The fire at the soil mine – that part was true, too. Quarantines at the border, waiting-lists as long as your arm. I grew up in the woods, so I don’t have a lot of experience waiting in line. It’s a special sort of city suffering.
Eventually I was processed by a Border Administrator named Sid Civilian. Sid didn’t like their job much, chiefly because it was a demoralizing grab-bag of systemic prejudice wrapped in a bow of red-tape. Sid’s a good person, I really believe so – when they spoke, I would hear the unmistakable breathing of a good person working a day-job in Hell.