"The mind," Jack repeated as he blinked a few times, trying to parse it. Right. The word 'Phantasmal' can't be for nothing. He sat back down and took a deep breath. "Mmn. Like the terror effect that paralyzed me for a moment. It was unnatural enough that there was some sort of distortion. I remember… fighting to resist, to push back against it. I barely did."

"Yes." Agent Marrakech stared back at him, his hands going back behind his back. "Would you assume everyone easily anchors themselves to cold, hard reality?"

"I… don't know how to answer that. I guess not. Sir."

The agent nodded slowly, once again as if simply noting Jack's beliefs. But he said, "Your guess would be correct. Your quarantine and then your rehabilitation were due to the common occurrence of mental conditions in the blatantly exposed in the borderlands. Madness, if you will. That's also why we go even heavier on drone warfare to deal with them, thereby minimizing direct exposure. Sadly, it's not always possible."

"If I'm resistant, why didn't Central-"

"You weren't that resistant, Junior Agent," the agent interrupted smoothly, with a trace of dismissiveness. "It's a wonderful trait to have in an ANP, but without System reinforcement to build on it — at the minimum with raw Access Levels — I'm afraid the seed left over from your exposure remained very much a liability in a cargo pilot, if mitigated enough that your conditioning and rehabilitation allowed you to proceed into a normal life remaining forever under the protection of the Core. Perhaps even to have children and pass on the gene expressions and Systemic weight of a survived threat. But, that aside, I trust that you see where I'm going with this?"

Jack's eyes flickered around. A word jumped out at him. "The seed… is worse in others?"

"Quite. Their invasion, on the physical surface, failed; their primary pushes were inevitably crushed somewhere along their advance. They also used the chaos to dig in new hives in an attempt to establish footholds — as always in these wars. But we prevailed again, like a well-oiled machine against their tricks, and even expanded slightly in territory thanks to the captured Allotment of various slain high operatives, exceeding our losses of ANPs. Which you technically helped with, by the way. Despite the readily apparent costs in lives and resources, the initial assessment was exceptionally positive."

Agent Marrakech paused briefly, his lips twisting into mild disapproval. "It was inaccurate."

He turned back to the vidscreen, which shifted to show a view from the waves of the ocean, a starry sky in the dark above, the waters lit by some sort of exploratory vessel. In the distance on the horizon, shifting dark shapes could be seen like silhouettes, backlit by an eerie light that seemed to continually shimmer. The largest shapes were like buildings, including narrow spires and towers, and above a few, there seemed to filter upward a much greater shimmering… as if it were some sort of alien industrial pollution. That's what the greater background was: an industrial skyline. The shifting shapes were within and below, suggestions and distortions only, living and unliving; zipping things, writhing shadows, darkness 'moving too much' — 'someone turn on the lights and make sure.'

"Holy hell," Jack muttered. "Surreal and terrible. Is that real?"

"You tell me, Junior Agent Laker."

"I think I should say no, sir."

"How wise. This video is toward the continent that was once Australia. However, this view is from much further away than it may appear. This is a powerful mirage twisting across the curvature of the planet just to forward a particular image. We see something very similar from the air. But enough about that."

Audio started to become apparent. There was some sort of heinous screaming or screeching, continuous, more like some freak of nature risen from hell rather than a creature. It went on and on and on… Jack glanced at the agent, but he was just standing there, as if waiting.

The sound kinda messed with the ears. He twisted his head a couple of times, catching a weird ringing. And then he began to hear an undertone, as if dark whispering lodged within the scream…

It gradually became discernible in English, something between whispering and syllables formed out of wailing — foul waves of sound that itched. "The One Who Dreams and Horrifies Reaches…

"The One Who Dreams and Revelates Vellicates…

"The One Who Dreams and Transmogrifies Grasps…

"The One Who Dreams and Subjugates Occupies…"

It then looped back to the first. Jack shivered involuntarily. That is the creepiest fraggin' thing in history. Vellicates? What the hell does that mean?

Mini chimed. <Vellicate: to twitch, nip, pinch, tickle, titillate; to excite a surface; to touch lightly.>

Great. Even more creepy.

The video and the sound cut out, and Agent Marrakech said, "That was doctored to give a facsimile of what it would sound like to have your brain subjected to it. The sounds have within them many languages mixed together. Only ANPs or those with exhaustive conditioning are cleared to even hear that recording. We haven't ever voluntarily subjected anyone physically to it, because that particular worm is too dangerous. And a worm it is. We call their Archon 'The Dreamer.' We've known of their methods to corrupt the mind in an isolated fashion, on the old frontier, especially. Their energy tech didn't work at all back then, by the way. They innovated and adapted it from… whatever it is in their lands.

"But when The Dreamer's forces penetrated deep into our territory, it had a dual purpose, a secondary attack, another evolved weapon we are still struggling to fully understand. A phantasmal germ implanted into many human beings, who then carried it and spread it unwittingly, who then spread it again. All of humanity was infected with it."

The agent turned to Jack and raised an eyebrow. "Before your blood pressure elevates too much, Junior Agent, rest assured, I am not here to tell you reality in New Babylon has been rewritten. Don't let your imagination get the better of you. The wallpaper will not peel back to reveal the toothy maw of hell ready to gobble you up."

Jack swallowed, nodding slowly, taking a deep breath. "Good to hear, sir."

Heh. 'Don't let your imagination get the better of you. Stand firm with humanity, in sober solidarity.' It had been on a poster in rehab, showing a chad-type maintaining a steely gaze as he marched forward in the light, the periphery around him in darkness with all sorts of monstrous shapes reaching out toward him.

The agent continued, "This is a more insidious and subtle problem. Mental disorders are on the rise, particularly schizophrenia, paranoia, hallucinations, and other such charming ailments. I would add hedonism as well, but I can't prove it. Regardless, we've been dealt a nasty blow, even supposedly safe and sound in this ivory tower, and our worries about leaks, sabotage, and infiltration are up by an order of magnitude. One could assert we Memorial Agents are hardly immune to the damage, what with the paranoia we propagate, hmm?"

"Well, I appreciate you admitting it, sir." Jack sat back, shaking his head. "I'm still in a bit of a shock state about this. It's a lot to process."

"That's why we drip-feed our little baby birds. One drop at a time, Junior Agent. So. As a final summary, The Dreamer has a foothold and an open vector to strike us, through a hidden framework we're slow to perceive — that of their phantasmal reality overlay, evolved and grown to reach us over time. Our countermeasures are still evolving to meet the threat. We remain vulnerable and ignorant, and expect more attacks. Expect new avenues. That's what I'll leave you with on the subject." He turned back to the vidscreen. "Now then-"

"Wait! Sorry, sir, but can I ask a couple of questions?"

The agent turned once more, in slight annoyance. "You can, but whether I'll answer is even more questionable."

"First, the obvious: why am I being told this?"

"For potential future relevance, more to be revealed in due time. Perhaps soon. Next."

Perhaps soon? Hmm. "Are all Archons this insidious?"

The agent studied him briefly. "Quite a question. No. But many are. Perhaps even the most successful. Sadly, our information is limited. Next."

"Do we have any hope at all of taking back Old World Australia, considering how impossible it appears to me right now?"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"That's a subjective thing you'll need to ascertain yourself when more variables become clear. We don't know everything, but still far more than you've been informed on. But if it's any consolation, Mother remains optimistic. No matter how optimistic, it would be risky and costly to invade. That's just the nature of this war."

"Well, it is a consolation, yes. Thank you, sir."

Agent Marrakech nodded once. "That's all for questions." He turned back to the video screen, and it popped up with text reading, 'Phantasmally-Induced Mental and Affective Derangements (PIMAD): Symptoms and Differentiation From Mental Disorders.' "We call them derangements to emphasize the difference. You can also use the term 'derangement' or preferably 'deranged' specifically in public. The idea being they may merely dislike your language as opposed to thinking you're using an official term. But let's dive into the nuts and bolts, then…"

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After class, Jack went back to his quarters for some grub, rest, and actual free time, his head well stuck on meditations about what he'd just had dropped into his lap. Vivid nightmares were one symptom of PIMAD — Jack had asked about his own immediately, but his tutor just shook his head and said, "Your condition is well-known and considered negligible by our reckoning, Junior Agent. You don't have PIMAD." That was it. He just segued right back into the lesson. It made Jack think it was deliberate reinforcement. Belief was powerful either way when it came to the Phanties.

Well, Agent Marrakech did indicate resistance was desirable in an ANP, and I have this 'ranger' capability. Perhaps I'm in their mind for some operations on the coast, where I'll need to know about the primary threats there.

His homework was on something vaguely related to the subject: coded language. Despite having the means of clandestine and secure communication through Mini-Mem, there were various reasons for all the acronyms and coded words. The event that one couldn't use the interface was only one factor. That humans had benefits to speaking out loud was another, to aid focus and direction. It had a beneficial order and power, and furthermore, trained the mind to compartmentalize 'public discussion' and internal or non-public discussion. It was a subtly different language, and the shift helped with potential slips.

After rest, study, and some blessed time-killing, he crammed in some more training, immediately hitting up his idea to do more dodging and dedicated evasion tactics. He dodged thrown weapons and arrows, practiced throwing himself into rolls and recovering quickly, and then moved on to melee dodging against a Lifeguard-controlled AR sparring partner utilizing various weapons. It took a while, but it worked!

Evasion increased to 2.5!

The evening finally rolled around, and the scheduled duel with Dozer was imminent. Jack went a bit early to the coordinates in Power Park, and found a small community sports field, grass-covered, but currently with many ripped-up sections of exposed dirt. It had three rows of ascending bench seating on two sides. There were two young girls in dirty uniforms sitting at one, perhaps chatting after training. They eyed him curiously.

He stood around and waited only a couple of minutes for Dozer to show up — a wiry teen in uniform and very clean cut, appearing naturally deer-in-headlights due to a wide-eyed look, much in contrast to his name. He approached and held his hand out for a shake, in general rather awkward. "Hello — a pleasure, sir. I'm Dozer. Sorry I didn't introduce myself before. You remember? Staffball? Yeah. I was exhausted."

Jack took his hand and smiled, nodding. "No problem. I remember. Call me Jack. Thanks for agreeing to this."

"No problem, sir — er, Jack. I'm happy to do it, and it'll help both of us." He glanced over at the empty rows of benches to his right. "Did you, um, want to sit down for a minute? Discuss our rules? If you don't mind some, uh, ideas?"

"Sure."

They sat down on the benches as Dozer scratched his cheek and said, "So, um, I think with you being a metal controller, the odds are, uh… really stacked against me if there is a ton of metal and preparation in play. If that isn't off-base? Kinda like if I had an all ceramic rifle or something right off. Not a perfect analogy, but maybe you get the idea?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure. What do you suggest for fairness?"

"What I'd like to do is submit our match real quick to Lifeguard, if you'd consent? That's the fairest and most logical way to get an even match. But I'll bet you anything you'll have restrictions."

"Sure, I'm game. You know more about this stuff than me, so I don't think I'll take that bet."

Dozer blinked in surprise and averted his eyes in general shyness, but nodded. "Okay. And, um… two out of three? And we'll probably go with forcefield damage equivalent to Critical condition, or unconsciousness, to determine the winner. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good. I think I know what you'll be going for."

"Yeah, maybe…" He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'll go ahead and submit the duel…"

Jack momentarily got a request for consent to get a judgment from Lifeguard on the duel, which he promptly approved.

In a flash, Lifeguard appeared in front of them — a vague analog of Memoria in a one-piece red bikini-wetsuit, wearing shades, and carrying a flotation device. She blew a whistle loudly, making them both wince. She spit it out, grinned, raised her shades up, and said, "What's happenin', dudes? I hear you wanna play-fight. I can hook you up with some bitchin' ground rules." She was chewing on some bubble gum as she looked between them. She blew out a bubble that then popped.

"Just give us the details, please," Jack said in exasperation.

She 'lipped' her bubble back into her mouth as she said, "Toshally… can do, bro! One item selection apiece, like noooo guns, and Jack will choose first: any melee type weapon or reasonable custom approximation, the metal of which he's limited to, and starts out holding. The forcefield will simulate Armor 1.0, flexible, and leak up to your standard Toughness, so you feel your wipeouts! Otherwise, no worries about injuries. Lethal it up! I got you. Fifty meters across the middle of the field for the battle start. Is that all gnarly or what, bros?!"

Fifty meters? That's a problematic range without expendable ammo…

"I was right, Jack!" Dozer said with a grin. "You're more handicapped."

Lifeguard gasped with wide eyes at Dozer. "You guessed it?! Nice one, bro!" She thrust her hand out flat for a high-five. "Gimme some skin!"

Dozer's face went sour as he averted his eyes in embarrassment. Lifeguard held her hand out, waiting insistently, so Dozer sighed and reluctantly — sarcastically — slapped her hand. She clapped and went, 'Wooo!'

Dozer sighed and muttered, "Why does she have to be so cringe," nearly to himself.

Lifeguard was oblivious to the criticism, giving a final, emphatic thumbs up. "Everything's radical and ready!" Off to either side of the bleachers, panels revealed themselves rising out of the ground, showcasing rows of prepared equipment of great variety. "Get your item and head to the labeled spots! I'll start a tubular countdown when you're there and blow the whistle to start the match!"

Jack stood, but instead of heading out immediately, he upnodded to Dozer and asked, "Should we share levels?"

Dozer shrugged. "Sure. I'm 1.7."

"1.8, here."

"Figures."

"Do people duel here a lot?"

"Kinda. And train in general. Good for early group scuffles. And, uh, ranged duels… like this. Have to schedule time, usually."

"Well, good luck out there."

"You too, sir — er, Jack. Hope you level! That would be green."

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry, uh… slang." The dreaded gaze of a young person at yet another aged, unhip person.

Noooooo… I'm cooked! Cooked and burnt. I might as well be thirty-something! "Oh, that's right! Yeah. Green, for sure." He thumbed at his nose and made an utterly needless sniffing noise as he avoided wincing, soon turning around to walk off and look for equipment — in shame.

He went through the rows of junk until he hit the melee weapons, pondering them. If the Armor was simulated as flexible, that made a Blunt Trauma, crushing-type weapon good all-around. It was either that or go with something via Fragile Spike to pierce it easily. It had the issue of being fragile, though.

Why not both?

Jack channeled memorite and fashioned a shorter length of cable than usual — to not abuse the spirit of 'melee weapon' — then put a steel ball on the end, flaring out many nasty spikes from the ball that were Fragile Spikes. He felt this was fairly sporting. After all, being technical, he could field a giant ass weapon and tear pieces off to long-range bomb the kid like a nonstop dart machine.

Yep, I'm a stand-up guy when it comes to beating up kids! Gotta do that up-close.

Weapon in hand, twirling it at his side with a false grin, Jack proceeded to the field. Dozer was waiting before going to his spot downfield, no doubt to see what Jack had made; his mouth fell open when he saw it. "Oh man," he muttered breathlessly, plainly worried. Meanwhile, Dozer was carrying a large, thick, plastic riot shield.

Damn. He went super defensive. Of course. His power is the weapon he relies on. Fragile spikes will shatter on the shield, embedding some shards into the surface. Oh well — that has its uses. Not sure if I can damage the shield enough that way.

Despite his concerns, Jack maintained his flippant, confident grin as he proceeded quite jauntily. Dozer swallowed visibly, furrowing his brow, and seemed to steel himself a little more as he turned around and jogged over to his spot. Jack made his way to his own spot, pursuing a highlighted red circle in the grass that Lifeguard was no doubt providing.

Once they were in position, Lifeguard called out with a bullhorn, "Are we ready?!"

"Yeah!" Called Dozer.

Jack channeled his memorite, going to 80% output to start, and readied the mass around himself — since he was holding the metal he'd use, he'd have very little control over it initially. He'd sling it as soon as the match started, collapse memorite into it as it flew, and then use Throw on it to get it downfield as much as possible. It was going to take time, whatever he did — that was just the nature of the handicap he had in place. He could take a few nuggets off the weapon to fire darts. He hadn't decided if he would, yet.

I'll probably need to close the range anyway. Which is a problem. I'm not great at running and using powers at the same time.

Lifeguard yelled, "Ready now, Jack?!"

"Yeah!" Jack returned, moving the flail back, ready to sling. "I'm jazzed to go! Let's fraggin' do this!"

"Radical! That's what I like to hear! On my mark! Counting down from three, begin on the whistle only! Ready! Three… Two… One…"

The whistle blew.

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