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"Hello again."
The copyeditor taps her red pen against the side of her face and stares at you unblinking.
A completely different person from her upstairs version.
"Here's what you were so desperate to see." She gestures around the room. "Verdict?"
Branch
Above you, a little girl holds up a snail for her father's inspection. Its eyestalks stretch toward him, inspecting the giant in return.
"Nice and cosy."
"An intimate setting, certainement. I think the two of us are going to get very close."
"Let me try something. Does this feel good?"
She runs her thumb over the pen, teasing its mechanical tip. Cold, crackling spikes of electricity run up and down your spine from focal points on your back.
Ten thousand needles across your skin.
You're wearing epidermal electrodes, contact points for a remote electroshock device. Sick.
"Electrodes, clever. Cleaner than a knife."
"There are conductors in the water, too." She grins. "You got a mouthful of it when you blacked out actually, I cleaned it out for you. Say thank you."
Explains those hideous rubber boots she's wearing.
"You've chosen protection over fashion. Weak. You let fear rule you."
Branch
"Not fear, foresight. You put it together upstairs and yet you still let me get you. Ma lapinette, it's almost like you wanted me to tie you up."
Branch
"Not fear, foresight. You put it together upstairs and yet you still let me get you. Ma lapinette, it's…"Not fear, foresight. Every piece a part of the plan. You get no points for putting it together after the…"What a silly thing to say.""Invasive, yes. Disgusting... I don't think so. More considerate, actually.""No. I just prefer people when they're floppy, compliant dolls."
A click beneath her thumb and a jolt of pain tears through your skin, sharp and sudden.
Didn't hurt us! We fucking love it, Herschen. We'll take all the Electro Bitch has.
"Feels good. Just like that. Keep doing it."
"Thanks for le consentement. Let's get right to it, then."
"I am an interrogatrix for L'Empire sans Territoire." She flicks the red pen toward you. "What are you?"
Branch
Summon a persona. Concede nothing, validate less. CASCADE can slip out behind the human-shaped facade.
Say nothing and she will know nothing.
Keep that electricity flowing -- this may be your best chance at augmentoid conversion.
Branch
"An interrogatrix? What are these words you're using, so lame."
"... 'Lame'?"
Grazed a nerve. The 'interrogatrix' doesn't care to be 'lame'.
"In both senses of the word. Very uncool and very ineffective."
"Now you're making me want to cry, lapinette."
She presses the pen against her own heart like a dagger, rotating it as she watches you writhe with the pain.
"But you look pretty lame when you writhe about like that."
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"Just an observation."
"Why have you tied me to a chair, why are you doing this?"
"Because you'd have drowned if I hadn't picked you up off the floor, ma lapinette. Keeps you upright."
DISREGARD THIS BANK CLERK AND HER ILLEGIBLE GLOBALIST TONGUES.
"But good question -- why do you think you're tied to a chair, draped in electrodes?"
"Because of my political leanings."
"That's a tedious answer, isn't it? I was hoping you'd say something more fun."
"Seems we're back to where we started." Her thumb dances over the red pen. "Who are you?"
"That's a tedious answer, isn't it? I was hoping you'd say something more fun.""Harder than you think, isn't it? Digging into an old wound. Or digging something out of it...""I do, actually. I hope you find the same of me.""You did indeed. However, that's not a hanging offence, or an electrocutable one... even though I was very…"How disappointing."
Branch
"You didn't like my poem very much."
"Harder than you think, isn't it? Digging into an old wound. Or digging something out of it..."
"I think you find me interesting."
"I do, actually. I hope you find the same of me."
"Because I peeled off your intercom plastic."
"You did indeed. However, that's not a hanging offence, or an electrocutable one... even though I was very much looking forward to it."
"Honestly... I have no idea."
"How disappointing."
"There's been a terrible mistake. I'm a sock trader from the People's Republics."
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"Ah, socks? I've heard that one before. The communist who deserted the factory to become a poet... it might be the most adorable cover I've ever seen."
"Poetry belongs to all classes."
"Chapeau, very in-character. That is precisely what I imagine a deluded ideologue would say! So -- let's test how good you really are. I'll start easy."
"How many tonnes of cotton did the Superbloc export last year?"
"Chapeau, very in-character. That is precisely what I imagine a deluded ideologue would say! So -- let's test…"Is that so?" Her eyes brighten. "The interrogation game leaves plenty.""Let me try something easier, then.""If you must stay in character then how about we see how good you really are? I'll start easy.""Cute. Let's see how good you really are, shall we? I'll start easy."
One hundred seventy-two thousand.
"One hundred seventy-two thousand."
"Hehe, right! What's the cuff length of your biggest sock model?"
Four inches.
"Four inches."
"How many different grades of cotton do you offer potential buyers?"
There are no 'grades', only colour and denier.
"Colour and denier are the only choices."
Branch
Her thumb hovers over the pen, taunting you.
Yes. Give it. Deserved.
"Please... I'm just a humble sockstress."
Click. Your body spasms, your joints strain. Microscopic sinews tear in your muscles.
"So, let me run my working theory by you..."
Click. Your body spasms, your joints strain. Microscopic sinews tear in your muscles.Her thumb hovers over the pen, taunting you.Branch 609Branch 613Branch 617Branch 625Click. Your body spasms, your joints strain. Microscopic sinews tear in your muscles.She looks down at you with a confident half smile.Branch 685Branch 719Branch 728Branch 746
"You're Opera, right?"
A depth charge at five fathoms, but your surface remains glass smooth.
"I let you talk to our prisoner because I thought he might be chattier with you than with me... and that you'd break more easily than him."
The situation is dire. An Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre could turn her own weapon against her.
Yes! Which manoeuvre?
The old Remembrancer designation was 'Fellow Traveller'. The contemporary one... 'Psycho-Mirror'.
THE REDISTRIBUTION OF PAIN.
Branch
"Slow down... let's get to know each other."
"Fine." She giggles. "I'll give you one question, what would you like to know?"
Alternative wording
"Ah bon, you're talking again. I'll give you one question, what would you like to know?"
The door cracked open -- pull a seam of worthwhile information through. Do not waste this opportunity on some personal frivolity.
Branch
"What type of socks are you wearing?"
Alternative wording
"Do you have a favourite poem?"
Alternative wording
"Are you prepared to feel the wrath of the Umbral Host?"
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"Naughty, I said 'one' question."
Click. Your body shatters.
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"I don't recall."
Alternative wording
"No, but my cover does. Something pathetic about mistaking the moonlight for snow, missing your home country... It's embarrassing to think about, really."
Alternative wording
"Heard a lot about them... have yet to see them."
Branch
You could have maintained your persona while asking something useful.
"Boring question. Make me want to..."
Click.
Branch
"Do you think I'm hot?"
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"Wiry frame, ringed eyes, general sense of bemusement. And your cheeks are beginning to hollow in a way which suggests despair rather than age."
"So... I'd have to say yes. I do find you hot. There is an emptiness to you, I'd like to see inside."
Branch
Seduction has proved a winning tactic in-theatre -- but never yet when employed by CASCADE.
Branch
"What's your first memory? Tell me about it."
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"Are you trying to be psychological?"
She smiles, caressing her pen.
Branch
She's unlikely to give away anything you can use... but she's clearly pleased by the question.
"Playing a game with my sister, in a land far away. We'd tell stories and add a little bit of make believe -- you'd win if the other couldn't work out which part wasn't real."
"Where are you from?"
Branch
"I bet you always won."
"Oh, no. She's very good, my sister. Lacks the ambition to use it though, sadly."
Branch
"Sounds like operant training."
"You think child's play sounds like 'training'? A valuable insight into the Operant Bureau, lapinette."
"Lame."
Click. Your body shatters.
"No more questions, thank you."
Branch
"Why has EMTERR imprisoned a Luzian government official?"
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"Because we want to have a strong hand, of course. Secret treaties require secret cards."
Branch
Good. She's confirmed what the prisoner told you. These 'secret treaties' are legitimate, and close.
Branch
"Why are you shocking Poor Dante in the scrotum?"
Alternative wording
"Why are you shocking Poor Dante in the scrotum?"
"I got bored of his nipples."
"Also, that was two questions."
Branch
"What's your favourite colour?"
"White."
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You should never have been let out of the freezer.
Branch
Freak!
"Very weird answer."
"Very silly question. Also it's not weird, it's unique."
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"Like paper. A blank document."
"Better blank than any of the so-called poetry that goes on upstairs."
"I was thinking more... white like a flag of surrender."
"Like snow."
"I suppose."
"Like my hair."
"I'd say more dirty blonde than white, ma lapinette. Very dirty indeed, at the moment."
"Changed my mind, don't care." (Back.)
"That's very hurtful. You shouldn't toy with people like that."
Click. Your body shatters.
Branch
"That's all." (Back.)
"Very good, I said one and you didn't try to push it. You're learning."
Fuck you, Electro Bitch! We don't learn shit!
The gäng demand answers -- what's her favourite colour?
Spread your legs.
You sink back in the chair and widen your thighs. Taking up more space. Cutting loose.
"Captivating." She glances down.
"Just getting comfortable. A modest recline."
"You are a strange one, aren't you?"
Branch
"You can keep looking, if you want."
"I wonder what it looks like when it vibrates?"
Click. Convulsions, a fresh mask of sweat.
Shrug.
"Just two girls hanging out." She shrugs back at you and adjusts her legs slightly too.
SNATCHES SPREAD ACROSS IDEOLOGICAL BORDERS!
Spread your legs, but only a little.
Your interrogator doesn't even notice. She's staring at your face, gently biting the thick end of her red pen.
A shrike above the thorn.
Branch
Think of something else.
Despite the summoned spectre of failure shrieking above your head, your thoughts turn to:
Melita.
Branch
What's she doing right now?
Impossible to say. She's very far away from you though. Of that, you are certain.
She is checking her hair in a darkened window.
It's raining outside, and yet she's preparing to go out...
Into a world beyond you, leaving her armour, the headset, dormant behind.
She takes a final look in the black window and for the death of a moment sees your face, or what she thinks of as your face, caught behind it. Far above her, rain darkens the concrete of Novessa.
"Where have you gone? Come back to me."
Click. Your muscles seize, your head careens.
Branch
She's going to meet someone...
Someone who isn't a ghost sealed within a phone line. Someone with a face.
I don't even know what her hair looks like.
It's black, with a few wisps of silver .
It doesn't matter. Her name is the conjuring magic. The name alone is enough to hold on to.
No images, no sound. Only static on a dead feed.
Melita isn't much help to me here.
So make it up as you go along, Operant.
Branch
Your controller.
The voice on the other end of the phone.
"I have nothing to say that does not pertain to socks."
Alternative wording
"Please, find me some ink, I'm lost without the written word."
Alternative wording
"Heed me, electric demoness -- I am the Ombre Hombre!"
Branch
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"You don't know shit about socks."
Branch
"One more question on that... how does a sock trader end up getting shot in the heart?"
A memento from the protests in 81. The bullet by your heart, the one that could move an inch and kill you.
''Gunshot victim D, long-range penetration. Anterior left chest entry wound w/ surrounding burning stain. No exit. Extraction impossible without death.'
She was scouring your body while you were out.
Branch
"Certain weaves come at a very high price."
"Of course." She gestures at you. "Obviously a highly dangerous profession, the sock business."
"I hope the bullet isn't making the electricity worse on you. Very tough on the chest cavity."
Branch
Click. A fresh flare of agony rattles along your bones. Your mouth so wide that it tears your lips.
You smell smoke and burning.
No one will find your body down here. The water will cover you up.
Sear off the flesh! Replace it with static, and soon... METAL!
"Who. Are. You?"
She's about to start machine-gunning questions.
You can do this. You just need more pain, pain will heal.
Last chance to brace yourself.
Die to electricity. Awaken as metal.
You once heard an old hand say that the Superbloc is short of many things -- transistors, cathode ray tubes, silicon wafers -- but it's never been short of brave idiots.
Branch
... MÖMMIES?
Branch
Maintain persona, full commitment to the role.
Hold your mask firm and remember your lines.
Branch
"I'm a sock trader from the Superbloc. I'm afraid there's been a terrible mistake."
"No, you are not!" She stamps her foot and makes a little splash beneath her.
Her thumb hovers over the pen. She hesitates, then snarls.
"Pardon, pardon. It's been a tiring day, lapinette! Two missing negotiators, one found operant..."
EMTERR's lost track of two negotiators? Very good to know...
"What was that about missing negotiators?"
"Shhh."
Branch
She stares at you, lips parted, eyes alight. Her thumb roving gently over the pen.
You hear the metal rattling in its case -- you feel tiny sparks leaping over your skin -- almost familiar now.
PORTOFIRO 91: Network DISSOLVED. 5 Assets and 1 Operant LOST. CASCADE: EXTRACTED. Competency rating: INDETERMINATE. Loyalty rating: INDETERMINATE.
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"What is your name?"
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Give her nothing, operant!
"I have no self, I am only a receptacle for pain."
"Do you have any affiliations outside the Operant Bureau?"
Strange question...
"I was bonded to you in the darkness. We are affiliated."
"What makes someone a friend?"
"You should know, we held each other."
"Are you currently on assignment in-theatre?"
Branch
Here you can tell the truth. Confuse her.
Spit at her.
"That face under your mask, is that your true face?"
"Peel off my skin, find out for yourself."
Branch
"Why did you peel the plastic off my intercom?"
Felt good.
"It's what you would have wanted to do."
"Do you really believe the things you say?"
"I'm barely even listening to myself."
"Do you find me attractive?"
Branch
Yes. Wet. More.
"You can give me the suffering I crave."
"What does the Opera want with the prisoner?"
Branch
Don't let her know how little the Opera knew about this.
"I wanted a glory hole, luckily I found you instead."
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"That was... unimpressive. Even for the Opera." She clicks her tongue three times.
Each one sends a pang of fear through your mind, too similar to the sound of the pen.
Intentionally similar.
"Ma pauvre lapinette... You didn't do a very good job there, did you?"
"Kill me, it's what I deserve."
"I can think of a thousand things more fun to do with your body than watch it decompose. But I have to let you go... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
A star with no shrine.
"I can think of a thousand things more fun to do with your body than watch it decompose. But I have to let…"Silly thing. I'm flesh and blood, just like you. But I don't get to see any more of yours just yet...…"If only, lapinette, if only. Unfortunately for us, someone has intervened on your behalf. Your very own…"Oh, I love to hear you say that. But it isn't true... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal…"I could make you talk eventually, you know. But someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star.""I could break you eventually, you know. But someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star.""But I'm not being given the opportunity to practise... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal…
Melita?
YOU ARE FOREVER CRADLED IN THE TEN THOUSAND LIMBS OF THE PARTY.
"Who?"
"Toute chose qui existe en dehors de l'empire est une chose sans valeur." She exhales. "Goodbye."
Alternative wording
"Toute chose qui existe en dehors de l'empire est une chose sans valeur." She exhales. "Goodbye, Hershel."
Click. The world drops you like an old toy.
Branch
"I have powerful friends, interrogatrix. You and your pen better watch out."
Say nothing.
"Wang me, it's what I deserve."
"I've known you're an augmentoid all along, electric conductress."
"Silly thing. I'm flesh and blood, just like you. But I don't get to see any more of yours just yet... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
"That was round one. Now it's seconds out for round two."
"If only, lapinette, if only. Unfortunately for us, someone has intervened on your behalf. Your very own personal star."
"My life is in your hands. What will you do with it?"
"Oh, I love to hear you say that. But it isn't true... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
Say nothing.
"I could make you talk eventually, you know. But someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
"Untie me so I can go back to my fabric samples."
Alternative wording
"Excellent, time for me to return to my art then."
Alternative wording
"Quickly, unbind me. The Umbral Host summons me."
"I could break you eventually, you know. But someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
Branch
"Fuck!"
She growls with frustration, looks to the ceiling -- regains her painted-on smile from up there somewhere.
"I could go for hours, but unfortunately that's as far as we can go."
"Your interrogation skills need work, bitch."
"But I'm not being given the opportunity to practise... someone intervened on your behalf. Your own personal star."
She taps the pen gently against her lips, sending tiny little jolts through the conductors on your skin as she does.
Electric kisses.
"Not bad, not bad. But not particularly good either. And now we're out of time."
"My old asset thought he'd be useful to us."
"Useful how. Be specific."
"I don't know. Probably something to do with these negotiations. And Facundo Reyes."
"Why don't you ask this Opera you keep talking about?"
"I was conducting literary research into the nature of true despair."
Alternative wording
"I just wanted to give him these new waterproof socks, perfect test subject."
Alternative wording
"I know of no prisoner. Is a villain in need of correction?"
Say nothing.
"We don't know."
We have no idea!
"Only when you speak that adorable langue de l'empire."
"You know that I want you."
"Yes."
"I'm married to the written word."
Alternative wording
"I can't answer that without seeing feet."
Alternative wording
"I have eyes only for the Night."
Say nothing.
"I like the way you wield pain."
Yes, but we're not going to tell you that, electro bitch.
"Don't make me laugh."
"Almost never. I'm playing a part."
"Always."
"I only believe the things I scream."
"I know that you don't, I saw your soul."
Say nothing.
"So you'd go unsatisfied and crave your pleasures elsewhere."
"It felt good."
"I had the option."
"Psychopathic to leave it on in the first place."
"To piss you off."
Say nothing.
"I saw beneath your mask, there was only an echo."
She grits her teeth.
"You've been reading too much poetry."
"I don't wear masks; I'm a poet not a DJ."
Alternative wording
"They're my true feet in these socks and this weave is keeping them bone dry."
Alternative wording
"Good of you to act like you haven't noticed, I do seem to have misplaced my Shadow Veil."
"I have no true face. It's pasted onto the back of the mask."
"Hit me. It will be my true voice that screams."
Say nothing.
"I'm on a mission to get under your misleadingly unsexy skirt."
"Not currently. But I was meant to be."
She frowns, taken aback.
"Interesting. You weren't lying there, were you, lapinette?"
Shrug.
"Don't be dull."
"I'm out on my own."
"That... doesn't seem to be going very well for you."
"Told you, you have the wrong person."
"You're the interrogatrix, you tell me."
"Then I think... non. You weren't."
"I have written many plays, but none are currently under contract."
Alternative wording
"I told you, I'm not an actor. I do socks."
Alternative wording
"My duties are known only to the crescent moon."
Say nothing.
Yes and no. Just no, really. Kill yourself before she does.
"I don't know. I've lost so many."
"You can return to them and feel like nothing's changed..."
"Writing beautiful yet tragic letters to each other. Homoerotic undertones, published posthumously."
Alternative wording
"Similar taste in weave."
Alternative wording
"Willingness to fight crime and oil one another's latex."
"Shared pain."
Say nothing.
"I was a member of an anti-government student uprising in Mircea."
"I am loyal only to the quill."
Alternative wording
"The only bureaucracy I recognise puts socks on the feet of the People."
Alternative wording
"I know of no bureau, I am a knight of darkness."
"Yeah, your mother."
"I used to... I called them friends..."
Say nothing.
"You can call me 'baby'."
"Hershel."
"I go by the names of my sonnets."
Alternative wording
"I'm a sock trader, I can give you my official number..."
Alternative wording
"My true name is written in darkness, within the Umbral Host's secret crypt."
Say nothing.
Just tell her. Fuck it.
"You are a communist spy."
"I am a shadow."
Scream.
"I'm whatever you want me to be."
"Yes. Please let me go."
"No."
Say nothing.
"Join me in the Umbral Host's service. It does wonders for your mental health."
"Oh, stop it."
"My day was pretty bad too. Case of mistaken identity, some illegal torture."
"Oh, shut up."
"Come and sit on my lap, take a break."
"You are... impressive. In a way."
Branch
"I told you, I'm a poet."
"I am moonlight's chosen!"
You watch her through the eye holes in your mask, painfully aware that she seems to be to able to see them too.
"I can see you in there... just out of reach. Come to me."
Branch
"My name is Ms Esterman."
"No, it isn't. And I don't really need this little pen to draw the real one out of you."
You can feel her needling her way into your mind, poking at your thoughts, pushing her way inside. She grins, resurfacing with her prize.
"No, it isn't. And I don't really need this little pen to draw the real one out of you.""You're a fraud, a liar. And I don't really need this little pen to find out exactly what you're hiding.""You've fallen into a trap. And I don't really need this little pen to find out exactly what you're hiding."
"Ca... Cas... Cassandra? Cask... Ahhh. I found your cryptonym, didn't I?" Her eyes shine. "Hello, CASCADE."
"Well done. It's a cryptonym, it's meant to protect me."
She drops a shallow bow then stares at you, lips parted, eyes alight. Her thumb roving gently over the pen.
"Never heard of her."
"C'est fini."
Branch
"How did you do that?"
"It's a special trick of mine... I'm good at filling empty spaces."
Branch
Just like Duchess.
Branch
"I'm a wordsmith, an artiste..."
"You're a fraud, a liar. And I don't really need this little pen to find out exactly what you're hiding."
"I am moonlight's chosen..."
"You've fallen into a trap. And I don't really need this little pen to find out exactly what you're hiding."
"Hurt me. Hurt me properly."
Pain is your calling. Sanctuary. Owed it.
"Lapinette... you are gripping the wrong end of the knife."
Click.
Yes. Release. Sensation. Punishment.
"Again! Now!"
"You are violently uncooperative!" She smacks the pen against her thigh.
Her face resets, unnaturally fast.
"Pardon, pardon. It's been a tiring day, lapinette! Two missing negotiators, one found operant..."
Branch
"Punish me, come on."
Suffer. Break. Then die.
"You think you deserve this, don't you? Why? Tell me what you've done."
"I betrayed my friends..."
Click.
"Boo hoo. Don't care. Try something else."
"The Weeping Eye took down my network. Five years ago. Here, in Portofiro."
"Now we're getting somewhere."
Click.
"What was that for!"
"Fun."
Alternative wording
"Foreplay."
"Please, no more... No more..."
"I was too late to save Tempo."
"Tempo... ? So that's what you're up to."
TOTAL SELF CENSORSHIP.
UNPLUG THE LOUDSPEAKERS, BLACKEN THE DOSSIERS, EMPTY THE CITIES. ALL TRANSMISSION IS HEREBY SEVERED.
<NO SIGNAL>
"Fuck you! You think it's cool not to speak to me? I'll wipe that fucking look off your face, I'm telling you to speak, I command you to speak, L'Empire commands you to speak!"
THE PARTY RECOGNISES NO EMPIRE. THE STATE IS DARK.
"Non, non... pardon. It's been a tiring day, lapinette. Two missing negotiators, one found operant..."
EMTERR's lost track of two negotiators? Very good to know...
OF COURSE THE LIBERALS HAVE MISPLACED THEIR NEGOTIATORS. UNDISCIPLINED PLEASURE-SEEKERS ALL.
Branch
EMPTY ALL INTERNAL DOSSIERS, SEVER ALL SIGNALS. THE LOUDSPEAKERS WILL BLARE STATIC TO THE PEOPLE'S EARS.
"I can see what you're doing. Clearing your little mind frequencies, trying to broadcast empty sound. But that just makes this easier for me -- the absence is where I thrive."
You can feel her digging into your mind, childlike, thumping buttons, pulling wires...
Unplug all stations!
"Ohh, that's not going to work. I can see your wires, feel little sparks... I can rearrange all of this."
THE GORGON OF INTERNATIONAL CAPITAL HAS HER HANDS ON THE PEOPLE'S WIRES!
"Stop!"
"There you are." A squeal of victory.
INTERNAL DOCUMENTS ARE BEING UNREDACTED! BURN! SHRED! DENY!
Branch
Listen to the white noise.
"I can hear that, too. I can change your frequency..."
THE GORGON OF INTERNATIONAL CAPITAL HAS HER HANDS ON THE MIND-DIALS OF THE PEOPLE!
"Let's not fuck around. I'm Opera. You're EMTERR. What now?"
The woman blinks twice and adjusts her position.
Unsteadied her, at least.
"No more? Merde, I was enjoying that."
"I wasn't."
"C'est dommage."
Branch
"Gun? Knife? Pliers? Make it quick, make it furious."
"I don't get very excited when you answer me like this."
"Get on with it, cunt."
"I like that snarl of yours. If only we'd met under different circumstances."
"Someone pointed a gun at me and pulled the trigger."
"Oh, I get it now. Kind of like this." She points the red pen right at you.
Branch
"I got shot protesting against neo-liberals like you. I'll write a poem about it if you let me go."
"How cinematic."
"A remnant of the life before my shadow life."
"I should've guessed."
Branch
"One more question on that... how does a poet end up getting shot in the heart?"
"One more question on that... if you're made of shadow, how did you get shot in the heart?"
"Enough about fucking socks."
Branch
"You're as much a poet as I am."
Slanderous!
"I don't want to hear you say 'Umbral Host' one more time, understood?"
"We should get a drink after this."
She raises her eyebrows in surprise, then shows a curious smile.
"I would have thought all our industry peers are too busy for social calls, with Facundo's visit and all."
The prisoner was telling the truth...
"Don't look at me like that. We're all professionals, we know why we're here."
We do now!
"What do EMTERR want with the Minister of Mass Culture?
"Ah ah ah, it's you who's answering the questions here. And I thought we were talking about a date..."
"I can spare some time for you. How about it?"
"I..."
She blinks, flustered. Smiles.
"You're quite something."
"You haven't seen anything yet."
Branch
Just smile.
"Come on, let me get you out of this dank cellar."
Wait -- what are you doing? You don't know this woman. She might think you're some sort of pervert or, homosexual!
"I'm not a pervert!"
"That's a shame."
Branch
"I'm only homosexual when I feel like it."
"You're losing it already."
Hold up the Psycho-Mirror.
Ancient files hidden in the Remembrancer's Division speak of a bonding process, used in-theatre to braid one's fate with another.
Lure her to you.
You sing across the noumenal plane, listening for a response. Nothing. You lower your song to a whisper.
She emerges first as absence, a strange silence in the sea of psychic noise. Her song is an echo, a memory, the tolling of a bell deep underwater.
Grab her, hold her tight.
"What is this?" She blinks, shaking her head. "Arrête! Get off me!"
SILHOUETTE. That is the name they've given her.
Click. She screams with you.
It won't hold long. Quickly -- while you have her, find out what she's looking for.
"Bonjour, SILHOUETTE."
"How... could you possibly know..."
"What do you want with the prisoner?"
"Information, Reyes' visit... the talks..."
You feel the bond break -- she gasps with relief. But now you know the prisoner was telling the truth about Reyes.
"Got you, bitch."
"Feels good, doesn't it."
"Are you alright?"
"What do you want with me?"
"What do you... want with Facundo Reyes..."
Dive into the depths with her, pull her down.
Search the noumenal plane for her heart.
You scour the frequencies around you. A slow ballad with a curiously high cymbal in the room beyond, a jazz number from above. Neither are her. You listen harder.
Ancient files hidden in the Remembrancer's Division speak of a psychic technique -- a bonding process used to share pain. Connect with her, braid your suffering with her.
"I don't think my mother really loved me. How about you?"
"No, mine loved me very much. I had a wonderful childhood."
Branch
Say nothing, give her nothing.
Fold into yourself. Void your mind. Switch that former person off.
"Where are you?"
Nowhere.
You can feel her, trying to push her way into your mind, find the shapes you've emptied, fill them in.
She's very good. You're better.
"I would have thought the Opera would want to use this opportunity to find information about EMTERR's interest in Facundo Reyes' visit."
So the prisoner was telling the truth. And she has nothing. Stay quiet.
Keep your mouth shut.
"Aw, lapinette. I was sure that would get you talking. Back to the old favourite, then."
Branch
"So tell me, what do you want with him?"
"Aha, there you are!"
Idiot!
You try and hollow yourself out, but you feel claustrophobic within your own skull, a single thought pressing against your borders like a tumour:
I'm going to die.
Here. Now. Then the Opera will wipe all traces of you from this earth. Files and records turned to ash.
They'll do it if you succeed too, maybe even more gleefully.
No one will ever know you existed. You're going to die.
"Please... please don't kill me."
"You have a very dramatic imagination. I'm just hoping we can understand each other."
Suddenly you fear her like an animal fears fire.
Branch
"Please... please don't wang me."
I'm doing fine, don't need magic tricks.
Luck and skill then, operant.
Say nothing.
Not even responding to yourself now? Impressive.
Your right eye twitches.
"Thought so. I let you talk to our prisoner because I thought he might be chattier with you... and that you'd break more easily than him."
"I've been a bad, bad trader."
"This is getting you off, isn't it? Me too."
No, no, not again.
"I'm pretty fucking bored of talking about socks now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Her thumb hovers over the pen, taunting you.
"I live for socks. I huff cotton daily. Check my sinuses."
"Everyone gets the same quality, you capitalist dog."
"Now we're beginning to understand each other."
"Can you ask me that in your lame langue de l'Empire?"
"Ferme ta gueule!"
Branch
"I don't think you're a sock trader at all... and it doesn't sound like you do, either."
... At least one.
"We offer, like, all of them, then they choose the one they want."
"You could have guessed that one from ideological context. Of course the Superbloc produces only one grade."
Large...
"Large size."
"Do you know the answer?"
"One hundred seventy-two thousand." She frowns. "I do my homework."
"What's the cuff length of your biggest sock model?"
"I can tell the exact size of a woman's feet just from mouth feel. Want to try?"
She giggles, canines sharp over her tongue.
At least one...
"At least one."
"The sock game leaves little room for self expression."
"Is that so?" Her eyes brighten. "The interrogation game leaves plenty."
Say nothing.
"Let me try something easier, then."
"Ah, socks! I've heard that one before. Then what were you doing breaking into the basement of a magazine office?"
"I swore an oath to the People to pursue leads wherever they took me."
Branch
"I'm testing a new muck-resistant weave right now."
"If you must stay in character then how about we see how good you really are? I'll start easy."
"This is industrial espionage, I've come to steal your modern international styles."
"Cute. Let's see how good you really are, shall we? I'll start easy."
"I am the favoured of the Umbral Host. Cross me and incur their wrath."
"Excusez-moi? When I don't understand what you're saying, I'm just going to shock you."
She presses her finger lightly against the pen.
Sparks dance across the conductors on your back.
"Unfortunately for you, electricity doesn't conduct through shadow."
"Vraiment? Let's see."
Click. Your body spasms, your joints strain. Microscopic sinews tear in your muscles.
You're drooling.
Branch
"I don't think you're made of shadow."
"You understand so little of the night."
She rolls her eyes, sighs.
Branch
"You'll know your folly when the Umbral Host hears of this."
"'Umbral Host'?" She giggles. "Is that your controller?"
"Stop..."
Branch
"Knew you couldn't."
Branch
Click.
Branch
"The Umbral Host has passed judgment! They decree you're dressed like a substitute teacher."
"Prithee repeat that whole sentence in the Langue de l'Empire? I cannot understand your common tongue."
"Ferme ta gueule!"
"Umbral Host, hear me, strike down this villain where she stands."
She looks around theatrically, waiting for a strike that does not come.
"Oh dear... I don't think she's coming." She giggles. "Is that what you call your controller?"
"I am her consort and her paladin -- beware her umber majesty."
Branch
"I heed no controller."
Branch
"The Night is a generous mistress, you could share me if you please."
She giggles, canines sharp over her tongue.
"Maybe I'll pick over what's left of you."
"I'm a poet -- is this how you treat all your potential submitters?"
Alternative wording
"I'm a poet -- this editing process seems overly intensive."
Branch
"Using our cover as cover! How fun. Let's see how good you are, shall we?"
"Who won the Noscorrentes Prize for best original hexameter this year?"
Arthur Killingwire, for his poem Ode to a Worm on a Figleaf.
(Recite.) "Move, worm, the wriggler of the fig leaf, the dark soil's one..."
"Stop! Stop now. Not the whole thing. I had to hear him read it at the awards ceremony. I had to say it was good."
"What is meant by the term 'ekphrasis'?"
The description of a work of art as a literary device!
"A vivid description of a work of art embedded within a poem!"
"Eugh, right. Can you believe they have a word for that? Is writing the thing not enough."
Her smile changes, grows crueler.
"How does it make you feel when you read your poetry?"
Inadequate, weak, morose!
"I suffer greater harm from my own pen than you could inflict with yours."
"Ah, lapinette, you really do sound like one of them."
Branch
"I don't think you're a poet at all... and it doesn't sound like you do, either."
Her thumb hovers over the pen, taunting you.
Yes. Give it. Deserved.
"Please, give me that pen, I'll prove I can write..."
Click. Your body spasms, your joints strain. Microscopic sinews tear in your muscles.
"My literary talent is beyond your amateur perception."
"This is getting you off, isn't it? Me too."
Branch
No, no, not again.
Branch
"I'm getting sick of talking about poetry, now. Aren't you?"
"Yes."
She looks down at you with a confident half smile.
"I live for metaphor."
"It makes me long for the touch of a woman... a woman such as yourself..."
She giggles, canines sharp over her tongue.
Awesome. You're the best poet of all time. You read it to yourself aloud every morning.
"Magnificent. I even wring out my wastepaper to take shots of my own ink."
"No, that's not right at all. They all think they're terrible. And they're right. But then they still do it. Putain. Incroyable."
"Can you ask me that in your lame langue de l'Empire?"
"Ferme ta gueule!"
She raises the pen, pauses, smiles.
Onomatopoeia for a dog coughing up its tonsils.
"Canine halitosis, you novice."
"It's actually a literary device where you describe a piece of visual art in a written work." she grimaces. "If I have to know this shit then so do you."
"Hexameter? Some wizard, probably."
"This is not the time for puns, ma lapinette. They make me quite irate."
Trick question, hasn't been decided yet.
"A trick question! The vote is not yet cast -- and I shall be the winner."
"Désolé, lapinette, you already lost your chance. It went to some tedious old gnome named Arthur. I had to read it. I had to say it was good."
"Vraiment? Then what were you doing sloshing around in a damp basement?"
"Research. For a novel."
"About?"
A band of plucky young pipe fitters who must save a basement from a canal.
"Guerrilla plumbing technicians."
"Ahahaha! Vraiment? I'm sorry you only found our guest in there."
Click. Your body spasms, your skin stretched taut over straining joints and tormented muscle.
Branch
"Ask me in langue de l'empire so I can hear your silly accent again."
"Ferme ta gueule!"
"Women who dress like history teachers -- I'm in luck."
"This is a persona, ma lapinette. Sweet literary aspirant who makes up for lack of talent with abundance of enthusiasm..."
"Espionage."
"How lucky for you.
"There's no plot, it's more about the atmosphere."
"Perhaps I can help with the inspiration."
"Looking for love. Have I found it?"
"Moi? Go on then, what do you like about me."
"That not-quite langue de l'empire accent you're trying to pull off."
"I've always had a fondness for women who dress like history teachers."
"A persona, ma lapinette. Sweet literary aspirant who makes up for lack of talent with abundance of enthusiasm."
Branch
She sits hunched over her desk, fingers crawling over lines of poetry -- the artistic overspill of strangers' souls. She reads, and finds herself repulsed.
Branch
"The sadistic impulses are really doing it for me."
"Oh, good."
"I'm pretty desperate and you just happen to be here."
"You caught me -- I'm trying to steal unpublished manuscripts."
"Please, have you read the Noscorrentes? Even the published stuff isn't worth stealing."
"Fuck talk, more pain!"
Arm in arm, gäng, we can take this! Hook us to the painline!
"Oh ma lapinette, I might just fall in love with you. Is this what you want?"
Click. Your body spasms, your skin stretched taut over straining joints and tormented muscle.
"That all you got? Again!"
"I have as much as you can take."
Eyes gleaming, sexually charged.
Click.
Stare the pain down, cut it in half! Now gäng is twice the size!
"More. Empty the clip."
"Now now, ma lapinette, don't want you to slip away from me again -- I'll be lonely."
We spooked her. Can't pull the trigger.
Branch
"That was good."
"I love to play with a real professional."
Oh shit, she's actually going to do it. Scatter!
Click. Your joints crack, your body spasms. Sinews tear in your muscles.
The room spins, then shatters.
"Fuck..."
"Ma pauvre lapinette... You thought you could handle more?"
Click.
Branch
"Stop!"
"You changed your mind? Quel gâchis... I thought I was going to like you."
Say nothing.
"Don't put me to the test." Sparks crawl up your spine at her gentle caress of the pen.
Silence is not the path through. Information is a two-way mirror. Engage.
Hold the line. She gets nothing.
Branch
Still say nothing.
"I'm going to assume your silence just means 'yes' from now on, if that's okay with you."
Obvious bait, don't take it.
"It's not okay, actually. Because it doesn't."
"Understood." She smirks. "So let's start again. Who are you?"
There goes that approach.
Branch
Still say nothing.
"Fine. If you're going to be boring, at least you can writhe."
Click. Your nerve endings catch alight.
Branch
The silence plan has totally backfired! Clear this up, quick!
Fall back on the Opera's most battle-tested persona -- the sock trader. Your training should hold. Concede nothing, validate less.
"Barely felt it. Hit me again."
"D'accord."
Another click, another body-length tear.
Libations for the gäng.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Let's get to it."
"Is something meant to be happening?"
"Very amusing, for a little lapinette. Let's get to it, shall we? Cut the act."
Say nothing.
"Still? Enough prelude then. Let's move straight to l'interlude."
"Who are you?"
Fuck, fuck, scatter, gäng! Gnaw arms off, run!
"Please stop. Please."
"But we haven't even started. Let's get to it."
"Not fear, foresight. Every piece a part of the plan. You get no points for putting it together after the reveal."
"Get fucked."
"What a silly thing to say."
"Thanks, sounds disgusting. And invasive."
"Invasive, yes. Disgusting... I don't think so. More considerate, actually."
"Do you always have to knock people out before they'll let you touch them?"
"No. I just prefer people when they're floppy, compliant dolls."
"Oh yes, very."
"C'est dommage. Our romance will begin with pleasure and end in pain."
"Stop!"
"Oh, there'll be no instructions from you, ma lapinette."
Don't react, just stare her down.
"Good girl, you look very tough."
"What was that?"
"You're wearing epidermal electrodes -- which I control with this pen. There are conductors in the water, too. Aren't we clever?"
Branch
"You have special boots to protect yourself from your own trap. Loser."
Branch
"Nice."
"I'm very glad you think so."
Branch
Branch
Explains those hideous rubber boots she's wearing.
Branch
THE PEN REDACTS AND EXTRACTS! SICKENING DIALECTICAL PERVERSION.
"Little wet, honestly."
"Already? I've barely touched you."
"So this is the End of Poetry."
"A confession -- I've never really cared for poetry. Excessive sincerity makes me uneasy."
Apart from when it's her detainees talking.
You're beginning to suspect this woman has no copyediting experience whatsoever!
Say nothing.
"I don't think that approach will work very well, malheureusement."
"Where's my fucking hat?"
"It was a stupid hat."
All sound from the city above has evaporated. Like you were never in a city at all.
"Hello there."
The young woman taps a red pen against the side of her face and stares at you unblinking.