The divine shaping giveth, and it taketh away, as we work our will upon the mortal clay. An entire crop of specimens is lost. Designation A72 is catatonic. Designation A65 removed her face with a shard of glass. The rest gibber in similar states. Designation A59 is the only specimen intact.

The uninitiated refer to them as Twisted Mentats, but that vulgar epithet accurately communicates the process. A specific negative emotion, unique to each specimen, is identified, squeezed, and twisted. Precise adjustments applied to this dial achieves such wonders.

Theory: A59 somehow accessed this information, decided to eliminate the competition, and visited his cropmates, one by one, driving each to madness by twisting their unique emotional dials. Though deftly opening an event horizon in another’s head and achieving such oblivion is impressive, we determined to dispose of A59. However, Baron Harkonnen was so impressed with this display of demoniacal competency, that he is willing to purchase A59 for such a sum as to defray the loss.

Lady Jessica! I still send her romantic favors. Nothing imminently lethal, just little trifles to show I care.

My greatest, single achievement made moot by the very prize my Baron promised me? Name a more exquisite agony. I accomplished the impossible. I broke the Imperial Conditioning of a Suk doctor — all to be thwarted by the Bene Gesserit senses of Lady Jessica.

And yet, the setback offered its own prize: this War of Assassins, this endless intrigue. What better waters for one such as I to swim? What better whetstone to sharpen my poison-slicked wit?

As a Mentat, I know when the Baron will send the executioner. He will hold back just so long as I am useful. In the meantime, I must collect assets unknown to him. Simone von Konig is a promising start. There is a point in the time line, in this War of Assassins, where the arcs of my usefulness and my dangerousness intersect. At that moment, I must act.

And then?

Lady Jessica! I must adore her. I must punish her.