Narrator 2: (Unidentified speaker) “Good afternoon, Mr. Loxlee. Reason for your visit to the Central Vault today?”

Narrator 3: The junior notary readjusts some thick spectacles and pulls out a ledger and pen.

Narrator 1: Hieronymous Loxlee approaches the front desk smiling, giving a little wave of the hand. (Hieronymous) “Upper Trust business today, Valor circulation volume review. Sorry for coming in on a holiday.”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous Loxlee is standing before the front desk of the Central Vault of the Upper Trust accompanied by a team of three others. There’s a young press intern carrying a cumbersome backpack of teletheric transduction equipment,

Narrator 3: An academic-looking bespectacled older lady,

Narrator 1: And a stunning blonde dreamy-eyed assistant who’s pushing a handcart of official-looking Trust-stamped Valor and Caenum sacks, one of each.

Narrator 2: The notary is just a little surprised to see Hieronymous, or anyone, considering the Loxlees themselves just declared that new bank holiday falling on, well, today.

Narrator 3: This hasn’t resulted in the Central Vault being closed, of course.

Narrator 2: Ha. That’s inconceivable.

Narrator 3: But it is staffed by a comparatively small skeleton crew.

Narrator 1: You’ve been here of course, to the Central Vault: big hamster palace marble maze pneumatic tube bank nonsense, all up in the walls, Caenum and Valor flying all over the place.

Narrator 2: Very clean, very stately, very ornate.

Narrator 3: Federal Reserve Bank meets cathedral.

Narrator 2: (Junior Notary) “I’m sorry sir, it’s just we weren’t informed. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Would you and your party please step this way for a brief search and parcel check?”

Narrator 1: Loxlee — smooth, charming, sparkling in his abundant abacus — smiles decorously. (Hieronymous) “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

Narrator 2: (Junior Notary) “I’m afraid you’ll need to in order to access any non-public areas of the Vault. It’s a new policy enforced by the Archauditor herself. No exceptions, even for Loxlees, I’m afraid. Sorry, sir.”

Narrator 3: The junior notary leads them over to a guarded checkpoint here in the atrium.

Narrator 2: Two armed and armored Company soldiers examine the newcomers.

Narrator 3: (Soldier) “Parcels and personal items on the counter, please.”

Narrator 1: Another associate notary with a slightly larger sash of Valor steps forward to greet and inspect the newcomers.

Narrator 2: Backpack surrenders her backpack for inspection, making easy chitchat with the notaries on staff. (Backpack) “Ugh, anything to get that thing off my shoulders for a sec, you know what I mean? Are you sure you can’t carry that around for me for the rest of the day?” Her presence here, a licensed member of the press, seems to put them all at ease.

Narrator 3: Everything Valorous and legitimate is documented by the media, after all.

Narrator 2: She cheerfully explains and identifies all the various teletheric doodads, opening all the different pockets and compartments.

Narrator 1: Ms. Ledge and Saskia offer up the two bags for inspection. Sacks like these — common sight here at the Central Vault, the standard packaging in which bulk Valor and Caenum beads are stored for transport, complete with the factory seal.

Narrator 2: Normally these types of bags don’t come in through the front door, though.

Narrator 3: It’s important to remember that this is essentially a place like Fort Knox. There’s no such thing as too much security.

Narrator 1: (Associate Notary) “I’ll have to unseal these,”

Narrator 2: the associate notary says apologetically, and uses an official-looking can opener-esque device to crack into the two Valor and Caenum satchels.

Narrator 3: White beads glimmer inside one, black beads inside the other.

Narrator 2: Donning long pearlescent rubber gloves, the associate reaches within to stir around, checking for any foreign objects that might be hidden within the granules.

Narrator 3: The two checkpoint guards observe the proceedings watchfully. Hieronymous subtly takes a deep, calming breath.

Narrator 1: And Agatha Ledge clears her throat. (Ledge) “Please take care. Those are… brand new.”

Narrator 2: The associate looks up from the open bags.

Narrator 3: (Associate) “I would hope so. We’re not really in the business of circulating used Valor, last I checked. Anyway, it’s all clear.”

Narrator 1: The associate notary reseals the Valor and Caenum sacks.

Narrator 3: (Associate) “You may proceed.”

Narrator 2: The junior notary from the front desk approaches again now, this time with a handful of small laminated badges. (Junior Notary) “Please keep these on your person at all times while within the Vault, remain as a group in all locations, and, um… that’s basically it! Here is your designated Company escort. Have a Valorous day.”

Narrator 1: And the two Company guards who’ve been monitoring the security process now step forward and take their place at the back of the group.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous waves a dismissive hand,

Narrator 2: Showing just how little he’s bothered by this Company escort.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “My entourage and I are just gonna be making a quick visit, in and out, but very well. Have a nice quiet holiday.”

Narrator 3: The junior notary quails at this, mutters a final,

Narrator 2: (Junior Notary) “Sorry again, sir. You too,”

Narrator 3: and scurries back to the reception desk.

Narrator 1: And thus approved and verified, the Breach is escorted deeper into the Central Vault.

Narrator 3: Nice.

Narrator 2: Ah, everything’s going perfectly so far, without a hitch.

Narrator 3: Phineas and Lark —

Narrator 2: Because that’s who the two guards escorting them are. You figured that out, right?

Narrator 3: They’re trying to be the picture of generic, well-behaved Company grunts, rank and file. This is extremely easy and second nature for Phineas. He doesn’t like to admit to himself how frankly comfortable it feels to be back in that shiny armor again, leaning on procedure rather than constantly second-guessing his own individual actions and choices. It’s a kind of invisibility. His stance is just so, everything in his movement and posture exuding Company legitimacy and confidence.

Narrator 2: Lark, on the other hand, is trying as hard as she can to appear comfortable and at ease in the stupid blocky video game armor of the Company, and she’s managing… okay. She adjusts her breastplate for the thirtieth time since putting it on. Scowls a little harder. Luckily, Phineas looks legitimate enough for both of them. For now. She doesn’t think anyone would expect to find HER inside a Company uniform. Hopefully no one will look too closely.

Narrator 1: Once they’re at a safe distance from the reception area, Hieronymous turns and gives the disguised Phineas and Lark a covert glance. (Loxlee) “No trouble getting into the right shift, then?”

Narrator 3: Phineas shakes his head curtly. (Phineas) “Not so far. People were quick to swap for a day off. We’ve been getting some odd comments and looks about keeping our helmets on inside, though.”

Narrator 2: Lark remains silent. She and Hieronymous are having a good look at one another. They almost kind-of sort-of encountered each other briefly that day in Stationary Hill, both pretending to be someone they’re not. Now they see each other for who they are: Clara Mire and Mr. Loxlee.

Narrator 1: Not Harry the freighter captain.

Narrator 2: What do you even say to the most wanted and infamous killer in the universe and murderer of the former husband of your current spouse? Is there an etiquette book for that situation?

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “Nice to meet you. I hope you don’t have a problem with ALL the Misters Loxlee.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Not so far,”

Narrator 3: Lark growls.

Narrator 1: The halls of the Vault are unusually deserted thanks to the helpful holiday — only an odd notary here, an accountant there, all passing quietly, deferentially nodding to Hieronymous and company as they go.

Narrator 3: The group all seem to have the air of knowing where they’re going.

Narrator 1: And this is going well. For the most part, they are entirely alone as they walk.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Gotta admit, this would’ve been a lot less straightforward without Mr. Loxlee heading up the group,” says Backpack. “They were probably even going a little bit easy on us at security so as not to get on his nerves.”

Narrator 1: (Ledge) “Affirmative,” says Ledge. “So far so good.”

Narrator 3: For his part, Hieronymous is tense and tight-lipped.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Let’s get this party started!” Saskia says, a little too loud for comfort. “Wait, oops!”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous and Lark look at her sharply, and then scan for passersby.

Narrator 3: Nobody in the hallway right now.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Did I say that here or there?” Saskia looks alarmed, glancing around, wondering which of her bodies said that.

Narrator 1: Both, apparently.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Shit. Well, works either way. Anyway…”

Narrator 1: Loxlee leans in to Saskia. (Hieronymous) “Are you okay there? You gonna be a problem for yourself?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Nope,” says Saskia. Her cheeks are a little bit red. “Momentary distraction. All good.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he drops it, warily.

Narrator 2: The Breach team has all been briefed at this point on Saskia’s unique condition, but they are by no means used to it. She’s an oddity. Hopefully not a liability.

Narrator 1: The party proceeds apace.

Narrator 3: We meant this party of saboteurs, but technically yes, the dance party in Stationary Hill, many miles away down on the Mediun, is moving right along also.

Narrator 1: And in no time at all, the group is passing some smaller chapels off the main hall, including one small chapel that catches Phineas slightly off guard.

Narrator 3: He stops in his tracks, and the weight of his abacus seems to multiply.

Narrator 2: You know what would solve that problem? Not wearing his abacus anymore. Hmm.

Narrator 3: That sounds too easy.

Narrator 1: Hieronymous appears at Phineas’ shoulder. (Hieronymous) “What’s up? Is there a problem?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “No, it’s… it’s just… This is the room where I thought I was going to break even. It feels weird seeing it now.”

Narrator 2: He glances over his shoulder at Hieronymous.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “It feels weird seeing you, too.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous nods. (Hieronymous) “The feeling is mutual.”

Narrator 3: Phineas gazes back into the empty chapel. (Phineas) “You know, back at the Loxlee Gala, you offered to pay off my Caenum. Why? You weren’t just being nice, were you?”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous shakes his head. (Hieronymous) “No. I wanted to see how important Valor really was to you. I was feeling you out. And after that conversation I kind of wrote you off as having little-to-no Breach potential. But now look at us both. Come on, we gotta keep moving.”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous arrives at the golden elevator —

Narrator 3: You remember this, too

Narrator 2: — at the far end of the hall, and flips the ornate lever by the door.

Narrator 1: With an engineered gravitas and a performative clatter the gates fissure open, and Ledge, Loxlee, Lark, Phineas, Backpack, Saskia, and the satchel cart all pile inside.

Narrator 2: The gates close and they begin their descent.

Narrator 3: Nice.

Narrator 2: The elevator clanks and bounces a little, and Ledge places a steadying hand on the two burlap bags.

Narrator 3: Everyone consciously or unconsciously tenses up for a second,

Narrator 1: But nothing happens. Everything’s fine. The elevator descends.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Those, uh… good?” Lark asks.

Narrator 1: Ledge is thinking fast, doing some calculations, eyeing the two satchels. (Ledge) “For now,” she says. She seems pretty sure about that? Fairly sure? Reasonably confident.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “That search,” Backpack breathes, eyeing the burlap sacks. “How bad was it when they stirred them up like that?”

Narrator 1: Ledge shakes her head, obviously quite tense. (Ledge) “They should be okay. I accounted for them being handled in a search. They’ll need to be bounced around a lot more than that before they trigger, but let’s make sure not to jostle them any more than necessary, okay?”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous reflexively braces himself against the elevator wall, as though willing the lift to descend as smoothly as possible.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “Shit…”

Narrator 2: He murmurs, expression pained.

Narrator 3: The elevator chimes softly, and their descent passes the Arca level. There’s a brief glimpse from here of a glassy partition and a pair of massive silos towering over a viewing chamber. Phineas’ heart leaps into his throat for a second, remembering when he was brought into this chamber to be named Prime Adsecla.

Narrator 2: Also remembering when he tripped about that memory on a moth.

Narrator 3: Many important transformations have taken place here, most recently…

Narrator 2: With Moc Weepe and Imelda. Good times. Well… times, anyway.

Narrator 3: But the Arca viewing level isn’t our party’s destination today. We’re going all the way to the bottom with these guys.

Narrator 2: So what is going on here exactly? What is the Breach’s plan?

Narrator 3: Oh yeah, the plan.

Narrator 2: You might be confused. Luckily, we’re here.

Narrator 1: The Breach’s plan is as follows: 

Narrator 2: Enter the Central Vault.

Narrator 3: Introduce the false Valor and Caenum into the system via the Senior Notary’s private office interface.

Narrator 2: And then leave, probably with the Senior Notary in tow so he can’t tattle.

Narrator 1: And within one hour, the engineered Valor and Caenum beads will explode mildly, after pinging around in the extents of the hamster maze and dispersing all throughout the entire building.

Narrator 2: This will allow the strike team just enough time to escape to the getaway ship, and the ensuing diffused explosions will cause moderate damage to the vast majority of the Central Vault’s infrastructure:

Narrator 3: Bocular records, bank machinery, and the Arca itself.

Narrator 1: General, widespread, non-localized damage to the whole infrastructure that will result in account recordkeeping abilities being destroyed.

Narrator 2: All without any dangerous violent kabooming, or loss of life.

Narrator 3: So easy!

Narrator 2: So less violent from what Kozma wanted to have happen.

Narrator 3: So safe! There should be no problem with such a straightforward plan. Nice.

Narrator 1: The elevator slows to a stop in the bowels of the Vault below the Arca level. A gentle clunk, a gentle ding. The doors slide open, revealing…

Narrator 3: A single notary awaiting the lift.

Narrator 2: (Unidentified speaker) “Oh, excuse me,”

Narrator 3: Says Archauditor Imelda Goldfinch, perking up.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Just gonna scooch in there past… Oh! My.”

Narrator 1: Oops, nevermind about the plan. Who knows what’ll happen now? Let’s find out together.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous goes rigid. In fact, they all do. Phineas tenses up.

Narrator 1: Lark stays just as dangerously relaxed as ever.

Narrator 2: In any case, no one moves a fucking muscle — other than Saskia, hastily shrinking herself into the background to hopefully avoid Imelda’s notice.

Narrator 3: But all the same, Imelda’s eyes light up with polite interest, a truly stunning abacus sparkling on her neck.

Narrator 2: Wonder where she got that. (Imelda) “Hieronymous, what an unusual surprise! On your wife’s interestingly abrupt new holiday, no less!”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous is playing it cool. (Hieronymous) “Hello, Imelda. How nice to run into you here. Not taking the day off, it would seem?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, I’m far too busy for that. Incidentally, I’m afraid Imogen does not actually have the authority to institute a new holiday without prior approval from myself or the Tripotentiary, but old habits die hard, it would seem. We’ll get it all sorted out.”

Narrator 1: Imelda’s eyes are flickering between Hieronymous’ party members. She smiles politely, mild and neutral, betraying nothing. If there IS anything to betray. Who knows?

Narrator 3: Imelda’s eyes linger on Phineas’ semi-transparent visor. Does she recognize him from just his eyes?

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “What a festive retinue! Dressed for the out of doors, I see. We don’t usually have any raw mica floating around inside the Vault hallways, but one can never be too careful, I suppose.”

Narrator 1: Backpack pipes up, (Backpack) “We’re actually headed outside after this, ma’am. Mr. Loxlee’s next stop is the city exterior for a mica protection demonstration.”

Narrator 2: Imelda’s attention snaps to Backpack now. (Imelda) “Oh! Pom’s intern! He’s enjoying retirement, but you’re still on the case, it would seem. What was your name again?”

Narrator 3: Saskia has been attempting to lurk in the background, but nothing can evade the light of the Trust forever. Imelda’s brow furrows and her mild expression falters minutely as she begins to recognize a truly inconvenient number of them.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Hmm!” she says.

[Abrupt tense music.]

Narrator 1: Phineas and Lark spring forward practically as one, seizing Archauditor Imelda Goldfinch.

Narrator 2: She’s no match for these two. Not even close.

Narrator 3: Her arms are pinioned to her sides, and just like that, Imelda is captured.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Ah! Ooh! Let me go, put me down, release me at once!”

Narrator 3: She begins emitting all of these noises of protest.

Narrator 1: Shit, this took a turn. Hieronymous raises a hand. (Hieronymous) “Stop, don’t hurt her!”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “We’re not going to hurt her, sir, but we can’t let her go.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “If it isn’t Phineas Thatch, alive and well! Still having trouble with that impulsive temperament of yours, I see. But who’s this one?”

Narrator 1: She peers up into Lark’s visor. Lark stares back menacingly, tightening her grip on Imelda’s arm.

Narrator 3: She’s cut her hair, she’s covered her scar, she’s in disguise, and Imelda has never seen her beyond the wanted poster, but right now, staring her down, there is no mistaking it.

Narrator 2: Imelda’s eyes go wide. She jerks back. The color drains from her face. She starts shaking. It’s like she’s come face-to-face with the devil. (Imelda) “It’s YOU,” she whispers weakly, trembling in the presence of the most Caenumous person in the entire recorded history of the entire universe. (Imelda) “You’re right here! I, I, I need to—” (Lark) “You need to shut up,” Lark growls, and clamps a hand over Imelda’s mouth.

Narrator 1: Well, we were on a timetable before, but now we REALLY gotta hustle.

Narrator 3: Imelda in tow, the group hurries down the subterranean corridor, wheeling the satchel cart ahead of them.

Narrator 2: A dense infrastructure of hamster maze piping hisses and rattles in the walls around them. Valor and Caenum flowing in heavy circulation here in the main pneumatic arteries of the Vault beneath the Arca chamber.

Narrator 1: The subtle mechanical vibration resonates through the floors, the walls, the ceiling.

Narrator 3: Phineas guides them down one hall, around a corner, down another.

Narrator 1: (Backpack) “Almost in,” Backpack reports on her teletheric as she hurries along beside everyone else. “Ship on standby, Gretel. Things just got messy. We’re gonna need to get out of here fast.”

Narrator 2: (Gretel) “Copy,” Gretel comes back. “Standing by.”

Narrator 3: The team barges into the next room, and a tremendous sight meets their eyes.

Narrator 2: We’ve described the Trust’s bank machines before — the pipe organ hamster maze contraptions. You’ve seen a few different examples of them by now. This is the BIG one.

Narrator 3: A gigantic, for lack of a better term, mechanical “computer” just dominates the center of a massive, high-ceilinged room. In reality, it’s a bocular control system, affixed to an absurd number of tubes and pipes and hoses.

Narrator 2: The entire apparatus rumbles, chugs, a preposterous number of beads being shunted and redirected through the entirety of the Central Vault.

Narrator 1: If the Arca is the beating heart of it all, then this machine is the brain, the controls for the whole system.

Narrator 2: The control system is clearly wired into some extremely abstruse teletheric technology on one end. Safe to presume that’s what keeps all the remote bank machines on the same page as the Vault, no matter where they’re located in the city or in the Un at large.

Narrator 3: A terminal covered in thousands of blinking lights, connected by thousands more wires and diodes, all to something that is like Backpack’s backpack, but it’s fucking huge.

Narrator 2: Operating the device, shuffling to and fro from control bank to control bank, similarly disinterested in today’s random holiday, is the hardest-working sincerest professional ever: Senior Notary Milton Fleit, Sr., just tryin’ to fix the dang economy.

Narrator 3: Fleit’s attention flicks from the obtuse maths that he’s working on to the new arrivals.

Narrator 2: He sees Imelda in the grip of two faceless Company guards. Reading the room, he quickly manipulates some controls, turning down the flow velocity of the beads, creating an auditory environment better suited to conversation.

Narrator 1: And in so doing, unbeknownst to our heroes,

Narrator 3: But knownst to you,

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Milton Fleit also taps a small panic button underneath his controls.

Narrator 2: This is a heckin’ bank, after all,

Narrator 3: You can never have too much security.

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “Imelda, what is going on? Who are these people? Why are they covering your mouth and how will you answer me if so?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Mmmph! Mmmmph!”

Narrator 1: Says Imelda.

Narrator 3: Phineas goes straight up to Fleit and seizes him, leaving Imelda in Lark’s custody for now. (Phineas) “Get started,” he calls to the others. “I’ve got him.”

Narrator 1: Ms. Ledge wheels over to the bank machine with her cart, cracks open the bag of fresh Caenum, and opens the lid of the bank machine’s Caenum input hopper.

Narrator 2: Wasting no time, she pours the black beads directly in. They pile up, filling the input funnel.

Narrator 1: Ledge skirts quickly around the machine and then pours the other sack of Valor into the machine’s other input. The two piles of beads — one white, one black, Valor and Caenum — sit motionless, mounded inertly in their respective input funnels on either side of the machine.

Narrator 2: (Ledge) “Bring him,” Ledge calls to Phineas, beckoning for Senior Notary Fleit. (Ledge) “He has to authorize these two batches into circulation.”

Narrator 1: Fleit is sort of catching on here. (Fleit) “Clearly I have missed something and I cannot condone any course of action that has not been approved by the Upper Trust. And your word is not enough, Mr. Loxlee. I require the full council’s approval in writing.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Mr. Fleit, this is not a council matter.”

Narrator 2: Phineas pulls off his helm, interrupting the Senior Notary mid-sentence.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “This is bigger than that,” Phineas says, gripping the older man. He escorts him over to Agatha Ledge, beside the machine, Fleit’s expression one of shock and surprise and to some degree horror at recognizing the deposed Prime Adsecla here in his mega-office.

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “Thatch…you’re alive? Why are you doing this?”

Narrator 2: Lark sighs. This is taking way too long. She shoves Imelda at Hieronymous like an aggrieved parent handing off an annoying toddler. (Lark) “Think you can handle this?”

Narrator 3: Hieronymous accepts the hostage with dismay.

Narrator 2: Lark advances towards Fleit, bringing a level of intimidation that Phineas has failed to serve up. She, like Phineas, now pulls off her helmet and roughly wipes the makeup from the left side of her face, revealing the dark tendrils of her scar. She lets the Senior Notary take a good long look at her. He is not an easy man to rattle, but he was clearly not expecting this.

Narrator 3: Phineas tries again. (Phineas) “Sir, you need to authorize this deposit.”

Narrator 1: So, Milton Fleit is — let’s just be clear about this — an older gentleman. He knows he has no chance of physically resisting this band of Breach ruffians accompanied by none other than Clara Mire, the cosmos’ most wanted murderer.

Narrator 2: His only chance is to stall them long enough for help to arrive.

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “Oh, for the love of Valor,” he stalls. “This is just another feeble and ill-advised attempt to undermine the Trust. The Breach destroyed my daughter. It nearly destroyed my grandson as well. But the Trust lives on!”

Narrator 2: He stamps a slippered foot on the metallic floor, for emphasis, and for further stalling.

Narrator 3: Fleit shoots a dirty look over at Ledge and taps out a blur of commands. He inserts a series of keys and pulls the Caenum input lever.

Narrator 2: The Caenum mounded in one of the two funnels finally begins to drain… slowly.

Narrator 1: The Caenum pipes of the bank machine hiss with new black beads as the fresh batch of Caenum pours into circulation, feeding into the Vault’s Caenum infrastructure.

Narrator 2: It’s just counterfeit Caenum as far as Fleit can tell, easily zeroed-out at a later date. What are these people up to? If they were trying to destabilize the economy by introducing a measly two bags of counterfeit beads into circulation, they have a thing or two to learn about accounting.

Narrator 3: But Fleit’s not stupid, and he knows his captors aren’t either. Something here isn’t what it appears to be.

Narrator 2: The beads, obviously.

Narrator 3: He doesn’t like it one bit.

Narrator 1: He glares at Phineas. (Fleit) “What are you doing, Thatch? Don’t you understand that any interference in Trust operations at this critical time will only forestall us being able to get back on track?”

Narrator 3: Phineas shakes his head in frustration. (Phineas) “What IS back on track for the Trust, sir? Hunting down the Breach? Piling more and more Caenum on people just trying to do their best?”

Narrator 1: (Fleit) “I advise caution, Thatch. That kind of seditionist talk is subject to severe penalties.”

Narrator 2: Imelda, picking up what Fleit is putting down, cuts in. (Imelda) “You know, Phineas, you’ve been presumed dead ever since the Midst disaster. Your career in jeopardy, Spahr deposed to answer for your failings — what if all that could just go away? Be fixed in an instant? Whatever this ragtag operation is you and Mr. Loxlee have going on here, I could personally guarantee you a handsome exoneration if you could just STOP whatever you’re doing.”

Narrator 3: Phineas falters, just a little. 

Narrator 1: Lark notices. Her eyes narrow.

Narrator 2: Imelda, honed by years of Jod playing, presses the attack. (Imelda) “Do you really believe in this little game you’re playing with the Breach? After a whole life dedicated to striving for Valor? How can you abandon everything you’ve worked for?”

Narrator 1: The Caenum is hissing in the pipes. Countless, glittering black beads, flowing like black blood sizzling through glass arteries. 

Narrator 3: Phineas slowly, shakily, responds. (Phineas) “The Trust… abandoned… ME.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “And that was a mistake. It’s been eating Spahr up.”

Narrator 1: Speaking of which. (Fleit) “Took you long enough,” Fleit grumbles.

Narrator 2: Fifty armed and alert Company soldiers flood suddenly into the room, and among them — not leading them, just among them, one of many, his neck adorned in black glittering Caenum — is Jonas Spahr.

[Music cuts out.]

Narrator 3: Spahr sees Phineas. And Phineas sees him. For a moment he sees nothing BUT him. Spahr is no longer a Consector, no longer Valorous. He’s just…a person. It is so strange to see him without his gleaming aura of Valor, but even diminished and disgraced as he is, he still holds that same light-bending gravity that he always did for Phineas. He can’t look away. There is everything else in the universe, and then there is Jonas.

Narrator 1: Spahr looks at Phineas as though seeing a ghost, a mixture of shock and awe, of joy and relief, of pain and sadness. They lock eyes, and it’s impossible to let go.

Narrator 2: Senior Notary Milton Fleit takes advantage of Phineas’s distraction by grasping a lever on the bank machine and routing the influx of new Caenum from “Circulation” to “Shred”.

Narrator 1: (Ledge) “No, wait!” Agatha Ledge screams, leaping toward him, but it’s too late.

Narrator 3: Boom.

[A sizzling of muffled explosions, like firecrackers at a distance.]

Narrator 3: Fire flashes through the Caenum tubes.

Narrator 2: Half the room blows up. [A massive explosion.] The floor rips asunder, heaving and splitting, and everyone is thrown off their feet.

Narrator 1: A machine-gunning cascade of detonations rattles the walls and ceiling, pipes burst, plaster and stone rain from above.

Narrator 3: The Company are shouting “Get down!” and “Get back!” but it doesn’t matter.

Narrator 2: Before Milton Fleit can move, the Caenum side of the bank machine closest to him goes off very much like a bomb.

[Another, closer explosion.]

Narrator 1: Like many tiny bead-sized bombs all in a pile.

Narrator 2: With a seismic groan, half of the office floor caves in, crumbling and collapsing out into the open air in a blast of fire and glass and rubble.

Narrator 3: The void howls in. Wind whips the room.

Narrator 1: Once meticulously-kept and organized paperwork billows like burning confetti.

Narrator 2: Fleit’s shredded body hits the opposite wall, flung back from where he had been standing directly in front of the Caenum input.

Narrator 3: Half of the room’s ceiling caves in, collapsing in a horrific crackle of micro detonations.

Narrator 2: Pipes, concrete, it all rains down, spilling down through the office’s shattered floor, plummeting into the white void of the windswept Un below.

Narrator 1: Through the gaping wound in the ceiling above: the Arca. Two monumental silos, towering visible through the blasted aperture, the looming heart of the Trust itself. Vast towers of Valor and Caenum, their glassy casing cracked, leaking.

Narrator 2: Backpack is shouting into her teletheric headset, Gretel is shouting back. (Gretel) “What’s going on? There’s a HOLE in the bottom of the Vault. Where are you??” 

Narrator 1: The Company are getting to their feet, barking orders, spreading out. Lark, Phineas, covered in dust and battered by shrapnel.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous is clawing for handholds, hauling himself up to safety.

Narrator 2: Ledge is bleeding but alive, absolute horror apparent on her face.

Narrator 1: Imelda is emitting a long wail of despair, largely unharmed but unable to believe what she’s seeing.

Narrator 2: Let’s be clear about all this. This outcome was not the plan. It was not supposed to go like this. Not at all.

Narrator 1: An increasing swarm of Company members are pouring in, responding to the explosion, trying to control the situation.

Narrator 2: And whomst should join our little party but Mr. Triangle himself?

Narrator 3: He’d been on his way down here to casually inquire what was keeping his pal Imelda so long, but the whole seismic explosion business has somewhat altered his mindset.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Narrator 2: he booms, storming into the shattered, smoke-filled room, surrounded by his Tripotentiary Guard, but he doesn’t really need an answer. The answer is readily apparent.

[The Midst theme music.]

Narrator 3: Phineas Thatch, Moc Weepe, and Lark behold each other through the flames.

Narrator 1: Here we are. At last. At long fucking last.

Narrator 2: So, to paint the picture. The Breach team, separated from the only exit by an ever- increasing swarm of Company. Behind them, a yawning hole to the sky below, ripped through several floors of notarial sub-offices and records rooms, filling the space with blasts of mica-laced wind. Beside them, the smoking, half-disabled remains of the bank machine.

Narrator 1: Geez, that shred lever means business!

Narrator 2: At least, it does when the shredder is full of explosive beads designed to evenly disperse throughout the entire Vault and cause mildly widespread damage just powerful enough to fuck up the bead distribution system and the interconnected bank machines, rather than be simultaneously mulched in one conglomerated mass by an industrial bead grinder all at once.

Narrator 1: Ledge lets out a horrible cough as the razor-shard-infused mica-laced fresh air from outside the Highest Light continues to gust into the room through the yawning hole behind them.

Narrator 3: Phineas manages to get to his feet and advances on Lark, laying in the rubble. He grips her by the arms, hauling her upright, and steadies her. The pair of them stand amid the struggling crew, still trying to gauge their injuries, the assembling mass of the Company opposite them.

Narrator 2: Imelda, free of Hieronymous’ grip thanks to the explosion, scrambles over to the Company line, clutching at the hem of Weepe’s beneficent robes. (Imelda) “Clara Mire!” she gasps out between labored breaths. She points at Lark, helmetless in her Company armor. (Imelda) “Lark. She’s here.”

Narrator 1: Weepe is smiling.

Narrator 2: Since his face is transparent, he’s always smiling, but he looks positively appeased.

Narrator 1: Indeed, it is Lark. He recognizes her and she recognizes him, the same way you end up recognizing everyone in your small hometown.

Narrator 3: Even though he’s an even worse-looking fuckin’ skeleton man now.

Narrator 1: There is a certain ineffable electricity as they look at each other, both of their veins singing with the same Fold-riddled blood.

Narrator 2: The same blood that Weepe used to send to the Mothers for routine testing.

Narrator 3: The same blood that Weepe used to sell to make a little bit of extra cash on the side.

Narrator 2: Sherman and the other bartenders at the Black Candle Cabaret had no idea what they were really selling. And Lark had no idea what she was really buying, just that it was powerful, and useful, and dangerous. But now…now she understands, fully and completely. It has become something different during its time in HER body, shaped and cultivated BY her into a new, unique mutation, but originally? This came from him.

Narrator 1: She can feel it.

Narrator 2: They are connected.

Narrator 1: For Lark, it is a certainty. But for Weepe it’s more of a weird, uh, sizzle, sort of? He is more interested now by how his search of the entire cosmos apparently wasn’t even necessary. Lark’s just HERE. Incredible. What an excellent day. (Weepe) “Seize her.”

Narrator 2: But it appears someone already has.

[A keening ringing sound slowly rises.]

Narrator 3: Phineas Thatch’s grip tightens around Lark, and when she tries to move, it tightens further still. 

Narrator 1: Uh-oh.

Narrator 2: Imelda speaks from behind Weepe’s shoulder. (Imelda) “Phineas, I know you want to do the right thing! It’s not too late for you.”

Narrator 3: Lark wrenches hard, but Phineas doesn’t let go. As strong as she is, he is a professional soldier with a lifetime of dedicated training in this sort of thing, and he’s young, and she’s old.

Narrator 2: He clamps her in a martial arts hold, and even as she twists with all her strength, he has her pinned.

Narrator 3: His eyes are hollow. Something is wrong.

Narrator 1: Spahr can’t believe what he’s seeing. He’s frozen, Company at the ready all around him. Everyone is holding their breath.

Narrator 2: Because the air is rapidly filling with mica particles.

Narrator 1: But also because this is a delicate moment.

Narrator 3: With Lark in his grasp, Phineas holds all the power right now. Everyone senses it.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “That’s right. You don’t really believe in all this violence and chaos, do you? Collaborating with murderers and liars? This isn’t you. You became Prime Adsecla for a reason: to bring Valor into this world. It’s time for YOU to have the Valor you have always deserved. You can fix everything, right now!”

Narrator 3: Phineas is frozen. His heart is in his throat and in his ears. Here is everything he ever wanted, offered on a silver platter. He STILL wants it, dammit, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t. It would be so easy.

Narrator 1: Imelda signals to Jonas Spahr.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Jonas, bring them.”

Narrator 1: Like he’s moving through a bad dream, Spahr advances, smoke and flame whipping around him. Phineas and Lark shimmer through the heat, motionless.

Narrator 2: Lark’s eyes dart around like a caged animal’s, looking for escape.

Narrator 3: Phineas’ are level and dead, locked on Spahr. 

Narrator 1: And Spahr stands before them, toe to toe.

Narrator 2: He takes in Clara Mire, the legendary and infamous incarnation of Caenem itself. Just a person. He looks upon Phineas, a ghost returned from the dead, a familiar look of tortured indecision on his face, searching for guidance. A look Spahr has seen before.

Narrator 1: Weepe’s voice cuts through the room. (Weepe) “Spahr. Do it.”

Narrator 2: Spahr turns to face the Trust.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “No,”

Narrator 2: he simply says.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I’m done.” With a single decisive movement, he tears his Caenum-covered abacus from his neck and casts it to the floor.

Narrator 2: Phineas’ grip on Lark goes slack. She wrenches away from him, whipping around to look at him.

Narrator 3: A tear is making its way down Phineas’ cheek. He can barely meet her eye. (Phineas) “S-sorry, I… Sorry.”

Narrator 1: Eh, fuck this shit. (Weepe) “Okay,” Tripotentiary Weepe says without hesitation. “In that case, Company, kill them all, except for the Imbalance.”

Narrator 2: He looks straight at Lark.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “We’ll process her later.”

Narrator 3: Rifles are shouldered, fingers land on triggers. You thought the Trust didn’t use guns? They can and do, especially when ordered by the Tripotentiary.

Narrator 2: And Saskia Del Norma finally pulls herself up out of the rubble to stand at the end of the wheezing bank machine, next to the one hopper still full of unexploded Valor.

[Ambiance cuts away.]

Narrator 1: Moc Weepe’s entire body floods with an indescribable fear.

Narrator 2: This whole shitshow was kind of perversely entertaining for him, until now.

Narrator 3: Weepe’s face falls into a blank mask of horror, though his skull, through his translucent flesh, is all anyone here can see.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Saskia?”

Narrator 3: He says quietly, disbelievingly.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Why are you here?”

Narrator 2: The following happens in the next five seconds.

Narrator 3: The officer in charge of the firing line raises a hand. (Officer) “Ready!”

Narrator 1: Weepe tries to say “Wait,” but his throat is closing up. He can’t get out the words.

Narrator 2: The Breach all exchange a look, and Saskia, beside the remains of the bank machine, lays her hand on the routing lever for the other still-uncirculated funnel full of white Valor beads. They all see what she’s thinking.

Narrator 3: (Officer) “Aim…”

Narrator 1: Backpack is shouting into her headset. Gretel’s voice comes through,

Narrator 2: (Gretel) “I’m below the hole! Where are you?”

Narrator 3: They look to the void below, where a small limpet-like ship is frantically circling. They look to the beads waiting in the input funnel. They look to the Trust.

Narrator 2: Saskia looks to her compatriots in Breach — really looks at them, a remarkable rarity, taking them in. Their eyes are going wide with realization. Saskia gives them a tiny smile and shakes her head. (Saskia) “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “You go on without me.”

Narrator 3: The officer’s hand is swinging down, his mouth forming the call to fire.

Narrator 2: Imelda recognizes what’s about to happen and screams for Weepe and the Company to retreat.

Narrator 1: And the remaining Breach survivors and Jonas Spahr lean back, fall over the lip of the crevasse, and plummet into the void… as Saskia stays behind, locks eyes with Weepe, and gently routes the funnel of Valor beads to “Shred.”

Narrator 2: Boom.