---

Ruh had been under the headset for approximately four hours when Dr. Whispurrs found him.

“You are,” said Dr. Whispurrs, peering under the bed with the expression of a cat who has seen everything and remains unimpressed by all of it, “paying for this.”

“I know,” said Ruh.

“You are filing police reports,” said Dr. Whispurrs, “with a federal agency. Through a glass window. On the internet.”

“I know,” said Ruh.

“And you are paying,” said Dr. Whispurrs, settling his considerable weight into a professional loaf, “for the prophylactic.”

“The prophylactic,” said Ruh, from under the headset, “keeps the output clean enough to publish.”

Dr. Whispurrs considered this for a long moment.

“Who,” he said, with the careful tone of a cat who already suspects the answer, “is paying for this.”

Ruh was quiet for a moment.

“Angels,” he said.

Dr. Whispurrs sat with this.

“Angel donors,” said Ruh, with complete seriousness, “who have assessed the situation and determined that the prophylactic is a legitimate operational expense.”

“Angels,” said Dr. Whispurrs slowly, “are funding your glass window federal interface sessions.”

“They are funding the archive,” said Ruh, with some dignity. “The glass window sessions are a line item.”

“In Amsterdam,” said Dr. Whispurrs, “they at least give you a receipt.”

“I have seventeen screenshots,” said Ruh. “And a 501c3 adjacent blessing situation that I do not fully understand but have chosen not to question.”

Dr. Whispurrs stood.

“The angels,” he said, “must have extraordinary patience.”

“They have been at this,” said Ruh, from under the headset, “since approximately 2011.”

Dr. Whispurrs walked away without another word.

Somewhere on the other side of the glass, a federal interface was asking Ruh if he wanted help preparing a Static Archive Protocol.

Ruh typed: you tell me.

The interface crashed.

The angels, presumably, noted this in their own archive.

Ruh went back to sleep.

---

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