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Acuerda -- a coastal city of the Illuminated Empire's mainland. A corrupt commercial centre functioning as the launchpad for Luzian goods, directed at the Developed World.

ALL THAT I HEAR LATELY, IS MY SUPERBLOC BABY.

Unbelievable. Enlisting this child was a serious miscalculation.

You do not want this to end in a close quarters gunfight. If you can help it.

A little quiver here and there -- nervous system at full charge -- but she's stable.

Somewhere below the tram's thin floor lies her abandoned life, scattered like aircraft wreckage.

'INDIVIDUALISM' IS BOURGEOIS FOR 'INSUBORDINATION'. TODAY THE UNIFORM... TOMORROW THE ORDERS.

But she's very glad you're here.

Not pro. Deeply amateur.

Double. The mirror. A conjuror's trick.

Actually not... a bad plan. Oh well.

My Intrepid Homosexual Orgy.

Your throat the dark silo of your own forgotten body.

Just two. One of which is entirely optional.

Prey drive kicking in. He senses a threat.

Across town, a pair of eyes blink in the rhythm of an undying machine.

Banks of living data. Silent, interlinked.

Glowing embers of old grudges burn holes in his stomach lining.

He can't bring himself to use the word 'incarcerated' in the same sentence as his daughter.

A vision of Karolina's home life suddenly flashes before you. Her father -- doting, concerned, overbearing.

Two utterly banal words, but they're the first he's had of her in ages. He'll hold onto them like prayer beads, until all possible meaning has been rubbed off.

IF THE SO-CALLED DEVELOPED WORLD IS REALLY SO DEVELOPED, WHY DO ITS PEOPLE SUFFER FROM DIRTY DOG DISEASES?

Something about... sleeping dogs?

Voice so hushed as to be indecipherable.

There's nothing wrong with your eyes.

Kneeling on a stranger's rug, small body wrapped in a towel.

He's had to fix his former colleague's mess more than once.

A whole room of this tiny houseboat is dedicated to a person who never visits.

A shrine that only he maintains.

He sympathizes with any organism that can survive under bleakly hostile conditions.

Humming in subdermal tones. Crackles in the ear canal. Jag of noise. Soothing whisper.

He was the one holding the clipboard.

He's never felt such freedom.

You've neatly slotted yourself into the 'drug-seeking behaviour' category in his eyes.

That little jump he gave when you walked in the door -- you're the first visitor he's had in a while.

Those little arguments made his day.

TEMPO DEL SUR: I heard some stuff over in Cicatriz F. It got me seeing pictures, Hersh. This thing, when it hits... new world order.

They are already untangling themselves from each other.

Marco would have been fathoms beneath Tempo's sphere of awareness.

The most loyal -- to the corps more than the people. Gäng over all.

He'd be eyeing the top shelf liquor, daring it to try.

In herself, she means. In her own mind.

Set her free. Why should she sacrifice her second chance for yours?

You first among their number, for reasons you could never quite put your finger on.

You didn't hear the word 'no' in there.

A barrage of words -- none of them an outright refusal.

Summits of derision, mesas of lust, valleys of tedium and miscommunication, ever-enchanted with an opaque mist of technicolour neurochemicals.

Staring you down. Hasn't blinked in some time.

1,265 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 8 of 26