Am I evil?

You awake, disoriented. You're pleasantly sandwiched between two snoozing techfolk… Safe, reports your brain. Why get up? Does it even matter that you're in unfamiliar surroundings? Go back to sleep, where it's safe, warm, cosy.

You close your eyes again and your thoughts flicker in that way they do when you're only half-awake and your brain doesn't know whether to move to fully asleep or fully awake. Your brain dredges up memories of yesterday - you'd slept here in the hangar for a bit, then pushed off to bed in your own quarters. You remember the aurora in the starry sky and the silence of the chilly night air. Then you'd come back here for a nap, so you'd be ready and available to fix the Titan-

The Titan.

Your eyes snap awake. Oh, your dear Titan… such brutality it endured for the sake of the Alliance.

The Titan is still sleeping peacefully, as far as you can tell. It needs it, after what it went through. The only illumination in the hangar right now is the purple light from the Titan's core, reflecting off the floor of the hangar and giving everything an eerie cast. It makes the Titan's screenless head look even more broken and sinister. There's no sign of Polycephaly, Sabre or the Imperator. They must have left earlier to attend to important business.

The Titan stirs slightly, as if having troubling dreams…

"Still sleeping?" says someone, nudging you with their foot.

You involuntarily make a distressed grunt at the unexpected touch, and the two TVs bracketing you startle awake and make static 'grunts' of their own.

"Wherg," you say. "Whut? Whus goin on?" You sit up and look around for the owner of the voice.

It's one of the science team. "No wonder we are so behind in this war," says the TV scientist. "The Titan's engineering team is still asleep while the science team has been up since dawn, making progress."

Grrr. You're annoyed at the jab, but you choose not to react to it. Don't give them any satisfaction. "I'm awake," you say. "Did you need something or are you just here to bother us?"

"We need your assistance, human," says the scientist as you get to your feet and stretch. "The Astro tech that the Titan salvaged has heavy magnets inside. We require your immunity to make the next part of the process go quicker." Magnets are bad times for most techfolk, especially TVs and the electron guns inside their CRTs.

"Lead the way," you say, resisting the urge to have a good morning arse-scratch.

You follow the scientist out of the Titan's main hangar and into the research hangar. The two hangars are directly linked by a set of internal doors, but only Zenith the Engineer Prime and D67 the Scientist Prime, and their respective deputies, have the authority to use those outside emergencies. Everyone else needs to fully exit the one hangar and go through the security check for the other.

The science hangar is a little different from the Titan's residence hangar, built for experimentation and research rather than for the Titan's comfort. The most immediately obvious difference is the banks of flat-panel monitors affixed to the walls, currently cycling through what must be some test pattern of abstract black-and-white stripes. Maybe it's a visualisation of some data-processing program?

"Unknown entity detected. Scanning in progress," says an unexpected voice from above you. A hovering TV monitor, bigger than Polycephaly's main head but smaller than the Titan's sub-screens, descends into your view. "Scanning complete. Entity registered," continues the hovering TV. "Haha, no, don't worry; I don't actually talk like that. Hello Phaeton, well met. I am Halifax."

"What are you?" you ask. (That's one of the nice things about talking to TVs. Blunt questions aren't considered rude in themselves. You've caught yourself struggling to turn this off when talking to Cams or Soundkind!)

"As a Titan engineer, you will be aware that upgrading an individual to Titan status will magnify all their personality traits, strengths and weaknesses included," says Halifax, drifting gently as they hover.

"I'm aware," you say. Zenith, the Engineer Prime, had told you before that the Titan in their pre-upgrade form was a superb field agent - and knew it. That's manifested as a Titan with terrifying battle skills and a mighty ego, bordering on vanity, to match.

"The best way to build a Titan, therefore," says Halifax, "Would have been to first place a scientist's mind in the Titan frame - and let the magnification induced by the frame create an entity with the mental capacity to build the best possible Titan. But, of course, you'd have to build a second Titan frame. And if the faction had the capacity to do that, we would have two Titans already. I was the next best thing. Using the data from Project Polycephaly, I was upgraded to the form you see before you. Not as powerful as a Titan, but cleverer than I was. In this form, I was able to suggest many modifications to Project Titan."

"You were noble to volunteer for that," you reply.

"I see what you're getting at," says Halifax. "You're thinking 'don't I miss having my old body?' but not outright asking."

"…That's exactly what I was thinking," you admit. It must be nice having such increased intelligence, but you doubt you'd be willing to sacrifice your limbs for that.

"No, I don't miss it," says Halifax. "You have no idea how liberating it is for a scientist to be able to process and calculate the way I do." They display a cheery emoticon. "I must return to my duties now. It was good to meet you."

"You too," you reply. "Ah'll sithee." Halifax hovers off somewhere.

At the TV scientists' direction, you get harnessed up and crawl inside the piece of Astro tech that the Titan retrieved. 'It's just some inert metal,' you tell yourself. You hate it — there's something obscene about it, this blight upon your world, sitting here in your adopted faction's base. You comfort yourself with the thought that the TVs will turn it into something of their own and use it against the enemy. You find yourself shuddering with revulsion nevertheless as you work.

"Thank you, Phaeton," says D67, the Scientist Prime, as you finish disconnecting electromagnets and slither out. "You can go back to bed now while the science team does the real work." They exchange a winking emoticon for your rude hand gesture, and you take your leave.

The security guards outside the two hangars nod respectfully to you as you pass, in recognition of your important task. You return the gesture - they perform a vital role in keeping the hangars secure.

You swipe around your tablet as you return to the Titan, checking which tasks you've been assigned by the hangar intranet and planning which order to do them will be the most efficient.

The Titan rolls onto its side so it can freely spin the rings of spikes around its core chamber. It does so for a fraction of a revolution, then stops at the unpleasant clanking sound that results. The poor Titan will need probably hundreds of hours of maintenance before it can be battle-ready once more.

"Good morning, boss," you say as you lay a hand on the Titan's hand. "How are you feeling after a night's rest?"

"Not much better," says the Titan. "Though it's no fault of you engineers. …My teleport-circuit aches. It shouldn't do – you cleaned it out nicely. But it's aching as though it's caught on something. Almost as though some fucker's trying to pull it out of me. Or my fog doesn't want to be in me."

You rub the Titan's hand in what you hope is a comforting manner. (The Titan lightly curls a couple of fingers around you - how sweet. It would normally cuddle you more cosily than that, but it must be acting cautiously right now so as not to misjudge its strength.) "Your head is still mostly a wreck," you point out. "Maybe another damaged component is having a knock-on effect. We'll get you done, boss. You just rest as best you can and let us work."

The Titan rumbles in appreciation and lets you disengage from its hand. "What did the science team need you to do?" it asks.

"Magnetic bullshit," you say. "I helped power the thing down fully so everyone can work on it better. …I hate that we need it. I love seeing you become more powerful but I hate the fact that that's the source this time."

"But how satisfying to turn their own weapons against them," points out the Titan. "I will do that and avenge our fallen comrades, and humanity." The Titan stirs uncomfortably, then resumes talking. "…You might be the last human. And I always expected I would remain the last Titan, the most powerful and perfect. …Will this war go on long enough that it becomes more practical to construct a successor rather than keep upgrading me? …What do you think, Phaeton? Will there be another like me?"

Your response:

• "I think so. Progress is inevitable."
• "There could never be another!"

"Yes, I think there could," you say. "It wouldn't be exactly like you, of course, but it would owe its existence to you. That is how progress works - the new surpasses the old, but the new can never come into existence without the old paving the way. You are already greater than the Camera and Soundkind Titans, but would you have been as great if not for the Cam and Sound Titans' blueprints for the faction to use as a springboard?"

"Perhaps not," concedes the Titan. "Perhaps my final fate is to be the template for the greatest Titan yet. I think… such a legacy would not displease me."

Continue…

"As if we could ever do that!" you say. "If we have the resources to build another Titan from scratch, it's surely more efficient to build up from an existing Titan than build up from nothing. You're the faction's treasure - you're the most powerful and perfect of all Titans and you always will be."

"I think you're just stroking my ego," says the Titan. "But I do appreciate it. I deserve it right now."

Continue…

You hear angry footsteps approaching, more forceful still than Zenith's usual 'get outta the way' stride. To your surprise, it's D67, the Scientist Prime. Do they need you to sort out yet more magnets?

"I'm here because whatever you're all doing is causing interference over in the science hangar," begins D67. "I must ask—" D67 is distracted by something. "Titan, why are you opening a rift gate?"

"…I am not," replies the Titan. The gate manifesting behind the Titan looks different from normal - tinged with reddish-brown instead of the normal pure black. It becomes redder still, coruscating with orange-crimson flashes.

"Close that shit at once!" orders D67.

"I didn't start-" the Titan is interrupted as something erupts through the wrong-looking cloud of teleport-fog. The 'something' lashes out — it's not — is it?

The Titan valiantly fights the flailing mechanical tendrils that you've seen before in broadcasts, but they overpower the weakened Titan, further bashing its screenless head, and latch on. "I can't move…" ← "Zenith. Need you." The Titan is apparently ripped out of existence, the air rushing in to occupy the void left by its departure.

You can't comprehend what just happened – it's as reality-warpingly inconceivable as if you'd seen the Sun in the sky crack open and tear itself apart. Something that powerful and timeless cannot just end like that.

What is wrong?

…Two flying Astros emerge from the ragged cloud, snapping you back to reality - a visible adversary is something your primordial-brain can cope with. Your body does what it was made to do and floods itself with adrenalin so you can make good your escape. You want to rend— slaughter— destroy— but your frame simply doesn't scale to the rage it contains.

But the hangar does. "Embryon!" you call out. "Impede them!" It can surely manipulate the hangar-cranes to get in the Astros' way and slow them down.

There's no response from Embryon. They're either to afraid to react, or they've exited the hangar machinery for the Void.

Sabre jetpack-leaps into view, acting out what you dearly wish you could do, slicing and stabbing with her magnificent purple blades, until one of the Astros laughs no more.

Polycephaly leaps onto the other, powered by fury - that part of your mind that still notices such things in times of crisis notes that Polycephaly's Astro-style weaponry is back. That must have been a requirement for them to maintain their battle-ready status. Polycephaly, Sabre and Halifax (who appears to be blessed with the same incendiary ability as the Titan and the Imperator) dispatch the remaining Astro.

Polycephaly rips something from the Astro's remains. ←"Tracking device." You don't comprehend Polycephaly's reversed speech, but you can see the object is some sort of homing beacon. Polycephaly wastes no time in crushing it, before picking you up and jetpacking you over the flaming debris littering the hangar, zipping through a skilfully-placed void-portal on the way, to join D67 and their crew at the Science hangar's command centre. But why - surely the next thing to do is evacuate the area?

A klaxon sounds, making you flinch. You're grateful that Polycephaly is holding you — whatever happens, you trust them to be able to port you somewhere safer. The big display screen above the command centre switches to a feed from one of the (normal, non-techfolk) security cameras that observe the area around TV Base.

There's a giant Astro hovering above the base, ready to rain down obliteration.

Well, it's been fun. It will hurt only for an instant, and there are worse ways to die than in the arms of Polycephaly…

Your world is swirling blackness. So, this is death.

Realisation dawns. Of course - there is precedent for porting the entire base. The Titan can't possibly be doing it this time, though. D67's team must have stockpiled enough fog to be able to move the base again if needed - probably to one of the other sites that you and the Imperator shortlisted when you were planning to move the base from Scotland to Iceland.

←"You did well, Primus." You hear the Imperator's voice - you can't parse their backwards words, but the Imperator is speaking in a soothing tone.

From your vantage point in Polycephaly's arms you can see that the Imperator's two guards, Primus and Icarus, both have cracked screens. They fulfilled their duties as bodyguards and took the hits so their Imperator wouldn't. The Imperator holds Primus's hand while they detach their head and fly it over to Icarus. Icarus reaches out and holds onto the Imperator's geminus connector below their flying head. In this way the Imperator leads Icarus over to Primus, flying slowly. The two guards hold hands and embrace tremblingly as the Imperator resets their head.

Polycephaly gently sets you down. You guess they'll need to get to the field in a hurry to assist the Titan… but how? The faction's Champion they may be, but how can they stand up to Astro forces that can abduct a Titan and flatten a base?

You're charged with adrenalin still and need to bite something, to fight, to hurt… You want the catharsis of destruction that Sabre and Polycephaly just had. You want to do something other than just standing there. You want to say as much to the Imperator… then remember how infuriating it can be when someone says to you 'let me know if I can help' — just the same as if they'd said 'I'm saying these token words to score points but I'm not going to bother clarifying what help I am ready to offer, so I'm making you do all that guesswork and decision-making.' What can you help with?

The Alliance might have no battle-ready Titans right now: Titan Camera is missing, perhaps deceased; Titan Soundkind is undergoing repairs and upgrades; and your own dear Titan is in no fit state to fight any time soon, even if it has already dispatched the Astro that abducted it. You can't help with tracking down and rescuing Titan Camera or Titan TV, but you are a Titan engineer. You can assist Titan Soundkind's team.

"Imperator, I stand ready and able to depart for the Soundkind Base," you say to the Imperator.

"…How did you know I was going to send you there?" asks the Imperator. Right now, they would normally give you a quizzical emoticon, but the Imperator's screen is blank with devastation and their posture slumped.

"Optimal strategy," you say. You just need to get your go-bag from you quarters and— fuck.

Your quarters are – were – in an outbuilding outside the main TV Base. They won't have been moved in the mass teleport. All your belongings will have been vaporised. All your data was backed up to the Alliance network, and there's a stash of non-perishable food somewhere in the Base stores so you're not in immediate danger of starvation, but your trinkets and other nice little things will be no more.

Seabrooks!

Oh, your darling pigeon! …You remember letting her outside before you came back to the hangar this morning. You really hope she was still outdoors and outwith the blast radius. The adrenalin that was coursing through you twists and bites its own tail. Poor little Seabrooks!

Your tablet blares with an urgent broadcast coming from one of the Camera faction - they've evidently been tracking their local Astro movements and have found where the Titan's been taken. Your poor, dear Titan, having to fight again so soon.

How will it find home? Is it so damaged that it won't be able to find the new base? …How will you keep it from being tracked and taken again?

You watch the Titan fight back, but too little, too late, too slow - it's running on fumes and rapidly running out. You don't want to believe this is the end… but the corner of your mind that thinks morbid thoughts hopes that the Titan is proud that it took this many powerful Astros to bring it down to this level.

You watch the Astros unleash a new weapon, one that targets the Titan's core. …You're really watching the Titan die, aren't you? You don't want to see this but you can't look away - you're not there with the Titan but it would still feel like turning away from it in its dying moments. You're with your Titan until the end.

…The Titan doesn't die.

The drilling weapon wasn't destroying the Titan; it was subjugating it.

This was the 'fate worse than death' the scarlet jötunn promised.

Camera offline.

Your world is gone.

All that remains

All that remains is

despair

forevermore

despair forevermore

forever

It's over.

It's really all over…

…

A surge of TVs pours into the hangar - the security guards have either been overrun in a display of group power or they've made the decision themselves to throw open the doors.

Cygnus sprints towards you, appearing to smokily flicker in and out of existence as they clip through the void in their desperation to reach you. Cygnus seizes you and hold you close to them, too tight, shivering as their servos strain with fear and distress.

"D67," you hear Halifax say, "My immediate findings suggest the Astro was able to locate the Titan via its teleport-circuit. …It appears this was possible because the circuit was unusually clear, allowing for more precise tracking than would normally be achievable."

"Were modifications made to the Titan's circuit recently?" D67 asks Zenith.

Zenith is too devastated to answer.

Halifax helpfully pulls up the hangar intranet and displays what it finds on its screen. The last modification to the Titan's teleport-circuit… was by you.

…Did you kill the Titan?

You killed the Titan.

First you killed Titan Camera - by wasting her time when she should have been getting upgraded - then you killed your own Titan too. You are a poison upon the Alliance, you couldn't even keep Seabrooks alive, you blight everything you love-

"Human-" begins D67.

"Shut the fuck up!" exclaims someone. To your surprise, it's not Polycephaly; it's engineer Vidal. "You cannot hold Phaeton responsible for this! It's sheer bad luck that it was Phaeton assigned to that task - it was actually assigned to me, but we swapped. Are you going to light my arse on fire too or do you only harass people smaller than you?" The other Titan engineers are rallying behind Vidal. They've got your back.

"Stand down, the pair of you," says the Imperator with cold fury. (Primus and Icarus hold each other a little closer as they both turn their heads towards the Imperator.) "As of now, I am implementing Protocol Siren." The Imperator does something on their tablet as they talk, pushing an update to the entire faction. "All field agents to stand by for next orders. Engineering division to stand by for staggered deployment to the Soundkind Base. Science division to stand by to assist both the above as needed. Base-side personnel to resume duties on emergency settings. Dismissed: disperse and await new orders. Twenty-One and Sixty-Four, escort Primus and Icarus to the repair bay-" the Imperator addresses two from the science team. "Sabre, Polycephaly, prepare for field duties. Cygnus, with me - we have an emergency meeting with Imperator Soundkind."

Cygnus doesn't want to leave you (and nor do you want them to) but they have to. Their screen remains expressionless - you guess they're too devastated to even emote.

Even through your own pain, you feel crumpled with sorrow for the Imperator. The Imperator surely wants to collapse with grief and hide away as much as you do, but they have to lead the faction - and without their dear devoted guards by their side.

At the back of your mind, you think about how there were clearly SOPs already in place for worst-case scenarios - the base being moved, and this Protocol Siren. When the time is right, you'll need to have a talk with the Imperator about this. If they're still serious about promoting you to Councillor, you can't be left in the dark about things like this.

You've never seen Zenith look this hollow, this defeated.

Halifax lands next to Zenith. "Engineer Prime, would you assist me?" asks Halifax softly. "I took damage. Will you repair me so I can continue assisting the science department? We will need them to recover the Titan."

Halifax doesn't look damaged to you. You suspect they're trying to keep Zenith's spirits up by offering them a task they can throw themself into.

It doesn't help Zenith at all. They're too consumed with grief to even respond. Engineer Twelve, Zenith's deputy, moves in offer comfort, but Zenith barely seems to notice Twelve is there. (Halifax quietly ascends and then slips away. You guess they really don't need repairs after all.)

For lack of anything else you can do, you consult your tablet to check your orders. You're going to be part of the first wave of engineers travelling to Soundkind Base to lend your support to the Titan engineering team there. You wonder if the personnel are randomly assigned or if there's some reason you're in wave number one. Does your ability to withstand strong magnetic fields make you an especially useful candidate? Then you remember that the Soundkind Base is partially built on a human-built installation and will have facilities that the main TV Base lacks. It makes more sense to put you there rather than keep you here in a base only built by and for techfolk.

You'll be departing in less than 90 minutes, along with three of your colleagues: Palindrome, an electrical specialist; Solbakken, one of the Titan's structural and frame specialists; and Arco, whose specialisation is the Titan's core. It seems you'll be travelling through the void in small hops towards an air-base where you can take a chopper the rest of the way. The fact that the Medusoid Jötunn was able to find the Titan from the clarity and magnitude of its teleport-circuit raises the possibility that she could do the same with any sufficiently large and clear volume of fog. A normal TV-unit probably doesn't have enough for her to track, but the TV faction is being cautious.

You have two pings: one from the resource and acquisition division, and another from within its tailoring department. You'll need to head over there and confirm what you need in your supply crate - best not to leave the job of selecting food packages to them. It feels utterly surreal doing such things — your very world has ended - how can you focus on doing any task? You realise you're in crisis mode, where you can't collapse yet so you carry on regardless, feeling almost as though one 'you' is piloting you while you observe. 'I don't care. Put whatever in,' part of you wants to say to the TV in the resources team. 'What's the point of ever eating or sleeping or doing anything again.'

Somehow, you manage to compile a sensible list of items to bring with you. It's strange how you do that, as though you're borrowing intelligence from another version of yourself.

As you arrive at the Base hub to depart, Fornax runs over to you, black teleport-fog lapping at their feet to boost their speed. "Phaeton!" calls Fornax as they approach. "I have something for you before you go." Fornax holds an item out to you.

Of course. That's the point of still doing things ever again. The Titan is worse-than-dead, and you'll never see Seabrooks again, but Cygnus and Fornax aren't gone.

You accept the proffered item from Fornax — it's a plain black pendant on a silver-coloured chain. The pendant appears to be made of black fabric, quilted into a little circular frame.

"It's not much," says Fornax. "The fabric is from the Titan's coat. I heard you had to leave and …I thought… you might like having something with you that reminds you of the Titan." Fornax is wringing their fingertips together in the way that you recognise as the same way Cygnus does when flustered. One of them must have picked up that mannerism from the other - how cute! (Part of the back of your mind is pleased that you can still make such observations.) You guess Fornax is a little embarrassed about giving you such a relatively plain item compared to their usual output.

You put the pendant on and tuck it safely into your top, then hug Fornax fiercely. "Thank you." You lean into Fornax's warm enveloping hug and wish you could stay here like this forever… "I'm really touched. Even with everything going on, you thought of doing something for me." You cling to Fornax and sob into their front. "I don't want to leave you," you manage to choke out.

Polycephaly spawns in, and you disengage from Fornax so Polycephaly can pick you up, along with Palindrome, Arco and Solbakken. You're grateful Polycephaly still picks you up in their arms. You can't bear the thought of being picked up by the Detainer claws.

You close your eyes against the sight of the Void as Polycephaly takes the five of you on a series of hops, taking a convoluted journey a bit at a time, minimising the chance of any Astros finding you en route to the TV outpost. Normally the sight of the Void is neutral, sometimes comforting, but now it's feels frighteningly unsafe. You trust Polycephaly, as always, but can you trust the Void?

Polycephaly brings you safely to your destination and sets you all down with haste, making you stumble and have to clutch Arco to avoid falling over. You hear Polycephaly vanish again before you can even turn around and say goodbye…

You end up waiting outside the outpost's repair bay while the three engineers endure modifications before your journey. When Palindrome, Arco and Solbakken reappear, you can see that they've had their teleport-circuits depleted, and left open by means of an installed pipe that exits through a vent in each of their head-casings. You occasionally see a tiny wisp of fog escape from one of them. Each TV has magenta-and-yellow caution tape on the sides of their head-casing to indicate that they're physically unable to teleport. You reckon this is probably an unnecessarily extreme precaution, but it shows willing to the Soundkind faction. Whatever else the Soundkind might think about the TV faction, they can't accuse the TVs of putting them at risk.

The three TVs display no emoticons, but look dejected nonetheless. You guess they must all feel the same way you do. You need to grieve, to mourn your Titan, to rest, but you simply can't. There isn't time.

It must be especially horrible for the TVs — the Void was theirs. It was their domain that gave them their power, enabling them to strike and retreat with brutal efficiency. It's now effectively closed to them. Their command-beams have had limited use against the enemy for a while. What, then, do the TVs really have any more?

You disembark the chopper, realising you barely remember anything from the journey over here. You feel numb from your sheer sense of loss, because if you actually felt your misery you wouldn't be able to handle it.

Soundkind are efficiently going about their business… Don't they know anything? Don't they know the world's ended? Don't they know there's no point any more?

The sky is a brilliant blue with fluffy cirrus high above. The noonday sun reflects off the puddles from the recent rain, giving everything a golden sheen. It feels as though the very world itself is mocking you.

You can't believe you woke up this morning inside a warm cuddle pile in the Titan's hangar. That feels like someone else, a lifetime away. That can't have been you. You've always been miserable. Your existence has been despair since forever.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," says a voice from above you. You look up - it's the Soundkind diplomat Trashbag. They're easily recognisable by their hot pink shirt and charcoal grey tie. Trashbag is accompanied by their secretary Hype Tram Jam, whose outfit is a colour-swapped version. Unusually for someone in a non-combat role, Trashbag is a large unit. You'd met them before, but this is the first time you've actually heard them speak. On your first meeting, Trashbag's voice unit was damaged, and Hype Tram Jam had had to do the talking.

You realise you're slightly cheered up by the presence of two familiar units. You don't know them well enough to call them your friends, but they seem nice enough.

"I'm Trashbag. Before you ask, it's because I like how it sounds and because no-one ever forgets it," continues Trashbag. "I'm to escort you to the Titan hangar so the engineering team can go over what needs to be done. Someone else will take your crates to your quarters. This place is partly built on a human facility - Phaeton, you'll be pleased to know there's potable water and bathroom facilities, and a kitchen where you can prepare hot food."

"Thank you," you say. That is some comfort. Right now you're not really up to the idea of entertaining taking care of yourself, but rationally you know you'll need to. The Soundkind have given you one fewer thing to worry about.

"This is my secretary, Hype Tram Jam," says Trashbag. "If you have any unmet needs during your stay here, please message them. Hype Tram Jam will put you in touch with the relevant personnel."

Hype Tram Jam waves hello and brings out their communicator. You, Palindrome, Solbakken and Arco tap your own communicators to it in turn to exchange contact details. (You reckon you already have theirs from your previous meeting, but you might as well.)

"Phaeton, Palindrome, good to see you again," says Hype Tram Jam as you swap contact details. "Arco, Solbakken, well met."

You feel in slightly higher spirits. The noisy, monotonous helicopter ride gave you enough time to work yourself up into a proper state, but now you're in the fresh air and in the presence of someone reassuringly familiar, with a clear and simple itinerary decided for you. Then the memory of what happened to your Titan comes crashing back and you feel you might crumple from sheer despair. You choke down a sob - if you start crying you'll never stop.

You and the other engineers follow Trashbag and Hype Tram Jam out of the chopper landing area (the perimeter of which is bristling with odd structures that you guess are for reflecting radar for precise landings) and into the Soundkind Base. Strip-lighting embedded in the floors forms illuminated pathways, leading the way to various areas of the base. (You remember from your last visit that the red route goes to the Titan hangar.) Trashbag and Hype Tram Jam both raise their heads and honk, apparently getting their bearings off angled textured panels set high on the walls - probably an echolocation equivalent of signposts.

While you walk, you manage to rally your thoughts enough to rattle off quick messages to Cygnus and Fornax, letting them know you've arrived safely at the Soundkind Base. At some point Trashbag has to peel off and return to their inter-faction liaison duties — you wonder if they're going to talk to Cygnus — and Hype Tram Jam escorts you the rest of the way. There's a pause while Hype Tram Jam gets you through the security checkpoint and your records are updated to allow you all unimpeded access to the Titan's hangar, the same as her permanent crew of engineers.

The Soundkind Titan is quite a sight. She stands unclothed and absent most of her plating, surrounded by cranes and scaffolding and gantries to such an extent that she almost looks like a vast techno-organic obelisk that grew here in the hangar. Great loops of cables spill out of her frame - it reminds you of when you start tidying a messy room and you end up having to make it messier than ever before you can get everything put back in its proper place. The occasional flash of welding sparks jumps off the Titan's frame as the engineers work.

It occurs to you that the Sound Titan looks the way you feel inside. You're not sure if that's a witty thought or not.

"Greetings," says a Soundkind engineer. "Welcome to the hangar - we're glad to have you with us… though we wish it wasn't under such circumstances. My name is Slightest House Propaganda." Soundkind pick their names from words they enjoy the sound of, regardless of their actual meaning. "I will give you a tour of the hangar and an overview of what work the Titan needs, then I'll have someone show you your quarters. You can take a break there for a couple of hours, and then come back and start some light work."

"Thank you," you say, "That's considerate of you." You've technically had a 'break' in the form of the helicopter ride, but it wasn't what you needed.

Slightest House Propaganda leads the four of you around the perimeter walkway, talking about the various Skibidi modifications the engineers are working to purge, and what upgrades they're working on adding. You lower the visor on your engineering headset - as well as blocking TV command-beams, it has a useful HUD. The main HUD isn't available now because it was connected to the intranet in the TV Titan's hangar, but your visor still can display information from your communicator. As you lack the ability to naturally perceive techfolk's yes-I-live signals, you'd had your communicator modified to pick these up and squirt them into your HUD. (Your communicator has become cutely chunkier than a standard one, as a result of all the mods you've ended up adding to it.) You're familiar enough with the rest of the TV Titan's engineering crew that you can recognise them on sight from their gait and mannerisms, but the yes-I-live HUD has been such a blessing for interacting with most other techfolk. Members of each faction tend to look much the same as any other. As you look over the Titan engineers, their nicknames and serials pop up superimposed on your vision.

Interesting — there are a few Camera engineers here too. With their own Titan missing in action, this is probably the most useful they can be. …You realise they're in much the same position as you. You can't think which is worse: to have seen your Titan forced under enemy control, or to have no way of knowing what's happened to them. Both are their own kind of hell.

"Hello Phaeton," says a Soundkind engineer as your party approaches. Your HUD tells you this is Kinetic Octopus Drink - someone you've met before. The Alliance factions occasionally send Titan engineers to each other's hangars on an information exchange, and Kinetic Octopus Drink has visited your Titan's hangar before to study its melee attack systems. It makes you feel slightly braver that there's someone else here who isn't entirely unfamiliar.

"Hello, Kinetic Octopus Drink," you say, and realise it came out with flatter effect than you intended. You rally, then continue. "It is nice to see you again. I'm… not feeling my best right now, so I apologise if I'm short with you or come across as distant."

Kinetic Octopus Drink makes a sorrowful light drone at your words, and Slightest House Propaganda echoes it in sympathy. "Phaeton, don't you worry about that," says Kinetic Octopus Drink. "…We all went through this too, and we know just how you feel right now." Of course - the Sound Titan suffered a similar fate to your own Titan, through a different means of control. (At the hands of a faction some of the Alliance are now trying to co-operate with? Nothing feels real right now.)

Your eyes moisten at Kinetic Octopus Drink's kind words, and at thinking about what poor Titan Soundkind went through - and about your own dear Titan. Kinetic Octopus Drink probably can't see the tears on your face with their limited vision, but they can see your defeated slump. They wordlessly hold their arms out to offer a hug. You step forward and bury yourself in their arms.

Your thoughts swim and your vision pulsates, as the realisation hits you like a hammer blow that this has really happened - a scenario worse than you could have imagined - and that your beloved Titan is really gone, and this really might be the end for the Alliance. You want to not exist any more. …You might feel a little better after a good hard cry, but you can't summon one. You're just too hollow.

"We went through this too," says Kinetic Octopus Drink again. "And… we got our Titan back. We got her back because we had the Camera and TV factions lending their support - we couldn't have done it without the Camera Titan or the TV Imperator. And now, you have us."

You bury your face in Kinetic Octopus Drink's shoulder. Can that really happen? Do you dare to hope? You exhale raggedly as you mentally pull your faint wisps of hope around you like a cloak. Titan Soundkind is nowhere near battle-ready, but she's here, and the Soundkind engineers are going to make her powerful again. And you're here too. You're going to make the Sound Titan powerful again.

And… Titan Camera might not be gone. For all you know, even now she might be staggering back to her home base for repairs. You can't rely on that. But it could happen. You plant that seed of hope in your mind and try to leave it alone for now - you can't keep digging that seed up to see if it's germinated, or it'll die.

You pick yourself up from Kinetic Octopus Drink, and they release you from their embrace. "Thank you," you say. "I needed to hear that. I'm sorry I kept you from your work."

"We have a long way to go yet," says Slightest House Propaganda. "A two-minute hug here and there won't set us too far back. And we're going to get everything done faster now, with your help and the rest of the TV engineers. But let's move on for now."

You part ways with Kinetic Octopus Drink and continue your tour of the hangar, trying to be interested in your surroundings. At times, it feels almost normal - it's as though everything is fine back home and you're simply here on a fact-finding visit, as sometimes happens between the three factions. But the wallpaper paste of the veneer of normalcy never dries, and the papery facade always crashes in a folded heap on the floor, and you are bare and exposed once again.

How much of that did you really take in? You find yourself thinking it as the tour ends and someone leads you to where you'll be staying.

Your quarters turns out to be a human-style dormitory, with enough bunk beds for everyone from the TV Titan's engineering team. Only the lower bunks have mattresses and bedding - you guess this is an invitation to use the top bunks for storage. Someone's taken the time to add some countertop kitchen appliances to the dorm: there's a kettle, toaster, air fryer, microwave, and what you assume to be a rice cooker but on closer inspection turns out to be a jam-maker. (Whoever put that there probably didn't quite realise what types of kitchen appliance are meant for everyday use and which for specialist cooking.)

There's a couple of bags on one of the beds, which Arco looks inside. "I think these are meant for you, Phaeton," they say. You examine the contents and find that one of the bags has a few tins of food, packs of grains and packets of freeze-dried food. That was a thoughtful gesture. (Whoever it was could have got you a tin opener though…) The other contains a couple of garments like very long t-shirts (you assume nightwear) and some underwear and socks. There's a handwritten note from the Soundkind Base's tailoring department, explaining that they have your measurements courtesy of the TV tailors, and they can make you anything else you need. That's good to know. Perhaps… if others can still keep on thinking of what needs to be done, and doing it, you can too.

The four of you sit on one bunk together, sitting close together for comfort. "…I don't even know how I should feel," you say. "I'm… devastated, of course… but I feel as though I've gone beyond that and into a nothing-state. I don't know what I feel. This is… not something anyone's meant to endure."

Solbakken extends an arm to pull you against them and let you lean. "I know," they say softly. "I think you speak for us all."

"I want to be in the field with Polycephaly and Sabre," you say. "I know I can't. I'm not a combatant; there's nothing I can do. But I wish I could." You feel somehow wicked and low, sitting in safety while the Titan is brutalised and broken. Like a rotten creature that can't do anything for itself or help anyone else; only take from others and sap energy from them. Your train of thought is derailed by Solbakken squeezing you to them and Arco and Palindrome leaning over to pet you a little. They know. They must all feel the same way you do.

Some messages come through on your communicator; now that your schedule shows that you're on break, non-urgent messages will be allowed to exit the holding queue. You check it in the hope that you have something from Cygnus, Fornax or Polycephaly.

To your surprise, you have a message from Test Twice, one of the Cams from the science team at the base in Sector Antlia-Four. …That seems like a lifetime ago. You lived there, but it feels as though that was another Phaeton from another timeline.

You open the message:

Your vision blurs and you realise you're shedding silent tears - this time from gratitude. Your world ends anew every time you think about what happened… but there's still another world going on without you. It probably will help to remember that sometimes.

You don't feel up to writing an intelligent response, so you leave it for now. You scroll on and see that you have a message from Polycephaly, saying they'll call you later if they can.

You notice the three TVs getting out their tablets for some reason. The next message makes the reason clear: it's from the Imperator's staff, informing you that you have a confidential attachment that you can open on your tablet. It seems Palindrome, Solbakken and Arco all got one too.

You get out your tablet and dock your communicator to it so you can load and unencrypt the attachment. You read it:

You hug your tablet as if you could reach the Titan that way. You hear a bizarre sound and realise it's coming from you; a strange choked sob of despair and loss and love intertwined.

Solbakken sets their own tablet down and pulls you into a tight hug. (You're vaguely aware of Palindrome and Arco doing the same with each other.) All three TVs have been similarly affected by their own messages from the Titan. You cling to Solbakken… the other Titan engineers are the only people who know exactly how you feel. You all love your Titan and are wholeheartedly devoted to it - in a way that you've never had with anyone else, could never have with anyone else. The faction relies on its Titan as its guardian and the Titan relies on its engineers to keep it healthy. In a way, you know the Titan more intimately than you could ever know anyone - there's a power dynamic in the Titan's sheer size and strength, and in how you care for it, standing inside it and looking after its internals. Both of you have the power to hurt each other and to protect each other, in a way that entwines your existences.

You love the Titan so much.

Someone rubs your hand - you realise it's Palindrome leaning over. "Help us push the beds together?" suggests Palindrome. "Then we can cuddle properly."

You'd like that… You and the three TVs get up and grab one each of the four posts around one of the beds, bringing it right up against the next. (If the Soundkind object to you re-arranging their furniture, you can always move it back.) When all four of your beds are snug together, you all climb in, spread cross-wise across the width, and form a cuddle-pile. You cry quietly into the mattress while warm techfolk bodies snuggle against you. You all needed this so much…

You awake, under the setting sun in a purple sky, hot desert sand clinging to your face as you lift your head off the ground. When did you get here?

The Titan stands, a monolith in the black-sand desert, looking as though it rose out of the ground. Falling black sand cascades off it constantly. The Medusoid Jötunn's fiery chain remains around the Titan's neck, its other end chained to the ground with a great lock. You can't possibly undo the chain… You know what you must do instead.

You approach the Titan, unseen thanks to your tiny size and the Titan's shattered and burnt-out screen. You begin climbing up its frame, forcing yourself to endure the hot sand raining down on you. Your limbs move as if you're running through syrup but you nonetheless move determinedly up the Titan's frame, somehow 'flickering' your way up it like a stop-motion animation with a low framerate, your speed of movement out of sync with your actual motions.

You climb inside the Titan's head, slithering between cables and pipes, until you can sit down. The Titan rumbles its speakers in displeasure at the intrusion, until you stroke and caress its cables and wires, whispering softly to it, teaching it who it is. If it only remembers who it is, it can rip out the horrid thing in its core and tear out the chain in the ground.

You tell the Titan that the faction loves it and believes in it. If it can just find the strength to break out of the Jötnar's control and throttle the Medusoid one with her own chain…

"You killed me," says the Titan.

The Titan reaches inside its head and pulls you out - you frantically grab at cables to save yourself but the Titan pulls hard enough to rip its own cables out, not seeming to care.

"Phaeton, you killed me," says the Titan. "All of this your fault. You should have left my teleport-circuit the fuck alone. You killed me, and it should have been you. I despise you for what you have become."

"Phaeton, you killed me," echoes the Camera Titan, flying into view. She is still on fire, her frame constantly burning up and falling apart and into itself, all the while dripping with flaming debris.

You'd said to the Titan before, 'It would be an honour to die by your hand,' but not like this, it wasn't supposed be like this—

The TV Titan, the Camera Titan and the Medusoid Jötunn all converge on you horribly and tear your soul apart—

You awake, your face wet with tears.

Concerned hands stroke you. Palindrome, Solbakken and Arco all emit soft worried clucks of static.

"Can we hold you?" asks Palindrome.

You wordlessly climb into Palindrome's arms and let them wrap themself around you, while Arco and Solbakken fit themselves around you as best they can. You tremble, and your throat hurts from the strain of not crying out.

"Phaeton, you're so tense," says Arco as they stroke and rub you comfortingly. "Let it out. If it helps you to cry, do that."

You sob into Palindrome's front while they hold you tightly and Solbakken and Arco stroke you. At the back of your mind, with the part of it that can still notice such things, you're grateful that the three of them seem to know what to do with a crying human. Did Cygnus tell them in case they would need to know one day? …You feel guilty that the three TVs are all comforting you when they surely need comforting themselves. You hope that it helps them to hold you and stroke you.

"Palindrome…" you begin when you feel able to talk. "I realise it's a tall ask, but… these are extraordinary circumstances."

"What do you need?" asks Palindrome softly.

"Would you use your command-beam on me to calm me down a bit?" you ask. You could probably do with a sedative, but it's unlikely that there are any of those on hand and anyone qualified to administer a correct dosage. Using the command-beam on each other is the ultimate expression of trust between TVs, and you hope you won't offend Palindrome with your request.

"I'm sorry, but no," says Palindrome. "I'm touched that you'd let me do that, and I do like you enough to share that with you." Palindrome gives you a gentle squeeze as they talk. "But we can only do something like that with our command-beams if we're in a good state of mind. The way I feel right now, I'd only make you feel much worse. I wish I could help you more." Palindrome rubs their hand on your back.

You bury your face into Palindrome's front. "Would you…" you begin, hoping the request will make sense and you won't lapse into incoherence from stress. "Would you play some white noise for me? If I have some soft noise to listen to and some static to look at for a little while… if I could just have that to focus on, I might… feel a little better." Well. You won't actually feel better, probably, but you might feel a little more able to cope.

"That I can do," says Palindrome. They take back one of their hands and use it to gently raise your chin so you can look Palindrome in the screen. They tune into a blank frequency, making their display into a rolling boil of silver snow. They let the output pass to their speakers too, which emit a crackling drone.

"May I touch your screen?" you whisper.

"You may," Palindrome says, briefly dampening the volume of the white noise so they can be heard.

You touch your face to Palindrome's screen, feeling the carpet of static on your forehead and your nose, and letting the white-grey static fully illuminate your vision. Your eyes unfocus.

Solbakken and Arco move in quietly on either side of you. You let the three TVs reposition you gently so they can do whatever it is they have in mind. Solbakken and Arco copy Palindrome, making their screens snowy and letting their speakers hum. The pair of them press their screens gently to the sides of your head, filling your peripheral vision with more snow and bathing your ears in soft sound, and they wrap an arm each around you. You're encased in a cell of calming TVs, all three of them holding you securely and soothing you with their sound and light. You let the sensations wash over you.

You focus on the soft touches and sounds and sights until you think you're as calmed-down as you're going to get, given the circumstances, and pull away so you can sit up. The three TVs disengage and fade out their audio and visual static.

"You haven't eaten since we left the base, have you?" asks Arco.

"I haven't," you say. You'd been far too stressed and upset to eat but you know rationally that you should eat something for energy. You realise that you are a bit hungry now - maybe having a tiny nap made your body (which is calibrated by evolution to deal with dangers that can be run away from) realise that you aren't actually in mortal peril.

"I made something while you were sleeping," says Solbakken, "So you wouldn't have to wait for it to cook. I hope it's not revolting."

"Thank you," you say as you get up and investigate the cooking appliances. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Don't thank me yet," says Solbakken. "I've no idea if it's any good."

You discover that Solbakken has emptied some tins into the jam maker to make something almost a bit like a chilli: tomatoes, beans, freeze-dried onions, and some unidentifiable brownish-grey cubes of what might be meat or tofu. The bottom and sides have burnt to a crust from the high heat, but the middle looks edible. You scoop some into a bowl and taste it. Solbakken hasn't seasoned it at all, so it's not delicious, but it'll do. It's some hot protein, carbs and a bit of fibre.

"Is it good?" asks Solbakken, a little shyly.

"It's edible," you say. "You have the start of something good; really, the machine worked against you. It's for boiling sugar, so it was too hot for what you were trying to do. This is a job best suited to a pan on a hot plate - I mean a kitchen hot plate cooker, by the way, not a hot plate welder. I doubt that would make anything tasty. …I guess you could make pancakes in it, but they'd be horribly burnt. …I'm sorry, I don't want to sound ungrateful. I do appreciate the gesture." You make a mental note to check out the base kitchens later and see if you can swap the jam maker for a more suitable appliance - you'll need to take it to the kitchens to clean it properly anyway.

You finish eating and re-join the three TVs on the beds for a light cuddle, until your communicator chimes. You sit up properly and answer the call. "Hello, Fornax. I'm so glad to hear from you."

"I have a little bit of good news for you," says Fornax. (…What's that sound in the background of the call?) "Can you cast to tablet?"

You dock your communicator to your tablet so you can receive a video call from Fornax. In the feed, you see Fornax… and Seabrooks!

"You found her!" you exclaim. (Arco, Solbakken and Palindrome crane to look at what's going on.)

"That I did," says Fornax, displaying a smiling emoticon. You notice that their screen's wavering from tiredness - how long must they have searched, out in the cold, in fear of any Astros still surveilling the site? "And…" continues Fornax, bringing something else into view. "This one too. They didn't want to be separated, so I took both with me. I hope that wasn't a bad idea." Fornax holds up a carrier with another pigeon in it! "And one of my acquaintances gave me this," says Fornax, setting the carrier down and holding up a sack of commercial pigeon food. "They happened across some of these in a warehouse while on a recon mission the other day. They remembered that you own a pigeon and that I'm friends with you, so they brought back some for me to give to you. I'll look after both the pigeons until you get back."

"…Fornax, I don't know what to say," you reply. "You're wonderful! You took a big risk going back to the base site and looking for Seabrooks. I'm so happy you're safe!" Your mind immediately goes to 'you didn't have to' but you squash it down. Cygnus has told you before that you should accept nice gestures that are freely given, without reflexively throwing back a 'you don't have to' or 'only if you're sure'. "You did a really lovely and kind thing for me and for Seabrooks. I'm so happy to call you friend."

"I knew you wanted her back," says Fornax. "And I also knew you'd never ask anyone to do this for you. If I'd offered, you'd have told me not to risk myself. So… I went ahead and did it."

"I love you, Fornax," you tell them. "…I'd been wanting to find a suitable moment to tell you. I wish I'd been with-it enough to have said it in person back at the base… I want to say it right the fuck now, in case we don't get another chance. You're one of my favourite people and I love you so."

(Palindrome clenches their fists and quivers happily at hearing that. They'd told you before that they're a 'hopeless romantic'.)

"You've made me so happy, Phaeton," replies Fornax. They disappear from view as they talk, as they juggle holding their tablet and a charging cable and get themself plugged in. Fornax continues once they can give full attention to their tablet: "I love you, Phaeton. I enjoy your company and it feels as though we've known each other for years."

"Don't think that you had to risk your life to make me say that," you say. (On the video feed, Seabrooks coos as though in agreement. Is she picking up on the sound of your voice?)

"Don't worry, I didn't," says Fornax with an amused emoticon. "I just… Phaeton, I wish I could do more to be useful right now. I know my work and my team are still needed; clothes don't make or repair themselves. But I'm still just doing the same work I always do. I feel I ought to be doing more."

"Last I heard, Fifty-Eight-Forty-Three still didn't have a long-term assignment," you say. You're referring to the newest member of the TV faction, one of the few brought into existence since the start of the war. "Maybe you could try taking them on as an apprentice, see if they like it and if they're any good at it?" You move around a bit as you talk - the other TVs are starting calls to their own base-side friends and you want to avoid too much overlapping noise.

"That's a thought," says Fornax. "I might talk to Hisen about it later." On the video feed, you see Seabrooks flutter up onto Fornax's head - in response to which Fornax displays a delighted emoticon. "Do you think I can let the other pigeon out of the carrier?" asks Fornax. "I left it in there because I thought it would feel safer." Fornax lifts the carrier onto their lap and angles their tablet to show you.

"It seems calm enough," you say. "You can let it out of the carrier to see what happens, but please keep them both indoors-"

"Of course," says Fornax.

"If nothing else, if they got outside they might fly back to where the base was because they think that's where home is. Pigeons can sense the Earth's magnetic fields. Actually, most animals can - humans are a weird exception."

Fornax opens the carrier and the pigeon inside happily hops out. It flutters up to join Seabrooks and both pigeons make contented noises, to Fornax's great amusement.

"What will you call the new one?" asks Fornax once the two pigeons flutter off to explore somewhere else in their quarters.

You think for a bit. "I'll give them matching names. This one will be Brannigans Roast Beef." It goes with Seabrooks's full name of Seabrooks Canadian Ham - both are brands of potato crisps. "Fornax, I can't thank you enough for doing this - both for rescuing them and for looking after them."

"Come back to me safely," says Fornax. "That's how you can thank me. I'll be waiting, with Seabrooks and Brannigans. It's coming to the end of my break now, so I must take my leave. Let's speak again soon."

"Do let's," you reply. "Ah'll sithee, Fornax. I love you."

"I love you, Phaeton," replies Fornax. "Ah'll sithee."

A happy purr rises from your throat. You'd lost nearly everything… and now you've got a little bit of happiness back. Another seed of hope. You get another little sliver of happiness when you see a call coming in from Cygnus. You hadn't tried calling them because their status had been constantly on 'unavailable' - they must have finally reached a break-time.

"Cygnus, I miss you so much," you say as you answer the call. "Right now I just want to cuddle with you and sleep forever."

"I miss you, Phaeton," replies Cygnus. "I got your message saying you'd arrived - thank you. I… wish I knew what to say. I've built a career on always knowing what's best to say in each situation… but this? This was never supposed to happen. I feel as though… I'm just carrying on because I don't know what else to do. It doesn't feel worth it to keep going."

"I know," you say. "I can still feel superficial moments of happiness, but deep down it feels as though I can never be truly happy again. I've lost my friend! My dear Titan. And it's terrifying that there's something out there that can… kill a Titan. …But I have to believe we can get our Titan back. Even if I have to lie to myself, I have to keep believing it. Because if I stop, I don't know what I'll do."

"I wish I could hold you, Phaeton," replies Cygnus sorrowfully. "I need that too."

"Have you heard what Fornax did?" you ask.

"No?" says Cygnus, sounding worried. "What happened to them?"

"Nothing bad!" You quickly reassure Cygnus. "They found Seabrooks! And caught her and brought her back - she's in Fornax's quarters."

"Oh, you must be so relieved," says Cygnus. "That's lovely news. …Officially, I'm sure Fornax broke several rules doing that, but I'll overlook it. And I suppose it's probably a good thing if they depleted any fog-packs they still had."

"How is Nil?" you ask. "Have they come with you?" You're referring to the former Imperator, fallen from grace and now redeeming themself as Cygnus's understudy.

"No, that would be quite the trial by fire," replies Cygnus. "They're back at base, compiling reports for me and seeing how much they can glean from my network of contacts. I don't expect them to be able to help me much at this stage - this is meant to be a learning experience for them." Cygnus emits a static crackle like a sigh. "I'm so glad I caught you on break and got to hear your voice. I'm sorry, dear one, but I have to go now."

"Can you do one more thing for me?" you ask.

"Name it."

"Wear the same tie for several days in a row - including while you're asleep, if you can. Then have it sent to me. I want something that smells of you."

"I'll do that for you, Phaeton," says Cygnus. "Look after yourself, and I'll see you when I can. I love you."

"I love you, Cygnus. Be safe."

The call ends, and you keep holding your communicator as if it holds some essence of Cygnus. After a moment, you return to the middle of the cluster of beds and lie down again. When the TVs finish their own calls, they come over and join you, forming a cuddle-pile again. The four of you snuggle close and enjoy each other's solidity and the build-up of trapped warmth.

"You miss Cygnus and Fornax, don't you?" asks Palindrome.

"…Yeah. I really do," you manage to reply. "…What about you? Did you leave someone behind too?"

Palindrome pauses before answering. "…I'll tell you about that later, in private."

"Solbakken, what about you?" you ask.

"I miss my friend from the logistics department," replies Solbakken. "The one you might have seen me sitting with in the north break room - their name is Risga."

"Yes, I remember," you say. Solbakken's never actually told you about their partner before - but that's just how TVs are. They'll happily tell you things if you ask, but you have to ask. If there's no particular benefit to telling you something, they won't bother telling you unprompted. It's their way of respecting your time. "And you, Arco? Is there someone you miss right now?"

"I'm not in a relationship right now, if that's what you're asking," replies Arco. "But of course I miss being with the rest of the engineering crew. …And I miss Polycephaly dropping in randomly to chat shit with us."

All four of you cuddle a bit closer. …It occurs to you that being in a 'tunnel' of bunk beds like this is a crude simulacrum of being in the Titan's core. You flinch with renewed grief.

After a while, Arco suggests: "Solbakken, why don't you and I go back to the hangar? They'll be expecting us back in about twenty minutes. Palindrome, you and Phaeton can talk about whatever it was you wanted to tell them in private."

"I'm okay with that," says Solbakken. "Phaeton, Palindrome, we'll see you soon." Solbakken and Arco get up and head out.

"Did you want to talk about something?" you ask Palindrome when it's just the two of you.

"…May I share a personal matter with you?" asks Palindrome.

"Of course, my friend," you say. "I'm listening."

"I find it hard to maintain a close relationship for long," says Palindrome. "…It seems my partners build up an image of me in their minds that I can't possibly live up to, and then they're disappointed when I inevitably don't."

"I'm sorry." You give Palindrome a squeeze. "…Is it because you were a former Titan candidate, so they expect you to be-" You were about to say 'superhuman' but of course Palindrome literally isn't human. "-hyper-competent, in a way no-one could actually fulfil without burnout?"

"I think so," replies Palindrome. "There are fourteen other former candidates too, but they all returned to their work as field agents. I'm the only one who retrained as an engineer. I think people love the idea of me more than they actually love me." (You stroke Palindrome's arm to show you're listening.) "And," continues Palindrome, "…You know I have a… side-line in creating and altering aphrodisiac programs and sex mods?"

"And dealing in zarennen oil," you point out. "Yes. Do you find that puts people off or they expect you to be into things you're not?"

"…Yes," says Palindrome sadly. "I don't want to have to hide that side of me. I like to help people discover new things about themselves and to explore types of joy they've never encountered before. But not everyone sees it that way."

You wrap yourself around Palindrome. "I'm sorry. You're lovely - they don't know what they're missing out on."

"…Thank you." Palindrome redoubles their warm embrace. "Thank you for listening. You're a good friend, Phaeton."

"You're a good friend to me, Palindrome. You're kind and patient with me, and I really consider you one of my favourite people… I love you. I'm really lucky to know you and I'm glad we're friends." The part of you that thinks unkind thoughts makes you doubt your own words - do you really mean them or are you saying them because apparently anyone can disappear now, so you'd better say them before it's too late? You tell that part of you to shut up. Palindrome is a lovely friend. You choose to love them.

"Oh, Phaeton…" Palindrome gathers you up in their arms. "I never dared to think." They purr their speakers. "My dear friend." Palindrome croons appreciatively as they hug you more tightly. "I'm happy to know you. I love you, Phaeton. I'm glad you're here with me right now."

You and Palindrome cuddle with renewed happiness. Whatever else happens next, you've got someone you love, here in your corner.

"Satisfy my curiosity, Phaeton," says Palindrome. "Why do you like the TV faction best?"

Your response:

• "I see myself in you."
• "I admire you."
• "You're cute!"

"I get on better with most TVs than I do with Cams or Soundkind. I do admire the Cams' selflessness and the Soundkind's joyfulness and exhuberance. But the way TVs work most fits how I like to work. You're most like me."

"I'm glad you found a home in our faction," says Palindrome. "You really belong with us." They wrap themself around you anew and purr their speakers proudly.

Continue…

"I admire how even though you're the smallest faction you're arguably the most powerful. You don't settle for less than perfect. You don't cut corners - you stack everything up in your favour and even then you keep fallback plans. If the other two factions were more like you, we might not even still be in this war."

"Astutely observed," says Palindrome. "And you sensibly decided to align yourself with the most powerful faction. I hope we stay in your good graces." Palindrome scruffles your hair in a playful fashion.

Continue…

"You are the most adorable type of techfolk. You're all so cute! I love how you display emoticons on your screens and purr your speakers when you're happy."

Palindrome is surprised. "I wasn't expecting that to be your reasoning! But I'll take it. I'm happy to be regarded as cute by such a cute human."

Continue…

You enjoy a cuddle with Palindrome for a little while longer. Then something occurs to you, and you ask: "Can you go into the void at all with your teleport-circuit empty?"

"Technically, but I could port maybe one metre away. No better than just taking a step," says Palindrome. "…I suppose it would help if I found myself on the wrong side of a locked door."

"That's fine; I don't need to go anywhere," you say. "But I'm worried about Embryon, and if it's okay. Can you bring me into the void momentarily and I'll see if I can detect Embryon? If it wants to be found, I'll be able to see it."

"Let's give it a try," says Palindrome. They hold you as closely as they can without hurting you, and move sideways from reality into the void.

Your surroundings flicker; you occasionally get glimpses of the room through the omnipresent void fog, as if you were viewing it through a glass of dark liquid.

You're back in the room. "That's really all I can handle. Sorry, Phaeton. Did you see anything useful?"

"I didn't," you say. "I suppose it was too much to hope that Embryon would happen to be somewhere I could see it."

"I suppose it was worth a try," says Palindrome. "…What do you make of some of the Cams forming a truce with the Skibs? I hate the thought of it, but if it gets to the point where it's the Alliance's only chance of survival… what then?"

Your response:

• Accept the truce for survival's sake
• Go along with the temporary truce, but it's only temporary
• Fuck the truce

"I'll still hate G-Toilet for what he chose to do to our planet, and any of the toilets he brought with him… but I wish for an end to the enmity with the skibs who were transformed humans. At the end of the day, I'm technically the same animal as them. I'd live with letting G-Toilet go free if I means I get that."

"It would rankle to let G-Toilet evade justice," says Palindrome. "But if it would give you peace and the rest of humanity, I suppose it's a necessary evil."

Continue…

"I've no doubt G-Toilet is sincere about wanting the truce, because he recognises it's his best chance of surviving the Astros, but I've also no doubt he's only using the Alliance and doesn't actually feel any remorse for his actions. We're just pawns to him, so we shouldn't have any qualms about reciprocating. We'll hold the Astros off together, and then that fucker must die."

"Treat G-Toilet with as much disdain as he treats us," says Palindrome. "Why not, after all? It's no more or less than what he deserves."

Continue…

"Fuck 'em. If the Astros want to kill us all, Skibidi and Alliance alike, let the Skibs perish. I'd leave alone any Skibs who don't want to fight us any more, but they're on their own. It's the Skibidis' fault the Astros even came to Earth."

"Perhaps mutually assured destruction, but destruction nonetheless," says Palindrome. "If we're ultimately doomed no matter which path we choose, I suppose we might as well die sticking to our principles and keeping our pride."

Continue…

"…The Titan didn't want to accept the truce," continues Palindrome. "Was that a mistake? …I just don't know what to think any more."

"I know." You squeeze Palindrome, and they return the gesture. "…Do you suppose the - core-burrower, I guess - has control over Legion too? If it has full control over the Titan's frame, I suppose it does." You're referring to the Titan's sub-self that it can transfer control to, to better interact with minim-class units. It lives in a cell behind the Titan's core chamber and can come out when the Titan is stationary.

"You think Legion might be able to somehow sabotage the Astro parasite from outside the core chamber?" asks Palindrome.

"I hope so," you say. …But do you really? What if the Titan-as-Audeamus is pleasantly oblivious to its fate but the Titan-as-Legion is trapped in a hell-space, suffering and screaming in vain? You shudder, prompting Palindrome to hold you comfortingly.

"My letter from the Titan… had some tips for what to expect if I'm selected as the next one," Palindrome says. "…I don't know if I'd still be considered. I was a candidate, as you know, but what would happen if we held the Titangrinder now? Would I still have what it took?"

"Would they even hold the trials again?" you ask. "Assuming we couldn't find Embryon, or it refused. In the name of speed, it might be better not to bother with another Titangrinder and just go with one of the previous candidates. I guess it would be Icarus or Primus, and the Imperator would get another guard. But I'm sure they'd miss each other." You've seen first-hand the mutual affection Primus and Icarus have when off-duty. "Oh, that's a thought - if one of the previous candidates gets upgraded to Titan status, will the remaining candidates get re-serialised again?"

When the Titan was created, all the unsuccessful candidates had their serial numbers re-assigned, so that none except the Titan themself and Zenith the Engineer Prime would know which candidate had become the Titan.

"I hope not," says Palindrome worriedly. "I don't want to go through that again."

You press yourself into Palindrome comfortingly. "Was the process distressing?"

"No, it wasn't," says Palindrome. "It just felt like going into sleep mode and waking up. But all candidates were expected to break up with long-term partners before the Titangrinder. The Titan has to be fully devoted to its role, and that becomes troublesome if everyone knows whom it used to be."

The Titan had once told you about this, and it had asked you how you would feel if Cygnus became a Titan. You imagined the bittersweetness of knowing your friend had become immensely powerful, but knowing that that personal relationship couldn't ever be the same. By having all the candidates take on new identities, everyone who knew a former Titan candidate at least gets to think 'That might be my dear friend.'

"…You left someone behind, didn't you?" you ask Palindrome.

"Yes," says Palindrome. "I wasn't the only one. I already told you about Club 15 where former candidates meet. It has a counterpart; a club for those who loved someone whose identity was lost to the Titangrinder. …Many of them paired off with each other."

You touch your forehead to Palindrome's head-casing. "I love you, my friend. I never knew your past self but your current self is my very good friend. I hope we can stay friends always, no matter what form you take."

Palindrome wordlessly hugs you to them, and you cling to each other.

If the Titan is truly beyond saving… (you cry and shiver a little at the thought, and Palindrome holds you a little tighter) …would it be best to leave its former identity secret? Would it be better to reveal it, so its former closest friends would have closure? Which would be worse; to know a dear friend is definitely dead, or to believe they're content but in a new life with new loves?

"I suppose we should head back to the hangar," says Palindrome after a while.

"Yeah," you agree. "I'm… absolutely not at my best. But I want to try anyway. The Sound Titan's nice - I want to help fix her."

You and Palindrome end your cuddle with a final little squeeze, then ready yourselves to walk back to the Titan hangar. You arrive… and find that Trashbag and Hype Tram Jam are waiting outside.

"Phaeton, may I have a few minutes of your time in private?" asks Trashbag.

"Of course," you say. "Palindrome, I'll see you inside in a bit."

Palindrome takes their leave, going through the security check and entering the hangar.

"Are you scruffable?" Trashbag asks you.

Most of the minim-class units in the Camera and Soundkind factions have harness-like reinforcements built into their work clothes, enabling large units to pick them up by the scruff and pop them down somewhere, without tearing or stretching the garment. The TVs don't bother with these, given that they can teleport themselves anywhere and the faction has only the one large unit among its ranks.

"I'm not," you say. "I'm happy to walk, but if you're okay with carrying me, I'm okay with being picked up."

Trashbag considers. "Alright," they say, and crouch to pick you up. They seem a little taken aback at how unhesitantly you jump into their arms - they must not realise how much practice you've had with Polycephaly. Trashbag gathers you in the crook of an arm, then scruffs Hype Tram Jam with their other hand and takes off striding down the corridor.

"The tailors here have already contacted me about their services," you say as Trashbag carries you. "I might as well ask if they can add a scruff harness to my work clothes." (Trashbag replies with an approving whistle.) You wonder if the TVs would tolerate having them added. If they can't teleport until further notice, they might appreciate being lifted up onto higher structures instead of having to climb up.

The three of you arrive outside a meeting room, and Trashbag sets you and Hype Tram Jam down so they can open the door. (It's sized for a large Soundkind with a much smaller door set into it for minim-class units.) You and Hype Tram Jam take seats while Trashbag steps down onto the lower level of the staggered floor, so they can sit opposite you without towering ridiculously over you.

"I have news to share which might be of interest to you," begins Trashbag.

Is it news about recovering the Titan? You get a flash of hope, then realise that if it was to do with the Titan, Trashbag would surely have told the TVs at the same time. What could this be?

Trashbag continues: "Several months ago, two humans visited this base."

That's got your attention.

"They were wilderness survivors - as I'm told you used to be," continues Trashbag. "We gave them supplies and let them stay overnight. We implored them to stay longer, but they wanted to keep moving. They asked us not to tell anyone else about their presence for their safety, but I feel able to tell you about this because they described a friend of theirs… and I've come to realise their description matched you. I think you might know these humans."

You think you do know who this is… one of them, at least. You're not sure how much to reveal. You haven't told anyone else about your wilderness companion, not even Cygnus. Maybe that was overly cautious? You'd figured that the fewer people knew, the lesser the chance of the enemy finding them. But things have changed so much since then. Their best chance of survival is surely with the Alliance rather than in the wilderness.

"I did run with another human back when I was a wilderness survivor," you say. "Just the one, though. Their name was Chaos. Mine was Havoc. Once the Skibidi plague swept through the land and I had to live on the run in the wilderness, I gave myself a new identity. Instead of being my old self who lost everything, I re-invented myself as Havoc, who had always been a feral human. Then I discarded that persona and became Phaeton when I joined the Alliance. Being Havoc was necessary for survival, but I needed to put that persona away to rejoin civilisation. When I met Chaos, they liked what I'd done with my name, so they gave themself a new name to match mine."

"…These human called themselves Chaos and Mayhem," says Trashbag. "I think this confirms this Chaos was the same human you knew."

"I don't know who Mayhem is," you say. "They must have liked my and Chaos' naming scheme and followed it. That's cute. I'm glad they made it at least this long."

"Did you get separated?" asks Hype Tram Jam.

"We separated voluntarily," you explain. "I decided to throw my lot in with the Alliance while they wanted to keep searching the wilderness. We thought by splitting we might increase our chances of finding more humans. I guess in a way, that did happen - they met Mayhem and I didn't. …I don't suppose they said where they were going?"

"No," says Trashbag. "I'm sorry this information isn't more useful to you, but …I thought you would like to know."

"You thought correctly," you say. "Thank you. This gives me a bit of hope for the future. …Would you give me a lift back to the hangar?"

Trashbag carries you back to where you were, their metres-long strides closing the distance far quicker than yours would.

"We'll see you around, no doubt," says Hype Tram Jam.

You reflexively hold out your fist for a TV-style fist-bump, forgetting those are less common in the other factions. Hype Tram Jam nonetheless completes the gesture - being the secretary for an inter-faction liaison makes them well-versed in customs from other parts of the Alliance.

"Ah'll sithee," you tell both the Soundkind. You go through the security check and re-enter the Sound Titan's hangar.

You spot one of the TVs on a far walkway, apparently in discussion with a Soundkind engineer about the contents of a readout panel. (You reckon it's Arco from the way they're standing. They're too far away for your communicator to parse the yes-I-live signal. You can tell it's not Palindrome, because their rose-gold loop aerial makes them easily identifiable.) Another of the TVs is on the hangar floor far below, arms-deep in an access panel on some part of the Titan's detached weaponry.

Slightest House Propaganda welcomes you back to the hangar, then digs something out of their pocket to give to you. It turns out to be a handful of pencil erasers shaped like poo emojis.

You take them, because it's hard to not accept something that someone's handing you. "…Thank you, I guess," you say. "What're these for?"

"It gets noisy in here sometimes," says Slightest House Propaganda. "Of course it's not a problem for us, because we can always communicate through transmission. If you need to get someone's attention and you can't yell loud enough for them to hear you, feel free to throw a poo emoji at them."

You actually guffaw a bit, surprising yourself that you're still capable of that. You pocket the rubber jobbies and ask Slightest House Propaganda, "What am I doing next?"

"We'd like your help with removing the Skibidi modifications," says Slightest House Propaganda, leading you to the area where you'll be working. "There's still a lot of their cabling left in our Titan and we all want it gone. We're also pulling out any redundant cabling of our own."

Slightest House Propaganda walks you over to a gantry and introduces you to a trio of engineers standing in a cherry-picker platform to access the Titan's wiring. The three engineers are named Perpetual Lemonade Raygun, Very Long Chicken and Realisant Mon Espoire.

One of them (Very Long Chicken) drives the platform back to you so it can dock with the gantry, and they open the docked gates so you can join them. The three engineers explain that they're removing and replacing wiring that was installed by the Skibidis when the Sound Titan was under their control. At first you reckon it's somewhat easy to identify the errant wires because the Skibidis' cable management was less elegant than the Soundkind's, but you come to realise that some of the original Soundkind cabling has been pushed aside and tangled so it looks similar to the Skib cabling. In addition, the Soundkind have had to perform temporary repairs as they went, resulting in less-than-perfect cabling there too. This time, though, the Sound Titan is remaining thoroughly benched until all repairs and upgrades are done - no more rushed patch-jobs. As you pull out unwanted cables, you and the trio of Soundkind pass them to each other to throw down a temporary waste chute bolted to the walkway, which empties into a skip on the hangar floor.

Occasionally, one of the three Soundkind starts playing a song, and the other two time their movements to the beat of the song so as not to disturb it. Clearly, it's Soundkind etiquette to not throw off someone's groove.

To your surprise, you end up getting into the work… really into it. You rip out cables forcefully, imagining you're ripping and tearing Astros…

The Titan emits a quiet (by her standards) but still obvious squeak of discomfort at how hard you're tearing out wires.

Well, you already fucking killed two Titans, why not go three-for-three—

You tremble with sorrow and with disgust at yourself, and end up dropping the cluster of wires you were holding, having lost track of which ones to keep and which ones to discard…

"Take a break," says Realisant Mon Espoire, putting a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "You've actually done quite a lot; more than I would have expected. Look down."

You do so, and see the heap of discarded wiring, in a much taller pile than when you started. Perpetual Lemonade Raygun assumes the controls of the cherry-picker and drives it back to dock with the gantry so you can disembark.

Very Long Chicken accompanies you back to the gantry. "This is fortuitous timing," they say. "Static Rook Anaguma says Peaches is here and would like to meet you if they can."

You already know one of those names: Static Rook Anaguma is the Soundkind Engineer Prime; Zenith's counterpart. But the other is unfamiliar. "Who is Peaches?" you ask.

"Peaches is the Imperator," says Very Long Chicken. "Peaches En Regalia, to use their full name. But please call them 'Imperator' until they say otherwise."

"Understood," you reply. "If the Imperator wants to meet me, I have no objections."

"I'll tell Static Rook Anaguma," says Very Long Chicken. They don't get out their communicator; they must be in transmission range. Very Long Chicken stands with you for a little while until Static Rook Anaguma arrives, accompanied by Imperator Soundkind.

The Imperator is as elegantly styled as ever you've seen them from broadcasts — with the addition of a plain black mourning band on their upper arm, interrupting the pinstripes of their suit. The Alliance raid that saw the assassination of the Skibidis' lead scientist also saw the deaths of Double Plunger and Black Jack Guillotine, the elite agents of the Camera and Soundkind factions.

"Well met, Phaeton," says the Imperator. Their voice is as elegant as their appearance.

The words 'I'm sorry for your loss' form in your mind as you look at the Imperator's arm band. Should you say them? It's the thing you're supposed to say when someone's loved one dies, isn't it?

Are you actually sorry? Or are you just parroting what you're 'supposed' to?

…You don't think you're that sorry. Yes, it's objectively sad that Black Jack Guillotine died (and a martyr's death at that), but you didn't know them at all, and you just can't find it in you to feel sad about the death of a stranger, after everything that's just happened…

"You haven't had time to grieve, have you?" The Imperator's gentle voice interrupts your reverie. You realise you didn't actually reply when they said hello…

The Imperator holds their arms out to you, offering a hug.

You all but spring forward to accept, willingly pressing yourself to the Imperator as they gather you in their arms.

"You're right," you say tearfully. You remember your manners. "Imperator."

"I know," says the Imperator kindly. "Neither have I."

You find your voice. "We deserved better."

"Yes," says the Imperator quietly, clutching you a little more. "Poor human. You've suffered more than most. We've all lost someone, but you're the only one who lost your entire species. I can't imagine how lonely that is."

The Imperator's kind words, warm embrace and concerned tone make you cry all the harder.

"…Was that the wrong thing to say?" asks Imperator Peaches.

"No. Was fine," you manage to say around your breath hitching. "Just need to cry. Too many emotions for my meat body to contain. Need to let some out."

"You are rather like us," says the Imperator. "That is why we Soundkind sing and dance. There is too much music in us for our frames to contain, so we must let it out. …What a soft little frame you have. It must overfill with emotions quickly."

Movement at the edge of your vision catches your eye, and you turn your head to see the Sound Titan's hand arrive next to the walkway, clearly inviting you to step on. Alright, you think. You are here to assist the Titan. You just hope you're not too much of a mess to help the Titan with what she needs.

"Imperator, it was nice to meet you," you say. "I'm going to help your Titan now."

"Of course," says the Imperator, ending the hug. "And call me Peaches En Regalia." Peaches helps you by lifting you over the walkway railings onto the Titan's hand.

The Titan carefully closes her fingers around you to hold you safely, then brings you to a gantry right in front of the two speakers at the front of her face.

Once you've found your feet, the Titan guides you to her face, encouraging you against one of her huge speaker-cones. You're reluctant to touch it, for fear of causing her discomfort - but her stroking and pushing, though gentle, is quite insistent. She clearly wants you to lean into her speaker. You comply, leaning your forehead against the dust-cap in the middle of her speaker-cone. It's glossy and black like a colossal obsidian bead. The Titan strokes your back with a fingertip, rubbing in little circles and then up and down your spine.

The Sound Titan buzzes her speakers, ever so softly, vibrating at a soothing healing frequency like a cat's purr. You're surprised by just how calming yet invigorating it is, as though the Titan is somehow lending you some of her courage.

The Titan uses her hand to cup and encase you, keeping you in a little cell between her hand and her speaker. The dark and closeness and warmth are comforting. Your body un-tenses and you notice yourself relaxing, feeling as though knots of tension inside you are coming undone. Eventually you realise you're emitting sighs of contentment, in sync with the soft rhythmic rumbles from the Titan's speaker. The Titan withdraws her hand, and nudges at the communicator and headset slung at your hip. She must want you to put the headset on so she can talk to you via transmission - talking vocally at this range would be overwhelming for you.

"Phaeton, I'd like you to take a look at something at the back of my core chamber," says the Titan in your earpiece. "May I put you in there?"

"Yes, of course, Titan," you say, and allow the Titan to pick you up again and convey you there.

It's comfortingly familiar in here for a second, then that same familiarity crushes you with sorrow. Will you ever get to do this again with your own dear Titan? …You head to the back of the core chamber, as instructed, and begin inspecting. You can't see anything immediately out of place or obviously damaged.

"I can feel you there," says the Titan through your headset. "Have a sit down."

You do so, wondering what kind of maintenance work the Titan needs doing.

"There you go, brave little cicada," continues the Titan. "I actually don't need anything done to my core chamber right now. I wanted you here so you could speak freely without being overheard. Everyone else has the option of talking to me privately via transmission, but I know you don't."

"…Thank you," you say, though you're not sure what you're being expected to speak freely about. "…Why am I a cicada, by the way? I'm not displeased, mind; they're handsome and charming bugs."

"Just like you!" says the Titan.

"Really?"

"Of course. And we Soundkind rather admire cicadas," explains the Sound Titan. "They're stylish little creatures that manage to be amazingly loud, they know when to hide away, and they love to sing. All qualities we try to show in ourselves. …Thank you for meeting the Imperator, by the way. I think it'll be good for them to have met a living unskibbed human. You're like a little beacon of hope. The Skibidi plague devastated the world but it didn't get everyone. There's still a little holdout in you."

"…Thank you, Titan," you say. "That's a nice way of looking at things."

"…I know something of what your Titan is going through," says Titan Soundkind. "I don't know if it will feel exactly the same, because it's a different technology, but… I know that pain and indignity. I will get your Titan back, Phaeton. The Alliance never stopped trying to bring me back, and I won't stop either. They could have written me off as un-salvageable and destroyed me. I expected them to - with the part of me that could still think. But they never stopped trying to remove the manipulator."

You pet-pat the inside of the Titan's core chamber to show your appreciation, not trusting your voice. When you do feel ready to speak, you manage to say, "Thank you. I believe you… But I'm frightened. The Astros seem to have faster technological prowess than the Skibidis do."

"We shall see," says the Sound Titan. "Your Titan managed to bring back something; maybe that's what we need to turn this around. Phaeton… I can't promise you this will be quick. I was trapped for a long time. But I did come back."

You squeak out a sob at the thought of your Titan suffering. But the Sound Titan's words do inspire you. You rub the floor of the core chamber to show you did hear them.

"I owe a debt of gratitude to your faction," continues Titan Soundkind. "It was Titan Camera who had to battle me, but it was your Imperator who dispatched the manipulator Skibidi. …They spent a lot of time talking with me afterwards. I was afraid the TV faction would hate me for… what I did to your Titan. But your Imperator made it very clear that the faction bore me no grudge. And now I consider your Titan a close friend. I just hope… they remember what the Alliance did for me, and they hold onto hope that we'll do the same for them. We must all be brave, little cicada."

The Sound Titan will have to be bravest of all, you think. She's going to have to do the work of two Titans…

"Thank you, Titan," you say. "I will… do my best, so you can do yours."

"May I tell you something in confidence, little cicada?"

"I'm listening," you say. "And I'll keep your secrets."

"Being under the manipulator's control was terrifying, for the obvious reasons, but there's another one I haven't told anyone about… I kept finding myself thinking 'If we were on the same side, we'd get on so well.' And I think that scares me more than the manipulation itself."

"Is it…" you think for a moment. "Is it because the skibidis have the same kind of carefree attitude as the Soundkind? Soundkind like to party, and the skibs seem… not unhappy with their fate. They have a zest for life that I often find myself grudgingly admiring."

"Yes…" says the Sound Titan. "Yes, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. That's a relief. I wasn't even sure if it was an original thought or something the manipulator planted in my psyche. …Thank you for listening, little cicada. You've helped me a lot."

"And I'm glad it's not just me who thought that," you say. "Titan… do you have a name besides 'Titan'? I can normally use my communicator to scan yes-I-live signals, but it can't find yours for some reason. I don't know if that's because yours is on a special frequency or if it's just because your upgrade cycle is a Mad Max right now."

"A little of both, probably," says the Titan. "And I don't currently have a public name, no. My faction is not so secretive about its Titan's former identity as yours is - if you do a little digging in the Soundkind archives, you can probably find my old name. But I don't go by that any more. I was that person, but I am so much more now. …And I have a name that only Static Rook Anaguma calls me, but that's not for anyone else to know."

"Oh, that's got me intrigued," you say. "But I shan't pry. …Might I suggest a nickname for you? I found it mildly confusing to have three different entities all called Titan, so I thought of names for you all. My own Titan is Audeamus - it means 'let us dare'."

"That has a nice flow to it," says the Sound Titan. "I'll tell you what. You can suggest a name for me, if I can suggest a second name for you. You humans usually have at least two-part names, don't you?"

"In most cultures, yes. What did you have in mind for me?" you ask.

"I name you Phaeton Morgenstern. I called you 'like a beacon' earlier. I don't see the sky the same way humans do, but I know of the 'morning star' of Venus. It's a reliable little light in the sky, the first to come out in the evening and the last to leave in the morning. And the word 'morgenstern' can refer to a weapon as well as an actual morning star. You have survived this long, so you must be strong in your own way." The Titan's clearly thought about this already.

"Oh, I love it! I'm keeping it for sure," you say. "Thank you, Titan." You make a mental note to update your faction record when you can.

The Titan asks, "And what would you call me besides Titan?"

"Loquitur."

"Because I'm loquacious?"

"If you like," you reply. "It's short for Ruber Qui Loquitur - it means 'the red one speaks'. I picked it because I thought it had a nice little rhythm to it, and you Soundkind tend to pick three-word names." You hope the Sound Titan doesn't dislike it for being too simplistic in meaning.

"Oh, I like it very much!" says Loquitur. "Thank you, Phaeton. …Did you think of a name for Titan Camera too?"

"Yes, hers is Hyperion Panoptes. Hyperion means 'the one who comes first', because she's the first Titan. Panoptes means 'all-seeing'."

"I think she'll like that," says Loquitur. "I hope you get the chance to suggest it one day. …I do worry about her a lot. She's my dear friend and it hurts not knowing what happened."

You stroke the wall of Loquitur's core chamber in what you hope is a comforting manner.

"I think…" continues Loquitur, "She must have been suffering for longer than anyone suspected. I was shocked to hear what she did to you at Antlia-Four." The Camera Titan had made a stop-over visit at Antlia-Four Base for repairs. You'd gone to get a look at the first of the Titans, and she mistook you for an enemy and tried to attack you. It caused quite a diplomatic incident." "I don't disbelieve you, and you had plenty of witnesses, but that sounds very unlike Panoptes. I think she was more disoriented from battle-damage than anyone realised." Probably from grief, too, you reckon. Your understanding is that Panoptes was close to her elite agent Double Plunger.

You hear the sounds of activity winding down in the hangar, as well as as a sound you recognise as the panels in the hangar walls rotating, switching either to or from noise-dampening or noise-reflecting.

"It's about time for the evening scream," says the Titan. "Would you like to participate?"

"Is that what it sounds like?"

"Just so. If you have more emotions in your frame than you know what to do with, maybe this would be a cathartic outlet."

You get up and walk towards the core chamber entrance so Loquitur can carry you back to the walkways.

"Remember," says Loquitur, still in your earpiece, "If ever there comes a time when you can't stay with the TV faction for whatever reason, you can join us. There's a place for you in the Soundkind faction if you need it, for as long as you need it. I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you, Loquitur," you say as you step onto her hand and get carried back to the walkways.

"Let's hear what you've got," says Loquitur vocally.

You join all the other engineers on the walkways standing in front of the Titan. In anticipation of what you reckon is going to happen, you turn your headset to noise-cancelling mode. To your amusement, you notice the Camera engineers joining too… can they scream? Maybe it's a bit like being caught up in the excitement at a concert, when the crowd sings and it feels as though that great volume of voices is surging out of your own throat. You can see the three TVs here too. …Maybe the Cams can join in by broadcasting to them and having the TVs play the sound from their speakers?

A mighty rumbling begins behind you, as Loquitur begins the group screaming session. She roars with the primal force and implacability of a glacier, carving a path through mountains as it goes.

That's the Soundkind's cue to raise their speakers high and scream at their favourite frequency, making an orchestra of high and low yells that lance through the air.

You scream.

You scream for vengeance. For love. You scream with rage, with frustration, at injustice, in defiance.

You scream out all your hatred and anger, loosing the primordial-self that's been sitting dormant inside you for millions of years of genetic memory, just waiting to be called forth. You scream until your throat hurts, and scream some more.

For the Titan.
For Cygnus.
For Fornax.
For Polycephaly, for the Imperator, for Palindrome, for Test Twice, for everyone who has had to suffer at the hands of the enemy.
You scream for yourself, for your future.

Until you can scream no more, and hold onto the railing in front of you and sob.

Soft touches lap at your shoulders, and you turn to see Palindrome, Arco and Solbakken standing nearby, stroking you. You gratefully accept a hug from Palindrome. (TVs don't normally display such affection in front of the other factions. Times must be changing.)

Kinetic Octopus Drink approaches you. "Will you be spending the night in the hangar?"

"I need to go back to my quarters to eat something," you say, "And I need to plan out what else I'll need while I'm staying here. I… might or might not come back tonight. I'd like to join everyone else, but I'd also like to sleep in a human bed."

"Of course," says Kinetic Octopus Drink. "You can do whichever you like. You have free access to the hangar, so you can change your mind and enter and leave as you please. We'll see you again when we see you."

"Are you okay to head back to our quarters on your own?" asks Palindrome.

"Yes, I'll be grand," you say. "Are you staying here then?"

"I might do," says Palindrome. "I want to stay and browse the hangar intranet for a time. I might just stay here overnight or I might come and join you."

"We'll see how it goes," says Arco. "We'll see you later or tomorrow morning, depending on what we end up doing."

You say goodnight to Arco, Palindrome, Solbakken and Kinetic Octopus Drink, then head back to your quarters. You arrive at the dormitory to find a fridge has been installed in your absence. Opening it reveals several fresh foods, including a loaf of bread. That was smart of whoever baked that. These are probably the things Test Twice sent you. It's strange to think that these came from Antlia-Four, somewhere you lived a lifetime ago. You notice your hunger, and make yourself some instant coffee and a whatever sandwich; all your brain can really cope with making right now. You'll need to investigate what's actually in the base kitchens at some point, but not today. It can fucking wait. (You remember you never actually took away the jam maker. It's not here. Someone else must have already dealt with it.)

You aren't sure how to untangle the clusterfuck of emotions in you, as tangled together as Loquitur's wiring. You feel sad and wretched, yes, but now there's anger in the mix. The Alliance was so close to ending the war with the Skibidis, and then the Astros had to come along… It's all just so — unfair.. It sounds so stupid to verbalise that, like the complaint of a petulant child, but you can't think of anything else. The Astros don't even seem to want to conquer the planet for the reasons humans conquer each other. They seem to be doing it purely out of spite.

You're grateful when your communicator chimes and snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts - especially as it's one of your custom alerts for your favourite contacts. You answer: "You've got Phaeton. Polycephaly, I am so relieved to hear from you."

"I felt it, Phaeton," says Polycephaly. "The moment the Titan was taken. I felt that poisoned rift-gate form, and how wrong it was. When they took the Titan… I felt the fabric of the Void being torn. The void-pathways were like when you break a spider's web and the whole web rips and deforms."

"Dear Polycephaly, I am so sorry," you say. "I wish I could comfort you right now. I miss you."

"…I miss you too," says Polycephaly. "I'm sorry for springing that on you."

"But you know you can do that, don't you?" you reply. "We're friends. You can tell me whatever you need to."

"…We are. Thank you." Polycephaly emits a static sound like a frustrated sigh. "…How did it come to this? I've got all this Astro crap bolted on me and I fucking hate it. Is this my future? Is this what I have to be now? Do I have to get more and more of this shit stuck to me until I lose who I am? …I'm a television. I'm not supposed to be this."

You think for a moment. "Well, fundamentally, what is a television for? Yes, you receive and display video data, but more fundamental than that: you make life better. That's ultimately why humans invented televisions. Existence is better for having you in it. And that's still true. This human's existence is better for having you in it. You're still improving the world."

"…Aren't you kind?" says Polycephaly. "That's honestly made me feel a little better. Thank you. My friend."

"When this is all over, I'll take all that Detainer shit off you and restore your stems myself. I'll give you screen-rubs and you can give me stem-cuddles."

"A bargain," says Polycephaly. "I look forward to it already. …You really think this will be all over one day?"

"I have to," you say. "Emotionally, no - I feel as though I'll never be happy again. But I have to keep believing it, or what's the point in trying? Right now, I can see only one option for getting our Titan back: putting our all into assisting Titan Soundkind. So I'm damn well going to do that. And then? I am going to have a huge fucking nervous breakdown. I've earned it and no-one can stop me."

"I'll be right in line after you," says Polycephaly. "Thank you for listening to me. I needed this. I can't tell you about what I'm doing - still confidential at this stage. It doesn't seem fair, though. You're my friend, and my faction's auxiliary. I hope I can tell you more soon. …Phaeton, how… are you, in context?"

"Materially, I guess I'm fine," you say. "I've got food, and there are cooking and washing facilities here. Bit short on clothes, but the tailors have said they'll help me. I need to keep reminding myself that there are people who can help me - we're in this together and nobody has to do everything on their own. And I have Seabrooks! Not here in person, I mean. Fornax went back for her and caught her."

"Bloody idiot," says Polycephaly. "Don't tell them I said that. That was a noble gesture but a foolish one. You could easily have ended up with no Seabrooks and no Fornax."

"I did think that myself," you say. "I hope Fornax doesn't feel inadequate because they're 'only' a tailor. I get to come to the Soundkind Base because I'm an engineer, you do field missions, and Cygnus gets to accompany the Imperator for diplomacy purposes. I really hope Fornax doesn't think that I think less of them for staying behind at the base."

"I guess no-one in our faction's up to acting at their most rationally right now," concedes Polycephaly. "I have to go soon. Do you… reckon you're up to a couple of rounds of vinegar talk?"

"Of course I am, because anything you can do, I can do better," you say, accepting the challenge. "I get to go first, because I am best. You're only a television because you failed quality control for being an oscilloscope, you dusty heap of old fuckery."

"A strong start, I enjoyed it," says Polycephaly. "But I think you're often too quick to reach for 'dusty'. It's a bit of a self-own, considering dust is human skin flakes. 'Fuck' is always funny but it did sound as though you weren't sure how to finish. Right, my turn. I put a recording of one of your farts into an SSTV decoder and it resolved into an image of a skibidi."

"Nicely terrifying, but it does imply that you collect recordings of my farts, which I could easily counter with. Recommend changing that to a pithier 'you farted into an SSTV decoder, et cetera.' Right, I'm up. You're such a manky old shitebag that if I tried to brush all the rust off you, you'd just disappear."

"Excellent work. You put citrus peel in your home compost."

"Below the belt. How very dare you. And well done, that's well-researched. You wear shoes like dead pigs' noses."

"Vile. Good work. You're so crap your nan cuts your hair in the shape of a bell-end."

"Oh, bravo, Polycephaly. That's sublime. I can't come back from that. I'm so proud of you." Both of you laugh. "I so needed that. Thank you, Polycephaly."

"Thank you too, Phaeton," says Polycephaly. "Stay safe, little budgie. I'll see you when I can."

"You take care too," you say. "I need you to stay alive - no-one gets me like you do. Ah'll sithee."

You sigh happily and lie back on the bed. You think you might rest here a bit longer then maybe get up and explore this bit of the Base before going to bed properly… Your communicator interrupts your thoughts once more, with a call from your Imperator this time.

"Imperator, you've got Phaeton," you say. "How are Primus and Icarus?"

"Hello Phaeton. They have already been repaired," says the Imperator. There's a pause, and you hear something indistinct. "And they thank you for asking. …Phaeton. I haven't forgotten that I said I'd promote you to Councillor."

"But now isn't a good time," you offer.

"Thank you for understanding. In addition…" The Imperator seems to be gathering their thoughts for saying something difficult.

You interrupt: "If you need to take it back, I shan't be offended. It was never officially declared, and no-one else knows you said it."

"I do stand by my words," says the Imperator. "But… if things ever calm down… I think I might call an election. You know I wasn't actually voted in?"

"Yes," you say, "You and Polycephaly told me how it went."

With the old Imperator missing and presumed dead, the at-the-time Vice-Imperator was granted the position by default. Except the Vice-Imperator gave it up… and became Polycephaly. Polycephaly's last act as the Vice-Imperator had been to promote their best advisor to the rank of Imperator Prime, where they remain.

"But," you remind the Imperator, "Nil started a motion of no confidence not that long ago. If the faction wasn't satisfied with your leadership, that would have been the perfect opportunity for them to replace you. Nobody wanted that."

"That's true," says the Imperator. "But I'd like to be actively chosen as this faction's leader, instead of coasting through on inertia. Not desiring a motion of no confidence isn't the same as actually wanting me in power. If it's a choice between the easy option of doing nothing versus the upheaval of deposing an Imperator, that's one thing. Most people will take the easy option. But what if it's equal effort to select either or any candidate? Would the faction still choose me?"

"Are you asking me for advice, Imperator?" you ask.

"I am…" begins the Imperator. "I am just thinking aloud at this stage. I'm not going to call an election at such a volatile time; that would be madness. I'm telling you because I do consider you a close personal friend, and you are a good listener. You actually listen - you're not just waiting for me to shut up so you can say your bit."

"You… consider me a close friend, Imperator?" you ask.

"What else would I consider you?"

"A useful asset, I assumed."

"You are that," says the Imperator. "But I like you, Phaeton. I enjoy your company."

"I like spending time with you too, Imperator," you say. "I didn't realise you thought the same way to that extent. You've made me happy!"

"My dear Phaeton," says the Imperator. "I'm so sorry that you lost your possessions when we moved the Base. That wouldn't have happened if we'd built you the proper quarters you needed. You deserved better than being relegated to an outbuilding. We'll do better by you."

"Don't worry about that right now," you say. "Many other things must take priority."

"In a way, you helped us a lot," says the Imperator. "If you hadn't proposed moving the Base to begin with, I don't know that it would have occurred to D67's team to research that and build in the backups for moving it again. What strange times we inhabit… My dear Phaeton, it helps me a lot to have people like you I can rely on. I wish I had you here with me… That's another thing I like about you. You're good at taking hugs."

"You're good at giving them," you say. "I've been wondering - if someone else did become the Imperator, what would happen to Primus and Icarus?" you ask. "Are they your guards regardless of your rank, or are they the Imperator's guards regardless of who that is?"

"Oh, they're mine," says the Imperator cheerfully. "As if I'd give them up. Of course, they'd be free to put in their resignations with me and apply to guard the new Imperator, but I hope you won't, my dears." From the Imperator's tone, they're addressing this part to Primus and Icarus. You can hear them reply with approving static burrs. "Phaeton," continues the Imperator. "It was good to speak to you. I only wish we had more time. Sleep well when you get around to it."

"You too, Imperator. Be well." The call ends.

You decide you're not up for any Base exploration right now, and prepare to go to bed. It's better to just sleep. Maybe if you wake up rested enough, you can go back to the hangar early next morning to get a head-start. If nothing else, you hope you wake up rested and ready to make yourself a proper breakfast.

As you lie down and rest, your thoughts inevitably go back to the Titan. When will you see it again? …What if, even now, it's torn out the core-burrower and is slaughtering the Medusoid? …That's probably too much to hope for. Can Loquitur really overcome an Astro-controlled Audeamus? You hope the Soundkind have some extremely powerful upgrades planned, or this is all a fool's errand. But even if it is, what else is there to do but try?

Stay in hiding, perhaps? Will the Astros eventually give up and leave? …But what if they take your Titan away with them? You couldn't let that happen.

Accept the inevitable, and die? If you did just that, all your problems would be over… an end to all suffering, an end to all strife.

No. Not yet.

Death isn't going anywhere. Death will wait for you. Death will always be waiting to welcome you home, even if she has to wait decades. There's no need to rush to her. Her patience is endless.

You thought it was inevitable that you'd succumb to skibidification, back when you were a wilderness survivor, and you considered accepting it and letting it happen. But you never did, and ended up throwing your lot in with the Alliance. You'll do the same again. Don't let the path of despair become the inevitable.

What if you had thrown your lot in with the skibs back then? Now the two sides are converging, would you be in much the same position as you are now? …Would you have befriended a toilet, as you befriended Cygnus in this timeline? What if the 'you' in this timeline has killed your other timeline-self's 'Cygnus'?

Your thoughts return to the Titan again. What if it becomes apparent that Loquitur will defeat it - will the Astros destroy Audeamus remotely? What if the Astros keep the Titan horribly alive and ship-of-Theseus it into something abominable that can no longer recognise you as an ally even after removing the core-burrower? What if…

No. There's no point speculating. Anything could still happen - hell, maybe Panoptes could come back. You'll deal with everything as it comes. Cygnus had once said to you, "We all have roles to play. Do not take it upon yourself to solve all problems."

You drift off to sleep. You don't know what tomorrow will bring, but you'll deal with it. You always do.

You awake, on the ground again. This time, atop a carpet of fresh snowflakes under a serene night sky. You get up, unhurried and unafraid. You know this is where you're meant to be. You walk on in a perfect straight path as though guided by ley line.

Your path brings you to a crater, a hole punched in the powdery snow, as though something landed forcefully from a great height. In a little heap at the bottom is a mass of crumpled and warped metal parts. You scoop the pile up with both hands. Even though it's so tiny and misshapen, you just know this is the TV Titan, in that way you simply know things in dreams. Like when you dream of a nest of what looks like beetle grubs, but you just know they're baby mice, or when you dream of a cat made of dead leaves that turn into butterflies and disperse, and you just know this is your childhood cat.

You begin stroking together the collection of parts in your hands, whispering comfortingly to it and teaching it who it is. Motes of purple and white energy slowly ooze out of it, and gradually pick up speed to orbit the heap of metal, which is starting to outgrow your handspan. You set it down on the ground and stroke it more vigorously, kneading it and pushing it into shape. All the while you implore it to remember what it's supposed to be.

You feel as though you're falling away from it, as it begins to dwarf you in height - are you getting smaller? Are you giving yourself to it? The still-shapeless Titan sprouts cables like vines that wrap around it, climbing ever upwards, the cables and the metal parts mutually reinforcing each other. The Titan rebuilds itself before you.

The finished Titan doesn't look exactly like the real one. It's better - it's the perfect idealised version of the Titan that lives in your dreams. It scoops you up in the same way the real one does, and holds you up to its magnificent screen. You stroke it and bask in the warmth of the Titan's love. Above you both, the aurora appears in the sky, in splendid imperial TV purple.

"When will I see you again?" asks the Titan.

"I don't know that, boss," you reply. "But it will be as soon as we can."

The Titan lowers you into its core chamber and lets you inside - you climb in and lie down gratefully. It's so warm, so peaceful and so safe, and you drift off again into an untroubled and dreamless sleep.