Narrator 3: (Phineas) “What about… this one?”

Narrator 2: Phineas holds out a matronly black skirt. It is not Lark’s style at all. (Lark) “Nah,” she says, taking instead the black cactus-leather jacket from him.

Narrator 3: He picked that out for himself.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “I’ll be taking this.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Okay…I guess it doesn’t really matter?” Phineas accepts the skirt. (Phineas) “It just has to be the right color.” He’s a little disappointed. It’s a cool jacket.

Narrator 1: This evening, Phineas and Lark are standing in an aisle of a shitty used clothing store here in the Highest Light. The metal racks are covered in squeaky hangers, and last season’s fashions adorn dusty mannequins, repelling most style-conscious shoppers from even entering the shop.

Narrator 2: A number of unbleached fashion posters adorn the walls in here, some outmoded hair and makeup trends on full display in faded blue tones.

Narrator 3: Plaintive muzak competes for attention with a banging heat vent at the back of the store that seems direly in need of repair.

Narrator 2: Lark is looking impressively unlike herself right now, wearing gloves and a long sleeved turtleneck, her Fold scar hidden skillfully under makeup, thanks to Phineas, her hair cut short, thick rimmed glasses giving her a strangely academic air — Professor Lark.

Narrator 3: For his part, Phineas is looking also pretty unrecognizable with his full beard and pretty casual clothing. He’s even been trying to resist the ramrod-straight posture that the Company trained into him.

Narrator 1: Phineas glances subtly at the handwriting scribbled on the back of the glossy dark business card he’s carrying,

Narrator 2: The one Kozma handed to him,

Narrator 1: Reminding himself of the correct procedure, and he raises a hand to wave down a shop employee. He hides the little dark card back in his pocket.

Narrator 2: A sleepy looking attendant approaches, eyeing Phineas with his garment selection, glancing between him and Lark. Phineas holds the skirt out.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Hi! Uh… can I see what this looks like… in the dark?” He prompts Lark with a glance.

Narrator 2: Lark, holding up the jacket on the hanger: (Lark) “Uh, me too. I also want to see what this looks like. Uh, in the dark.”

Narrator 1: Though this seems like an odd question, the attendant doesn’t bat an eye.

Narrator 2: They are directed to a curtained changing room set near the back of the store, and Phineas and Lark pause for a sec outside of it.

Narrator 3: The attendant leaves. (Phineas) “Uh…after you?”

Narrator 2: Lark shrugs, putting on the cool leather jacket, and steps through the curtain. Normally you’re supposed to wait until you’re inside the changing room to try on the clothes, but whatever.

Narrator 3: Lark does things her own way.

Narrator 2: When she does not emerge again after a moment, and doesn’t respond when Phineas whispers,

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Are you all good in there?”

Narrator 2: Phineas follows.

Narrator 3: The changing room is empty.

Narrator 2: Lark is nowhere to be seen.

Narrator 3: It’s all scuffed to hell. You know used changing rooms. There’s a number of shirts, shoes—

Narrator 2: all black—

Narrator 3: Just kind of strewn around on the austere bench and various hooks.

Narrator 1: Phineas regards himself in the full length fingerprint-stained mirror. There is nothing and no one else in here. He looks at the card again,

Narrator 2: Brow furrowed.

Narrator 1: He looks back at his reflection. He quirks an eyebrow.

Narrator 2: Phineas hangs up the skirt on the wall alongside the numerous other articles of black clothing that have been discarded here.

Narrator 3: He really has no idea where she went.

Narrator 2: Suddenly, the mirror pitches to the side as it swings open on a hinge, “Angel of Music” style. Lark’s arm reaches out of the dark doorway behind it and pulls Phineas through. [A cavernous whoosh as the thrift-store ambience fades away.] Leaving the eternal light of the Un behind, the disguised duo descends a claustrophobic, cave-like staircase into windowless darkness, tunneling down, down, down into the mica of the city’s bedrock.

Narrator 1: The natural crystal of the walls has been polished and thickly coated in an opaque black paint to block out its luminance and to seal in its sharp, hazardous mica texture.

Narrator 2: Except for small, bare, gently luminous patches here and there, giving just enough light to see by.

Narrator 3: Darkness doesn’t just happen in the Highest Light — it has to be meticulously manufactured, engineered.

Narrator 2: Lark slows for a moment, stops, and turns to face Phineas, putting an arm across the stairwell so he can’t proceed any further. (Lark) “I wanna make sure we’re clear on this. I’m coming with you, and we’re not leaving until the Baron agrees to help us find Sherman. Whatever she wants with you, don’t let her have it until we get what WE want.”

Narrator 3: Phineas swallows. (Phineas) “I’m still not sure about this. She certainly doesn’t SEEM like she’s on the Trust’s side, but… You’re worth a lot, Lark. It might be a problem.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Well, we haven’t made ANY progress by laying low, wearing makeup, and avoiding everyone we see. We clearly can’t find Sherman on our own. We need new information. We need help. And conveniently, you seem to have this powerful new friend all of a sudden. We should use that.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Okay, but what do we do if Laszlo seems like she wants to turn you in? Or, I dunno, capture you?”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “I dunno, improvise I guess. I’m trying to trust my gut more these days.”

Narrator 1: That nice old lady at the Lazaretto did give Lark some good tips about leaning-in to things. Well, we will all get to see where this goes.

Narrator 3: Speaking of where they goes… The pair turn a final corner and come upon a small group of burly-looking security guards standing before a heavy vault-style door. They’re guarding a series of lockers against one wall.

[Muffled rhythmic thudding is faintly audible.]

Narrator 2: One of them approaches Lark and Phineas.

Narrator 1: (Bouncer) “Abacus check,” she says matter-of-factly.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Uh, what?” Phineas gasps, clutching his pearls — er, uh, his abacus.

Narrator 2: Kozma hadn’t warned him about THIS part.

Narrator 1: (Bouncer) “You’re not getting in unless you leave that out here.”

Narrator 2: Lark looks just a little bit smug. (Lark) “I left mine at home.” She pops the collar of her new leather jacket in a dope and swag manner.

Narrator 3: The bouncers are suitably impressed by her punk nature.

Narrator 1: Phineas reaches up to unclasp his abacus. His hands are a little shaky, a little sweaty.

Narrator 2: His neck feels naked and vulnerable without it.

Narrator 3: Handing his abacus to someone else—

Narrator 2: Other than very briefly to a notary or something for routine account balancing—

Narrator 3: It feels kind of… wrong.

Narrator 1: The bouncer takes the abacus from Phineas, tosses it in a locker, and with a practiced motion, rips a ticket in half and hands the stub back to Phineas. (Bouncer) “Make sure you come back out this way when you leave. Have fun. Welcome to Bedrock.”

Narrator 2: And the two bouncers, together, crank open the heavy metal door, and Lark and Phineas step within.

[The muffled thudding swells into loud high-energy techno music. An amplified voice shouts indecipherably. A crowd cheers.]

Narrator 3: Oh yeah, it’s nightclub time.

[All narrators express enthusiastic approval.]

Narrator 2: You thought the Highest Light was lame??

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Whoa!”

Narrator 1: yells Phineas.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “This is… different!”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “What?”

Narrator 1: yells Lark.

Narrator 2: [Almost inaudibly] A glittering cave grotto—

Narrator 3: What?

Narrator 1: What??

Narrator 2: [Shouting] A glittering cave grotto filled with catwalks, spiral staircases, and metal balconies!

Narrator 1: Stalactites! Stalagmites! All mica that has been painted black!

Narrator 3: Numerous bars pulse with bright neon lights around the circumference of this first room!

Narrator 2: Ceiling-mounted machines spew dark fog — artificial simulated fold — into a dazzling dance floor below!

Narrator 1: Long, dark ta— ugh, enough of this… [Music volume decreases and narration returns to normal levels.] Anyway, as we were saying, long dark tassels hang like fringe, gently wafting and undulating to the beat.

Narrator 2: And what a beat!

Narrator 3: There’s a disc jockey standing at this crazed instrument — wires spewing out of numerous sockets and holes, washers twizzled up and down tiny threaded knobs.

Narrator 2: This priathic dance music—

Narrator 3: or PDM—

Narrator 2: is some cutting edge shit at the outer limits of the Trust’s current music technology.

Narrator 1: Extreme. Avant-garde. Futuristic.

Narrator 3: Phineas notices that many of the drinks people are holding actively fluoresce, some of them even appearing to spark or gently burn in people’s glasses as they pass through the crowd.

Narrator 2: Oh, and the crowd. The people here are…wow. There are a lot of hot people here.

Narrator 1: Two more now that Phineas and Lark are here.

Narrator 2: Ayyyy!

Narrator 1: Bartenders wearing naught but tasteful lingerie serving drinks on glowing trays.

Narrator 2: Some tasteLESS lingerie too. All of the patrons, in the booths and clustered around the bar counters, are wearing dark clothes, laced with what look like ropes of LEDs, many of them color-shifting.

Narrator 1: Or something similar to LEDs. They haven’t invented those yet here in this cosmos.

Narrator 2: Others are painted with glow-in-the-dark body paint.

Narrator 3: And it is crowded. Clearly there’s a demand for… whatever this is.

Narrator 2: In all the ornamentation on display, however, there is not one single abacus to be seen. There’s no way to know anyone’s balance, no way to tell if someone is Valorous, Caenumous, or anything in between. It’s shocking.

Narrator 1: It’s subversive.

Narrator 3: It’s… hot. Phineas is aghast, but maybe also just a LITTLE turned on?

Narrator 2: Lark is sorta glaring at him.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “What?!”

Narrator 1: he yells,

Narrator 2: blushing furiously. She just shakes her head and moves on, shouldering roughly through the crowd. (Lark) “Ugh. Trustees. Is this supposed to look like the Fold?”

Narrator 3: Oh, it kinda does, in a garish, freaky way.

Narrator 2: Like a horny fever dream parody of the Fold, maybe.

Narrator 1: Once Lark points it out, Phineas’s expression gets even a little more wide-eyed and wonder-filled.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Oh, hey yeah! It looks kind of like Sequester!”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Ugh.” Lark rolls her eyes even harder, and follows Phin further in.

[The crowd cheers as the current song concludes. The music transitions to a more mysterious mood.] 

Narrator 1: They make their way through some tight halls, crammed with barely dressed patrons making out in the darkness. Boy, folks are really cutting loose in here with all this freedom of anonymity.

Narrator 2: Trustees are under a lot of pressure these days, and this is a pressure release kind of place.

Narrator 3: They head into the back, where the private champagne rooms are.

Narrator 2: Champagne, yes. That’s exactly what these rooms are for.

Narrator 3: One of them is under guard by some familiar faces.

Narrator 1: A couple of heralds from Kozma’s ship — armed heralds, Phineas notes, observing the telltale shapes of concealed armaments within their uniforms.

Narrator 2: They’re looking mega terse and serious for such a fun place. Also, they’re not dressed as fun.

Narrator 1: Phineas double-checks the dark business card in his pocket as he approaches the guards at the door. He turns and shoots one last glance at Lark as well.

Narrator 3: He widens his eyes as if to ask, “You sure?”

Narrator 2: Lark nods, curtly, taciturn.

Narrator 1: Kozma’s people move aside to let Phineas in, but they pause when they see him accompanied by — Who’s this now?

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Um… She’s with me.”

Narrator 2: And they permit their entry. One herald follows them in to keep an eye on them. Inside the private “champagne” room, a small gaggle of individuals is seated around a table. They look up from their clearly intense conversation that they were having, falling silent, taking in the newcomers.

Narrator 3: Phineas actually recognizes most of them.

Narrator 1: You do too.

Narrator 2: Let’s take a look at them, why don’t we?

Narrator 1: There’s Gretel, the Company member frequently assigned to supervise Sherman during his enforced stay at the Delagney. Phineas used to work with her all the time back in his Company days. Huh.

Narrator 2: There’s a slightly older, academic-looking bespectacled lady, Ms. Agatha Ledge. It’s been a minute since we’ve seen her. You might remember the Loxlee Gala — there was that whole photograph taken using the Incendiary Imaging Device. Well, she’s the inventor. She was the one shouting commands, the one pulling the ripcord.

Narrator 3: She’s currently got some neon orange earplugs jammed in and is wearing a chin-to-toe spandex bodysuit. Phineas blinks. Her, too? Man, the Breach is all over the place. What the hell?

Narrator 1: And of course there is… Uh, hang on… She’s almost unrecognizable without her signature accessory, but Phineas recognizes her. His eyes widen.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “You!”

Narrator 2: “Hi,” Backpack says, standing up. (Backpack) “Nice to see you again. Now that you’re here, we can actually get down to business. Wasn’t sure you’d actually show. But, uh, you didn’t come alone?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Hang on. I’m sorry, just a sec. I thought you were Pom’s intern? Have you secretly been working for Kozma the entire time?”

Narrator 2: Of course he’s ALSO surprised to see renowned inventor Agatha Ledge and Company member Gretel, but for some reason the Backpack revelation is really blowing his mind.

Narrator 1: Because it’s a stunning revelation, that’s why!

[The muffled music transitions to another song.] 

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Yep. Kozma’s eyes and ears for everything going on in Trust media. Introduce me to your friend. It’s not exactly customary to bring a plus-one to these kinds of things, you know.”

Narrator 3: While Phineas tries to think of a diplomatic and cautious way to introduce his friend, Lark just says,

Narrator 2: (Lark) “I’m Lark.”

Narrator 1: Everybody stares at her.

Narrator 3: Phineas holds his breath.

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “What?” says Gretel.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Oh my god!” says Backpack.

Narrator 3: Agatha Ledge pulls out an earplug. (Ledge) “I’m sorry — you’re Clara Mire? Damn, that’s pretty audacious. Good thing we’re all filthy seditionists in this room.”

Narrator 2: Lark shrugs, pops her collar even harder. God, she’s such a badass punk.

Narrator 1: Gretel looks hyped. (Gretel) “Gotta admit, this is the last place anybody would expect to be lookin’ for YOU.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “That’s the idea.”

Narrator 1: There is now a pointed gap in the conversation where Kozma Laszlo, Baron of the Fold Shallows, would have probably said 

Narrator 2: “Neat,” 

Narrator 1: but, uh… she’s not here.

Narrator 2: She’ll never say anything ever again.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Where is Baron Laszlo?”

Narrator 2: The Breach associates look at each other.

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “Why don’t you have a seat?” 

Narrator 3: says Gretel. 

Narrator 1: (Gretal) “Kozma’s dead.”

Narrator 3: Phineas’s mouth goes dry. (Phineas) “Wait, what?”

Narrator 2: (Ledge) “Why don’t you sit?” says Ledge.

Narrator 1: Phineas and Lark squeeze in around the table.

Narrator 2: Backpack takes a deep breath. (Backpack) “There’s been a change of plans. They’ve taken out Kozma. It’s time for phase two, and having YOU here now…”

Narrator 1: —she looks at Phineas and at Lark—

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “…is good timing, honestly.”

Narrator 1: Lark leans in.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Hang on a minute. I’m not part of your little club. We need help finding someone and getting them out of the Highest Light. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

Narrator 1: This is of interest to Backpack. (Backpack) “Well, maybe we can help each other out. Who are you looking for?”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “His name is Sherman Guthrie. He was abducted from Midst by Company. We’re here to bring him home.”

Narrator 3: Phineas nods emphatically.

Narrator 1: Ledge and Backpack exchange knowing glances.

Narrator 2: Backpack looks particularly thoughtful. (Backpack) “Hm. Well, finding him is easy. We actually already know where he is.”

Narrator 1: Both Lark and Phineas raise an eyebrow at this.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “But getting anyone OUT of the city? That’s a little bit more complicated right now. Most of the Highest Light’s ships are out searching the cosmos for you.”

Narrator 1: She is looking directly at Lark.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “All entries and exits from the city are tightly controlled right now. You need someone who could pull all kinds of strings. Luckily, I am that person.”

Narrator 1: She looks pretty pleased about that.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “I can help you with Sherman.”

Narrator 3: Oh! Lark is surprised. That’s easier than expected. Maybe too easy?

Narrator 2: Backpack continues, (Backpack) “But WE need something too. We need HIM.”

Narrator 1: There it is.

Narrator 3: Phineas looks around for a sec before pointing at himself. (Phineas) “Me? I mean, I want to help Sherman too. That’s why I came back here, but…”

Narrator 1: Gretel completes his sentence for him, (Gretel) “But it’s not the only reason, right? It’s not the only problem that needs fixing. Kozma saw something in you. An ex- Adsecla has all kinds of insider information that we can put to use, but that’s no good unless he’s willing to help.” She examines him pointedly. (Gretel) “Kozma judged that you were at least halfway-interested in fixing the Trust problem. If you want our help, then you’ll help us.”

Narrator 3: Phineas swallows hard. (Phineas) “Well, I was prepared to help Kozma, but if she’s dead, what do you need me for? Who was she to you?”

Narrator 2: Backpack looks around at everyone in the room. (Backpack) “Kozma was in charge of the whole Breach, and we’re part of the Breach. So are you, right?”

Narrator 3: Phineas looks from Gretel, to Ledge, to Backpack,

Narrator 1: to Lark.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Yeah. I am.”

Narrator 2: He’s been coming to terms with this more and more. It’s getting a little bit easier to say each time.

Narrator 1: Backpack turns to Lark.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “And you. I mean, it doesn’t GET more Breach than you. You’re the mascot, the, uh — ha, sorry — the poster child.”

Narrator 1: She is actually on posters.

Narrator 2: Lark actually does look a little smug to hear that.

Narrator 1: Backpack turns her attention back to Phineas once again.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “You understand that the Trust is broken. You’ve been hurt by it, you’ve hurt people because of it, and you know that that’s just going to keep on happening. Valor is nothing but a way to control people. Without Valor, that control is gone.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “But… how do you get RID of Valor?”

Narrator 1: (Ledge) “Well, that is what we’ve been working on,” says Ledge. “And it’s actually pretty simple. Without their core infrastructure, the records, any of their symbols, they’re not gonna be able to keep track of their accounts, and the Trust… will no longer be able to function.”

Narrator 2: Gretel nods, leaning back in the booth. (Gretel) “This was always gonna be the plan if Kozma ever went down, but we need someone who knows the lay of the land. Someone who’s been IN there, specifically in the restricted and high-security areas.”

Narrator 3: Phineas’s eyes widen in recognition, in realization. (Phineas) “Oh. Oh no,” he says.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Oh yes,” Backpack says. “We’re gonna destroy the Central Vault.”