Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.

Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.

You're entering the abyssal zone now, and your thoughts darken accordingly.

This is a trap. It has to be.

No maps, no backup, no idea what's ahead. The perfect place for your enemies to throw you a 'surprise party'.

The thought itself seems to echo and rebound off the curved concrete.

But who's going to jump out of the cake?

Your mind races through the likely candidates.

It's obviously Hauzmann. The heartless man has set me up.

The null entity, working the angles, or perhaps hunting lesser operants for sport.

If this were a trap then he wouldn't have been so cagey about his client.

Fabricating a solid story would have been a more surefire way to get you down here.

He's jealous of my spy-powers. He doesn't want me to outshine him.

Alternative wording

He's jealous because I have it. He doesn't want me to outshine him.

He could've engineered this entire silo as an automated operant-mulching device. Tripwires, swinging blades, an inevitable furnace, a pile of your half-siblings down here, rotting in the dark.

CONVEYOR BELT LIQUIDATION. ADMIRABLE EFFICIENCY.

Don't forget why you're here. Who- or whatever this MIHO is still awaits you, all the way down...

The air grows cooler and mustier with each level you descend. There are many, many levels still to go.

He wants my heart, he always has.

Soon he'll find out what it's worth on the open market, without all those other troublesome organs getting in the way.

That doesn't feel right. Something tells me he's on the level.

It's possible your true enemy has yet to reveal himself.

Focus, operant. You're here for the records about Project AUTONOMÍA. Get in, get out.

There's also the matter of who- or whatever this MIHO is, waiting for you all the way down...

Eszti. She's always been jealous of my lead prowess.

This place is a cold, hollow cavern; incapable of love or pity. Just like her.

NO. SHE SUCCUMBED TO YOUR WILL.

Insubordinate traitor. Trying to kill her own lead.

Will the fact of your being lead be any comfort to you when your flesh begins to rot?

Insubordinate traitor. Trying to wang her own lead.

I should have needle-proofed myself.

The classic operant's lament. Too late.

Yeah, no way that old bitch could pull this off.

Eszti's territorial. Walking into her apartment was a trespass. She'd have no reason to be here.

This is an in-house job. Melita pulling strings by remote control.

You've finally gone too far off-script for your controller's liking. There'll be no 'freezer' for you this time, just lonely, anonymous death.

Doubtful. They've entrusted you with a hopeless assignment. Why set you up when they can just wait?

Will I get my unmarked star at least?

No, there will be no record, no funeral, no acknowledgement. Nothing left but to walk into your tomb with dignity.

I always knew I'd fall victim to a femme fatale.

You've fallen for the oldest trick in the controller's manual. Nothing left but to walk into your tomb with dignity.

Should've spied harder, I guess.

Too late now. Nothing left but to walk into your tomb with dignity.

Doesn't sound right. Melita's looking out for me.

It has to be the Weeping Eye, they've been on me since I got here.

A logical finale. But why would they come after you, of all people?

Take a breath. There's no reason the Luzians would be down here.

They know I'm just a cunt hair away from icing the Grand Lich.

Bold words coming from an operant walking down into a silo like a complete amateur.

It's because I have it. Must be!

They've orchestrated it all since the beginning.

And you're next in line. The jaws of techno-fascism preparing to clamp down on your throat at last.

No, that doesn't feel right...

I'm not alone. This place hides many secrets.

In a windowless room far below, a thing crawls out of its tank. Slick, grey skin over limbs too long. Webbed hands.

And on its back, a blowhole.

Dolphin-human hybrids?!

A half-animal like you. A being with the strength of a bodybuilder combined with the echo-locative powers of a cetacean.

I bet Renotel is in on it. Explains all the dolphin imagery.

The signs were there for those with eyes to see.

They're going to eat my eyes, aren't they?

They won't stop there. Your tongue, your cheeks, your supple and delicious thighs. All of them dolphin-human hybrid hors d'oeuvres.

They can hear your heart with ultrasound. Find it. Rip it out.

You once heard that fear makes meat spoil.

But what will be left for the main course?

Brains. It's going to blowhole through your mouth so hard your skull will split like a soft-boiled dippy egg.

I hope someone sends my body home to Melita.

If you're lucky the hybrid will shit you into an urn.

I look forward to meeting these baffling creatures.

They do too. They've been terribly lonely down here.

After all these years perhaps they've developed some notion of society, even religion. Open your mind to their theologies and they may accept you as their own.

We shall meet as kin.

You may yet be accepted as one of their own. So long as the half-animal inside of you has a touch of the oceanic.

Soon, they'll shamble out of the dark to greet you, flippers outstretched in blubbery welcome.

It will be fine. We'll keep each other company.

Rumour has it they were bred for space. The mind of a human with the insulating blubber and extended lung capacity of a dolphin. The perfect cosmonaut.

This is their unnatural habitat. They belong here.

A being with the strength of a bodybuilder combined with the echo-locative powers of a cetacean.

That's not real... is it?

Denial won't save you as you're being crushed by a being with the strength of a bodybuilder combined with the echo-locative powers of a cetacean.

This must be where Project OKEANOS was run -- a secretive EMTERR program, meant to breed dolphin-human hybrids.

Hang on, what?

The drivelings of an insane, spotted remembrancer come back to you -- secret EMTERR experiments, dolphin-human hybrids, their existence never confirmed nor disproven.

The darkness is doing strange things to my mind...

The void is the universe at its most raw. It contains no answers, only infinite, unanswerable questions.

Questions that some would attribute to life's meaning.

Will my actions here change anything?

Highly unlikely. History's over. All you get to do is putter about the margins.

Is death the end or just the beginning?

You doubt the former, you fear the latter.

Did I peak last year?

Totally. In an anonymous gallery in the depths of Satellite Facility B, where no one ever saw you. That was 'peak Hershel'.

Do I have it?

If you have to ask, you already know the answer.

Was it a mistake to come back?

Probably. But you had your chance to catch the tram out of town. Nothing left now but to see it through.

Is this all a simulation?

If it is, they won't tell you until it's over.

Where do taxes really go?

Into a private bank account accessible only by the highest echelon of Party officials. They're all hanging out on a beach somewhere in Capoblanco, toasting 'the People' while sipping drinks out of coconuts.

What comes after post-historical materialism?

Don't tell anyone, but it all just loops back around. You'll all be back to primitive metaphysics and babbling about hierarchies of angels.

Will I do well in the Final Society?

In the Final Society, there will be no 'you', just a continuous mass of humanity, forming a giant fist to execute Anonimo's great will.

So yes, but also no.

This has been very stimulating, but I should probably move on.

The cold bliss of the void has left you invigorated. There are no questions you cannot face, no doubts you cannot overcome.

These thoughts never occur to me, my mind is in a blank wall inside an empty building.

A perfect place for foul ideas to take up residence in the dark and small hours.