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Your own words in someone else's mouth. Deeply upsetting.

None of this matters. Keep your focus on the big picture.

It does sound kind of... uncool, when he puts it like that.

Approach with caution. You don't want to startle him.

The words slip in like broken glass under a fingernail.

You knew this was your fate. You knew you'd be right back there.

The saw buzzes and whirls, deafening you. You stare into her empty eyes, stifle a scream.

It's going to feel so good...

Careful. Slower.

Stop, stop! You're killing him!

It'll be a relief to get out of this place.

Why would someone redact something they wrote... from themselves?

'Torrent'... ? Kind of sounds like...

He wants to transcend suspicion and lies. And if everything's fucked anyway, what harm is there in trying?

There's going to be some horrible catch to all this.

Your asset called for you. Whatever's behind this, you can take it.

Stop. Don't enter, don't break this seal. This doesn't have to be yours.

If this is the beginning... one must fear the end.

It's like she was suddenly thrust upon a stage, all her lines unrehearsed.

She's holding back -- as if not doing so would not be good for her.

Your feedback on her own verses still spirals inside her head.

For most people, this would be a severe blow to their confidence. But not you -- a professional shit-taker.

You're not equipped to deal with this kind of blow. There's no controlling how this makes you feel.

Her mocking of you ruptures whatever coolness you thought you had in this moment.

There's always the dangerous option. Express delivery.

Barely holding it together as she dramatises her words.

Her composure is immaculate, but it's not enough to hide the agony crashing through her.

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!

Like the screams of babies, the sound bypasses all logic and goes directly for the panic response.

Nothing can stop it. A chemical panic holds your entire body hostage.

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

A burst of cold and fetid sweat as your body poisons itself with stress chemicals.

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

704 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 12 of 15