In the spindrift, galaxies were colliding; or perhaps it was just snow. Jack couldn't be sure, but it was entirely possible he was coming up on the last nanoneural enhancer.
If that was the case then simply walking into the the spindrift was a distinct, and safe, possibility. Otherwise, anything could happen.
Jack was fairly sure he was not incorrect in reducing his options to these two possibilities. But then, that was the nature of these nanoneurals: uncertainty went with whatever passed for territory. Jack had already conquered paranoia with what he knew to be a healthy dose of pronoia; but he wasn't sure about the details of the dose, beyond knowing it mattered not whether it was endogenous or a neopharm.
Jack was an old hand at the walk through the spindrift; it was a no-brainer. Now all he had to do was find a zombie willing to take his brain. No easy task; given the virulence of the One True Meme originating with the Church of Wake The Fuck Up, Already!; a group unamused by the tendency (never mind the ability) of people like Jack to just vanish. People like Jack, of course, "tolerated" zombies as a necessary evil. Not that the meme had anything to do with that warped view; oh, no.
Decisions, decisions...always a instantiation of the garden of forking paths masquerading as spindrift.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it was a dark and stormy night and Edwina Rebus was confusticated by a recalcitrant coffee pot that insisted on emitting show tunes whenever her favorite roast (French Italian Espresso) was used.
Edwina, while somewhat amused by crappy showtunes from two centuries ago, was not happy with IPv15.
If the coffeepot was any sort of index then contacting technical support would be a challenge.