Bullshit, [he breathes, like the word is heavy. Proko shifts lazily, moving onto his back so he can watch the weird little sun, pulsing to the beat.] How else do you think it works. You got a microchip in your head, Kav? That kinda shit Swan gets on about when he’s fucked up?

[He laughs and lolls his head, bumping it against Kavinsky’s leg.]

What’s he doing here, K?