Suddenly there is a jolt under my feet. The ads on the touchwall flicker on and off in my peripheral vision. The hum of the maglev stops, the car goes dark and we glide in silence to a stop. Do not panic - it’s just a normal surge. My heart grows cold and the blood pulses in my ears. My damp shirt feels like ice on my back. I tighten my fingers around the Mtoken. I check my watch. 5 more minutes. We’ll have 120 seconds to clear the station once it starts. We need to get moving soon. The man next to me shifts his feet, impatient. A woman in the far corner of the car sneezes. The crowd cowers away from her, some covering their noses and mouths with inhalators. She draws a breath to sneeze again, but instead of blowing it out she deanimates, suspended like an insect captured in amber, arm in midair. It’s started. It’s too early. But it’s started. The train jogs, rests, jogs again. The mags start whirring, the lights come on and we glide forward, building momentum with each pulse. A few more moments and we pull into City Center. 120 seconds. The doors slide open and I jump to the platform. “Cut! Cut! Cut!” someone yells. “That’s a wrap!" and the station is disappearing before my eyes. Where there were touchwalls, rails and platforms, now stretches a massive warehouse, the ceiling gothically high. People in uniforms I have never seen before, are taking down large portions of the walls, collapsing them onto trolleys, rolling them away. I turn around and all the passengers are frozen, mannequins. Dummies. “Grab that extra cart, Joe, we can fit a few more sections of the set here” a workmyn shouts before turning to me. “There you are. Been waiting! Sorry about the train, someone shut the power off a bit early there.” “Huh?” “Here” she says, offering me her hand, “Let’s get you to reprogramming. The shows over.“