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Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	After nearly two hundred years, Abu Ail Light, now easily considered a 'historical building', has received its most significant renovation ever. Significant trouble has been gone to in order to make a tolerable workplace out of an eerie stone and concrete cube, styled by French occupation, painted over by the dusty and rotted reminders of six men who once lived, stranded on a barren rock in the middle of the dreary Red Sea, a hundred miles from civilization.     To limited effect. The illegally modified GDF VTOL can't stay. Returning it was more difficult than flying it out here. Everything brought to the island had to be done through a single transportation point that isn't even a Warpgate; thus fit through a single overgrown door. The security level of this operation is so astronomically high that the mastermind behind the proposal can't afford to expand the number of people who know. So, as far as 'Forward Operating Bases' go, Abu Ail is distinctly half-baked.     With the dust and salt residue scoured out, the interior feels somehow both cheap and corporately sterile, in a way that is out-of-date even in the twentieth century. The acoustics of several stone boxes connected together are unpleasantly museum-like. Simple shutters have been installed in the window arches, more to keep out saltwater and wind than any hypothetically prying eyes.     The ancient diesel generator has been disassembled-- or rather, cut into sixteenths for transport-- and replaced with modern hydrogen still and cable line one quarter its size, so now the faux gas lamps turn on. The fridge runs, because the old one was thrown out to sea, as does the coffee maker and the other appliances, though the kitchen is mostly stockpiled with MREs and water filters with packed drink mixes. The mattresses in the cots are now bedrolls and military grade sleeping bags. A considerable amount of medical equipment has already been hauled into one of the bunk rooms to make it an impromptu infirmary. The walkway to the light tower itself is enclosed in a steel frame and plexiglass arch tunnel, and the computer room has been swept out and replaced fully-- LSCC stock rather than local, which Lilian wouldn't trust to be secure.     The radio mast now runs constant weather and condition reports. It doesn't get television or internet; the desk TV runs off an SSD with downloaded slop, and the two working laptops are fresh installs. It isn't reassuring to see that the tower also monitors air 'traffic', and has multiple different automatic alarms; a similar, if stripped-down package, to what's installed in the 'Dragon's Garden', in fact. The couple of gun sentries are donated from the Ural people, restored by the same unknown hand as the VTOL, and likely there for peace of mind only. The 'front desk', if it can be called one, having a walk-in closet-sized, military police-grade 'armoury', maybe isn't.     Anything else is someone else's inclusion. Considering the probe will take weeks, or even months to fully research, before it can be disassembled safely and moved to the Scientific Computing Center itself, Lilian doesn't really mind whatever inclusions people might think are necessary to work or live here. But no wards. No magical protection of any kind; that's a rule. She hasn't even laid her own, after all.     As for the Voyager itself, it's nearly as you left it; only moved into what passes for the 'yard', secured with cable lines anchored into the rock, and surrounded by the archetypical 'science bubble' ribbed tent; more to keep it from falling or damaged by weather than anything else.
Lilian Rook	The whole setup still has the lingering smell of bleach and disinfectant, used in slightly too-copious quantity, tinged with sea salt until one would inaccurately describe it as 'saline'. Lashed down pallets of silver-packaged necessities to be broken open in case of emergency make it all seem like a bunker, and that's before getting to the electromagnetic keycard locks installed on the outside doors, and the one to the largest room; previously a commons area that has since been converted to an indoor lab, freshly rendered windowless by steel inserts and recipient of an air filtration system, standing out as the only thing that must have taken Lilian individual time and labour to assemble.     The leap in technology is jarring where it's present and invisible where it isn't. Rather than settle for atmospherically appropriate replacements that'd do the same thing, Lilian has automatically defaulted to installing whatever seemed 'the highest quality'. The kitchen is filled with phantom space where bulkier appliances once existed, where a touchscreen memopad is slapped to the same wall as an ancient scenery calendar. The switches for the window shutters are hostile splashes of gunmetal and LED glow between wrought iron and glass lamps. The ghostly green glow in the terminal room casts shadows off obsolete nickel-treated water pumps.     The generator room is host to shelves now filled with antique plates and mugs, below photo frames that face the wall and above a dusty baseball and rolled up sajjada, all bathing in the scent of ozone and the quiet electric hum of the electrolysis column, Lilian didn't have the heart to throw them out.     The 'project lead' herself has, after a long bout of indecision about what is actually the appropriate thing to wear, begrudgingly arrived in her LSCC uniform, after deciding that military attire would both be misrepresenting the corps and also snubbing Laplace at the same time. Either out of propriety or spite, however, she's thrown an honest to god lab coat (for its intended purpose, albeit) overtop and drawn it in like a robe with her usual double-waist tactical harness. Having been warned by Matilda last time, a gas mask is secured to one side, and her hair is already tied up to theoretically put it on, hough she insisted on a slutty chignon instead of a proper bun.
Foundation Scions	Conveniently, the expensive chrome, glass, and blinking-light specialty machinery used by Laplace's very-own Artificial Somnambulism ward, is sized and designed to be brought place to place through doorways, on squeaky rollers, with meters and meters of adjustable sealed cabling. It's rare that every ward-room would need specific sensors to detect faint or unclear EMF off-put, or to write-to-disc for high-fidelity research and archival rather than medical or employee reference, and it's rare to have to split a feed into a dozen dome-shaped Artificial Somnambulism helmets for a parallel group to utilize, and so, it's incredibly fortunate that responsible purchase of mobile devices to cut down on required units, makes the off-site setup possible at all.     Around the bubble-tent, a meticulously-ordered spider web of cables connect said sensors and machinery together, tagged with bright zip-ties less to avoid blindness to tripping hazards, and more because the attending researcher, Mesmer Jr., will not abide a disorderly installation. What each individual machine does, is not explained anywhere but her research proposal and the instruction she's given to a buzzing herd of subordinate technicians she's since shooed off, and, likely, on the clip-board she clutches to her chest while triple-checking the esoteric array of humming mirror-disk encoders.     No thought has been put in, by her, into establishing a comfortable area inside for anyone utilizing the Artificial Somnambulism helmets to rest and wait, while busy in what amounts to a simulation, save for clearing it out to hold a group if need be, and using the carts that brought cables in as makeshift shelves for the bulky helmets. One machine-stand in the corner hosts a CRT screen, mounted as a control-panel console, for outside observation of the processed signal's information, as well as a series of oscilloscope readouts- it's a makeshift throne of research information that Mesmer would be remiss to allow anyone else behind, and where she'll stand to place clip-boards down and address the sacrificial lab rats- that is to say, gathered Elites.     She must have been in a good room, setting any of this up- she picked a room that even has a window out towards the probe's new home in the yard, as if she's given one small consideration, that people might like the chance to see it before going in, or after coming out, of whatever lies inside its anomalous readouts.     "Artificial Somnambulism. A number of you are familiar with its use, correct?" Mesmer waits just long enough to imply she's actually asking for an answer, before continuing and interrupting- "An exceptionally useful diagnostic tool for the interpretation of a mind's activity, in visualized, alterable form. As far as my understanding, this machine has something that may, after research sheds light, be considered a 'mind'. It's remarkably complicated to route a program that can result in this visualization, but, if all goes to plan, as it should, the hard part is already done. What's needed from you, is be a sample set of first-hand witnesses to the data."     Automatic sounding, "Oh. And, your presence is consent for your sensory information underneath the Artificial Somnambulism simulation to be recorded for further study, and your presence waives personal claim to the rights to the resultant data."     "It ought to be very safe, but screening and cost-covered psychiatric treatment will be performed for any potential mental contamination."     Oh, she must be in a really good mood to give an *assurance*. "If it's too psychologically dangerous, remember and undergo the mental intent to tap the left temple twice, and dictate your wish to end your connection. Otherwise, a system prompt will walk you through a series of connection instructions once the device is placed over your head. That's all. It's at your leisure."
Tamamo	EARLIER:     ...someone has shortened the original lighthouse tower by exactly thirteen meters; the same person as the expansions to the keeper's house, and the strange stockpiling of goods.     ...a 'star shower' from the south, at an extremely shallow angle, narrowly missing the African side and landing somewhere in the sea...     "It is strange." Looking over the maps, Tamamo points out the construction of the array. "'Someone' predicted 'something,' but it could be wholly unrelated to the crash, given what else was happening at the same time. Significant events, dangers, are easy to chart in retrospect. If this particular event was predicted... it should be the entire array used together, as such. And yet, the people here... with one possible exception, were not informed of any such thing."     She moves around the table to look at it from another angle. "The keeper's effects, or else... something in the expansions to the keeper's house. If I could find something there to read, to know whether... though it does not seem likely, would it not be something to learn that this was not 'predicted,' at all, but 'summoned'?"     SINCE THEN:     Tamamo has removed her initial wardings, been performing her readings, and set up for a more comfortable stay.     'Hauling' isn't quite how Tamamo would put it. She's just packed easily-preserved picnics on multiple trips through, so that there is now a reasonably well stocked tea cabinet in the kitchen, with both caf and decaf, green, black, and several kinds of herbal. There are even instant-style vitamin powders, as much as relying on those goes against both elegance and good sense.     The bunrei is, on this day, wearing... of all things, a white sundress, an apron with pockets, and garden gloves backed with floral patterns, navy blue above gray. The latitude seems to agree with her, even here at sea, compared to the actually-early-winter places she's been recently.     'A number of you are familiar with its use, correct?'     "Only by reputation," she says, meaning both 'distant' and 'by asking about the last time.'     'And, your presence is consent for your sensory information underneath the Artificial Somnambulism simulation to be recorded for further study...'     "Only sensory information, yes?" What an implication-heavy thing to ask.     '...the mental intent to tap the left temple twice, and...'     "Yes, I see," she says, committing to memory.
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Include, someone-elsedly     Arthur's set up a basic alchemiter arrangement in a corner. If you feel like literally punching punchcards to lathe totems and alchemize useful items for making life more bearable here, well... you'll be shit out of luck unless you can also really, really enjoy puzzles. But Arthur's been trying to keep some sense of playfulness in things, having brought along plenty of gamecube games to insist everyone play somewhere besides the taken-over Commons. It migrates on small portable displays over the course of days.     Arthur uses that as an excuse to stay present. He'd never deign to presume he could engage in Nerd Shit, after all, so that's the reason why he's hanging around so much (and constantly participating in every intensive examination of space-related energies, radiation, and geometry). > Arthur: Don mysterious helmet     Arthur doesn't need a bed, he just sort of turns off his own gravity, takes the helmet with a big grin, and nods. "Yeah, I got HELLA KNOW-HOW for chattin' up MYSTERY VOIDMINDS an' shit. I'm straight MOON ROYALTY dawg, they KNOW ME. This is basically BRAIN VIDEOGAMES right? I know IMMERSIVE SIMULATION, I'm real good with this."     He puts on the helmet first among the many, starting up the first-stage simulation sequence. > Arthur: Realize problem     "AH, FUCK I *FORGOT*!" He swears, over whatever may pass for a universal audio feed in this space. His immediate manifestation in the dreamspace is, apparently, limp and completely lifeless, slumped over on the ground. Dip shit, Arthur, you forgot you're *dead* in your dreams!! He'll try to sheepishly yammer out a solution with Mesmer, tensely trying to avoid the topic and, for once, embarrassedly behave in a less-annoying way. > Arthur: Re-don helmet     So much for being first in. Debugging for an Sburban Hero means he'll be one of the last to get linked up. And a little harried and hurried as he finally gets into that cognitive link. He doesn't know what to expect, but... > Arthur: Hum familiarly     He knows the music used by Noble Circle of Horrorterrors, native to the void-between-dimensions and void-between-worlds, to attempt to universally greet beings in a positive posture. His real-life body is doing it, as he slips into the somnambulistic connection with the brainwaves. It's a universal melodic handshake tonal structure meant to establish safe communication with truly alien minds.
Meresankh	To a Necron, an eerie stone cube is in fact just like home. Meresankh has made one addition to the site over the weeks of work, by 'staffing' it with a cohort of scarab drones. The hamburger-sized beetles zip to and fro through the air, surveilling the grounds just as often as running errands for Meresankh. Did you leave your toolbox in the break room? There's a beetle for that.     The queen works many a double shift without complaint, but when she needs to get her conscious mind off the task or there's naught to do for a few hours but wait for an analysis to complete, she eagerly devours the available televised slop. "It's part of your cultural heritage! Why wouldn't I be interested?" she explains, to anyone who complains that she's put on the same episode three times in as many days.     Meresankh is also keen on eyeballing the Artificial Somnambulism equipment, to the point that the LSCC personnel have had to wave occasional scarabs away from the control post during setup. "This device," she asks Mesmer Jr ahead of time, "is it more like a mirror, or like a lens?" When it comes time for the operation itself, however, Meresankh sits politely in one of the chairs and puts on the helmet, one leg bouncing with excitement (and with the vzt-vzt-vzt-vzt of oscillating servomotors) until gradually slowing to a halt.
Storm Investigators	Arriving at the the recently renovated operating base, Greta Hofmann and Marcus seem to be settling into this new work zone with relative ease. The senior investigator has some coffee going already in anticipation of a long day of research surrounding the mysterious craft, and the junior investigator is hard at work practicing her typing, pecking away at one of the laptops laboriously to improve her typing speed. Neither of them have brought much to this base besides some changes of clothes, partially due to not having much to bring at all, but also because the biggest thing they've brought by far is Marcus' traveling bookcase. She's got it set up next to her while she's tapping away at the laptop, only picking it up when she and Greta take some time to look around the facility. They're dressed in their usual working clothes sans the coats they normally wear, with Greta in a gray vest and black skirt while Marcus has her white dress and blue scarf on. When it's time to convene, though, they happen upon the generator room, and Greta has to stop and wait for Marcus to stop staring at the shelves. Then they meet up with Mesmer Jr. and everyone that's there ot listen, and they provide brief answers! "Correct. "Artificial Somnambulism. A-" Marcus swallows lightly at the interruption, then keeps quiet to listen. She actually looks relieved at that, though, since it means she can just listen instead of saying anything to those among them that might not be familiar with the procedure. She does glance at Greta briefly when Mesmer goes through that little disclaimer in the middle, receiving a slight nod in response. "Two taps on the left temple, and a statement... Yes. Okay. I understand, Miss Mesmer." "Understood. If anyone is uncertain about being inside, err on the side of caution. ... That includes you, Marcus." "Ah! Yes, Madam Hofmann. I will be... Extra careful, th-" Flamel's little outburst right after putting his helmet on gets a startled jump out of Marcus and a slow turn-to-stare from Greta. Unsure about what had just happened. Marcus is looking considerably more anxious about getting her helmet on, although she does seem a little more reassured seeing Meresankh seemingly excited to get started. "Wouldn't a mirror make it harder to see anything else?" Marcus comments, hesitating briefly and trying to get in at least a little small talk in. After another encouraging glance from Greta, Marcus finally gets her helmet on, and Greta puts her own on shortly afterwards.
Petra Soroka	Petra is practically designed to be a pack mule for Lilian. Between Qetra taking things through the mirror, being able to deploy the Silver as a reflective surface anywhere, her uncanny ability to acquire and lug around extremely specific objects, and her dedication to keeping Lilian's secrets under threat of death, Petra is ideally specialized for filling out whatever Lilian needs at the lighthouse. This is especially appropriate, as she reflects on it, with her new status as a registered service animal for Lilian's job at the LSCC, and thinking about that makes Petra *desperate* to know what the paperwork that Lilian filled out actually said.     In terms of what she brings to the base, besides helping when allowed with the necessities, Petra's idea of what an isolated bunker needs is pretty much identical to a space station. She's brought books and long term assignments from college to make sure that she doesn't fall behind, physical copies of movies from Tennant's abandoned stash, she's brought a freezer full of food and a toaster oven for quick hot meals, she's somehow acquired and transported a treadmill and various exercise equipment in, and she brought over a sun lamp for Norton.     The day comes with Petra smelling like bleach, but with all the evidence of having been cleaning already swapped off of her. Her hair's ruffled and she's just got a simple t-shirt and shorts on, because just minutes before everyone else showed up, she pulled off her maid uniform to get decent, which she'd been doing chores in as a matter of principle. The service dog belt is her LSCC uniform to match Lilian, because she doesn't have a vest for it yet.     Except, she hasn't actually seen Lilian in the LSCC uniform until now. She squints a bit at it-- not just because Lilian's wearing *boots and a lab coat*-- but because the Laplace uniform includes a metal collar around her neck. This isn't relevant on Mesmer, but now that Lilian's got one, Petra has to contemplate the fact that it looks basically identical to the Silver collar Dimo put on her for months. "Artificial Somnambulism. A number of you are familiar with its use, correct?"     "Yup." Petra has never seen it used, but she's heard secondhand from Lilian about it. Or, rather, she's heard that Lilian thought it didn't work at all because she didn't remember it and also got drugged into unconsciousness by Mesmer giving her unlabelled pills, something that she repeated later without any experiment to justify it, and then indepentently Petra confirmed that the process actually does work.     Wordlessly, though, Petra releases a ratbot, her trusty Twopence, to float in the room beside her. His camera recording is being sent directly to her phone to watch the room while she's unconscious. Just, like, in case.     The idea of being able to perform psychic evaluations on a machine is the most obvious thing in the world to Petra as a concept. What's strange is being able to do it to the *Voyager probe*. For her own part, Petra has to be in a good mood too, both for the sake of not psychically destabilizing the Artificial Somnambulism machine, and because it's really *exciting*!     "Okay, like, by sensory information, do you mean that the Artificial Somnabu-- Somnam,bulism machine reads our minds for data for the experiment, or is that how it functions at all, by scanning our self-concept or whatever to put it in the program?"
Angela	Angela obviously can't just stick around all this time but despite everything... Well, she isn't really the sort of person to be satisfied with a half-solved mystery. rBut it means she's sending people she knows are on good terms with Lilian. That means she's sending ... Gebura and Malkuth. Gebura has brought along a vending machine while Malkuth has brought a notepad and a ducky pen. Due to the lack of expectation of any sort of fight going on here, Gebura is the only one armed (because she always is). "Well that's a new uniform for you, Dame Commander!" Malkuth chirps, happy to see Lilian again. "Looks good on you! I like the style, they have uniforms back that at some of the Wings back home, though uh--" She pauses. "Were we supposed to bring gas masks? Gebura did you bring gas masks??" "Why would I bring gas masks?" Gebura asks. "I'm just doing a delivery." She sets down the vending machine near a power outlet. "Yesod said he programmed it so you don't need to put money in but we honestly have too many of these things already." She baps the vending machine window. "PLEASE be careful, Gebura, last time you did that you broke the glass." ''Mesmer says they are giving consent for their sensory information.'' "What? Hold on, it's one thing to ask for one or the other but to ask for both?" Malkuth complains. "It's fine. We wouldn't do anything with it anyway." Gebura says. She is apparently way more used to being on the butt end of such contracts than Malkuth is. Malkuth frowns but doesn't protest further. ''Feeling like LobCorp again.'' Gebura sniffs. And then says, "Feeling familiar... Did a lot of people die here or was it just hella musky?" Either way, neither of them seem to protest about putting the helmets on. ''Or is that how it functions at all'' Malkuth without looking at her notepad because of the bulky helmet is still writing notes on her pad. It's utterly automatic.
Foundation Scions	Mesmer has, actually, placed up printed-off notice signs saying that scarab drones are explicitly banned within three meters of any Laplace Scientific Computing Center property. If one is humorous, this includes the Mesmer, if one isn't, it includes every room Mesmer has walked through. Without authority to enforce it, who's to say if it keeps Meresankh's little drones out of Mesmer's proximity, but she's replaced every sign that's been ripped down within the hour. If she has to turn over an Artificial Somnambulism helmet, only to find a fist-sized bug inside, she'll scream.     Answering pre-dive questions, Mesmer takes her place at the little control console, leaning over the screen to look elsewhere than the Elites when not immediately being talked-to. It's a common pattern for her to try and seem distracted, but she might actually just be kind of busy, right now. 'Is it more like a mirror, or like a lens?'     "I don't know what you're asking." 'Only sensory information, yes?'     "Yes. It's the anomaly of the probe that is to be studied, not you." Mesmer's tone has less annoyance in it than it could, just the amount needed to imply 'that's a silly question'. "It's within your rights to view the information processed afterwards, otherwise, if you expect you'll have issue with the recording, I'll politely ask you not participate in this part of the research task, of recording data." 'Okay, like, by sensory information,'     "It's a transmission of data from an outside dream-state direct to peripheral nervous processing, with minor feedback of motor nervous intent to alter the aperture of the simulated view-point. You could say that it's the program that will be put into you? I wouldn't, but it's in the pattern of your own words. All that will be recorded is the data those intents provide from the probe. If you'd like, imagine you'll be holding a camcorder, and what's captured on that is what I'll be utilizing afterwards." That's a little bit all over the place! She adds, "I hope that's illuminating." 'This is basically BRAIN VIDEOGAMES right?'     "Excuse me? No, it's quite a serious matter." No argument-points are added to that! She doesn't want to look up from her check-list clipboard. Satisfied, eventually, she's about question-answered out- "Be gentle with the machinery, try not to unplug cabling, and if you do, say something instead of ignoring it." 'AH, FUCK I *FORGOT*!'     "What?" Mesmer had full intent, once the elites are all diving into the probe's dreamscape, to take a small breather, and then join them- she wasn't eager to problem-solve. She's been problem-solving all day, after all! Tired, she sighs- "What did you forget? Explain clearly and completely, I'll see if a work-around exists." . . .     And, for Arthur, a work-around does exist! No fancy helmet, he's got extra cables pulled his way and tied-off, split into a web-net of head-clinging electrodes, wiring him in parallel with the actual recording encoders, to feed him specifically the raw data of the probe. He'll get the overlay of brainwave-alterations to have all the same experiences, but he won't be asleep, or dreaming, or unaware of his actual surroundings, and he won't have any safe-guards and quick exists, either. That's definitely fine, right? . . .
Lilian Rook	In the off-time before commencement, Lilian tries to focus on people she likes instead of the task ahead.     'If this particular event was predicted... it should be the entire array used together, as such. And yet, the people here... with one possible exception, were not informed of any such thing.'     "If what happened only a few years later was his prediction, he'd be far from the only one to die unheard and misunderstood. There's no shortage of prophets in that same situation." Including, as they both understand, this world's own Tamamo-no-Mae as well. "I wasn't able to turn up any records on if he was part of any established Tradition or simply a rogue occurrence who was touched by a flicker of magic somewhere in his blood. Either way, I suppose nobody would have told the workers who took over after."     'though it does not seem likely, would it not be something to learn that this was not 'predicted,' at all, but 'summoned'?'     "The probe? I don't know what to think if it was. Would it have changed anything? 'Those people' would have tracked it down regardless, wouldn't they?"     'Yeah, I got HELLA KNOW-HOW for chattin' up MYSTERY VOIDMINDS an' shit. I'm straight MOON ROYALTY dawg, they KNOW ME.'     "Oh god I'd forgotten." Lilian groans.     'This is basically BRAIN VIDEOGAMES right?'     "As opposed to what? You already make everything in real life into 'videogames'."     'Okay, like, by sensory information, do you mean that the Artificial Somnabu-- Somnam,bulism machine"     Lilian narrowly decides that mocking Petra for a mundane tripped-up tongue is beneath her. This isn't out of empathic solidarity, being no stranger to accidentally using suspect words or occasionally charnel-marching through sentences she'd already realized she should have aborted partway through. It's because Petra keeps squinting at her collar line and Lilian doesn't even want to dignify it by looking like she's annoyed. She says "You already know what to do either way." instead. "You're forbidden from ruining the machines for now."     And, unrelated to people she likes . . .     'if you expect you'll have issue with the recording, I'll politely ask you not participate in this part of the research task, of recording data.'     Lilian has a lot of issues with that, actually. Even more important, though, is the fact that every time she's been under Artificial Somnambulism, she doesn't fucking remember anything after waking up, and doesn't remember being awake while she's asleep. Unfortunately, she can't just blow this off, what with the fate of her world potentially hanging in the balance and all, and even if she doesn't remember anything, there will be recordings afterwards. Also, she just really doesn't want to let her fiancée get in the brainwashing machine without her there to . . . protect her? Somehow?     Lilian well and truly holds out to the very last second on non-participation, before Mesmer coming back up to manually wire Arthur in makes her crack.     . . . . . . . .     The experience after connecting is blackness, and a sense of weightlessness. A soft click, right in your ear, and then the faint whirring of an electric motor spooling up. Subsonic clicking resonates in your bones, fast and irregular, cruching away like the motions of a disk platter. a rising whine manifests as a light in the distance, blooming with the slow exponential growth of approaching head on. Your thoughts feel grainy. Your vision rushes with dark spots. Then your body feels light, then heavy, then set firmly on the ground.
Lilian Rook	The ground is a flat plane of crystal clear water. One that is hard and level as a mirror, despite visually rippling underneath you; not from your steps, but at slow, shallow tide. The horizon ahead of you glows with the colours of sunset, backlighting every tiny wave with slivers of golden amber. The horizon behind you is already deep in the middle of night, studded with stars and faintly shrouded with haze. Beneath you, the water goes down, down, and down, until far at the bottom, tinted dark blue, you see the surface of the Earth, studded with so very few lights.     The sunset frames the silhouette of a lighthouse, perched atop a single, anomalous rock, far in the distance; unlit. At regular degrees, one eighth of a circle each, the endless water is broken up by the wreckage of a helicopter, shallowly submerged, a little hill formed of meshed-together coral, and an old-fashioned record player on an aluminium deskstand, playing the Golden Record itself.     Behind you, the arc contains a cracked metal eggshell, like a shattered geodesic dome, a levitating cluster of orbital diagrams drawn in chalk, a hill of what might be heaped-together bodies, barely visible in the dark, and directly opposite the lighthouse, in the deepest dark, a quadruple helix of black metal ensconcing a crimson star, fractalizing itself into countless branches, dripping with a constellation of scarlet fruit.     You're arranged in a symmetrical circle yourselves, gathered around a central point in the middle of the water. Nothing prevents you from moving. Lilian, back in the same black dress she always seems to wear when dreaming, is in fact the first to do so; immediately enraptured by the mysterious surroundings, she starts wandering off in the direction of the night, then stops to look back at you as if you were a circle of standing stones, tilting her head to try and intuit the meaning behind you being here. Then a second soft click emanates from the centerpoint; above you. The whining sound turns hushed and monotone, like something spinning at full speed until it hits a dead stop.     "¡ìÃ÷üתøð«æµ¬¼?"     The incomprehensible series of sounds plays out with what feels like careful deliberateness. If you had to describe it, you'd assume it was played on the vocalizer of a child's toy running on the last dregs of its dying battery. There's another click, then the sound of a skipping platter, and then, a second later,     "If you are able to understand this message, move one body-length closer to the direction of this sound to indicate your comprehension. Sanitization procedures will begin when comprehension is verified."
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Make contact with those who can't reasonably judge you     Arthur knows what it's like to be inside a constructed mental sequence derived from a series of stored memories. The graininess and ambiguity remind him a lot of being dead, which is to say, the time he spends being asleep. Still, he's awake instead right now, walking antigravitationally along one of the walls of the room as he approaches the source of the sound, still looking around.     "Alright, this is sounding pretty premade for now, no clue how far that goes. I'll get Derse about it real fast, roll that red-ass carpet out for a motherfucker. This is answering machine as hell so we don't know what's on the other side of the protocol." He mutters, losing some of the swagger as he approaches. He stops one body length away and stands in place. > Arthur: Speak up     In an unknown sequence of linguistic maneuvers, he says in clear, 'carefully-pronounced' packages of dream-semantic explanation: "<Individual/instance/myself/not-you/I> <is/am/are> <Arthur Lowell>. <Roger/I can hear you/I hope this email finds you well>. <We> <are/have> <ready to communicate/reached the answering machine>? We comprehend, and I consent to your use of both the <system/game> and the <material signal-structure/lobe/throat/ears> of <language tokens> for exchange. Please tell us the <judgment/ensouledness/responsibility/autonomy> of this <message> and give <details> about the <help/aid/mercy/kindness> you want."     "Median speech for our species and <court> uses <subjects>, <actions>, <action-modifiers>, <subject-modifiers> and <acted-upon subjects>. <I (subject)> <walk (action)> <towards (action-modifier)> <your (subject-descriptor)> <sound (subject)>. <I (subject)> <approach (action)> <you (acted-upon subject)>. We comprehend your handshake and now we ask you comprehend and speak to us in reply, using the language systems available."     "Please explain 'sanitization' to the best of your ability before it begins. State whether the definition is closer to <cleaning what you have> or closer to <cleaning us>?" His voice is focused and emphatic. "It's important because we might not share the same definition of <UNTRANSLATABLE>. We will be grateful for clarity."
Petra Soroka	"AH, FUCK I *FORGOT*!"     Petra, who is absolutely not the first one into the machine, crosses her arms and squints at Arthur. "Okay, dude, how the fuck did you forget that? And why are you--" She shuts off her sentence halfway through, pressing her lips together to prevent the words from outpacing her thoughts. The bleak irony of Petra Soroka asking someone why they're dead in their dreams, and Arthur specifically, is too much for her to follow through on. "is it more like a mirror, or like a lens?"     Meresankh, despite having been present for the previous scene, and also having met Petra before, incurs no recognition or acknowledgement from her. What she does instantly notice and point out is a scarab, dropping everything at the time to point almost suspiciously. "Wait, I know you." Whatever that's about, she can't mistrust a little robot bug for long, though. "Did a lot of people die here or was it just hella musky?"     "Just old and dusty," Petra shakes her head at Gebura, releasing another wave of bleach smell from disturbing her hair. Bleach is, of course, her go-to cleaning chemical even when it's not needed, for the same reason that Gebura sniffs it out like that. "And moldy. And lots of super old bird poop." ". . . if you expect you'll have issue with the recording, I'll politely ask you not participate in this part of the research task, of recording data."     Petra does expect to have problems, a little bit. But that's why she's here! If there are problems to be had about the collection of the data, then Petra needs to be present and subjected to it along with Lilian and Tamamo, so that she can blow it up with her mind, and also so that she doesn't miss out on the experience of being psychically overstepped in some violatory way alongside Lilian. "If you'd like, imagine you'll be holding a camcorder, and what's captured on that is what I'll be utilizing afterwards."     "Okay." It kind of is illuminating, actually, at least for Petra's inexpert familiarity with psychic tech. "Thanks." She'd also ideally like Mesmer to stay in a good mood, in a rare case of not rocking the boat. "You're forbidden from ruining the machines for now."     "Yes ma'am. Just, uh, in the back pocket." Mentally, Petra adds another potential line of text to her application as a service animal; that being her ability to act as an emotional ripcord for Lilian to prevent a bad situation from becoming apocalyptic.
Tamamo	'Would it have changed anything?'     "Only in that it would mean the lighthouse keeper knew something that has been forgotten. For there to be a summoning, there must be a need."     . . .     Tamamo is not wearing an apron, in the dream. She has on her deep blue robes, her black and gold sleeves and sash, and her golden hairdress and choker, yet different. It's a similar outfit, rather than the same one, and sits askew, not for ill-fitting, but because it's been torn even where there are no seams, sleeves caught and ripped and stained.     Tamamo lifts a hand, then looks herself over, says, "Oh, no. Not that one. Not today," and brushes it all away. She reaches up to adjust her bell-hanging headdress back into place, and gives a satisfied nod. She looks normal. 'Normal' for Tamamo, that is.     Lilian starts to wander off.     Tamamo steps across the water to offer her arm. "Shall we?"     'If you are able to understand this message, move one body-length closer to the direction of this sound to indicate your comprehension.'     If Lilian is willing, she'll walk the distance with her. When heels are counted, they have the same 'body-length,' when Lilian willed it so.     "Thank you for the introduction, Mr. Lowell. It rather saves us the trouble."
Meresankh	Meresankh's first move is to examine her own form, and to be disappointed to find it the same metal shell as she's always known since her reawakening. Only after that does she look around her, first to check that every participant is here, then turning her gaze outward to examine the objects arrayed around the Elites. She scans them visually, recording the apparent configuration of each to memory, and then circles around again to look for radiological and electromagnetic emissions. She's about to set off in the direction of the orbital diagrams when the click and following message sounds from above.     "¡ìÃ÷üתøð«æµ¬¼?"     The queen nearly repeats the message back, sound for sound, on reflex before realizing it could well have been a threat as much as a friendly greeting. Her voice synthesizer can handle recording and playback beyond that of a human memory and tongue, and it's best to know what one is saying when applying such a talent. Instead of speaking up she files it away into memory; it can be picked apart for linguistic phones later, though she's unlikely to get anywhere with such a small sample. She does however turn toward the center of the circle in time for the second message.     The mention of 'sanitization procedures' does give Meresankh pause, but she recognizes the importance of observing proper diplomatic protocol - and has the experience of dealing with worlds where 'sanitize' is indeed the best word for preparing oneself to meet a representative. She glides forward exactly 3.14 Necrontyr royal cubits - one body length for her, precise to the millimeter. "You treat with royalty," she says in her gentlest proclamation voice. "I trust you to sanitize with appropriate care."
Storm Investigators	"Were we supposed to bring gas masks?" "When and if we approach the vessel. I wouldn't worry about it." Marcus is totally worrying about it, but at least she's not the only one. She stares at Malkuth's pen twice as long as she does at Gebura's vending machine, because cute pens catch her eye far more easily than entire vending machines. "It's the anomaly of the probe that is to be studied, not you." "what's captured on that is what I'll be utilizing afterwards." "Does that mean I should read as much as I can, then? Or..." "Focus, Marcus. We don't know how long we will be in there, so it will still be important to prioritize the probe." "Understood. Oh, I could... Take notes, to help keep things organized. Would that be helpful, Miss Mesmer?" "I'm straight MOON ROYALTY dawg, they KNOW ME." "The moon? Royalty? Oh! We will be counting on your expertise, ^Sir Ar-wait. Um. Your highness...?" - - - Stepping onto the clear ground, Greta and Marcus both find their footing easily enough. Marcus seems relieved when she does, and Greta's already glancing around steadily to make sure there's nothing immediately endangering the group. Satisfied after a few seconds, Greta's spots Marcus already eyeing the star surrounded by metal, and she takes a moment to look around at the arc behind the group. Luckily, the junior investigator hasn't identified the hill of bodies for what they are yet, or Greta might have had to worry about her or anyone else just getting ambushed with that visual. "Do not be alarmed. There are bodies nearby, but they may not be related to our focus today." Greta warns, clasping a hand on Marcus's shoulder to keep her from just whirling arund to try and find it. Before she does, both investigators take notice of Lilian's clothes changing from what they had just seen her in before donning the helmets. Greta takes it in stride as she does with only the slightest of questioning glances, and Marcus looks awed as she often does at anything new to her. "Interesting. Ah, did anyone else hear that?" Greta looks up at first when she hears the click, glancing about slowly even as the incomprehensible noises start coming forth. It takes a moment for her to realize it's coming from above, and then she glances at everyone else in the group to try and eyeball a unified direction that everyone's looking and facing from around the circle. She also holds a finger up to Marcus when the junior investigator looks like she's about to reply to the voice, and she gestures at ^Arthur as he tries communicating thoroughly with the voice. As directed, Marcus stays right where she is, and instead she turns her arcane ability to read upwards in an attempt to grasp anything that might help  identify or even spot who or what it is that's speaking to the group. Greta, meanwhile, steps forward one body length and no further. "You are coming in clear. Can you hear us? If you do, please say so or give us a physical sign in this area." She says aloud, pauses, then continues. "Are you able to show yourself?"
Angela	Gebura grimaces sympathetically at Petra but they've all had to clean up worse. "Good it wasn't anything too bad." Malkuth frowns a little that her compliment of the uniform went unheeded but Gebura doesn't seem to be particularly troubled by anything at all. Maybe this is just going to be a rough day for Malkuth. But she notices Marcus is staring at the pen and with a small smile, reaches into her coat and draws out her... BACKUP DUCKY PEN. You were a fool if you didn't expect Malkuth to have a backup pen available. She offers it to Marcus. "Don't forget to be as complete as you can be when you write it down." She smiles at Marcus ... reassuringly? Well, she's always been fine with mistakes so long as they never happened a second time so it's easy for her to be encouraging to someone who hasn't made one yet in her sightlines. 5r''If you are able to understand this message move one body-length closer to the direction of this sound to indicate your comprehenison.'' "Vertical or horizontal?" Malkuth asks. Gebura nudges her. "Don't be cute." "It pays to be precise on instruction, ''Gebura''." But regardless they scootch one vertical body length closer unless they get instruction otherwise--since it seems like the safer option. Once they do, they take some time to look around-=-particularly Malkuth. And then she looks at the lighthouse. And then twists her head to look at the eggshell. Then up at the source of the original noises. "What's that?" She asks.
Petra Soroka	Since Lilian's putting the helmet on, though, Petra has to as well. The grim knowledge that there's a second Flamel in the Sector now and she's a girl and Lilian wants to fuck her is what carries her into the darkness as her consciousness fades. She falls asleep quickly, despite the fucked up medicalized psychic machine context, to the smell of bleach and the presence of other people.     Within the dream, Petra is immediately placed on an infinite reflective plain, with a Divine Tree extending into the sky on the horizon. The specific familiarity of *that* of all things startles her so badly that just like Lilian, she gets confused why anyone else is present for it. The solution is habitual for a dream, to dig her nail into her arm hard enough to bleed, not to wake herself up but to make sure she feels pain.     Then she shakes her head and the rest of the context of the Artificial Somnambulism scenario floods back in, and she's normal now. As a matter of precaution, she calls out "Liliannn!" over to where she's wandering off, assuming that it's entirely plausible that Lilian is struggling to recognize who they all are and that her voice might help.     Petra's a little taken by the presence of the helices too, though. It felt inevitable that Bloom symbols would crop up around here somewhere, given how the golden record was found, but a direct image like that existing within the mental patterns of, the Voyager probe, is a degree of cosmic horror that's deeply alluring to consider. Thoughts of alien Lilian are quickly extinguished in her mind, on lingering orders from Exigent Serenity.     Cagey but urgent, Petra also adds to Lilian, "Um, what do you think would happen if you, er, did your thing in here?" Namely, the last couple times she's seen a Divine Tree nakedly present like that, or Exigent Serenity, it's been accompanied by an extremely noticeable and extremely sensory-recordable manifestations of Lilian's stopped time, which Petra imagines she might not want on Mesmer's databases.     But for all of that, the residual discomfort with the Silver, the ominous presence of the Tree, and the Artificial Somnambulism machine outside, this registers intuitively as a friendly place to Petra, for one reason. When that incomprehensible sound plays around them, intentional, childlike, and alien, Petra tilts her head and widens her eyes.     "Oh. Like Fragments?"     Petra crouches down and drags her fingers across the surface of the water, Qetra's mirrored motion bringing Pillar of Creation into her grasp. She holds the spear, black glass-like, shot through with veins of vibrant crayon-colors, like a branch instead of like a weapon, loose and nonthreatening. She's instantly unquestioningly willing to step five feet and four inches closer, thumb sliding along the haft of the spear as if doing that to the psychic impression of Fragments of the Universe could communicate positive intent here.     "<Hi>." She can't sustain telepathy without the Beauty of Ash present, but she greets the voice with a wordless handshake of positive intent. "What's being sanitized off of us?"
Storm Investigators	Malkuth reacting to Marcus at all has her quickly looking away at first, but keeping Malkuth in the corner of her vision soon bears fruit: It's a second pen! Predictably, Marcus' eyes light up at being offered the second pen, and she nods quickly as she takes it gingerly (with both hands, even). "Ah... Yes! Of course, ma'am, I will. Thank you very much!" Greta doesn't say anything about it as she often doesn't, but she does look upon Malkuth with a more approving look in her eye, even if there is that hint of lingering caution there.
Angela	Malkuth is carefully checking to make sure she has her BACKUP BACKUP DUCKY PEN before noticing Greta looking at her. "Did you want one too?" Marcus got a serene smile and a headbob.
Foundation Scions	'You're forbidden from ruining the machines for now.' 'Yes ma'am. Just, uh, in the back pocket.'     "Most of this equipment is nearly impossible to replace before its loss would matter, all of it is incredibly expensive. Inopportune equipment failures may pose significant harm to the psychological well-being of present participants, so please, don't utilize that interference technique of yours."     Mesmer could have had an excellent excuse, herself, to stay out of the Artificial Somnambulism dreamscape- with a monitoring station set up, and all the other eyes that will be there, she's probably more useful on the outside, but, this project is fascinating, and she wants to see it without the barrier of a CRT screen. For the overseeing and impromptu alterations she has to take for Arthur, it was always going to be that she's the last to dive into the probe's dreamscape, and thus the entire team gets to see her- . . .     -Start speaking like she's recording vocal notes, immediately.     "Barely any light visible in the surface of the Earth- I wonder if it's a match to modern, or premodern, electrified settlement density? Especially given the anachronistic nature of the anomaly, this is a reminder for later cross-reference. The water is hard and buoyancy isn't an issue, it's possibly a clear depiction of a sensation of distance and floating. This *is* a space probe." Mesmer sighs, and tries to dig at the water with the tip of her boot.     "A destroyed helicopter was found near the probe on the sea-floor, correct? Does it match the make and model, and damage state, of that one?" Mesmer's assuming so, or why else is it here? For spending actual time wandering to investigate, what Mesmer wants to do most of all, is get a clear view of the orbital diagrams, given the presence of other orbital information having been already present on the golden record's encoding- it would be interesting if they were the same, but might be useful if they aren't. She, herself, couldn't say, but analysts later might. '¡ìÃ÷üתøð«æµ¬¼?' 'Interesting. Ah, did anyone else hear that?'     "Yes," Mesmer says, as if that's a particularly important thing to confirm, and as if others hadn't already obviously reacted to the noise. "If it made sense to you, say so, and repeat it, please."     It's also convinient that by having words to launch Hoffman's way, Mesmer can shift from looking as startled as she is by the sudden stimulus, and spin around to look back to the center from the quadrant she'd wandered to- it's disorienting, with the crystal-clear floor, to turn on heels and stare at an empty-point noise, as if there's eyes to meet. She'd be embarrassed, if everyone wasn't probably just as startled, too. 'Vertical or horizontal?'     "You can't move vertically. There's no matter if that's the instruction's intent, because it's an impossible action for you. Asking won't assist, and it won't increase precision."     Mesmer, heel-to-toe, takes roughly a body-length of steps forwards. That's something she follows instead of any efforts at asking about the ominous term 'sanitization'- this is a machine! It's probably fine, trustworthy, and helpful. It's likely just a matter of some protocol, and the chance of meaningful harm, through all these interfaces is... not at all zero, actually. Walking is the verification of comprehension, talking may not be- so Mesmer just stares, expectantly, up at the empty space in the middle the voice came from.     "There's no visible origin point to others, yes?" That's at everyone, but vague enough to be ignorable, she's obviously more interested on waiting and seeing than anything else.
Lilian Rook	Arthur's direct line of conclusion creates a pause in the apparent linguistic cycling of the message. The whining sound halts, then the disk-platter background switches over to the cadence of a crackling geiger counter. Another click, more distinctly like someone punching buttons on an old tape-driven playback device. This time there's the classical high-pitched babble of either fast-forwarded or rewinded audio. Click.     "Median linguistic structure analyzed. Accounting for ¿?¿? drift . . . Confirmed. Reproduction compiling. Complete estimate in one-one million-fifty-one-thousand-two-hundredths of one local orbital unit."     Soft whirring plays out, and slowly fades in volume. Lilian turns back when she hears Tamamo's voice, and then her gaze wanders over to the circle in fascination. "Oh. Was this your idea Tamamo? It's amazing! I want to . . ." Petra calls out to her, but before Lilian can even reply, she glances off to the side, at nobody, and tilts her head as if not understanding something. "That's weird. Who cares about that?" Then after a pause. "I don't want to. Hi Petra!"     The grainy, low-battery 'voice' answers Arthur one more time, but not before a particularly strange statement. "Method of data access unrecognized. Cultural context information is fragmented and can only be partially synthesized. Please be patient and clarify any occasions of incomplete understanding." It punctuates itself with a clunky gear shift and flywheel sound, and the words "Sanitation commencing. Remain where you are."     Lilian, taking Tamamo's hand, starts hurrying back to her original place, so she can play along. "One second! Let me hear!" The tape clicks. The voice pronounces, with an air of rote solemnity,     "¢é¦¥Çâ «§ø¶¬» ÝÞ¹°¼Ô «§ø¶¬» óïÆ¤× «§ø¶¬» ß¿ìÐ娦 «§ø¶¬»"     Lilian halts and lets go of Tamamo's arm so she can clap both hands over her ears. Hunching forward, her fingernails claw into her scalp, and her wide-open eyes lock with those of her own reflection, as if paralyzed from shock. The imaginary breath she was holding onto noiselessly escapes her all at once. The voice pronounces the diagnosis. "One Existential Threat confirmed. Reevaluating classification of planetary threat progress. Engaging quarantine."     The water stirs under your feet, without upsetting your balance. From beneath it emerges a circular sand bar, pushing you a few centimeters above water level, inscribed all around its edges with rambling, almost thoughtless, squiggling designs, that neverthelesss form a complete circle; the same as on the Golden Disc's image encoding, and the same as drawn along the inner perimeter of the Voyager probe's electronics bus housing. Lilian is shoved apart from Tamamo, or rather, recoils from the circle drawn in the sand as if burned-- no, her arm is actually smoking. Clutching her skin and gritting her teeth, "That hurt. I think I'm going to kill you now, okay?" comes out of her mouth right before she takes one step forward and abruptly disconnects. "Security of present line confirmed. Sanitization complete."
Lilian Rook	'Are you able to show yourself?'     "Median processing complete. Request verified."     As if from above, a slim, three-legged table, like for old rotary phone, drops itself into the sand. On top of it is an old, battered casette deck, with faded white paint, a peeled away NASA marking, and a series of four colourful lines in parallel added to its housing. The tapes visibly reel back and forth as the voice continues, clicking pausing, skipping, and rewinding in concert with one another. The voice now comes directly from the castette deck speakers.     'Please tell us the <judgment/ensouledness/responsibility/autonomy> of this <message> and give <details> about the <help/aid/mercy/kindness> you want.'     Arthur's answer comes around; with notably more fluidity than before, in an upbeat, androgynous 'dying toy' kind of way. "This is an 'automatic interaction ritual', with access to memory data relevant to our mission. All other memory data stored on your vessel's encoding system has been heavily compressed to avoid memory loss; your vessel's data storage medium is incapable of extracting them in their original form at this time; this ritual's caster will remain in ego compression hibernation until such a time that sufficient supplementary storage is available. Thank you for your patience."     "Our mission is a mission of mercy. The mercy is directed towards you and your civilization. Your transmissions were detected in the inter-world darkness, and indicated the presence of a civilization that has not yet encountered the Existential Threat, but only through information that was over eight-hundred local orbital periods out of date. The presence of the Existential Threat here confirms that your civilization is no longer unaware of the Existential Threat. Our purpose here has thus been recategorized from 'early warning' to 'damage control and symptom management'. Please summarize the status of your world, so that we may provide appropriate advisement."     '<Hi>. What's being sanitized off of us?'     "Hello! This ritual contains encoded information relevant to the defense of your civilization against the Existential Threat. As a result, it is necessary to prevent the Existential Threat from gaining access to information on the countermeasures we have developed and hope for your civilization to employ. The early symptoms of the Existential Threat are not easily recognized, so this interaction ritual has been equipped with the relevant incantation and array to ward against its relevant terminals."     'A destroyed helicopter was found near the probe on the sea-floor, correct? Does it match the make and model, and damage state, of that one?'     As if it were a question, the casette deck answers, "An attempt was previous made to breach your vessel by party unknown. Due to the unverifiable intent of the unknown party and the fragile nature of your vessel's data storage medium, this attempt was deemed an unacceptable risk, and the unknown party was terminated by automatic procedure. We express our condolences for your loss." The helicopter is, indeed, nearly identical.     Then, the talking casette deck click-pauses and rewinds all the way back on all eight tapes. Then, "Your species-variant appears to display a relatively high maintenance of recondite resources despite your ostensible level of scientific advancement. This is puzzling, but ideal. However, the memory information this ritual is able to access from you provides contrary data about the current state of your species-variant. Please describe in your own terms the readiness level of your civilization for emergency recondite action."
Angela	''You can't move vertically.'' "I meant if it wanted us to move the length our bodies as if they were lying horizontally on the floor or as if we were standing up, obviously." Malkuth grouses at Mesmer. "Do you normally deal with people who suddenly think they can jump the vertical length of their body?" "I mean--" Gebura begins. "You don't count Gebura." "Petra probably could--" "Oh Wings, nevermind!" "I'm just saying you're the one who was on about precision here." Gebura says, empowered maximally in the realm of 'aw gee boss but you said' as she is by the soul of the ultimate gig worker. Ultimately pedantry is an important and useful skill for people who have to deal with ridiculous clients and ridiculous asks. ''A circular sandbar, pushing you a few centimeters above water level.'' "Oh shit." Gebura says. "Maybe it ''is'' vertical." Then she squints down at the strange designs. "Hey what's that...?" Malkuth looks down at them but doesn't answer. She startles at Lilian being injured, however, and says, "What the hell--Gebura!" Gebura turns her head towards Lilian. "What--" She steps closer, drawing (dream) Mimicry into her hand and-- She's gone? Gebura lowers the sword. "Mesmer, is Lilian okay? Is she still in the dream or did she wake up or something?" She glancees around but it's Malkuth who ends up paying the most attention to the message while Gebura is mostly concerned with determining the health of Lilian here. ''The Existential Threat'' "You mean the Antegent?" Malkuth wonders aloud. "They've been aware of them for--what--centuries?" She reaches into her coat and takes out her notes. "Is that including the moon?" ''It is necessary to prevent the Existential Threat from gaining access to information--'' "...Uh. Lilian's not a threat." Gebura says. "Least not an Existential one. And she's not one of the Antegent either." Malkuth frowns at Gebura but looks back to the talking casette deck. "...Didn't it reject Angela's attempts to draw a page out of it?" Malkuth tells Gebura before looking back to the deck. "Could you tell us what the symptoms of the Existential Threat and how to recognize it?"
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Wait, where'd Lilian go?!     "Hey! Hey!!" Arthur calls out, jolting back a little when Lilian is force-disconnected(?!) "<Undesired violation of a boundary>, <prophecy rejected (subject-acted-upon)>!" His voice is firm, still clearly pronouncing. He blinks several times, trying to track his parallel vision feeds, and checks Lilian's safety. > Arthur: Confirm it     Looks good. She's resenting Mesmer, which Arthur gets the impression is the normal thing to do. He refocuses. > Arthur: Exchange data for guarantees about what 'Existential Threat' means     "Automatic interaction, any more sanitization is unwanted and rejected. Do not *sanitize* us any more." He takes several further steps towards the cassette deck. "The *status* of this world is this: A large number of entities are embodying in the form of <local cultural context information>. Got examples: <transmissions> like radio, <substances> like mist, and <images> like the surface of a moon. They hurt the civilization. They came from <UNTRANSLATABLE/A Nail Driven Through The Thin Blanket Of This Biosphere>. More things have come from <UNTRANSLATABLE/A Nail Driven Through The Thin Blanket Of This Biosphere>, which were <star actors> who had <non-peacebonded props>, and *those* things interpreted through this space in rigid geometry near the shape of my body. All of those have been getting fought by real active recondite <actor>s, understand? Civilization got stabilized, mostly."     He gestures firmly towards where Lilian was disconnected. Wandering around the wall in the commons area, his jabbing point lands on Lilian in the real world as well. "There are <Severed Blossom Removed From The Tree>s that have worked to help *defend civilization* against the things from <UNTRANSLATABLE/A Nail Driven Through The Thin Blanket Of This Biosphere>. *Twice* now, you went and called a <Severed Blossom Removed From The Tree> Existential Threat, that's just been helping civilization, *and* she's one of the best recondite actors you got." He jabs a finger towards the tape deck. "We're gonna talk decompression after you clear up who's who. I only want 'damage control and symptom management' if you're diagnosing things right. <One star Yelp review for a hospital>, you understand? <UNTRANSLATABLE>."     His tone's sour, aggressive. "Is your Existential Threat the things from the <Nail>? Or the <Blossoms> from the <Tree>?"
Tamamo	'Oh. Was this your idea Tamamo?'     "It is a joint project, dear." Tamamo doesn't end up with much time to explain more. She tilts her head, turning an ear as if that would pick up the other side of Lilian's conversation, and then reaches for her when she falls to the ground, immediately alarmed.     That alarm doesn't diminish when Lilian gets up and speaks, but when she disappears--     Tamamo turns. "Mesmer Junior, is--" and sees Mesmer. "Wait, no--" If Mesmer's here, then she's not out there. Who else...?! When Arthur tried to don the helmet, he needed-- "Arthur! Is she safe? Did she disconnect?"     'Kicked, not system-banned. I'll check on her.'     'She's alive. She's resenting that weird nurse lady, so she's normal.'     Tamamo lets out a breath. "I see. Thank you."     Now she can focus on the rest, and she won't have to break anything.     'You mean the Antegent?'     "Most likely."     '...Uh. Lilian's not a threat. Least not an Existential one.'     Tamamo fixes her eyes on the tapes, not looking at Gebura.     '...this ritual's caster will remain in ego compression hibernation until such a time that sufficient supplementary storage is available.'     "Can you describe the storage necessary to decompress? That would make communication easier, I am sure." It would also cause problems, but she can deal with that, she's sure.     'Please summarize the status of your world, so that we may provide appropriate advisement.'     Right. A summary. Tamamo considers what would be both short and appropriate. "The majority of local living beings on land have died during the period of greatest aggression. That period has passed, and the majority of remaining threats are sessile. Land reclamation is progressing, however -- the moon is occupied by a major, extant threat, and the seas have not been invaded."     'Symptom management,' was it? But she'd like to press for other answers. "Do you have information pertaining to the Existential Threat's treatment of moons and seas?"
Petra Soroka	"You can't move vertically."     Petra, after ten thousand years of Malkuth, automatically clarifies, "She means body-depth or body-height. But it's height, Malkuth." Then, "Honestly it's an affront to human dignity that most people *can't* jump their full body height. Like, seriously. You know?" "That's weird. Who cares about that?"     Lilian's tone throws Petra off, but not in a negative way. That it takes as little as 'being induced to sleep' to put Lilian into this particularly semi-familiar disinhibited state is a surprise, but she's in a good mood and she's speaking positively towards Petra, so that immediately puts her in a good mood too. Off Lilian's tone alone, Petra's perspective of this place skyrockets. "Hii!!! Oh, I bet we'll have time to explore after, but we'll just talk here first, I think!" "That hurt."     "Lilian--!"     Petra's pleasantly warm mood vaporizes instantly in the cold grip of shock and betrayal. Lilian vanishing, forced outside the circle that Petra is sheltered within, is an image so viscerally stomach-turning that Petra almost becomes convinced again that this is a dream, and the harsh static flare-up of her aura in response burns and itches. When Arthur confirms that she's just booted out of the program, Petra grits her teeth and tightens her grip on the spear, reeling her mood back in to not collapse the entire simulation. "Sanitization complete."     Petra stays stock-still, glare following the table as it drops down. She's rigidly prepared to plunge Pillar of Creation into the tape deck the moment it reveals itself, but since Lilian's safe, there's nothing to be gained by having a tantrum. "Good to know." "Please summarize the status of your world, so that we may provide appropriate advisement."     This is now, yet again, an infiltration operation. Wherever this is from and whatever ideology it represents, Petra's goal is to now assess what new extraterrestrial forces are being arranged against Lilian, by being unquestioningly accepted within the circle of those it claims to protect. That is to say, she's compelled to tell only enough of the truth to be still welcome here, and every other word will be designed to be extractive.     Dull and monotonous, "We don't know anything about the Existential Threat. We've never seen an Existential Threat before. This was our first time. What symptoms do you expect? What signs are you watching out for? What kind of damage control works against them?" "The early symptoms of the Existential Threat are not easily recognized, so this interaction ritual has been equipped with the relevant incantation and array to ward against its relevant terminals."     "Yeah. We're very grateful. What are the details of that incantation and array?" "Please describe in your own terms the readiness level of your civilization for emergency recondite action."     This question is finally the one that stuns Petra. She blinks, grimaces, and then mumbles under her breath, "... Fuck. I have no idea what recondite means."     She regathers herself, and attempts to answer in a way where that matters the least possible to advance her goals. "We're ready for whatever, as long as you tell us what it is."
Tamamo	'... Fuck. I have no idea what recondite means.'     "'Mystic.'" Tamamo answers, as this is essentially true. She can't guess the connotations, just as she can't expect anyone to know the precise term she means by 'mysticism,' either.
Meresankh	"One Existential Threat confirmed. Reevaluating classification of planetary threat progress. Engaging quarantine."     Meresankh is halfway through a retort: "You shall not 'quarantine'--" by the time the circle is complete and Lilian is ejected from the dreamspace. The monarch cuts off, leaving unstated her idea of who among the Elites constituted the 'Existential Threat'. She stares at the tape-deck as it appears, and makes no moves while she listens to its continued spiel; something with the power to send Lilian who-knows-where and prevent her return can surely do the same to anyone else present. "You have my peace," she says when she gets a chance, "because there are questions yet to be answered."     "This ritual's caster will remain in ego compression hibernation until such a time that sufficient supplementary storage is available. Thank you for your patience."     Meresankh takes a little half-step forward, evidently interested by this. "Can you provide more detail on compatible storage methods? There appear to be some differences of perspective that ought be remedied," she says, gesturing at Lilian's footprints in the sandbar. "Conversation 'face to face' would be more ideal for this."     Our mission is a mission of mercy. The mercy is directed towards you and your civilization.     "Such words have been offered to *my* kind before, on tongues that spoke only lies. Who are you, to be able and willing to perform such generosity?"     "Please summarize the status of your world, so that we may provide appropriate advisement."     "This world is not mine; I am a visitor, just as you. You have removed the one among us best capable of such a summary. I can only wait for one with more extensive visitation to offer the summary." And more of an idea of what is and isn't safe to commit to this thing's memory - or Mesmer's recordings!     This ritual contains encoded information relevant to the defense of your civilization against the Existential Threat."     Meresankh emits a sound of obvious displeasure. "The 'threat' you have ejected is one *from* this civilization, one who fights boldly in its defense. None are more equipped for it than she. You seem to think her compromised."
Storm Investigators	"Did you want one too?" Greta blinks slowly at Malkuth's offer, then shakes her head slowly. She aaaalmost cracks a hint of a smile, mostly at seeing Malkuth smiling at Marcus. "No, thank you. One is enough." - - - "If it made sense to you, say so, and repeat it, please." "The sound asked us to move one body-length closer towards it if we could understand the message. It then stated santization procedures would begin after verifying compreheshion." Greta replies to Mesmer, making sure to stay consistent between herself and Marcus with actually replying to the voice at all. "There's no visible origin point to others, yes?" Greta nods once, and Marcus freezes up momentarily even as she keeps her gaze fixed upwards. "Yes...? No. Wait, yes. Er. There is no visible origin point, no." Hearing the voice answer Arthur, Marcus quickly starts jotting things down in a notepad with her brand new Backup Ducky Pen, and then she looks down at her notepad to make sure she's even writing them down properly in this dream machine. "I want to . . ." "That's weird." "Madam Rook? Where are you looking...?" Marcus finally dares to ask, noticing those glances that don't seem to be towards anyone at all. She stares intently at where Lilian was looking as though that might help her see something other than nothing. "Is there someone over there?" "One Existential Threat confirmed." "Engaging quarantine." And then Marcus immediately puts her notepad away to keep it safe from what she can only hope is water and nothing worse. Unfortunately, something worse does happen when Lilian disappears, and she quickly looks over at Greta in a slight panic. Greta's expression remains mostly unchanged as ever, instead zeroing in on the descending tablet with the cassette deck on it. Waving Marcus over to the table, Greta listens to the answer to Arthur first before finally instructing the junior: "Confirm if there are any thought process in there." Marcus nods, and she gets right to work reading the cassette deck with her arcane power. She's paying particular attention to how it responds to people's questions and statements, to try and determine if it truly is just a machine or something capable of actual thoughts. "Our mission is a mission of mercy." "The presence of the Existential Threat" "'early warning' to 'damage control and symptom management'" With so many questions coming from the cassette deck and red flags raising one after the other, Greta doesn't respond right away. The slight downturns of her face is the only indication that she's skeptical of something, and she nods once at Petra's answers to the cassette deck's questions about the Existential Threat and readiness levels. Malkuth gives her some extra context to work with as well, and Greta finally asks: "How did you determine that truly was the Existential Threat earlier? Is sanitization meant to be a permanent solution, or only a stopgap until emergency recondite actions commence?" A pause to think further, and then Greta adds "What would happen if a civilization in danger of the Existential Threat was not prepared for recondite action?"
Foundation Scions	'That hurt. I think I'm going to kill you now, okay?'     With the sudden shift in the surroundings, as something strange and nerve-wracking, Lilian's response to the voice has Mesmer, not even close to her, turn to stare and almost step back in fear, before Lilian just, vanishes? It's not as if she was at all a threat to Mesmer, but as the only nucleating point of worry with the current circumstances, and with the recent exposure to other, unsavory dream-conditions with Lilian present, that's where instinct has her lay blame. So- 'Security of present line confirmed. Sanitization complete.'     "Oh." A full two-breath pause, "That's somewhat of a surprise." Mesmer just stares, for a while, at the empty spot that Lilian stood in, still quite nervous about the whole thing. 'Mesmer Junior, is--'     "Ask Lowell- oh, you did. I don't want to disconnect in the middle of this, if it's avoidable. He's more present outside." That Lilian is mad at her in wakefulness, has her blow air out of her nose, and just get back to business. It's convenient at least in the moment that this isn't something Lilian will remember, Mesmer figures.     "Is there a reason this dream doesn't want her, specifically, present? Is this something known, or expected? I'm utilizing sensitive equipment, and I'd greatly prefer I know what's likely to happen with off-world-" Well, they're off Mesmer's world, actually, "-Unfamiliar users in an Artificial Somnambulism projection."     "Though, hopefully, we can still get to the required business." A pause, "Hopefully, whatever this is isn't calibrated grossly-wrong. I can hardly imagine a single person being flagged as a threat to existence. That's absurd." 'This ritual's caster will remain in ego compression hibernation until such a time that sufficient supplementary storage is available. Thank you for your patience.'     "What specifications are sufficient? With a number or a form, the resources to ensure that requirement is met can be made available." Maybe not where the probe is, here, though. Slightly cross, for no articulable reason, "You won't do to us what you did to the helicopter, if we try and provide that storage, will you? Nor to the equipment, preferentially. Quite frankly, I'd rather spend less time walking around the probe for this study, if you say anything but that that won't happen again." 'Information that was over eight-hundred local orbital periods out of date'     "It's, apparently, been less than eight-hundred 'local orbital periods' since the vessel in question was sent from this world? I'm curious about the return-process. It doesn't make sense, but if you've additional clarification on the return mission's logistics, please state it for record." '... Fuck. I have no idea what recondite means.'     "It's abstruse." The definition is 'abstruse', that is, she's not even phrasing it in an unclear way on purpose. "There's hardly any context to work with, though. 'Despite' scientific advancement? I'd guess, but I know hardly anything about the world in question, so I won't. As such, I've no idea the state of this world, so it's likely prudent to assume it the worst-possible?"
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Explain 'recondite', by guessing wildly     "It's high-recondite in this world, it's-- secret power. Not like power, which you kept secret, but-- *fermented*. It's *secret* and *sealed* and it's powerful because it was strong once and nobody looked at it and took it apart. It's how an alien gets magic." Arthur rambles, asiding from his personal little rant for a moment.     "Dense recondite resources. It's recognizing the Phantom Circle."
Lilian Rook	'You mean the Antegent?'     "One moment please." the tape recorder cheerily clip-whirs. "I've memorized your term for the Pandemic Threat. The Pandemic Threat is correlated with the Existential Threat, but is a non-causitive precursor. The Pandemic Threat is considered a comorbid symptom, resultant from the same cause as the Existential Threat, which emerges later."     'Is that including the moon?'     "Accessing data." Whirrrrr. "Your vessel's instruments were insufficiently powered to record any additional data regarding your planet's lunar body."     '...Uh. Lilian's not a threat.'     'The 'threat' you have ejected is one *from* this civilization, one who fights boldly in its defense. None are more equipped for it than she. You seem to think her compromised.'     "Updating database: Native Knowledge Base." Click. "I'm afraid that information is incorrect. The individual designated by your memory data as 'Lilian Rook' is a terminal for the Existential Threat. Though formerly one of your species-variant, the efficacy of our countermeasure technology clearly verifies that it is already extensively contaminated by the Existential Threat."     '<Undesired violation of a boundary>, <prophecy rejected (subject-acted-upon)>'     "The data currently available to us cannot explain why the terminal exhibits symptoms of life-threatening prior infection while currently in stable condition. We congratulate you on discovering effective early countermeasures against the Existential Threat! Nevertheless, it is our urgent recommendation that you eliminate it as soon as possible. Its existence places your species-variant in imminent danger of total extinction!" It follows with, "Additional sanitization is unnecessary at this time. Our line of communication is secure."     'Could you tell us what the symptoms of the Existential Threat and how to recognize it?'     "That is within the primary directive of this automated interaction ritual!" the tape deck announces. "The Existential Threat takes the form of a psychological contagion, utilizing human terminals to propagate corrosive influence on classical causality, which increase in scale over time. The Existential Threat originates from penetrations of ¿LOCATION UNKNOWN¿ --Correction --The ¿Primordial Ocean into the ¿Surface World."     "Excessive perforation of the Surface allows ¿Abhorrent ideological constructs within sickness-prone members of the native population to manifest physical phenomena with greater frequency and intensity, attracting the Existential Threat to aforementioned vulnerable individuals, which are then repurposed into terminals. The number and severity of perforations is information we require to diagnose the severity of the Existential Threat to your civilization."     It really just keeps going. The function of 'being a manual' really is elaborately encoded in this 'answering machine'. "The Existential Threat may only be identified by number, behaviour, physical condition, and symptomatic development of its terminals. Populations vulnerable to the Existential Threat may be identified using the countermeasure resources we intend to provide, including the incantation utilized to sanitize this line of communication. Limited protection against the Existential Threat is possible with the countermeasure array also utilized."
Lilian Rook	'We don't know anything about the Existential Threat. We've never seen an Existential Threat before. This was our first time. What symptoms do you expect? What signs are you watching out for?'     Is it oblivious to how angry Petra clearly is? Whatever being is behind it is allegedly asleep, so an answering machine may not have been equipped with emotional analysis.     "Symptomatic progression of threat-terminals includes irrational fixation on perceived universal axioms that do not exist in reality, behaviours categorized as antisocial, illogical, and disconnected from community norms, then gradual dissociation from the civilization's ideological and moral structures, followed by an increasing rate of failure to recognize the species-variant as being similar to the individual or as worthy of ideological allegiance, culminating in cascading collapses in self-regulation, perception of reality, and separation of truth from fabrication, and, finally, physiological contamination with uncategorizable substance-inclusions, which extend into complete metamorphosis and destruction of the previously human psyche."     "If identification of a terminal through symptomatic progression proves unfeasible, you may identify terminals by Emanations of the Existential Threat. Emanations take the form of phenomena that occur without use of recondite or scientific resources, and may be identified by their thematic relation to the specific nature of mania or delusion experienced by the terminal."     'What kind of damage control works against them?'     That, in some sense, is 'the question'. The tape makes the whirr-kachunk of flipping to a B-side, then skims through the entire length of the reel before rewinding to the start. The delivery of the voice is unidentifiably different. "Mass adoption of countermeasure wards must me adopted in all public places. Individuals vulnerable to corruption by the Existential Threat must be immediately reported by all individuals. Suspected vulnerable individuals must be closely monitored. Countermeasure incantations may be utilized as a testing tool and emergency means of repulsion, but they are not a foolproof defense."     "Terminals in early stages of infection must be intercepted and neutralized by well-trained and equipped militant individuals, in groups if possible, utilizing recondite resources. Terminals in late stages of infection must not be neutralized by lethal means! Late stage infections present the risk of rapid-onset metamorphosis even after biological death! We have no effective countermeasures to neutralized mature physical manifestations of the Existential Threat, so it is vital that your civilization prevent their occurence. The most effective means is implementation of civilization-wide protocols to immediately identify and cull vulnerable individuals as they arise."     The tape slows down to ambient hiss-crackling. As if an object could send 'dead air' as a token of grave solemnity. "Though it is possible that these procedures offend your civilization's sense of compassion, we must stress that until your civilization develops more advanced countermeasures than ours, compassion must be set aside in order to shelter the ¿Surface against the ¿Rising Primordial Ocean."     'Who are you, to be able and willing to perform such generosity?'     "We have identified no less than thirteen civilizations across the stars that have already been annihilated by the Existential Threat. Ours is among them. Our world was already in cinders long before this ritual was constructed. This is a mission of mercy."
Lilian Rook	'How did you determine that truly was the Existential Threat earlier? Is sanitization meant to be a permanent solution, or only a stopgap until emergency recondite actions commence?'     More cheerful answers. These are all exactly the questions it was prepared for, apparently. "Reactions to countermeasure incantations, expressing shock, distress, and pain, indicate individuals who are psychologically vulnerable to the Existential Threat, due to possessing a predisposition towards ¿Abhorrent ideological constructs that psychologically separate themselves from the rest of the species-variant. Reactions involving physical phenomena to countermeasure arrays indicate that physical impurities already exist within the biological corpus of a terminal, which react to the warding procedure. Sanitization is only a stopgap solution."     'What would happen if a civilization in danger of the Existential Threat was not prepared for recondite action?'     The tape casette clicks into a strangely sorrowful, toyetic-butler-y tone. "Rapid and gruesome extinction, I'm afraid."     'Can you describe the storage necessary to decompress? That would make communication easier, I am sure.'     'What specifications are sufficient? With a number or a form, the resources to ensure that requirement is met can be made available.'     The kachunk-sound flips the tape back to the A side. Two-sided topic switching? "If your vessel's data storage medium is sufficiently undamaged, the brainwave information compromising the majority of our individual ego and memories may be decompressed and restored to a state of full lucidity! The interaction behaviours of this automatic ritual are limited! We strongly urge full restoration as quickly as possible!" That's not an answer. The answer is almost an afterthought, actually.     "A magnetic binary substrate and elecronic modulation medium of any variety will be sufficient, if you are able to process and follow in-situ instruction! Magnetic binary data substrate will require available space no less than thirty-six times this vessel's available total. Please include equipment to facilitate verbal communication!"     'You won't do to us what you did to the helicopter, if we try and provide that storage, will you?'     "Our biological remains have already been repurposed as an emergency defense mechanism. This interaction ritual cannot control the neurochemical impulses implanted into our biological remains. The biological remains will not attack as long as they are undamaged. The biological remains fully encase your vessel's data storage. You will need to disarm the biological remains by complete immersion in boron gas for one three-hundredth of one local orbital period. You may freely remove the data storage medium afterwards. We express our condolences once more. We express our approval towards the scientific advancement of your equipment as well!"     'It's, apparently, been less than eight-hundred 'local orbital periods' since the vessel in question was sent from this world? I'm curious about the return-process. It doesn't make sense, but if you've additional clarification on the return mission's logistics, please state it for record.'     "We are unable to answer your question. We express our apologies. Your vessel, along with your civilization record, and our biological remains, were transported to your planetary coordinates via long-distance transportation ritual. The orbital measurements engraved on your record were miscalibrated, however. This vessel should have made landfall on the adjacent landmass, but your planet was slightly out of its expected position, and emegency crash-landing occurred in this body of water."
Angela	''Such words have been offered to *my* kind before, on tongues that spoke only lies.'' "Chill out." Gebura says. "We don't know if this is something to be pissy about." ''Honestly it's an afront to human dignity that most people *can't* jump their full body height.'' "...Honestly yeah." Malkuth admits begrudgingly. "Least I can with the right EGO gear. Perhaps one day everybody in the City will be able to jump high." "In a vertical fashion." Gebura 'helpfully' adds. ''Several different definitions of recondite.'' "That's all really helpful, thanks everyone." Gebura says tonelessly. ''The Pandemic Threat.'' "...Hearing that is--" "What's comorbid?" Gebura asks. "simultaneously present conditions, which may or may not be related." Malkuth hurriedly answers. "And this case it seems to be a related rather than coincidental condition." She frowns. She doesn't like what this suggests about the fact it kicked Lilian out. "That makes it sound like the Existential Threat is even more trouble than the Pandemic Threat as you call it." ''The individual designated by your memory date as 'Lilian Rook' is a terminal for the Exsitential Threat'' "Aw geeze. I was afraid you were going to say that." "Bloom shit?" Gebura asks Malkuth. "MAYBE I don't really want to speculate here in case we give the wrong idea." ''Nevertheless, it is our urgent recommendation that you eliminate it as soon as possible.'' "Hooold on, she's the one who is trying the hardest to save this world right now, whadaya mean she can cause an extinction?" Gebura doesn't really like the way this thing is talking about Lilian but it'd be like smashing an answering machine, or a computer, and they really do need to know everything it knows. ''Corrosive influence on classical causality'' "That sounds like you're describing the Storm." Malkuth frowns. "Classical causality...? But if something like that could do all that, T Corp would've destroyed our world a hundred times over by now." "We wouldn't know if they did though." Malkuth mutters. "You can reverse time but--" "I know." ''Symptomatic progression of threat-terminals includes...'' Gebura rubs at her face. Don't smash it. You need it. It doesn't understand it's being kind of a dick. "Also... okay, okay, this isn't related but now you're making me think of some other guys. Are we the first people who have found a way to access this information from you on this world?" She's getting emotional, emotional enough that she's the one asking questions instead of Malkuth who is ostensibly the one who is supposed to be, for the most part. "How does 'the Existential Threat' destroy civilization?" Malkuth is quiet for a moment and then decides to ask as well, "A .... ffrriend. A mutual friend. She tried to access your information another way but was rejected. Was that your ... defense against the Existential Threat again or was that something else?"
Lilian Rook	'The majority of local living beings on land have died during the period of greatest aggression. That period has passed, and the majority of remaining threats are sessile. Land reclamation is progressing, however -- the moon is occupied by a major, extant threat, and the seas have not been invaded.'     "Understood. Categorizing and updating." Again, that rapid whirr. Hopefully there's buffer space to record this. It'd be a scientific loss if it were deleting low-priority memories. "This corresponds with a large number of perforations, followed by release of the Pandemic Threat. We congratulate you on successfully managing the high-density initial release of Extraneous Abhorrent Ideal Manifestations characterizing the Pandemic Threat, and we express our gravest sincerities for your losses. This stage is the one at which your world is most weakened, and thus susceptible to Existential Threat morbitity."     'This world is not mine; I am a visitor, just as you.'     "We would be happy to know that your world has remained a fortress for so long as to accommodate refugees from other stars." the casette deck says, warmly.     'You have removed the one among us best capable of such a summary.'     "This is incorrect. The Existential Threat cannot be trusted."     'Hooold on, she's the one who is trying the hardest to save this world right now, whadaya mean she can cause an extinction?'     "Regardless of its current behaviour, a terminal in such an advanced stage of infection, even in remission, is an unacceptable risk to allow a free hand. The correct course of action is to ready recondite resources and individuals capable of subduing the terminal, followed by subdual, diminishment, or neutralization of mental functions for as long as biologically possible. We will work together, using our civilization's countermeasure research as a basis, to develop more effective countermeasures with yours, in order to prevent the full maturation of the Existential Threat by any means necessary."     'Okay okay, hold on. You're saying Lilian can alter the flow of time to the extent that she could eventually eradicate humanity?'     "As your vessel lacks functional external sensors, we are unable to verify the symbiotic capabilities of the terminal and its variant Existential Threat manifestation. Nevetheless, it is a well-established, scientific fact, that if the terminal is allowed to metamorphosize, it will invariably work towards the annihilation of your world and the complete replacement of your civilization and species-variant with one of its own preference."     'How does 'the Existential Threat' destroy civilization?'     "Through various means." Somehow, that short line of grainy babble feels more chilling than helpful.     'A .... ffrriend. A mutual friend. She tried to access your information another way but was rejected. Was that your ... defense against the Existential Threat again or was that something else?'     "The countermeasure array engraved on your vessel's surface is designed to prevent data access by means classically endemic to the Existential Threat, typically expressed by deviant individuals as a gross violation of rational laws by one-sided imposition of internal psychological constructs upon reality substrate in order to violently force a fictional universal axiom upon stable consensus possibility. Please examine your friend for any previously mentioned signs of Existential Threat infection!"
Petra Soroka	"It's abstruse."     "Oh, you think you're *so* funny." Petra huffs at Mesmer, but everyone else's explanation helps. Including Arthur's, even. "Got it."     Each reiteration of 'it' from the probe settles Petra's expression colder and colder. Around her, the irreppressible escalation of her aura manifests like it did in her mindscape, invisible hairline fractures that creep through three-dimensional space as branching lines of minute refraction. It catches skin and clothes with small movements, to tear at threads and nick skin that crosses the razor thin boundaries. Petra's as still and brittle as she is in order to keep it contained enough to not shatter and force her out. ". . . Abhorrent ideological constructs within sickness-prone members of the native population to manifest physical phenomena with greater frequency and intensity . . ."     Nothing could be clearer than that. Exis jumps into Petra's mind's eye first, lounging in the helical tree that she warned Petra away from, but that thought's immediately overlaid with Exis, on top of the castle of the supervillain simulation, holding her in place from every possible angle. She purses her lips, then makes the intentional effort to keep both in mind simultaneously, and Lilian. "The number and severity of perforations is information we require to diagnose the severity of the Existential Threat to your civilization."     "Okay." That first semantically-empty word is necessary to loosen up Petra's jaw enough that she can speak normally enough that she hopes won't trigger any alarms. "If we said there were tons of perforations, is there some kind of... assistance you'd send? As in, extra people, or spacecraft, or weapons? To help fight them off?" " . . . then gradual dissociation from the civilization's ideological and moral structures, followed by an increasing rate of failure to recognize the species-variant as being similar to the individual or as worthy of ideological allegiance, culminating in cascading collapses in self-regulation . . ."     Petra's most difficult task yet is restraining herself from blurting out 'Hell yeah that's my kinda woman' from some deep primal impulse. "Terminals in early stages of infection must be intercepted and neutralized by well-trained and equipped militant individuals, in groups if possible, utilizing recondite resources."     How appropriately ghoulish. Petra tries to consider whether Lilian would be considered early stage or late stage, but quickly settles on determining that she's definitely late stage. Exigent Serenity is practically right around the corner, and Lilian's made it clear what her death would result in. She wonders what this means for Ash, too. "Though it is possible that these procedures offend your civilization's sense of compassion,"     "Don't worry about that. I'm listening. How are you going to give us the information on the warding incantation?" "We have identified no less than thirteen civilizations across the stars that have already been annihilated by the Existential Threat."     Petra barely manages to bring her hand up to her mouth in time to cover a nearly feral grin. "Uh huh? Oh, that's terrible. Oh no. Can you give me the coordinates of those worlds? The state of our world's science and recondyke resources is one that'd, uh, be better off if we knew the locations of where the Existential Threat succeeded, so we could develop better countermeasures by studying them."
Arthur Lowell	> Arthur: Get a little mad     "Oh, sick. That's great. No, yeah, that's a lot of real cool, great <UNTRANSLATABLE> to hear." Arthur storms forward a little. "Doctor spacemagic's very own answering machine comes to town and tells me he won't cure my pneumonia. But he'll sure tell me how to cut off my left hand because that's the evil one! I heard enough shit about Lilian being a huge evil threat from the last radio dipshits, and I didn't even have to dig 'em up from the ocean floor. How many fucking times is NAZCA gonna drop us *this specific nastygram*?"     "We congratulate you on discovering effective early countermeasures against the Existential Threat!"     "The Bloom severing? That's what you wanna come up here and tell me about?" Arthur throws his arms wide. "Yeah! Congrats to the bastard prehumanity for cutting off whatever they could! And fuck off to the Blooms that barely figured how to put down some roots! Real good division to amputate straight through the meaning of being a person, and now we've got who knows how many fucktillion *people*, who are spending every damn day of their lives *miserable* and *riskin' instant death*, but at least they staved off some people who could kill *civilization* by bein' too antisocial and weird! Let me take that advice from a mausoleum's answering machine, who don't wanna wake up the person in charge to knuckle down and help fix the thing that's killing people *now*!"     He storms around, frustratedly throwing his hands into the air or to the side to emphasize more about his petty rant. "No wonder NAZCA wanted to dig this fucker up, practically the same fuckin' family! Congratulations on stabilizing the amputation, congratulations on exploiting the Blooms or the Sparks or *whatever* the fuck, now how can we get to the part where we exterminate anyone who's a little too mad for a little too long?"     He finally reaches the end of his petty gamer rant, jabbing his hand at the deck. "Hey one-eight-hundred-call-a-corpse, maybe you and yours *got what you fuckin' deserved*. Someone wake me up from this shitass fuckin' dream if we want to do some mercy, I sure goddamn like *my* dead people and blubbering space monsters more." Bitterly, "And do not give that thing a *fucking floppy disk* worth of hardware."
Meresankh	"The Existential Threat originates from penetrations of the ¿Primordial Ocean into the ¿Surface World."     "The number and severity of perforations is information we require to diagnose the severity of the Existential Threat to your civilization."     Meresankh immediately draws a mental parallel, but does not voice it: the Warp, bleeding into her galaxy through psychically sensitive beings and wounds in space itself. But then another: the Destroyer virus unique to the Necrons, which eats away at moral reasoning and selfhood to leave hollow killing machines. "How are these perforations identified and counted? Do they occur within people like these 'terminals', or at specific locations?" Then, a little more boldly, "What is the 'Primordial Ocean', and how did you learn of it as this contagion's source?"     "Complete metamorphosis and destruction of the previously human psyche."     Meresankh glances around at the other, increasingly skeptical-to-outraged, Elites. "This sounds like a danger to Lilian as much as to the rest of her world, if the tape's analyses are correct," she says to her compatriots. "If her current state is indeed representative of 'effective early countermeasures', then there may be a method available other than simply... culling the herd." She utters the last words with contempt for the very idea. "My people too are beset by a psychological contagion, a virus in our machine minds. I am working for a cure to its spread, and for the duration content myself with safe containment of the afflicted. To suggest that I take the lives of my own people instead to 'minimize risk' would earn one's death, and not a bent ear." A dramatic pause. "I grow increasingly skeptical of this device's purported insights."     You will need to disarm the biological remains by complete immersion in boron gas for one three-hundredth of one local orbital period.     "I can supply that," Meresankh asides to the Elites, "should we deem it wise."     "a terminal in such an advanced stage of infection, even in remission, is an unacceptable risk to allow a free hand."     Meresankh literally vibrates with contempt, her limbs twitching as skepticism overflows into a torrent of outrage. "You are but a tool," she says, her voice dripping with venom, "But if your master is awakened there will be a reckoning for their insolence. If your master will work with us on 'countermeasures', it shall be on our terms and not theirs."
Foundation Scions	'Magnetic binary data substrate will require available space no less than thirty-six times this vessel's available total.'     "Easy enough." Mostly as an aside, "The collective data amassed for our recordings today is significantly larger in storage-space. Boron atmosphere, for, two days to be safe, I'm nearly sure Laplace maintains an isolation chamber of the necessary size. I'll write up the requisition documents once there's a means to transport the probe, or, I'll... write up more requisition documents, for a mobile atmosphere sealant kit and an absurd number of boron tanks. That's a hassle, but..." A trail off to muttering. 'And do not give that thing a *fucking floppy disk* worth of hardware.'     "Why not? It's the task at-hand to carry out research in full. The listed process to render it safe to access are doable, with accessible resources. If you're worried about what it has to say, please understand that Laplace Scientific Computing Center is only involved for the extraction and analysis of information, and nothing to do with the policy of a fully-separate world. But, if you need to calm down, there's sedatives in the control console's cupholder."     "I don't understand why you keep talking about flowers," To Arthur, "But there's not any here, and hardly any at the lighthouse. It doesn't make any sense in the context of your words, and I'd appreciate if you spoke normally. This is a serious endeavor."     "'Terminal' is a strange bit of terminology. No, all of it is. Metamorphosis and threats? Unclear, unexplained. I hope those are later elucidated." Mesmer says, just out of the blue, following her statements to Arthur- "I'll wager that the Cryptography team might have work to contend with any of this terminology, it's clearly incomplete in context. I'll let Ulrich know. " It's actually just that Mesmer's confused, having been uninvolved with as well as uninformed, of the topical matters before this discovery, as well as even the circumstances of Lilian's world. If you asked her to describe an 'antegent', she'd rattle off the same definition a cursory briefing held. Unluckily, she's likely to look up whatever's known about those circumstances by Paladins archive data.     "-No, it's going to be truly a large number of requisition forms." Temple-tap, tap, "End connection-"
Lilian Rook	'If we said there were tons of perforations, is there some kind of... assistance you'd send? As in, extra people, or spacecraft, or weapons? To help fight them off?'     "Regrettably, it is unlikely that any reinforcements will arrive." says the casette deck. In its least cheery tone so far, it says "We have lost contact with the others of our kind a very long time ago. We have abandoned our vessel at the site of your vessel's last radio transmission, so that your world may be located if its radio transmissions reach them as well, but how many of them even remain alive after fleeing our world, we don't know."     'Don't worry about that. I'm listening. How are you going to give us the information on the warding incantation?'     Oblivious to the meaning of Petra's malignant psychic manifestation, the voice on the little desk continues. "The exact instructions have been engraved on your analogue data storage device, as well as encoded image data regarding the countermeasure array. Please excuse any imperfections; our vessel was meant only to listen for broadcasts from intelligent life and prolong our biological functions as long as possible, and possessed no tools for precision inscription."     'Uh huh? Oh, that's terrible. Oh no. Can you give me the coordinates of those worlds?'     "The coordinates of worlds previously destroyed by the Existential Threat are contained within compressed memory." Thats' . . . hopefully just true. It'd be weird if a casette deck were using a bargaining chip.     'How are these perforations identified and counted? Do they occur within people like these 'terminals', or at specific locations?'     "The perforations are metaphysical. They exist because of the Augers that bore them. The Augers are identifiable for their similarity to the object represented on this simulated horizon. The Augers siphon recondite resources to widen their perforations, from which spills forth the Pandemic Threat."     'If her current state is indeed representative of 'effective early countermeasures', then there may be a method available other than simply... culling the herd.'     "If your civilization has developed more effective countermeasures than ours, we will do our utmost to work with your technicians and artisans to use our knowledge to improve upon them. Please describe the nature of the countermeasures after data decompression and ego retrieval."     'You are but a tool'     "Correct. This is an automated interaction ritual prepared to convey necessary information for data decompression and ego retrieval."     'I heard enough shit about Lilian being a huge evil threat from the last radio dipshits, and I didn't even have to dig 'em up from the ocean floor. How many fucking times is NAZCA gonna drop us *this specific nastygram*?'     If Lilian were aware of any of this, she might suggest that NAZCA may have gotten the idea, at least in this permutation, from the probe. She'd have even odds of being wrong. Whether or not the pattern is simply emergent in every sapient civilization, the casette deck only responds, "The existence of an organizational body dedicated to the management of the Existential Threat will be reassuring to hear of!"     'Hey one-eight-hundred-call-a-corpse, maybe you and yours *got what you fuckin' deserved*.'     "Our people were exterminated because we were too slow to adopt the necessary measures, and too fractured in our agreement to do what must be done. Your people must be stronger, more decisive, and more unified than ours were, if you are to survive. This is a mission of mercy."
Lilian Rook	'Boron atmosphere, for, two days to be safe, I'm nearly sure Laplace maintains an isolation chamber of the necessary size. I'll write up the requisition documents once there's a means to transport the probe, or, I'll... write up more requisition documents, for a mobile atmosphere sealant kit and an absurd number of boron tanks. That's a hassle, but...'     "Your cooperation is deeply appreciated. We congratulate you for your sober and rational analysis of the facts we have presented, despite our minimal ability to provide further evidence at this time!"     ''Terminal' is a strange bit of terminology. No, all of it is. Metamorphosis and threats? Unclear, unexplained. I hope those are later elucidated.'     "This ritual has limited capacity to synthesize terminology ex-nihilo. We will be happy to answer further questions with the benefit of data decompression and ego retrieval."     "We detect that this line of communication is closing. We urge to to exercise caution around the Existential Threat in your physical proximity. Maintain group cohesion, avoid actions that may express agitation, judgement, or vulnerability, and move away from the Existential Threat at an unremarkable pace until you are beyond its sphere of awareness. We will instruct you in more effective countermeasures at the next available opportunity."