The first sign of Peter's deregulation was a slow ebb at the corners of his eyes, which Alice noticed with a dismissive flinch but Peter put down to his natural lability. Next, a creeping neuralgia - cf Journey's End - appeared, surprising everyone at the lengths it would go to operationalise itself:
"Damn creeps... it's as if they know they're not real..."
Then, slow as butter crawling, his fingers started to pop. Three left in a single night, snaping off at the first knuckle and shooting across the room, where they formed odd tumbles of runes and holiday cottages, much in the style of Sandy Bay or Canvey Island.
Down to three fingers and six toes, Peter was starting to get twitchy. The end was Nye, who'd previously been Aneuran.
In a final, fatalistic exhalation Peter drove down the cliff road towards the lighthouse, hoping to understand the odd winds and strangely stretched rockfaces that by now were appearing almost everywhere he went, mocking his extremities and signifying that deregulation time was approaching a terrible, absent, zero.