Season 03 - Episode 04

‘the deafening sound’

“Sergeant,” says Syl, stepping into a room missing a wall, overlooking The Collapse.

The nearest EnFo turns then stiffens to attention, freezing solid.

“At ease,” she says quickly, uncomfortable with the formality.

“What can we do for you today, Ma'am?” the sergeant crackles through his helmet.

“Just came for a look,” she says, staring out across the great abyss of The Collapse.

Far across the open space, a seemingly infinite number of torn open rooms have been blocked out with sheets, giving the whole vast surface a strangely blank yet organic feel.

“That's new,” she muses. “Which Order did that?”

“Ah,” he fuzzes. “You're the cult expert. It was The Harbingers, the ones with the hats?”

“Ok,” Syl nods thoughtfully. “Lot of effort to go to though, hardly bulletproof.”

“Doesn't matter,” he says. “The snipers can't fire quick enough to hit them anyway.”

“Why's that?” says Syl, turning to look at her own reflection in the sergeant's visor.

“Can't fire a round now without getting sign off from Finance first,” he explains.

“What?” she asks. “When did that...”

She breaks off as a commotion breaks out.

The rest of the EnFo's are scrambling to form up, raising their rifles. On the far side of the void, the sheets are being cast out into space, swooping and ballooning down to reveal solid, flat, shining black surfaces. It's as if the torn away wall of each room has been replaced by a giant EnFo helmet.

“What the...” she says to herself as the sergeant moves to stand with his troops.

For several seconds nothing happens after which Syl carefully approaches the ragged edge of the room, ignoring the sergeant's warnings. She peers over the edge looking down and then up. The strange black surface opposite extends in both directions. Then, something starts to happen. Within the black, oblongs flicker, more and more, spreading out. Something clicks in Syl's head. She understands what she's looking at.

“They're vidscreens,” says the sergeant, as if reading her mind.

Now a single image is appearing, spread across the surface. Syl's eyes widen, she takes an involuntary step backwards. She can hear the EnFo's reacting beside her but can't tear her eyes away. Across the abyss, staring back, impossibly, mindbreakingly vast, is the smiling face of Pho. Just one of her pupils fills an entire room of vidscreens.

The air crackles. Everyone goggles.

“Good morning,” says Pho.

Her voice, coming from countless speakers all at once, sounds like a billion voices, all screaming in perfect unison, shaking the whole of The Levels.

“My dear, dear children,” Pho booms. “I bring to you today a message of hope...”

Her words consume the world.

Syl is weeping, pressing her hands against her ears. Somewhere nearby, the sergeant is screaming into a radio. Pho is explaining that The Church is trying to save them from GovCo. When GovCo makes orphans, The Church takes them in. When GovCo starves them, The Church feeds them. On and on her soft words thunder.

Now she's talking about a demonstration of devotion. Her voice finally stops and Syl notices that a long plank has appeared on the far side, reaching out over the void. Squinting she can just about make out the tiny form of a naked man, walking out along it.

“My! Name!” screeches the naked man, his broken voice coming through the speakers. “Is Hu Patelikov! Former GovCo Associate Executive Minister of War! And I have sinned! Against the Holy Mother! But she! In her grace! Has given me! A chance to atone! I do this for her! And also for you! That you! Might know! Her love! I love you! Mother Pho!”

At this final word and without hesitation, Patelikov steps off the end of the plank and plunges down into the void below. Syl watches him fall until he drops out of sight. Then the sergeant is screaming about financial authorisation and the EnFo's open fire.

The deafening sound of gunfire roars all around her and from the floors above and below. Individual black oblongs begin to blot out Pho's chuckling face, as the EnFo's pour out all their fear and rage in bullet form.

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