“I start with how you look – to continue the discourse,” frowning hysterically, “and after that, of course – he can reinforce his own cock; that guy and his weird relationship with his mother; he can do that. I'm going to turn you into a real Cyclops, is what it is, this way, and then – this is the fun and easy part –” before he could – “at least for me – in fact the next part is also fun and easy for me. For you it's not; obviously – for you it's going to be very painful and horrible.”

– He didn't even know why, but:

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I'm going to untwist your talent.”

“And what does – that mean?”

“It means you can't impose shit. – It means you can't force reality into any little shape you require – a skill there's no longer any market for – anyway – or perhaps not true/there always is – I'm going to make you a Cyclops; those giant men down there in the... dark. Giants. Bearded. Giants.”

He really did not want to remind her he was small for his kind, and in fact wouldn't – she could – if she thought that –

“– In terms of talent, in terms of masculine stature, in terms of everything, okay, I'm going to make you again by untwisting that talent into what it was always supposed to be. That Eye. That beautiful big dirty eye – too high, in the forehead there. – That Eye is not for imposing artificial realities; making fake worlds – forcing their existence upon – the rest of us.” She was cutting hair off his head, “It's for seeing. It's for seeing what's real. It's for seeing. It's for seeing final reality. That's what it's for – I'm going to make it so that you can see/do that.”

“Where?”

“Well. Everywhere.”

Behind him, lock by lock, she cut his hair; snipping them off at the base of her double finger pinch. He was watching her instead of the damage to his self-image.

Tenns was enjoying herself.

Pry knew nothing; watching her, he realised – thinking about what she intended to do to his talent. Untwist it. He didn't know how to see what was really there. He didn't know how to see through... anything. To, instead of impose fakeness on reality; impose reality, on fakeness, he didn't – and then he repeated that line to her. He asked her – he'd had that thought; if it was that. Because that seemed rather too pointed – rather too defined a conception not to have some bearing on, perhaps – that it had risen so easily, in his own nature. For it not to have some relevance. Maybe this was only what he wanted to do. He would like to see what was really there; what was really real, what was, and obviously the reasons, final, ultimate reasons – happening.

“See – I'm already untwisting you. That's exactly it. 'Instead of impose fakeness on reality, impose reality, on fakeness,' Well – no, you're right.”

She was in a future tense going to take him beneath. Further than he'd ever been. Below even Plane 88. Into the levels, into the corridors beneath the Blind City. – There – there was an entire substructure down there. Covered up. Covered over. Hidden from eyes, singular, so that they not see. The deepest levels; in physical space, of the Dark Old Weird Religion. The goal of which was seeing reality. Finally and inarguably, objectively and without interpretation, without perspective, without even creation – the goal: the entire scope – teleology, indeed, of that religion – that Old Dark and Weird and – Religion – no longer really dead, he felt, religion – was seeing reality as it actually was. And this was something for which... he required his entire soul. Untwisted.

“You're going to take me down there?”

“We can't send you out without.”

“And what about here? What about this place?”

“They are tearing everything down outside. And closing us in. Nothing. There will be nothing remaining up top. No sign. No possible way inside. The domes. The Ascensor. Everything. Completely sealed and removed. There will just be – just rock. It'll be, in fact, as if in fact there never was anything there; no entrance, nothing. – When they get here.” She was talking about the demons from the rest of Hortag; the dreamunits now something else, something worse, “As dumb as they are – it makes no difference anyway. It's solid rock. In fact if we're not already beneath plane 88 by that point – you'll hear a series of explosions, shortly, sealing us in. In fact shortly. Underground. Under miles of rock.”

“You're leaving sack town?”

“– We're going much farther down.”