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Just because you can, does not mean you should. Your path to the Lich goes through this girl. Otherwise, it's the long way round.

You can. And you should.

Raw deal, she thinks, but still a deal.

An enviable life... if you squint.

Adorable stifling. More of this.

Plastic surgery for the soul.

Aren't we a collection of everyone we've gänged with, anyway?

Opportunity here, operant. No need to trade information with KALEIDOSCOPE -- propose a clean swap, the prisoner for this lost girl.

She loved every moment.

The world slows for a fraction of a moment, before jolting back into real time.

Pop music falls under 'Culture'. This minister must be Reyes. Your quarry.

The Grand Lich of Techno-Fascism. Your target.

Intriguing stagecraft, operant. Telling the possible techno-fascist asset about the secret plan to kill a member of her government.

For some reason, she's uncomfortable talking about this.

Fucked him üp.

A thin film of tears forms across her eyes.

She recognised it immediately. This is no bootleg.

A 'fuckfold': 54,567,389 Superbloc kupongs.

This girl is an antenna. A lightning rod.

She's connected some of the dots, in her own way. No reason to jump ahead.

PSEUDOPOD may have a different outlook.

Uh oh. She's kind of digging this star-fucking business.

Not only is there nothing cool about this proposition to her, there is no chance this 'collaboration' ever occurs.

There's unease at her fringes -- slow ripples along the shoreline.

Of course that's what you say now, in the cold light of rational thought. But a submerged part of you remembers those moments as they were.

LUZIAN AND STAR OF POP? QUAKE BEFORE IT. TWO PRIMARY CANCERS HAVE METASTASISED.

Doesn't care for that collective noun.

A stack of gleaming hi-fi equipment, speakers resting on cinder blocks, the only thing arranged with care in the apartment. Your asset presses play with a large finger:

Her boyfriend must know how it works.

Yana's using him as a doorman.

Impressive. No way this kid's a board inspector; whoever sent him on this 'mission' is way scarier than any pencil pusher.

Interesting... his controller must be far more frightening than a medical board executive.

He's willing to bleed for this; whoever sent him is way scarier than any board inspector.

He is seventeen years old. He is not with the medical board.

And what if he pretends to know less than he does?

School can be crüel.

This boy is not a board narc, CASCADE.

He shrinks, as if someone let the air out of his jacket.

He twitches sheepishly in his armour of puffy fabric.

'Embroiled' also didn't land.

This persona will serve the boy well.

Odds of him being asset SCARF: 95%. Confirmation encouraged.

On his sleeve, a holographic foil patch reads 'MARCO'.

She isn't remotely surprised or on edge -- if there's such a thing as 'off-duty' in this business then you're looking at it.

Flirtatious but firm, she won't talk unless you play along.

She takes a drink -- a longer one than usual.

The buttons go down with a satisfying thunk thunk thunk.

The information. Not the kiss.

She's tough. Respect.

2,870 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 42 of 58