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But be warned: You may have to read the whole thing.

You are preparing to strike the cruelest blow.

... wait, returns?

You can see your reflection, flipped, in the unblemished metal.

With a certain excitement, you discern.

You're through -- now keep your seams together. Play the poet persona to the hilt.

Very vague. Almost... secretive.

This door opens for someone, that's why there's an intercom. You just need her to tell you who.

First blood: CASCADE.

A melodic voice that makes you think of flowers blooming in timelapse.

Yet another device bearing the Renotel emblem. Only recently installed, too.

Tautening the outer defences.

Only recently installed.

This isn't only way through. You can always go the long way, around the docks to the west.

Fuck 'around'. Go through!

A system compromised at the sub-atomic level.

We're going to need tools for this one.

In another life it would've been a serpent.

Unless you're planning to hop off the end of the pier and swim for it, you're stuck.

Far left. A frame built for violence. Bulbous glistening skull shaved bare every morning.

You still have them, in fact. On your feet. Right now.

Older than anyone else there by at least ten years. Small eyes in a smaller frame, looking out from her corner with cold intelligence.

But he isn't just a cop. He's a carabinero -- one of the investigative branch's best.

You still have them, in fact.

Tk-tk-tk. The sound of a pen marking three boxes in short succession.

The digital birdsong of a signal jammer. When you want your target to know they're being disrupted.

Under your feet, the buoy and the boat jostling in the sea swell. You keep your balance, just barely.

Must be the buoy. Salt in the wires.

An outrageous call after what you pulled off. Time to abuse the refs.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

Another tk. Another form.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

A sigh. That's all she can manage just now.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

A sigh. That's all she can manage just now.

Whispering to each other in low, urgent tones. They're beginning to panic.

The doctor blows onto his tea. A smell of mint rises with the steam.

His face. Vision of pale horror.

Yes, what this was all about -- the Grand Lich's time of arrival.

It sounds so pitifully small now -- 'your thing'.

Poor, dead Dante's words confirmed. The Lich will come.

Confirming Dante's words -- a small consolation for your unexpected fumble.

Confirming what Dante told you. No doubt left, then. The Lich will come.

In Mircea you knew only cold and austere churches of fine stone, all consecrated to the One Indivisible God.

The skin -- clammy, coarse.

'YOU BUT FROM A DREAM'. The words on the red disc that was unceremoniously stripped from you.

'YOU BUT FROM A DREAM'. The words on the red disc.

A long, dark, sexy tunnel built on top of a worthless old village. Progress, baby!

Including in gymnasiums across the former Republic of Mircea. Regular class cancelled for the occasion.

2,903 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 53 of 59