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823 checks

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.

His forehead glistens with sweat.

A clear night, the moon nearly full. Visibility unlimited. Temperature 11 degrees and steady.

Skies clear today. A light breeze reminds you that your body is a cage, but not an unpleasant one. Temperature 11 degrees and steady.

A clear night. The profusion of stars reminds you that humanity guides itself by the light of the past. Temperature 11 degrees and stable.

Winds from the south make it hard to be present in the moment. Expect gusts up to 24 kph, becoming calm by evening.

Bands of light rain continue to move slowly north and east across the region. Walks home expected to be unseasonably melancholic. North wind 5-8 kph, becoming calm after midnight.

His right hand forms a fist.

White and silver entwined... softness that should be light, but if you plunged your fingers into her fur, you'd find it thick and deep.

His eyes well up as he turns his back to you, gently cuddling the model train. His shoulders rise and fall as he sighs.

The corners of his glasses fog up.

Old clothes, soft on your hands from repeated washings and cheap detergents. Plastic toys, delight outgrown.

You can feel the value in their heft. It's a tribute to his pomade that there isn't a permanent dent in his hair from wearing these things.

The clatter and hum of the bar around you deadens to nothing. Then he presses 'PLAY'.

Once more into auditory oblivion. Nice.

The world mutes utterly. It's like being smothered by the future.

There was a third presence in that safehouse, on the fringes. Back to the teen.

Not a strand moved. That is one solid-gelled mane.

There is a little vacuum of gun-shaped space beneath your coat.

The key appears to lie within the mangled plastic of the fracture-point. You'll need to prune a few millimetres before what's left can fit together.

Very hard to tell where the fracture point is. The plastic is simply too disfigured.

No suture-line. No scar. Only two little droplets of liquid solidifying as one.

Covered in white, gooey spiderwebs of glue.

It cools in real time, re-solidifying before your eyes.

The tape on the grip is slick and uneven in your hands, the barrel heavy.

The mould that emerges looks... less than impermeable.

A clotted, sickly rainbow sludge, haunted by the tenuous remains of discernible shapes.

823 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 11 of 17