"Nothing for it now, CASCADE -- we await the conclusion."

"Nothing for it now, CASCADE -- we await the conclusion."

"If you're looking for the old man, he went up the stairs. Seemed to be anticipating the climax himself."

"Through dimensionality to analysis, CASCADE. What's your inference?"

"Remind me what you mean by 'close-read'."

"Abstract yourself for a moment from this situation. Abstract me, the Grand Lich, the Existential Threat, all the characters and material details..."

"This scene could just as easily not have happened, and yet, for some reason, it is being included -- why?"

"What is the message that is being conveyed by what is happening here today?"

"'Conveyed'? To whom?"

"To no one, CASCADE, if we don't bother to engage with the situation."

"What do you mean 'this scene'? There is no scene, it's just life."

"The most flagrant scene of all. Often poorly written, clumsily constructed, and yet... and yet... emotionally authentic."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah. Right."

"A fundamental skill for any asset worth their asset salt."

"Just to check, how much will this affect my assessment?"

"It will count towards 40% of the candidate's assessment results."

"Forty? Too high."

"M.I.H.O. values reading comprehension. Much more than your average agency."

"60% is still a pass, right?"

"A pass with two shattered legs that somehow managed to drag itself over the finish line, yes."

Close read your situation.

Though the stage is ancient, this new adaptation feels precarious. Too many actors are under the lights -- lines jar off each other, the blocking tangled.

"I think that we're caught in the middle of something."

"Go on."

"We're not supposed to be here."

"Operationally, that's obvious. Philosophically, I believe that's key. Keen analysis, CASCADE. A basic thesis, but not incorrect."

"How might you... sum it up?"

Wind at the fringes. Encircling. Unnatural pressure. A corridor.

"I think... maybe... someone's letting us do this."

Your former double stares at you for a long moment, the top half of his face illuminated in vivid yellow light from the plastic visor.

"I tend to agree with your reading, CASCADE." He nods, offers half a smile. "Would you like to hear my ever so slightly more nuanced interpretation?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well. I'll start with this -- I don't feel that this setting is mere philosophical coincidence. Do you?"

"No. It's a stage."

"Exactly. Everyone's read the script."

Everyone but you.

"But CASCADE, there is a darker layer beneath all this." He straightens and looks at you evenly. "I believe the ancient Luzian technocracy is intending to commit a war crime, right here..."

"... against itself."

Your heart beats hypothermic.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, exactly -- a mind has turned inward and we have wandered into the province of a primeval war. Our actions may not be our own."

TOO LATE NOW. YOUR ACTIONS ARE THE PEOPLE'S.

An abyssal rumble. Gigantic shadows stir beneath the surface, cetaceous forms in this era's seething water.

"The theme and authorial intent is quite clear, to my eye: we are present at the wrong assembly."

"That is the metaphysical situation as it stands."

"Wait, 'authorial intent'? Who's the author?"

"We'll shortly find out. Hopefully someone of renown."

"And what about the physical situation?"

"That one's on you, CASCADE." He smiles darkly. "Luck and skill."

"Like a false flag operation?"

"Possibly -- but that would be text, I'm only interested in subtext. Our actions may be preordained, but we have interrupted something much larger than ourselves."

TOO LATE NOW. STAND OR DIE.

"I think it's... ceremonial."

"It does have the unhurried, heavyweight cadence of a ceremony, yes. Good note."

Alternative wording

"It does have the unhurried, heavyweight cadence of a ceremony, yes. Good note. Finally."

"I think it is a coincidence, yes."

"Interesting. With this assignment, as with most things, I believe Coincidence was strangled in the crib by its young mother, Synchronicity. Remind me to debate that point with you later."

"..."

"I'll try and speak slower."

"I'm probably okay..." (Check your non-existent watch.)

"Somehow... we're going to get fucked."

An open door at the end of a long, silent corridor.

"The mill of History shudders."

"I agree, what is happening here has wide-reaching implications, far beyond us."

Wing it. This is just another school assignment you've underprepared for. Give him the Wilk weave, success rate 89%.

"They love their war criminals, that much is obvious."

"The Luzian fascists are undoubtedly hot for crimes against humanity." He waits for more.

"Trying to kill Reyes is the Opera's biggest swing in years. They don't expect us to survive."

"That much is obvious, we are the disposable errand boys and girls, yes."

No satisfaction registers on his features. He wants more.

"..."

"I was hoping for a close read, CASCADE. What I am getting instead is a middle-distant skim."

"Hold on, I'm not finished."

"Okay."

Your mind makes one last desperate lunge for meaning:

"It's pretty high up. The shrine."

"Fucking hell, CASCADE."

"The concept's getting... remote. Can't I just write this up in a report later?'

"M.I.H.O. doesn't use in-theatre reports to preserve operational security. Or writing implements, for that matter."

"I know it's intimidating to find yourself before the director. Maybe that has something to do with..." He gestures limply at you. "... this."

"Alright, fine, I've got nothing. Hit me."

"I've given my appraisal. I'd like to hear yours now."

"Sometimes the obvious thing is also the most central, wouldn't you agree?"

"Trying to wang Reyes is the Opera's biggest swing in years. They don't expect us to survive."

"A lot of important things seem to happen here. It's got weight, you know?"

"'I think the gravitas is obvious, yes."

"There's lots of trees, lots of statues... all over, in fact."

"Everywhere you turn. Indeed." He waits for more.

"Just tell me. I'm going to miss something anyway."

"Not even an attempt?" He looks genuinely disappointed.

"Sorry, man, PSEUDOPOD needs my help." [Leave.]

"How do you know?"

"Psychic link." (Tap your head.)

"Fascinating. It will be dead within the hour, mark my words."

"Because he's both barely sentient and far too sentient."

"Fascinating things are happening, if you know where to look, CASCADE..."

"No cryptonyms!"

"... And indeed how to look at them..."

"Ssshh!"

"... Concepts are evolving by the moment -- we must be keen of eye and keener of mind..."

"And you're meant to be in persona."

"Relax, CASCADE. I've finally perfected 'Psychogenic Translucency'. It disintegrates mere 'personas' on contact. I'm projecting it outward using sustained retro-cognition -- stand within a four foot radius of me and you're basically covered."

It's true -- no one is looking at him. Or you. For now, at least.

"No, HOLOCENE, I've tried Functional Invisibility, it never works."

"Setting aside our drastically different levels of experience when it comes to Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvres in general, 'Functional Invisibility' and Psychogenic Translucency are two completely different things."

"The former is little more than a glorified way of saying 'blend in' -- the latter is a sophisticated counter-counterintelligence technique."

"It ... appears to be working."

"I would hope so. If your assessment goes well, you will be taught the method, of course -- but that's for later."

"I assume you've noticed what's occurring here?" He gestures around the shrine, then looks at you pointedly.

"Noticed... what?"

"I mean, have you close read our situation accurately?"

Oh no. Here we go.

Reality itself is the text, and you the dyslexic third-grader. It lies before you, open for perusal, and yet utterly impenetrable.

"What? No, that's why I keep you around."

"You're aware that this is one of the skills M.I.H.O. is evaluating, yes?"

"I was just getting to it..."

"Would you like to get to it... now?"

"Oh yeah. The closest of reads." (Lie.)

"I'm sorry, CASCADE, but there's no kinder way to put it. So please. Show your work."

Füüüüüüüüüüüüüüüück off!

"Yes, of course." (Preemptively lie.)

"Wonderful. Then your close reading must have improved. Because when last I saw you, you were metatextually illiterate."

Füüüüüüüüüüüüüüüück this, no, boring.

"'Retro-cognition?'"

"Due to the relatively glacial speed of light, the image of 'You' that reaches someone's eye is necessarily in the past. In fact, it is not an image at all, but an afterimage -- and therefore highly susceptible to extrasensory interference."

"Actually, please disremember that until your assessment has concluded."

"They're so close and you... you look so ridiculous."

"I simply do not look, CASCADE, that's the point of translucency."

Your enemies are so close to you they can hear you breathing, let along talking.

"We don't know each other."

"You seem to have the situation well in hand." [Leave.]

"I am reading it unputdownably."

"Won't be long now, CASCADE. The air frequency is shifting. Alternate timelines erupt before our minds."

"I, uh... debriefed the Small Controller."

Your former double stiffens.

"Did he capitulate? Or was he a fanatic to the end?"

"Well... he said he was you. And that you... were still the Small Controller."

"Of course. Of course! One life is merely the compliment of the other, of course that's his final play."

"You weren't taken in, I presume, CASCADE?" He looks at you, both eyebrows raised.

Asked as if the question scared him.

"No way. The old team are back together, stronger than ever."

"Heartening to hear. It would be cosmically sad for us to get this close and have it flicker to nothing."

He looks beyond you for a slow moment.

You'd say 'eerie'. An eerie moment.

"In case you need me to say it straight, CASCADE -- I am anti-compromised in both role and person. I am completely and utterly myself."

Better for everyone that you just take him at his word. The alternative... well, there's a recently vacated room at the bottom of a silo, if you're interested.

You have more pressing things to worry about than this. Better for the assignment that you just believe him and move on.

"Uh, well, you know, maybe a little..."

"I don't blame you. He took me all the way in for five whole years." He looks past you. "I feel for him, somehow. Who's going to notice when we leave the party? Who'll remember what we brought along?"

"Fanatic to the end, I would say." (Eye him suspiciously.)

"Out with it... What lies has he spun within the narrows of your mind?"

"He said I'd extracted the wrong one. That he was HOLOCENE."

"Hold on... what assessment?"

"Your M.I.H.O. assessment, of course. For this assignment, you're a special asset, liminal class. Professional future on the line."

Sounds like school. Fück school.

"I did not sign up for that."

"Yes, you absolutely did." He shakes his head and looks at the ground.

"Attempting to renegotiate terms mid-assignment... very 'negative-tier' attitude, CASCADE. Disappointing."

"Okay, then you're also on assessment for the Opera."

"But per our agreement, I don't work for the Opera. You do work for M.I.H.O." He shakes his head and looks at the ground.

"Our lives are on the line here, man."

"Then I trust you'll give it your all."

"What is this you're wearing?"

"My proto-persona. I've selected 'Atrocity-Curious Tourist' for today's assignment."

His yellow plastic visor sears in the sunlight.

"'Proto' persona?"

"Yes. I'll be deploying full Psychogenic Translucency once our target arrives."

"Where did you even buy all this?"

"At the Gravidade hypermall in Lower Viudas. It's open 24/7. I went at 3 a.m. last night, very few people around."

"The visor is very luminous."

"Luminous and open to reconsidering obvious war crimes." He nods.

"Verdict on the New Sick Crew?"

"I would say..." He glances upwards and narrows his eyes. "... Conceptually intriguing. Operationally dire."

"You left me very little choice since you wouldn't work with anyone from the crew."

"I'm being shockingly lenient, considering you managed to bring along half of TAXMAN's brain inside the body of a young girl."

"The potential for treachery with the old crew is such, you might as well have brought along the Small Controller." He chuckles to himself.

Inside the Containment Vessel, the entity protests. You have brought along the Small Controller.

Do not tell him.

Inside the Entity Containment Vessel, a mass stirs.

"PSEUDOPOD is a little weird, but I trust myself."

"The Existential Threat has yet to speak a single word. I think you broke it."

"It was like that when I found it." (Lie.)

"Dubious."

"All things considered, this is an improvement on his previous condition."

"Troubling."

"The Existential Threat is adrift in-theatre. It looks like an elongated toddler."

"He'll come through."

"Colour me dubious. He's CASCADE with the serial numbers filed off."

"I did think he'd be a little more... on it."

"Seems you've let yourself down." He smiles.

"CRYPTONYM TBD is a little rough around the edges, but she's loyal."

Alternative wording

"YOUNGBLOOD is a little rough around the edges, but she's loyal."

Alternative wording

"YO-YO is a little rough around the edges, but she's loyal."

"Even with TAXMAN smeared over her?"

"Tempo times two -- half the size, twice as good."

"Interesting hypothesis. Let's see if the assignment proves it out."

"Don't put it like that, please. No one's 'smeared'."

"Half this Crew is exactly that, CASCADE. It's you, me, and a couple of conceptually distressing smears."

"KALEIDOSCOPE is a professional operant!"

"The man's wearing a pink hoodie emblazoned with a children's entertainer."

Oh god, he's wearing merch in-theatre.

"That's Ultra Violeta. Stadium-tier popstar."

"I'm aware. Female popstars are primarily aimed at children and sexually defunct middle-aged men."

"I wonder where that leaves our new ally."

"You also look ridiculous, by the way."

"Yes, but this is a cover. His seemed disturbingly earnest."

"Not to mention he's betrayed one agency already. Or he hasn't, and you're getting laughably played, CASCADE. Lose lose, in my directorial opinion."

"Yeah... I suspect he moonlights as a professional perv."

"Perverts can make very good operants. But I can't get over that insipid hoodie."

"Thanks for your input." (Go back.)

"M.I.H.O. will be taking your squad composition into account, too."

"We have some time to talk... if you want to talk."

"Are you sure you don't want to spend time with The Existential Threat?" He nods towards PSEUDOPOD.

"I'm sure. You and me, just like the old days." (Proceed.)

"Make the new days the old days... Okay, CASCADE. Let's try." He turns to you fully. "Also my eyes are burning pretty bad, apologies in advance."

Yet both are focused on yours, left one twitching off sunlight.

"You doing alright up here on the surface?"

"It's very wide, very bright, and we're very high up. All of which rattle my amygdala, but the assignment demands what it demands."

"Odds of success on this one -- what are we feeling?

"I think for the Operant Bureau, about 22%. For M.I.H.O., somewhere in the region of 48%."

You were hoping more around the 75 mark...

"But we're on the same assignment."

"Same assignment, yes." He smiles knowingly. "Different definitions of 'success.'"

"I think this setting was well-chosen, by the way. Counterintelligence and religion aren't far removed from each other. Both demand their acts of faith."

Your former double gazes around the shrine. The light wind seems to circle it, not move through it.

Beside you, HOLOCENE's hands search for pockets he doesn't have anymore.

"Does all this feel nostalgic to you, CASCADE?"

"A little, for some reason."

"That's just your 'sentimental fallacy' talking. Censor it, if you can."

'NOSTALGIA' IS MEMORY SICKNESS. A REANIMATED CORPSE WITH MAKE-UP PASTED ON ITS RIGORED FACE.

"How are you feeling about it?"

"I'm impervious to nostalgia. My memories lack the requisite distance."

Nothing can be missed if nothing is lost.

Büllshit! He's afraid of feeling things, which is different.

"But it does feel like I've been here already, like we've had this conversation before... I have a lot of issues with déjà vu, it's likely that."

"What kind of issues?"

"All my memories are too... on the surface, too present. Ice sheets of the mind." A pause, a scan of the horizon. "A lot of my life feels already lived in."

"How do you stand it?"

"I don't, mostly."

"My perma-déjà vu comes from my brain obsessively checking reality against itself -- an auto-defence against backwards sentimentality."

"Other people don't have those fortifications, leaving them wide open to 'nostalgia' -- the meaning they subconsciously, retroactively, psychedelically impose upon the world."

"And why would we do that?"

"As a survival mechanism. A pretty good one."

"There are a million inconsistencies in the world -- some intentional, most unintentional, every one a small deception: State propaganda, insincere song lyrics, misremembered parting words..."

Your own, maybe?

"Nostalgia is the 'happy pain haze' that cloaks these inconsistencies. And makes us think, 'I was having a good time back then, actually. Maybe the best time of my life'."

WILLFUL BOURGEOIS PSYCHOSIS.

"You're talking about the 'good old days'."

"Those treacherous motherfuckers. By the way, how many of these so called 'good' 'old' days do you suppose a typical life comprises?"

"It's different for everyone."

"Actually, the opposite. Using advanced pattern recognition and meta-emotional mapping, I drew up some calculations."

"The average person is allotted one thousand, seven hundred and sixteen 'good' 'old' days in their lifetime. Depending on how susceptible you are to nostalgia, you can distort this number almost indefinitely."

Absolute guff.

Something about this number strikes you as undeniable truth.

"That's more days than I would've guessed, honestly."

"Assuming a life span of 80 years, it's about 5% of them. Pretty generous of reality, usually it's not so giving."

"Addendum: 0-5 years is an eternal grey area -- possibly some 'good' 'old' days occur in there. But unless you remember those years with exact precision, like me, they don't emotionally count."

"Not a lot, is it?"

"As with anything... it depends what you do with them."

"How many full moons is that?"

"Roughly... fifty-six and a half. But let's not get witchcrafty, CASCADE. Too abstract."

"I hope these are our good old days, right now."

"You won't be able to tell, CASCADE, you're memoratively compromised. But the way I see it... I think there's a very good chance we're currently within them."

"At the same time, too, which doesn't always happen." His smile twitches.

"Impossible question."