Some say the Philosophical Spy is simply the Manus Fati's finger puppet. Others call it a walking massive depressive episode. But one thing…

Some say the Philosophical Spy is simply the Manus Fati's finger puppet. Others call it a walking massive depressive episode. But one thing is certain:

Behind your tautologies and non-choices is a cold, dead centre. It gives off light, but no heat.

Choose or not, it's all the same.

This decision matters not one iota.

Not enough slots.

Maybe I should get out more...

This decision matters not one iota.

It is what it is.

... isn't it?

So true.

Mentally compromised ramblings, a persistent denial of your own agency... these are hallmarks of the Philosophical Spy class.

Frail attempts to find importance in what is an inherently meaningless and chaotic existence.

I can't be a Philosophical Spy. I am nothing, I barely exist.

An answer that only further cements your place. Don't you see?

Historical consciousness has atrophied. Humanity has forgotten how to order its own experience. Philosophical Spies are the vanguard of human devolution.

Then there's nothing to be done.

Exactly. Philosophical Spies are the shadow world's desolate automata, absolutely alienated from everything, especially their own actions.

The loss of a crew, the loss of a war, the loss of the future. From a sufficient distance these are indistinguishable.

Gäng calls bullshit! There's no bigger event than putting the crew back together.

Individualism, emotion, even existence dissipates across the full stretch of eternity.

YOU ARE BEING UNDERMINED FROM WITHIN. RESIST THE NIHILISTIC TENDENCY.

What does that make me?

The stars have the proper perspective. We must pull back.

My own actions are a mystery to me. As are everyone else's.

Whatever inborn need guided Paleolithic humanity to seek the warmth of other bodies utterly vanished in you. Your beliefs belong not to men and women, but to a cindered rock spinning lifelessly in the void.

This isn't right, I still believe in my choices...

What you do can hardly be called a choice. Your acts of generosity and cruelty are equally absurd. You are not alive because you've never been born.

That's the smart one, right?

It's guided by a logic that drowns all else in a sea of anti-serotonin. If that's what passes for 'smart', then sure.

How did it come to this?

Can you be more specific?

Ambiguity is one of your usual comforts, along with mentally compromised ramblings and a persistent denial of your own agency. All hallmarks of the Philosophical Spy class, nonetheless.