They look like poker chips, a little heavy, milled around the edges.

“They’re used,” says Lange, “to purchase changes in a subjective reality.”

“Wishes?” says Grosvenor, dubiously rolling one over her knuckles.

“Not really. They change stories, not the real world. Or not directly. Think of them as every fanfic writer’s wet dream.”

Heddis looks up. “Books? TV?”

“Or movies,” Lange grins, “music, games–maybe Aeris doesn’t die? Maybe Prospero keeps Caliban tied down. Maybe Mister Folds and his Five changed their minds, and they’re coming to LA after all.”

Grosvenor chews her lip. “What are they called?”

“Bangs,” he says.