"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.

"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.

Pride. He wants you to know he saw you enter the shack, and he wants you to know what you saw was his work.

Pieces of the scene return to you in flashes:

The corners of the mouth vibrate pathetically against the rags that stuff it, gagging the scream in its throat.

A miasma of fear-chemicals fills the air already rank with piss and the iron-scent of blood.

"Yes. I saw your work in there."

"Oh you did? Verdict?"

"It was me that should have gotten it. Not my assets."

Alternative wording

"It was me that should have gotten it. Not Ignatz."

Alternative wording

"It was me that should have gotten it. Not Ignatz. Not Karolina."

Alternative wording

"It was me that should have gotten it. Not Karolina."

"Don't worry, we will all get our chance. Soon, more likely than not."

No attempt to deflect or deny. He takes it all into himself like a landslide.

The stakes have been established, the playing field set.

With every further second you stay talking to him you only risk further exposure.

"I have a few more things I want to talk to you about." (Go back.)

"Yes?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, I'm extremely healthy."

"As far as you know, at least."

His eyes peer through an inverse cascade of smoke.

"Sometimes I wish I also had some kind of fatal disease."

"Do you?"

His eyes suggest that he could give you one, if you really wanted it.

"Something to just blast me off the face of the earth, give me what I deserve."

"I'm afraid mine doesn't quite blast so much as wither. Not the right thing if you're going for a grand finale."

"The most salient aspect of it is this newfound attentiveness to death." He smiles.

"Yeah, what's it like?"

"So much for your sensibility."

"Then again... health itself is no guarantee of a long and prosperous existence. One moment this, then the next..." He snaps his fingers. "That."

In sync with the snap of his fingers, halfway across the world a young man in the midst of his birthday celebrations is stricken to the ground with an aneurysm.

"Not really digging this death talk, I've got a lot on my mind."

"Don't worry, I have no power over life and death... only a newfound affinity. A voyeur, as it were."

"Is that a threat? It sounds vaguely like a threat."

"Don't let it get you down, I'm sure the next person you address will be dying ."

"Thank you, I also have faith. We are in the right place to find them, the incurables like oneself..."

"As a matter of fact I am dying. How perceptive of you." (Lie.)

"I thought so..."

Pupils dilate. Vessels flush under a quickening heart rate.

The first genuine response you have elicited from him at all.

"Tell me... how will you be making your exit?"

"Filled with regret, probaby."

"That's a shame, with the amount of life you've lived."

"However, what I meant is, what will you be dying of?"

"A bullet to the head, probably."

"Ah... self-inflicted or without consent? Actually, no, don't tell me, it'll ruin it."

For a moment, the character disintegrates.

He savours it. Like a sommelier detecting notes of oak and cherry, he swirls the particular kind of death around his mouth.

"And tell me, do you find it has awakened the same... attentiveness?"

"I am practically one with death."

"Tell me, please -- what does it look like on me?"

"What does your death look like?"

"Yes. I spotted yours -- nascent, inchoate, bitter..."

"If you are likewise attuned, what are the attributes of mine? Look at me with a sympathetic stare and tell me what you see."

"I told you, I sensed nothing on you."

"Well. Perhaps not quite one with death, then. But that's alright."

"Not really."

"A shame. It's really quite something to feel this sense of... confraternity. One big family, you know."

"I don't really believe you're so attentive to death as you think."

"And yet, here we are. I saw you and asked if you were dying, and you confirmed it."

What was a lie upon utterance may now be a half-truth.

"Heart disease." (Lie.)

"Ah... I had thought, perhaps.. something more exotic. Given your age...."

"Cancer." (Lie.)

"Never said I was sick, I just think I'm going to die soon."

"Ah, yes, yes, that's why something was amiss. Like terminal illness... and yet unlike it."

"The way I do everything: remorselessly. And I'll be taking someone with me."

"Homicidal bravado. One way to do it."

SLOW DECAY IS FOR TEPID DEMOCRACIES. ZERO OUT LICH, THEN MARTYRDOM.

"The same way I made my entrance -- dimly aware of my own insignificance."

"Yes, I've found myself pondering those same dawnlight questions."

"You don't sound like you're dying."

"Well, it'll be a while before I actually expire, but it maybe not too long before I don't even know what a person is."

"Corticobasal Degeneration. Very rare for a man my age, you know."

Formal term for one of various conditions that up until a few decades ago were known collectively as dying of old age.

"What's that?"

"Hard to say. I've had it explained to me countless times, but the words seem to just, slip away, so much medical babble."

"Essentially all it means at this point is I can't divide numbers." He smiles.

"You can't... divide?"

"Even the most basic calculations elude me. Give me two numbers and I couldn't tell you which is larger."

"I have, however, become exceedingly good at spotting others who share my condition."

The last refuge of fading intellect. As it prepares to be snuffed out, it hones in on death as both condition and subject matter.

"At this point? And later?"

"Imbecility, paralysis, and death."

The breath of obsolescence whispers its song. A lullaby of bodily decay.

"Ouch."

"Sounds like a wild ride."

"Yes. Sadly, I won't be able to convey the full experience due to the aforementioned."

"So, same as everyone else, basically?"

"Yes. Only somewhat quicker." He smiles.

"Nah, this is ridiculous."

"Nothing about me strikes you as very convincing?"

"Nothing. Not one thing. I can see straight through you."

"Well. That's a shame. And yet here we are." His gaze is imperturbable.

He is daring you to doubt him further.

"In any case, it will be a while before I actually expire, but it maybe not too long before I don't even know what a person is."

There is something you can perceive through his layers, but the form is too opaque to make out.

"The suit. The suit is very convincing."

"Thank you. At least I have one saving grace." His gaze is imperturbable.

"The whole composed thing is very good, but it doesn't quite go with 'dying from rare disease'."

"Thank you. I will bear that in mind for my reincarnation." His gaze is imperturbable.

"You sound unaffected."

"You mean emotionally, or not yet exhibiting the signs of neurological decay?"

"Emotionally."

"So do you."

"I'm glad there's something that'll wipe me off the face of the earth."

"Are you?" His cool smile falters not one iota.

"Mine doesn't wipe so much as wither. Not quite the thing if you're looking to go out with a grande finale."

"I believe in no pity, no mercy. Especially with yourself."

"Do you?" His cool smile falters not one iota.

"Fair enough."

"Anyway, the dying -- my own, at least -- is still a bit abstract to me."

"All cried out, I'm afraid."

A different, gelatinous sheen coats the surface of his extruding eyes. Never tears.

Ducts atrophied millenia ago, tongue periodically flicking out to wet the orbs.

"How about neurologically?"

"Still at the whimsical symptoms stage. At some point -- no one can say when -- it will get very bad, very suddenly."

"For the moment all it means, essentially, is that I can't divide."

"Good. I wouldn't shed a tear if I was dying either."

"Ah, but you won't know until it happens, will you?"

"I will grant that at first the knowledge is somewhat abstract. Essentially all it means at this point is I can't divide numbers."

"And you're quite sure you're not?"

"Neurologically."

"Yes, well, I'm not at the drooling stage quite yet. Essentially all it means at this point is I can't divide numbers."

"Is it contagious?"

"Only to my direct descendants, were I to ever reproduce."

"You're lying. Come on, what do you really have?"

"Don't worry, it's utterly incomprehensible to me as well."

"What makes you think I'm dying?"

Alternative wording

"How did you know I was dying?"

Alternative wording

"What made you think I was dying?"

"Call it a sympathetic stare... A resonance with things similar to oneself."

His stare is packing all the sympathy of a mass-produced medical device.

Did he actually perceive something in you or is he just trying to scare you?

The smell of nearing death is all over you. Maybe not yours.

"Come on. There must be some kind of sign you look for?"

"Anyone can spot a limp or a colostomy bag. The observation I'm talking about requires a more subtle eye."

He seems bred for observation.

"For instance, just the other day I saw a little girl. Smiling, happy, to all appearances, healthy -- and yet I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was a fellow of mine."

"Was she?"

"Of course. She's dead now, I'm sure."

"And? What did she have?"

"Why, how would I know? I wasn't going to ask a child that, now, was I?"

Watching is what he does, it is what he is.

"Is this your thing, sniffing out other dying people?"

"I suppose you could say it's my thing. It's certainly a side thing, at any rate."

"Places like this are very good. Those with little time to live tend to congregate around shrines, churches... tram stations."

All of life's waiting rooms.

"Don't you feel it? The deep kinship with the world of the incurable?"

"I feel nothing."

"Nothing at all? Curious, and yet I saw you right away."

Now. Turn the Sympathetic Stare on him. Look into whatever he has that you have also.

"Yeah, no, I felt it too. Resonance. Crazy."

"I wonder what it is that we've both felt. Mysterious." He smokes and smiles, his eyebrows wag suggestively.

"You say you are not dying, and I believe you. But I feel such a natural resonance that it's almost hard to believe you do not belong to the same confraternity of the doomed..."

"I feel nothing."

"Nothing at all? Concerning. Perhaps you should have that examined, it might be a sign of something amiss..."

"Doomed, but not dying."

"Ah, yes, that would explain it."

"Yeah, no, I felt it too. Resonance. Crazy."

"I wonder what it is that we've both felt. Mysterious." He smokes and smiles, his eyebrows wag suggestively.

"Maybe what you're feeling is your own desperation to establish an emotional connection."

"Yes. Perhaps." He smokes, unfazed.

"Incidentally, you haven't really answered my question ... am I correct assuming that we are kin?"

"I don't believe you actually saw anything in me, you just took a wild guess."

"That's alright. I might be utterly delusional, magical thinking being an early sign of incoming neurological collapse." He laughs softly to himself.

"Let's talk about something else." (Go back.)

"Why not?" As he inhales again the ember races down the disappearing length of the cigarette.

Look at him with a sympathetic stare.

You try and muster the death-affinity your companion talks about and regard him: his imperturbable presence, his rhythmic cigarette puffs, looking for some hint as to the illness working away at him...

Suddenly it hits you in the face. Infinitely simpler and deadlier than terminal disease.

He's an asset.

More specifically, he is your enemies' asset.

Reexamine your enemy.

Once seen, it is obvious -- he's not just an asset. He's a high-level operant for the Weeping Eye.

Highly-trained. Blood under the fingernails. Unfamiliar with the cold of the freezer.

Another conclusion follows, half inference, half intuition...

The shack...

The composed man was here long before you, in the early morning. Working. And all the while he worked, the same imperturbable look rested on his features.

The corners of the mouth vibrate pathetically against the rags that stuff it, gagging the scream in its throat.

The day hasn't even begun, and already his hands are dripping with the blood of your sometime-asset.

Ignatz...

Karolina...

A hand roughly wipes away the vomit that coats your face. As it clears you see the face that was obscured in your dream.

It was him. You failed to recognize the voice earlier.

And he wore the same imperturbable smile as he forced his hand down Karolina's throat.

His hands are dripping with the blood of your asset.

It's an extinction level event for your crew if Karolina finds out he's here. You cannot let her see him.

He's going to meet Karo, I can't stop that...

Best case scenario, you lose control of your asset as she attempts some kind of ill conceived revenge attempt. Worst case scenario...

Your asset loses control over herself in ways no one can predict.

The spectacular in-theatre eruption of psychic capsules, a thousand months of nightmares unspooling in one instant.

Does he know who I am, too?

You look at your enemy for the answer, and a sardonic smile answers you.

He's known from the beginning.

And if you have been spotted -- so have your assets.

Does he know who I am, too?

If we've been caught, why is nothing happening to us?

Your mind flips through the possibilities.

It is happening. The pain just hasn't hit yet.

My crew is fucked, I've led them into a trap again...

Then extract yourself from the trap.

Breathe.

What am I supposed to do with this information?

What is even within your power to do with it?

ZERO OUT THE GRAND LICH OF TECHNO-FASCISM.

"So..." (Proceed.)

"Yes? You've been staring at me for some time with a most perceptive expression."

He knows, but he does not necessarily know you know. This smallest of advantages you can retain.

"I saw your work in the shack."

"You tortured my friend."

"Ah... you are better informed than we give you credit for, at any rate."

Your adversary's grudging acknowledgement is the greatest compliment you can receive.

"Nevermind."

"Has all this talk of death frightened you, is that it?"

"You're just so handsome."

"Are you sure that's the word you're looking for?" He smiles at you.

"How's things back in La Luz?"

"Fine, fine." He doesn't miss a beat.

No attempt to deflect or deny. He takes it all into himself like a landslide, generous and remorseless.

"Though I hear change might be coming, you know."

Say nothing.

He smiles and returns your silence and your level gaze.

A genius of pain.

It was staring me in the face. This is why I always get my friends killed...

It was staring me in the face. This is why I always get my friends wanged...

This makes no difference. Just another goon to zero out.

He's here in the same capacity I am.

You fix him with an expression meant to pierce his very soul, but he simply looks right back at you, unperturbed, calm. Composed.

"Yes?" A smile ripples through his still features.

"I feel like you're not being completely level with me."

"... Do you?" An eyebrow curls upward, slowly.

"Yes, I do."

He smiles and lets your words linger in the air, but doesn't follow up in any way.

"Yes, what is it?"

"There's more to you than meets the eye, 'dying man'."

"It's called neurodegenerative disease. But don't worry..."

"Soon it will be plainly visible."

Examine your enemy.

He tucks a strand of dank hair behind his ear and pulls softly on his cigarette.

"See you in theatre." [Leave.]

"We're already in it. And I do see you." He exhales smoke through his nose and turns away.

"Well, good luck." [Leave.]

"And you. I hope you also find what you're looking for." He smiles at you and releases a soft dragon of smoke from both nostrils.

Say nothing and move. [Leave.]

"Be seeing you." Smoke rises from his nostrils as he watches you go.

"Count your hours. I'll see you soon." [Leave.]

"I try not to. They say positivity is key with a condition like mine."

Shattering even the faintest confidentiality at the last moment. You are now exposed on every level possible.

"See you in-theatre." He nods after you.

"I'm not usually in favour of torture, but for you, I'll make an exception."

"Will you, now?" Unfazed.

"Today is your last day alive."

"Expedited! Wonderful."

"You sick fuck."

"How emotional. That won't do in theatre, you know. Makes one so... vulnerable."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

The man smiles at you and takes another drag of his cigarette.