Kael was alive, but his face bore the marks of questions asked with brutality. He was weakened.
"There, the old stone cathedral rises majestically under the stars. The statues at the gates are silent. That doesn't seem right to me. Where is the guardian I know? I've forgotten the password I need to say each time to reach the true destination," Kael said.
Morgana had a bad feeling.
"You're delirious. Try to calm down."
"I don't even need to announce my presence. The problem is I've forgotten the protocol. I remember that the priest in the white robe has the duty to greet me. Spirits are following me and telling me there's no life after death, and I hate that."
Morgana felt overwhelmed and had no idea if it was worth saying anything more to him.
Back at the Refuge, Essie gave him a quick hug, but her gaze lingered on the woman who had restored her hope.
"You kept your word," Essie said. "As promised, the card is yours."
She handed it to her. An old data card, wrapped in plastic. On the edge, an engraved numeric code: CH-001. A key, perhaps the only one, to the White Room.
"I want something more," Morgana said.
"Tell me."
"When we met, you mentioned the Retrievers. And that so-called Fixer. Do you know where I can find him?"
Essie paused for a moment. Then she smiled.
"I like how you think. Constructively. I have someone here who claims to have met him. Or maybe he just got too close to him."
He's isolated, in a space we call the Pavilion.
"What is the Pavilion? I haven't heard of it until now, which means it's a secret you've guarded well."
"Memory is a fragile and treacherous fabric, a labyrinth of the mind where past and present merge into shadows and faded lights. Here, amid the fleeting slips of consciousness, hides a madness of recollection. A game of distorted fantasies, foreign echoes, and seemingly meaningless fragments. The Pavilion is a collection, an odyssey into the abysses of minds that no longer know how to distinguish between truth and illusion. Memories become toxic spells, and reason, a shaky relic. Prepare to enter the realm of 'Limitless Rift,' where false light blinds you, and living darkness ensnares you in its webs. A journey that leaves marks. We simply call it the Pavilion. Many seek it under other forms and names. Mnemonautica, Insania Machina, or the Beautiful Terror of Creation."
"I have a destiny. Is it self-confidence or arrogance? I've chosen the courage to stand by my choices. If you show me a clear destination, I'll strive to reach it and eliminate any obstacles in its way. I believe in an inner compass and a guardian angel. I accept these guides and give them the attention they deserve. It's not a motto. It's just my personal opinion," Morgana said. "So, I'm ready."
They descended two levels below the platform. The corridors grew narrower, the air heavier. The Pavilion's door was made of welded iron plates. Old impact marks were visible from inside to outside.
On the floor, a puddle of oil, and in the air, a smell of damp insulation and rust, mixed with traces of burned silicon from electrical improvisations. Officially, no one lived there.
When they entered, the room was bathed in a diffuse, orange light.
"This is Philip," Essie said. "Be careful how you ask him. He's sensitive about that sort of thing. I assume he was once subjected to certain interrogations."
"Help me," the man said.
"I can't save you for sure, but I can try."
"We're all variables in an equation called survival. Except you. I know you, you know. You're the one who killed seven people in the KYC Sector."
"They weren't innocent," she replied. "They were exterminators."
Morgana stood still for a few moments, her eyes fixed on the void where, on a camp bed, sat this thin man with hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were half-closed, the expression of an exhausted person.
"Can't you sleep?" Morgana asked him.
"I fully woke up seven years ago," he replied. "What followed was just insomnia. The owl left. But its feather still watches me."
"Tell me about the Fixer."
"He's not human. He's not a machine either. He's in between. He comes at night. He hammers on walls, on pipes. Says he's fixing things. The first time, he hammered on the drainpipe next to my bed until I forgot my own name."
"What's his real name?"
"He has many. The latest was the Fixer."
"Can you give me some of his old names?"
"It's been a while. I can try. But it hurts."
"Is the Fixer real or imaginary?"
"He's a ghost, a memory, a shadow, a lie."
"When did he come?"
"When did I start hearing him? I don't know."
"Do you hear him now?"
"No. I couldn't get the words out. It was like I was drowning. I couldn't speak, I couldn't think, and the only thing that seemed real was him, hammering right in front of my door."
"What did you do?"
"I screamed."
"You screamed?"
"I screamed and kept screaming, and he was still there. So I got out of bed and threw myself at the door, and he was still there, hammering and hammering and hammering."
"What happened?"
"I was screaming, and he was hammering. I felt him entering my head, changing the way words sounded. I couldn't remember his name. I couldn't remember my name. He hammered hard, and I screamed, and everything was about to disappear."
The last time I was on a train. Alone in the compartment. He found me. He came in. He said, "I've come to fix your head. I've received reports that you're defective."
I jumped from the train. I hit myself. That's how I woke up here.
"Before you passed out, what did you see when you fell from the train?"
"I saw a morning that wasn't new. A morning reborn from ashes. The trees, tall and black, were actually silent statues. Smoke wandered lazily. It came from a dismantling workshop. The Fixer was standing on the workshop steps, smoking from an Indian pipe.
A car was driving in circles around the workshop. In the car were four speakers. It kept repeating that from now on, every day represents a rebirth. But what exactly would emerge with this rebirth wasn't clear."
"You should have seen something else. Something that at first glance seems unimportant."
"I think I saw a decayed tooth. It caught my attention because it made no sense to see a decayed tooth there in the dust."
Philip looked at her suspiciously. His eyes narrowed.
"This conversation is turning into an interrogation. I don't like it. But I'll tell you this much: The Fixer isn't just a name. Some dream of him. Others hear him. But if you see his hammer, it's already too late."
He turned his back.
"For the first time in seven years, I'm feeling sleepy. Good night."
Morgana pulled a blanket over Philip and slowly left the room.
You've read it. You've unlocked the door. Now you're aware. You're a potential defect.
If one day, you see a silhouette with a hammer, it's already too late. Don't run. You can't escape what fixes defects in reality. It's already too late.
Put the phone down. Blink once if you understand. Blink twice if you've escaped.