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Ashlock

Kirrily’s money laundromat has no physical location, but her penthouse does.  They case it for hours before deciding it’s empty.  Tach does unspeakable things to the lock.

Inside it’s messily well-appointed, with a distinct shortage of blueprints marked “Screw Over Tach and Ashlock, Start Here.”  Tach peels a banana and starts gingerly sorting her trash; Ashlock looks for the office.

There’s a desktop PC in there, retro relic, a beautiful beige box with a bulbous VGA monitor.  Ashlock strokes it admiringly, then tries the keyboard.  One of its little legs collapses.  She flips it over.

“Adélie,” says the note stickied underneath.

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