you time, //no// I don't have any Spice, //no// I'm not with any House, and //no// I don't give a shit about Shai-Hulud or whatever prose you're peddling today. Just have the Shape of Water guy come out and foldspace me to Inkspout. That's all." The dreary man stares at you. "Rough day?" he asks in monotone voice. "You could say that." "Very well. That'll be //f//14." You hand him over the bills and stand in front of the vat expectingly. A moment later the liquid in the vat begins to churn and bubble with intensity. In the depths of the tank you can see the outline a humanlike creature with emaciated limbs and an enlarged head. It points a you with a long webbed finger. "Farewell, traveler, farewell." the dreary man says. "There are other worlds than these." The next instant, you are on the streets of Inkspout. [[END CHAPTER 3->Chapter 4]]

CHAPTER 4 [[Trope City. Inkspout. April 35th, 1196 A.R.]]

The gas lit lantern above ''Pickman’s Bottle'' flickers in the fog. You watch the few hardcore alcoholics stumble out into the street in the waning light of the afternoon. They're mostly Victorian ideas or Literature Concepts. The bread-and-butter lushes of Inkspout. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: PICKMAN'S BOTTLE [[Go in Pickman's Bottle]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/q2ik26zmlo41l9n/08%20-%20Black%20City%20Skyline.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You step over the vomit spattered form of Edward Hyde in the doorway and walk in. It pleases you to see it hadn’t changed much. The pub still has an old-world feel despite some eclectic updates since you've been there. A trendy little attempt to modernize with Edison bulbs. Cigarette machines in the lounge. Even the portrait of Dorian Gray over the fireplace had been repainted like a Warhol silkscreen. Dorian Diptych. The overall affect reminds you more of David Bowie. Inside, the clientele are pulled back into their red leather-bound booths, nursing drinks or cloak-and-dagger deals. You see a group of Surrealist Concepts huddled over glasses of absinthe, their absurd limbs trying to fit in polite space without dripping into the other booths. Others cast veiled eyes at you as he pass or hide in their stovetop hats. You walk to the rococo style bar where a mass of undulating black tentacles slivers behind the counter. A bristle runs through it when you approach. You smile. “Hey, Lovecraft. Long time no see.” The creature ripples in what you take for surprise. It's never really had a name, but “Lovecraft” has stuck more than most with the locals. “I’ll have a decent rye if you’ve got it.” The thing gibbers back at you quietly from the dozen toothed mouths dotting its arms. Somehow, you always understand what it means and nod at the joke. “Yeah. I’m a glutton for punishment.” you say. One of the tentacles pulls a bottle of Angel’s Envy from the top shelf. It pops the cork and neatly pours four fingers worth in a tumbler for you. You take the glass and breath it in. It has a lulling, savory burn. //Success to crime.// you think. On the small vaudeville stage an Elizabethan something-or-other finishes his set to polite claps. The stagehand ushers him off before placing a draped birdcage on the apron. He uncovers it with a dramatic pull revealing the groggy bird-of-paradise inside. It stretches its feathers, showing a dazzling array of hot neon plumage gleaming like live-wire. In the silence that follows, it opens its beak and begins to sing. The tune is a recording of //Everybody Wants to Rule the World.// <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/a25yrw7zy45bkxm/Bird%202.jpg?dl=1" width="530" height="377"> Visible Items: THE RYE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, LOVECRAFT [[Take a drink]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/q2a2fpgjl46i3ns/03%20-%20This%20Time%20of%20Night%20%282015%20Remaster%29.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You take a sip and lean deep into the bar. “A little sweet for my taste.” you murmur down at the glass. A voice at the end of the bar teasingly calls out “You should try the cake.” When he turn, Michelle is there smiling at you. Your breath stops a little bit to see her (and always has, to be honest). You've gotten used to seeing your fantasies walk around Trope City, but she's in a category all her own. Michelle is wearing a fashionable orange dress, knee-high white boots, and a wry smile. Her black hair is done up in a messy bun with chopsticks. You smile back at her. “Lost the jumpsuit I see.” She curtsies at you. “I can still wear a dress when my job demands it.” “Yes, you can.” An alien chatter comes from the bartender as it polishes the coup glasses. You don’t hear the re-mark but it's enough to garnish a laugh from Michelle (most likely at your expense). She leans deep over the counter and placed a dry kiss on the bartender’s closest appendage. “I’ll take my break now and a Vesper.” she says. “Can’t have old friends drinking alone, can I?” She pulls out one of the barstools and sits down next to you. Her face sizes you up while she taps a French tipped nail on the bar. “How’d you know I still worked here?” she asks. “Toothe said he saw you a few months back. He still likes to come in.” “Makes sense. You two still talk?” “Sometimes. As much as a misanthrope like me can.” “How adorably self-deprecating. You here to catch up or...?” She lets the remark hang. You take the meaning and reply “A bit of both.” You can't help looking over your shoulder to see if you're being overheard. Michelle rolls her eyes. “It's safe to talk here. This is a friendly bar.” she says. “You're not worried about getting raided?” “The Movement pays to hear about that sort of thing ahead of time. And if this was a sting, I can think of a thousand better options to send than you.” //The Movement.// you think. //How delicate. For a bunch of anarchists and terrorists.// “I'm not here to bust you, Michelle.” you say. “Begs the question why you are here. It's been a year, Clyde. No one's seen you.” You don't answer. “I’m surprised to see you now. Don’t really know what to make of it yet.” “Me neither, if that helps.” She doesn’t respond. The empty silence finally makes you look away. You dig the toe of your shoe absently in the ground. The whole thing feels like an awkward party. “Anyway... You look good.” he say. “How’s Sammy?” Michelle slumps a little into the bar exhales a deep sigh. “Meh. We’re fighting again. I’m too analytical. She doesn’t express her feelings. Blah-blah. Same problems we’ve always had.” “Always thought you two were a good match.” “We are, when she’s not obsessing over her Varia Suit or whatever weird piece of tech she finds on the internet.” The bartender slids a martini glass in front of Michelle. She toys with the lemon peel before raising it in a toast towards you. “To the lost.” “The lost.” you agree. Visible Items: THE RYE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, MICHELLE, LOVECRAFT [[Cheers]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/2vn1oq07ou00vv9/03%20-%20Everybody%20Wants%20To%20Rule%20The%20World.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

You both take a long sip and turn towards the stage. The music drifts over you in calm waves. Inside its cage, the bird sways with its own song. “There were rumors when you left. After the Eleanor Rigby thing. My people are going to want to know why you’re coming back now. And what’s more, so do I.” Her tone's level. She isn’t letting you off easy. //Guess we might as well get into it.// You turned to her with a tired look. “I should have reached out. And I didn’t. And I can’t change that now.” “That’s not an apology.” “I didn’t give one.” “So what are you giving?” “An explanation.” She turns her eyes to you. Her voice is guarded. “Okay. I’m listening.” she says. You think for a moment on how to proceed. Explaining shit like this to Concepts (even smart ones like Michelle) is always difficult. It’s why you don’t do it often. They never understand real-world parallels or their perversions. How it feels to have your worst nightmare come crawling at you in The Empty. Or what it's like to blow the head off a truly original thought. “You remember that night at //Rick’s Cafe Americano//?” you come up with. “Clyde, we’re not talking about-“ “I’m trying to explain it to you. Remember? Everyone going to Rick’s after graduation? The same night Tony Stark stumbled in drunk and bought rounds for the whole bar.” “What about it?” “What was your favorite thing that night?” “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in a while.” She pauses before saying “I guess that we were all together one last time. That we were half-drunk, making promises to each other that we couldn’t keep, and still believing all the bullshit coming out of The Office. That we were the good guys.” You lean into her. “I want you to think of some specific moment that night. When you were supremely happy, in love, or everything seemed to make sense. When you were really at peace. Now imagine that exact same memory murdering three kids and coming to stab you in the face. That’s what it was like for me to Edit. Every. Single. Time. Always left wondering which piece of nostalgia was coming to fucking kill me that day. And the Rigby case was just another piece of it I didn’t want anymore.” Michelle doesn’t say anything. She stares into her drink and nods. “Ok.” she says. “Ok what?” “Nothing. Just ok.” Visible Items: THE RYE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, MICHELLE, LOVECRAFT [[Wait for a reaction]] <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/830n6uh9aqzl7w7/Glass%20Clink%20FX.wav?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

When she looks up at you again the sharpness in her eyes are gone. It's a warmer look that tells you you haven't completely burned your bridge. She takes another sip of her drink. “So why come out of retirement now?” “It’s complicated… I’m not exactly working.” is all you can muster. Revealing too much could burn you here. “But you are on a job.” “Yes.” “For them?” //Of course fucking them.// “No.” you lie. “A private client.” Michelle’s eyebrow rise. “Anyone I know?” she asks. You throw her an exasperated look. “You already know my answer to that.” “Doesn’t seem like enough to bring you retirement.” “I owe the family a favor from back in my Editing days. They’re collecting. Simple as that.” “Must be some favor.” “Are you going to help me?” “I need more, Clyde.” You clench your teeth. “A Concept got involved with a murder and lammed it. I think he took off to hide in The Empty somewhere. His family wants to know where he is and if he’s safe.” “Can you tell me anything else about it?” “No. Are you going to help me?” She purses her lips as if she's mulling something over. Finally she nods and finishes the last dregs of her martini. Visible Items: THE RYE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, MICHELLE, LOVECRAFT [[See if Michelle will aid you]]

“I’m interested." she says. "So what do you need from me?” You feel the tension between your shoulder blades relax a little. “I need recon on your next trip out to The White.” you say. “Talk to the natives. See if anyone has been spotted Border-hopping. Anyone disappearing. Nighdea rumors. That sort of thing.” “Didn’t have a plan to go out there again this month but…” she shrugs. “Sure.” “Do you have to run this by your supervisors?” “Very funny. For something this small; no. It’ll be off the books.” she raises an eyebrow at him. “But it also comes with my ‘off-the-books’ price tag. Can’t do freebies anymore.” On the stage, the final notes of the bird’s song begin to fade to polite golf claps from the booths. A stagehand covers the birdcage with a dark cloth and carts it offstage again. Right behind him, a flickering black-and-white figure tentatively takes center stage. Thin stretched lines and esoteric film markers bounce on the light of his projected skin. A Film Concept. He tips the bowler hat he's wearing that matches his tattered suit and starts to gesture in exaggerated movements. The plunking sound of an out-of-tune piano accompanies him and the French subtitles that appeare in midair by his knees. “Wasn’t looking for charity. I was thinking more of a trade.” “That sounds like broke-talk. You don’t have an expense account on this one?” “I already spent my allowance money for the day.” “Is that what that is?” Michelle points to the brown parcel you have sitting next to you. You nod your head and lift it up. “This,” you say. “is what I’m offering.” You extend the package and place it in her hands. Michelle grabs it, shifting the thing around in her arms before looking up at you with a questioning look. “Nice weight to it. What-“ Suddenly she stops. A look of recognition sparks across her face. “Fuck me. Is this what I think is?” You nod back at her. “A heart-shaped box. Hand delivered.” you say. Michelle squeals in delight, leans over the bar and kisses you. “Where the hell did you find one?!?!” she exclaims. “I was able to track down one of the survivors. Thought you might like to hold onto it.” “Are you kidding? I love it.” Michelle puts the parcel on the counter and calls over to the bartender. The creature shifts over to them at such an alarming speed that you flinch for a moment. The uncanny physics of it explains why you've never heard of a fight in //Pickman’s// before. “Put this in the back with the rest of my things, would you, Love? I don’t want to unwrap it out here in front of everyone.” The bartender’s arms wrap out and pull the parcel into itself like tar. You watch with a fascinated disgust as the bulge of the package warps through its body like a python eating a rat before sliding through the ''Employees Only'' door. “Safest bank in town.” Michelle says slyly. “Not to mention the slimiest. So we have a deal?” you confirm. “Yeah. We’re golden. When do you need the info by?” “Make it a rush job if you can. I don’t want to be working any longer than necessary.” “I can manage that. You still at the same place?” You nod sadly and say “Where else would I go?” Lovecraft murmurs a guttural sound. Michelle looks up and nods. “You’re right. Break’s over. Gotta get back to my loyal patrons.” “I should probably get going too. Still have some ground to cover before nightfall.” “Sure you can’t stick around? I could introduce you to some of the new players later. Been some changes on the scene since you were last here.” You debate for a second if it would help you or not and then shake your head. “No… I’m still looking to keep my name off the streets. The more low-key this whole thing the better.” “Suit yourself. But tonight’s burlesque night. Jessica Rabbit might be performing…” You smile at her. “You do know all my buttons don’t you?” you say. Michelle shrugs. “No guy likes to hear they’re a type.” Visible Items: THE RYE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, MICHELLE, LOVECRAFT [[Finish drink]]

You fish into your wallet and place a handful of bills down on the counter. The bartender makes a deep bass noise from somewhere within its obscure mass that sounds like a dirge of whalesong. An oily tentacle reaches up and pushes the bills back towards you. You stop him. “No. Owing people has been a theme today. Take it and give it to some orphan. They never have drinking money anyway.” The bartender’s mouths smile back at you except for a scant few whispering uncomfortably in some dead language. “Where are you off to now?” asks Michelle, grabbing a silver serving tray from the end of the bar. “Home. I have to wrap my head around all this and get some sleep” you say. “Ok," she says. "look, I’ll find out what I can in the next few days and get back to you. Shouldn’t cause a fuss. It’s not exactly a smash-and-grab job, is it?” You don't answer. That old instinct in you to tell the truth is tickling again. Sending her off into this with half-cocked information and nags at you. There isn’t a lot of risk, but you've still lied to get her to do it. Something could happen. It's The Empty. Anything can happen. “Try not to look so gloomy." she says. "It’s good to have you back, Clyde.” You nod. “Yeah…” you say pulling the coat around your shoulders. “Call me when you have something.” And with that, you leave. Visible Items: NONE Points of Interest: THE BAR, THE STAGE, THE DOOR, MICHELLE, LOVECRAFT [[END PART I]]

END OF PART I <img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/w3ofvqzyoi3ret4/Clyde%20Auburne.png?dl=1" width="600" height="750"> <audio src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/va6vie9kszna8mn/06%20-%20Nightmare.mp3?dl=1"d1=1 autoplay>

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hey, classmates! With this latest re-edit of **Cathexis**, I've been trying to take a more experiemental approach to storytelling. The literary composition I was using just wasn't conveying the tone of everything that I wanted so I've reworked some things. I love English (it's why I'm studying to be a teacher) and I love pushing the bounds of what English can be both in communication and language. Through this new format, I'm trying to bring all those in focus together. I've been researching "interactive fiction" lately and I thought it might make this piece more interesting to engage with. As with most **IF**, it takes a first-person perspective. **IF** is written a lot like hyper-fiction where the reader chooses how the story progresses (similar to a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book). I think the philosophy behind it is a really interesting mix of technology and English. You can integrate music, images, and sound effects to make moments in your story come alive. What makes the structure so interactive is that the reader becomes a co-author in how the story turns out. We all become writers in real-time. I don't think any other medium accomplishes this synthesis while also using written language. Since the story now has images and music, I'd ask that you please read it on a laptop rather than a phone (the mobile version doesn't really translate the media properly.) Also, the novella is still in progress with edits, so please view it as a living work subject to change (I'm hoping many of you can help mein that regard.) Some of the pictures may not be 100% accurate and I'm still working on an expository interlude between Clyde's scene in The Office and the crime scene. That being said, I know the resulting output here is *WAY* more than twenty pages, but most of you have read the first part already so you can just skim it to get to the newer material. These are the first four chapters. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy it! (align: "=======================><==")[ - **John Bateman**] [[CATHEXIS]]

**Questions for Students to Consider in Discussion:** *1. In the prologue we take the killer's perspective as we move through the story. What statement is the author making here? 2. What sort of atmosphere is invoked by the language? 3. The killer seems to have a inhuman perspective on what his actions are. What does this say about his motivations? 4. In what way does the music add (or detract) from the story? 5. Make a list of words that don't make sense to you yet. Keep adding to that list as you read further on in the story.* [[Chapter 1]]

**Questions for Students to Consider in Discussion:** *1. We are introduced to a new protaganist in the first chapter. In what way is he different than our previous protaganist? 2. What literary devices is the author using for his interior thoughts? What other writers also use this method? 3. What sort of clues are there that inform the reader that this is not the our world? 4. What sort of tropes does the chapter tell us about what kind of story this is? 5. What sort of characters is the author using here? Which clues point to how we might identify them?* [[Chapter 2]]

**Questions for Students to Consider in Discussion:** *1. This chapter has the most branches to follow thus far that we've read. How did this change the way you read the story? 2. In the interviews we are introduced to three new characters, each from different walks of life. What do they tell us about the status of the city? 3. In many ways, Charlie represents the quintessential femme fatale. What about her character challenges this archetype? In what way does she confirm it? 4. In Chapter 2 we revisit the crime scene from the prologue. What about that visit is the same as the first time? What important things do you think are being overlooked? 5. There are implications of a type of caste system at work in the city. Does this effects how the characters interact with one another?* [[Chapter 3]]

**Questions for Students to Consider in Discussion:** *1. Clyde gives us background into his previous life as an Editor in this chapter. What indications does he give as to why he retired? 2. What is the relationship between Clyde and Eddie? More friendly or businesslike? 3. The differences between Bartertown and Little Narnia seem to be class based. What real world parallels can you draw from that relationship? 4. There is reference to something called "The Archetype Wars" in this chapter. Can you find any other passages to the city's history in previous chapters? 5. Make a list of all the neighborhoods and areas of the city that have been referenced so far. Which ones have we traveled through?* [[Chapter 4]]