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Coming, one messiah eaten by the next. The Internecine Order began with Tagore Ros, who over there in the asphalt world is mainly known for the saying “ Say which exists and which doesn ’ t — the gallows, harmony, yourself. ” He knew that genuine power doesn ’ t have to enforce it by example. Assumed power, on the other hand, requires folks ’ belief — it depends upon the victim ’ s industry. Without that, it ... just sits in a room, referring to itself as authority. ’
    ‘ I know all that, ’ I told him. A lot of edgemen contracted that turn of the head that got them talking weird — past and future helixed together.
    ‘ But do you see that even genuine power may have something to hide? Too inquisitive and it pulls rank. Always that in the end. It seems that whenever god has a fight with us it ’ s never over what he ’ s really angry about. ’
    ‘ He? ’
    ‘ You ’ re right, that ’ s more of a girl thing. But we ’ re living amid its moulted material, including the hothouse-cultivated hell some call civilisation. Democracy, for want of a better word, denies the song every day with a din of affairs, our opinions yelled above the sound of hope scratching in the dust, all in faith eyes and alarm. Though hysterical, folk are proud — and it ’ s hard for people to stampede when they ’ re strutting. Genocide, a million jet-trail outcries, easily ignored. Unconcerned we are not awakened — are we perfect or imperfect? Public fountains haven ’ t answered us in years. And all the while a thin film of identity separates you and oblivion. ’
    By now bored and languid, I hadn ’ t the patience for this crumb-cupboard past. The twists of tacking convention are pretty to some, not me. ‘ This is alot of damp news. ’
    ‘ Yes — I apologise. You need to know about the Internecine ’ s failed attempts, these things our own people bet their shirts on. Let ’ s see then. Did you know they tried a sort of MK Ultra programmed agent scheme? But ofcourse it could sense something — everything, in fact. They decided the only hope was to operate in a way about which it didn ’ t care. We knew there ’ s a vast percentage of events about which it doesn ’ t especially care, and those involving human suffering seemed a safe bet — so we raised an agent from scratch. Lived in a monastery and so on, and died unaware he was a virus — to sneak him into heaven. He ’ d then be activated and do the hit. But they found the heart of the creature wasn ’ t there — this “ heaven ” was just a place to get people squared away, one of countless infinite bandwidths for etheric soul material. ’
    This story was brand new to me. I couldn ’ t quite believe it, but Quinas was transparent. I should have known a blaze of honesty is a fine decoy.
    ‘ I used to be the bigshot like yourself, but I believed a quick hit wasn ’ t enough, I thought the creator should be tortured beforehand. I loaded our pain — guided crawling to the only choice, deference to the lucky, extorted worship, full-body entropy, incinerative powerlessness, the medicinal smell of lies — in to a million etheric traps throughout subspace. If one was tripped they ’ d all tip at once in to god ’ s mind. But like a clumsy poacher, I managed to trip it myself. ’
    ‘ If you survived, god certainly would have. ’
    ‘ But it would have suffered more — with it being the source, the experience would have been a feedback loop. Torture was the point. Anyway, I realised it had delayed me from the inside. The sheer bravura of that, the regard the project would get me. Yes, I should have just gone for the hit. You see, we ’ re part of our enemy. It hides by walking in its own footprints. It ’ s everything. Luckily this means anywhere ’ s an entrance to it, in fact we ’ re already there. The question is, how to reach a vital organ. ’
    ‘ Well I ’ ve found that, and you ’ re wasting my time. All I want to do is say goodbye