My apologies for missing Monday’s installment entirely; sad family business called me away. Hopefully I’ll now be better able to get back onto my regular Monday and Thursday schedule.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“There is no route back,” I said.

“The ways change,” said the little girl. “Maybe it’s different now. There are bad things in the shade. They won’t let you get beyond. You’ll never find the truth.”

I thought about that for a moment. “What about those doors?”

“Unpredictable,” she said. The bear seemed to twitch slightly in her arms, and she glanced down at it. “I have to go.” She ran past me, and back up the way I had come.

I watched her run off, and then looked around the chamber. The one thing that certainly didn’t make sense was just staying in here and eventually dying of thirst. The corridors behind me were just as stark, and the darkness ahead felt oppressive. I decided to try one of the doorways, eventually settling on the one which had the witch-light spilling from it.

I walked up to the doorway, and looked through. It was impossible to make anything out; it looked as if blue, glowing mists were churning on the other side. I glanced behind myself, uncertain, but the red and green doorway seemed to have a shimmering curtain just inside. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and stepped forward.

“Get down!”

Cold wind was blowing into my face. The street ahead looked sad, for reasons I couldn’t immediately place. The sky was sullen, heavy with grey clouds.

“Down!”

There was a hard tug at the base of my spine, and I fell backwards, landing painfully in a foolish seated position.

“Have you lost your mind, man?”

The voice was just behind my ear, a furious whisper. It sounded familiar. I thought about the question, and then shrugged. “Maybe.” My ass stung.

“Quietly, man! Great God.”

“Sorry,” I said, softly.

“What the devil is wrong with you, Taylor?”

I heard various soft rustles behind me, the sounds of small motions. Everything went very still for a moment, and then hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down. It looked as if it was going to rain. Travis’ head blotted out the sky.

“Hello, sir,” I said. “I’m not sure. There was a little girl, and a bear, and blue, swirling mists…”

“What?” Travis looked confused, and slightly alarmed.

I put some effort into pulling my thoughts together. “I went to the ABG, to talk to that Paz guy. There was something in the basement. A crazy pattern. Then, I dunno, I must have blacked out or something; I remember a nightmare about tunnels, and a little girl with a bear, and a blue, swirling door. And then you were telling me to get down.”

“Bloody marvellous,” Travis said. “What charming timing. So you don’t remember anything about the last three weeks?”

“Three weeks?”

“Lucky bastard,” said a different voice, off to the left.

Travis sighed. “Alright. Look, it’s bad, but we’re not out of the game yet. Follow my lead, and we can talk about this later. Sit up, but remember that this is a hostile situation. Stay low and quiet. Got it?”

“Okay,” I said, “but…”

Today’s photo is Blue Mist Abstract by lrargerich

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

I shot down the straight as fast I could. There was a definite sense of rising threat, and the idea of being in such an open stretch was extremely unpleasant. I was panting by the time I got to the end. I threw myself round the corner, very relieved to see just a short corkscrew curve ahead. I leaned back against the labyrinth wall, painfully out of breath. It was revoltingly warm and spongy, but I tried again to put the thought of green, sparkling flesh out of my mind.

It occurred to me that I’d forgotten something. Odd… It felt important. Was it something to do with the void? Spiralling blackness… I worried at the memory for a little, while I caught my breath again and the hot ache in my legs faded. There was a hydra, I seemed to remember. And possibly a martinet.

Gradually, I realised that there was a foul stench building in the air. It had the tang of acid, and the heavy feel of copper, as well as a dark hint of putrid filth. The hairs on my arms prickled unpleasantly as I became fully aware of it. I’d waited here too long.

I ripped myself away from the wall, and set off into the corkscrew turn ahead, not quite running. There was a long moment of disorientation, where up and down lost meaning, and I couldn’t tell if I was walking or plummeting, and then I was out the other side, looking down the throat of a jagged row of short, sharp switchbacks. My heart was racing, and my skin felt taut, but the stench was fainter. I set off again at a slightly slower, more sustainable pace.

After some time — and a horribly protracted spiral that had me glancing nervously at the walls — I found myself heading down a long, gently-curving corridor. I was disturbed to realise that it was getting narrower. I tried not to worry about it, but after a few minutes the walls were brushing my elbows. Shortly after that, they were brushing my shoulders. I glanced back, but retreat was unthinkable. I pulled myself in tighter, rolling my shoulders into my chest as much as I could, but not much later, I had to turn my torso at an angle. A few more steps after that, and I was shuffling along sideways as quickly as I dared.

Less than a minute later, I felt the first brush of the wall against my chest. I stopped despite myself, hopelessly bleak. I sighed, and realised that the air was slightly tainted. Already. I immediately started shuffling forward again. The walls were hugging me within a couple more steps, and then they were closing around me. I could hardly see or breathe. I pushed on, blindly desperate. Even being crushed was better than…

There was an audible shlup, and the walls were gone. I tottered forward into a big, square chamber, wild-eyed and panting. Looking back at where I’d just come from, I could have sworn that for a second, I could see the edges of the walls quiver. There was a crumbling archway in the far wall, leading out of the room, and I made my way towards it as swiftly as my shaky legs would allow. The corridor beyond was considerably dimmer, and when I stepped into it, I realised that it was cooler, too. The far end was actually shadowed, although it was impossible to tell why.

As I walked into the shadowy patch, I discovered that the corridor opened up into a dingy bell-shaped chamber. The floor looked patchy and uneven. Amazingly, there were several exits. One was framed with garishly-bright green and red stripes. Another appeared to have a shimmering ghost-blue light coming from somewhere inside. A third looked like a regular corridor, except that it was even darker than bell chamber. I took a couple of uncertain steps into the room.

“Please,” said a high, nervous voice. “Don’t leave the folly.”

I looked around, and saw a young, dark-haired girl huddled in the corner. She was wearing a curious mustard-coloured jumpsuit, and holding a small stuffed bear. The bear was angled away from me, and I was surprised that I was incredibly grateful that I couldn’t see its face.

“I can’t stay,” I told her gravely. “I’m being hunted. It’s not safe.”

She frowned unhappily. “Don’t leave. The shade is much more dangerous. Go back. It really is safer for you.”

“There is no route back,” I said.

“The ways change. Maybe it’s different now. There are bad things in the shade. They won’t let you get beyond. You’ll never find the truth.”

I thought about that for a moment. “What about those doors?”

“Unpredictable,” she said. The bear seemed to twitch slightly in her arms, and she glanced down at it. “I have to go.” She ran past me, and back up the way I had come.

Today’s photo is Twisted Labyrinth by Commander Dex

PLEASE :: Before reading, help save the BBC.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“Is that supposed to be there, Mr. Sallis?” I pointed at the design.

He came up beside me and frowned. “No. I don’t know what that is.”

I knelt down, and jumped into the hole. It was only about waist-deep. I leaned forward to look at the design more closely. The shape was  obscured by the earth half-covering it, but even where it was exposed, it was hard to tell what the material was. My first thought had been metal, because of the glitter, but closer up I wasn’t so sure. It was wafer-thin, whatever it was, but too even to be paint.

Something about the material made me reluctant to touch it. It was difficult to make out the design, so I knelt on the ground beside it, and did my best to clear as much of it as possible by blowing the dust and crap off. It took a little while, but finally I was able get most of it reasonably clear — enough to see the shape, anyway.

Up close, the material appeared to shimmer a little. It was a soft, creamy green colour, with a hint of a regular, hexagonal underlying structure. Flecks and shards sparkled within it, seeming almost mobile. The surface was completely flat, suggesting a greater strength and weight than you’d expect.

I pulled away and stood back up, to get a decent view of the design as a whole.

“That’s odd,” said Sallis quietly, up above me.

I nodded. At first glance, the design looked like some sort of abstract maze. It was mostly enclosed by a long, sweeping curve, which led deep into the pattern. It then descended into a bewildering complex of sharp corners, blocks, spirals, switchbacks, loops, knots and more, on and on. Most of the pathways were less than finger-width. It was a long moment before I started suspecting that in fact it was one long, hyper-complex track; a minute more before I felt confident that was indeed the case.

Eventually, I identified one point where the track seemed to terminate, and decided to see if I could trace the path through to the other end. From the end spot, it led down a short, straight stretch to a tightly acute angle, and then into and back out of a hexagonal spiral pattern. This took me to a whirling curve, and along a sudden sloping straight that ran for most of the design’s length.

I shot down the straight as fast I could. There was a definite sense of rising threat, and the idea of being in such an open stretch was extremely unpleasant. I was panting by the time I got to the end. I threw myself round the corner, very relieved to see just a short corkscrew curve ahead. I leaned back against the labyrinth wall, painfully out of breath. It was revoltingly warm and spongy, but I tried again to put the thought of green, sparkling flesh out of my mind.

It occurred to me that I’d forgotten something. Odd.

Today’s Photo is The Labyrinth of Mysteries by Snarl

I ‘m really sorry; two days late is definitely my worst performance yet.  Tragically, my cousin died on Thursday, so I’m all at sixes and sevens at the momen. The next ep will happen on Tuesday (unless that’s the day of the funeral). Sorry.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

I pulled myself together. “We’re not sure about Mr. Timmins’ fate, Mr. Salis. We’re investigating the matter.”

“Oh,” said Sallis. “I see. Please, call me Bob.”

I nodded. “Can you tell me what Mr. Timmins has been doing?”

“Of course,” said Sallis. “He was working on repairs to the sub-basement level. We’re planning to convert it to extra storage.”

Something about that made my spine prickle. “Could I have a look at it?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I’ll have to ask you to wear a hard hat, though. You won’t be covered by our insurance, otherwise. I’m sure you understand.”

I nodded, and he ferreted around in a cardboard box beside his desk for a moment before surfacing with a pair of ugly yellow plastic helmets. He passed one to me, and I put it on. It didn’t fit.

Sallis shot me a sympathetic smile, and led me through to a rough flight of of concrete stairs. It was a sharp contrast to the rest of the office, and made me feel slightly claustrophobic.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sallis said as we started down. “Not all that convenient, storage with staircase access.”

I uhmmed politely.

“Quite right,” he said, beaming. “We’re putting in a service elevator at the moment.”

A half-formed thought was lurking in the back of my mind. I tried to give it space to breathe. “That’s what he was working on, I presume.”

“Yes,” said Sallis. “That’s right.”

We came out into a big, dimly-lit concrete cellar. The ceiling was surprisingly high. Bits of machinery and other equipment were half-visible in the darkness, and I could see several wires snaking across the floor. I looked up, thinking about the hat, but there didn’t appear to be anything going on at roof level.

Sallis took me down the side of the cellar, to the bottom of a freshly-excavated rectangular shaft which opened up on the floor above. Light spilled down into the well, revealing a slightly deeper section in the centre of the shaft.

“As you can see, we’re ready to concrete now. Then the machinery will go in, and finally the platform.”

I nodded, and glanced into the hole. There appeared to be a sweep of something green and glittery at the bottom. I peered at it more closely, and realised that it seemed to be part of a half-buried design of some sort.

“Is that supposed to be there, Mr. Sallis?” I pointed at the design.

He came up beside me and frowned. “No. I don’t know what that is.”

I knelt down, and jumped into the hole. It was only about waist-deep. I leaned forward to look at the design more closely. The shape was  obscured by the earth half-covering it, but even where it was exposed, it was hard to tell what the material was. My first thought had been metal, because of the glitter, but closer up I wasn’t so sure. It was wafer-thin, whatever it was, but too even to be paint.

Today’s picture is Oyu Tolgoi by and (c) Luke Distelhaus

SORRY AGAIN FOR SLIPPING A DAY. Predictable, I know, but I’m under the gun with a bunch of work at the moment. I’m just not getting much free time. I’ll try my hardest to get back to Thursday/Monday updates.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“I just have some questions for you, Mr. Paz. We’re investigating one or two irregularities involving the history of this immediate area. Some of my queries might seem a little unusual, but I can assure you that this matter is extremely serious, and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to just bear with me and answer as best you can. I can assure you that you are in no way implicated in any wrong-doings.”

Paz thought about that for a moment, and then nodded, looking a little puzzled. “Of course, Agent. I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thank you, sir. To start with, could you tell me  if you have ever heard of Arthur Hallet?”

“Hallet.” Paz frowned, and thought about it for a bit. “I regret that it doesn’t seem familiar, Agent.”

A thought struck me. “This is the man.”

I called up Hallet’s image, and transferred it to Paz. He nodded, and a moment later, the picture flashed up on one of the meeting room’s screens. It was an Overlook image of Hallet going around town on one of his seemingly pointless trips. He looked shabby, and slightly furtive — the kind of shot which got news people all hot and bothered. Paz stared at the picture, looking confused.

“I know this man. His name is Bran Timmins.”

“Where do you know him from?” It was tricky keeping my voice calm.

Paz shot me an odd look. “I suppose he works here.” He sounded uncertain.

“You know his name, though.”

“Yes,” said Paz, more confidently. “He must be from here.”

“Can you check your staff database?”

He nodded, and then a moment later said, “I have him. He works in maintenance.”

“I see,” I said, carefully. “How long has he been here?”

Paz’s face fell a little. “Just ten days.”

I considered various options. “Could you call maintenance and see if he is in the office today?”

“Of course.” I waited a minute as he focussed on his call. Then he looked up at me curiously. “It seems that he has not been in the office for two days.”

Two days fitted with the diaspora, and it meant that I wouldn’t need back-up before approaching his work area. “Okay,” I said. “Would you be so kind as to tell me where I’d find his supervisor?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Paz said. “Would you like me to show you?”

“No thanks, that’s fine.”

“Very well,” he said. “Maintenance have their office area in the basement. You’ll find them all there. It’s right by the lifts.”

“Thank you Mr. Paz,” I said. “You’ve been a great help.”

He obviously wanted to ask questions, but he managed a smile. “It is a pleasure to be of assistance,” he said.

We left the meeting room, and I followed him back to the lifts, and made my way down to the basement. To my surprise, the maintenance area was surprisingly pleasant. Extensive natural-effect lighting made up for the lack of windows, and gave the attractive wooden flooring a pleasant glow. There was a reception desk near the lifts, and I could see some handsome-looking offices running off behind it. It was a far cry from the modern troll-cave I’d been anticipating.

The chap behind the reception desk pointed me to the office of Hallet’s — Timmins’ — supervisor. Bob Sallis was in his forties, and surprisingly cheery-looking for an aging middle-manager working in a basement. I knocked on his open door and walked in.

He looked up and smiled at me pleasantly. “Afternoon. How can I help?”

“Hello Mr. Sallis,” I said. “My name is John Taylor. I work with the DSP. I’d like to ask a couple of questions about one of your team-members.”

“Of course, Agent Taylor. Grab a seat.”

“Thanks,” I said, and sat in one of the chairs by his desk. “It’s about Bran Timmins.”

Sallis sighed. “I thought it might be. Is he… dead?”

I blinked. How the hell did I answer that? “Um…” Two Hallets were dead, at least. Three, counting Carrie Ransom. My brain whinged at me about counting Carrie as Hallet, but I brushed the objection aside. In fact, it was six dead; Travis had mentioned four infiltrators at the DSP office. Out of at least twenty. So this guy’s Hallet was up to 30% likely to be dead. But a day ago, none of this had been here, so had Timmins ever actually existed? I groaned.

“Are you alright?” Sallis sounded concerned, and slightly upset. “How bad was it?”

I pulled myself together. “We’re not sure about Mr. Timmins’ fate, Mr. Salis. We’re investigating the matter.”

“Oh,” said Sallis. “I see. Please, call me Bob.”

I nodded.

Today’s picture is Img_6035 by Robert Scales

SORRY THIS EP IS A DAY LATE. I’VE HAD DEADLINE-ITIS.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

Travis nodded. “I agree. But we are having this conversation. You are not suddenly a window cleaner. Your former colleagues yesterday morning were shot, not turned into mustachioed plumbers.”

“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean.”

“Taylor old chap, your instincts seem reasonably sound so far, as Adams will grudgingly attest. What strikes you as a valuable use of your time at this juncture?”

I considered the matter. “I’d like to talk to Paz. It might give me a bit more of a handle on what the hell is going on.”

“Alright,” said Travis. “Fingers crossed you find something useful. Let me know if anything eccentric happens, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

Travis nodded at me, his eyes already distant. I fished around in my draw for a couple of candy bars, and then made my way back down to parking. I was wandering towards my pod, and chewing on a mouthful of sicky-sweet gunk, when I remembered the sight of Hallet’s corpse lying on the kitchen table. It seemed impossible that it had been little more than 24 hours earlier. Why Hallet?

I finished the bar and sank into my pod, my teeth grumbling from the sugar. If you wanted a criminal, why pick a hopeless small-time loser? If you wanted obscurity, why pick someone already on the radar? I told the pod to take me back to Devonshire again, and sighed. Could it really be just random happenstance? The wrong schmuck in the wrong place? Possibly, but it felt like an unsatisfying answer. Some contact or skill Hallet alone possessed? Nigh-on impossible. Come to think of it, why ‘Archons’? I didn’t like that at all.

I groaned, rested my face in my palm, and decided to pick up a coffee and a sandwich when the opportunity arose.

Eventually, the pod returned me to Devonshire and 8th. I clambered out, and crossed the road to the ABG office building. I went inside, and found myself in a spacious, lavishly bland atrium. Marble flooring, white walls with copper highlights, thick hand-woven red rugs, and an art display that looked like a team of short psychopaths had attempted to murder a vast sheet of wet cardboard with a range of farmyard implements. All carefully designed to convey the twin impressions of vast wealth and reliably safe boredom.

I went over to the security station, where a bored-looking guy was watching me with the sort of mild disgust usually reserved for pond scum.I pulled out my badge, and showed it to him. “John Taylor, DSP. I need to speak to one of your employees. Lucas Paz.”

The security guy nodded, and gestured at a book on the desk in front of him. “Sign in there.”

I glared at him for several seconds, before giving up and scrawling my name in the ledger.

“Third floor,” he said, and tipped his head in the direction of the glaringly obvious lifts.

I turned my back on him and went over to the lifts. One was waiting, so I went up. The lift opened onto a modern-looking reception area, complete with uncomfortable-looking couches, a table full of pointless financial magazines, and a couple of implausibly pretty girls sitting behind a counter.

I approached the girls, brandishing my badge. “Agent Taylor, Department of Security and Protection. I need to speak to Lucas Paz right away.”

One of the girls smiled. “Of course, Agent Taylor. Please take a seat. I’ll call Lucas for you now.”

“Thanks,” I said. I decided against the couches, and wandered over to stare aimlessly at the corporate information plaque hanging on the wall. A couple of minutes later, the girl rescued me, and took me down a suspiciously tidy corridor to an anaesthetic meeting room. Paz was a sharp, clean-shaven man with slightly receding curls and an expensive-looking smile.

I dredged up a smile for him. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“It’s a pleasure, Agent Taylor,” said Paz. How may I assist the DSP?”

“I just have some questions for you, Mr. Paz. We’re investigating one or two irregularities involving the history of this immediate area. Some of my queries might seem a little unusual, but I can assure you that this matter is extremely serious, and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to just bear with me and answer as best you can. I can assure you that you are in no way implicated in any wrong-doings.”

Paz thought about that for a moment, and then nodded, looking a little puzzled. “Of course, Agent. I’ll do the best I can.”

Today’s picture is Corporate Portrait by Guilherme Kardel.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“I’ve had Johnson looking into this little oddness of yours. You do realise that it’s utterly impossible, I take it?”

My heart sank. “Well, yes…”

“I mean,” continued Travis, “I can clearly place you at that location at the time you said, from the pod’s logs. But it’s harder for the Cadogan Place people. How, would you think, can I possibly verify what you’re suggesting?”

I thought frantically. “Licenses or inspections for the Gyros restaurant.”

Travis smirked, and the guy with the heron lapel-pin next to him sighed heavily. I looked from one to the other. Heron-pin was tall and well-muscled, with close-cropped gunmetal hair and a heavy, beaky nose. He glared at me sourly. The guy on Travis’ far side — younger and slimmer, with a dimpled chin — looked amused. Travis held his hand out, and arched an eyebrow at heron-pin.The man sighed again, then dug a tight roll of cash out of his pocket, and gave it to Travis.

“Thank you Adams,” Travis said, pocketing the cash. “Well done, Taylor. Spot on. Your nasty little Gyros take-away had a food safety inspection seven months ago. That’s obviously problematic, given that the bank has genuinely been there for the last four years, as far as we can tell.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Exactly,” said Travis. “Bit of a puzzler, isn’t it?”

“Wait a moment,” I said. “Does the inspection identify the shop’s owner?”

“Excellent,” said Travis, beaming at me fondly. “Lucas Paz. He’s a junior trader for the bank. They took him on three years ago. He’d been a small trader before then, according to his records. Food safety confirms that’s about the same time that he opened the Gyros place.”

Adams nodded. “I’m assuming that there are others. You mentioned an electronics shop. We don’t have any easy way to pick them out, though.” His voice was surprisingly syrupy.

“The question is whether this is actually significant,” Travis said. “Don’t misunderstand me, it’s extremely worrying. But is it more worrying than the diaspora of the Archons? Or discovering who spirited away your mystery corpse, along with swathes of Cadogan Place’s finest? What about the possibility that Hallet was just one template of many? It’s proving to be a rather trying day.”

“If reality can be edited at some level…” I trailed off.

Travis nodded. “I agree. But we are having this conversation. You are not suddenly a window cleaner. Your former colleagues yesterday morning were shot, not turned into mustachioed plumbers.”

“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean.”

“Taylor old chap, your instincts seem reasonably sound so far, as Adams will grudgingly attest. What strikes you as a valuable use of your time at this juncture?”

Today’s photo is Thursday Night at the Kebab Shop by Mr. Jaded.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

There was a click, a sudden smell of violets, and then suddenly I appeared to be floating in the blackness of space. Stars surrounded me in the distance. I looked at one particularly bright one up ahead, and then it was a large sheep’s head just a few inches from me, gazing at me placidly. I jerked backwards with a surprised croak, and it was a star again.

I blinked, and realised that each of the stars hid a vision. I started looking at them, one after another, curious. A procession of images leapt out at me: a pot of blue flowers, a cork, the number eight, damp grass, and on, and on.  Eventually, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and the stars winked out. A moment later, the helmet was lifted off.

“Quick,” said the medic. “Tell me the first adjective you think of.”

I stared at him for a long moment, whilst my mind refused to play along. “Striking,” I finally managed.

He looked at me impassively. I tried to look back in a pleasant sort of way, without seeming like I was either being evasive or trying to stare him down. My eyes started to prickle slightly.

“Noun,” he suddenly barked.

“Plaster,” I said immediately, and then wondered where the hell it had come from.

He eyed me suspiciously. “Very well. Now, describe, in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother.”

“Um,” I managed. “Generous. Protective. Blonde.”

“Alright, that’s sufficient. I’m a little concerned about you, Mr. Taylor. You don’t appear to be delusional, but your responses do seem a little… eccentric. That sheep’s head, for one. And according to FUNG, ‘plaster’ only occurs as an image within six standard deviations. Combined with other factors, it’s assessed you as having a 63% factor of sublimated violence, along with hightened narcissistic paranoia and marked tendency for fantasisation. If you were in a customer-focussed role, we’d have to take you in for treatment.”

“Oh,” I said uncertainly.

“However, it shouldn’t impair your current functionality too much.”

“It shouldnt?”

“Well, no. The chances are that implausible things really are out to get you, from what I understand, and wanting to hit something seems like a reasonable response. Just try to make sure that you are not losing your grip on reality, eh?”

I frowned. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“So are we done?”

The medic nodded. “Yes, yes, off you go.”

“Okay.”

I left the room, and headed back to Travis’ suite. He was waiting by my desk when I got there. He had a couple of grim-faced guys with him, also wearing suits. I hesitated for a moment, and then forced myself to cross over to them. One of the guys was wearing a lapel pin that looked like a golden heron.

Travis saw me approaching. “Get over here, Taylor.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“I’ve had Johnson looking into this little oddness of yours. You do realise that it’s utterly impossible, I take it?”

My heart sank. “Well, yes…”

“I mean,” continued Travis, “I can clearly place you at that location at the time you said, from the pod’s logs. But it’s harder for the Cadogan Place people. How, would you think, can I possibly verify what you’re suggesting?”

Today’s picture is Sheep’s Eyes by Let Ideas Compete

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“Control verified that my pod was at that spot last night, whilst I was meeting with the Cadogan Place boys. It’s the right place. Half of the Cadogan Place officers are missing today, including the guy I spoke to last night. His home is empty, too.”

“No offence old chap,” said Travis, “but I want to get all of this verified. Control sent through a B-notice on you a few minutes ago. Why don’t you go and let the headhunters give you the once over whilst someone pieces your recent movements together. You know where medical is.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“Good”, said Travis. “Off you toddle. We’ll see what sense we can make of things whilst you’re gone.”

I nodded, and made my way down to the medical centre. I tried to prevent myself fidgeting in the lift, but it wasn’t easy. Less than two minutes later, I was standing in front of the doors to the medical area. I took a couple of deep breaths to make sure I didn’t appear stressed, adjusted my tie so that I looked as neat as possible, checked under my fingernails for dirt, growled at myself for being stupid, and went in.

There was a tall, dark,  unfamiliar man at the attendant’s station. I went over to him.

“Can I help you?” He had a soothing voice.

“John Taylor,” I said. “I’ve been asked to report for psych screening.”

The attendant nodded. “This way.” He led me across the deserted ER to a small interview room. “If you’d just wait here, Lieutenant.”

I nodded amiably, and fought the almost-overwhelming urge to ask about the two women I’d encountered before. The last thing I needed right then was to add to doubts regarding my sanity. The attendant shot me a quizzical look, and then left.

A few minutes later, the pleasant-looking medic who had discharged me turned up, carrying a black medical bag. He smiled at me professionally, and closed the door behind us.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

I tried to smile back. “Hi.”

He nodded. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Taylor?”

“Control want me to have a psych screen.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice expectant.

I shrugged. “I suppose that she didn’t feel comfortable with my line of questioning.”

“Control is there to help, Mr. Taylor. They have your best interests at heart. Being difficult is never productive.”

“I wasn’t being difficult,” I protested.

“I see. You feel put upon.”

I knew the response to that statement, at least. “Of course not. I’m working on an enigmatic problem, and I’m sure my questions seemed nonsensical.”

“Yes,” the medic said. “Very well.”

He opened his bag, and withdrew an ugly metallic helmet. It was a boxy-looking thing, with a heavy visor, and a number of switches and dials. He handed it over to me, and I obediently put it on.

“Now, just try to relax,” he said.

There was a click, a sudden smell of violets, and then suddenly I appeared to be floating in the blackness of space. Stars surrounded me in the distance. I looked at one particularly bright one up ahead, and then it was a large sheep’s head just a few inches from me, gazing at me placidly. I jerked backwards with a surprised croak, and it was a star again.

I blinked, and realised that each of the stars hid a vision. I started looking at them, one after another, curious. A procession of images leapt out at me: a pot of blue flowers, a cork, the number eight, damp grass, and on, and on.  Eventually, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and the stars winked out. A moment later, the helmet was lifted off.

Today’s image is Steampunk Space Helmet by Foxtongue

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

“Control, can you please verify the presence of an alleyway on the west side of Devonshire for me, 10 yards closer to the 8th Avenue junction?”

The pause this time was unmistakable. Eventually, she said “Very well, Lieutenant.” There was another pause, and then, “Unable to verify that, Lieutenant. Location you describe is on record as the area headquarters of Associated Banking Group.”

…

The connection closed. I glared at the banking group’s office for several seconds. Nothing changed.

I swore bitterly, and seriously considered the possibility that I was actually going insane. Control was obviously satisfied that the street was as it should be. Were my memories of last night false? But Mortimer and a bunch of other officers were missing, and the woman at Cadogan Place was clearly concerned. Clear evidence that both my memory and current perception were valid.

Provided that I wasn’t imagining either of the calls, of course.

Still, it was better than nothing. I closed the pod door, and told it to take me back to Travis’s offices as swiftly as possible. Then I shut my eyes again, telling myself that I was just tired, and not scared of discovering the city was suddenly a strange place.

When I got back to the office, I made a beeline for my desk. I thought I heard Travis call out from across the room, but I ignored him. As soon as I got to my desk, I sat down and called up Overlook footage for the area I’d just been in. It took me a couple of tries to get a feed with a good viewpoint of the ABG building, but once I had it, I set the image running backwards at high speed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Travis bearing down.

It took about ten seconds to spool back through the day and into the night before. Midnight. 11pm.

“Taylor,” Travis said irritably.

9pm. I flinched, and paused the feed. “What do you see there?”

“What? I…”

“On the Overlook feed, sir. What do you see?” I didn’t know what I wanted him to reply.

“It appears to be an utterly disinteresting office building.”

I sagged. “Yes. That’s from 9pm last night, just a few minutes before I met up with the crowd of Cadogan Place officers there, and picked up that finger.”

He frowned. “I thought you said that happened in an alley.”

“Yes,” I said. “With a gyros shack on one side and a cheap electronics store on the other. Right about… there.” I pointed to one of the windows. I looked up at Travis. He looked surprisingly haggard.

“You’re saying someone has tampered with Overlook?”

“According to Control, that office building has been there for four years. I can believe it, looking at the external weathering.”

“So what are you saying, man? I don’t have time for fucking games.”

“Control verified that my pod was at that spot last night, whilst I was meeting with the Cadogan Place boys. It’s the right place. Half of the Cadogan Place officers are missing today, including the guy I spoke to last night. His home is empty, too.”

“Christ on a bloody stick.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“No offence old chap,” said Travis, “but I want to get all of this verified. Control sent through a B-notice on you a few minutes ago. Why don’t you go and let the headhunters give you the once over whilst someone pieces your recent movements together. You know where medical is.”

Today’s photo is Surveillance by Takoma Bibelot