DYNASTIC INHERITANCE, SQUANDERED! NEPOTISTIC FOOLISHNESS, DELUSIONS OF GENETIC SUPREMACY.

He knows without a doubt that you are not a real cop, and is playing along solely for his own amusement.

He finds his girlfriend's dark past equal parts enraging and intriguing.

He was born within one. Knows little else.

Don't act surprised. The network was blown, this was inevitable.

There hasn't been a movie shown in this theatre in years. It was already closed when you were in Portofiro last, vacant and waiting.

Also, notably, hidden out of sight in the back somewhere.

The sort of people making heavy 9-minute epics with a target audience of mind-altered twenty-somethings.

Ooh! Score! Hit a nerve with that one. Dig your little fingers in.

Your vanities are not so different.

The realization of yet another carefully maintained lie in a lifetime full of them.

Totally unperturbed by the paranormal.

Genuine appreciation for the old man's resilience, tinged with something like resentment.

He's much more comfortable with this line of inquiry.

The muscles in his ropey calves tense visibly.

Run to her.

And he'll be listening from behind the curtain to whatever you talk about once you get her up again.

Fear, hope -- and jealousy.

She's his true gäng.

Absurd. KINDRED would never have been accepted by the Greenhouse -- she had a hundred disqualifying factors.

Too soft. Too kind.

An impressive display of dexterity, wasted on an act of utter cringing lameness.

Lights come up. Enter stage left: the attention-starved knave, mugging for any audience.

The echoes fill the empty space perversely. It used to be a palace.

You don't lollop. You bound, gracefully, like a whippet or a red hind.

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.

Look closer! This is the 'Kagami 7X60 'REIGNbow' - Ultra Violeta Signature Edition'.

Like some really good spying!

You should run this by Melita when you have a moment. Maybe the Opera can send you through some early concepts.

A tool has no intrinsic value. This includes, but is not limited to: instruments, weapons, and people.

And just think... You've only been hearing it through its internal speaker so far...

It's not a dial. More like a self-destruct button.

You're just going to give up? Once again, this is the Kagami 7X60 REIGNbow.

Could it... could it be...

The streets exhale around you. The shouts of partygoers slacken, and music thins to echoes. Beyond Party Alley, your asset awaits your signal.

Farther south, past the fraying edges of Party Alley, a man in a crisp tracksuit climbs into a heavily-loaded tuk-tuk. He adjusts the rearview mirror and checks himself. Verdict: 'dope'.

Engaging would only compromise your social and ballistics skills for no tangible benefit.

Further down Party Alley, basslines thump and laughter echoes. But here, a silence settles.

A few thoughts scatter, like loose paper on an empty train platform.

It's getting harder to tell where you end and where the streets begin.

Satellite Facility B -- a suburb-sized arrangement of honeycomb structures.

An evil alignment of celestial bodies, the spearhead of that dread constellation hanging directly over the heads of you and your old comrades.

Someone could be hiding in the backseat.

Near ideal conditions for an ambush.

Exploiting a blindspot. He knows what he's doing.

Tell him it's true. Make him understand.

Ramses may be high, but this guy is somewhere in low-orbit.

Don't let this get ugly. Not after what he told you about Vespar.

Checks