7

When the rain came it came quickly. Abe was sat on the third floor roof terrace at the J. El's. The thin sheets of cover sprung up and uncoiled themselves over patrons quickly. Still, many opted to head inside. Sheltered from the sheets of rain filling the terrace, Abe remained where he was, looking out over the evening bustle of the floor, night descending slowly.

His mind was fixated on Maryelle. Blonde hair, blue eyes, 20th century American model... the Barbie Doll Classic. Espinlade really had it all. The choice was endless. Abe thought about his namesake, that American Licoln. He existed in a world well away from this. What would he make of it? Fuck, what would anyone make of it? Made to order perfection. Esplinade. The After Life.

Someone strolled through the terrace, oblivious to the rain. They spun and fixed their cold eyes upon Abe. Abe froze. Rain blurring his features into an aura of bad news, the guy in the rain reached slowly into his jacket pocket.

Abe took his cue and leapt to his feet. He sprinted through the rain to the wide open doors at the edge of the plush velvet interior. Abe delved inside, the mad man still fumbling for his weapon out on the terrace. Abe glanced back and saw that he was smoking a cigarette. Abe slowed to a walk, ignoring of few stray glances from the other punters as he moved towards the exit.

Minutes later he was out on the street and staring through the crowd, slower now, performance everywhere, trying to filter out the noise and find himself. Esplinade was causing him problems.

Abe walked along Central Avenue 10, letting the weird air of the city waft all about him. He was in no hurry to get anywhere. He carried on through the disjointed gathering and arrived at the edge of Main Central Avenue 11: Money Park.

The thrills and frivolties of seedy Central Avenues, the golden toilet bowl ringing the airport, gave way to the quiet order of Money Park, a team of five or more HK209-wielding Security Partners (official jargon for Esplinadian Pigs) posted outside every premises. Most people were filing out of work at this hour, staggered finish times doing little to quell the silent rush of headset-equipped money makers filtering out of work and on with their lives. Some were filtering straight through cracks into the Great Beneath, the huge multitude of underground levels running deep beneath the roof, housing most of the city's inhabitants. Plenty more were escaping straight into the rooftop entertainment arenas. Abe thought instantly of Main Central Avenue 7: The Money Pit.

The Money Pit was a concession by the governing coalition of corporations profiting in Money Park to the needs of their tens of millions of employees. Arenas there had been given special exemption from Financial Cleansing legislation that barred all 'dark entertainment' from within the confines of Money Park. Abe suddenly noticed that of the workers not heading home, at least half were walking towards The Money Pit.

Amongst them was Tel. He was pounding pavement from the Stateler on Main Central Avenue 9, knowing exactly where his rediscovery of the roof would begin. Tel's mind was entirely focused. He knew what he needed to do.