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789 checks

You hear the sound of a pen dropping onto a pad of paper, unused.

Something takes flight in your chest. She thinks of you.

You hear a thump in the background.

You hear long, comfortable breaths. The sound of her mind wandering elsewhere.

You feel like your organs have flattened themselves against your spine.

Bodies incinerated before nerves had time to deliver their message of pain to the brain.

Her body incinerated before the nerves had time to deliver their message of pain to her brain.

Despite her protest, you hear her making a note.

Barely audible: a mechanical hum.

Something whirs inside the black sphere. A camera points at you.

The camera whirrs.

His voice cracks. The intercom pops.

A whiff of fried shrimp layered under a pervasive antiseptic odour.

The tram wires crackle above you, as if charged with new energy.

His luminous yellow visor is stained with bloody fingerprints.

Rain splatters off the plastic sheets covering the notices.

Above your head, seagulls wheel and dive.

The inverse flash of sudden blackness--

Hold on. That sound... was that crinkling paper?

A rustle of paper and clanging metal as your attacker flees up the stairs.

Body: uninjured, if somewhat rattled.

Body: no major injuries, though you've sustained quite a beating.

Putrid sea-food breath, warm on your nape and in your ear.

It feels as though the line is about to go dead.

The rash on his neck visibly throbs.

A brownish stain on the bricks, like a shadow cast by no one.

Full of untouched materials.

The sound of grinding metal echoes throughout the silo, rising and expanding like the tolling of a great gong.

'Cover the moon when I'm gone... I'll make you miss me like a sad song...'

Disorientating -- she's both ahead of you and behind you at the same time. Every direction at once.

His eyes alight beneath the brim of his hat.

Karolina's chest rises and falls, her blue, paper-thin eyelids twitching.

The fabric of his oversized shorts begins to sway.

Eyes: blood-shot.

It goes: ffffff.

She may be missing fingers. Toes. Other mutilations hiding under the sarcophagus of scarves and sweaters she's wrapped herself up in.

His voice reverberates around the once-grand lobby.

The streets exhale around you. The shouts of partygoers slacken, and music thins to echoes. Beyond Party Alley, your asset awaits your signal.

Despite the quick answer, his voice sounds as though he's just emerged from sleep.

The crepitating telephoto lens of your mind widens as your circuitry slackens.

Further down Party Alley, basslines thump and laughter echoes. But here, a silence settles.

The air gets heavier, as if you were being annexed by gravity.

A slight wobble in the back -- stacked pallets.

Exploiting a blindspot. He knows what he's doing.

Above his right pants pocket, tucked into the waistband. He's armed.

Bloodshot eyes. He's fresh out of an episode. One that nearly killed him.

High pressure coming in from the Noscorrentes means cooler and wetter times ahead. Questions remain as to when this change will come, best to prepare for all scenarios.

Headlines like 'Chapter 4: Your last chance to stay legal' and 'Chapter 7: Your Conscience and Me' immediately jump out at you.

A barely audible hiss in his words.

789 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 10 of 16