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It’s not entirely positive.”Al lay on the bed, covering himself with the sheet while closing and covering his eyes. “Could you expand on that? What exactly did he report?”“I think you need to read it yourself, I hate spoiling the effect. I’ll call back in fifteen minutes to get your take on it. Oh, and expect a call from Mr. Maleveck. I suspect you’ll want to ... clarify a few things, if you can.”Betty exited the bathroom in her pajamas as he hung up, hurriedly digging through her bag looking for something to change into.“Be, we need to finish our discussion, but something came up. Seems I’m being blamed for saving lives. I have to run downstairs to read the paper. I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I don’t want to—”“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’m in no hurry to discuss things just yet. Take your time. Deal with what you need to. We’ll work out our issues in due time.”“Thanks, Be.” He struggled into his clothes. “I hate postponing this, but I’ve got to deal with it before it. No motorised vehicle would venture down a suburban residential road where it was at risk of being car-jacked, so the only sounds anyone could hear other than the occasional clip-clop of a horse-drawn wagon was the stream of percussive electronic music emanating from the windows of Psychlone's small flat. So when the front door knocker was rudely hammered in the hallway below him, Psychlone could scarcely pretend that he wasn't home.Before he unlatched and unbolted the front door he checked who might be outside through its eyehole. He'd heard plenty of stories about the door being opened by the unwary only to permit a torrent of thieves and mobsters who'd trash the premises and maim anyone foolish enough to offer resistance. However, all Psychlone could see were two girls, one about the same age as him and the other somewhat younger. They were eccentrically dressed: all feathers, leather, rags and tattoos. Their heads were shaved and the younger girl had a gruesome scar across her.
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