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30 checks

Metal fingers grasping for ancient, decaying radio waves.

One side withers while the other remains the same -- into it, he pours the remainder of his own life.

A thinker and a lover of the first order.

It would be an honour to be the ground beneath a Luzian L-56. Their tracks print the initials of their most decorated generals.

78mm barrel. Length: 150mm, maximum. Fifteen round magazine. And, crucially: the trigger's click must feel nice.

You need to merge with the gun in your palm. Become one.

Powered by two A4W nuclear reactors and four great steam turbines, this Lanza-class behemoth carried out the bombardment of the Western Provinces in 82.

You'd need five-axis milling machines, injection presses, stress-testing labs, and climate-controlled environments just to match the craftsmanship of that fur.

Assuming these cups do resemble cartoon wolves, you'd need five-axis milling machines, injection presses, stress-testing labs, and climate-controlled environments to manufacture them.

Light craft. Single turboshaft engine and a mere 120-litre biodiesel bladder. Favoured by the Aussaunnian militia and guerrilla groups.

Some form of explosive device may have been useful.

Internal white noise, max volume.

Keep that electricity flowing -- this may be your best chance at augmentoid conversion.

Their audio equipment's all bootlegged shit, inverted logos and backward numbers everywhere.

The greatest advantage a machine has over man: the will to live is not required.

like the very moment you rip off the cellophane that envelopes a brand new disc... Or even better, a repressed colour variant disc.

A vacuum megarail train designed for lunar operations.

You're a marvellous engineer, that's what's wrong with you.

These babies have some heft to them. Planar magnetic drivers. Premium foam cups. And a triple-padded suspension headband, designed to distribute their weight ergonomically.

Don't listen to her, doohickey, you're awesome!

A shiver of electromagnetic interference.

Some form of explosive device may have been useful.

You need the cicada's scream, you crave it -- shrill and empty. It silences the nonsense of your dreams.

A perfectly even burn line recedes throughout the joint, a milimetre with every puff.

The editing job alone is probably a week's work.

Only a monster would say 'no' to free, top-grade telecom nerdery full of hyper-specific details.

The baseline rhythm of the electrical signals in his body has steadied, a regular pulse instead of that jittering telegraph blip.

Acid sildenafil.

Gears spinning behind her eyes. Systems on high alert.

30 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual