Marc leans into the panel, puts in Lagos, in the 2020s, nice weather. Gorgeous place. And nice place to freerun, generally, which is what Marc likes to do when his brain is loud.

"With you, just not on you," Marc repeats. Okay. So there's some kind of ... thing he can call for help, and that's part of it.

They step out and onto a tin rooftop into a vibrant urban center dotted with lagoons under a vast, perfectly clear sky. It's weirdly quiet without the people and traffic but Marc relaxes a fraction anyway just from being un-trapped. He can't actually just hop a plane and get the fuck out of here, but he can pretend for a minute.

Never been here. Heard the nightlife's nuts, though, mostly because that was Duchamp's thing. God, Marc hasn't talked to that guy in years.

"Steven's asleep. He goes to sleep around 22:00, I run around for a few hours until I get worn out just so I don't go nuts, then we both sleep. I'm the one that knows we're both here, so I'm always in the body's eyes and ears. That's how I can jump in if shit hits the fan for him."

Marc gives one of those millimeter smirks. "With the body, just not on the body."