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

That's assuming it's a legitimate defection and not a double bluff from a vastly superior operant.

The man has nowhere else to go. There is no one better for the assignment.

The names feel heavy, irreversible. Marked in blood for offering.

Sounds like a band.

DEFEAT LEADS TO AN IRREVERSIBLE IMBALANCE UPON THE WORLD STAGE. EQUILIBRIUM DISINTEGRATES FROM A SINGLE POINT -- YOU.

Her eyes reflect the glow of the terminal screen. She's been at her desk for fourteen hours today.

The world is so heavy its mass can only be measured in septillions of kilograms. That is the incredible weight you'll have destabilised by your actions.

AN IRREVERSIBLE BLOW TO ALTER THE WORLD'S AXIS. IT WILL TAKE CENTURIES FOR EQUILIBRIUM TO BE RESTORED.

A bleep-bloop boat, in other words.

There will be no 'extraction'. Just a box of tools discarded at the worksite.

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

She hesitates for a second.

A deeply off-putting answer, she thinks.

The Operant Bureau probably has loads of boats. A whole secret navy.

It sounds like a hit list.

A pleasing symmetry. She likes that very much.

A pleasing symmetry. She likes that very much.

'Sounds like a first stab'.

The one who must only bend and never break.

Stopped in her tracks.

... she should call off the assignment.

A heart without its ribcage.

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

Even as you've been speaking your controller's silently been gaming out every possible manoeuvre. She knows what she's doing.

Except for the old Kohilan hands, who used to call it 'potatoes two ways'.

Hesitation in her voice.

'Don't do it. If you do, I won't recognise you anymore.'

Stuck in a metal box moving at 55km/h in close proximity to the enemy. No way to call in backup, no way to jump out.

Except for the old Kohilan hands, who called it 'potatoes two ways'.

Hesitation in her voice.

'Don't do it,' her voice says. 'If you do, I won't recognise you anymore.'

A ripple through your heart. She remembers.

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

Spoken from experience.

One-hundred percent. What we can't feel can't hurt us.

Yes! Crack them and gut them. Spend their offal on sweet pleasures.

Make it political, a war on the automated future.

Sounded like she really enjoyed saying 'fat sol stacks'. See if you can get her to say it again.

Let her think it's pretend, but you know the truth. They have better stuff.

You realise you have seen no dogs in Portofiro.

Dr. Hugo must have killed them all.

MAINTENANCE WORK IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL. ALTHOUGH THE SOUL IS AN INDIVIDUALIST CONSTRUCT. PERFORM SELF CRIT FOR IMAGINING A SOUL.

Ignore her. You're definitely a real person.

Sick tradeoff. A little ideological betrayal in exchange for the chance to use a pneumatic drill in reduced gravity.

The sound of a coin purse jingling from behind the curtain... a single copper rolls onto the stage.

Dripping skepticism.

Give Melita a reason to front you some lucre.

Skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 115 of 197