»If the Wyrm were revived, you would not be here. I would also not be here, because everything will have been entirely wiped. Use your head.«
»They are celebrating their imminent success. Not their complete one.«

But it won't ever come to fruition. Because you're going to come in (in the future) and chop Jean Ramsey's head off. Or bite it off.

»Correct.«

What if you went in there and chopped Correspondent #301's head off? Would that solve the problem?

»You cannot, you will not, and it would not. It would cause larger problems.«
»...«
»I appreciate the sentiment. Now, move, or I'll make you.«

You move. The room located straight ahead is painted the same horrible beige and is lit by the same horrible lights, but there are floor-to-ceiling windows on your left— they look out onto a vast hollow enclosed space, its inner surface lit in squares, its shape held by enormous struts, its emptiness broken by tubelike bridges, none of which intersect with— or even near— a large red-glowing spherical thing in the center. You'll take a stab at it: it's the original BrainWyrm, and a faint buzz of approval from ahead marks it so.

The whole thing is less impressive than it should be, because it mostly just looks like Headspace. But Richard never said snakes were original.

On your right, the open-faced "cubes" are replaced with a network of larger, windowed— are these offices? They look officey. When you pass by one of them (it looks the same as the rest), Richard tries to push your head down. »Move quick.«

Huh? You do crouch, but don't move. Why? How can anybody even see you? Aren't you in his head? Nobody could see the snake—

»The matter is complex. You would rapidly find yourself ceasing to care.«
»Now move. There is no reason to be obstinate.«

Why? Who's in there? Another nemesis? The nameplate reads "R/D-C #1." Wait, that—

The grey-brown agent inside has looked up. Richard shoves you down hard: you wind up flat on the rough carpet, and can only hear the resulting conversation. "Hello? Is that Wingnut?"

"No," Richard says out loud.

"Out and about? And here? The high-and-mighty Wingnut comes to visit little old me? Did your box explode or something? Given what you do to the thing—"

"I am going."

"No you're not! Come in! Or should I come out there?" If Richard was radiating lukewarm annoyance for you, he is radiating icy poisonous annoyance here, and you're not all that surprised when he turns his eyes on you and— like a fist closes around you— you are not there on the floor any longer.

You are not anywhere, and you remain nowhere for who-knows-how-long until you flicker and gain feeling and fall to your knees: this is slightly awkward, with the narrowness of lizard knees, and the weight of the tail, and you flail before catching yourself on the ground. The metal ground? You aren't in a carpeted room anymore: you're in a very small, vibrating one.

»Elevator.«

(2/4)