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Could go with TAXGIRL... Strong thematic resonance.

No images, no sound. Only static on a dead feed.

Your right eye twitches.

No, no, not again.

... At least one.

You're drooling.

No, no, not again.

Awesome. You're the best poet of all time. You read it to yourself aloud every morning.

The silence plan has totally backfired! Clear this up, quick!

Fuck, fuck, scatter, gäng! Gnaw arms off, run!

Is it just you, or has he gotten... kind of cute?

They're going to pin this on you, obviously. That's why you're here. This is a big set up.

Maybe he learned he was to be paired with the storied Operant CASCADE and took matters into his own hands.

Intriguing... The enemy reveals its Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvres. This black art was previously unknown to the Operant Bureau.

None of these words make any sense to you, either singly or -- even less -- in combination.

Before you can grab it, it dissolves back into the warm muck, never to be glimpsed by human eyes again.

This is how you imagine the insides of an eyeball would feel.

The gas makes your mind swim.

Bile lurches at the back of your throat. Burning.

Probably some kind of curse. She's cursing you.

Your own breath. Loud in your ears, uneven.

Your hand hesitates.

Probably just a dirty old man, enlisting the bartender in his pick-up scheme.

Beneath all the charm could lurk a stone-cold killer. Approach with caution.

It definitely had something to do with you.

The thought should probably make you sadder than it does. But there's a hollow where your memory of him sits.

Just think what you need to say really loudly. He's you, maybe he'll pick up on it.

That thing he's carrying has got buttons, a little antennae... that's a grade-A thingy, alright.

Gäng don't fuck with ghosts. Scatter.

Motorcycle go fast, vroom vroom.

It's unclear whether or not he's joking. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation?

So not technically zero. Cool.

It finds you wanting, but how?

Easy? So, like... alphabet but reversed...

This is old news. You've cracked his stupid cipher.

Each heavy with significance, all of it lost on you.

No. There's nothing to consider. Your brain cells rebel at the thought.

Don't look now... but you can see through the metal floor. All the way down.

Ignore her. You're definitely a real person.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be here. This should be happening to someone else.

You feel the receiver slipping from your sweaty palm.

Checks out. No discrepancies detected.

Some astrological thing -- who can keep track of it all?

The sadness in it seems meant for you, and you alone. Fragments of old faces begin to reassemble in your subconscious.

Why does he not sound impressed then?

It's hard to see any resemblance to the proud, mustachioed leader behind the coloured hair, the spindly pale legs, and the permanent sneer.

Self-awareness seizes your legs. You wobble, unsure how to distribute your weight.

You could totally pull off a little finger trick like that, if you wanted to.

Embarrassing. We are clearly not as gängster as we try to be.

A wizard. Of course. The beard was a dead giveaway.

151 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 2 of 4