[b]20022![/b]

He makes you wait. There is much to do, after all, and his process is as closed to you as his thoughts. 

Is this pettiness? The silence? It's not efficiency, that's for certain. Oh, you don't step on each other's hooves, but neither is there any synergy to speak of. You could have taken that pot off the burner, rather than Dolce having to step swiftly across the kitchen to get it himself, and yet nothing burns. Tantrum or habit, you've nothing else better to do. You can wait. You can observe.

You observe his mouth drawn tightly. You observe him set dishes down sharply, then wince at the noise. You observe his nose twitch, twitch, twitch as he thinks. When the spread is all but complete, he speaks at last.

"She will not be [I]used[/I] against liquid bronze."

And you observe, as he turns to leave, his anger was not directed at you.

[b]Assassin![/b]

I'm sorry, I don't have a better name to call you by.

One moment, you're killing the architect. The next, you wake up alone in a well-lit room.

I know your blood is up. I know your mind is racing. I don't know what you're feeling right now, and I'm not going to hazard any guesses. I'm just going to tell you what you see, and a little of what might happen next. You might notice things in a different order, and that's okay. Go at your own pace.

You're in a room on the Architect's shuttle. One of the grand suites, in a non-standard configuration. Much of the furniture and trappings have been removed. The beds still there though. It's large, much larger than you, and comfortable. It will break if you hit it. Nothing else will happen if you do.

No one is here. No one is in the hallway immediately outside. If you can tell, and maybe you can, the nearest person is some ways down the hall, waiting. You will hear their their footsteps if they approach, but they do not, no matter what you do. The door is locked. It will make noise if it is unlocked. You are alone, and unbothered.

There is a low table before you. There is a stack of blank paper, and a pen. Take notes, draw, rip them to shreds, crush it to dust, do with them what you will. They are offered freely.

Also on the table is a generous spread of food. Freshly made. A variety of tastes, a variety of spices, chosen carefully that the smell is inviting without being overwhelming, without any two dishes clashing. There is no invitation, nor any indication of place settings. The food is there, offered freely to anyone who will take it, and such an open and vague offer cannot be considered binding hospitality. Eat, if you like.

There is a coffin, with you inside it. There is a strange device attached to it. There is a note affixed to the device, asking you to please not tamper with it, as that is how you are standing in two places at once. 

"I will explain when I return. It will be some time. I will knock before I enter." Signed, Dolce, and a little drawing of a Synnefo holding a heart.

The room is, save for the coffin, yours. Do with it what you will. Take your time. Work out what you have to. Enjoy the food, or don't. But this much I promise you: As your attention tries to claw its way back to your mission, it will find this room frictionless. It will be given no data. It will be given no targets. It will be given no fuel. It will only have the memory of the Architect breaking beneath your claws to sustain itself, and memory dulls as familiarity grows. 

Some time much, much, much later, there are steps down the hall, and a knock on the door.

"This is Dolce. May I come in?"