His work was adapted for an audience, brought to life with a Jumbotron and a man wearing a cartoonish tiger costume. “Sublime,” she said.
A meeting was held on the 1045th floor, overlooking the scaly back of the habitation bloom. Each new residence was about the size of a coffin.
The seaside clan broke in, right proper, with rigs blaring. Pro Tem declared it wasn’t the first time, by God, it wasn’t the last. From the pack of legends the tome of invectives was leveraged.
The site of the disaster was now a theme park. There were several rides of morbid interest, several that required appropriate radiation shielding, several that entailed a painful series of injections scheduled three weeks ahead of time.
He stood quietly in the elevator for a moment before the other man said, “the elevator is the worst until you get used to it, once you’ve been here long enough.” He stuck his thumb into the recessed button for the floor number, wincing with the quick jab for blood authentication.
Electronic computers had been forbidden inside the border. Photographs were taken and handed out on the street, photographs of the personalities of the day, of humorous situations, of intimate moments.
The biker gang organized themselves in a lazy, haphazard manner, preening their automorphic machines with delicate strokes, until eventually they sped off into the blinking sky.
“One town over, that place with the moat, and the car husks stacked up, you’ll see a palace made of old tires and plywood. Ask for Mr Peepers.”
Suspects were told privately that there had been no crime. Still they were required to remain indoors and chant The Impervious Song. Soon, justice would be broadcast.
The skylight let them look up at the underside of its belly, the exhaust ports and teats asymmetrically scattered across the broad, pink exterior.
Agreements were signed in a glass walled room overlooking the facility. Afterwards they received samples in tiny, velvet lined boxes.
Highly agile and heavily armored Pseudos congealed in the plaza, excitedly tapping their pedipalps and chittering.
Uniforms were issued through the slot. They were wrapped in new, crisp paper, the twine tied neatly by tiny fingers. “This fabric is psychometrically adaptive,” she said.
The door codes were tattooed on their backs. The invasion would proceed in many teams of two.
The device required the verbal command “HELLO GORILLA” to awaken from hibernation. We were assured that the flailing arms and stomping were a value proposition.