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She's saying it on sodium thiopental, so that must mean it's true...

Your cerebro-spinal fluid turns to liquid refrigerant.

A jolt of fear snaps through you, writing itself across your face.

Who are you to say, either?

A cold swell smashes into your ribcage.

Stop this now. Human beings were never meant to do this.

The mere sight of HOLOCENE's handwriting incurs a shiver of post-codebreaking trauma.

You meet this latest existential ridicule with nothing but resignation.

Your right eye twitches.

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

Your hand hesitates.

It definitely had something to do with you.

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

You feel the receiver slipping from your sweaty palm.

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

You shouldn't have kept this photo. You should have left it where you found it, stained in your ally's blood, smashed upon the ground, sealed behind a locked door.

Playing the keyboard in front of her is one thing... singing quite another. No way.

Sing... in front of a mega-talented popstar? Back up, CASCADE, this is far beyond your training.

Is that the problem? Do you have to fuck your imprint? Is that the only way to resolve the hatred between you?

You should have never left him unsupervised.

A knot of tension forms between your eyes. Once again you're a step behind.

Stop. Don't enter, don't break this seal. This doesn't have to be yours.

Her mocking of you ruptures whatever coolness you thought you had in this moment.

Entering dangerous psychic territory, abort! Abort!

24 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual