Narrator 3: Phineas Thatch is falling.

Narrator 1: Bodies tumble around him in a brilliant void of clouds.

Narrator 2: He is plummeting through open air. Above him, the underside of the Central Vault gets rapidly smaller and smaller as he falls. He sees the second explosion rip an even larger hole in the bottom of the building.

Narrator 3: The Arca is bleeding out, Valor and Caenum beads pouring from the wound like glittering rain.

Narrator 2: Papers, records, debris showering down in a windblown torrent around him and the others: Lark, Backpack, Ms. Ledge, Hieronymous, and above him, Jonas.

Narrator 3: Tiny nicks lacerate Phineas’s skin, his helmet left somewhere behind in that room above. Or maybe it’s in the air now, like everything else.

Narrator 1: The entire gigantic mass of the Highest Light recedes above, a huge soaring shelf of mica many miles across, its underbelly a craggy upside-down mountainscape of shining crystal, one significant wound bleeding from its inverted topography.

Narrator 2: Also the paper. Holy shit, there’s a ton of paper fluttering around them as they plummet, rending apart for being on fire and sliced by mica. The countless records beneath the Central Vault, utterly decimated by the Breach’s efforts.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous is tumbling, scrambling in the air, trying to gesture, yelling something inaudible.

Narrator 1: Ledge is pinwheeling, desperately swimming for stability.

Narrator 2: Lark looks stone-cold focused, turning herself around in the air, faring better than Ledge and Loxlee, but not by much.

Narrator 1: Backpack doesn’t look happy, but she’s under control. She may play an intern on TV, but she’s a trained operative and this isn’t her first skydive, surprise surprise.

Narrator 2: She’s on a course for Ledge, trying to get her attention, trying to help her out in some way.

Narrator 3: Hieronymous sees her maneuvering and tries to mimic those moves, badly righting himself, total panic on his face.

Narrator 2: This is bad.

Narrator 3: Holy smokes, this is bad.

Narrator 1: Every second feels like a strangely long eternity as Phineas’ brain attempts to slow down his perception in what could very well be the last moments of his life.

Narrator 2: Let’s be clear, they cannot survive a fall like this through open air for long.

Narrator 3: Phineas realizes they are about to die. It’s situations like this where he has always felt the most stable, strangely. His life has never felt like it belonged to him, except when in danger of ending. He’s not panicking. He’s clear-headed. He’s almost calm. Everything is falling to pieces around him, but he feels a rare certainty. No one else is going to tell him if this choice was right or wrong, and he thinks he can live with that. For a few more moments.

Narrator 2: A small limpet-like ship, half stealth craft, half mica — kind of like a flounder, one of those fish with eyes on one side of its body — is hurtling after them, oars spiraling furiously, diving after them on an intercept course, ripping through clouds.

[Strained mechanical noises.]

Narrator 1: Backpack’s backpack is squawking, hissing, cutting in and out. Gretel, piloting the ship, is absolutely white-knuckling it.

Narrator 2: (Gretel) “I’m on my way! I’m trying to catch up to you! Goddammit, I can’t—”

Narrator 1: And Gretel’s voice cuts out as a chunk of mica abruptly rips through Backpack’s backpack, punching a neat hole, narrowly missing Backpack’s actual self by a margin of inches.

Narrator 3: The cut is clean, scything through with barely any resistance. The radio goes dead.

Narrator 2: The wind whips tears from Phineas’ eyes. Yeah, definitely the wind doing that. Blearily, he looks up and sees Jonas suspended above him, flipping down the visor of the helmet that he’s still wearing. It’s impossible to form thoughts. Everything is happening so fast.

Narrator 1: Spahr pulls his arms in to fall faster, practically torpedoing towards Phineas, throwing his arms and legs back out immediately before colliding, hooking Phineas, spinning them both so he, Spahr, ends up underneath, his own armored body now leading the fall, using himself as a shield for Phineas’ unprotected head.

Narrator 3: The wind is screaming in their ears. There’s so much to say. There’s no time to say it. They look at each other while they still can.

Narrator 2: Phineas buries his face in Jonas’s armored chest, clutching tightly, desperately clinging when there’s nothing else to cleave to.

Narrator 1: Agatha Ledge barely gets herself under control, stabilizing with Backpack’s help,

Narrator 2: And then a jagged shard of mica zips straight through Ledge’s body, neatly separating her in two.

[A keening snip.]

Narrator 3: Her wind-buffeted face is frozen in an expression of surprise. Her remains twirl away into the void and are swallowed by clouds. Backpack is screaming.

Narrator 1: The limpet ship, frantically maneuvering, course-correcting, dives beneath them, making micro-adjustment after micro-adjustment in speed and position, trying to match the momentum of the plummeting people so they won’t break all of their bones when they make contact, if they make contact at all.

Narrator 2: One of the ship’s oars is sabered off by yet another razor-sharp mica shard.

Narrator 3: The ship turns sideways, the bay door opening, oars straining against gravity to slow the ship just enough.

[Straining ship sounds.]

Narrator 2: The five survivors slam into the interior of the ship, tumbling over one another in a messy heap as the ship rolls back upright and the door closes again.

[Sudden urgent music.]

Narrator 3: Gretel is piloting like crazy.

Narrator 2: (Gretel) “Fuck. Holy fucking shit…”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous is knocked out cold by the impact. Blood from a terrible number of small cuts and gashes immediately stains the ragged remnants of his clothing.

Narrator 2: Honestly, he’s probably grateful to be unconscious for a moment. This is not what he signed up for.

Narrator 3: Happy Valor Day!

Narrator 1: Spahr shoots brief eye contact to Phineas, then leaps to a first aid kit strapped against a bulkhead of the craft. He quickly, efficiently cocoons Hieronymous in some bandages. Gretel notices him. Her eyes go wide. (Gretel) “Spahr?!” she yells, but there’s no time to explain.

Narrator 2: Backpack is staggering up from the floor, blood pouring from a gash on her forehead. (Backpack) “Get us out of here, Gretel, go!”

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “I’m trying, I’m trying!” She glances over her shoulder, doing a quick head count. “Wait, where’s Ledge? Where’s Del Norma?”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “She– fuck! She– Ledge is gone, the mica… And Saskia stayed behind so that we could escape. She saved us!”

Narrator 1: Lark cuts her off.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Go!”

Narrator 3: The ship fuckin’ dives, turning hard away from the Highest Light and plunging down into deeper and lower clouds below, rattling with unsafe velocity and inadvisable g-force.

Narrator 2: Everyone sways on the floor, grabbing for walls and pipes inside the craft’s sparse metal interior.

Narrator 1: Loose beads ping around like stinging hailstones.

Narrator 2: Turbulence wakes Hieronymous up for just a moment.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “Saskia!”

Narrator 3: he calls out before promptly blacking out again.

Narrator 2: Grim glances exchanged aboard ship. Hopefully her other body is okay. Hopefully they’ll live long enough to find out.

Narrator 1: Lark, lurching unsteadily, moves up to the helm next to Gretel.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Can this thing outrun Company ships?”

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “Not outright. We’re gonna have to try to lose ’em some other way.”

Narrator 3: They have a slight lead for now. The chaos they left in their wake was significant.

Narrator 2: But far above them, the Central Vault is issuing Company gunships like hornets flying out of a nest.

Narrator 3: Lark stares out of the cockpit canopy into the sparkling white void, the abyss of clouds and light.

Narrator 2: It looks the same in all directions, but Lark points off into the distance in a specific area. (Lark) “That way.”

Narrator 1: Gretel looks stumped. (Gretel) “What?”

Narrator 2: Lark turns the full force of her hawk-like gaze upon Gretel, the tendrils of her scar reaching across her face like branches across a window. (Lark) “Go. That. Way.”

Narrator 1: Gretel doesn’t argue with that. There’s no time to argue anyway.

Narrator 3: With the Company closing in on them fast, any direction seems as good as any other, and Lark seems like she knows something.

Narrator 2: She does. She doesn’t know WHAT she knows, but at this point she’s learning not to second-guess herself as much. Her spiderweb is twitching in that direction. Go that way and live. Maybe.

Narrator 3: Through a dorsal porthole, sleek silver gunships punch through vaporous embankments high above, turning toward them. Spahr sees them.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Incoming above!”

Narrator 2: Phineas sees them too.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “They’re armed with telescoptics. Stick to the clouds or they’ll snipe us.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “They won’t,” says Lark. “Not while I’m on board.”

Narrator 1: Oh yeah, that’s a good point. Blowing Lark out of the sky with long-range cannons? That doesn’t really seem like much in-keeping with a ceremonial rebalancing.

Narrator 3: And Weepe did seem to want to preserve Lark, but who knows?

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You sure they won’t?” Spahr asks. “Mr. Tripotentiary seems to make up his own rules as he goes along. We gotta be careful.”

Narrator 2: Lark shrugs, (Lark) “Guess we’ll know in a minute.”

Narrator 3: Phineas and Spahr both nod grimly. Guess they will.

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “Activity ahead!” Gretel calls.

Narrator 2: Ahead, a sharp glinting breaks the infinite cloudscape: a spiky, glittering mass of jagged crystal hovering in the air, surrounded by a swarm of tiny darting forms.

Narrator 3: Mirrorhawks. Heckin’ finally. We love these things.

Narrator 2: Lark’s weird spiderweb instinct makes sense now. (Lark) “Take us in.”

Narrator 1: (Gretel) “Are you crazy?” Gretel doesn’t like the look of that. “These things are gonna rip us to sh— Ohhh. Copy that.”

[Music and ambience cut out.]

Narrator 2: Let’s take a look at these little beauties. Will you indulge us? We love a creature corner.

[Infotaining background muzak.]

Narrator 3: The average mirrorhawk is a small type of aerial mollusk. In early stages of life, they will construct a small carapace, a composite of mica and their own enameling excretions, to protect themselves from the harsh environment we’ve seen on display today.

Narrator 1: Unfortunately, we don’t have time to go into EVERY detail about mirrorhawks—

Narrator 3: Once they’ve assembled enough mica, these lil’ guys are able to achieve flight using small mineral and gaseous ballasts to turn, rise, and descend as desired. Typically, they predate on small microorganisms native to the Un, but the greater bounty of life found to thrive on the Mediun is a veritable smorgasbord which they tend to prefer. Nearer the Mediun, they’re considered a bit of an invasive species, using their luminescent carapace to herd small Fold prey in much the same way that dolphins corral schools of fish, but the Un is where their life cycle starts.

[Infotaining muzak ends.]

Narrator 2: May we continue the action violence now?

Narrator 3: No. [Infotaining muzak resumes.] They are technically a colonial species, where a group is referred to as the mirrorhawk “court.” Each individual unit is composed from the same base pool of genetic matter, seeking and retrieving nourishment for their nests, which are constructed in the Upper Unfold away from natural Fold-based predators like wails and jellyghouls, thereby sustaining their beautiful cycle of life. That’s all for now. [Infotaining muzak ends.]

Narrator 2: Okay. Gritting her teeth—

Narrator 3: [Infotaining muzak resumes.] Oh, also, they’re delicious! Their delicate flavor and marvelous texture—

[Action-violence ambiance forcefully resumes.]

Narrator 2: Gritting her teeth, Gretel brings the nimble little limpet ship in closer to the flickering flock of mirrorhawks. It’s like a murmuration of starlings, coalescing and merging together as if directed by an ethereal intelligence.

Narrator 1: Their movement right now is relaxed, but as they detect the presence of the incoming ship, ripples of agitated energy spread throughout the flock, creating a shimmering, mirrorlike, almost disco ball-like effect.

Narrator 2: (Gretel) “They don’t want us here,” Gretel mutters warily. “You don’t think—?”

Narrator 1: Company ships suddenly blast through the cloud layer above. 

[Sick guitar and ship sounds.]

Narrator 3: They shear through the air, herringbone vortices spiraling behind them as they come about.

Narrator 2: The new arrivals whip the mirrorhawks into an even greater frenzy. Zillions of little knifelike shards split away from the central mass in the middle, which apparently isn’t even a regular piece of mica at all. Is it just mirrorhawks all the way down? No. There’s something else inside. Something that is now being revealed, unpeeled, as more and more mirrorhawks detach from it to fly into a defensive flurry.

Narrator 3: Yes.

Narrator 2: What is that?

Narrator 3: We previously mentioned the base pool of genetic matter comprising the mirrorhawk court.

Narrator 1: Ah, here we go again.

Narrator 3: What we are seeing now on the starboard side of the ship is none other than a mirrorhawk king!

Narrator 2: Oooh!

Narrator 3: A heaving mass of polyp matter, its turgid texture kind of a cocktail sauce cream cheese-like crab dip in appearance, gently swirling and undulating beneath the court’s protective shielding. It’s a vibrant salmon color, appealingly marbled with fat, able to sustain and spawn individual mirrorhawks. The court’s primary instinct is to protect its king, preferring strategic defense and concealment, but if in any way threatened, the king will direct its constituent subjects, the lil hawks themselves, to aggressively attack, which is precisely what it’s doing now.

Narrator 1: A glimmer of reflected light, a cracking noise. An initial mirrorhawk hits the limpet ship’s windshield canopy, effortlessly ripping a hole through the ship like a bullet.

Narrator 2: Gretel barely manages to duck out of the way.

Narrator 3: Phineas knows what’s coming next. (Phineas) “Contact! Starboard!”

Narrator 2: Gretel banks very hard to port and all able bodies aboard narrowly dive for cover as dozens more mirrorhawks bullet straight through the ship.

[A terrifying cacophony of mollusks, perforation, and startled yelps.]

Narrator 1: Shrapnel flies. Wind blasts through the holes. The ship lists and weaves, bocular engines sputtering.

Narrator 2: Lark seizes Gretel firmly by the shoulders and lifts her out of the pilot seat. (Lark) “Move.”

Narrator 1: She takes Gretel’s place, grabbing the control stick. Gretel’s not into that. (Gretel) “Wait, what do you– do you even know how to fly one of these?”

Narrator 2: She does! Kinda. She was a barge pilot once, remember? Unfortunately, not even the most insanely talented maverick hot rod devil-may-care pilot could realistically navigate this situation. The mirrorhawks are simply too numerous, too unpredictable, and too goddamn sharp. It would take, well…

[Music cuts.]

Narrator 3: A witch?

Narrator 1: Midst: Too Fast, Too Furious. [Almost excessively rad music kicks in.] Lark drifts the ship. The failing engine takes them in a falling arc that works to her advantage, their involuntary dive giving them speed which Lark uses to whip past five Trust gunships.

Narrator 2: Mirrorhawks slice past on either side, missing the ship by microscopic increments.

Narrator 3: An impossible dance of evasion in the midst of a flashing cyclone of razor mollusks.

Narrator 1: The Company ships’ gun ports are flying open. Phineas sees armaments deploying. They do not have telescoptic guns. Nope, they have—

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Harpoons!” Phineas says.

Narrator 2: A barbed spear punches into the limpet ship, sabering through a preexisting mirrorhawk hole.

Narrator 1: There’s a twang of cable going taut, and then the spear rips right back out again.

Narrator 3: Bodies fly before crashing down again.

Narrator 1: Hieronymous Loxlee regains his senses. (Hieronymous) “AARGH!”

Narrator 2: he aarghs,

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “No!”

Narrator 3: For fuck’s sake, this is the worst federal bank holiday he can remember.

Narrator 2: And there’ve been some bad ones.

Narrator 1: Lark pilots like absolute hell as more spears whistle past. Harpoons, eh?

Narrator 2: (Lark) “I’ve got an idea,” says Lark

Narrator 3: Lark kites the limpet ship back toward the mirrorhawk king, drawing the Company’s vessels into the swarming court in pursuit.

Narrator 2: The limpet’s other passengers cannot properly appreciate the incredible feat of prescience that Lark is pulling off right now, because they’re being hurled all over the place by her incredible feat of prescience.

Narrator 1: Luckily, we are here to observe what a complete fuckin’ badass she’s being right now. Very cool, Lark.

Narrator 2: Very cool.

Narrator 3: Holding at a consistent distance, Lark brings the limpet ship on a line with the mirrorhawk king. Outside the windows, they get a very close look at its pulsing, glistening matter, like a hunk of buttery, flaky crab meat the size of a dragon.

Narrator 2: Ungh. Gretel’s stomach audibly rumbles above the sounds of shrieking metal, screaming mollusks— 

Narrator 3: They’re not actually screaming, they make a screaming noise as they tear through the air—

Narrator 2: And the constant entropy of mica and mirrorhawks, inexorably perforating the entirety of the ship.

Narrator 1: Lark is flying like crazy.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “If they wanna shoot harpoons…”

Narrator 3: She holds course, drawing nearer and nearer to the heaving behemoth.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “Then let’s let ’em.”

Narrator 1: The sharp barbs of still more harpoons aiming toward the little ship, until with a gout of steam, they are loosed.

Narrator 2: Lark slams the stick down.

Narrator 3: The ship plummets, and the metallic harpoons lance into the king’s side, the meaty mass recoiling in pain.

Narrator 2: It has no mouth, yet it must scream.

Narrator 1: And the court seethes as one, spasming in the air, abruptly converging in a whirling torrent of glassy knives upon the Company ships.

Narrator 2: They have identified the greatest threat to their king.

Narrator 3: The Company ships soon begin to look like bergs of mica themselves as they are dogpiled—

Narrator 1: hawkpiled—

Narrator 3: encrusted beneath relentless layers of infuriated mollusks.

Narrator 2: What a way to go. As the court collapses upon their foes, Lark plunges the limpet ship into a cloud bank, the ship’s hull groaning and whistling from its increasingly tenuous integrity. Time to go.

Narrator 1: Gretel’s stunned. (Gretel) “That was awesome, how did you DO that??”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “We need to put down somewhere for repairs. This thing isn’t gonna make it much further.”

Narrator 3: Phineas and Spahr look at each other, and Phineas says, (Phineas) “I know a place.”

[Wind ambiance shifts. A change of scene.]

Narrator 1: Clouds above. Clouds below. A twinkling expanse as far as the eye can see.

Narrator 3: You’ve been here before. So has Phineas. And Spahr.

Narrator 2: And actually Backpack and Gretel, too. An upside-down cruise ship, trapped belly-up against the underside of one of these mica formations.

Narrator 3: It has been ravaged by the elements even more since the last time we were here. But it’s as safe a harbor as they’re going to find.

Narrator 1: The limpet ship has been docked within the cruise ship’s belly. Luckily, the cruiser is big enough and destroyed enough that they were able to fly right inside. And now, Gretel, Lark, and Backpack are trying to mend some of the more egregious damages, patching up the bocular engine as best they can.

Narrator 2: Hieronymous is just doing his best to get through the moment. And the next.

Narrator 3: Everyone has, at this point, donned respirators from the limpet ship’s store of supplies. They feel just awful from all the mica exposure they’ve gone through, sort of eroded or grated, both on their skin and in their airways.

Narrator 2: It’s like the worst sore throat of all time combined with a full-body paper cut and lemon juice sensation.

Narrator 3: With a little bit of time to kill, Phineas and Spahr have struck off into the depths of the ruined cruise ship, seeking some spare bocs or materials, and they find themselves retracing steps through inverted hallways, picking paths around broken glass and glittering aged garbage strewn around on the ceiling… floor.

Narrator 1: Yeah, make all the excuses you want, guys. We know what you’re really doing, what you really need. These two, they need to talk.

Narrator 2: There’s a tension, though not necessarily an unpleasant one. It’s just that…well, let’s work through it: Phineas was abandoned on Midst immediately after he did a terrible thing and Spahr yelled at him about it, and then the moon fell out of the sky, and then he was presumed dead and he smoked a moth and had his entire worldview blown apart, while Spahr had a slow and torturous crisis of faith and lost his job, and then they found each other again but they were on opposite sides, and the Central Vault blew up and they jumped out of a hole and thought they were gonna die and kind of had a moment where they were holding each other and then there was this huge car chase and a bunch of mirrorhawks, and there just hasn’t been a moment to address anything.

Narrator 1: There’s a bittersweetness to the vibe. There is, of course, the victory of a successful caper, but the demolition of their entire faith / society / religio-financial reality kinda feels like a punch to the gut, honestly.

Narrator 2: It’s not something you could bounce back from immediately.

Narrator 3: So they wander, and their wandering takes them to a familiar ballroom, familiar to you, towards the bow of the ship. Collapsed chandeliers, portholes circling the room, the soft crunch of glass and rubble underfoot.

Narrator 2: Phineas, mustering his courage, takes the first tentative step.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Phineas—”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Spahr, I—”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Oh, sorry. Hang on. Listen, Phineas, there’s something I need to say to you first before you say whatever you need to say.”

Narrator 2: Spahr takes off his respirator. They’re deeper in the ship here, the mica isn’t as thick in the air, and they’ve already been scuffed and damaged so much that honestly, a bit more exposure hardly seems to matter. Not when they need to speak face to face like this. Phineas follows suit.

Narrator 3: Unsaid words hang heavy in the air between them. Phineas is having trouble parsing his emotions in this moment. The adrenaline of the fall, the ice plunge-like clarity of facing his death, it’s all wearing off. And Phineas is a little surprised to find that he’s… furious? He’s fucking pissed!

Narrator 2: But you’re not surprised, are you? We all knew this was coming. He can see Spahr breathing in, getting ready to speak, but Phineas beats him to it.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “You left me behind!”

[A soft variation of Phineas’s theme.]

Narrator 1: Spahr doesn’t try to respond, he just listens. Clearly there is more that Phineas needs to say, and it all comes spilling out.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “The Trust really fucked me up, you know? But the Trust can’t actually do anything on its own. It doesn’t have its own will. It’s made of people. It’s people who are doing things, and you, you were MY person. You fucked me up. You were the one saying the words. You were the one setting the tasks. You were the one teaching me, pushing me, evaluating me. You stood for everything I thought I wanted to be, and all the ways I was falling short. At first all I wanted was Valor, but at some point that changed into wanting YOU specifically to see me as Valorous. I worked so fucking hard for you, and what did I get for it? Nothing. I was just another bead on your abacus. All that work, and you were ready to fire me if I didn’t start getting better teletheric interviews or whatever. Not everyone can say words as good as you, Jonas! Do you have any idea what that did to me, to hear that I was out of chances? Nothing I had ever done up to that point was good enough, so somehow I went and did the WORST thing I’ve ever done because I thought maybe if I could pull off something completely impossible like solve the Loxlee murder, then maybe THAT would be good enough. But I didn’t solve shit, and I almost committed a murder myself. If I’m feeling this fucked up, I can’t even imagine how Sherman and Tzila… So. Excuse me if I’m not completely happy to see you. Even if you did turn against the entire Company to stand with me, and dive out of the Vault after me… and protect me while we fell through the open Un… I can’t believe you really did that. I can’t believe you’re here right now. It’s just– it’s still so hard to look at you without thinking about… everything.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Good,” says Spahr. “You should be mad.”

Narrator 2: This startles Phineas into silence.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Phineas, I need to apologize to you, but you deserve to be angry at me for as long as you want. Forever, maybe. I’ve been arrogant and prideful and sanctimonious toward you. I thought I was doing something noble treating you the way I did. I actually thought I was helping you. But I was just obsessed with my own Valor, same as everyone else. You know, for the record, I never wanted to fire you, and I never wanted to leave you behind. I just didn’t know how to fight for the things I wanted. I fucked up so bad with you. And ever since Midst I’ve just kept fucking up worse and worse. I didn’t do a damn thing to help Sherman. I sat back while the Upper Trust did nothing but cover their own asses. I let Goldfinch do some kind of fucked up mind control thing on Weepe, and now look at him. But Phineas, I thought you were dead. I thought you destroyed yourself trying to live up to the impossible pressure that was put on you, that I put on you. Because you’re right, it’s not just the Trust’s fault, it’s MY fault. I’m your person. I ran you into the ground.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “No, you can’t take the blame away from me. They’re my mistakes and I have to live with them.”

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Yeah, they are, and you do. But everything you’ve ever tried to do, Phineas, was to solve an imaginary problem that should not have existed in the first place. You were always taught you owed something, that you wouldn’t be enough until it was paid back. And you know what? I may have been the one to pull you out of that Delta, but that doesn’t make me any better than you. Your life doesn’t belong to anyone else: not me, not the Trust. It’s YOURS. And I want you to know… it matters to me that you’re still alive to live it.”

Narrator 2: Phineas struggles to find his next words.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “When you left me on Midst, I went into survival mode. It was like the emergency training at Company HQ. Honestly, it probably saved my life, because if I hadn’t looked for something to do, some way to positively contribute, I might’ve… [A hard swallow.] But I escaped. I met Lark, without any idea of who she really was. I watched Tzila trying to cope. I saw a little bit of the Fold, and I ended up getting some help that put things into perspective for me. And I thought I was free. I thought I was a new person. I thought I was changed forever, but nothing’s fucking changed! My balance is still the only thing I think about. I don’t know what I am without the Trust. I’m scared of myself. What good is it for my life to belong to me if I have no idea how to use it? I clearly don’t know how to be a good person when I’m not being told exactly what to do. And not only am I not good, now I’ll never even be Valorous! There’s no more Valor! We just blew up the Vault! Oh FUCK!”

Narrator 2: Phineas is fidgeting compulsively with the bead of Caenum on his neck, twisting and untwisting the cord of his abacus. The anger has gone. He’s burned through it. Now he feels like an Adsecla again, insufficient, subservient, resonating with anxiety and shame before his Consector.

Narrator 1: Spahr’s breath catches a little when he sees the abacus. (Spahr) “You still have that?” He sounds sad, but not surprised, not judging. He understands. Few could understand better than him.

Narrator 2: He just got rid of HIS abacus, what, a handful of hours ago? It was an incredibly dramatic opportunity, he would’ve been a fool to waste it. Even a former Consector knows how to command the stage. But back to Phineas.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Yeah. Honestly, I don’t feel like I deserve to get rid of it. I think maybe this should hang around my neck until the day I die. Who am I to— I’m not allowed to make that call!”

Narrator 1: Spahr’s eyes soften into a painfully knowing look as he realizes what’s going on here. (Spahr) “You’re waiting for someone qualified to tell you that you’ve earned it. To tell you that you’re Valorous.”

Narrator 3: Phineas says nothing. He just looks at Spahr, cheeks hot, eyes shining.

Narrator 1: Spahr smiles gently. (Spahr) “I understand that. I really do. But it’s not that simple, is it? Not only am I not qualified, there’s no such thing as Valor anymore. But YOU are still here.”

Narrator 2: He takes a step closer, emphasizing every word.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You exist and it doesn’t. You outlived Valor. You know, I guess if you want to think of it this way: this is basically your breaking even ceremony.”

Narrator 3: Phineas inhales shakily.

Narrator 1: Spahr reaches out a hand hesitatingly, and when Phineas does not withdraw, runs a thumb gently over Phineas’s cheek. (Spahr) “So I can’t tell you you’re Valorous, but I can tell you you don’t need this anymore.”

Narrator 3: And the knight in shining armor unclasps Phineas’s abacus.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “You’re at zero, Phineas Thatch. I’m at zero. We all are, now.”

Narrator 2: Jonas gently holds the paltry bead aloft on its string for a moment, before laying it in Phineas’ hand.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “I’m going to let you take the lead on this one.” 

Narrator 3: (Phineas) [laughs, or sobs, or both.]

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Are you ready?”

Narrator 3: Phineas holds it, a comically light yet incalculably heavy thing. The last unit of debt in his account.

Narrator 2: Unlike a bead of Valor, it’s not perfectly round. It’s kind of irregular, asymmetrical, both signifying and embodying imperfection.

Narrator 3: Phineas takes a steadying breath, and then simply lets the abacus slip from his hand, falling into all the other detritus at their feet. [A resonant clink.] It’s amazing how quickly it seems to just turn into another piece of junk. A fossil of a bygone age. Meaningless. He looks back up at Spahr, a vulnerable smile working its way across cracked lips.

Narrator 1: (Spahr) “Looks like we’re on our own now. No more Trust.”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “No. But…you’re still my person.” Phineas reaches for him, and Jonas reaches back. And they kiss. And it’s a good one.

[The music swells. A change of scene.]

Narrator 1: The rumble of the restarting limpet ship echoes down the halls of the ruined liner. A coughing bocular engine, still heavily damaged, but stabilized.

Narrator 3: Phineas and Spahr reappear. Phineas is carrying an old handheld teletheric he spotted amongst the wreckage in the ballroom, possibly to have something to show for their absence.

Narrator 1: It actually happens to be none other than Demarin Ginsberg’s ratty old hostage situation teletheric from the last time we were on this cruise ship. Funny how these things go sometimes.

Narrator 2: The limpet is barely holding together, a wreck of mirrorhawk and mica holes. It rattles and leans on the warped landing gear. Lark is bolting shut a bent engine covering, her arms coated in grease. (Lark) “It’ll fly again, but not fast,” she says.

Narrator 1: Loxlee is pacing, taking a stupid walk for his stupid mental health. Backpack struggles with the remains of her transducer pack, hotwired now into the limpet ship’s onboard receiver. She’s managed to dial back into some kind of crappy static, but not much else. She’s frowning.

Narrator 2: Lark notices the two men coming back. (Lark) “Find anything useful?”

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “Would this help?” Phineas holds the teletheric transducer aloft. (Phineas) “Power’s dead, but the antenna might be working.”

Narrator 1: (Backpack) “Oh, yes!”

Narrator 2: Backpack yelps.

Narrator 1: (Backpack) “Where did you find— oh, I recognize this. I can use this. I can patch us back into the, uh, the Company’s secure channels.” She skillfully wires the little transducer into the ship and hey, what do you know?

Narrator 2: A broadcast crackles through. It doesn’t sound like anything meant for the public, though. This is internal Company chatter, two officers in mid conversation.

Narrator 3: (Company 1) “What do you mean ‘destroyed’?”

Narrator 2: (Company 2) “Arca is gone, all Valor records lost, Central Vault in ruins. But good thing for the bank holiday, Vault was mostly empty. No casualties except Notary Fleit and one of the Breach’s agents. Tripotentiary and his entourage are secure. The Imbalance has escaped. Pursuit ships decimated by mirrorhawks. What’s your status?”

Narrator 3: (Company 1) “Midst is secure. But sir, something’s happening. Routine patrol discovered Stationary Hill is…it’s empty. Everyone’s gone. We can’t find them. We’ve redoubled efforts to map and search the settlement, but this place is like a maze after what the tearror did to it. We can’t find anyone. Requesting reinforcements to reconnoiter.”

Narrator 2: (Company 2) “Breach strike on the Vault, and now Midst is acting up again? It’s connected, it has to be. I’ll inform the Tripotentiary. Stand by for further instructions.”

Narrator 3: (Company 1) “Understood. Standing by on Midst.”

Narrator 1: A light suddenly goes red on Backpack’s backpack. (Backpack) “Oh shit,” she says, desperately tuning an antenna. “I’m getting echoed!”

Narrator 2: (Company 2) “We’re being monitored. Scrambling this channel.”

Narrator 3: And with a shriek of encryption static, the frequency goes dead.

Narrator 1: Everyone exchanges glances, and then Hieronymous nearly collapses.

Narrator 3: Gretel grabs him.

Narrator 2: Grief and relief are apparent on his face.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “I— I can’t believe…”

Narrator 3: He looks at them all, searchingly.

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “It-it…it…”

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “It…it worked,”

Narrator 1: Backpack says quietly.

Narrator 2: (Backpack) “Not as planned, but also kind of as planned. Valor is…gone. Records destroyed. Minimal casualties.”

Narrator 1: (Hieronymous) “Minimal casualties…”

Narrator 2: Hieronymous murmurs, lost in thought, thinking of Ledge, thinking of Fleit’s final expression, but thinking mostly of Saskia.

Narrator 1: An outcome both better and much worse than he imagined. (Hieronymous) “God, I hope Saskia’s…other…”

Narrator 2: He trails off. He doesn’t know. He can only hope.

Narrator 1: Gretel seems ready to get out of here. (Gretel) “So what now? We can’t hide out here forever. What’s the Tripotentiary going to do next?”

Narrator 2: Lark closes her eyes. She feels the fold flowing through her body. (Lark) “Weepe is going back to Midst.”

Narrator 3: The others eye her cautiously. At this point it seems silly to ask how she knows that. (Phineas) “Does he think that’s where we’re going?”

Narrator 1: Phineas asks.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “No. No, it’s… it’s something else. There’s some other reason.” She feels an aching like grief in her chest, a boiling anguish. She flinches. “But Stationary Hill is in trouble. He might do anything to try to draw me out.”

Narrator 1: Hieronymous looks, well, he’s been looking nervous this whole time, so nothing’s new here. (Hieronymous) “The Trust is broken thanks to us. But you know, that means that Weepe IS the Trust now. There’s no more red tape holding him back.”

Narrator 2: Awful circumstances aside, this is kind of incredible. Lark can FEEL Weepe. Her whole spooky Fold spiderweb is like a fuzzy nimbus of vibrations all around her, feeding her hints and whispers and gut feelings the more she opens herself up to it. But Weepe… It’s like he’s in sharper focus than everything else, somehow. All the threads lead to him. This is more than a gut feeling. She KNOWS what he’ll do. And she knows that only one thing is driving him anymore.

Narrator 1: Lark’s throat is dry.

Narrator 2: (Lark) “He’s…Something bad is going on with him.”

Narrator 1: Phineas glances warily around the group.

Narrator 3: (Phineas) “So do we avoid Midst because that’s where he’s going, or…”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “No. I’m done running. I need to end this. You don’t have to stay, but that’s where I’m going.”

[A slow variation of Lark’s theme.]

Narrator 1: Lark speaks in a strange neutral tone, making no demands, just calmly stating the facts.

Narrator 3: Phineas nods. (Phineas) “Then that’s where we’re all going. We’re all part of this now.”

Narrator 1: Spahr nods gravely.

Narrator 2: Backpack and Gretel look determined.

Narrator 1: And so too does Hieronymous. (Hieronymous) “We’ve all chosen this,” he concedes. “We can’t leave things as they are now. We have to finish what we started.”

Narrator 2: (Lark) “All right then,” 

Narrator 1: says Lark, 

Narrator 2: (Lark) “We’re going to Midst.”