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Good Afternoon, D'Magda To get the correct visual effects, you'd need to put on some faintly rose-tinted snow-goggles and scrub the lenses with steel wool for a minute. Just long enough so that everything outside is slightly pinker than usual, definitely blurry and foggy, but visible. While you're at it, two large wads of cotton wool, one in each ear. Entirely passive, no control at all, you're moving down a nice suburban street, slight downwards incline, four-wheel-drive vehicles making dull thudding noises through the cotton wool as they pass. The secondary school on this, the left side of the street, pre-empts the footpath; you walk on the grass, waiting for the footpath to come back so you can get to wherever it is you're going. (I mean to say, that because someone built this secondary school here, there is no longer a footpath along this section of street. The way I described it before makes it sound like the school suddenly sprang into existence, which, given the nature of secondary schools, it probably didn't.) There is a low brick building on the school property, a toilet block or something. Out of the very corner of your eye a figure almost catches your attention: a young woman, floral dress, long dark hair sitting against the wall, a young man leaning over her with an expression of concern. Your view starts to move past. The movement stops; you're no longer walking. The view jerks slightly to the left, pauses, slowly returns to the front, jerks left again. It turns; the woman is standing, head inclined to one side, looking at you. Her mouth moves, silently, and although you're not an experienced lipreader, you know the shape of that name - his name - when you see it. Do you know this person? She isn't familiar... but the view moves closer, slowly, hesitantly, as if it's expecting attack at any moment. It even swings left and right, scanning for possible enemies. While the young woman moves towards you, make a request to Image Identification, scan this for me, will you? Crosshairs frame her thin face and while the holographic pattern matching takes place, the two of you get closer. An amiable conversation has started before the result comes back, three pattern matches, oldest first: The very first Bulletin Board party you went to for that multi-line chat system. You were huddled in a corner with a laptop PC you'd borrowed from work, writing science fiction when she came up to you, leaned over and asked if she could have some of the Kahlua you brought, and, typical male, entranced with the voluptuous cleavage she'd exposed by bending over, agreed immediately; A party being held by users of another, smaller multi-line chat system. She chatted with you about Clive Barker. She was seen later with the Enemy. The Family Court building. She was sitting with the Enemy. This last match makes you feel very apprehensive... is she someone you shouldn't be talking to? Is she still associated with the Enemy? It's too late, anyway, the conversation seems to be over; she smiles, waves and turns back to the school building. The view turns back to the grass expanse that lies between the road and the school, where the footpath would be if there was one, and it continues onward.

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