"Why didn't you make a copy?"

In a few hours, it will be dawn. Kids will skip school to fuck around on the board-walk. The ferris wheel, empty, will start to turn. Right now, they're alone, and it's dark, and no one yet realises how profoundly the world is about to change. Tyrell Wellick's car is roomy as far as cars go, but they haven't moved, the engine silent. This is safety, this place, outside the obscure arcade. It's when they leave that everything is going to go to hell, and so Tyrell is in no rush to start driving.

Without seeming to think about it, he touches the car door locks, and they all close up together in a surround sound echo of mechanism. Beyond a cursory glance, he is a far cry from the man Elliot met all those months ago. There are real shadows under and in his eyes, a hunted tension shrill in his stare. The blue gloves haven't made a reappearance, nor has he been so menacing.

Elliot has had a long time to come to grips with what he did scarcely an hour ago. Tyrell seems in the process.

"Of the key. You could have some of the most powerful men in the world on their knees if you still had exactly what they needed."