The Three Shadows

How do you torment a god?

Lucas had asked that question, and it had been rattling around in my brain for a while.

The only people who’d really care to try don’t think they can feel pain, don’t think they can suffer. They can just mimic the effects of it, parrot back our expectations. You pretend to prick them, they pretend to bleed.

There’s no physical form you can beat up, and breaking their idols does nothing. You can torture their worshippers all you want, sure. Starve them, but not quickly. How long would it take to really put Lugann in danger of running out of stored up sacrifice-juice if you got really devoted about it? Decades? More?

Sat in front of me were some papers about Our Lady of the Infinite Regress’ history. New god, came into being not too long before the charter. She was younger than the university anyway, she was originally a patron goddess of one particular mathematics classroom, or rather, patron bogum. A lot of ‘deities’ started out as folkloric boogiemen before the Charter came and forced them all onto the same deific rubric, since they were all powered by belief and sacrifice. She was meant to be a creature that bent light and made it so you misread an easy equation on the blackboard as a more complicated one. If you blinked real hard and asked her nicely she’d unbend the light and your homework would be easier.

How do you torment that? Leave out hard equations on a blackboard and a bunch of mousetraps to catch her?

“We have our ways of keeping deities in line.”

Sarah was tense. We were walking down the halls in the First Cathedral of the Charter, not the parts that were open to the public, but at the same time, not the parts that were plain and bureaucratic. Usually you got one or the other, the public areas were ostentatious, gold-gilded and bejewelled, statues and paintings everywhere depicting the glory of the gods, per our contractual obligations to properly, well, glorify them in their holy places. Meanwhile, the private areas were just paperwork zones, grey and drab and boring.

Out here, though? I hadn’t passed a door without an “Authorised access only” sign in about five minutes, and I still hadn’t stopped seeing gold gilding on the doorknobs and hangings depicting Mordant’s clock-face surrounded by angelic hosts every five feet, or murals of Lugann smithing the first electric battery.

“Hey, so uh…” I glanced to Sarah. I chuckled, but only to try to hide my nervousness. “Am I about to walk in there and see the little Regress statuette covered in blood and with, like, one of the arms broken off and a little paper bag over her head?”

Sarah gave me a flat look. “No. It- honestly, it’ll be fine, not gruesome at all. She oughta talk now, that’s all. You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, but I figured fuck, you’d be in my ear for the rest of the month if I interrogated her and didn’t let you in to hear, right?”

“Damned right.” I said. She gave me a bit of a grimace. She was a bit overdressed too. Nothing quite like Irons’ intimidation outfit, but she was wearing enough channeling necklaces to weigh her down, every time she moved she audibly jangled, the light kept catching on the gold and silver chains and getting in my eyes, she was like a kaleidoscope, and she was in a proper robe, red, black, and white, which trailed a little on the floor. I wasn’t sure it was meant to do that, maybe they didn’t have any her size.

“Am I underdressed? I feel like I’m-”

“You’re fine.” She insisted. I could only honestly take her word for it. I’d been preparing for this all day, had a whole list of questions, written down on paper in my hand to ask. Wanted to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

We reached the door. Two big, ornate mahogany double-doors going up to the ceiling. The ceiling even raised up in a little half-dome bubble to account for the size of them, since they were twice the height of the corridor that led up to them.

Sarah stopped before going in. She always looked small, but compared to them she was like a dwarf. She stopped still, one hand on each door, and took a slow, haggard breath.

“Hey, uh-” I paused. I went to put a hand on her shoulder but hesitated, just kind of hovered it over her. “You going to be okay?”

She took in a long breath through her nose, and without actually replying, she set her jaw, and pushed the doors open.

The room was dark.

Near pitch-black. The walls were darkened and matte, felt, lit by a single electric light in the center. The floor was the same, and I could hear the faint crunch of the material under my shoes.

That single light flickered over an idol to Lady Regress. Inhabited, from the red glow, which stood stark against the dim yellow light. It wasn’t like I’d joked, it looked undamaged, but it was surrounded by pages and books. At first I’d guessed they were academic from the style, just the way the paragraphs were structured on the page, triple-columned with pictures and diagrams in the margins, but looking closer they were all about her, her history and deeds. Her holy texts, I assumed, as a science-deity.

A few of them were torn, and I saw scorch-marks at the crumbled edge of a paper too white and new for the crumbling to have been from age. That part of my guess on how you torment a deity was right at least, huh?

At the four corners there were robed men. Simple, brown robes, hands together in prayer, blindfolded. They just stood there, looking inward, staring, if they weren’t blindfolded, at Lady Regress.

Sarah walked in and I followed her, the double-doors closing behind us.

As the light from outside died, I suddenly realised why the walls and floor were so dark. Without the extra light source I couldn’t tell how big the room was anymore. Even the floor was obscured. I got a sudden intense vertigo, like I’d walked out onto a glass bridge. I had to steady myself on Sarah for stability. The monks were the only way to tell how big the room was anymore, I remembered they marked the corners, but what my conscious mind knew my subconscious sense for the space around me didn’t seem to quite accept.

“Easy, you get used to it. Try not to barf your guts up.” Sarah comforted.

There wasn’t any blood, no gore, but I still felt a bone-deep discomfort. I kept thinking the same thing in my head. ‘She helped me, did I really hand her over to this?’, despite the fact that when I asked myself what ‘this’ was I really had no idea. There wasn’t anything obviously horrible here, but it still felt like there was.

I steadied myself. “...So she’s talking again?”

“We got some words out of her earlier, yeah. We figure she’ll be willing to talk, now.” Sarah said.

I looked aside to the blindfolded monks. “Are those the, uh, interrogators? Torturers?”

Sarah sucked in a breath through her teeth. “They can’t suffer, so no. They’re… security. They believe things really, really hard, put it that way. Raised from birth.”

I didn’t want to know just what it was that they believed with intensity enough they needed to be here. I wrapped my arms around my waist like a shield. I just wanted this to be over with.

“Do I need to do anything, or…?”

Sarah didn’t look any happier to be here than I was. “I’ll do the talking.”

She adjusted the sheaf of papers in her hand, looking up. “...Our Lady of the Infinite Regress. In accordance with the Lysian Divine Charter, Section two, paragraph two, you are accused of violation of your contractual duties to the Priest’s Union of Lysium. You have thus far refused to speak in your defense, save to insist you have not breached your contract.” She coughed a little, giving me a glance. That bit was for my benefit, I figured. “This is your final chance to lodge a formal defence, pending a trial and possible syncretisation into a charter-compliant deity of similar aspect. Do you have anything you want to say?”

Sarah stood there in that void, staring down at the idol. Perspective without a background was a strange thing, she towered over little statuette. With her channelling necklaces, her robes, it looked like a scene out of a propaganda poster, the stark contrast between the might of man and the chained and crying goddess, defeated.

Lady Regress’ idol glowed that familiar blood red. That one that had always followed silence before, always preceded silence. I half expected the same, indignance. Maybe she just refused to talk in front of me or something.

She didn’t.

For the first time ever, I heard her speak.

“I have not broken your c-c-contract. No part of th is is against your word or law. Bring me the contract and I can point to the l-l-line and clause that boun d me to this path and action. ”

Her voice was a low hiss, and oddly broken, distorted. I didn’t quite have the words for it, like a bird’s voice oddly imitating a human’s, struggling not to break back into birdsong, like a broken cog in a factory jagging and jerking on the spot, stuck, metal against metal. Bursts of high-pitched staccato interrupting the rhythm.

I hadn’t quite expected her to sound like that. It hurt my ears, and yet, I was still glad to finally hear her speak. I smiled, just a little.

“Hi there.” I said, giving her a little wave. “So you talk now? Were you, uh, intentionally staying quiet before, or just not inhabiting the idol thing?”

The idol didn’t respond to that for a moment. Sarah gave me a dry look, annoyed I’d interrupted. I coughed to fill the silence. Were the monks looking at me too? I couldn’t tell with their blindfolds on.

“I appreciated your k-k-kindness ” The idol said. The reply lit a little warmth in my stomach, couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

“You’re not mad I handed you over? I-” I started, before Sarah let out a harsh, awkward cough.

“Ahem. Lady Regress.” She said, trying to get back into a more official rhythm. “You are aware that the murder of a human, outside of exceptions outlined in the Lysian Divine Charter section nine paragraph nine, is grounds for immediate cessation of worship and destruction of your holy texts, yes? Expulsion from the charter or syncretisation?”

“I claim exception thirteen: Ordered to by a validly licensed and authorised mortal.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought had happened. That will be either Raspe or a Staircase member. I tried to hide my feeling of triumph. We just had to ask who that worshipper was then, didn’t we?

Sarah thumbed through her papers. I peered over her shoulder. A copy of the charter, on white paper and black type. Modern, not a relic or anything, just for use as a legal document.

“Regular worshippers can’t order you t-”

“I claim no exception, I admit guilt. ”

The abrupt shift made Sarah stumble. Me, too. That was a quick turnaround. Had she crumbled under all of, uh, no pressure, caught in the lie? Was she saying she had killed willingly? Would Sarah even take that for an answer? I looked to her and she paused, gave an audible “Uh-” before gathering herself. “In that case I will pass that on-”

“I c-c-claim no exception, I claim f-f-falsehood of accusation. I was not present for R-rudolph Raspe’s death. I am i-i-innocent.”

Sarah sputtered, coughing hard. She flicked through the document but didn’t seem to find anything to help her. She gave me a pale look, like she was begging me to step in to help.

“I think it’s broken.” I murmured.

Sarah let out an awkward little chuckle, halfway to a whine. Neither of us really knew what to do with that. Coming in here I’d had ideas on what to do, what to ask if she’d claimed any of those options, but all three at once?

“You’re contradicting yourself. What claim are you making? Guilty, innocent, or exception by way of having been ordered?” Sarah stared the little statue down. It glowed and pulsed.

“Mu.”

I didn’t even recognise the word. Sarah seemed to, through, she sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Not a valid answer. Ugh, we’re getting nowhere with this, this’s worse’n when she was fucking silent. Regress, pick one, or I swear to the chartered- you know what syncretisation is, right?”

“I know the conditions on which you can invoke it. I have broken no law or rule of yours. I am innocent, and a thorough investigation will show as such. Per our compact, I hold to your rules, and you hold to your rules, an d your rules are held to. Should I be syncretised despite innocence, the other gods go free also.”

That was the longest she’d gone without that awful stuttering. “Okay, I’ll put that down, though given the sheer number of witnesses I-” She hissed.

“I am not obliged to listen to your accusations nor your words. Know your place, priest, manager, y-y-e ag ent of the Union. I have made my claim, guilty. ”

The glow intensified until it hurt to look at, I had to raise a hand to shield my eyes. She hissed, and nevermind divine static on my skin, I thought I could see it in the air, everything crackling. The air started to warp, to marble, we were right inside it, then-

“Oh don’t you fucking dare. Come off it! I know what you’re doing. You want to obfuscate, you want to bloody obfuscate, huh?” I could see a vein popping in Sarah’s throat, she was red in the face, right in the center of it. “I hereby invoke charter one, section one, paragraph two. ‘We the gods recognise the primacy of mortalkind and suborn ourself to their influence’. In ink and blood we bind you, and I call upon your contractual obligations!”

She threw the papers aside, stalked forward. I saw a flash in the corner, static turning into a miniature lightning bolt as divine energy gathered. Sarah didn’t care. Her shoes crunched on one of Regress’ holy texts, passed close enough to her she could kick the statue again if she cared to.

“We all know you did it. I know you did it. Let’s just get this over with, tell me Raspe ordered you to so we can-” Her voice hitched, just a second. “-so we can all go home, huh? Quit all this fire and brimstone shit.”

“I-I-I-I-”

The idol popped and crackled. I knew what was happening, it was pretty obvious. She was imposing her own beliefs about what had happened on it, this was why you couldn’t really interrogate deities. You were supposed to ask questions a lot more… carefully than this.

“Regress!” I called out. And for a moment the air stilled, like the eye of the storm. “...forget that. No plea. Just- tell us what happened that night. No guilt, no nothing. You killed Raspe. Why?”

“I-i-Innocent, I was not present, the Godbox device w-w-was turned upon him by other actors, no id-d-dol nor essence of mine was-”

I hissed. A third story.

“Just tell us what happened, then! Anything, any story, whatever. What happened, what did you see, what did-”

My vision exploded. A flash of white, blinding in the dark. I felt enough divine energy to drown me, enough my chest tightened, breathing became heavier. It was like walking into a sauna, suffocating in the moment, and then I got used to it.

There was a flash. For a second I was somewhere else. A green field full of flamingos, an ocean before the horizon. Then a glimpse of a deep obsidian lake at nighttime, the moon reflecting on the water.

And then the Auditorium. The night of Raspe’s death.

Everything was unfocused, blurred. I was seeing double, or, no, triple. It was the same effect as when you unfocus your eyes, there were little half-transparent copies of every moving object. Raspe was standing there, one copy a fraction behind himself, one a fraction ahead. They overlapped, and only the overlapped parts looked fully real, were opaque rather than all see-through. The same was true of the Godbox, the curtains, the floors, the walls. Motion sickness lurched in my gut, but this was the dozenth or so time I’d experienced reality-warping effects that made me want to throw up this month, and I managed to hold it in.

Sarah was present, unaffected, fully real. She didn’t have the distorted effects on her. She was standing just to the left of an illusory Raspe who was staring right past her. So were the monks. The change didn’t touch them - couldn’t expand beyond them. Whatever they were doing, they seemed to act as boundaries to the effect, beyond them was just the dark void produced by the pitch walls of the room we’d been in before.

Okay, we were still here then, Lady Regress was just projecting… this. We hadn’t teleported or anything.

“I am not a god of revelations, dispensing truths is not a part of my contract. I alter space, time, mathematics and science. Consider this an additional dispens ation, ye peerers beyond the veil. ”

The idol was gone. It was probably still there, but invisible, hidden by the illusion, so Regress’ voice seemed to echo from around us.

“Really? Theatrics, now? Quit being a shit and just say the words, we can have this over in a sentence if y-” Sarah hissed, but I rushed up to her, put a hand over her mouth gently, shushed her. She looked about ready to bite my hand as it went over her, but she didn’t. She set her jaw and seemed to get the message, settling down with me to watch. Just watch.

The illusory Raspe walked into the room and immediately made his way up towards the rows of desks the audience would be sitting in, in a few moments time. He seemed to be searching for something, under the seats. Sarah raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious. She’d forgotten, apparently, but I remembered what he was looking for.

In the third row, second from the wall, he found it. The stash of snacks I’d sent him to find which he’d never come back with. Mini-muffins in a little breadbox, raisin. He took one out and bit down before heading back to the stage and gazing up at the clock. Not long until the show, not long at all.

Somebody else came in. One of the hired stagehand assistants, looking annoyed. “Hey, boss, there’s some dockers outside complaining about labor violations or something. Making a bit of noise. How many breaks am I meant to be getting a day? Thirty minute lunch, right? ‘Cause I do get that but they seem to think-”

Raspe went to talk to him, but- not all of him did. I hadn’t noticed at first, but narrowing my eyes at the assistant, he only had two shadows, two slightly disparate selves. And matching that, only two of Raspe’s reflections went to talk to him.

The third went towards the Godbox, not seeming to register the assistant at all. It was near fully see-through, without overlapping the other Raspe’s, like a shadow.

That third Raspe pulled the curtain open. Inside was Lady Regress. She seemed fully real, and the interior of the box just like I recognised it, the idol placed into the little divot.

Sarah let out a little choking sound. I let her go, gently. My arms went from her mouth to her belly, wrapping around her to hold her gently. She was gonna need it.

“...You have your orders, yes? What a mess this is. What a jolly mess. Storzen.” Raspe spat a curse from his homeland, Authas. No clue what it meant. His expression was unreadable, the shadow was too faded and I could barely make out his facial features, but he sounded upset, frustrated.

“I will follow per my contract. You understand and recognise that there are gentler deities for self-euthanasia, yes?”

“They’ll never give me a license. Besides, we want a show! How are they going to think I’m a wizard who defeated physics itself if I die a peaceful death in my sleep, eh?” He chuckled, ruefully. And then in a snap, the laughter was gone, the smile was gone. “Korszch bastards played me good. Threaten to take everything away then give it back, eh?”

Sarah couldn’t look. She covered her eyes, screwed them shut. I didn’t really know what I could do for her. All I did was keep watching. Make sure neither of us missed anything. Raspe pointed a finger at the idol, wagged it accusingly.

“Once this is done, you tell your boss they’re a goatfucker. And that I hope all their dreams collapse on themselves in the face of raw unrelenting reality. Better be glad I’m not really omnipotent, or the things I’d do to them, eh? Only proper.”

He patted the idol like he was giving them a clap on the back.

“I will pass the message on.” Regress replied, professional.

“Yeah, yeah. Egotistical bugger. I need their permission to die? Really?” He started to close the curtain, grumbling under his breath, as Regress gave one last comment.

“I only need their permission to kill you. You can die any other way you please if you like, that is the prerogative of mortals.”

The curtains closed, but Sarah turned like a whip. She was trembling as she asked “...Who? Who- gave permission. She- she had an exception? Who in the actual, unrelenting mother of all eternal fuck would-”

“It’s okay. Just- we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out. Somebody in the church, but we’ll figure it out. We just need to-” I whispered to her softly, but Sarah let out a scream. Ear-piercing, harsh. I held her, tried to keep her together. Regretted the fact I hadn’t brought snacks to cheer her up with, all I had was my words.

But the show was still going. Things didn’t stop moving just due to her outrage, her grief. It all moved on too fast. I missed things, whilst Sarah cried her eyes out. The third shadow of Raspe rejoined the rest. They kept talking to the assistant.

There was a flicker in the corner of my eye. Somebody moving. Another person, an intruder. A single shadow, like the idol had been, moving in, pulling the curtain back. They looked left and right, surreptitious, like they were afraid of being caught. And then they went inside the Godbox.

I hadn’t seen who they were. Just a silhouette. They were hidden almost before I noticed they were there, in my distraction. “Bloody-”

I rushed over. Dropped Sarah and reached out. I tried to throw the Godbox curtains back but my hands phased through the illusion. I tried again.

“What- what was that? Regress, what the hell was?”
I'd been so distracted I'd almost missed him. Or her, I guessed, I didn't even know that. I cursed myself, furious. Somebody had snuck into the Godbox? Why? How?

Lady Regress didn’t reply.

I might have expected Sarah to curse me for abandoning her so abruptly, but once she realised the show was still going, she pulled herself together quick. She blindly grabbed at the floor until she felt, rather than saw, her hands grab some papers, the ones we’d abandoned earlier, a hair below the illusory floor Regress was projecting. She picked it up, scribbled down notes, through red eyes filled with tears.

The assistant went away. Raspe turned back to the Godbox, and again, another version of himself split off. Two of him went towards the back to do some last-minute checkups on the technology, and one went towards the front. I didn’t think it was the third Raspe from before, the suicidal raspe, though my eyes weren’t quite quick enough to really track it. A second Raspe, then, Raspe number two.

This one was jovial, happier, walking with a much more confident stride. He tossed one of my mini-muffins in the air and caught it in his mouth. And then he opened up the Godbox curtains again.

“...Regress.”

“ Sinner. ” Her tone was heavier, deeper, now. More of that odd birdsong booming than usual. His, by contrast, was curt.

“Just wanna make sure you’re not getting any ideas. Know you’re struggling, but stiff upper lip and all that, as they say over here, right? You got enough juice for tonight?”

“ There is not energy enough in this city for the kind of demonstration you require. I had to deny prayers from other users last evening for this, I am reduced, glory that I am, to wisps of will. I starve for this, to break reality in perpetuum? Madness. Ye know not what ye do ”

“I’m not made of electricity, you know how hard that stuff is to get without it smelling of divine? Well, this is the last big demo anyway.”
" Ye bring doom upon yourself with these acts. Beware ye, seeker of first and final principles. For I am a jealous goddess, and I await thee just behind the last theorem. "

Jovial Raspe didn't seem that threatened by the proclamation. I wasn't surprised, it had come out a reedy whisper, kind of reminded me of a kitten hissing, trying to be scary. "Give it a rest. Look..." He rummaged in his pockets and took out a dog-eared paper. I couldn’t make out the writing. “Tell you what, pull this off and I’ll tear it up, okay? Promise. You won’t need to worry about being banned from school anymore, no more risk of Our Lady Of Electric Light taking your job and all your worshippers, eh? You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Gave that same clap on the back to Regress as before, and closed up the curtains.

How do you torment a god? Threaten to get rid of all their worshippers, apparently. Did Raspe have the pull to get Regress taken out of the university?

Well, he probably would have if the demonstration had gone well. Before that?

This was a very different Raspe to the other one. Harsher, and… he hadn’t needed to talk twice. Two different Raspes, two different tones. Not jovial Raspe, Asshole Raspe. The Raspe from the Liberationist's stories of him, the Raspe who'd been tormenting Regress.

“...Regress, are you just showing us all three theories? I- what actually happened? I already know all three possibilities. Which is-” I hissed. And then I realised something, and that hiss turned to a growl. “If that wasn’t real- fuck, showing that to Sarah was cruel. I know she hasn’t been kind to you, but-”

The show kept moving on around me. Regress didn’t even cut me off with a reply, she just moved the illusion on and I scrambled to watch, not wanting to miss anything important again, my chastisement forgotten. The big stagecurtains got pulled down by two assistants to obscure the stage, and the audience filtered in, invisible to us but audible from what seemed to be just outside the illusion, just behind the monks.

I saw a version of myself come in, and all three Raspes scrambled to put away the muffins. Must not have wanted me to see him hogging them all. He looked embarrassed he’d forgotten to bring them back, flushing faintly.

“...Sure you’re ready? No last minute adjustments?” I said.

Man, did I really sound like that? Lords, I sounded Rugan, all throaty, my accent wasn’t that bad, right?

“I’ll do my best. Just let the curtains go up, give a speech explaining my work… and show them what it looks like when gravity stops, the speed of light triples, and the strong nuclear force… okay, no, actually, best not mess with that.” He chuckled awkwardly. I hadn’t the first time I’d lived through this moment, but this time I detected a hint of melancholy in his voice. In all three voices, really. “Those after flashing lights and spectacle might be disappointed, but those with intelligence will recognise how much this will overturn the spirit of the era. That will be enough for me.”

The illusory me nodded and went backstage. I knew how this went. We just had to settle back to watch it, together.

I went to the back left corner of the room to get the best view of everything, sat down next to one of the monks and brought Sarah back with me. She hissed at me not to touch the monk, and I shied away a step, just to be sure.

Electricity coursed through the wires into the back of the Godbox. The cogs whirred as it powered up and glowed red with energy and power.

Raspe stared down at himself in confusion as the air started to lens and marble. As his tie began to float upwards.

He didn’t have time to get a word out, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. ‘Wait, you’re not supposed to be on, yet.’

Two out of three sets did, anyway. One of them just stared off into space. That one spoke.

“Stiff upper lip indeed. Let’s put on a show.” The third Raspe, the suicide. That was the only one that saw this coming.

Panic struck the other two shadows. They lunged for the box, arms outstretched in near perfect synchrony, before catching on their tie. The tie started to raise like an invisible force was pulling it by the tip, and all three scientists lifted into the air. From here their fates were identical. Their legs kicked. They’d been facing towards the box, but the tie swung hard to face them towards where the audience would be when the grand curtains fell, and with a sickening crack, that jerk was what killed them, snapped their necks and left their heads hanging sickeningly to the side.

One version of the box vanished now, wordless, in a flash of light. The suicidal Raspe’s box, if I was following this right.

One version hissed a curse. “ Fie on thee, who thought to know the mind and status of god. Thine compact binds me only in the eyes of mine captors, but fool that you are, you set up a devil's proof to shield me. All are free or none. Die in agony for what you have done for me.”

The second, Asshole Raspe stared as the wind itself spoke those curses. Too dead to hear, eyes staring, empty, into space as the second box too disappeared.

And the last box? The first Raspe, the one that had never spoken to Lady Regress at all?

His box stayed a moment longer. The curtain opened, a head peeked out, the one that had snuck inside a moment ago. It was like all the other individual shadows, I couldn’t make out facial features, no details. Just a voice, Ecclessian to the bone.

“...Man, what a way to go. Poor bastard.”

I launched into a sprint when he came out again. I had to see everything up close, see details. I had to know who that was.

It was a race. A brief race, but a race. Across the room, I saw a rope pull taut. Just around the corner, out of view, the illusory me was unveiling the stage to a waiting and expectant audience. The Godbox would be gone before the stagecurtains fell, a second before it came into view. The audience hadn’t seen it, after all, the illusion would become a false history if they did.

I made it with seconds to spare. Not long enough for a close inspection. Impressions, all I got was flashbulb impressions burned into my adrenaline-baked consciousness.

Staircase. The man was Staircase. He had the badge, the logo simple and blocky enough to be unmistakable. Blonde hair, it wasn’t Lucas or Schreck. Staircase had killed Raspe. Or- one third of Staircase had killed him? Staircase had one third killed him?

He looked unremarkable, office-worker-y, no real muscle on the build, not unusually skinny either.

But what caught my eye most was the glimpse behind him, through the curtain and into the Godbox.

Unlike the other two times the illusory Godbox had opened, unlike the other two shadows, this wasn’t the familiar make I knew.

The walls were lined with the bones of animals and beasts. Inside were hydraulic pistols, the interiors visible with glass, the liquid powering them black as night.

Inside was no god, but levers.

Just before the box came into view, the Staircase operative put a hand on one of the monster-ivory levers inside the Godbox. He pulled the curtain back to conceal himself, and in absolute darkness, I heard a weighty thunk as he pulled the lever down, and the first and final shadow disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the first Raspe behind.
The three Raspes hung there. The suicide, the asshole, the murder victim. I supposed the asshole one was murdered but like, he deserved it, he wasn't a victim.

The illusion faded away. Back to that black void of a room. All the holy texts were crumpled and wrecked now, out footprints all over them, as we'd been stumbling blindly about.

"...Who." Sarah asked. Her voice was hoarse with tears. "...who was it who gave you the authorisation? It- it can't be Irons right? Can it be anybody else?"

I couldn't help but goggle at her. It was like she'd stopped paying attention after the suicide Raspe had faded into the rest.

I got the instinct. Every part of me wanted to go rushing off looking for a blonde staircase member. Ignore the suicide and the asshole outright, find the missing parts, find out why the Staircase tried to frame the Liberationists. Or hell, to accept the asshole version as the truth, it made most sense to me, with the evidence I'd seen, where the murder version... contradicted so much of what I'd seen with my own eyes. I knew the Godbox didn't look like that for starters, I'd seen the real thing.

But I didn't think that was the right call.

I didn't think she was broken. I didn't think she was just showing us the theories and contradicting herself on if they were true. I didn't think she was even parroting our expectations back at us.

I didn't know what the hells this meant, but I knew she was trying to tell us something in the only way she knew how.

I thought she really was waiting for us, just like she said. Right behind the last theorem.