// CELESTIAL OPERATIONS CENTER //
// TRANSCRIPT: NARRATIVE DEFENSE PROTOCOL //
"The Observer has deployed countermeasures," Raziel announced, a hint of admiration in his voice. On his screen, social media metrics showed the #EfficientGrace meme collapsing, replaced by #EfficientGraceCringe. "She has successfully meme-ified the Opportunist's branding attempt. The phrase is now a joke. Its spiritual market value has depreciated."
Azrael pointed to a different metric—the steady line of Dogmatist Engagement. "The laughter is a smokescreen. It does not reduce his conviction. He perceives not just heresy, but mockery. His probability of direct intervention at the event remains at ninety percent."
Miguel watched the main viewer. Isabella was typing furiously at the community center. Pastor Chad was scowling at his phone. Father Dominic was polishing his already-spotless glasses. "The buffer is holding, but the pressure is asymmetric. She's playing defense on two fronts. It's a strain."
"Her biometrics?"
"Elevated but sustainable.She's channeling anxiety into creativity. It's… very human."
---
Her weapon was The Human Codex.
Isabella's next post was a masterpiece of misdirection. "A Field Guide to High School Rituals: Deconstructing the Starfall Semi-Formal (A Pre-Game Analysis)."
It was anthropology disguised as a hype piece. It broke down the dance into clinical parts—the "Territorial Dynamics of the Gym Floor," the "Symbolic Language of Dress Codes." It was witty, brilliant, and deliberately superficial. She mentioned J. only once, in a footnote: "See previous entries re: 'Subject J' for an example of atypical but socially integrative behavior patterns."
She was making the lens the story. By framing the entire event as a silly system, she made J. just one more data point.
The response was immediate.
Miguel: Narrative diffusion successful. Dogmatist spent 4.7 minutes on the footnote. Probable assessment: you are a secular reductionist, not a spiritual revolutionary. Threat level lowered.
Unknown Number (Chad): Isabella! Loved the new post! So meta! Really gets people talking. The buzz is incredible. Let's capitalize at the dance! I'll have my team there. Think about that interview! #MaximizeTheMoment
She deleted it.
Two days before the dance, the final notice went out to chaperones. At the bottom: Father Dominic A. Ricci.
He was in.
That afternoon, he appeared at the door of her World Lit class. His gaze swept the room, landing on Isabella and J. like a cold fingerprint.
After class, he was waiting. Not for her, but for J.
"Joshua.A word?"
J.handed Isabella his books—a gesture of trust and a signal. Stay close.
Father Dominic led them a few steps away."I understand you are attending the dance with Lena Reyes."
"I am."
"A lovely girl.These events can be… intense. Emotionally charged. It is easy to get caught up in the atmosphere. To confuse heightened feeling for deeper meaning."
J.listened, head tilted. "You're concerned the music will be too loud?"
A flicker of impatience."I am concerned that in seeking a memorable night, one might be persuaded to perform… to become an image for others, rather than remaining true to oneself."
It was a warning.Wrapped in pastoral care, but a warning. Don't perform. Don't become a spectacle.
J.smiled, small and genuine. "Thank you for your concern, Father. I'm just going to dance with a girl I like. I don't think I'll have the spare attention to perform."
Father Dominic studied him,finding only serene sincerity. He gave a tight nod. "Very well. I will see you there. I am… looking forward to observing how the student body engages with this tradition." His eyes slid to Isabella. I'll be watching you both.
As he walked away, J. let out a soft sigh. "He cares. He is tending his garden, pulling what he thinks are weeds. It is a form of love. A fearful one."
Isabella handed him his books back."We're the weeds."
"Perhaps.Or perhaps we're just a different kind of flower he hasn't seen before."
The countdown was no longer in days. It was in hours. The buffer was built. The threats were inside the walls.
The only thing left to do was dance.