The ceiling consisted of fluorescent light fixtures. There weren't any of the usual sound absorbing tiles in between, just rows of tubes glowing a soft white. The place felt hollow. Patrons left disoriented, and the milky atmosphere only suffered for the lack of proper sound absorption. A stifled cough sent ripples through the normally gentle haze, bouncing off the walls and concrete floor and ceiling unhindered until the room was like a pond with ten thousand pebbles breaching the surface simultaneously. Tiny waves crashing together. Ant-sized tsunamis. From two formed one in a direction mathematically predictable (by measuring the force and velocity of the original waves, the force and velocity of the ensuing wave can be deduced), but at the same time above these more simplistic laws of nature. Somehow, the number of waves doesn't diminish even as they go on merging. And that state, it seems, is Heaven. The room in chaos.

At this moment, the room was still.
Busker asked, “How much would it cost to get myself cloned?”
“Forty or fifty bucks,” answered the little Japanese black marketeer.
“Damn, all I got is some Tic Tacs.”
“The green limey-flavored kind?”
“Of course.”
“I'll see what I can do.”

From this point on it becomes difficult to ascertain whether certain events involve Rommel Busker or his clone. Only one thing is known for sure. Busker and his clone were never in the same location.

Rommel left. The door clicked shut. The room in chaos.

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Next: Chapter 6 - DRAGON