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Atoms shiver as you pass through them.

Whether by chance or by stratagem, it seems you were destined to meet here.

You tell her... all will be forgiven!

Long-dead hands carrying the hull, white fingers in the brine.

He promises myriad truths: great, terrible, the undoing of all you know.

You already know her name. It rang out to you across the noumenal plane.

She will notice the missing pen in four days, but never once suspect you.

Feet swaying gently, a few feet above the ground. The laces of their left shoe have come untied.

He stared at her mouth, disbelief, wonder. His dreams come to life. He asked her if she remembered his fantasy, offered her the job on the spot.

He stared at her mouth, disbelief, wonder. His dreams come to life. He asked her if she remembered his fantasy, offered her the job on the spot.

The past you can account for... but the future?

Somewhere in the streets of Quisach, a well-to-do teenager grips his little sister by the hand and scrutinises the face of every beggar, every outcast squatting by a canal or hobbling through the alleys, wondering if, maybe...

An echo of your former asset, clapping his hands together, urging dock workers to pick up the pace.

The void around you grows agitated, heating and wetting, as your senses close around the thing.

Washing out the container that carried homemade rice and beans, glancing out the window above the sink as the sun goes down.

Her father, calling from beyond. Calling for her help.

Swish of a dirty-green cloak, dust flies up after it, blinding you. When you can see clearly again, the man responsible has disappeared.

A weave of city away, the being formerly known as PSEUDOPOD twitches in his dream.

You can feel her digging into your mind, childlike, thumping buttons, pulling wires...

Far above, the stars remain fixed in their sockets.

Years of regulars move in and out of the bar's entrance. Among them, a pair that was recently halved, a lonely silhouette amid the rest.

He even began to distrust those towards the end.

A little voice somewhere intones: 'No take-backs'.

Cordoning off the whole neighborhood, all-night shifts, non-stop abuse from everyone who can't get to their corner shop, or bar, or home...

It's her, but from a dream.

Within the hull, Ultra Violeta clasps her keyboard to her chest and stares unblinking at her damp shoes.

You are milking your lucky cow dry, take it easy on him. Once a day is more than enough.

Whatever happens has already happened.

Nameless corpses, piled in flames. Faces turned toward each other.

A rapid montage of people entering and exiting this room over a series of months. All of them wear loose-fitting outfits in mismatched colours.

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

Whatever happened in 69, it may not have had anything to do with him at all.

A phantom itch. He's scratching at something that hasn't happened yet.

Another plaything of the stars, impelled by processes beyond its comprehension.

37 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual