Marshall at Granite Peak

 

Michael

As Marshall is greeted at the secret Granite Peak facility's security and reception area by a chipper USAF visitor-liaison officer, one Major Stephen Wycliffe, Marshall gets to see some of the changes that have been wrought over the past few years at Granite Peak. I'm not sure if this is Marshall's first time back at Granite Peak since his official SANDMAN induction, orientation, and training (which would've been back in … '65?). But a whole lot has changed in the past eight years. In the bowels of the miles and miles of nuclear-proof tunnels underneath Granite Peak there are far more computers, of both the standard civilian and bleeding-edge SANDMAN variety. These computer labs act as a hub for the other departments in the facility now. It seems like every department is using them. And off this central hub, the usual departments are buzzing with activity: global operations, memetics and esmology, paramilitary operations, research and development, training and instruction. And yes, in its own area, shunted off of the main axis of SANDMAN burrows, is an experimental prison unit (what will one day become known on the outside as Secure Housing Units) where high-value targets, enemy agents, and other instruments of History B are held. But as Wycliffe and Marshall head to that wing, they take a slight detour.

"Subject TESSERACT is in the infirmary unit," Wycliffe says. "The interrogation room is set up there. It's probably necessary to tell you that conventional interview techniques did not work on TESSERACT. So Dr. Gunn was called in." Ah yes. Dr. E. Mansfield Gunn. Marshall has heard of him. World War II vet of the New Guinea campaign, he kept American soldiers alive in some of the nastiest, most disease-ridden jungles in all of Australasia. Brought into CIA after the war, he was a bigwig in MKULTRA, mostly doing recruitment in research centers and universities, looking for developments in brain hacking and neurobiology.

Since the mid-'60s, when he had a half-dozen or so independent researchers working for him across the U.S. and Canada, doing experimental brain surgery on the psychologically unwell, prisoners, students, and other marginal subjects, he's collected and collated all the bleeding-edge research on brain implantation and electrostimulation for the benefit of CIA and SANDMAN.

Brant

Wycliffe: “Gunn? Christ, is Kei — uh, TESSERACT still in one piece? Is he even fit to be spoken with?”

Michael

Wycliffe says, "Oh absolutely. TESSERACT was hacked when he first got here, with Dr. Gunn and his team trying to ferret out specific memories of his training in East Berlin. That didn't work too well; exposure to History B energies had given his personal psychonarrative a … somewhat fractal, labyrinthine effect. Figuring time was of the essence, Dr. Gunn went to Plan B. He wired up TESSERACT's pleasure and pain centers. Gunn got more out of TESSERACT with standard interrogation supplemented with use of direct neural stimulation; let the subject tell the story, in other words. TESSERACT honestly seemed pretty eager to do so, despite occasional token resistance. Those electrodes are still in if you wish to use them in your interrogation. But he's also cleared for neurolinguistic interrogation if you'd rather use those tactics. I would wager his overall resistance, including to source code assault, is pretty low by this point."

"Oh, and your Librarian contacted us to find out if TESSERACT had other Stasi/KGB contacts stateside. Dr. Gunn went back in there but TESSERACT insisted that he was a lone wolf and if he was being watched or run or handled while in the Bay Area, he didn't know about it. His only friend from the old country was apparently this Xanten fellow, whom TESSERACT seemed to have recruited and handled himself."

Brant

“No, that won’t be needed,” referring to the electrodes and such. Marshall makes a mental note about the Librarian’s call. “Could you set me up a room — something comfortable, but safe, obliviously. Minimal restraints. Then once I’m set up, bring him in.”

“Ideal space would be an actual office, something with a window and a view? Comfortable, you see.”

Michael

"It will take a little while to get the subject ready for such a thing, but I would imagine Dr. Gunn and his team could have him ready for the handover in an hour or so? In the meantime, I know some of the mass media team was interested in having a chat with you about Carson?"

Brant

(What time is it, in game?)

Michael

(By this point about 5:30 pm Friday.)

Brant

“Uhh yeah, that’s fine. Get the room ready, but whatever you can do to speed it along would be great. Sort of on a deadline.”

Marshall will gladly regale the mass media dorks about his interview.

Michael

"Understood. I think the Mass Media Conference Room is open if you wanted to meet some of the mass media team. I'll find you there once TESSERACT is ready."

Brant

“Great, thank you Major.”

Michael

So the dozen or so members of the mass media team that are mingling and waiting behind the glass in the Mass Media section conference room are a mix of two types: 1) 40-50-something dudes who look like they could've worked for IBM, or Raytheon, or RAND, or McCann Erickson 10 years ago—skinny ties, crewcuts, slide rules, game theory charts, mass psych textbooks—gone slightly to seed: their sideburns are bushy and their sportcoats are plaid and colorful. 2) The other half of the Mass Media team are almost shockingly young people in their mid-20s: dressed relatively conservatively, but not like an intern from UCLA working for CREEP, all in a blue suit with brass buttons. More like wild-eyed ex-activists who graduated college in '68 or '69 at the crest and subsequent retreat of the student movements and lost a little faith in their generation. Kids who really got into reading McLuhan and Adorno and Debord (or, maybe, in some cases, Ayn Rand and Stewart Brand) as undergrads and maybe went to grad school for mass psych or the nascent field of media studies or even just plain old philosophy or philology: weirdos who maybe dig jazz or prog rock and have every book written by Teilhard de Chardin and wishes there was a goddamn arthouse movie theater within 400 miles of this hellhole. Hipster technocrats, basically. (The kind of absolute shits who will be working on Reagan's advertising campaign in 1980.)

(I figure between all of Marshall's psych-related skills, he can clock a room and peg people's deals like that without breaking a sweat.)

Brant

(love it!)

Marshall will shake hands and tell a few anecdotes about the Hollywood Life. But he’ll want the conference room alone for a few minutes before Keiner arrives.

Michael

(Plus this is the kind of level where Marshall excels and where his skills and powers give him real advantage: small groups of reachable people.)

Oh, they have specific questions for you. This isn't mere set dressing.

Brant

Oh!

Michael

"So," one of the older boffins says, "you seemed to really reach Johnny there at the end," holding his hand to his heart. The young turks sort of snicker and grin at this gracious observation from the older dean of the faculty. "Did you get to go out and drink with Johnny and Ed afterwards?" one of them shouts impertinently from the back of the group.

Brant

To the heckler: “Ah-ha, no, sadly, but you know those two.” To the old timer: “Yes, well, Johnny loves a veteran, it was an easy sell. But thanks.”

Michael

"He's a godsend, that Carson," the older gent says, "He's absolutely pitched right down the middle, he hits every goddamn adult demographic, it doesn't matter whether they're swingers in Glendale or the Smiths and Joneses in Peoria. It's uncanny. I'm sure your own movement's messaging that night synergized well with the subliminals in the 11:30-12:30 commercial time slot. Carson is … well, he's a fantastic venue." The applied anthropologists at Granite Peak don't care about Johnny Carson as a pop culture phenomenon; they care about him as a blank billboard with lots of eyes on him.

Brant

“I didn’t catch your name,” to the old guy, extending hand for a handshake.

Michael

"Mead. Kendrick Mead." The older bespectacled gent — visually very reminiscent of Archie but with none of his gentleness, shakes hands with Marshall. One of the few Media guys here who's somewhere in age between the deans and the students, "You ask Mr. Ransom when you get back why he hasn't gone down to KQED and gotten a puppet show going yet! We've got a pool going on when it happens!" Marshall is convinced everyone in this unit is either stoned on marihuana or popping Quaaludes. Or on some sort of SANDMAN mélange that lets people live underground for hours at a time without cracking.

They seem to have no conversational inhibitions and certainly jostle up against the primarily military mood of the Granite Peak installation.

Brant

Marshall will do his best to charm them. He’s more charming than me, so just read him as being extremely chummy, good natured, inquisitive.

Michael

Carousing roll!

Brant

>>>> SUCCESS

(I think that’s a fail)

Michael

I'm gonna base it off IQ instead of HT.

Because you guys aren't boozing.

It's schmoozing, not boozing.

Brant

(oh, than a success by 4, I think.)

Michael

So that's a success, yeah.

The one piece of information Marshall gets from this glad-handing and quite frankly surreal conversation is that the entire team here really respects Archie; maybe even fears him a bit because of his relationship with "Dr. Stanton." They also wonder how much longer he's going to be with URIEL. After all, Mr. Ransom's been there a long time and it seems to them he'd be more useful in either Los Angeles or New York or maybe even here in Utah. A couple of them express interest in your projects, if you're willing to talk about them.

Brant

What do they know about his relationship with Dr. Stanton? Archie’s, I mean.

Michael

Well, Stanton is very high up in SANDMAN; essentially, he's everybody in this room's boss as head of North American SANDMAN media operations. So they figure Archie is protégé, confidant, and maybe next in line for the big man's position eventually? You need a very … specific and unique person to manage the entire width and breadth of the bewildering array of media in North America, and of course Stanton's long-standing position at CBS from the war onwards gave him that. They figure that Archie's set of skills and his knowledge of American television advertising and programming could make him that logical successor.

Brant

Fascinating. OK, what’s the deal with the generational divide here? Can Marshall try to suss out the dynamics of this team?

Michael

The older guys seem to be more data-oriented; they're also paradoxically the ones most taken with the possibilities of computers and data analysis to keep the masses asleep. The younger ones are a little more willing to push the envelope of what memetics can do to keep History B at bay; they're probably the ones who expressed the most interest/importance in URIEL's mission in California, subcultures, and the idea of using those subcultures to leverage anti-History B messages into the remnants of the counterculture.

Brant

Marshall will attempt to deflect conversation away from himself and his projects and instead manipulate the discussion into one about Archie and their impressions of URIEL. Basically he wants to know what they know about the Operation, their opinion of it, and especially any scuttle they know / think about Archie.

Michael

Interesting. Let's try a Reaction roll for this one! You've already succeeded on the Carousing roll, that's a +2. +1 for your Charisma, and I'm going to give you an additional +2 for your Security Clearance and SANDMAN reputation. So you're going to give me a 3d6+5 roll, and you want to roll high because GURPS.

>>>> 3d6+5 … 16

Very Good: "The NPC answers in detail and volunteers any related information he has."

So URIEL first. The reputation you all have at Granite Peak is, to put it WAY more bluntly than the media goons will, is that URIEL is a dumping ground for weirdos. I mean, they're plenty weird enough, these people stationed at Granite Peak, huddling underground, but I guess the impression they have of URIEL is … they're the folks who exist on the bleeding edge of the various California ideologies (cults, magick and the occult, high-tech/Silicon Valley, mass media, etc.) to suffer for SANDMAN's sins. The canaries in the coalmine. As such, it should become evident to Marshall that the mass media group worries that URIEL is sort of already half-tainted by History B, but honestly? These rear-echelon motherfuckers might think that about every field operation. Like I've said in a meta- sense, I'm guessing the first three years or so of URIEL were relatively boring; a lot of surveillance and occasional targeted ops to make sure Cultist A or Tech Guru B doesn't unleash something dangerous.

I would imagine the Mansa op demonstrates to the mass media team how important it is to have SANDMAN agents embedded in new subcultures: subcultures, after all, generate new memetic content and forms (i.e., Afrofuturism) which can easily be suborned as injection vectors for History B ideals. So the mass media guys hold a weird mix of sniggering disrespect and stunned awe at the kind of difficult work URIEL has to do.

As far as Archie goes, you get the sense like I said last night that they wish Archie wasn't detached to URIEL. But he's a very good on-the-spot memeticist and they concede after discussing it with Marshall that it's probably important to have one person like that on the URIEL team.

Michael

"Dr. Redgrave?" Wycliffe pokes his head in. "We're ready for you now."

"We've removed all of the … enhancements that Dr. Gunn installed in TESSERACT and moved the subject to the surface to a detention room on the above-ground complex with a view of the desert. I must let you know that Dr. Gunn is intent on briefing you before your interview. He was quite insistent on that."

Brant

Marshall will shake hands and whatnot with his new sociopathic dork friends and follow Wycliffe to meet Gunn.

Michael

You two take one of the high-speed elevators back up to the surface and march through what looks to the outsider like an abandoned military base of World War II vintage; rusty Quonset huts and crumbling concrete structures. Wycliffe, a couple of MPs, and Marshall dash across the dusty grounds to a building with a large antenna and one soft red light on its heavy side door. Wycliffe walks up to the door, opens it, and reveals, in a WWII-era military office, its furnishings and even its wall calendar frozen in 1945, a broad-faced heavyset man in a three-piece suit. He's got greying hair and giant, meathook hands: on the wrist of one of these is a shiny WWII-era Marine chronometer. Wycliffe says, "Dr. Redgrave? Dr. Gunn." Gunn extends his hand. "Doctor. Glad to finally meet you."

Brant

Marshall will let Gunn take the lead; he wants to get the measure of the man and see what he has to say before volunteering anything.

Michael

Gunn sort of barrels ahead with why he needed to meet with Marshall face-to-face; he's nothing if not blunt and direct. "In the interests of your questioning being as successful as possible, Dr. Redgrave, I wanted to personally convey that this subject has been through at least two separate rounds of intense interrogation, each aided by direct brain interface. The subject responded to direct appeals to the pleasure and pain centers of his brain much more readily than any attempt at direct electronic scanning or brain-computer interface. His interior narrative has been perturbed by prolonged exposure to ontological uncertainty. During the first round of brain scan aided questioning, he seemed to confuse his own life story with the artistic narrative he'd helped develop for that rock group. But once we brought him back down to earth using basic ego deconstruction — reward-and-punish-aided behavior modification, appealing to his primitive drives and his id, to his senses of abandonment and psychosexual compulsions — his story became easier to decipher."

"He's obviously received training from the Anunnakku personally; the mention of the kulullû in the transcripts we sent you has loomed large in his imagining. He thinks that the aquatic parasite hunched on the back of his Stasi handler is a messiah, for Christ's sake. His mind isn't broken, but it has been warped. To him, the pursuit of professional success and ego reinforcement through sexual conquest, the victory of global Communism, and a devotion to History B are all elements of the same life script." Kind of weird to hear this bluff military doctor talk in terms of "ego deconstruction" and "life script" but it's clear for being a gut doctor in World War II New Guinea fighting parasitic infections, he's learned a lot about psychology and neurobiology as it relates to History B infection since joining SANDMAN after the war. And he tends to look at them in the same paradigm: as nasty, virulent infections.

Brant

"Is he dangerous, now? Physically, I mean. My colleague, well, one of my colleagues, told me he seemed fairly adept at, uh, karate or whatnot. Basically — can I be alone with him in the room, do you think, with only minimal restraints?"

Michael

"He's had his skull cracked open multiple times in the past 72 hours. He's not been violent in any way, even when transporting him to and from the lab. If you'd like a pair of MPs in there with you, of course, we can do that. But I honestly don't expect him to get up to any funny business. I may have said he's not broken mentally or spiritually but physically he's as weak as a kitten right now."

Brant

Marshall ponders for a second. "Alright, no, I don't think I'll need any MPs. Frankly I don't think I need much time with him at all — not that I have much time. I just want to ask him a few questions, nothing as uhh, sophisticated as your work, Doctor. This may all prove a waste of time, I don't know. But I appreciate, sincerely, the debrief."

Marshall will then turn and start rearranging furniture a bit — moving chairs so that there's just one chair in front of the desk, specifically, and clearing the desk off of paperwork and the like.

Michael

Gunn nods, mentioning how he knows that URIEL is under a deadline. They can bring Keiner in whenever you're ready.

Brant

"Yes, send him in about 10 minutes."

Then Marshall is going to lay out the Tarot cards that Mitch laid out, in the same style — he quickly sketched it out on a piece of paper at the time, and tried to commit as much of it as he could to memory. He's not going to do a Tarot reading, b/c he can't, but he's going to imitate what Mitch did a bit.

Then he'll just sit behind the desk and wait.

Michael

So those two MPs that Gunn mentioned assist Keiner in coming into the room. He can walk, but he's not too steady on his feet. He's wearing generic prisoner wear: grey scrubs, essentially. All his European panache and artistic élan is gone. He's got three days of stubble, haunted, black-ringed eyes, and when he sees Marshall behind the desk and how he's dressed he does a tiny double take. The MPs stand there for a moment, waiting to be dismissed.

Patches of hair have been shaved on the back of Keiner's head.

Stitches, etc.

Brant

Marshall will have the MPs take whatever manacles or restraints he's wearing off and then motion for Keiner to have a seat, big smile on his face.

Michael

Keiner very gladly takes the seat. "May … may I have some water?"

Brant

"Absolutely, man." Marshall will stand up and pour a glass of water, then put it on the desk.

Michael

Keiner takes it with both hands and almost too-greedily drinks half of it, then puts it on the desk. He briefly looks outside to the desert and sees the sun setting and a tear rolls down his cheek.

Brant

"So, Keiner — you're going to think this is a 'good cop' routine, I'm sure, but trust me, it really isn't. I'm just here to ask a few questions. Nothing like what you've been, you know, dealing with."

With that Marshall will pull out a joint and light it, take a deep inhale, and offer it to Keiner.

Michael

Keiner furrows his brow at the scent of marijuana, wondering just how this could get any more surreal. But a man in desperate straits will do what he must, and he takes the proffered joint and has a polite puff on it, drinking more water immediately after handing it back. He laughs despite himself.

"I don't know who you are, or if this is even real, but this is miles better than being down there having my head sawed open. What questions do you have?"

Brant

Marshall smiles. "OK, so here's the deal. Are you familiar with the Tarot at all?" Marshall gestures to the cards.

Michael

Keiner says, "Quite familiar, ja."

Brant

"Great. OK. So, this spread here, a man I know — a magic man, a real wizard — he did this reading, here, laid these cards out like this and explained what they meant regarding Mansa, and the performance they're going to be doing tomorrow."

Michael

Keiner blinks. "The performance is still going ahead?"

Brant

Marshall smiles. "Yeah. Why does that surprise you?"

Michael

"I would have assumed you people," he gestures to the door behind which Gunn and the MPs are waiting, "would have canceled it. Burned the tapestry, smashed the records, arrested Moore and Mansa … or had polizei shoot them."

Brant

"Jeez, God no. This is America, dude. We have the First Amendment here."

Michael

(holy shit I just blurt-laughed)

Brant

"Anyway."

Michael

But at that, Keiner sits up a little straighter. "Wait a moment. You can't stop it, can you? You … you need it to happen … so you can be the ones to stop Its coming."

Brant

Marshall tilts his head. "Look, I'll just say it — the retro-creation shit is difficult to untangle. We can stop the concert, but can we have stopped it? Tougher problem."

Michael

"Indeed. E.L. won't let anyone stop him from preaching the Future to his people. You know that, right? I have a feeling that even if he had died, his ghost would have taken the stage. This means so much to him." Keiner's face becomes legitimately sad again. He looks jealously at Marshall's joint.

Brant

Marshall will observe that and hand him the joint. "Go nuts."

Michael

He reaches over and takes a more confident drag this time.

Brant

"Right. So, that's what brings me here."

"Look … " Marshall will then go through the Tarot cards in the same order at Mitch, explaining as best he can what each meant according to Mitch's interpretation. Then when he gets to Red Hat, the Seven of Swords, he'll say: "And then there's this guy, Red Hat."

"Who is Red Hat, Keiner?"

Michael

Interrogation roll. +4 to your skill; +2 for the drugs and the good cop routine, +another 2 for Keiner's being largely broken.

>>>> SUCCESS

Michael

11?

Effective skill 21, right?

"He is … sneaking away with the swords," Keiner says, looking at the card. "He's there to clean up the mess. I don't know who this could be. Johann? I can't imagine him preserving anything of the plan, he knew next to nothing other than I wanted to help the Blacks of Oakland and America. He's just not clever enough."

Brant

"It's not Johann, trust me."

Michael

"I already told that other doctor that I knew of no other security personnel in the Bay Area to keep an eye on me. I received my orders via encrypted numbers station broadcasts and I hadn't received any new ones for weeks."

Brant

"I read through some of your interviews with Gunn, and so on. In one of them, you mention a woman who, I don't know, recruited you? Into the cause. What ever became of her?"

Michael

Keiner's eyes go completely blank, all the light of a casual conversation is gone from his eyes. "Don't speak of her."

Brant

Marshall smiles. "Dude, with all due respect, you're not really in a position to tell me what to ask you about."

At this point, Marshall is going to start lulling Keiner into a hypnotic state, either using Enthrallment (and taking the Corruption hit) or using Hypnotism, whatever works.

Michael

Let's start with Hypnotism.

Brant

He'll do it subtly as possible, initially through gestures and altering the cadence of his voice, asking pointless questions, etc.

Michael

Okay, so to lull him into a hypnotic state, it's your Hypnotism roll vs. his Will+5 (usually), but that's going to be penalized because of his brutalized state. So go ahead and roll Hypnotism straight up.

>>>> SUCCESS

That's good enough, he clicks into a hypnotized state in five seconds from your using the trigger word.

Brant

Once he's hypnotized, Marshall will take the glass from his hand and put it on the desk. "Keiner, talk to me to about the woman."

Michael

"She never told me her name. She told me names were one of the ways that society makes us individuals, one of the ways that they keep the real history at bay. In the future, none of us would need names. So I called her, in my head, the Tutor."

"I thought she was a smack addict when I first met her. Artist type, political. She was so much more extreme than even the Rote Armee Fraktion members I'd met. It became clear she operated as an agent for the DDR's state security apparatus. I didn't realize what her … appeal was until that day she showed me what was truly on her back. I understood why I thought she was a dope fiend as soon as I looked into that Master-Being's poor, sad eyes. His eyes transmit pure pleasure."

Brant

"When was the last time you saw her, in person?"

Michael

"During my training in East Berlin. It was left unspoken that if I succeeded on this mission, not only would we be well on our way to ushering our masters back into this world as its rightful rulers, but that I would get to … reunite with her and the god she bore on her back."

He may be assuming that. In his recollection it feels to him like this is what was promised to him. You're beginning to see what Gunn was talking about vis-à-vis Keiner's delusions.

Brant

(Yes, I'm interpreting a lot of this as his feelings / impressions, since that's how hypnotism works, which is perfect.)

Marshall is going to take the photos out of his pocket. He'll show him the picture of Johann. "Do you know this man?"

Michael

"Yes. That is Johann Xanten."

Brant

He'll show him a picture of a random man, a random woman, a picture of Moore, a random woman, and ask the same question each time. Then, after the last random woman, he'll show him a picture of Sophie. "Do you know this woman?"

Michael

He recognizes Moore, saying, "That is E.L. Moore." His reaction to the random people and to Sophie are identical. "I do not know who that is."

Brant

Marshall puts the pictures away. "I want you to go think about your time here in the United States, the events you attended, the people you met, your time alone and your time in groups, driving places … I want you to think of a time, carefully now, a time that you felt you were being watched."

"Did you ever have that feeling here, Keiner? A time when you felt someone was observing you, watching you?"

Marshall will completely hide his let-down that Sophie isn't the Woman.

>>>> SUCCESS

Michael

Keiner sincerely thinks and tries to remember. It takes him 15, 20 seconds. "I would always keep my eyes leveled at the street whenever I was hanging out in Oakland with Moore and Mansa, for police or FBI, you understand. In my home … in my rented home I felt safe but while I slept … while I slept." He drifts away for a moment. "You understand how they get into your mind, into your dreams, yes? Each of us has a watcher, and that watcher is in our own minds. There would be times I would dream that I never came to America, that I never agreed to construct Beth-El for them. And every time, oh God, that dream would collapse, and I would see Their world and the threat it would be taken away from me, oh God, oh mein Gott nein, neeeeein!!!" He is obviously having a flashback to some deeply traumatic memory.

Marshall can hear some shuffling from the other room as Keiner begins to scream "nein."

Brant

Does Marshall have some way to snap him into a calm state? Like, a command word or the like?

Michael

Yes, absolutely!

Brant

Then he'll do that; he'll sharply say a word in Sanskrit to snap him into a calmed state.

Michael

Psychology check?

>>>> SUCCESS

Success by 11 with Empathy.

So Marshall's hunch right now is that they don't need to use watchers for agents they've messed with this much. Obviously, Keiner received some intense restructuring of his subconscious in East Berlin, so much so that if he ever decided to abandon the mission or just enjoy his life in America, he'd be wracked with dream visions of History B (and the absolute pleasure of staring into a frog-demon's eyes) being taken away from him, forever. Much like Gunn found Keiner driven by his basic impulses — pride, fear, lust, pleasure — so too did the Red (King) agents. And they programmed him accordingly.

Brant

Speaking softly, Marshall moves so that he's right behind Keiner, and puts his hands on his shoulders: "Keiner, listen to me know … you are at the festival. It is Saturday in America. A beautiful day. Black people everywhere, celebrating Moore, and Mansa, and your art. Do you see it?"

Michael

"I … " Marshall can't see this because he's behind him but Keiner's eyes go from watery from fear to watery from bliss. "I do. The banner drops, the scene of Our Oakland is revealed. This is the moment they instructed me for, this is the convergence. The Ikenga will be awoken from his slumber. Instead of invisible, he will be these people's protector and guardian!"

A grand smile comes over Keiner's face.

Grand. Satisfied. Proud.

Brant

"And who else is there to witness your triumph?"

Michael

"Ed. Johann. E.L. The band. A thousand, two thousand Black men, women and children. And a handful of Schweine in blue behind the barricades, fucking pigs. They will feed the Ikenga first. They will be torn apart by the People for his eventual delectation. And that blood will fuel his further manifestation."

"Then, the buildings will begin to change. The broken, deserted vacant lots will become gardens. The polluting cars and trucks will become speedy hover vehicles, powered by music and love. The crowd will grow, it will go into other parts of Oakland now, it will pick up more people. More of our masters' world will take its proper place."

"I want to look in their eyes. I want to know if they are proud of me."

Brant

"Is the Ikenga already here, Keiner? Here, but unseen to us?"

Michael

"Yes, yes, they told me that he has been here all along, that the way had been prepared, but that he is not strong enough to walk the streets visibly, among his people, until the blood had been laid on the pavement for him. That my tapestry will act like Beth-El, but instead of the visit to their world being temporary, the Ikenga's presence in our world will be permanent, it will anchor him, and that with him anchored, the old history will take the place of the new." He's now conflating his vision of the concert with his East Berlin training; it almost seems to come out in the Tutor's feminine voice: "That Moore is crucial, that the people's faith in him is absolutely vital. That they know, through their study of the way crowds behave, that his creativity, his music, his vision is the linchpin to make the Black people understand their role in bringing our masters back."

Brant

"You're at your training in East Berlin, Keiner. They are briefing you on your mission. Tell me who is there with you."

Michael

"My … my Tutor is there. Two men with Russian accents. Strange-looking. Doctor types. A man who speaks German with a Moravian accent comes in later to test me for ‘latent psi ability,’ and he finds none while talking to me but so much when I am creating art that the needle, he says, is ‘off the scale.’ Two East Germans — I think I recognize them from the Olympic team in '72 — train me in judo in a single afternoon. I don't … I don't remember how they do this. I remember headphones and an opaque visor being on my head when they do this. I learn to fall and fight and eventually I flow like water around their blows. I … I don't understand, how did they do this?" He's getting distressed again, it seems like Marshall is bouncing up against some other hypnotism-style instruction here.

Brant

Marshall will signal to whoever it watching — he assumes the whole room is wired — not to come in no matter what happens, unless Keiner attacks him. Then he's going to show Keiner the Seven of Swords and start asking him, repeatedly, "Who is Red Hat, Keiner?" And each time he is going to try delving into a deeper layer of his psyche, pushing him down and down and down into the depths of his least-conscious mind, the lizard brain that observes things without observing them, that sees and intuits things without knowing.

Michael

Okay, this seems like a big moment. I'm going to have you give me an Interrogation check. He's still resisting with Will very weakly because of the brain hacking and the pot and the overall trauma. And along with that, I'm going to be making a sort of final Fright Check for him, to see if this entire set of questioning drives him over the brink, sanity-wise.

>>>> SUCCESS

Keiner's eyes roll up in his head. "Der zurückgelassene," he says in a monotone voice, "Derjenige, der Moore lehrte." Keiner begins to foam at the mouth. He's having a seizure. "Ul gi dub.ba," he says through gritted teeth in Sumerian. Rough translation: "The man of the Tribe of the Stylus," as he flies off his chair and onto the floor in full grand mal seizure. Fright Check for Marshall (mostly for the Sumerian).

>>>> SUCCESS

Marshall is fine.

Brant

Marshall will launch into his medical training and attempt to mitigate the seizure, grabbing whatever sedative or other narcotic he can out of his bag.

Michael

Physician check.

Brant

"Keiner! Keiner! Listen to my voice! Stay with me!"

>>> SUCCESS

Michael

The sedative doesn't knock him out completely; Marshall's extensive pharmaceutical experience and judgment of Keiner's physical and psychic well-being manage to provide him with just the dosage to check the seizure and bring him back to a baseline hypnotized state. But that trigger, that set of thoughts … it tapped into something deep in Keiner's training. Something he doesn't consciously remember.

Brant

What's Marshall's assessment of his ability to proceed? Does he think he'll irretrievably break the man if he continues with a few more questions?

Michael

In game terms, that was a pretty serious failed Fright Check for Keiner. Another one like that and you might be waving bye-bye to his personality.

What he needs is … healing, honestly. He needs his psyche put back together again.

Brant

"OK, Keiner … can you still hear me?"

"Just nod if you can hear my voice."

Michael

"Ja," he says. After a pause, he follows that up with English again. "Yes."

Brant

"You spoke in German there, for a moment. You said 'der zurückgelassene' and 'derjenige, der Moore lehrte'" — Marshall probably mangles that fairly badly but he does his best — "What does that mean, in English?"

Michael

Exhausted, Keiner looks at Marshall for the first time with undisguised distaste. "Fucking Americans," he scoffs in his drug- and hypnotism-aided daze. "'The one left behind. The one who taught Moore.' Ostberlin knew that someone had been Moore's tutor in youth, yes? Someone who put the idea in his head of a world ruled by Blacks. Who taught him the music of the Other Side. They did not know exactly who this was, but they knew he still lived. An old man, then. Someone who was adult when Moore was a child."

"He would press the tool onto the wet clay of reality and rewrite it. A man of the stylus."

Brant

Marshall nods. If Keiner will let him, he'll help him back into the chair.

Michael

He does. He's limp and broken.

Brant

Marshall will bring Keiner out of whatever remains of his hypnotic state, then sit on the edge of the desk. "Keiner, I'll be blunt with you."

"We have Beth-El — well, I have Beth-El — and we have the tapestry. We have the record, the anger-record, and we have Johann, and Johann, he is going to work with us now."

"We destroyed Mansa's credibility with the Blacks [OOC apologies for using that term that way, it's what he would say in '73]. But the festival is going to proceed."

"So I'm going to be straight with you — if you answer me honestly, genuinely, man to man, I can make things here better for you. I know you have no reason to trust me, but it is true. I can do that. But if you lie to me, I'll leave you here with Gunner. Forever. And this will be the last sunset you ever see in America."

"But I'll give you that choice before I ask the last question and head home. Will you answer me honestly?"

Michael

"Yes. If I can, I will."

Brant

"Having done all we have done — what I just described — is it enough to stop the Ikenga tomorrow?"

Michael

"Unless there is blood, even the slightest, smallest human sacrifice … any human lives taken at the hands of any other human being at all … yes. With all those elements dispersed, the Ikenga itself will revert to myth and disperse like clouds." And then he cries.

Brant

Marshall will rest a hand on his shoulder and say namaste, quietly. Then he'll signal for the MPs to come get him.

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