CONTROLLER

The magic box hums its secret tune. In a dark Novessa sub-basement, your controller answers.

"She's your controller, isn't she? Of course you're in a delusional relationship with your controller. Of course."

Your controller's name... No... Ahahah...

Somewhere in subterranean Novessa, an Opera controller's nose twitches.

"The controller was already on the Opera's radar? You should have said something, Hershel, we could have exchanged secrets."

"Ignatz -- is this cat your controller?"

Your controller needs to know what's coming. She'll want to talk you through the assignment and your chosen squad.

Interesting... his controller must be far more frightening than a medical board executive.

"I'll let your controller handle that."

Your controller needs to know about this.

In a dark basement in Novessa, a female controller in her mid-thirties stifles an inexplicable urge to push a palm into her face.

"What's a 'Small Controller'?"

In a dark basement in Novessa, a female controller in her mid-thirties shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"I, uh... debriefed the Small Controller."

"Meaning you haven't told your controller? Excellent. Still... colour me intrigued.""

"Well... he said he was you. And that you... were still the Small Controller."

"Very good, CASCADE, let's play it like that. What silo? What bathroom surgery? What Small Controller?" He smiles to himself.

Pia mater: the thin, almost transparent final membrane protecting the brain. On top of which you found the small controller.

"Before you utter a word, be aware that anything you say in my presence, anything I hear, should be considered pre-intercepted by the Small Controller."

Her existence has been confirmed by your controller, among others, unless they're all in on it...

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

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.

ASSURE YOUR CONTROLLER YOU'VE 'GOT THIS'.

"Can you be my controller again?"

"Be my controller. I do secret, government tasks for you."

"I'm your controller..."

"I'm your controller, your boss, you do tasks for me."

There is only one. Melita, your controller.

He's appalled by your 'sentimental fallacy', and threatens to report you to your controller.

"I've always known money is bullshit. It just appears when I do things my controller likes."

Your controller mumbles something to herself as she dutifully prepares the assessment form.

"I don't think I've ever told this story, but when I was just starting with the Opera, there was another controller. An Old One, somewhat deranged. I liked to keep my distance from him."

"Very good, I'll make sure your controller is properly notified. Ah, it appears she has been. W."

A question your controller would surely second.

"Mmm. Reminds me of something my first controller told me -- 'All deception is self-deception'."

"Don't know what that is. Referring to your controller, I assume."

"Easy. Doubt your controller would want you going around talking about your assignment like some kind of dim schoolchild."

Nothing that agential. It spreads a little here, shrinks a little there. No mission objective. No controller. Just moisture and time.

"This is weird, but I think it might resemble my controller."

The Mycellial Controller.

"You were my controller, and when I needed you, you weren't there. Deliberately, incompetently… I couldn't care less what you think."

"The small controller wanged him really, I just finished him off."

"The small controller killed him really, I just finished him off."

Stop, stop, stop. This is getting phantasmagoric. Your controller is right where she belongs, in Novessa, five-thousand kilometres away.

All that remains is to return to Foto 24 and call your controller. Then the assignment can commence.