As Brock finished his reconstituted (for the second time) banh mi, he had to admit, magic food delivered when you wanted it really was the best. Someone could spend half a novel espousing the virtues of artisanally sourced ingredients, the heritage to ten generations of flatware craftsmen upon which said glories rested, and develop multiple theories about the meaning of the universe as exemplified by each particular chef's five hour presentation while still not approaching the visceral sensation of actually 'eating good food' when one was 'really hangry.'

"Okay," he slobbered around the last bite, "I gotta shay, I didn't mean to throw it at you. I shwear. It's just," he swallowed, then fixed the Director with a gimlet glare, "I learned about actualizing my emotions this morning, then I had to go through another round of harem training, then I had to deal with Bindy and I swear the next person who says that to me I might actually kill."

The Director gazed at him unblinkingly, hands clasped across his mouth. A piece of pickled radish finish dissolving itself atop his right ear, a tiny coruscating gateway slipping it elsewhere.

"Duly noted. Now then. If we can discuss your upcoming session with the Oversight Committee? We have less than five minutes remaining before your appearance before them."

"...the who?"

"The four Councilors in charge of making sure the Cataclysm Squad never oversteps its role. They are charged with keeping us free of Sekkie influence and ensuring we don't abuse our powers for personal gain."

"...okay."

"...are you listening, Brock?"

"Mmph, sorry, digesting. Yeah, got it. Four powerful people, might be compromised by the Conductor, don't talk too much. Take notes about any weird stuff. Try not to lose my shit. Be good bait."

The Director raised an eyebrow, and Brock scoffed. He didn't know if it was the therapy session with Skeeter this morning or the fact he was finally getting over his new reality hangover, but his acceptable level of 'fucks given' seemed to be stabilizing at a much lower level than the past few days.

"Look, just because I'm not aware of your weird 'amine playbox fanga mantasy' crap and I'm bad at sports doesn't mean I'm stupid. Do you know how crowded the advertising job market is these days? Pre-calc was required to even start making sense of the algorithms, and good luck getting a degree if you don't understand how interpersonal communications can fuck with the algorithms! If you're calling me to your office before this meeting, it's obviously fucking important to what we're investigating!" He drew in a long breath. "I'm just still trying to wrap my head around all this other strange shit. Like harems."

The Director stared at him for a long minute. Brock stared back.

"...very well, then. You have, in fact, summarized the situation clearly, if not eloquently. The four Councilors are quite powerful, and I have my suspicions that at least one of them is linked to the Conductor. Try to remember anything out of the ordinary, and don't lose your shit."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"...okay."

"...I suppose I deserved that. More importantly, Brock, unlike yesterday, I will not be there with you. The Oversight Committee operates independently of my authority. An unfortunate yet necessary separation of powers."

"...whut?"

"If you're doing that on purpose I will have you flogged."

"That's a violation of the Manford/Hawlings Extra-Dimensional Invader Convention. I think. I could ask KB (Administrative)."

The Director pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No need. Clearly you're adjusting just fine to our... esoteric work environment. Starak would be proud."

"He would?"

"No one got under my skin more efficiently than that man," the Director said softly, eyes fixed on the past. "It wouldn't be his first visit before the Oversight Committee, either." His gaze returned to the present. "Fortunately for him, none of his interrogations were quite as fraught as yours, Brock. Do you remember the World Council session yesterday?"

"Yeah. Couple groups tried to keep you from having me under your control."

"And they failed because they acted too quickly, with nothing meaningful to persuade the others with." The Director lowered his hands to the table. "If the Oversight Committee makes a majority recommendation to the Council along different lines, however, then the calculus changes significantly, and as I said, I am confident at least one of the four is aligned with the Conductor-"

"It's that Antioch guy, isn't it?" Brock interrupted, grinning as he watched the Director's brows raise slightly. "The high priest of whatever church thing. He was a real dick during that whole meeting, and he sounds like the kind of person who'd want to be on something like this."

Hah. Got you, old man.

"...perhaps." The Director's brows lowered. "But then again, perhaps not. While some Sekkies pride themselves on staying as true to their nature as possible, regardless of the consequences, an equal amount are willing to hide behind as many layers of inconspicuity as they deem safe. It is true High Priest Antioch and I do not see eye to eye on a great many things, and as you surmised, he is on the Oversight Committee, but personal dislike is no indication of collaboration with the Conductor."

Dark green hands patted the desktop gently.

"What I need is proof of guilt. Evidence, Brock, not gut feelings or hunches. What we pursue is too important to rely on anything less, and if we do, then why bother defining justice at all."

Brock shrank back slightly, feeling chastised.

"...okay, right, evidence. I'll keep an eye out."

"It would be appreciated. Now, one last piece of advice before your meeting - while you must answer the Oversight Committee truthfully, you can choose not to respond to a question if you feel it might jeopardize the operation."

"What, I just tell them 'I don't want to talk about it'?"

The Director cleared his throat.

"Something slightly more official than that. You need to remember this specific phrase: 'Pursuant to clause thirty six gamma bagelfruit of the Manford/Hawlings Extra-Dimensional Invader Convention, I cannot comment on an active investigation.'"

"...how many clauses does that thing have?"

"A lot. You can look the full document up in your magiphone if you're curious. Now, try repeating it a few times for practice."

Brock did so, stumbling over a different set of words each attempt.

"Close enough. If you can't remember the specific wording, consult your magiphone. Unfortunately, we're out of time. Good luck."

A gray portal slid over Brock, and after a moment of blankness, he reappeared, still seated, in the middle of a sombre slate-walled room, not much larger than a standard office. Four figures behind a raised stone desk that looked like a judge's panel stared down at him.

"One second to spare," a severe man with chiseled features and razor-parted black hair sniffed. "Very well. Let the interrogation begin."