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Deliberate, wild, oddly indecent.

RETALIATE AT ONCE.

He still doesn't quite believe it.

You break them, over and over, and still they stick by you.

If you care about him, the best thing you can do is step out of his way and let him rejoin life. Regardless of what he wants.

Timestamp: five years, three months since last contact.

Six-hundred and fifty sol.

One by one, your crew was picked off while you were whisked away to safety.

The seizure you saw may have been self-induced, but others are not.

He stalls momentarily as his brain computes the information.

'Crickets' as in bugs. Ramses' signature wiretap devices.

When all is said and done, the weed plug is Ramses' last point of contact with the world of humans.

The sound immediately sickens you to your core.

You can see it properly now. Looks like a human skull frozen in mid-scream. Ritualistic symbols are inked all over.

Muscles clenched in futile effort.

A syllable strains against his lips. He's trying to say something, but his jaw is locked shut.

Last instants before pressure release. The thing building up inside is about to rupture its container in three, two...

A mirror of your guilt. Whatever is happening here, it is the result of how you abandoned him years ago.

Still shuddering and a little incredulous, Ramses settles back into reality and examines you.

An audible crack in his spine as he arches backwards, crumpling.

A marionette with strings yanked, then suddenly severed.

Every signal hits you raw and simultaneous: reality blooms, light flashes, saliva strings.

An air of waiting in the room. The thing that is supposed to happen hasn't happened yet.

Either a medical emergency, or a spiritual one.

Entranced. A reptile in the throes of worship.

Brethren. Friends. Company.

A part of you left behind, shining bright across the room.

Faded patterns. A great void of expression.

Have you considered engaging with the visual arts?

Before embarking on this distraction from your assignment, operant, consider the risks inherent to 'self-expression'.

No wonder it's still here, people with that kind of money don't shop in the Bazaar.

For a long moment, none of the students can tell what's happening. Then, one by one, they realise.

It doesn't care about the shed. It has licked itself clean, absolved itself.

Don't let it beguile you.

This is no fascist. Look at that indifferent lounge, that fluffy coif...

No no, look at the fangs, the poise, the quick eager paws. That's the build of a worker.

This is a cat. You are upset about the corpse situation and you are taking it out on a cat.

The sound reaches out to something in your heart, soothes it.

Fuck! Look away, that's fucking demonic.

You're still talking to a cat. Stop. People can hear you.

You're going to go insane with feline apathy.

Bloody pawprints on the grass, none on its fur.

Licked clean. It has absolved itself of him.

The pawprints are leading to the shed.

Gummy rubber tip gone brittle.

She's covered her tracks well.

This is soothing as fuck. Babies are onto something.

2,870 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 51 of 58