Adama tilts his head back, laughing uproariously, and fades slowly from 
sight. Everything else goes with him: the redhead, the wall of trid screens, the 
throne, the marble stand and gemstone. The roar of the cyclone fades into 
silence. Tikki is left standing in a dank, gloomy basement, her heart pounding 
like a jackhammer. The ceiling is stained and warped and dripping water. The 
walls are bare concrete, some missing small chunks, as from bullets. Tikki looks 
down to find her right foot in the shallows of a broad puddle.