Interlude: The Head
thenew
#1 Masters of the Bazaar Fan
- Location
- My Lodgings
Hello.
How are things going for you, my friend?
I remember how we were, before. I remember you. Two kids playing with knives.
Though, to be entirely fair, that's what a Syndicate is, isn't it?
I don't think you will see me ever again. This letter will mostly likely not reach you; and if it does, it will reach you too late to matter. Things have already been resolved.
I must thank you for all you did to help me, Sieghart. You have always been loyal to your friends. Without you supporting me, helping me, finding me everything I needed, I would have never gotten out of that Syndicate, I would have never passed the Nest Admission Exams, and I would have never become an Arbiter of the Head.
But alas, all that begins must end; all that lives dies. We must all say goodbye, sooner of later.
But first allow me some reminescence.
It was the summer of '██. We were standing on the edge of a fence, staring at the rose gardens kept beyond. It was something for people unlike us, they said. It's sad, but it was truth, or so we thought. We were not meant for comforts such as these. We were, and still are, weary, hard-eyed people. We are not for languishing in a garden of white roses.
And yet we did so defy our fate, at my urging. You and I found a crack in the fence, and we ran off with as many roses as we could carry, laughing. You always went along with the things your friends wanted; until you started making friends of your own, instead of being made others' friend. You found it comforting, to have a hand offered to you in the time of need; you forgot this eventually.
You forgot us, your old times. They're barely a memory. Years of Fixerhood killed your beginnings. It's okay; I killed mine with my own two hands. We are not different. I went back to that rose garden and burned it; I salted the earth until nothing remained. I went back to the Syndicate to find other parasites in the hole we used to cower inside. I did not let them live; you would have, because you would not care at all.
The past is the past, and all you do is keep moving forward, even if it kills you.
Our lives continued. You stepped out of the Syndicate with me by your side. We went our separate ways. I, to the Nest; you, back to the Backstreets, to blood and violence. I, to be made a tool of inquiry; a scale. You, to be made a knife.
I wonder if I could have brought you into our designs. Maybe if I deigned to return earlier, before that fateful expedition into the Ruins; perhaps you would be by my side, a claw in your arm, and I wouldn't be saddled with a dimwit.
Nevertheless...
This is my goodbye to you- though to be more precise, this is my goodbye to our friendship. I write this less for you then I write it for myself, to put my own mind at rest, to calm the waters of my own soul.
And so, I must, with a weary heart, give you the terrible news.
You will never return to the City.
This place is, one way or another, your home. You have marked the lives of incountable people, you have fought and bled and clawed your way into something that could be called a happy life. It was fleeting, that happiness (all happiness is), but you found something you could call yours.
A home is not a house, but still, it hurts to leave your house behind, doesn't it? It hurts to sell that place your children grew up in, even if you need the money and all the kids have long since moved out. Turbulence Office was something you built yourself, brick by brick laid by these people you call friends.
Many people will miss you. An office of the Hana will be ever more empty, without you and your traveling circus passing through the hallways to settle some matter or accept a contract. The Vermillion Cross will continue his unending crusade against evil, and in time he will meet yet another lonely martyr's end. Dilaceration Workshop will not go out of business, but in time that framed picture in their leader's desk will fade.
And your four friends left behind will never stop searching. Maybe they will find their way to the Library; maybe not. Either way, if they choose to follow you, they will step away and not return.
Now, we return to the topic at hand. Bureaucratic matters.
Your infractions are as follows.
Therefore, additional quarantine will need to be enforced over the Library. It's clear we were lax with our measures; perhaps the Purple Tear herself will need to be censured for her reckless actions. We suppose a fine would be in order, as this was an indirect violation at most; if you wield a gun responsibly all your life, someone kills you, steals the gun and uses it for evil; are you at fault in this situation? Perhaps, but not as much as the person who stole the gun in the first place.
As such, the Library may or may not be removed from this dimension entirely, or realocated further into the heart of the Ruins. It is still up to debate.
Rest assured that all follows the designs of the Head. We see all, we judge all, and we punish all. I have learned much since my education begun; where once we questioned why this was all necessary, I now see that there is no other way. For secrets are edged tools; and must be kept from children and fools.
This may be little comfort to you, my friend, but know.
First, your tale comes closer and closer to the end. You walk on the knife's edge. One way or another, everything ends in a few days.
Second, something that is always important to keep in mind. No matter where you go, no matter where you hide. All of it is temporary. You cannot evade us indefinitely; and thus, rest easy, knowing that everything is going just as planned.
How are things going for you, my friend?
I remember how we were, before. I remember you. Two kids playing with knives.
Though, to be entirely fair, that's what a Syndicate is, isn't it?
I don't think you will see me ever again. This letter will mostly likely not reach you; and if it does, it will reach you too late to matter. Things have already been resolved.
I must thank you for all you did to help me, Sieghart. You have always been loyal to your friends. Without you supporting me, helping me, finding me everything I needed, I would have never gotten out of that Syndicate, I would have never passed the Nest Admission Exams, and I would have never become an Arbiter of the Head.
But alas, all that begins must end; all that lives dies. We must all say goodbye, sooner of later.
But first allow me some reminescence.
It was the summer of '██. We were standing on the edge of a fence, staring at the rose gardens kept beyond. It was something for people unlike us, they said. It's sad, but it was truth, or so we thought. We were not meant for comforts such as these. We were, and still are, weary, hard-eyed people. We are not for languishing in a garden of white roses.
And yet we did so defy our fate, at my urging. You and I found a crack in the fence, and we ran off with as many roses as we could carry, laughing. You always went along with the things your friends wanted; until you started making friends of your own, instead of being made others' friend. You found it comforting, to have a hand offered to you in the time of need; you forgot this eventually.
You forgot us, your old times. They're barely a memory. Years of Fixerhood killed your beginnings. It's okay; I killed mine with my own two hands. We are not different. I went back to that rose garden and burned it; I salted the earth until nothing remained. I went back to the Syndicate to find other parasites in the hole we used to cower inside. I did not let them live; you would have, because you would not care at all.
The past is the past, and all you do is keep moving forward, even if it kills you.
Our lives continued. You stepped out of the Syndicate with me by your side. We went our separate ways. I, to the Nest; you, back to the Backstreets, to blood and violence. I, to be made a tool of inquiry; a scale. You, to be made a knife.
I wonder if I could have brought you into our designs. Maybe if I deigned to return earlier, before that fateful expedition into the Ruins; perhaps you would be by my side, a claw in your arm, and I wouldn't be saddled with a dimwit.
Nevertheless...
This is my goodbye to you- though to be more precise, this is my goodbye to our friendship. I write this less for you then I write it for myself, to put my own mind at rest, to calm the waters of my own soul.
And so, I must, with a weary heart, give you the terrible news.
You will never return to the City.
This place is, one way or another, your home. You have marked the lives of incountable people, you have fought and bled and clawed your way into something that could be called a happy life. It was fleeting, that happiness (all happiness is), but you found something you could call yours.
A home is not a house, but still, it hurts to leave your house behind, doesn't it? It hurts to sell that place your children grew up in, even if you need the money and all the kids have long since moved out. Turbulence Office was something you built yourself, brick by brick laid by these people you call friends.
Many people will miss you. An office of the Hana will be ever more empty, without you and your traveling circus passing through the hallways to settle some matter or accept a contract. The Vermillion Cross will continue his unending crusade against evil, and in time he will meet yet another lonely martyr's end. Dilaceration Workshop will not go out of business, but in time that framed picture in their leader's desk will fade.
And your four friends left behind will never stop searching. Maybe they will find their way to the Library; maybe not. Either way, if they choose to follow you, they will step away and not return.
Now, we return to the topic at hand. Bureaucratic matters.
Your infractions are as follows.
- You have aided and abetted a human in becoming a nonpermitted existance. This is a light infraction; you had no possibility of knowing the HEPHAESTUS technology would violate the Head's decree. In fact, were it not for the nanomachine component needed to preserve the user's consciousness through radical transformation, it would be acceptable.
- You owe around 65 million Ahn in unpaid Originium tax (as one of your colleagues has contracted severe Oripathy). This is a tax that most people do not know exists, as they do not know Originium exists. This is another light infraction; it is merely your first strike.
- You have aided and abetted an exodus scenario. This is a heavy infraction despite your total unawareness. Did you know that Arabella has been planning to move a colony of Bloodfiends to the dimension of Terra for quite a long time? Perhaps you should have known. Nevertheless, this is the worst of your sins so far. They are an important element.
- You have failed to terminate a germinating nonpermitted existance twice over, in this case being Wympe Veillinge, who has become polluted by an intolerable variable, despite having accepted an official Head contract to cull Outskirts incursions; as you can read in the terms of the contract, you are legally obligated to continue to eliminate nonpermitted existances that you witness entering the City even after the contract is over, being appropriated compensated at a rate of 200%. As you have violated the terms of a contract (Wympe Veillinge is part of the City and you allowed the Seaborn to take root inside her body) and you have also failed to eliminate "Ayam Adom," another existance we cannot permit and that entered the City by the means of merging with Bloodfiend genetic material, this is a heavy infraction.
Therefore, additional quarantine will need to be enforced over the Library. It's clear we were lax with our measures; perhaps the Purple Tear herself will need to be censured for her reckless actions. We suppose a fine would be in order, as this was an indirect violation at most; if you wield a gun responsibly all your life, someone kills you, steals the gun and uses it for evil; are you at fault in this situation? Perhaps, but not as much as the person who stole the gun in the first place.
As such, the Library may or may not be removed from this dimension entirely, or realocated further into the heart of the Ruins. It is still up to debate.
Rest assured that all follows the designs of the Head. We see all, we judge all, and we punish all. I have learned much since my education begun; where once we questioned why this was all necessary, I now see that there is no other way. For secrets are edged tools; and must be kept from children and fools.
This may be little comfort to you, my friend, but know.
First, your tale comes closer and closer to the end. You walk on the knife's edge. One way or another, everything ends in a few days.
Second, something that is always important to keep in mind. No matter where you go, no matter where you hide. All of it is temporary. You cannot evade us indefinitely; and thus, rest easy, knowing that everything is going just as planned.
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