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Jump down to the lower level.

Advance unnoticed.

It'll be much easier to take a decent picture from less distance.

Funny name, difficult trick. This is about training.

He'll make a call, as soon as you step away. It will work out.

Damn right there isn't. You could do flips over this sofa that would put the dolphins to shame.

Must be stiff, holding a position that long.

Eyeballs shouldn't do whatever that was.

If it weren't for the handset he's clutching you would've laid him right out.

Your approach is laughably unbalanced. See how he deflects you with a flurry of maladroit gestures.

The physical body often telegraphs the feelings that trouble the insides.

He is all limbs, an unloved body at home only in the most ergonomic of chairs.

Motions entirely devoid of grace. A complete lack of bodily control.

High-end threadware, to seize his attention.

You're a true Shape-Changer, a high archon of fashion.

Your body dissolves, separates, but coheres.

Big money foreign girl, spending money on space she doesn't even use.

His balance is off today. He's favouring his left leg, like the right one can't be trusted. Like it hurts.

Quick, pull your gun on him again. Just for kicks.

Significantly maim, at the very least.

Your arm would fit through the gap beneath the lock.

His personal sedentary yoga - hunched, elbows on his knees, staring at the device from zero distance.

He is trying to fend off entropy with a dustpan and brush.

He sweeps his broom a couple times. A tic that sets the world back in order.

A crude impression of one, at least.

Don't forget the coin pocket. Front right.

His long, thin fingers scramble lightning-fast over the cosmonaut, feeling out each of its familiar angles.

Look at those nubbly thief hands. It's him.

You fall into the rhythm of it, the instances of each letter jumping to your eye one by one as you move through the text.

A swarm of letters, uncountable.

Extract what you are owed.

She says, but does nothing to stop you.

Steady hand, even voice. Poise beyond her years.

You're drooling.

Like your heartbeat adjusts to the pulse of a drum, the device attempts to calibrate something in your brain.

Weirdly stiff, and yet too lax to be easily posed, like a rubbery puppet lacking a hand inside.

Any slight movement would've spelled agony.

The man clutches his hair again. Your foot landed nowhere near it.

Despite connecting with his shin, the man clutches his unruly hair.

When they eventually turn up.

Surprisingly fast reflexes.

Despite connecting with his stomach, the man clutches his unruly hair.

Quickly -- before the sludge reclaims it.

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

Whoever is missing these would be almost blind without them.

Never stop never stopping.

Steal a pack of smokes.

Identical twins.

Seems he has the shakes. He should never have applied for the job, though actually been given it.

98 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual