INT. CAPPELLA BLOCK RELAY TUNNEL – NIGHT

PERELIA QUINN fidgets, waiting for her mark. Capella Block’s residents rush around her, snaking between stacks of garbage and freestanding utility pylons. Craning her neck she can see the wide mouth of the West vehicle entrance.  A single-carry takes the corner too fast, it’s rimless wheels chirping across the pavement. It slams to a stop in front of a noodle-shop, and the driver tumbles out into the street. Pretending to yawn, PERELIA raises a wired microphone to her lips, concealed neatly in her palm.

PERELIA

He’s back. He’s had more to drink.

RADIO

You don’t say? How’s that poor bastard even standing?

The man in the street turns sharply and tumbles over his own feet. Falling to his knees he lets out a viscous curse before lurching upright again.

CORILLA

He’s not, really. What do you want me to do?

RADIO

Sober him up. The quick way.