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A typed page lies upside-down in a stack of similarly formatted files. The cover reads: 'Remote Viewing Testimonial N.28'.
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Remote viewing?
A fringe psychic art -- the ability to view an unseen place or thing, via a sense beyond the standard five.
A camera of the mind.
Is this... how HOLOCENE located you?
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What's the testimonial say?
It seems quite compelling. A 56-year-old woman was partnered with a trusted friend as a target selector.
She then described the site of a decade-old plane crash in great detail while her friend was physically present at the location, two thousand miles away. Unprompted, she also gave specific, accurate descriptions of the aviation accident itself.
What was the accident?
The testimony is light on cause, but it involved the collision of three separate aircraft.
16:42:17: START OF TRANSCRIPT - What is that? - Oh fuck, did we -- why's it turning? - Full power. [increase in ambient noise] - I gave it full power -- the speed -- [unintelligible] - Oh my god. Oh my god.
Three fucking planes?
Two passenger airliners and a military jet.
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- Exceeding bank angle. [increase in engine noise] - Exceeded -- not enough -- - Calm. Calm. - This is it. - Oh please god. Oh no. - I can't see. 16:44:54 END OF TRANSCRIPT
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That doesn't sound like an accident.
It doesn't really, no.
This is all nonsense.
That is no doubt what remote viewers want you to think.
As they watch you right now.
Can HOLOCENE remote view?
At the very least he is 'R.V. curious'.
How did he know I was back in town...
Your former double catches your eye, then looks down and pads the floor with his shoe.
"Good job, CASCADE. Getting the hang of it."
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Nah, he must've followed me... or something... tracker maybe...
Read the room.
This is not about cleaning. It is not even about this room.
It's about HOLOCENE, isn't it?
Of course. There is a room behind this one, locked within your former double's head.
Curtains twitch at the windows. Inside, stacks of dog-eared dream and memory contaminate each other.
How do I get in?
You'll need a key.
He wants you to find something he cannot give you. It is disguised, but not hidden. So probably something like...
... That piece of paper right there.
That? He could've just pointed it out.
Maybe he can't. Or believes he can't.
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The remote viewers! Spoon-bending vöyeurs!
This is not about cleaning. It is not even about this room. It is about that single slip of paper, and whatever is written upon it.
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A spontaneous inter-matter manifestation. (Squint.)
Maybe. Or maybe you just missed it.
Did he drop that when I wasn't looking?
Your former double has busied himself with a loose piece of thread on his dressing gown sleeve.
If he did, he moved fast.
That's a big room.
But it will only take a small key to open it.
He's lonely in there, I know it.
That's why you're pacing around in the dark outside, trying to get in.
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No one knows you're down here. Let's dwell on that for a moment.
"I'm never going to leave this place, am I?"
"Get a grip, CASCADE. You sound hysterical."
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The room is one of those massive, boring books you know you'll never finish. You haven't even made it past the first page.
"Do I have to read the whole room?" (Swing your arms limply and stamp your foot.)
"I don't know what you're on about, CASCADE, I just asked you to clean up. In fact, don't just clean -- be a vigilant operant and sweep."
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This is the mould's room now. Eviction notice incoming, effective immediately.
"You know you have a significant mould problem developing back there?"
"Very surface level reading, CASCADE. I'm embarrassed for you."
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Cosy little number he's got here, all things considered. Spacious, sparse -- quiet, too.
"So you're working from home now?"
"Diligently. I've been silo sufficient five years and counting."
You're in the basement's basement. One quick glance tells you all you need to know:
"This is a virgin's subterranean beat suite."
"'Beat suite'?"
"Yeah. The suite where you beat."
"Look harder, CASCADE. There is no pornographic material to be found in this room. Not an 'adult magazine' or 'explicit video disc' in sight."
"No 'secret stash'?"
"You sound disappointed. M.I.H.O. certainly is."
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"Ah. That's what the remote viewing is for."
"CASCADE. We both know 'workplace harassment' is a bourgeois construct. All the same... please stop."
"But a man with near perfect memory wouldn't need material, would he?"
Turn the sheet the right way up. [Leave.]
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It feels like a thousand eyes are on you as you step back.
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End of this branch