“It would be better with cocaine,” a voice agrees from the hallway she’s headed for: near enough to be heard without being overheard. Sparse foot traffic funnels in and out of the throng through this particular bottleneck -- far removed from the wider network of tunnels that spills into the cavern. It’s ideal for escape, and for keeping an eye on the proceedings without being ankle deep in celebratory drippings.

Metzger is dressed informally for the occasion in shades of black and dishwater grey, short, silver at the temples and sipping from a tin cup that smells to contain battery acid. He is (perhaps pointedly) still wearing his boots.