A crash of noise and water. Done to soften tense pores - clean the skin of any shame or suspicion - cover oneself while enemies prowl above. The Prime Minister pulled his soaking face out of the sink and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before hitting the floor. A face of shock. He had dived into the pool and propelled himself out like a deep sea swimmer, only to be thrown into violent sunrays and citrine walls. At first he had felt that he could wallow in the depths, float freely about while the noise of the world rumbled above him. But then a strangling feeling came across him. Something he couldn't escape. A minute later his position had been solidified. He lay down inside of a small beige bathroom on the first floor of Gorebyss Falls, which contained, in full: himself, his dinner jacket hanging on a peg, a sink full of water, one door and a bare lamp observing the scene from above. Outside, the mechanical arm of the party was waiting for him to emerge. He knew it.

He stood up and tried to calm himself down. Drying off the excess water that fell on his shirt, he looked at himself more thoroughly in the mirror. A bedraggled, 40-year old profile. Soggy with droplets slipping off his nose.

He couldn't help but laugh. Sometimes he just couldn't believe the things he could convince himself to do. He was supposed to be a head of state. Going to the bathroom to wash his hands had escalated into a cascade of contemplation and forgiveness…o r a subliminal hint at suicide. He wasn't quite sure about that. All in all a good bit of flagellation never hurt anybody.

There were some things Edmund felt he had to accept. Being slightly mad was one of them. Not hallucinatory, or deranged. Probably just a case of paranoia. Anxiety. Depression. His extensive knowledge in the subject of mental disease, and in fact all subjects, had not yet provided a definite answer. That angered him. That's not the way it's supposed to work. Another thing he had to deal with was being caught up in a complex web of politics, responsibilities, obligations, responses, firm action. However, he had only made it worse for himself via one key mistake, which was to be become a public figure – the leader of the Unity Party. The downward spiral continued when he took that party to election. Their winning meant that he had finally hit the bottom of the staircase. Now all he could do was scuttle along the bottom while others observed him from above.

Clearly, having one's body being burned by scowls is enough to make anybody insane.

"For fuck's sake Maria, couldn't you help me with this?"

The gargantuan proportions of Faith's mission had been reduced and replaced in the last 30 seconds by an obstacle of wires. Figuring out where to hide a tape recorder wasn't a concern she usually had when getting dressed for a night out. Nor was the logistics of this new outfit, witch floated somewhere in the waitress/maid/nurse/porn region. It looked ridiculous. All tight and black and short and frilly and lacy…even with one of those white diaper looking things for headgear. Who would wear something like that? She looked longingly at the jumper and trousers that lay on the bed next to Maria.

"Maria! This outfit is driving me crazy!" she screamed, trying to shove the device in somewhere beyond her hemline.

"Seriously Faith, it's too short for you as it is. You can't just snake the wires down your tights, unless you want to get asked about serious vein infections."

"Well what do you suggest?"

"Hide them inside the corset-thing. There's loads of padding there."

Faith gave her a black look. "Well, no, because it's too tight, and…that would restrict my breathing, I faint, recorder is found, we get busted."

"Do you see any other way of hiding the wires?" Maria laughed before continuing. "You could ditch the hat and wear them as a beret or something!"

"Fuck you," Faith glowered as she walked off into the en-suite bathroom to change. Leaving had not made the surroundings look any nicer. She had asked Mark for a "dingy" hotel; he sure did deliver. Amazing how lodgings only a 10 minute drive away from the most prestigious in Ever Grande could try her standards so fiercely: a strong reek of drug-smoke coming from down the corridor, cracks in all the walls (especially at the edges), god-awful lighting, the ambience of a lunatic asylum…

Maria waiting for her in the bedroom didn't make things much better. 'God, she's so annoying' was the only thought that came to Faith's mind, and it looped on and on. It wasn't that she was wrong – just that she didn't have to be so irritating about being right. But how was she irritating? Faith couldn't quite put her finger on it. She was just annoying, and acted like what she was saying was obvious. It clearly wasn't.

Faith realised that the bathroom she was in had a litter tray in it, next to the toilet; probably for some Skitty owned by a family from Mauville - went for a holiday and forgot to look at the hotel reviews. Suckers. The owners of the hotel hadn't even taken it out. She pulled open the beaten medicine cabinet and found it still rife with narcotics. Wonderful. She started to wish she could just stay and write a story about this place: "ZERO STARS - THE HORROR HOTELS OF EVER GRANDE". But then the tipoff to the chef at Gorebyss Falls would have been pointless, and she would have wasted money on the servant's dress, and the "miniature" tape recorder. She would just have to break one story at a time. But now she was undercover, a secret agent of sorts. Fighting for the truth. She didn't even have to know what the truth was, as it was probably so big she would never even bother to analyse it; she just knew that she was here to break down the barriers the opposition held up. What was going on in Sinnoh at that moment? She didn't know, though she did care. She was told that these sorts of things would make sense as they progress. She felt the stench of the litter tray enter her sphere, so went back in.

As she walked back into the room she briefly forgot what she was doing and why she was there, and realised by the time Maria turned around that her top was gaping open at the back with a trail of wires hanging out.

Maria looked more bemused than angry.

"Do you want me to help?" she asked. A rhetorical question. She wandered over and began to pull at the wires and shove them back inside the garments. Faith felt weak for not having achieved anything. And losing an argument.

"Here," Maria continued talking, "I made you some coffee, and took the liberty of actually heating the water for you. I swear you were in there for about ten minutes. What were you doing?"

Probably just whispering prophetic sermons to imaginary crowds of syringes and cat-litter, Faith silently considered.

"..well, I have to make a call to Gorebyss Falls, to make sure everything's ready with the crew so you can get in. Give me a minute."

Maria turned, walked, sat, picked up the old house-phone that was wired up to the hotel room and began to dial a number. Faith wondered for a second. It was as if she was talking to a different Maria than the one she had come into the hotel with. This Maria didn't argue, actually helped her, made her coffee. It was all very odd. Maybe the drug smoke had gotten to her? Faith dived onto the bed and observed her take the call. It did seem like the same Maria: same olive skin that Johtonians have, same straight set of teeth, same smile, same 'hello this is Maria Swanbrook' that she answered the phone with in the office. Faith all of a sudden felt helpless in front of her. The way she did what she did - anyone could hand her a coffee (though it rarely happened), but no one did it like Maria had just done. For a second all she could think about was their future together, the places they could go, where they would stay at night...

"Faith?"

There she is again, calling...

"Faith!" bellowed Maria, clobbering her on the back of her neck with a shoe, "Quit goofing around! Why'd you stare at me like that? Sometimes you can be so weird."

She put the shoe on her foot and walked out with her bag. Faith was still lying there, confused. She gave herself time to recover. Times like these made her question why she had become a messenger of the truth. Nothing she did ever seemed to be in continuity.