The Downscape Bar is a complex maze of gear-fetish nightmare, lit with halogen, strobes and LEDs in the colors of some aberrant, mutated Christmas. Reyn knows little of the actual history here. No one knows anything substantial, really. --Because you come to Downscape to get away from all of that. History. The past. You leave it at the door like a regenerative tail torn (and still squirming) from a fleeing lizard. --Because Downscape is where you make something new; a moment, a life, or something in between. And it’s why Reyn is here now. Here to make claim a moment, maybe a life if his personal equation contains the right balance of the vital factors. There’s only one way to tell, and so Reyn, biding his time, glances toward the shadowed, spiral stair leading down from the above-ground sector of the club. Downscape stinks of metabolized alcohol and cheap, back-market pheromone analoges, and if the smell is any indication, then it’ll still be some time before Jacob and Vitt make their languid and detached appearance. They’re the mad Gemini twins of chance an opportunity, one black and American if his accent is any indication. The other is Russian, but between them there is a shared biography that violates time, violates history, and stands (always in a single moment) as its own history. Now, however, they are not yet here. And maybe it’ll be another whole night before they decide to show. At any rate, Reyn is here now…looking for them. Waiting. *** I posted this picture because it inspired a story that I plan to finish soon. Enjoy and thank you for viewing and reading!