"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."

"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."

Alternative wording

"Long time, no speaky, Hershel."

Alternative wording

"Long time, no speaky, CASCADE."

The now-former prisoner turns to one side, then the other, as though taking the measure of his situation for the first time.

He keeps his hands loose, but he's coiled within, like a mauled animal.

"It seems I'm worth my weight in popstars."

Alternative wording

"It seems Poor Dante is worth his weight in popstars."

"Enough jokes. She just called you Facundo Reyes. Why?"

Alternative wording

"Cut the 'Poor Dante' stuff. She just called you Facundo Reyes. Why?"

"Because we are one and the same." He spreads his arms gently. "I'm one of great Facundo's famous, unfortunate body doubles."

He's... Lichgäng?

"What's your real name, then?"

"The exit papers I was promised say 'Dante Augustino'. But I think 'Poor Dante' is more appropriate."

Your mind rebels at the thought. Zero out this uncanny monster.

"You sure you're not one of those decaying imprints I've been hearing all about?"

"You have the monopoly on violence here, you get to believe whatever you choose. I just have to suffer it."

"We came from the same village, Facundo and I. Second cousins, hence the resemblance. We went through the early imprinting process together, the old process, pre-techno."

A barracks full of small boys, huddled together on a cold floor. An older man reads aloud from a worn and dogeared book. His words echo off the low, tin ceiling.

"But in the end, only Facundo's clay was malleable enough to become Anonimo." He sighs. "As for myself, I remain... well."

"When you said the ginkyo reminded you of the one from your school courtyard..."

"Yes, I meant that school."

In the golden shade, three boys pummel a fourth. The boy doesn't understand why he's being beaten. The others don't understand why they're beating him, only that they must.

"I was given a sacred role to play. I was made to step into death's path and read the lines prepared for Facundo."

"Instead, he'll be speaking the words meant for me."

"There's nothing sacred about what we do. We mostly just let people down."

"Life provides many opportunities, then tempts you with them."

Keep your gun close.

Enough preamble. You're here for one thing only.

You should be armed right now. This was a mistake.

"My movements have been controlled ever since I got here."

"Commiserations. Mine too."

"It's called a 'twist', Dante."

"A twist, sure. That's what it is."

"Me and fate are pretty cool. I just roll with it."

"Then I say bring it on. Let it descend."

"It's better that way."

"Is it?" He squints, seeming to think it over. "No, I don't believe so."

"So not only are are you betraying your boss, you're betraying your own cousin as well."

"Obviously my cherished playmate is no more, just an occasional shimmer behind cold eyes. But the family resemblance has proved useful for his purposes."

"We came from the same village, Facundo and I. Second cousins, hence the resemblance."

You mark the features. The imperious nose. The fleshy cheeks.

"But then Facundo became... what he is." He sighs. "As for myself, I remain... well."

"How many of you are there?"

"There have been others, but now there's just only little old me, the favourite."

"Seems like he didn't even notice you were gone."

"Oh, I'm sure he did. Whether he cared is another matter."

"You're full of it, 'Dante'. I don't believe you."

"It's time to play your role, Dante. The Lich. Tell me about him."

"Before the secret treaties can be consummated, a ritual must take place. A private ritual, known to very few. Facundo will be attending with only a token guard."

"If you're going to kill him, that will be your chance."

"Tell me more about this 'ritual'."

"Versions of it take place once a year across the Illuminated Empire. A time to honour our so-called deathless heroes, the warriors of Reunión."

The same 'heroes' who dropped Berrion bombs on the Tenantries of St. Ulwen.

"For example, at a certain shrine to war criminals."

"It's so 'cool' that you're acquainted with our culture. Very sophisticated and cosmopolitan of you."

PUT THIS FASCIST ROADER IN THE GROUND.

The index finger of your left hand twitches.

"The ritual will take place at the old shrine to Canopus. Tended faithfully by our small colony of expatriates, who remain in the Empire's light. You can reach it by aero-tram."

Place: Check.

"And it begins once the ginkyo's shed its leaves."

"As we've established, the shedding of the ginkyo's leaves has marked days of remembrance."

"And now, it will mark the start of Facundo's visit."

Time: Check.

The bones of the plot are set. Already you can feel muscle and sinew begin to weave themselves around the frame.

"The war criminals' shrine, after the ginkyo loses its leaves..."

"That's it. A few simple words and it's done. Disconcerting, how fast the big stuff occurs sometimes, isn't it."

The axis of the world inverts on half-muttered sentences.

Your stomach twists. The precipice opens.

"Now, is it too much to hope that you have some papers for me?"

"Now, I believe you have some papers for me?"

"So, that's it?"

"You've been busy."

"The Opera never tires."

"Seemingly so." He nods lightly to himself. "In any event, the shedding of the ginkyo's leaves has long marked days of remembrance."

"Maybe I'm just mad for trees."

"You could do much worse than the Luzian ginkyo." He nods lightly to himself. "For years, the shedding of its leaves has marked days of remembrance."

Say nothing.

"In any event, the shedding of the ginkyo's leaves has long marked days of remembrance."

"When will it happen?"

"My friend and saviour, that you already know."

The yellow tree. His favour.

"The ginkyo tree."

"That's right. For years, the shedding of its leaves has marked days of remembrance."

"I do?"

"Have you already forgotten the splendours of the old Luzian ginkyo? For years, the shedding of its leaves has marked days of remembrance."

"Have you still not acquainted yourself with the glories of the old Luzian ginkyo tree?"

"Yeah, I've seen it."

"And? Did it still have its leaves?"

Yellow tree. Yep, all leafed up.

"It did."

"Then you're in luck."

"One unique quality of Luzian ginkyos, wherever they are in the world, they lose their leaves at precisely the same time."

A gäng of ten million hearts beating as one.

"What's more, they lose them in spectacular fashion -- over the course of just a few hours. In the morning you might see them in their full glory, and by evening they'll be naked, a brilliant gown strewn about their feet."

"Sounds beautiful."

"It's incomparable. And one's appreciation for it only deepens the more you understand its significance..."

"The envoys of the first Illuminated Empire made sure to plant ginkyos in every territory they claimed -- thus, wherever the Empire's light touched, no matter how remote or seemingly inhospitable, there's a reminder of home."

"Sounds boring."

"Only for a minor soul alienated from the natural world and its treasures..."

"Sounds like it turns you on."

"Like the sexual act, it's an intensely spiritual experience if you've got any appreciation for it..."

"I don't recall."

"I think not, then. You wouldn't forget a sight like that."

Trees are trees. You do not notice trees. Boring.

"Yeah, look, I've had a lot on..."

"Always the way in new places, isn't it? The one thing that's worth seeing never seems to make the itinerary."

"What's this tree got to do with my task?"

"You should've done me that favour, then you would already know..."

"In Party Alley there's a certain tree. An old Luzian ginkyo. Are you familiar with its splendours?"

"War criminals, you mean."

"Naturally the notion of 'war crimes' is a modern liberal construct, trotted out as it suits the powers that be." His dirty coat flaps in the sea breeze. "Others would say killing is killing."

"Who am I to question your cultural practices?"

"In all our time together, I'd never taken you for a relativist. How sad." His dirty coat flaps in the sea breeze.

"Time and place. That's all I need."

"You don't like talking to me now? What, does my breath smell?" His body seems very small inside his dirty coat.

"Anything you want me to tell the Lich for you?"

"Yes, I think there is. Tell him..."

"Tell him the Third Fear isn't death. It's ourselves."

"The Third Fear? What are you talking about?"

Alternative wording

"What's that mean? You're saying Anonimo had it wrong?"

"Nothing, a private joke between techno-fascists. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"What about the girl? What's to become of her?"

He tries to conceal it, but something in his voice tells you he's more concerned about Ultra Violeta's fate than that of the Grand Lich.

"What concern is it of yours?"

"I'm not asking for myself, I'm asking for humanity."

"Going back to making thumping pop bangers, decimating the charts worldwide."

"Her terrible gift. To be the brightest star in the firmament." He nods, slowly. "Alright, then."

Cicatriz Frontera, La Luz. Fabricators from the Ministry of Cosmonautics present three custom spacesuits for inspection. A young publicist with severely angular hair scans them, then shakes her head and says, 'She'll want one in all purple'.

Why are you standing around for? Kill this ancient fool. That's what the script demands.

All around you, an invisible audience leans forwards in their seats.

The sea air bites. Salt stings your nostrils.

Your conspicuous lack of gun is seriously compromising the scene here.

"Back to pop-star prison, I'd say."

"La Fábrica never attempted to control what she produced." He shakes his head. "That was very clear."

"No idea. She's just a piece on the board to me."

"A petty soul to the very end. I pity you." He shakes his head.

"You're au fait with our techno mysteries, are you not? I assumed you'd understand. Ah, well."

"Nothing. Just a little techno mystery, to be pondered in your own time."

"Sure, I'll tell him."

Shoot him.

A nothing shot at point-blank range. Over before it ever started.

The muzzle twitches and flashes, but no sound reaches you for a whole second.

Just like the autumn fireworks you used to watch from your window as a child.

The old man falls awkwardly, contorting a leg beneath him as he slides into the water.

"Oh my god... oh no..." Her voice, suddenly small, still reaches you from the other end of the pier.

For a moment, his head bobs along the surface -- right eye a mass of viscera, singed by the bullet. His left gazes at the sky, almost lazily, as if waiting for an astronomical event.

"Sorry, Dante."

The old man's body rolls over in the water -- takes one last look in the direction of La Luz -- then slips below the dark surface.

A coastal wind whips through your hair. At the far end of the pier, KALEIDOSCOPE ushers Ultra Violeta onto the waiting boat.

Offer a prayer to Deneb.

Deneb, the light of second chances and dawn returns.

"To the star of new beginnings... let no borders hold him. Carry him o'er all."

You hear no answer. Maybe the star has turned on you for taking one of her own.

Deneb, Dante's personal favourite. Angel of new beginnings, second chances, and dawn returns...

... wait, returns?

Shoot him again.

You squeeze the trigger and send a second round into the old man's torso. He receives the bullet with nonchalance.

You catch the scent of iron on the breeze.

In the distance, a seabird squawks and takes flight.

"Stay down, old man. I'm serious."

The old man rolls over in the water, takes one last look in the direction of La Luz, then slips below the dark surface.

"The Opera never tires."

They will all learn this the hard way. One by one if necessary.

Say nothing.

You have no words for Poor Dante. And he has no more for you.

Slowly does it. He's an old man, his reaction speed is measured in minutes, not seconds.

Raise the gun, slowly.

Not that slow!

No, it's cooler like this.

An instant is all the old man needs. He darts to his right and takes off running.

Surprisingly fast.

Take a shot.

The crack of the gun skims across the shoreline. The shot lands nowhere near its mark.

Let him go.

You lose sight of him before you lose the sound. But soon that is gone too -- not even an outline remains.

I was trying not to scare him!

"I have nothing for you. But you can go."

Alternative wording

"I have nothing for you. But you can go." (Lie.)

"And get shot in the back?" He takes the papers and stuffs them into an inner pocket.

"I'd have no problem shooting you in the front."

"I don't doubt you."

He gazes up at the night sky and sniffs the air like a dog.

"And still no light. Poor Dante to the end." He turns to go, then stops.

"Hail the Illuminated."

Not a fleck of irony.

The old man's pace is almost leisurely as he dissolves into the night.

"'Free' was the deal. I'm keeping it. Go."

"Honourable, for a communist."

"I didn't even bring a gun. You're safe."

"Bold. Trusting. Possibly stupid. Perhaps all three at once."

"You've given me my life. I suppose I'm meant to be grateful."

"I said I'd get you out. You're out."

"Out of one prison and into a larger one."

"The Opera's not letting you live, I am. Choose gratitude."

"Forever in your debt, of course."

"I can still shoot you, if you prefer."

"Too late, you've already revealed yourself. No sticking the mask back on."

"Good luck." (Give him his exit papers.)