Season 02 - Episode 22

‘sick she stares’

Syl doesn't know what time it is nor how long it's been since she slept. Looking around her office, she seems to see it through a tinted window, as if reality itself is wearing thin. She shakes herself and forces her attention back to the reports in front of her.

In the weeks leading up to The Collapse, she had made herself an expert on all the cults she could find in The Levels. Now, in the middle of an all out war, that information is in continual demand.

For every piece of information she provides however, two more need to be consumed to keep her knowledge up to date. Previously bitter rivals are merging into supercults to better resist GovCo's assaults. Elsewhere, cults falling apart under the pressure are splintering into multiple new groups.

Descriptions of costumes and rituals are used to identify and track the cults while intelligence on their goals and priorities helps predict their behaviour and outmanoeuvre them. She's reading the same paragraph of a report for the third time when her vidscreen flicks on and Ste's haggard face appears before her. His eyes are bleary and red rimmed.

“Good morning, Syl,” her boss croaks.

“Is it?” says Syl, looking around. “I've... I've lost track a bit. Sorry, Ste. Good morning. What can I do for you?”

“I have a priority request for a profile,” Ste says.

“Sure,” says Syl, leaning back in her chair. “Go for it.”

“What do you know about...” says Ste, glancing down at his notes. “...The Sons of Pho?”

“...of Pho?” asks Syl. “Are we sure that's right? I know The Sons of Kro. They shave one side of their head and dress exclusively in brown and red?”

“That's them,” says Ste, his eyes flickering back over his out-of-shot notes. “Recent name change apparently. Their matriarch has reached out and asked to meet.”

“Ok...” says Syl, quickly recording the new information. “That's quite a shift for them though. They've always been an exclusively male group. Pretty small beans to be honest, more of a corridor gang than a real cult. Protection rackets, muggings, some sexual assault.”

“Well this new leader of theirs is demanding a parley with a senior GovCo representative,” says Ste. “Claims she has something to offer. It's all set up for some park down in The Thirteenth. The Associate Executive Minister of War himself is going apparently.”

“What's she offering?” asks Syl, intrigued.

“Hardly matters,” says Ste. “It's a set up. She's agreed to bring the whole cult with her. Once the EnFo's are sure they're all in there, they'll put them all down in one go.”

“Under a flag of truce?!” cries Syl, appalled. “What if they're genuine? No cult will ever trust us to negotiate again?”

“Why would we want to negotiate?” asked Ste, confused. “The policy is extermination.”

“I'm just saying,” says Syl, exasperated. “We don't know what's going to happen in the future. At some point it might be to our advantage to talk, at least to some of them. This way we're denying ourselves that option.”

“Well, it's happening,” says Ste wearily. “And soon. You're just being asked to help with the tactical assessment. Do these 'Sons' pose any kind of threat to our EnFo's?”

“No!” says Syl. “They're pathetic, they don't even have firearms. It'll be a slaughter.”

“Excellent,” says Ste. “Thank you for your time, keep up the good work.”

Syl pulls a face at the suddenly blackened screen. For some reason, the memory of her recent visit to the detention centre returns along with the cold feeling in her stomach. She shifts in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable then notices she has a message.

Glad of the distraction she moves to open the message but pauses when she sees it has no sender. Frowning, she opens it and her vidscreen springs back to life as a video begins to play. At first she thinks she recognises it.

Syl watches the video, watches it again, then hurriedly deletes it and feels sick.

She stares at the reports on her desk and begins to cry.

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