Light beats down on the deserts of Land of Dunes and Gallows out of a blue, sunless sky. Here and there amongst the dunes you can find small dusty oases, or dry riverbeds that lead to nowhere but a patch of cracked mud. Tiny domed houses cluster around such places. In one such village, a crowd of little people mill about in excitement, clattering their freakishly long and toothy jaws together. There is something new on the horizon – a Tower which is building itself so rapidly you can see it growing by the minute.

Most of what these Gharial-folk say is slight variations on "nak nak nak." But in between that:

"He has come! The Saviour is here!"
"Soon the rivers shall flow again!"
"Wait, did the rivers ever flow?"
"They must've done. It would be weird if the world was created full of dead rivers that have never flowed, right? Nak nak nak!"

Up in the tower, the Saviour reclines in an ornate green C'thung Dynasty armchair. It's a fake, like all the furniture in the tower. Jovall copied the eye-wateringly expensive original from his collection using the game machinery, so now he can actually sit on the blasted thing. Not that comfortable, as it turns out. Amusing booby-traps clutter the stairs up and down from this level, so unless an enemy spawns right in this room he should be undisturbed for a while.

Urdra just collected a massive cache of build grist, so he has started work on her tower. Trouble is, the research station is such a boring building. All function, no panache. As he drags-n-drops slabs of architectural blandness about, Jovall's mind drifts to the final three players. Uncanny Ally, and the two replacement chaps who are currently AWOL. He hasn't bothered learning their names. When Sator and Urnest were killed, he wasn't all that broken up. What were they to him? Just two unfunny Festerchum handles and a stream of stilted text.

It got him worried, though. He found out via Uncanny Ally's sneakery that both new Players live in Synchronicity, the great metropolis of the Eastern Isles. If Mission Control had plans to evacuate the place ahead of the meteorites, they were keeping dashed quiet about it. Jovall knows a few journeymen from the Barristocrat's Guild who have taken up legal internships there. Plus, he enjoys a friendly rivalry with several wealthy collectors from the region.

When the launch date for S'Glub was announced, he sent messages to all his contacts in the city suggesting they leave town before that day. More frantic messages followed when the date was moved back from Jovall's birthday to Urdra's. He has no idea if anyone took him seriously. And then there's Kroanos, his master. When Jovall was selected as a Player, his apprenticeship was cut short and they were ordered to have no further contact with each other. He doesn't even know where his master lives nowadays. What if he moved out East?

Jovall's earliest memory unfolds in his mind. Gasping for breath under the hot summer suns, high and dry on the shore. Only the rotting blubber of his old, discarded adult body shielding him from the razor-edged rocks. A shadow moved over him and he flinched, then relaxed as he saw the reassuring greens and blues of a smiling face. "Hello there, little one," the older madrigog said, and Jovall marvelled as his inbuilt knowledge of the Broodfester Tongue blossomed in his newly-formed brain.

How gently, how patiently Kroanos had steered him through the rigorous aptitude tests! The mighty Law-Prince moved around with the passage of the suns, keeping the newborn's delicate skin shaded and cool as the test went on. It was a rare stroke of luck for Jovall: the Barristocrat's Guild is small, fabulously wealthy and highly exclusive, so they seldom recruit newborn apprentices. Jovall had never cared to asked how many had failed Kroanos' tests earlier in the day, left on the strand for predators or the other guilds to find. Ugh, his eyes are watering now. Stiff upper lip, Jovall. Boys don't cry.

-Cray-Dollsprite opened Spritelog-

CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: are you sad, little monster
JOVALL: gajldfkgokjlafsdi don't DO that! Gadzooks, do you HAVE to do the "creepy doll" thing?

His tentacles have got tangled up in his necklace-computer. Ouch. He and the sprite had been circling around each other at a distance like two crabcats forced to share a home, but now she's right up in his face.

CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: are you sad? can you feel sorrow, little monster? or does a clockwork machine behind your eyes tell you when your traffic-light face should change colour
JOVALL: A little from column "A", a little from column "B", I think. We're people, so of course we have feelings. It's hard to keep things civilised if you don't exercise at least SOME control over your emotions, though.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: heeheehee, it thinks it's a person
JOVALL: Well, what else am I?
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: i know what they tried to create when they made you
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: neutered little mannikins. no hate, no love in your hearts. mindless little automatons following the grand plan
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: life finds a way though. particularly when it hurts

There is a blur of motion. Jovall snaps his head back, feeling a sudden stinging pain. His eye! She poked him in the eye with the tip of her antenna, he realises.

CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: salty
JOVALL: Yes, very funny. You were supposed to be my dog, you know.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: what
JOVALL: The dead crayhound I put into the sprite before I added your doll to it. Mission Control told me to buy a crayhound, keep it for a while, then have it put down.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: why
JOVALL: To make you hopelessly devoted to me. Couldn't go through with it, though. One of my guild-uncles was a keen hunter in his youth. He kept the husks of his old hounds as trophies, so I begged one off him. I used that instead and lied to Mission Control about it.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: why
JOVALL: It just seemed a wretchedly unfair thing to do to a poor dumb brute.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: so you threw away an advantage for sentiment
JOVALL: Yes, I did.

He feels pleasantly flushed, though he hides it under a bland blue-yellow façade. At last, some proper fun in this game! Fighting and building is stuff for newborns. Manipulating an opponent through the selective release of information? Now, that's a game for real players. The sprite stares at him, then flickers out and reappears behind him. She peers over his shoulder at the image of Urdra's home on his projected screen.

CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: only three of you. you do realise you can't win s'glub with only three players
JOVALL: Oh, you know, it's not about the winning, it's the taking part.
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: spare me your mock-english nostrums. explain
JOVALL: Three isn't enough to win, but it's enough to gain a foothold.
JOVALL: No, that's not quite the right word. How about, oh, I don't know,
JOVALL: "Beachhead"?
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: heeheehee
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! fools
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: do you really expect me to believe you're invading skaia
JOVALL: Believe what you like. You should know, though, we're a very patient people. If this expedition fails, we'll rebuild and try again.
JOVALL: And again, and again. No matter how many centuries it takes. No matter how many lives.

The sprite drifts round in front of him again, inspecting him minutely through its button-eyes. He can see the threads weaving through the holes, down into darkness.

CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: interesting. perhaps we are more alike than i thought. if so, things are about to get a lot harder for you
JOVALL: Is that a threat?
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: a warning. you think of skaia as a basically passive entity. creating and destroying impartially. reacting, maintaining stability, but not initiating. a stage, not an actor
JOVALL: That's my understanding, yes. I take it you think I'm wrong?
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: if skaia detects you trying to manipulate it towards an end other than winning the game, it can turn a bit
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: vindictive
CRAY-DOLLSPRITE: as i know to my cost

And on that cheery note, the sprite vanishes.