Marozi: Kore?

Kore: Yes?

Thought(Marozi): Remember, she had her own life. She worked in a store, or sold tupperware...maybe she was a barista like me...she's not necessarily going to turn out like Xander.

Kore: You are an angel! My favorite vice! You don't know how severely I've been handicapped today without my coffee.

Marozi: Come sit over here and we'll start taking those staples out. Staples in your head can't be good for you. I'll give Allyson Hipsher a ring. She's probably worried sick about you. She'll patch you up, the NAFTA guild is just down the street.

Kore: What is this? Sludge?

Marozi: Drink it. It'll put hair on your chest.

Kore: Hints of road tar, distinctly acetone nose, beyond stale...dare I enquire as to the vintage?

Marozi: Instant.

Phone(Marozi): Overseer Grant? This is an anonymous informant. Inmate Kore is being returned to her guild leader Allyson Hipsher. Please call off the red alert.

Thought(Kore): Yes, my dear Xander. Red alert? How do you live with only coffee like this to drink? And why do I know that you, the gray ghost of my imagination, prefer cognac...by the barrel.

Thought(Kore): With all this racket outside, I really shouldn't be able to hear him.

Thought(Kore): I don't even know this man, except that he's a criminal and a revolutionary.

Thought(Kore): So why should it feel...so much...like betrayal?