Reading

Open fileNeed to knowMy clearance

A.Journal

Checks

1,165 checks

... more than 50 known political prisoners, a number of priceless works from the Museo Moderno...

He remembers every betrayal, every expression of horror when his target hears the mental click of the cage-door locking behind them.

That was merely a test-run, proto-gäng. Now's the one that counts.

A note of genuine disappointment. He wishes he could think better of his former employer.

An unplumbed abyss, haunted by strange and incomprehensible monsters.

Scent of marked territory. What can be pissed on can be possessed.

Marginally impressed.

A name he'll never answer to again.

A question your controller would surely second.

Back in Foto 24, your would-be double gurgles his assent.

The most important history is the one that never makes it into the books, but defines how those books are written -- or aren't.

No. More primal. Star-written. Soul danger.

He's thought about it.

You make a mental note: Petre, Unwilling Wolf-Lore Master.

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

But... but... all of them?

Highly obscure, collector's stuff. The kind of information that your brain auto-deletes upon learning.

All but calling you a traitor.

Look at her, mad with bloodlust. Beautiful.

You got a real nice spin on that thing. Smooth.

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

She really understands the truth of how cool we are.

This woman is serially drawn to victims of world history. Septimus, KALEIDOSCOPE, you...

Tall, dark, and fucked.

Shades of Tempo reflected concave, convex, through a hall of mirrors.

Today, maybe tomorrow, even yesterday -- the day is made up as it goes along.

'With you'... the words echo down the hollow of your body.

She'll cry so hard that little Karolinas will sprout from the ground where her tears fell.

Check for a pulse, with any luck you might find none.

If it was a direct order -- yes. Any which way you command.

What she wants to say is: grow a pair.

She shoots you a quick glance, trying to read your expression.

It's happy to see you again.

It started in sub-level three. Rose like a prayer through ducts and electrical chases. A slow, fungal liturgy.

The advance guard.

The remote viewers! Spoon-bending vöyeurs!

Coloured like the memory of a wound.

That is... oddly satisfying.

Vicarious living achieved. You know you haven't ingested anything, but you are without a doubt a little high.

He'd happily sell drugs to you. He's just caught wind of an opportunity to get something out of you.

You can almost see the spine rip itself out the back of him and slither off.

The freezer is broken, the meat is going bad. Dr. Gonza labours on in hot storage.

You have stepped through a portal to another time, where ailments are understood in terms of humours and bile of various colours, and the treatments prescribed can range from leeches to trepanation. All bets are off.

Raw fear behind his eyes.

The Mycellial Controller.

'It takes one to know one', his expression says.

Take it from somebody who shoots his conscience with a designer drug-loaded dart every time it so much as stirs.

1,165 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 22 of 24