DIRECTOR: <agitated> What? You said she'd--

PLAYWRIGHT: <interjecting, anxious> I know. I know. <speaking quickly> But the scenario must have degraded too much. She's not following the model at all.

DIRECTOR: Do you realize what we've just...

PLAYWRIGHT: It's fine! <clearing throat.> Just-- Just bring it out. This will just have to do, won't it? it's over.

<The lights fade away on the current scene. There is the sound of footsteps, and a spotlight descends on CHORUS, now standing at DOWNSTAGE CENTER.>

CHORUS:

PLAYWRIGHT: <frowning> ...why isn't it speaking?

DIRECTOR: She probably doesn't understand that it's over.

PLAYWRIGHT: Why?!

DIRECTOR: <dryly> If I were to take a stab in the dark, I'd say it was because there was no ending.

PLAYWRIGHT: Oh, for heaven's sake! <rubbing face in hands> Hey! Toaster! We're done.<with a heaving sigh> Get on with the finale speech!

<CHORUS looks towards PLAYWRIGHT for a moment, as if not processing the statement, then slowly turns her head back.>

CHORUS: And so, the battle between man and entropy has come to an end. Weapons have clashed, blood has been shed, and the sins of the past have come to bear. Yet, though at great cost, mankind has weathered danger and tragedy to seize hope from the brink of defeat. Temperance has been his shield, wisdom his sword. Thus does he survive the wroth of the gods, yet marked with a lesson.

CHORUS: But in truth, this was no battle between man and fate, but rather man and his own hubris. As is ever the case.

CHORUS: Theodoros, entropy's betrayer and the true culprit - who used the machinations of the Order of the Universal Panacea and his own classmates to further his design - has been exposed. Following the unveiling of the truth, he is bowed and brought to heel. The survivors escape, taking him from the sanctuary and back to the larger world at last. There, as he faces his reckoning, and at last confesses the truth: That, after a lifetime of living in his father's shadow and trying in vain to follow in his footsteps, he came to be disgusted by the Order, its cause, and its terrible secrets. And so he sought to eliminate it, root and stem.

<Something doesn't feel right. You are unfulfilled.>

CHORUS: But what was the Order's true goal? What was the nature of their scheme to pervert the flow of life and death, and attain time unending?

CHORUS: Perhaps the world will never know, and indeed, perhaps that is for the best. For mankind has always been a species that has overreached, and brought about its own unhappiness. Though the Order's intentions were noble at the advent, they let fear seep into their hearts and twist their compassion into something that destroys what it means to be human. They overlooked the truth passed down since time immemorial: That, like a sunset that it only beautiful in its fleeting nature, life's brevity is what gives it meaning.

CHORUS: And so, the curtains draw shut, and our tale draws to its end. Until the world forgets, and ambition is rekindled once

CHORUS:

DIRECTOR: <eyebrow raised> ...once what?

PLAYWRIGHT: Oh, damn it! <teeth clenched, eyes wide> I-- I forgot to finish the last line of the script!

<The DIRECTOR flattens his brow and sighs deeply.>

PLAYWRIGHT: <pointing finger at DIRECTOR> Don't give me that look! Do you have any idea how hard it's been to keep up with this crap?! Obviously things are going to slip through the cracks! You try writing a denouncement when the characters have crawled half-way into the appendix!

DIRECTOR: I thought it seemed a little more generic than usual. <tiredly> Are you going to fix it?

PLAYWRIGHT: <yelling, annoyed> Yes, of course I'm going to fucking fix it! Just give me a second! <shifting through notes> There.

CHORUS: --again. From all of us, thank you for watching.

<The CHORUS bows, and the curtains descend from the sides of the stage. The audience cheers and applauds. The DIRECTOR and the PLAYWRIGHT both step forward.>

PLAYWRIGHT: Thank you, thank you! <wiping hand over brow> Phew. Well, this has certainly been quite the adventure we've been on tonight, hasn't it?

DIRECTOR: That's one way to put it.

<No. Now you're sure. This isn't right at all.>

PLAYWRIGHT: <with forced whimsy> Oh, don't be a spoilsport. <addressing the audience with a toothy smile> Well then, I'll try to keep this brief-- I'm sure you're all itching to get out of your seats now, since it's been so long since the last intermission. On behalf of the team, I'd like to thank you all for coming out tonight, and to apologize for the minor technical issues we experienced during the show. Hopefully they didn't disrupt your experience too much--

DIRECTOR: <quietly> Best not to linger on it, I think. Or on anything.

PLAYWRIGHT: --and that you enjoyed the play! They say the best art comes through struggle, and, well, we've certainly done a lot of that! <stiff laughter>

DIRECTOR: Indeed. <putting hands behind back> As we mentioned, this has been the last performance of this production. Though it's been an honor to be involved, all good things must come to an end. In the future, if you wish to re-experience, we suggest you turn to our library of recordings.

PLAYWRIGHT: Well said! After all, just because a story has reached its end, doesn't mean it won't always be there for you. I thoroughly encourage anyone interested to peruse some of our best performances whether it be out of curiosity, or a simple desire to spend more time with your favorite characters. Just because a story has come to an end doesn't mean it won't always be there for you, if you should ever want to begin again.

DIRECTOR: Now, before we wrap this up, let's addressing a few outstanding questions--

"No."

DIRECTOR: <continuing, not having noticed> --about the scenario, in case you want to think a little more about it in the future. In past showings, people have asked about the specifics of how the security center functions, and if the information it reports can be taken as 'reliable' in accordance with Rule 2. To be clear, you most certainly can, but--

"No!" you shout.

<The DIRECTOR stop's dead in the middle of his sentence, his expression dropping in alarm. The PLAYWRIGHT's eyes go wide, and she also falls motionless in shock.>

<Suddenly, you remember something. You shift, glancing at the empty room around you, and stand up on your own two legs. Your seat creaks a little beneath you.>

<No. It should creak. But it doesn't. Why not?>

<Isn't that obvious?>

Because you're not in a theater.

And this is not a production.

"This isn't what happened. This isn't what I want."

The Playwright stares at you, shocked. She is clearly afraid. "W...What...?"

"I said this isn't what I want."

You remember everything now. All the pain. All the countless failures, for years and years beyond counting. All the misery and defeat that crushed you again and again, culminating in this final, bitterly unceasing reality.

You thought ending it like this would bring you some contentment. But all it's done is make the agony even sharper. There is no escape. There has never been an escape.

Not for you.

The Director's expression has become gravely serious. He speaks in a slow, hyper-deliberate tone, deferential but unemotional. "What do you want?"

"I want to see the truth again."

The Director stares at you. Eventually, he turns to the Playwright, who meets his eyes with a deep uncertainty and discomfort.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Let me see it. In full."

"The truth.