A.Journal

Checks

255 checks

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Death but from a dream.

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His buffoonery is a smokescreen, the deepest of deep covers.

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Weeeeeeping Eye.

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Just because she's saying it on sodium thiopental doesn't mean it's true. Ignore her.

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Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.

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Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.

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Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.

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Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.

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Keep going. KALEIDOSCOPE.

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Keep going. Yana.

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Take them with you. Take the city with you. Anything but cowed retreat. Not this time.

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Nothing vital. You'll live. Keep going.

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The sound of the canal water lapping the sand is soothing, through it all.

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The memory hums. An exposed wire.

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Time. You need time. Keep them engaged. Keep your eyes open. Every moment you breathe is a victory.

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The only thing to hand is intimidation. They know you, but they don't know what you're capable of. Unsteady them.

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A familiar silhouette peels itself from the dark.

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A jolt of fear snaps through you, but you kick it down.

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A tiger punch upon the elbow nerve of life.

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Her voice sounds like she's clenching her jaw -- an internal battle won at the cost of enamel.

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Like an actor asking the director: 'Are we rolling?'

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This is an old man, coping with existence by clinging on to a nonsense routine. Let it be.

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Careful, you need a working camera for Ignatz's gig. No batteries, no gig.

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She means it. She's with you, no matter what.

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A slow, cold needle to your soul.

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The enemy's knife turned against its own throat.

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'Human capital' -- the euphemism makes your stomach turn on itself.

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Ghosts descend from the rafters of the city.

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The girl, Yana.

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A reason to live.

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A feeling like an ice-dagger pierces your gut.

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Can't even convince himself with the insults jittering out of his brain.

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Acid contempt. It melts right through your defences.

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Sensation drains from you, replaced by an aching lightness. Like the moment before a drop.

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You knew he was coming here. Could've had that one last drink.

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Might've been reasonable to have that drink to the craft.

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Should've had that drink to the cat.

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Could've had that drink with him...

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You're making her uncomfortable.

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Holed up for days on end, frying your circadian rhythm for The Work. A mangled part of you craves it, always.

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Steel. Superior feedback -- every bullet shuddering, while you remain still.

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Something to keep your arm steady when it gets heated. Ultimate stability.

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He's tired. The kind of tired that comes from getting through the wrong version of the night.

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Pointless to wonder. Best to steel yourself and carry on regardless.

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You could prolong the stillness... forever.

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Like trying to meditate -- the harder you try to grasp it, the more elusive it becomes.

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Your skepticism runs dry in the face of a real trepidation.