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His hands have been wedged in his hoodie pockets since you approached.

He may try and shoot you again.

A genuine question.

Unproven gäng, surprise gäng... yet undeniably dashing gäng.

A grown man in a pink hoodie should be laughable... and yet...

Ignatz was right. The idiot was hiding gold in that hideous coat all along.

You've never seen the man before either, but the horripilation up your neck tells you exactly who he is.

Uh oh. An unknown quantity. You don't care for those.

The thought itself seems to echo and rebound off the curved concrete.

If this were a trap then he wouldn't have been so cagey about his client.

Fabricating a solid story would have been a more surefire way to get you down here.

NO. SHE SUCCUMBED TO YOUR WILL.

Eszti's territorial. Walking into her apartment was a trespass. She'd have no reason to be here.

Doubtful. They've entrusted you with a hopeless assignment. Why set you up when they can just wait?

Take a breath. There's no reason the Luzians would be down here.

You once heard that fear makes meat spoil.

There are two ways to cope with situations like this: tactical breathing, and grounding techniques. Choose one.

It's tight as hell in here. But don't panic, sis, the gäng has got you.

Impenetrable cover. Almost as if... it's not a cover at all.

Disbelief that anybody would do anything so vulgar as know this man.

An animal. Cornered. Lashing out.

DEFEND THE ORGANISATIONAL STRUCTURE!

In the background, you hear a steady rhythm of something being hit.

In a dimly lit ground floor flat in Novessa, a boy no older than eight picks up a toy rocket. 'I'll be like daddy one day,' he tells his mother.

More curious than horrified, interestingly enough.

She's going to eviscerate you later.

Firm but gentle. She doesn't envy you the choice.

The type of enquiry that should be far beneath an operant, especially one with your level of experience.

She pauses for a moment of internal gloating.

And a sip of something.

Piqued, can't help herself.

No mystery as to who he wants getting down on their hands and knees.

An advanced technique known only to those with a lifelong passion for it.

Fear smell. Unfakeable.

During operant training, you were taught to swallow your fear through dissociation...

THIS BALL IS AN ACT OF RESISTANCE AGAINST THE BOSSES AND THEIR 'FIRE CODES'. ARE YOU ON THE SIDE OF THE BALL, OR THE BOSS?

It's a shortcut. But whose?

No... it's a trap... must be destroyed...

Wrong. Ball want play, not wedge.

You're superimposed on him.

We must accept that he is gäng. Someone get him a t-shirt.

How does it feel to come face-to-face with yourself?

A name uttered like some ancient curse.

We knöw the feeling.

Remind him we're all one gäng, indivisible.

A new suit, cut from old cloth.

Approach with caution. You don't want to startle him.

YOUR COMRADE FALTERS. GO TO HIS AID.

3,496 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 57 of 70