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.LP \& .ce .sp |4.25i .PP .ps 12 .CW ░ Gazing into Tommy's eyes one's point of view was mediated by the plastic strip of his visor, alternately blinking out a personalized series of targeted, third\-party ads. If he caught you staring he might flash over to a mirrored surface, a reference to the well-worn anime trope, and also an abrupt rendezvous with that which the onlooker most feared\(emthe complete absence of third\-party affirmation of their existence. .PP .ps 12 Building on this agreement in principle with the viewer, Tommy might next offer up a cup of tea. He was off his coffee, this week, and as a guest you drank what he drank\(emThat is, if you wanted him to talk business. .PP .ps 12 Tommy's business was the traffic of information and goods from beyond the silo. Ostensibly. In reality, there simply .I was .R nothing beyond the silo. The information he made up; the goods he stole from obscure families on lower floors. .PP .ps 12 Kids in the silo could not get enough of his \fIwarez\fR (pronounced \fIwah\-rez\fR by Tommy, in a typically stubborn rejection of reality), even though in some cases the merchandise had been stolen from their own homes. .PP .ps 12 Business was business. .PP .ps 12 From out of nowhere the Blanks appeared. As if by literary prearrangement, their disgust with the situation was transparent. Each individual's unique exegesis of this new fresh hell was eloquently expressed via the printed matter and flare carried upon their person. The zines were generative works curated by personal algorithms, whilst their buttons were mostly handwritten text slogans denoting specific political affiliation. In both cases they kept the material strictly to themselves, so long as any witnesses agreed to overlook the egregious display. Your right to focus your percept ended at the edge of their perimeter field. .PP .ps 12 Tommy nodded to the Blank in front, whom he assumed to be their leader. Just as he was about to speak, the .I real .R Boss Blank suddenly burst onto the scene, elbowing through the crowd to reveal themselves, resplendent in... well, \fInothing.\fR Traditional Blank attire. They were clearly pissed, in both senses of the word. Angry and drunk. .PP .ps 12 "Let me be perfectly frank," said Frank Blank. "I don't like the way this is shaping up. Something essential seems to be missing from the cutout." .PP .ps 12 Like your clothes, thought Tommy. .PP .ps 12 Frank Blank stepped back into their cutout, attempting to seal themselves flush with its flat surface. The cutout, which up until that moment had been supported by their neighbors on either side, toppled backwards and crashed to the floor with a disturbing clatter. Frank glared at them both in turn. .PP .ps 12 "Now see what you've made me do. I've gone and telegraphed a facial expression." This was a major Blank no\-no. .PP .ps 12 Titters from the Blanks, who were by now all breaking facial discipline. Hey, if the Boss was doing it... .PP .ps 12 Tommy's visor flashed solid white in the magnificently ambiguous, historically relevant gesture described by the author in the last chapter. Onomatopoeia. "You guys are a riot. Love to see all those smiling faces." .PP .ps 12 It had not been intended as an insult, but a hardened expression now descended over Frank's face like a theater curtain, removing all doubt that Tommy had traipsed, oblivious, across some invisible line. Apparently discernible only to the Blanks. And just how did they see all this stuff with invisible eyes? .PP .ps 12 What was he supposed to say? .PP .ps 12 Frank frowned, resigned to their new reality. .PP .ps 12 Pause one beat. .PP .ps 12 "We have the cash. Did you bring the stuff?" .PP .ps 12 Peter couldn't see them, anyway. It was a rare moment when Tommy didn't seem to need him. He took the opportunity to switch off. .PP .ps 12 If the Blanks had noticed his suddenly but slowly slumping form, nobody said a word. In any case, they were being awfully polite. .PP .ps 12 Bear followed the (paper) news reports with interest. He considered the Blanks null nutrition, but they were in his (paper) way. .PP .ps 12 "That's okay, we're not hungry," Tommy said, as Peter jolted suddenly back to life. .PP .ps 12 Frank Blank pocketed the unbranded snack. They guessed these guys didn't go in for their no\-name shit. .PP .ps 12 "If we're all finished up here, I have several comic books to read," Tommy quipped, and snapping shut his Zero Halliburton. "Let's go, Pete." .PP .ps 12 Peter's head swiveled from Blank to Blank like a crackhead parrot. "Who the fuck were you talking to? Where did all that money come from? And so forth." .PP .ps 12 "Don't worry about it," Tommy said, patting his imaginary friend on the head. .PP .ps 12 Meanwhile: .PP .ps 12 Dissent! .PP .ps 12 Trouble was brewing within the ranks of the Blanks. Certain points of ethics, terminology, and even simple etiquette had presently fallen into dispute amongst the assembled punters. A radical wing of the Blank subculture had asserted that, so long as they were all going to present facial expressions, well, members might just as well start to allow for variations in grooming, accessorization, and other aspects of the outfit's trade dress. Did anyone here care to advance a counterargument? If not, let's make some money! .PP .ps 12 Presently, an opposition group voiced its concerns. .PP .ps 12 And so the battle was joined by essentially every member of the away team who had dispatched to the rendezvous point in order to conduct the silo transaction with Tommy and Peter. Reader, it delayed their transit home. .PP .ps 12 In the days and weeks that followed, once the offending individualists had all found their separate routes back home to Blank House, the infection inevitably spread throughout the local population. Immediately, individuals began to assert themselves, their individual points of view. Just as immediately, a volunteer squad of self\-identifying conservatives self\-organized into a reactionary \fIpolice force,\fR equipping themselves with rudimentary weaponry culled from private reserves (Blank House having heretofore adhered to a stoical\(emand economical\(empolicy of strictly theoretical\(emthat is to say, non\-violent\(emopposition to the tradition of coercion practiced in the mundane world) and proceeded to, well, .I police .R the local environs for perceived infractions against the still not fully articulated, prior norms of public conduct. .PP .ps 12 Militant? Certainly! And yet, their reasoning was not entirely clear. .PP .ps 12 The schism roiled for months. One of the New Police finally screwed up their courage and slashed a thin blue line across their own forehead, a bright incision in shocking blue paint. A symbol, or so they said, of the radicals' break with what had previously been agreed upon in their subculture to be common sense. And, by the way, the New Police's commitment to restoring traditional values. The line slowly spread to cover their entire face. [Sweat, I guess. \fI\(em SL] .PP .ps 12 Nobody understood at first. Why had they chosen to mark their own face in rebellion against the individualists? Why had they chosen blue? (Perhaps it was the old jar of blue paint someone kept leaving on the floor near their cutout\(emit had always driven them nuts.) .PP .ps 12 Color would prove to open a new frontier upon the Blank page, cementing a final aesthetic they would never quite manage to shake off, in spite of many latter day changes to doctrine. Their classical identity now solidified through the predictable appearance of an exception to the rule. Twas ever thus. .PP .ps 12 In these uncertain times, the New Police's new obsession with blue bodypaint would be certain to attract attention. .PP .ps 12 .I What a world, what a world, .R said the Wicked Witch of the West.