Link to part 1
Those whores, those autocratic little whores that were the fibrous stroma of the all seeing eye of Panopticon Productions Ltd, from the tubes they spewed, the executive and the cred-worthy, bursting forth on the lower floors to upper, upper and ever upper, straight up to their offices to manage the flow of product to customers throughout the Expanse and beyond to the various and sundry dwellings within the Capillaries. Silly questions were never asked, silly answers never given, all was movement and a stoppage would be registered as a clot and dealt with via omnitrexing scalpel. Scalpels of society, scalpels of financial status. And all the surgeons were locked up tight in offices Paul would never see, could never hope to see this late in his game. But like the pressure of bowels seeking release, he knew they were there, waiting for him to make one more critical mistake.