A pair of blue boxer briefs hang from a washline in Besanoble. A plain dress shirt crumpled on a cold bedroom floor in Landau. Somewhere in Treffe, a man leans on a marble counter, breath shallow from exhaustion.

IT'S NOT LOVE, ONLY THE BOURGEOIS MATRIARCH'S MALADY: SURPLUS CAPITAL, YET A LACK OF PUMP ACTION FROM THE MASSES.

He seems slightly offended that you're not already familiar with the reputation of Tsunese men.

IT IS A PRIVILEGE TO RAISE CLASS CONSCIOUSNESS AMONG OUR LUNAR COMRADES.

Boring! Lame! Derivative!

It's because they're defenceless. They trigger the impulse to nurture.

PROPAGANDA FOR THE JUNIORS.

Sometimes they try. There was a rather notable broadcast during Nestor's second deposement where Portofiro's top radio host called for that exact thing.

Hair in a silk wrap, eyes closed, hands clasped, she mutters under her breath for a full minute. Her husband is already asleep, used to this.

Don't even think about it. Too late. The assignment calls.

She thinks she's won this conversation, and there is nothing you could say to her that would convince her otherwise.

This is full polycarbonate plastic and cancerogenic glory.

Souvenirs, yes... good point. Are you really going to return to Melita arms swinging?

There's even a little tram station!

Incredible detail -- handrails, tools leaning on the shed, a giftshop sign. But the faces carved into the rock are featureless, unidentifiable.

ALLOW IT TO CROUCH IN THERE AND HOLD ITS GROUND -- A TINY OUTPOST OF REVOLUTION IN THE MIDST OF THE ENEMY'S STRONGHOLD.

THE REVOLUTIONARY SPIRIT, A FOREVER SPHERE.

Looks like a shrine. Faces carved into mountain.

Thousands of tons of steel, hundreds of sailors inside, guns and missiles and torpedoes, and yet somehow still buoyant. A miracle, a marvel.

THIS TINY SHINY MAN POSSESSES THE COUNTENANCE OF A TRUE PEOPLE'S HERO.

You spot a shoulder strap around his left arm as he pushes back his coat. He's armed. This is one of the Lich's men.

Fast, strong -- and the movement revealed a strap under his right arm. This is one of the Lich's guards.

Sacrophobe coat -- the out of towner Kurt told you about.

Her voice closer to the door. Cheek pressed against wood as she peers through the peep hole.

Don't.

Kitchen knife, the closest potential weapon to hand. This doesn't happen often, but it's not the first time, either.

The sunlight sears his blue eyes white.

The vibrations might actually promote healing. Or it might be weird sexual-violence crossed wiring...

An Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre no doubt far beyond him.

Chronic predisposition to failure, propensity for running networks into the ground.

Best not to dwell upon it.

COLD OR HOT, THE WORLD WILL STOP.

Significantly maim, at the very least.

The random variables in this situation have proliferated to the point where you can't even attempt to count them.

Butterflies in your ribcage, wings caught between bone.

A sleeping thing, indifferently dreaming, sensitive only to the music to which it will violently awaken.

Your arm would fit through the gap beneath the lock.

The lock is for show. People don't steal from Carmuna out of respect.

More likely that the dockworkers are keeping watch over her.

An operant has already been zeroed on this assignment yet you put a strange white powder straight in your mouth. Do you want to die?

Ask about the coat. Sounds cool.

Let the Boatman know you're in the Weeping Eye's sight: it may twist his arm.

Look at these clothes -- she wouldn't know gare in a circus. It's absolutely the same man.

Does she mean Ignatz?

...Is she talking about Ignatz?

Perhaps the one who's been following you...

The same man who followed you through the bazaar?

The man who's been following you?

It's paranoia.

Paranoia has saved the life of many an operant. Yours could be next.

Checks