"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."

"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."

Before you, a heavyset form flanked by two minions. His eyes are scattered into the insectoid ovals of his six-lensed spectacles, his lips pursed in irritation.

His voice a ten tonne weight.

Here we go. Actual boss cünt.

"Hold on, what is this?"

"The performance is over. You've done your part. Time to get off the stage."

(Nod to the body double.) "Why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't. You did. Just as you were directed to."

They were waiting for him, like they're waiting for you.

"And now you're in the care of the Weeping Eye."

His voice, the tonality. Like a shadow creeping up the wall of a memory.

The past again. This time worse.

Down the hill, your squadmates are being hustled onto the waiting tram amidst a small group of passengers.

Karolina...

Hair curtained across her face, trembling violently.

With fear, or maybe rage that the past should repeat itself so shamelessly.

There they go. Your people.

... 'constitutes the single greatest tactical catastrophe in the Operant Bureau's history'...

Thud thud thud. The secret police of your heart are kicking down doors again.

"Where are we going?"

"The airport."

You have been uncovered, maybe from the very beginning. All of this has come to zero.

"And from there?"

"There's an unlisted flight ready to take us to Cicatriz Frontera." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

The composed man moves quickly, rough hands across your body --

You can hear phlegm in the back of his throat as he disarms you.

'Two fucking guns, is she serious?'

... and a crunching sound underfoot as your homebrew death machine is unceremoniously destroyed.

Declawed. Prey.

"Exeunt. Curtain down. Look, the audience have already made for the exits..."

He takes one last glance around, then turns to his minions.

"Come on, then. If we miss this tram it'll be an hour before the next one."

He whispers something as he unceremoniously disarms you.

'She remembered me.'

You can hear phlegm in the back of his throat as he disarms you.

Declawed. Prey.

"That's great. I have a plane to catch."

"As it happens, we're booked on the same flight. Cicatriz Frontera. Unlisted." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

You are being strung up. All of this has come to zero.

"It's only me. I don't know any of those people."

"Two lost boys. The best you could do?"

Alternative wording

"A girl, little more than a child. And a lost boy. The best you could do?"

Alternative wording

"A girl, little more than a child. And one of Rustam's. The best you could do?"

Your heart rips. You feel warm, hard metal against this new fresh wound.

"They're the best you can find."

"Ouch. A damning admission." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

Nameless corpses, piled in flames. Faces turned toward each other.

"Are they hurt?"

"No, they're perfectly fine for the moment." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

"It's me you want. Leave them out of it."

"Too late. It was you who brought them into it." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

"You've got it all wrong. I've never seen those people before."

"'Post-historical materialism' at its most delirious. Words stand in for their opposites." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

THIS IS NOT OVER. YOU WILL MAKE HIM POST-HISTORICAL.

The assignment is lost. You no longer exist. Bite down on the poison. Turn the gun on yourself.

"I've done nothing wrong. I let him go."

"Please, I'm just here for the shrine... the history..."

"Take it in on the walk down." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

Alternative wording

"With a loaded gun. Cute." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

He's going to hurt you. He's going to hurt you for a long time.

Before you can move, a presence at your back, rough hands across your body --

Shoot him.

Shoot yourself.

Draw your gun.

"Okay, you win. Let's go."

"Unusually clear-eyed. Fine, fine." He makes a winding gesture with his hand.

HOLOCENE...

Glancing to you, meeting your eye, mouthing something.

'Courage, CASCADE.'

Too quick, too distant -- he disappears from your line of sight.

Definitely wasn't 'all will be forgiven'.

Ramses...

An easy gait, a smile just for himself. One last look at the view before he's ducked out of sight.

PSEUDOPOD...

... is intensely distracted by a butterfly wheeling around him. An unnerved goon ushers him forward.

Arguing with his captor about a non-existent pelota game he's going to be late for, committed hilt-deep to his cover.

Yana...

Nowhere to be seen. She must be on the tram already.

KALEIDOSCOPE...

Nowhere to be seen. He must be on the tram already.

"You're the Hundred Eyed Golem."

"And you're the operant called CASCADE. Nice to be on the same page." He nods. "Now, let's catch up with your friends."

"... Dante, is that you?"

"Uuuff. Mistaken twice over. Off to a poor start."

"My name is Tesoro Buendia. To my techno countrymen I'm the Director-General of the Weeping Eye. But I suspect you know me by a different name."

A HUNDRED EYES DILATE IN BLEEDING SOCKETS. THE BEAST STANDS BEFORE YOU. QUIVER OR CONQUER.

"We call you the Hundred-Eyed Golem."

"We'll get into that shortly. For now, let's catch up with your friends."

"I don't know you at all." (Lie.)

"Fine." He heaves a sigh. "Let's catch up with your friends, before this gets any more embarrassing."

The Hundred-Eyed Golem. One of the most feared and hated men in La Luz.

"I don't know you at all."

"You're the old prisoner... from the intercom."

"Mistaken on multiple levels, sorry to say. For one, the only prisoner I know of is you."

"Who are you?"

"You still don't know -- even now?"

"Am I supposed to?"

"I'd thought we're on the same level, professionally speaking." He sighs. "My mistake."

"You're with the Weeping Eye. That's all I've got."

"Not very much, I'm sorry to say." He sighs. "I hoped we'd be on the same level, professionally speaking."

(Shake your head.)

Hold on, could it really be...

(Nod to the body double.) "Why'd you wang him?"

"If I could just get past you there..."

"Not possible, I'm afraid. You're in the care of the Weeping Eye now."

Draw your gun.

"No amateur theatrics, please. You're in the care of the Weeping Eye now."

"You're the Hundred Eyed Golem."

"And you're the operant called CASCADE. Nice to be on the same page." He nods. "Now, let's catch up with your friends."

The old man you spared lies dead at his feet.

The man KALEIDOSCOPE had never seen before. The high conjuror.