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A young man stares at the advertisement, dry-mouthed. Between his legs he can feel the stirring of a novel infatuation.

Evasive manoeuvres!

Rasalhague, the snake charmer -- star of control and command. Associated with doctors, bodyguards and goalkeepers.

She always closes her eyes at this part.

Ruins paved with red and white chequerboard. Frilled curtains, velvet sofa. A folly.

You clocked that old fool good! Probably still down, writhing hard.

Disable the auto-injector.

Maybe it's already happened.

Sealed within the penthouse suite of a central hotel in Cicatriz Frontera, a girl looks up from her keyboard, caught unawares by a ripple of strange sadness.

YO-YO. Should've been YO-YO.

You have become Pseudo-PSEUDOPOD.

You don't mind.

It is singing the song of Ramses' own death.

"This is for the Crew."

He falls like he's praying.

He falls like he's praying.

Blue heat, shaking in the boundless dark. The edges turn purple, widen. A moment of shivering anticipation before the soundless boom. Another dead star.

For a place you'll never know.

A loose bolt whines on the hull of a submarine, L-45 Class. Bioluminescent monsters swarm toward the sound, a flashing stream of wet greed.

Hack your eardrums.

At your fingertips, more than a dozen. A collector of false lives, burned onto false mirrors of polycarbonate. What are you saving them for?

He did, in fact. A tell.

He considers his world, reduced to the unblinking black eyes of the cameras and various monitors -- strange mirrors in which he's constantly reflected back at himself.

And on the other side of those black eyes, thousands more watch through their television screens -- silent, stunned.

Is this outcome what he's been angling for all along?

Dread, realising itself as vomit rising up the back of your throat.

The violence of the wave, the crushing weight of the abyss. The cards see your strength.

Melita's voice in your ear. Tired, comforted.

Melita's voice in your ear, distant, irritated.

SINGED IN THE GLORIOUS FLAME OF REVOLUTION.

Block out these vicious theatrics. Don't give him the fear he wants.

OVERTURNED LIKE THE OLD ORDER.

Pity, sorrow. He regrets this on your behalf.

No reaction. Your face gives nothing away.

One can only betray friends, the traitor has many.

Physical literacy, the divines know how well you read the world.

The young watcher averts his eyes but his posture betrays his attention. He knows there's something up with the mysterious party of foreigners, and he's trying to work out what.

Metal fingers grasping for ancient, decaying radio waves.

The marks along these 'seats' are anchor points -- four per seat. You know what that implies.

Animals. Trapped. Cage.

Orbital position, ascension, range. All in relation to stellar targets.

A flicker of river-green, bright and unguarded, before the glasses slide back down.

End of the line, coming up fast! Soon you'll be drooling, just like PSEUDOPOD.

He misses her dearly.

Currently a balmy 14 degrees, under threat from a cold air mass moving across the Noscorrentes Sea.

Lighter, then darker, then lighter again -- an ever-changing violet shade.

Your pineal gland. Telling you to wake up.

574 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual