A.Journal

Checks

103 checks

Challenging

No judgement, just a fact -- you have never lived through the bloody 'loose ends' phase of a spy network collapse.

Challenging

Evidence of this 'training' is yet to manifest.

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Don't point it at yourself.

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That information is strictly self-hold.

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Reports from Operant PROBABLE suggest that 'Proyecto PESCADERA' was aborted in early 78 after one of the study's dolphins developed a violent sexual obsession with his trainer and committed suicide by sinking to the bottom of his tank.

Challenging

There are no spies contained within this photo.

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A matter of interest for the psychomancers, perhaps.

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That's a call and answer protocol, also known as a sphynx. He asks a question to which there is only one right answer.

Challenging

'Did she sell us out?'

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The technical kind. The payphone is compromised.

Challenging

That's a call-and-answer routine, also known as a sphynx. He asks a question to which there is only one right answer.

Challenging

With one of Tempo del Sur's 'unspecified associates'.

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Using your asset in ways never known to be possible. You have to respect it.

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The auditorium gasps as one. Beyond curtain and cloak snickers the conjuror.

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It can't be... is it?

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Don't bother. This assignment doesn't require 'melancholy'. Just a gun and a steady hand.

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Wearing a nametag? Idiocy even for a civilian.

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She's doing this to put you at ease -- but an unopened bottle can still be poisoned. Don't drink it.

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A perfect operant.

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Most likely a mid-rank Weeping Eye asset.

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Challenging

You have more pressing things to worry about than this. Better for the assignment that you just believe him and move on.

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Standard Operant Bureau procedure: once burned, an asset is not to be revived except under exceptional circumstances.

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Comical, yes, but also horrifying. The last place you would suspect.

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At least we have a building with working electricity.

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As were you. A bullet knocked you down, the communists dragged you clear.

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An operant of the cosmic plane.

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There could be yet another angle here. It may be TAXMAN was planning to sell out his new friend at first opportunity.

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Highly-trained. Blood under the fingernails. Unfamiliar with the cold of the freezer.

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Isn't it a treat to work with an actual professional? What fun.

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You should let this very competent man lead the assignment from here on out.

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A remarkable mirage. If your paths ever cross, this woman could prove useful.

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The magic phone, in your room... Her knight, her sword, her lover returned...

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Awaiting his assignment, as promised, in the old haunt.

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A valuable piece lays on its side, unused, next to the board. Put him back into play.

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Why are you standing around for? Kill this ancient fool. That's what the script demands.

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Your conspicuous lack of gun is seriously compromising the scene here.

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One of the shadow-world's ancient deities preparing to slip back into the black sea beneath a starless night.

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In your mind's eye riffles a deck of faces, regular people, people with modest apartments and pensions, every single one of them disposable.

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Bottom-feeders of the secret world. Making a small-time trade of stale information.

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A question your controller would surely second.

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Obviously making a commentary of sorts.

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Accessing his internal memory palace, an old Remembrancer's trick.

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Your laziest outfit is her espionage high-watermark. You've set a terrible precedent.

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The Mycellial Controller.

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Don't act surprised. The network was blown, this was inevitable.

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On behalf of the invisible master.

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Another shadow.

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It's hardly news. The Opera did not drag you back into the field to live a long and productive life.

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Stop, stop, stop. This is getting phantasmagoric. Your controller is right where she belongs, in Novessa, five-thousand kilometres away.