There is no response, just the sound of your own breath against cool plastic.

There is no response, just the sound of your own breath against cool plastic.

"Hello?"

"Looks like you missed your tram."

Controller's here! Gäng, scätter!

"But at least you didn't get yourself zeroed out, so thank you for that."

Don't let her hear your surprise. Volley it back.

"Mel? What is this?"

"Just a casual phone-call between old friends. We've got a lot to catch up about."

"Yes, let's talk. Mel, there's something big happening here."

"You really went off-script back there. We're lucky an old associate reached out and filled us in."

Something different about the projections just now. Against the old Palace of Culture.

Ahead of you -- there.

-- TODAY! ZERO SOL DOWN! --

Artificial dreams flicker against the wall. Fleeting promises of what could be yours for the price of a few sol.

"You mean the old man with no heart?

Alternative wording

"You mean Hauzmann?"

"We're only as good as our sources. Even when those sources don't technically exist."

"You know, I've heard in the Developed World they have semioticians who insert secret meta-messages into advertisements..."

There is no need of 'I', only a dumb hand unwise to its purpose.

-- SUMMER, GET OUT OF --

"Mel, what's happening?"

"Nothing alarming, just your conscious awareness catching up to your intuition."

Like the hallucinated directives that guide the Paleolithic huntress as she sets up her fish weirs.

"We may be the basement massage parlour of spy services, but we still know a few tricks."

The enemy's knife turned against its own throat.

-- MOSS AND LICHEN REMOVAL --

Your task etches itself in the folds of your subconscious.

"Zero... out..."

"Shhhh, operant."

Her voice. Your ear.

Even now, in this lonely corner of the world, it finds you.

"Not everything that can be said, should."

A bird passes across the beam of the projector, casting a lunatic shadow as it goes.

"This is what the assignment's always been about, isn't it?"

"I don't know that I'd go that far. We make it up as we go along. The meaning comes after."

Thud. Thud. Thud. Someone's kicking in the doors of your heart.

"You said we brought you back for a reason -- and here you are."

Alternative wording

"You said you wanted a chance -- now you've got one."

Alternative wording

"You said this was way bigger than you and PSEUDOPOD, and you were right."

Alternative wording

"You said we needed to spy more, spy harder. Here's your chance."

Alternative wording

"You said whatever happens has already happened. So in that sense, there's no choice to make."

Already the outlines of the whole picture are beginning to shimmer. Your fingers tingle at the chance to fill them in.

Assassinate a high-ranking foreign official, return to the Operant Bureau's graces. This is the offer that's been extended to you.

A chance to put the gäng back together.

You've already given over to yourself. These words are simply gestures to be performed.

"Hold on, I only said that stuff ironically."

"Someone once told me irony is just sincerity wearing a mask of hesitation. Let's take the mask off, I want to look at your real face."

"You're sure this is the way?"

"Personally? No. I'm just going by what the big board says."

"'Big board'? What are you talking about?"

"The one that says 'WIN CONDITIONS' at the top. It's looking pretty bad. They say we're fucked if you don't pull this off."

"There's not really a board like that, is there?"

"It's more like a very large table, made up of many smaller tables. The men who maintain it are very sad and pale, with oily hair and long fingernails."

"But I'm told they're critically important, so what do I know?"

"The tables?"

"Without tables, there are no men. That's what I've come to understand."

"The men?"

"I need you to explain these 'win conditions' to me."

"It's like this: This L-Pop stuff is worth tens of billions even when it's banned in most of the world. The Luzian cultural victory depends on it."

By contrast, the international market for Proletfolk consists of five geriatric scenesters on a commune outside Capoblanco.

"Meanwhile the threat of Reunión keeps EMTERR's money and clients tied up all along the borders of the old Luzian Empire. Removing that would be a major boon to their stability victory condition."

"All very cool and strategic. What about us?"

Your controller sighs.

"It seems we're just hoping to hold off our rivals long enough to 'win on tiebreakers'."

You can practically feel her pinching the bridge of her nose as she says 'tiebreakers'.

"'Tiebreakers', what are those?"

"Great question. Call it the never-before-attempted moral victory condition."

"Makes sense, that's what I would do."

"Let's not overthink this. We're here to advance our own plots and thwart our enemies. Let's see if we can make someone else play the rubber-gimp for a change."

Veering wildly between the formalities of her role and her desire to speak plainly. She's been drinking.

Vana Kohila. Treacly liqueur. Her usual.

"Let's talk about what you need now: A plan, a tool, some friends."

"A plan. Where do we begin?"

"You recently made a new acquaintance, did you not, an older foreign gentleman?"

Dante, the old prisoner.

"He seems like a highly knowledgeable individual. I'm sure he could help you find a suitable time and place for your purposes."

"I don't know, Mel. Mucking around wet basements, not really my thing."

"No, your mucking days are done. You just need to speak with the Head of Human Capital."

"Eszti, you mean."

"If there's a deal to be struck, your old friend will be the one to approve it. How wonderfully convenient."

"But we don't have anything to trade."

"Because you haven't yet felt out your trading partner. We're talking about the linchpin of the Developed World: They will deal."

"A deal with the Bank... doesn't sound very dialectical."

"Isn't it? I thought we'd resolve the contradiction by using one enemy to slash the throat of another."

Thus, a terrible synthesis is born.

"Talk to Eszti. Find out what your new acquaintance is worth to them. Give them the moon if they ask for it."

You already know she keeps an apartment in the Housing Campaign. You need only find which one.

"We give them the moon. They give us the old man. The old man gives us the plan."

Alternative wording

"We give them the moon. They give us Dante. Dante gives us the plan."

"It sounds so fun and easy when you say it like that. Of course, in reality it will be very, very hard."

This is the ceremony you've been directed to perform. Its offices are lonely and obscure -- it is a ceremony of strangeness, heartlessness, and emptiness.

The Opera's psychomancers must've known you'd be keen to play this particular song on repeat -- Hoping this time the tune would come out different somehow.

"This feels nothing like last time."

"Take heart, my friend: We're at the End of History. Everything that can go wrong, already has."

"Now get some rest. Don't fall for false advertising."

A click, then nothing.

"This feels a lot like last time."

"I just want you to know: I'm not doing this for you."

"It's a pleasure to be working together again."

"We've got this, Mel."

"And if the Bank doesn't want to deal?"

"We'll make it up as we go along."

"Something tells me we're going to get fucked."

You've already encountered two minions of transnational capital: The young man tangled up in the Miracle Line, and the drunk in a suit rolling around the Party Alley gutters.

"Find the Head of Human Capital. Find out what your new acquaintance is worth to them. Give them the moon if they ask for it."

You've already encountered one minion of transnational capital: The young man tangled up in the Miracle Line.

You've already encountered one minion of transnational capital: The drunk in a suit rolling around the gutters of Party Alley.

The only EMTERR servant you know of just got done electrocuting you with her correction pen. There must be other minions around, if you turn over a few more stones.

You haven't yet encountered any minions of transnational capital, but that's only because you haven't turned over enough stones.

"Maybe I'll get a loan, start my own business: 'Spy now, pay later'."

"Delusions of entrepreneurship, very concerning. Also tangential."

"I don't know, Mel..."

"Where am I supposed to find this 'Head of Human Capital'?"

"I'm sure an associate of the Bank would be happy to direct you. There must be some around."

"Then you just need to speak with someone who can dispose of him. Wherever the Bank has an office, there's a Head of Human Capital."

Personnel assignments by day, disposal of off-the-record holdings by night.

'Human capital' -- the euphemism makes your stomach turn on itself.

"If there's a deal to be struck, they'll be the one to approve it."

"Sounds cool, but I think he's indisposed at the moment."

"Then you need to speak with someone who can dispose of him. The Head of Human Capital."

"Eszti's got a new job. Head of Human Capital. She might be able to help."

"... is that so? I didn't realise you two were still in touch."

"I came across her name on some Bank documents recently. She's living in the Housing Campaign."

"Well, the Manus Fati has given us a very interesting board-state." A pause. "Well done."

Sincere.

"I heard it from a drunk in Party Alley. Top-tier source."

"Life's full of surprises."

The old prisoner.

"A tool. What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking something discreet. Portable. Quiet."

A pistol, with suppressor. Either built-in or attachable.

"Something like me, in others words."

"Ha."

A dry sound meant to approximate polite laughter.

"Sadly we haven't got the time nor the connections to arrange a proper import. This one's going to have to be 'procure in-theatre'."

Opera-speak for 'your problem'.

"I was hoping you'd left me a nice, gift-wrapped surprise."

"I told them we should have stuffed something in the fax machine. Alas, my request was deemed extravagant."

"I think a quiet purchase is best. Less paperwork. How you arrange that is up to you."

Goat Eyes, the street hustler and 'man of many endeavours'. He's your lead.

"I think I know where to look."

"Oh? Excellent."

A note of concern for the company you've been keeping.

"Sounds boring. I'll make my own."

"CASCADE." She pauses, takes a drink. "Please do not express your individuality."

Let's be real: Your controller doesn't get it. You need gold coating on the barrel. You need little skulls carved into the grip. And what about having two triggers on there?

Absolutely not. Leave the gaudy flair to amateurs and corpses. If it's memorable, you've already failed.

"Alright, I'll figure something out."

"You will. You must."

The Boatman by the old docks may be worth talking to. If anyone could help you arrange an underground transaction, it would be him.

Forget local laws, this is a logistical problem. A firearm that made its way to Portofiro likely arrived via crate. The boatmen by the old docks -- start there.

"So what should I do?"

"I'd rather have range and stopping power."

"Difficult to acquire, impossible to conceal. Carabineros will have you in a minute."

A suffocatingly narrow way to think about firearms. You are an artist of death, your gun is your brush.

"How about a shottie for a hottie?"

"No, your task doesn't call for a room-sweeper. I'm afraid this hottie will have to go sans-shottie."

SOMETHING TO SEND YOUR ENEMIES TO THE ASH-BIN.

"Friends. Right. Sure."

"You didn't think you were going to do this alone, did you?"

Ghosts descend from the rafters of the city.

"I don't think the old crew have forgiven me."

The photograph feels warm in your pocket all of a sudden.

You weren't who they needed you to be then, but maybe, maybe you are now.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. A gäng must grow to survive.

"You won't know until you've asked. Besides, you don't need a network, what you need is a squad."

Squad, from 'square', a formation that can defend itself in four directions.

In Tsun's Arc and the Eastern Republics, the number four rhymes with death. Generations of superstitious and symbolically minded operants have mediated on this relationship.

Four seasons, four phases of the moon, four to make a rock band in the heroic mode.

"A squad -- so four..."

"The Knight-Errant, to assemble and guide the rest. The Cupbearer, to stand by you absolutely. The Astronomist, to reflect things in a different light. The Fool, for a reason known only to one."

"I'm sure I could track Ramses down."

"No question. You and he always got along. Friends, even." Clunk of can against desk. "Good with wires and things, wasn't he? A decent Fool."

No phoneline is safe when he's on your side.

Rolls a great spliff, too.

"I'll be there for you as well. You can reach me from any payphone if you need help in-theatre. For anything extra sensitive, you can call me from the phone in your apartment."

"Tempo's gone. Got into some trouble with the Weeping Eye."

"Another unmarked star. What a shame." She takes a long drink.

The girl, Yana.

"... but he did leave his apprentice behind. She's smart, tough."

"Much like your old friend himself. And you think she might be up for this?"

"Don't know, we'll see."

"Worth asking about her availability, in any event."

"I think she would, yeah."

Let it go.

"Who else?"

Alternative wording

"That's everyone, I suppose."

"That's a great shame... I'll make sure he gets his unmarked star."

On the north wall of the Novessa Palace of Culture. The only memorial departed servants of the Operant Bureau ever receive.

"HOLOCENE might still be around, somewhere."

"Hahahaha... haha..."

"Oh, you're serious, aren't you?"

"I am serious."

"We don't have to rehash ancient lore. But if you were to insist, he could take up his old role as your Astronomist."

"I was, but we can pretend I wasn't."

"Probably better that way. If you were to insist, he could take up his old role as your Astronomist. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Vespar's dead. I don't have the full story yet."

Alternative wording

"Vespar's dead. The Weeping Eye turned him over to the Azzurri mob."

"Another unmarked star. What a shame." She takes a long drink.

"I see... a damn shame. I'll make sure he gets his unnamed star on the wall then."

On the north wall of the Novessa Palace of Culture. The only memorial departed servants of the Operant Bureau ever receive.

"Vespar would be perfect for this job."

"Right, your cop friend. The carabinero. He could play nicely as a Fool, assuming he hasn't pickled himself in schnapps."

"You're one to talk."

"A controller must know of what she speaks."

"I'll ask around."

"Mhm."

"There's also Eszti."

"You two never got on, as I recall. And yet she took a great risk for you last time. Maybe she'd do it again. An Astronomist."

No way, she hates us. Can't häng with gäng.

"I don't think we can count on Eszti for this one."

"For your squad? Probably not. But she may end up playing an important role all the same."

"Eszti's working for the Bank, for real this time. She's Head of Human Capital for Portofiro."

"Really? You're certain of that?"

"I came across her name on some Bank documents recently. She's living in the Housing Campaign."

"Well, the Manus Fati has given us a very interesting board-state." A pause. "Well done."

"I heard it from a drunk in Party Alley. Top-tier source."

"Life's full of surprises."

"Karolina will come back if I ask her."

"Yes... she probably would take any role you offered her."

On the verge of saying something which she'll decide to keep to herself.

"Her I actually have a note on, here in my files... Seems her father's set up a clinic on a houseboat somewhere in Quisach. Maybe worth paying him a visit."

A houseboat doctor -- could it be Dr. Hugo? Perhaps he's changed his name.

"What about PSEUDOPOD?"

"Right." A sigh. "The stress of the job seems to have left your double somewhat..."

Fucked.

Impressionable.

LUMPEN.

"... Inert. I would probably count him out for this assignment."

"Inevitable, the dark forces would cause some counterforce to form..."

"A dialectical response to put the secret world to rights."

"A network of minds, interlinked, acting as one."

"You're close. This assignment doesn't require a network -- what you need is a squad."

"No support needed. I'll do it myself."

"Expel that thought from your mind. There's no single core hard enough to take this on."

"What if I dual-core it?"

"Even two wouldn't be enough. I was thinking more like four -- a squad, in other words."

"Fuck it -- Quad-core."

"Funny you should say that. Four is exactly what I had in mind -- a squad."

"The help we need is existential, ontological, maybe even hauntological."

"I was thinking someone to watch your back, carry your purse..."

"Aha, you meant applied philosophy."

"What I mean is you're going to need a squad."

"Intangible baggage weighs the most, Mel."

"Be that as it may, you're going to need a squad."

"That does not sound like a strategy."

"What if I just brought back a shit-load of socks?"

"Won't do any good, I'm afraid. We gave up on the economic win a long time ago."

SHIRK NOT. YOU'VE BEEN CALLED TO STRIKE THE EXPOSED HEEL OF THE ENEMY.

"Board. Wins. Cool."

"That'll do, thank you."

"Oh, well if the board says it..."

"Alright, Mel. Let's roll the bones."

"Dice cupped in the Manus Fati, ready to be flung across the board."

Say nothing, look at the stars.

Through the rain clouds you catch glimpses of an uncountable audience, shimmering in their seats.

You see them now as puncture wounds. Bullet holes. Shrapnel from an ancient bomb.