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She is either well rehearsed or uncaring.

Those little uncontrollable movements of hers will grow up to become acts of violence.

Out-stared. A small tactical victory.

A black hole in human form. Devourer of stars.

They are natural enemies, organisms which, if placed in a jar together, would slaughter one another instantly.

He's been out staring at the sky every night since you forcibly inserted that drill into his skull.

When a statement says nothing, readers are forced to invent a statement of their own, most likely in conflict with that of the author.

Sixth type... Something really, really, really, really, really, really ambiguous.

A line from an old communist anthem returns to you, a fragment from your reeducation.

Who is Facundo Reyes?

A miasma of fear-chemicals fills the air already rank with piss and the iron-scent of blood.

No attempt to deflect or deny. He takes it all into himself like a landslide.

The stakes have been established, the playing field set.

With every further second you stay talking to him you only risk further exposure.

For a moment, the character disintegrates.

He savours it. Like a sommelier detecting notes of oak and cherry, he swirls the particular kind of death around his mouth.

What was a lie upon utterance may now be a half-truth.

SLOW DECAY IS FOR TEPID DEMOCRACIES. ZERO OUT LICH, THEN MARTYRDOM.

The last refuge of fading intellect. As it prepares to be snuffed out, it hones in on death as both condition and subject matter.

A different, gelatinous sheen coats the surface of his extruding eyes. Never tears.

His stare is packing all the sympathy of a mass-produced medical device.

Did he actually perceive something in you or is he just trying to scare you?

He seems bred for observation.

Watching is what he does, it is what he is.

Now. Turn the Sympathetic Stare on him. Look into whatever he has that you have also.

And he wore the same imperturbable smile as he forced his hand down Karolina's throat.

The spectacular in-theatre eruption of psychic capsules, a thousand months of nightmares unspooling in one instant.

No attempt to deflect or deny. He takes it all into himself like a landslide, generous and remorseless.

Wearing the same imperturbable smile.

This is him. You are talking to the man who tortured your asset with his own hands and ruined her mind.

You are not ill, but you are surrounded on all sides by death. Maybe it's the same thing.

HIS SIGHTS ARE SET ON THE SEAT OF GOVERNANCE. PUT HIM AND HIS FEMALE-GENDERED CLOTHING BACK IN THEIR PLACE.

Stand back, he's about to cüm.

What about tuktuks? Moron.

... Hmm. He's right.

Rationalise your way forward.

FORCE THE RECUSANT TO DO HIS DUTY.

Suspiciously nonchalant...

Demolish his persona.

Convince her to tell you about PSEUDOPOD.

This is it. The closest you'll ever come to transcendence.

What's this disc doing to you?

No... you're coming home.

Reroute the phone to call the prisoner.

Concrete and plastic. Droplets on dark air. Voices raised under moulding canopy.

As he puts it away, you see the look he gives his masterpiece, as though wondering why it is not good enough for you.

It's hopeless. You brought this on yourself.

If this was anyone else you'd feel patronised. But that's not Ram's style -- he's genuinely trying to help.

Wow, he's talking to you like you were a total idiot. Maybe you are a total idiot?

372 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 6 of 8