Phineas Thatch is here for a ceremony.

A ceremony for him.

This is the thing that he has been working toward his entire professional career.

Here at the central vault, Phineas steps out of a private shuttle.

His armor is buffed to a glassy shine, gleaming in the

unlight. A velvet half cape swept

over one shoulder. He's aware that society

observes his every move. The stakes are

very high at this precise moment, and it

feels incredible. It's a little bit stressful.

Of course, this is an important moment for him and for all of his fans at home.

He strides with purpose.

He proceeds down the grand causeway toward the vaults, spectacular, cathedral-like entrance,

breathing steadily as he goes, willing himself forward,

consumed by a feverish anticipation.

This is no ordinary day.

His lifelong objective is straight ahead of him, mere minutes away, steps away,

awaiting him, calling him forward.

This reward, not to put too fine a point on it, is literally nothing. Saying that Phineas' reward is nothing is maybe a little bit misleading.

Technically, it's true.

His reward is nothing.

He's here to get nothing.

...