The Director opts to not ask about anything.

I actually had a personal request. For you. No, please, don't be afraid. You step toward the Director, awkwardly— your body hasn't changed. It has already come to pass. And it is coming to pass. You are merely the one who will make it so. There is no danger.

"I—" Its first attempt at speech in a minute. "I don't really—"

It is not a complex request, either. First, I told you of the party. You must end it. Second, there is a Correspondent. #301. He must be unassigned from his client.

"I don't know how to do those things." A complete sentence! But its voice is stiff. "Great One. I apologize."

You will figure it out. You are the Director.

"I— I cannot leave the room."

Is that all? You turn your neck toward the door. It clicks. Go, then. With my blessing. But do not speak of me.

The Director is gaping, exposing its little pointy teeth. You swing your neck back and nudge it gently. Go!

You had not intended for it to run. But the Director runs from you. It will do as you bid.

You watch the pocket-world outside the window until the door creaks, then shuts. "Oh, Charlie," Richard says.

His reflection is in the glass: you train your eye on it, and it splits, into lizard and man and man and snake. When you turn, though, he is only lizard. He has approached, and reaches one slender arm out to feel your neck. "What a magnificent creature you are."

You would die, you say, to make this of me?

"Are you proposing alternatives?"

You sway. No.

"I didn't think so. Now, come on. Let's get this off you."

You see, in your mind's eye, him hooking his clever lizard fingers through a seam in your neck, him wiggling, and in life you hold still and let him. Cool air flows in as he tosses the neck, all painted cardboard, aside. You prod your face. Still scaly. You have two eyes. No sun. "Turn," Richard says, and you turn, dazedly, as he slides the felt tail off yours. It droops in his hands.

"Will mine be that long?" you say.

"Do you want it to be?"

"...Wouldn't it drag on the floor?"

"Yours will be half that length. Perhaps a little less. A good length." He folds the tail up, and it vanishes.

"Yeah," you say. "I—"

"It's alright, Charlie."

"I— I— I was—"

"I know."

"I was," you say limply.

"I know. I believe your task is complete now. You should be returning." He tilts his head. "Nobody should want to remain in Satellite long. We do not. Yes? Conceded?"

"I should sleep," you mumble.

(3/4 jk)