“And how will I get out? I have to get Massimo, at least, the other side of this planet, if I can't do anything else, if I can't reach anyone else. I have to get him. Save him.” And then he thought about Massimo's desperation never to know the source of his pain that unfortunately Pry was all too aware – of – and the unkindness, perhaps, of that; of his nevertheless moving toward him with that. With explicit knowledge of it. And the unavoidable explanation. But –

he felt it under his mind. All of them. Dimly. Unaware. Alone. Isolated. Separate. The connections between their minds, their transferral of what was... perhaps a mind: it went in one direction. They broadcast that pain, that he received, and nothing else went back. Nothing was transferred. They had to know that this, thing, that they were – even existed. That it was in some sense who they were and their purpose – beyond even the evil uses to which the – Wound was putting it. Fine. He had no idea or rationalisation. Except that he had to reach Massimo – he had to do the physically possible, if nothing else was – to reach him.

“You have a secret exit, down – there, in the dark?”

“On plane 88 – but that entire floor – we're sealing that too. We'll be unreachable. Miles underground. No secret tunnels. No secret exits. Nothing. This planet is possessed; this entire place. Every living being up there, is a demon. We cannot combat seven, eight, ten billion, whatever it is, demons. – We're going to make it so there's no way back inside. Nothing. No exits; no doors. We're going underground... Forever.” And she actually found the convoluted means by which to produce something analogous to a snicker. “Unless something impossible happens. Because. – We're sealing it forever, in, the Cyclops race – miles underground, in the dark. Forever... we'll have lights, I'm speaking metaphorically. No. It will be impossible, to even recognise where we are. – The thing is to make it so that you have to cut out half the planet to reach us. No and it's – I won't let our children,” she was referring to that of the Cyclops race, but, at the same time... actually it was obvious what she meant.

He stood on his feet, a stupid cape on both the front and back of him – for the hairs – clasped her face, and kissed her. Pretty hard. Kissed her with a... need, actually – that he hadn't – the extent was maybe supernatural – that he hadn't even known he'd had.

Kissing back, a part of him noted her soft, pliable lips – that they became hard in their corresponding need to give him back – exactly what was needed from her... for exactly that opposite in her.

He kissed her and – the world itself exploded, the walls shook, as he kissed her.

Her face in his hands, he kept kissing her, he wouldn't let up kissing. As reality itself quaked in response to what their kissing had to give rise to.

Hardness against soft lips was the only thing that steadied them both against explosions; against the racket; against the shaking in the walls themselves. The world shook in it. He loved her.

He pushed her face away, to – see her.

“Good timing, laddy-buck.”

“What?”

Her eyes.

“– What are you talking about?”

“You think you're...” kiss, “did that?” But he could see that it had.

They both laughed. Him more than her.

“Come on, sit down – we have not as yet completed this image... reclamation.”

Arranging his two ridiculous capes, he sat back down.

“We're getting married before or after I come back with Massimo? That is – but –” he said, he didn't care, he'd hide nothing; he'd only ever tell her the truth – he had to marry her and immediately – “I can't even get out of here. You're sealing us permanently inside, with explosions.” he indicated the still shaking walls, and the explosions, that came in a series, holding onto the stool so that he didn't fall off it. “Is this really haircut – image reclamation whatever – weather?”

She shook, with a subsequent explosion, and nicked his scalp. “Come on...” he said, “over there.” She only laughed “– And I'm surprised you delegated this task, you love... destroying things.” Like his beautiful hair, was the implication. It was true he could do without the bowl, but – bald? She was, really, when you got down to it, an extremist. Always an extremist. Never moderation. Never. “And you're sealing us inside, right now. I need to get – there was a moment of panic at the thought of no hope/of/no reconciliation – of never being able to reach, even Massimo. Even Massimo on this same planet. It was like a metaphysical, like a biological, in fact, thing, this need for that, thing, he called the connection. Four minds. The connection. The connection to brothers in a mysterious relationship to final reality. One.

Her eyes laughing still, she was however completely serious, “We get married when you return. – Or what else will you have to live for?” He could see she meant not just the... marriage. There was also the way she had expressed – that unexpressed desire, for future offspring; which he remembered – and he also remembered, really against his wishes because he really sought to love her as an ideal, her, there – but he was remembering and in fact, feeling, her physicality, her body. Her presence – and all these things were combining to make it difficult merely to regard her as an abstract feminine beauty that he could – in a manner if not Cyclops – regard as a sort of ideal. Tenns was too real – too physically and always there – for that – even the separate –

Legs.

Face.

Eyes.

Breasts.

“But how, anyway, the fuck, can – even – I... –?”

Before he could say it again, “-- I'm taking you as deep as the Blind City gets to untwist your talent. To – the way you said it – to, instead of impose fakeness on reality, impose reality, on fakeness. It's this. And part of that. Seeing that. Is seeing what is really there. – All of it is seeing what is really there; comprising the fakeness. And then imposing reality. Actual final-total, you know, absolute, reality – not your reality, not the reality of some organisation/ideology - some fake/religion. – This is all the Old Dark Weird Religion is – this seeing reality, seeing what is actually there. It helps you – or perhaps even is the means by which you can do that. Fortunately for you, I've imbibed the whole thing. Through women, I told you this – it has been maintained, transmitted, the knowledge. But the practice. Despite everything. Doing it. That's you.” she stopped/she looked at him, split into an evil grin, “And now,” with a flourish, a complicated latticework of hair following behind her, “representatives, and avatars of the ancient heroism of the Cyclops race, it's long past time for the haphazard deployment of the hair and sometimes skin removing – it's mechanical – razor.”