// CELESTIAL OPERATIONS CENTER //
// TRANSCRIPT: APERTURE SYNCHRONIZATION //
"The emotional convergence is now locked," Azrael announced, his gloom now tinged with clinical awe. On his main screen, a graph showed J.'s "Lived Experience Saturation" line—once a gentle slope—now curving sharply upward, aimed like an arrow at the STARFALL SEMI-FORMAL. "The Subject's investment in the 'Lena' node has accelerated the curve exponentially. The aperture will destabilize precisely during the peak social-emotional energy of the event. The window for extraction is narrow and… fragile."
"Define fragile," Gabriel commanded.
Miguel zoomed in. Catastrophic branches spidered out from the intersection point. "If the emotional pressure exceeds parameters—extreme joy, public humiliation, a theological debate—the constraints could snap. Instead of a clean extraction, we get a localized… revelation event. Think unintended atmospheric phenomena. Empathic broadcasts. The gym could become a temporary zone of chaotic, low-grade divinity."
"The 'Basketball of Eternal Bounce' scenario," Raziel added, unhelpfully.
"The Observer's role is now critical-path," Gabriel stated. "She must shepherd him through the peak. Ensure the experience is intensely human, not supernaturally catastrophic."
"She must get him to the last song," Miguel agreed. "When the music fades, our window closes. He's pulled back. Mission complete."
"And if she fails?" Azrael asked.
The screen flickered to a simulation: a gym where the disco ball was a miniature sun, the punch bowl a fountain of living water, and students spoke in perfect, forgotten Aramaic. The caption read: THEORETICAL FAILURE STATE: PENTECOSTAL PROM.
"She won't," Miguel said, the words a prayer.
---
On Earth, the minefield was being decorated with crepe paper.
For Isabella, the dance was no longer a social event but a terrifying, cosmic checkpoint. Miguel's latest briefing was stark: "FINAL PHASE: NAVIGATION TO EXTRACTION. PRIMARY THREAT: EMOTIONAL SURGE. OBJECTIVE: A NORMAL, MEMORABLE, MORTAL EVENING."
Normal. Memorable. Mortal. The words warred in her head.
Her buffer duties were fully operational. She'd bored Father Dominic into silent vigilance with a dense, footnoted follow-up blog post. But a new threat arrived in a sleek, electric car the color of a pressed juice.
Pastor Chad Vance unfolded himself at the edge of the school parking lot, a vision of curated casualness. Designer jeans, a "FAITH > FEAR" t-shirt, artfully tousled hair. He moved with the confidence of a TED Talk speaker, zeroing in on Isabella with unnerving precision.
"Isabella Jenkins! The voice of a generation!" His voice was a warm, amplified boom. "Chad Vance. Relevant Life Church. I'm a huge fan of The Human Codex."
Isabella froze, a textbook in hand. "Uh. Thanks?"
"That 'Taxonomy of Kindness' piece? Revolutionary." He leaned against the lockers. "You've pinpointed the market gap: faith that functions. My metrics show a 40% engagement drop in the 16-24 demographic. They don't want dusty parables; they want life hacks for the soul. Your 'J.' is the prototype. Let's partner. We'll A/B test his insights, build an app—'The Daily Parable: Optimize Your Outreach.' It's a holy trinity of influence!"
Observation (Opportunist): Treats faith as a product line. Sees salvation in market share. Wants to franchise the anomaly.
"It's just a school project," Isabella said, her buffer protocols engaging. "I was actually satirizing the whole concept…"
"Satire is the gateway to truth!" Chad beamed, undeterred. He pulled out his phone. "Let's get a pic. 'Met the brilliant mind behind the movement!'"
Before she could protest, he had his arm around her for a selfie. "My friend… he's not a 'movement,'" she insisted, pulling away.
"He's the authentic face! You're the voice. I'm the platform." He winked. "The dance is coming up. Big moment. We could do something… impactful. A 'Kindness Corner' booth. A live-streamed interview with J.…"
Isabella's mind raced. A live-stream at the climax of the mission? A branding booth at the gates? Disaster.
"He doesn't like attention," she said firmly. "He just wants a normal night. Your 'Kindness Corner' is a great idea, but it should be about the students, not him. Maybe… an anonymous donation? True efficiency. No branding, just results."
Chad's smile tightened for a microsecond. He was a man who understood the value of a logo. But he also understood the value of seeming altruistic. "An anonymous donation… Let the act speak for itself. That's a mature perspective, Isabella." He was recalculating. "I'll consider it. But I'll be there. To observe. And to support."
He left her with a blast of cologne ('Titan') and a fresh wave of dread.
She found J. in the woodshop, putting the final polish on Lena's wrist brace.
"Pastor Chad wants to set up a booth.He wants to interview you."
J.blew the sawdust away. "I won't be doing an interview."
"He'll be watching.Father Dominic will be chaperoning. Miguel says the 'aperture' will be unstable. Your constraints could slip."
J.looked at her, his eyes calm but deep with understanding. "I know. I can feel it. The pressure. Like a song building to a last note." He held up the brace. "I'm just trying to make sure the instruments are ready for the music."
He placed the finished brace in her hands. It was smooth, warm, perfectly formed.
"Your role,Isabella," he said gently, "isn't to control the music. It's to make sure I can still hear the melody. If I start to… get lost in the symphony… remind me of the tune. Our tune."
She nodded,clutching the wood. Remember the taxonomy.
The deadline was now tangible. A dance ticket. A pastor's proposal. A priest's gaze. And a simple piece of wood, sanded smooth for a girl who loved stories about kindness.
---
// CELESTIAL OPERATIONS CENTER //
"The Opportunist has been engaged," Raziel reported. "His initial vector was deflected by the Observer's suggestion of anonymity. His pride is now a variable. He will attend to save face, if not to brand."
"And the Dogmatist?" Gabriel asked.
Miguel pulled up a feed. Father Dominic was at his computer, reading Isabella's latest, deliberately boring blog post. He spent four minutes on the footnote, then closed the tab with a sigh. "He assesses her as a secular reductionist, not a spiritual revolutionary. Threat level lowered from 'confront' to 'observe and lament.' He will be there as a chaperone. A watchful gardener."
"Two threats, inside the walls," Gabriel said. "The buffer is built. Now we see if it holds under direct pressure."