Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. – Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus 7
[Report XIV reached the Bureau in mirror script. Transcribed by the Graphology Desk.] Report XIV. Filed from the Edge Station. I walked the Circuit on my last day, with Luzia Prado, the whole fourteen kilometres under the piers of the Long Walk, because I wanted to have seen the town from everywhere before I left it. Somewhere we turned; neither of us noticed where. I am writing this with my left hand, from right to left, without trying, and the Prosector listened to my chest this morning and found my heart on the right, and said, in Latin and then in English, that it suits me. I box from the left now. Zhang Yun says I am finally unpredictable. I am, for the first time in my life, rich. I have given the cites to the Cut, which is what one does here if one is Zhang Yun, and I am now Zhang Yun in this respect only. At six I went to the Observatory to say goodbye, and Max Novák asked me, for the last time, about the stars, and I told him again, worse than before, and he wrote it down ...
From the lore of The Möbius Academy.