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(Spondule and Navichet bike along the road, approaching a bridge that crosses a chasm. The chasm’s edges are unnaturally smooth, as if sheared off of the rocky hills artificially. It is filled with Bleach, somewhat under the level of the bridge.)

(Spondule looks up, smiling, into the wind. A rope lies draped across the ground at the far end of the bridge. Spondule notices it. The rope is pulled taut across the road)