Phase Q/Interchange

The Trad agent patrols the Trad side of the opening. Meanwhile, a collaborator monitors a security station. And on one of the monitors, another collaborator marches through the streets on the Fyuchee side.

Fyuchee music comes tumbling out of loudspeakers, accompanying a new kind of art that the Trad agent lacks sensors to experience.

The undercover Trad dips through streets like he’s studied them beforehand. He has. Sweat drips from his brow.

Following a secret signal, a trail of directions streaming in from the security station on the other side, the agent tracks a body that he can’t see, hear, or smell himself.

Through dark alleys and in front of brightly lit storefronts, the Trad agent makes his way through the city.

Crossing a street, the agent receives another direction from SS.

DOWN

That’s all it says.

What’s down? The agent looks, and doesn’t notice anything. Just the street, a sewer grating, and some trash.

He takes a few more steps forward.

The map on his intercom now shows that he’s overshot his target.

He steps back to where he was before, and beams in the instruction again.

DOWN

Hm. Still the same.

Looking around, the Trad agent checks that no one is watching him suspiciously. He ruffles his fake fronthawk.

Maybe there was some kind of mistake?

Whispering into his intercom, he explicitly asks his handler for confirmation.

“The route is correct,” confirms the handler in the SS.

OK, then.

Underneath his feet, a gentle rumble seems to permeate the ground, vibrating under his feet.

A subway car zooms by under the grating he’s standing on.

Without even thinking, the agent pulls out his pocket laser, cuts through the grating, and drops down into the space below.

Electrical panels surround the space, flashing in a rainbow of indicator lights.

A laser tracer hits his face.

“Who are you?” inquires a harsh voice from a soft face. An itchy trigger finger hovers over the full pulse.

“Ziggy sent me,” utters the Trad agent, hoarsely.

“What does Ziggy want?”

The agent’s pulse quickens.

“It’s about the entry.”

“What about it?”

“Look,” says the agent, motioning to his shirt pocket with his tense face.

The interrogator reaches in, and pulls out a holocard. Lighting it up, a new chart displays. The Trad agent seems as surprised as his interrogator.

“Come with me,” says the interrogator.

They make their way through hidden chambers deep within the belly of the city.

Finally, after a difficult march, they arrive in a dark chamber.

There, the whites of many eyes brighten the vacuum. Some kind of eerie sound fills the lair, a constantly evolving hum. And while all the people seem to be somewhat oblivious to their surroundings, nonetheless a kind of cohesive focus seems to bind them all together.

“Take a seat,” the interrogator says pointedly to the agent.

The agent sits down.

A pungent whiff fills the air with a distinct odor, like a mix of some burning substance and a kind of chemical or industrial scent.

The room almost feels like it has sparks of electricity flying through it.

The agent sits and watches.

The dreamers dream.

Phase Q: An interactive adventure.