A faded chute pack hangs in the fork of the tree at the alley mouth; no telling how many days it has been there. The crate is split at one corner but the contents are mostly intact - cans, reinforcement kits, and a kraft-paper tube. Inside are blueprints for a transceiver. And that line on the channel finally comes clear: build it, and they can find you.

A faded chute pack is caught on the neighbour wall, swinging when the wind picks up. You reach it down; the crate has already split, but nothing has spilled. Cans, reinforcement kits, and pressed underneath, a roll of blueprints - a transceiver. That line on the channel, the one the static swallowed, finally lines up.

A chute pack is wound round the power pole outside the wall, faded to grey-white, no telling how long it has hung there. You knock it down; the crate is only split at one corner. Cans, reinforcement kits, and a roll of blueprints: a transceiver. That line the channel keeps repeating - this is what it meant.