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Masquerading as a pulpy exploitation novel, in reality it's a work of what the Treffe school of psychoanalysts call Vorbewusstseinweh.

Dante's ticket out. He will need this.

He was alluding to something.

One more drink and he won't make it.

Is he alluding to something?

You are very lucky that the maestro has your back.

He must have been going at it for a while.

He has most likely had between one to seven drinks.

You extracted a small lump or organic matter. You did not extract the brain.

A cruel joke, most likely.

A man who's fond of things being orderly.

This is exactly what sane people do.

It's possible that Yana's intelligence was faulty, and that the old Luzian guy's disappearance had nothing to do with the 'hyper incriminating shit' he said into the payphone.

The old man was kidnapped for what he knew or had discovered, and you know nothing.

Spared from catastrophic error by your own incompetency.

Straight to the basement of the magazine office. You can't be sure, and yet you are.

How long dead? How many generations of ministers does this theory implicate?

An open mind, an unguarded fortress.

Your red folder.

Meaning PSEUDOPOD must have brought it here.

On the contrary, asking the wrong question can hurt quite a lot. Still, a lead is better than no lead.

Are you two speaking about the same show?

Ignatz said she's been huffing photo chemicals.

The aggressive man said she's been huffing photo chemicals.

Important? There's only one way she could assess that...

This woman could be a valuable source of information, if you can prise it from her.

He's already turned once. He could just as easily do it again.

There'll be plenty of time to think of a more personally satisfying answer while you're on the boat. Alone.

You'll only know it's gone wrong when a body shows up on the other side, punctured and bloody.

She has a copy of your pomegranate folder open in front of her. All your patterns and tells: itemised.

Or, perhaps, a genuine techno-fascist.

Even more daunting than collecting such a set is the task of arranging and displaying it.

Did she put her feet up on her desk?

Except that's the only reason she talks to you.

Something she can't just tell you, but she's assuming you can put it together on your own.

Why the interest in space? Look at it! What's it doing up there? What if it's just a big painting?

Intense skepticism. She's worried you're developing a logical framework to apply to your own assignment.

Could say anything, though. 'Unauthorised speculating' or suchlike.

Even as your controller is speaking, your mind is settling back into familiar grooves. The old mechanisms slide and click into position.

This has to be Reno's pied-a-terre. He's one of the only people in Portofiro who could afford this kind of luxury.

One door closes, another opens -- there must be another way in.

Both of those things can't be true.

Sterile, discreet, professional. This is who you call in when you're paranoid that 'regular help' might molest the contents of your apartment.

No one abandons shrimp like that for long.

That padlock is under sustained physical pressure. Its collapse is not far.

Look, his hair's a bigger catastrophe than usual -- he just stuck his head out of the window.

Objectively true. She is all but a professional narc.

You have just been attacked by unknown assailants at the bottom of this silo.

817 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 10 of 17