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And yet you can't help but feel a sense of desperation clinging to it.

About time! Dissonance reconciled at minimum psychic cost.

Holiday memories of your mother, struggling with an antenna, trying to access foreign cartoons -- through the static, glimpses of a shaggy, vintage vagina.

Squelching one person into another.

You get the distinct sense she's about to confide something to you. But at the cusp, she retracts the words and puts others in their place.

Your heart begins to thunder.

Right when they were about to make it big.

This time when he sat down, the other him was already slumped over the table, bleeding across it.

We're currently two friends down -- we could use one too.

'And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

A glancing flash of a person overlayed upon another -- like a stencil nudged off its overlay.

Where do you recognise that gesture from?

Sudden, intense déjà vu curtains your mind.

'And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

On the second floor of a failing photo outlet, a pair of green eyes widen, catch a glimpse of the impossible, then cloud back over.

So much more 'not' than anyone else. No funeral, no salute, vanished from the world with a muttered incantation and a phantom hand.

MUCH LIKE THE CLASSIC FASCIST DILEMMA -- THEIR ENEMY MUST BE BOTH STRONG AND WEAK AT THE SAME TIME!

Translation: At the back of another life somewhere.

As if they might be waiting just outside it.

Trying to shrug off the shrill taunts, kicks against toilet stall doors and scribbled lines on cracked walls that take root as undeniable truth.

She looks at you like this is the most salient point in the world.

The shadow of a passing aero-tram flashes across the girl's face like a zoetrope as she glances up.

REVOLUTION IS AGELESS! THE TINY WORKSHOPS OF THE CHILDREN'S LABOUR COMMUNE PRODUCE THE FINEST SK-53 ASSAULT RIFLES IN THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLICS.

A geometrically precise matrix of cocaine.

There are words to be traced in the loops of her cigarette light -- if only you could read the language.

Real now -- once and for all.

No self-awareness whatsoever.

He hits you with a wink.

This man has never seen athleticism.

He smiles at you, a benevolent and kindly expression.

Eyebrows knotting, unable to imagine a desire. Look at you.

The revolutionary spirit.

He is exactly like you.

An abomination by every possible measure.

INSUBORDINATION.

He doesn't give a FUCK.

He's braindead, Hershel. No trousers.

Pure heartbreak. Look at his face. Look what you've done.

He's not going to move. He has no mind.

If you're right in your assessment of your own moral virtue, then he too is programmed to be evil -- you have busted the machine's central circuits. This is a good thing.

Could have guessed. Quite easily.

There's nothing in there. You cannot count on 'nothing'.

Is that a frown? He's puzzling it out. Give him a moment.

THE SILENCE OF TRUE SOLIDARITY.

You could marry him for real after this, just think of all the arguments you'd never have.

Listen to him. Unperterbable, unmovable. True gäng.

Your recall the THWACK of foot making contact with his forehead. He looks hurt, lost. His glasses are on wrong.

1,265 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 9 of 26