Chapter Text

Later, Pope would explain to him that the interplanar friction caused by their abrupt physical exit from the Astral Plane, even though they’d entered it only mentally, had snowballed into an enforced realignment akin to nuclear fusion as two divergent timelines merged into one. Arish didn’t need the explanation, though, because he was already very aware of what it meant in layman terms—i.e. that his sensory deprivation chamber fucking exploded, launching him clear across the Hypnosis Lab.

Just before he hit the wall, and before he even had time to think This is a really stupid way to die, something seized him in mid-air and pulled him back like a bungee cord. He stopped abruptly just above Jesse, who’d apparently seized him telekinetically the way she seized tables, concrete chunks and fire extinguishers. He had no idea she could to that to people, too.

The sheer power of it was rotating him gently in place, and small objects were beginning to orbit him like he’d become his own planet. “Whoa, okay,” he said, trying and failing to find purchase. “Hey—thanks.”

“What’s going on here, Arish?” Jesse asked, more puzzled than pissed. Apparently she didn’t feel like putting him down just yet, even though Arish had now rotated all the way upside-down. “I came as soon as I heard you were attempting an Astral Dive. Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”

“Wait,” Arish said, wiggling a little to try and hurry himself back upwards. “What about the trouble in the Foundation?”

She waved her free hand dismissively. “That’s over and done.”

He was slowly circling back upwards, which gave him a view of Jesse as he spun. She was wearing expeditions gear, a full trekking suit complete with backpack, gas mask hanging off her belt and—“Are you wearing cat ears?” Suddenly this felt like an insulting question. “Ma’am?”

Jesse blinked. “Oh. Yes. They’re… an Object of Power.” She took the worn velvet cat ears off, though, and put them in her utility belt before clearing her throat. “Seriously, what were you doing in there?”

“Oh my God, I think it worked,” Statler shouted from the other side of the lab.

Jesse whipped around, and the way Arish swiveled along made him feel dangerously like he was about to be launched across the room again. “Hey, Faden, how about putting me down? Not that I mind a bit of manhandling, but remember I’m not a table.”

“Right, of course, sorry.” She waited a second until he was fully right way up again before releasing him, and he only stumbled a little on the landing. Jesse grabbed him by the shoulder to steady him, studying his face. “You have a nosebleed again.”

“Oh,” he said, wiping it off with the back of his hand. “That’s a common symptom after an Astral Dive, right? Could be the way you grabbed me, too—not that I’m complaining, ha.”

Jesse seemed about to demand an explanation again, but an unmistakable sound stopped her in her tracks: something was beeping on the other side of the lab, where the other chamber had imploded instead of bursting outwards like Arish’s. Dylan Faden lay in a puddle of debris and sensory fluid, and the electrodes Statler had just stuck onto his head told no lie. There was brain activity.

Statler, herself covered in fluid and bleeding from multiple debris impacts, pushed off a half-destroyed cabinet to see them more clearly and called, half-triumph and half-alarm: “Director! I think he’s waking up!”

Jesse instantly forgot about Arish and hurried over. Dylan was in fact twitching, eyes still closed, one hand already reaching up to push the electrodes off his head. Statler, who had excellent survival instincts, backed away from the scene and picked her way across the debris to come find Arish.

“Come on,” he said as soon as she reached him, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her going. “We should get out of here.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, peachy. The Director caught me just in time.”

“I’m not talking about that! The second I powered up the chamber, you fell into the exact same coma as him,” Statler said, looking over her shoulder at Dylan. “Ohshit, he’s sitting up.”

“Keep walking. Let’s get to the Sector Elevator. Careful, though, might be still some Hiss around on the way…”

“What about the Director? Shouldn’t we help?”

“Removing ourselves from the scene in case there’s a fight, that’s helping her. When she wastes her time protecting us, that’s when she’s vulnerable.” They jogged through the Parapsychology hall with its rows and rows of Astral Dive chairs. Those things looked like they were designed to execute people—and they had in fact killed their users more often than not, Arish knew. It made him feel less chagrined about the sticky jelly still mucking up his hair.

Only when the Sector Elevator doors closed on them did he exhale. “Man. A coma, you said?”

“You flatlined instantly! Like dropping off a cliff! I was half-wondering if I should unplug you both!”

“Well, that makes sense. I was trying to reach Faden, and that’s where he was.”

Statler was combing her hair out with her fingers, still bleeding from a dozen scratches, two of them kind of serious-looking. “Where did you end up, exactly?”

Here Arish applied the Salvador policy: skip the Ahti parts of the story unless you absolutely have to mention them. “Some weird Astral Plane mock-up,” he said. “No Pyramid, just a dull grey fog. There was this… gigantic creature around, though. With a searchlight eye?” She wasn’t actually listening to him. “Hey, Statler, are you all right?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually succeed,” she said, a note of hysteria in her voice. “He’s awake! That’s the last fucking thing we needed!”

Arish struggled not to roll his eyes. Christ, that was Research people all over: poke a bomb until it blew up in their faces, then wail they’d just wanted to see what would happen. It would have been unkind to let Statler know his thoughts, though. For a moment he sharply missed his buddies. Ragging on labcoats was their favorite pastime after poker.

The doors opened onto Central Executive with a soft ding. “I think we’ll be fine,” Arish said, and just then Jesse and Dylan appeared in the Control Point with a blast of wind.

Every single Ranger around was locked and loaded in a second, even Mauro, though he was clearly just going along with the flow. Jesse blinked back at them all, startled but not the least bit afraid—which clearly designated her as the most dangerous thing in the room right now.

Behind her, bracing onto her shoulder for balance, Dylan narrowed his eyes slowly at the small crowd. Arish quickly stepped forward, hands raised, facing the guns: “Hey! Hey hey hey! Everyone calm the fuck down. Stand down! That’s the Director’s brother you’re aiming at, dammit!”

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Dylan was staring right at him, now. Arish couldn’t really blame Statler—or literally anyone—for being scared of that guy.

“Come on now, stand down,” he repeated, turning back to the Rangers. A few of them obeyed reluctantly, but most of them remained on alert. Arish was not a fan of being on the receiving end of so many guns. “Director, how about you show him the inside of the Board Room?” he pressed. “Right now, maybe?”

“That’s a good idea,” Jesse said slowly behind him. Oh, she hadn’t fucking liked that, all these Bureau people aiming at her brother. “Come on, Dylan.”

Both siblings vanished into the Board Room. After they were gone, the rest of the Rangers relaxed—well, they lowered their weapons at least. Warren audibly grinded his teeth. “Well, sorry,” he spat, “but you can’t fucking blame us for—”

“I’m not blaming you,” Arish interrupted. God, he needed more sleep. “That guy’s the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. I just had a bit more advance warning than all of you.”

Those words mollified them all a bit more. A few of them started looking embarrassed, though mostly they all seemed angry and anxious.

“So—is he… back to normal now, or what?” Sing asked, speaking for the people.

“That I don’t know. I’m not even sure what normal is for him. But he’s no longer Hiss, and that’s a good start. The Director’s here, all right? She’s protected us against him and she’ll do it again if needed.” He exhaled. “We have to play nice with P6—everyone who doesn’t know the full backstory, come to me later and I’ll brief you. The cliff notes are, we’re trying very hard to be on the same side now, so do not point your gun at the guy unless he’s actively trying to kill everyone. Everyone got that?” He waited for some reluctant nods. “Got it?” This time there was a general wave of mumbled Yessirs. “Fantastic. Now, Cheng, come tell me what happened while I was fucking braindead. Everyone else, practice your yoga breathing, do a massage train, braid each other’s hair.”

For the first time since the crisis had begun, Arish knocked on the Board Room door before entering.

Jesse and Dylan were seated together at the very end of the ridiculously long table; Dylan was talking in a quick and low voice to her, with feverish gestures she regularly tried to calm down by grabbing both his hands, squeezing his fingers. It worked for a time, then he got agitated again, snatching his hands away. Arish heard “Darling” as well as “lied to me” and “told me you stopped looking.”

Eventually—by then it had dawned on him they hadn’t heard him knock at all—Dylan noticed him and went completely still, like a predator in long grass. “Simon.”

Arish cleared his throat. “Mr. Faden. Director,” he said with a nod. “Just checking on how you’re both doing.”

Being addressed as “Mr. Faden” seemed to throw Dylan for a loop. Jesse, meanwhile, pushed her chair back and climbed onto the goddamn table, walking the whole length of it rather than wasting a second walking around it. Arish probably shouldn’t have found that hot but, well.

“How did you know the Ashtray would work?” she asked, dropping down in front of him.

“Ha, well…” He wished he wouldn’t reflexively smile like an idiot whenever Jesse made him nervous, which was all the time. “Mostly it was whatever you were doing with the Board which got us out of there. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You still have crusted blood under your nose,” she said in a low and intense voice.

“Oops.” He scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “Guess I’m due for another shower. Do you think I could—”

She grabbed him—one hand on his HRA, the other on his tie—and kissed him, so completely that he forgot for a minute they were not alone. Even after he remembered Dylan was right there, he also remembered Dylan already fucking knew anyway. So, well.

“Pope helped me set it up,” he said when she let him breathe. “Just saying, I shouldn’t get all of the credit.”

“Emily’s great, but we don’t have that kind of relationship.” A smile was pulling at Jesse’s lips. She was still holding him firm; the tie was tightening slowly around his neck. He remembered being in her telekinetic grasp and thought a few more impure thoughts. “It’s nice to see a Bureau employee get creative with their duties,” she added.

Clearly she was still angry at the Bureau. Rescuing Dylan may have exacerbated things for now, what with the Rangers’ reaction to his return, but Arish was still really glad he’d done it. That wasn’t the kind of situation you’d want to fester.

“Don’t know if I’d call it creative,” he said. “I’m Security and Operations. Going to get your brother, that covered both.” God, she was holding him really close. “How’s, uh, how’s he doing…?”

“He’s in the fucking room,” Dylan called to them. Going by his blotchy face, he’d cried some more while talking to Jesse, but he wasn’t crying now, back to the abruptness of a teenager. “Simon. I wanna talk to Simon. Alone.”

Jesse nodded at him. “Okay, Dylan. I’ll come back in fifteen.”

Arish wished she’d be a little less relaxed about leaving him alone with the guy. Well, he’d be fine. Probably. “Uh, while you’re out there,” he said. “I know you don’t like crowds, but… maybe talk to the guys? They’re worried about P6. You know.”

“Please don’t call him P6.” She exhaled. “But I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”

After the door had closed behind her, Arish walked a few steps towards where Dylan sat at the very end of the table. Then he stopped, readjusting his tie knot.

Dylan stared back at him, darkly. “Why do you look so scared?”

Arish drew a chair and sat down, a solid five seats away from him. “I’m sure you have some idea.”

For a moment Dylan seemed about to explode with rage; but then he looked away instead, jiggling his leg. “I remember the whole—in the Hedron room. And before that.” He gestured between the both of them. “I’m not gonna say sorry. I’m not ever gonna say sorry to anyone in the goddamn Bureau.”

“That’s fair.”

Rubbing his upper arms, still looking away, Dylan said, “I’m not going to hurt anyone else, either. Not on purpose. I know you’re worried about that. I won’t.”

“Okay, thanks. Really good to hear.”

“All anyone ever had to do was ask,” Dylan said between his teeth, “fucking explain things to me, but they kept getting more and more scared of me—I thought they wanted someone with powers? Making me do all these goddamn tests to see if I was crazy, which is just so fucking—I’m perfectly happy to—” He stopped himself, working his jaw. “First one who tries to put me through a Bureau checklist fucking dies, is what I’m getting at.”

“I won’t forget it.”

“They put me away in the Panopticon like I was a fucking—malfunctioning haunted fucking fridge. I didn’t even know what day it was. For fucking years!”

“That was pretty messed up. Definitely not what the Bureau should be about. Jesse’s already told me she wants to reestablish a multi-sector Ethics committee, so we’ll be working on that.”

Dylan cut him an exasperated look. “You’re so fucking—normal, I don’t know how she can stand you.” He rubbed his face, then started jiggling his other leg, now looking down at the floor. After a long moment he said very quickly, “You saw him too, right? Casper. That was real?”

Arish nodded, cautiously.

“What a—” Dylan didn’t seem to know what he wanted to call him. He was welling up again, and angrily threw his head back so the tears wouldn’t roll down, taking a deep shaky breath. “Jesse told me he’d sung something to her, too.”

“What was her song?” Arish asked before he could stop himself.

Dylan glared at the ceiling. “Dyna-Mite.”

“Hah. Yeah, that suits her.” Arish didn’t know how he would have reacted, himself, if his pseudo-abusive, pseudo-father figure had saved his life by singing a pseudo-Billy Joel song—he’d changed the lyrics, Arish was almost sure—in a last, completely one-sided goodbye. Darling may still exist in some form, but for all intents and purposes he was dead. That little bout of karaoke was probably all the closure Dylan would ever get.

“Fuck him anyway,” Dylan said under his breath, but his voice was shaky. “But you—I don’t know why you—”

He clamped his jaw shut, agitated. Yeah, that would add to the confusion: two people had come to break him out of the void, someone who’d almost destroyed him and someone he’d almost destroyed. Arish wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“Just doing my job,” he tried. It was a good line to fall back on.

Again, that slow disturbing smile stretched across Dylan’s face. Maybe he just didn’t know another way to smile? “She said you’d say that.” Then, abruptly: “The Board fucked you over, by the way.”

Arish blinked. “How so?”

Dylan shook his head. “I’m not telling you. There’s no point telling you before you find out for yourself.” He turned his eyes back to the ceiling, jiggling his leg again. “I’ll help clear out the Hiss. I want to. I’m good at mass killings. And,” he added venomously, “you don’t want me bored.”

“Okay.” Arish was craving something warm all of a sudden. Coffee, coffee would be great. “Appreciate it.”

“God, just fuck off,” Dylan mumbled, and that was that.

Strangely, Dylan’s return had people even more on edge than they had been before, back when he was still Hiss. Maybe because he wasn’t technically a prisoner anymore; clearly no one liked the idea of him just walking around, answering to no one—even though he actually never left the Board Room; possibly he was as scared of Bureau people as they were of him.

Arish tried to keep an eye on what the Rangers thought of Jesse, and vice versa. Now that the general attention had shifted from their common enemy, the fault lines at the heart of their association gaped wider than before. People whispered against her: since Dylan had opened himself to the Hiss, who was to say the Director wasn’t in on it, too? She’d appeared out of nowhere to rescue them just after the beginning of the invasion. Wasn’t that a bit too convenient? How could they know for sure this hadn’t been a ploy to destroy the Bureau and save her brother? After all, she’d succeeded on both counts.

Arish himself wasn’t sure how Jesse felt about the Bureau. He never had been. But he’d been trying hard to make her care about the people here, and rescuing Dylan had been part of that. For all that it seemed to have made things worse, he had to believe it would prove better than the alternative in the long run.

Thankfully, they still had a lot of problems—the Hiss was still very much around, for all that people seemed to have forgotten about it for a hot minute; a violent attack in the Research sector reminded them there were priorities here. Plus the Mold was occasionally sending out shambling fungus people across all sectors, and now some Astral Mimics were running around the Bureau, leaking from the Astral Bleed in the Foundation. In a crisis like that you could never mistrust your partners for long before they happened to save your life, or you happened to save theirs, and that put a whole new spin on your sympathies. Arish wouldn’t call himself a chess master, not by a long shot, but he still made sure to send out squads made half of Jesse supporters, and half of Jesse skeptics. The fact that the Director herself regularly went out to give them a hand didn’t hurt.

Forty-eight hours later, Arish’s head was painfully abuzz with whispers, and he was getting cross-eyed from keeping track of so many allegiances, but he was pretty sure he’d managed to solidify what Dylan’s return had fragilized. He’d also lost so much sleep that Pope had to call his name three times before he heard her.

“Sorry,” he said, blinking. “If this is about more tests, Pope, can I ask you to come back later?”

“It’s not about tests. Well, no, actually, it is.” She sounded as always as if she was only barely repressing her scientific excitement. “I’ve convinced Dylan to agree to some light experiments.”

“Shit,” Arish said, genuinely impressed. “How did you do that?”

“He was never taught how to control his powers! Not as an active participant anyway. But now that he wants to contribute to the effort against the Hiss, I’ve offered my help to calibrate the magnitude of his offensive and defensive capacities, and he agreed!”

“Pope.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “Are you saying you’re teaching him how to be more dangerous?”

“Less dangerous, I’d argue—more powerful, maybe, but more in control, too. I know Jesse and your squads have been cleansing a few Hiss here and there, but if we want to finally sweep through the sectors for good, we’ll need some serious firepower. Another parautilitarian of Jesse’s caliber certainly wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Okay. And so, what, you want me to assign you a protection squad during the tests?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she said quickly. “I think that would put Dylan quite on edge.” You had to say this for Pope: she wasn’t delusional. Unlike Statler, she hadn’t bemoaned the success of Arish’s rescue operation for one second.

“You know what, I agree,” he said. “But I’d rather you have some back-up just in case, so—take Mauro. He’s almost like a Ranger, but I don’t think he’s got anything against Dylan, even if the guy did destroy his HRA.”

“Great idea. And while I’m doing that, I have an assignment for you.”

“Pope, I told you, right now's not—”

“Director’s orders,” she cut off. “You’d already managed to leave the Motel, remember? We’re all very curious what you can do with it now that you have the Ashtray. She’s waiting for you at the Light Switch Cord in the Cafeteria. It’s just a matter of crossing through the place. Five minutes, tops.”

Arish went. Director’s orders.

“There you are.” She smiled as he walked across the increasingly destroyed Cafeteria to reach her—apparently she’d smashed a few Hiss while waiting for him.

“Thanks for cleaning up before I got here. We’re seriously low on ammo.”

“I know.” She drew him close, then pulled the Cord three times; the world folded over like a glove.

When Arish reopened his eyes, they were in the Motel. He wasn’t sure how that place made him feel now—both unnerved and soothed, somehow. Jesse released him, and he stepped away from her, out of propriety if nothing else.

“Okay, so,” he said. “What do you want me to do? Gotta admit, I’m not keen on trying to shift this place around.”

“Actually, I brought you here so we could have a chat.”

He looked at her and she stared back, always so intensely.

“A chat?” he repeated.

“Why did you rescue Dylan, Arish? And don’t give me that line about just doing your job.”

He stared at her, throat dry. He’d been so busy managing his rangers’ sympathies, making sure they didn’t hate Jesse and Jesse didn’t hate them, that he’d completely forgotten to check what she thought of him. Because, well, there was no need—he was devoted to her body and soul. Surely she knew that?

“Were you afraid I’d destroy the Bureau if you didn’t help him?” she pressed, her face unreadable.

He cleared his throat. “Not… exactly. Ma’am.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

He tried to pull his exhausted thoughts together. “I’m not afraid you’ll destroy the Bureau. Because the Bureau is you. It’s been you ever since you picked up that gun. If you wanted to destroy it, well, the way I see it, that’s already done. Not much left of the old place. Personally, I’d say that’s a good thing.” She was listening to him. “The only thing that remains from the old Bureau is all of us. I’ve taken orders from people who failed you, and then who had you clean up their messes. What I did, getting Dylan back—it was an effort to repay you for all that. To repay him, too.”

She kept just looking at him.

“But I never felt like I had to do this so you wouldn’t snap,” he insisted. “Actually, I’d get kind of angry if anyone suggested it. I already know you’re a good person. A good Director. I’m honored to serve, ma’am. Jesse.”

“What about the Board?” she asked.

He was puzzled. “What about the Board?”

“What if you had to choose between the Board and the Director? Who’d be more legitimate to you?”

Arish was still confused. It didn’t feel like a choice at all. “Ma’am, we had Directors before the Board started picking them for us, and I’m pretty sure we could manage without the Board again.”

Something in her shoulders relaxed. She smiled, even. “You call me ma’am a lot when you’re nervous, you know.”

He smiled back. “Well, you make me pretty nervous.”

“Is that so?”

“Not—” He cleared his throat. “Not in a bad way. Or—well.”

She was very close. “I’m lucky to have you on my management team.”

Now this was getting so embarrassingly similar to Arish’s mortifying Salvador-related sex dream that he had to wonder whether she’d seen it in his mind somehow. Throat dry, he said, “I’m just—”

“'Doing my job'?”

“That’s not actually a line, you know,” he said. “I love my job.”

“I can tell,” she smiled, and kissed him.

She summoned another stone shaft to fuck him in one of the Motel beds again. It was an even more demanding experience here, in this place between places, with the constant tension in the air. Gasping, pressing the back of his head into the pillow, he let her push in as deep as she could, their faces close enough to kiss but too breathless for that, her hair brushing his cheeks. The bedside lamp flickered at random, and the radio on the windowsill—only blankness outside—sometimes sizzled with Finnish voices.

Even though he was certain they’d closed the door, he saw, just as Jesse began to orgasm above him, that it had reopened wide. A shadow was stretching in the hallway. Not a human shadow at all, but an elongated pyramid, almost touching the threshold of their room. Then his own pleasure forcefully took his attention away, and when he reopened his eyes the door was closed again.

Afterwards they slept for twelve hours, pressed together on the narrow bed. Just before they left the Motel, he did try to flex the Ashtray just to see what would happen. It did nothing at all. This was why she’d wanted to talk to him in the Motel: the Board had no power here.

For the first time he wondered exactly what had happened in the Foundation, and what had become of the giant one-eyed creature that had escaped the void with them. But then he stopped wondering. Whatever was going on there, it was Jesse’s business, and he’d follow where he was needed, as always.

They went to Dead Letters for the first of Dylan’s field tests.

He insisted on wearing his grey P6 prison jumpsuit and walking around barefoot, like the whole Bureau was just one huge cell. Perhaps he also wanted to preserve the malevolent aura he’d acquired—it certainly was hard to imagine him wearing civilian clothes, which would have revealed too much of the pale and haggard twentysomething he was. In his jumpsuit, he didn’t have to look for another identity.

The Ranger squad they’d brought for back-up gave him a wide berth, glaring or trying to ignore him. They had all gathered on the high balcony overlooking the great hall, crisscrossed with stairs on both sides—stairs no one could explore since they didn’t reach the ground. It looked as peaceful as always, with the letters fluttering from the ceiling like dead leaves in the fall. But it was one of the most dangerous places in Executive: Arish’s people had mapped out over fifty recurring Hiss down there, between the filing cabinets.

“Okay, Dylan,” Pope said, chipper. “Ready? Just like we practiced.”

He made an impatient gesture of agreement, which had Rangers flinching from across the room but had zero effect on her. Pope was fucking insane—but she certainly was more fearless than Darling had even been, and she’d found a way to make herself tolerable to Dylan, no small feat from someone in Research.

“Director, take it away,” Arish said. He brought his radio to his mouth. “All right, lock the Cafeteria doors!”

They had to make sure that if the op failed, the Hiss wouldn’t flow en masse towards Central Executive. As soon as base camp radioed back to confirm it was secure, Jesse lifted up a fire extinguisher and threw it down the hall in a blast of white foam.

The lights turned red; ten, twenty, thirty Hiss instantly manifested themselves from all corners, converging on the bubbling object. Most of them were screeching bombs, their human bodies distorted by their explosive charge, but there were also plenty of Hiss Rangers, already raising their guns towards the balcony.

“Dylan—” Pope pressed.

A muscle jumped in Dylan’s jaw, and all of a sudden it felt like the air had gone solid, weighing down the room with its own considerable mass.

Arish buckled and felt a chill go down his spine—this was what Dylan had done to the people in Central Executive, when he’d taunted Arish before going out to destroy Hedron. This was probably also how he’d killed six Rangers at once before Darling finally decided to have him locked away. Arish remembered Dylan’s desperate protests on the recording—I swear I have it under control now!

He had it under control. Flattened on the floor, the Hiss wheezed and snarled, struggling and twisting, completely stuck. The entire room trembled with pressure, chairs and tables rattling, paper baskets crumpling up on themselves, neon lights flickering, bursting. It didn’t affect the Bureau people as much, but they still caught the tail end of it, like a hand on your neck ready to press down. Dylan’s breath in his ear. Arish pushed the memory away—the real Dylan was right here and wasn’t even looking at him, for once.

Jesse jumped lightly off the balcony, floating her way three stories down. She could cleanse the Hiss one by one, even the explosive ones, who couldn’t self-detonate anymore under Dylan’s power. Instead of vanishing into thin air like they usually did—that was the Hiss recalling them for further use, they knew that now—the corpses remained, now actual lifeless corpses, free of possession, finally at rest.

When the last one was cleansed Dylan released the pressure. Everyone took a collective breath; Dylan himself blinked a few times, like he was coming out of a dream. Pope golf-clapped against her notepad. “That was wonderful! Perfect execution!”

He gave her an awkward nod, like he wasn’t sure what to do with wholehearted approval. Pope certainly was the only one to express it—the Rangers actually looked kind of horrified. But the look on their face was rapidly changing as they arrived at the conclusion Arish had already reached: this was it for the Hiss.

“Hey,” Jesse called from all the way down, standing in a pile of corpses. “Thanks for the support, but I think the both of us will be good on our own!” She slammed her heel into the ground and rose into the air, reaching one of the unreachable stairs, gesturing at Dylan to join her. “Arish, Pope, you can go back to Central Executive. Time to start planning the end of lockdown.”

And a lifetime later—five hours later—nine days, six hours and twenty-seven minutes after the beginning of the invasion—suddenly it was all over. It was done.

Jesse went off to the Hotline Room, then jogged back to announce that the Board had confirmed it: the Oldest House and the Astral Plane were officially Hiss-free. Arish cheered and clapped and hugged people at random just like everyone else. All tensions, all antagonisms were forgotten in this moment: they’d fucking made it. They had all survived the worst crisis the Bureau had ever known.

There was no talk of clean-up. Everyone knew the House would digest the wrecked rooms, absorbing all the corpses, sucking down the blood into its hungry depths. Shifting into a new and shiny version of itself like it always did. There were no possessions to gather either—everyone only had what they wore on their backs. Suddenly, the doors were open, the lobby could be accessed again. Suddenly, people could just walk out. New York City was right there, on the other side of the plate glass doors. It hadn’t changed a bit. It would never know what had happened within this House most people couldn’t even see.

The civilians would go first, then the Rangers. Arish was an organized guy; a line was stretching across Central Executive as people went down to the lobby in groups of five, Cheng checking their names before they left.

Arish wasn’t thinking of following them for now. Management people were always the last ones out of the doors, and he was management now—what a fucking week. He was cleaning his tactical table, folding up his maps, sorting out his files, when someone approached him.

He raised his eyes and found himself facing a man bedecked in a white-and-orange Astral Dive suit, the very thing he’d refused to wear when Statler had offered it.

“What…”

“I’s flushing for the sea, Spongeman.”

“Mauro?” Jesus Christ. The guy had shapeshifted again. Apparently, all he could do was suits, but that still left him a lot of options, especially in the Bureau.

Flushing for the sea? Arish wasn’t as good as Sing when it came to making sense of him, but this sure had sounded like he was going somewhere. “You know I can’t allow you to leave the Oldest House with the others, right? We still don’t know what you are. No offense.”

“Brownstones and happiest, surely the where away,” Mauro reassured him. “But upstream? That’s where the sequels frolic. Holdouts for now, blow a kiss tomorrow.”

“Mauro—Christ, hang on.” Arish unfolded his House maps. “Show me where you’re planning on going exactly.”

The moon man’s gloved hand shifted the papers around, looking for the right one. He found the sketch of the Foundation Pope had drawn in pencil. He tapped the Astral Bleed, then slid his finger off the paper entirely, over the blank table.

Arish looked at him. Then he said, “Do you want an escort?”

“Much sugar, Spongeman. But I’s not a pow-bang-whizz.” Mauro offered his hand. “Press any button?”

Arish shook it. “I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe. And thanks for all your help.”

Mauro threw him a little salute as he walked away. “My pleasure.”

He left Arish blinking after him.

“Almost everyone’s gone,” Jesse said, wandering close to Arish’s now pristine table. “I wonder how many of them will come back.”

She’d granted everyone a month of paid vacation slash medical leave. Arish glanced at Pope talking animatedly to her current object of study—it was amazing, the way even Dylan Faden ended up slightly baffled and glassy-eyed around that woman. Hard to imagine her staying away for long.

“If you want my opinion,” he said, “Some of them won’t return at all, sure. But I’m willing to bet most people will actually be back come Monday.” How convenient that the Hiss crisis had ended on a Friday. But the Bureau and the Oldest House were funny like that.

Jesse nodded. “Yeah. This is a hard place to leave, isn’t it? Even after everything that happened.”

They looked at the line for the Sector Elevator: only nine people left. Five of them walked in when the doors opened, addressing emotional salutes to Jesse before the doors closed.

“Last batch,” said Cheng, last in line. He came to Arish’s table to offer his hand. “Director, ma’am. Chief Arish. It’s been a true honor.”

The doors closed over him. Arish was suddenly convinced Cheng wouldn’t be coming back. Well, the man had kids.

“Is everyone gone?” That was Pope, Dylan trailing after her. “I told Statler and the others to return on Monday—I simply can’t do without a Research team at the moment.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to get hiring. Rebuild and… everything,” Jesse said vaguely. “I wanted to appoint someone to take care of the houseplants, too.”

“The houseplants?” Arish repeated.

She waved her hand. “All that can wait Monday.” She was just assuming he’d be back in two days, too. He was kinda pleased by that. She straightened up. “I’ll walk you both to the doors, come on. Dylan, do you mind waiting here?”

Dylan sat against the table, crossing his arms. He seemed agitated again, fingers digging into his own flesh, jiggling his leg. “Yeah, whatever.”

As they walked to the Elevator, Arish looked over his shoulder. Dylan was staring at him, and kept staring until the doors closed.

Pope seemed completely unmoved about leaving. When they reached the lobby, she barely even looked at the world outside. In fact it was clear she didn’t see it as a break—even as she slipped out the door she was still talking about how she was going to use those two days out to gather materials, equipment and people for her Department. Arish doubted she’d even stay gone the whole weekend if she could help it.

And then it was just the both of them left: Jesse and him.

“What a ride, huh?” she said.

He huffed a laugh. “You can say that again.”

And there wasn’t much else to say.

She raised her hand. The door opened again for him, slowly. The noise of New York flowed into the lobby, cars and pigeons and sirens and voices. Laughter, smells, life.

Arish smiled at her. “Thanks, boss. See you Monday.”

He turned around, ready to be absorbed back into the world, and took his first step towards the light.

And then he smacked straight into a wall.

“Ow!” He bounced away and staggered back, holding his nose. “What…”

The opening, which Pope had walked through without a problem two seconds before, was barred by a whispering shimmer that was very reminiscent of the Hiss. Wrong color, though, green instead of red.

“So, yeah, there you fucking go,” said a voice up by the Elevator.

Arish turned around. Dylan was leaning against the banister, raising an eyebrow.

“Dylan? What’s happening?” Jesse asked. “Are you doing this?”

In a flat voice he said, “Yes. I’m in love with Simon and I want him to stay here forever.”

Arish completely and utterly believed it for a second, but Jesse raised an eyebrow and said, “Stop messing around.”

“All right, fine,” Dylan said, bored. “Do you really have no idea what’s going on, sister? Come on.”

They all looked at the green shimmer again. Then Jesse suddenly swore out loud, grabbed Arish by the waist and—

—they reappeared in the Astral Plane.

“Whoa, what the fuck,” Arish said, slightly nasally—he’d really smashed his nose into that thing. “Can you just straight-up teleport now?”

“No, there’s a Control Point in the lobby.” She suddenly glanced at him. “Shit, I forgot. Are you all right? Last time, this type of travel didn’t really agree with you.”

“Fine,” he said, pinching his nose and hanging his head back. “If I get a nosebleed this time it’ll probably be unrelated. But, uh—why did you bring us here?”

Dylan materialized next to them in a flash. “Rude,” he said conversationally. “Are we taking the fight to them? Like, right now?”

“The Bureau’s empty,” Jesse said, nostrils flaring. “There won’t be a better time. We’ve got two days.”

Dylan smiled his unnerving smile. “Easy peasy.”

“Hang on, hang on—” Arish righted his head and immediately had to sniff deeply. Fucking Christ. “What fight? What them?”

“Wake up and smell the paranatural, Simon,” Dylan sneered.

“Are you saying the Board was doing that? But—”

“Hey!” Jesse bellowed at the Pyramid in the distance. “We’re here! Explain yourselves!”

The whisper-buzz of the Board broadcast rose all around them like a swarm of locusts.

<We/You cannot allow an Object of Power to leave the Oldest House/Universe>

<Surely you understand>

“Trench was bound to plenty of Objects of Power and he left the Oldest House all the time!”

<Trench/Northmoor was appointed/chosen/under control>

<You/the Director are/is the Director/You>

<We cannot entrust Simon Arish/some guy with the Ashtray/Cigarette>

<Not out in the real/fake world>

“He has my complete fucking trust!” Jesse bellowed, furious.

Dylan leaned slightly towards Arish. “I bet you think that’s hot.” Arish just threw him a look, and got a creepy grin in return. Meanwhile, the Board went on:

<Irrelevant/Whatever>

<You have left him alone/unsupervised and already he has altered the timeline/canon by freeing the final boss/red herring>

“Oh, someone’s not happy I got out,” Dylan mumbled.

<We warned him there would be consequences/ungroovy times>

<There is a possible/only solution>

<If he unbinds the Ashtray he will be free/dead>

“I think you know that’s not good enough,” Jesse growled.

After a silence, the Board said:

<You do not know what we think>

“You’ve made that clear. Now you listen to me, if you don’t release him right now—”

“Jesse, hey, Jesse?” Arish said, grabbing her wrist. “Can we slow down a second here, boss?”

She looked at him fiercely. “They’re the ones that killed Marshall. Did you know? She didn’t trust them—Salvador didn’t either. In the Foundation she discovered that they’d staked a claim on the Oldest House eons ago, but it doesn’t actually belong to them. She didn’t like their influence on the Bureau. She tried to blow them up, and they retaliated.”

That was too much to take in, especially since there were more pressing matters at hand. “Jesse—”

“It’s okay. A former member of the Board is helping me now. I can take them down.”

“Former?” Arish echoed. “Tall guy, searchlight eye, insect legs?”

Jesse blinked. “You’ve met him?”

“He’s an old cellmate,” Dylan drawled. “Are we fighting or not? I’ve always wanted to know what was inside that Pyramid.”

Arish let go of her. “Ma’am.”

That got her attention.

“It’s okay. I don’t even want to leave.” He exhaled, then swallowed. “I was fucking terrified just now in front of that door, actually. Wondering what the hell I was gonna do on my own for two whole days.”

“Arish—”

“There’s no need to back the Board in a corner. Not over something as small as this. It’s the Board,” he begged, even as he remembered Salvador, don’t put your trust in the Pyramid, Simon—“Maybe in time we can find an agreement with them. Or a way for me to let go of the Ashtray without dying. But… don’t throw it all away, come on. We just cleaned up the latest thing.” He gestured helplessly. “This is my life. The Bureau, I mean. Sometimes I think I was never out anyway, that my time in the real world was all a dream…”

“Arish,” she repeated.

“I want to stay here,” he insisted. He even managed a smile. “Hell, I won’t even know the difference. I can just carry on as usual. Come on, I’m not worth it, I don’t matter. They’re right, I’m just some guy.”

She looked at him for a very long time.

Then, suddenly, she smiled. “Arish.”

“Yeah?” he said nervously.

“You were hoping I’d come to care about the Bureau. Weren’t you? About all the people in it.” She held out a hand and an entire marble platform detached itself from the others to come hover above her. “Congrats, you did it.”

“Jesse—”

“My Bureau,” she said archly. “My people. My management team.” She turned to face the Pyramid. “Not theirs.”

Dylan grinned even wider and bumped his shoulder into Arish. From the brilliant void underfoot something was rapidly coming up, like a deep fish from an abyss of light: a dark, bulbous silhouette, insect legs trailing after it. The glowing eye was directed right at the Pyramid, searchlight reflecting off its polished marble sides. Target acquired.

Arish wanted to say something—to stop this, somehow. But what could he say? This was the inevitable conclusion of everything he’d been working for. He’d made this happen—or he hadn’t stopped it happening. He was just the last piece in a long line of dominos which had started with Trench, or with Darling, or with ten-year-old Jesse—or with Ahti, maybe, who knows. He could see that now.

He should have been beating himself up. But he wasn’t, not really. Deep down, under his rising alarm, he wasn’t even that scared. He had always known Jesse was the Director the Bureau had been waiting for, in more ways than one. He would have been disappointed by any other ending.

Shame Salvador wasn’t here to see this. But maybe the old guy was watching somehow.

Jesse rose slowly into the air, the straps of her coat flaring after her, the cube of marble rotating faster above her raised hand, so fast it looked like a pyramid itself, now, pointing up instead of down. The Former was coming up quicker and quicker, looking much larger now, its furious eye searing into the Pyramid, segmented legs already reaching for it, claws creaking open. A sizzling broadcast rose along, bass thrumming under their feet:

< BOARD @#$@$# LEECH @#$@ BURN >

“I’ve had enough of the Board deciding our future,” Jesse said from above, calmly. “That game is over.”

YOU WIN (?)

TO BE CONTINUED IN CONTROL 2

THANK YOU FOR PLAYING CONTROL BY REMEDY

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