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Her composure is immaculate. If she felt any pain from this it goes completely unseen.

The shake in her hand intensifies. She looks like she could be sick.

She looks like she could be sick.

Resigned, she sinks into herself, doing her best to swallow her pride.

Deep down, she's wincing, fighting to deny the worst case scenario.

Hope all the stress and isolation and paranoia is worth it.

Just what he was afraid would happen.

EMTERR -- the Bank. This mention of the Operant Bureau's ancient enemy makes you bristle.

The Bank -- EMTERR. This mention of the Operant Bureau's ancient enemy makes you bristle.

His convictions may as well be carved from granite.

Your old double has been known to have an unsettling effect on certain people.

Your cares dissolve.

Dancing on insanity, his understanding of reality and roleplay had merged entirely.

A tremor in his voice. Like a kid addressing his crush.

Like millions of capillaries feeding a single, bloated vein.

A sudden, bizarre flare of hope.

AAAARRGH! KILL ME! KILL MEEEEE!

You barely flinch at the violent torrent of sound that washes over you. It makes you feel...

You're in Ramses's houseboat, he's alive... nothing bad is happening...

Last instants before pressure release. The thing building up inside is about to rupture its container in three, two...

A sense of composure bristles through you, strengthening your resolve.

For a long moment, none of the students can tell what's happening. Then, one by one, they realise.

Don't let it beguile you.

Sure would be a shame if something... happened to it.

But be warned: You may have to read the whole thing.

Keep your gun close.

You should be armed right now. This was a mistake.

The axis of the world inverts on half-muttered sentences.

All around you, an invisible audience leans forwards in their seats.

Ice crystals fractal in your veins.

One more relationship smothered with a pillow and buried in the courtyard.

Further warbling would be a mistake.

Brace yourself.

Whispering to each other in low, urgent tones. They're beginning to panic.

... a shapeless figure twisting in darkness...

The machines are talking about you all.

Savour this moment. One of the old ones of your craft is asking for your opinion.

It sounds so pitifully small now -- 'your thing'.

He doesn't actually think it's 'bon' -- it's one of the strangest things he's heard in his long, strange life.

It's not about contact, it's about scale. If the universe can sustain that much empty space without collapsing, you can take another hour in your own skin.

The air is heavy, your chest tight. You've been holding your breath for approximately an eternity.

A name passes through your skull like a ghost, a shiver on its tail.

A bead of cold sweat slides down your back, whispering 'no'.

A tool for a task, nothing more or less.

You could ask about his motivations -- casually, as he asked about yours.

He's not implying anything. Just lean in.

604 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 11 of 13