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And he can't wait to tell you.

Absolute conviction behind his words. This is no bluff or bait.

A trace of concern that you've pre-achieved the very thing he was attempting to do when you found him.

A shade of jealousy.

Visual only. No touching.

Oh yeah. Mentally snapshot this. He's impressed.

No irony here. No dress rehearsal either.

None of that sounded real. It was a scene from fiction, from an espionage novel.

Behind his gaze, he is cast in iron. You are being entrusted with this.

Deceptively blank. Just behind, his perfect memory ticks and whirs like ancient clockwork.

A laser beam of suspicion.

There's nobody in there.

You're not sorry. You wouldn't have done this if you were.

There's nobody in there.

He shows you a quick smile. Relieved but anxious.

No judgement in his voice. His curiosity is innocent, almost childlike.

A dry, barking laugh, it reverberates off the walls of the cell and back into the receiver.

He did not, in fact, mean it.

A wariness in his voice. Even now he thinks the Weeping Eye may have ears as well.

His seething anger appears genuine. No false notes in his voice.

Wait. A discrepancy, like a false note.

A shift in his tone. Barely disguised concern.

More background radiation than man.

The way he pronounces the name tells you there's no love lost there.

Her lack of expression is so blank as to be an expression itself.

A lopsided smirk on his face, an unusually light gait. The look of the expertly fucked.

In times of uncertainty people naturally gather in large groups, perceiving safety in numbers. This behaviour is widely observed even when the opposite is true.

For a moment, the character disintegrates.

He is daring you to doubt him further.

His stare is packing all the sympathy of a mass-produced medical device.

Watching is what he does, it is what he is.

Now. Turn the Sympathetic Stare on him. Look into whatever he has that you have also.

No attempt to deflect or deny. He takes it all into himself like a landslide, generous and remorseless.

This is not a man who is dying. Something, however, is very wrong with him.

His hands have been wedged in his hoodie pockets since you approached.

This man is main quest complete, side quest curious.

Unguarded by his headphone helm, his neck seems strangely vulnerable.

Loss. Irreversible and total.

You can practically hear her foot lifting off the panic accelerator.

A drop of sweat rims his eye, which stares at you, serious and true.

They're just going about their days.

He's deteriorating. Rapidly.

The warmth in her voice dipped, only for a moment.

Here it comes, your favourite part. A vaguely stern woman is about to choreograph you.

That's her using the method on you. Feels different over the phone.

That's her using the method on you. Feels different over the phone.

Let her beg for mercy. You want to hear it.

That's her using the method on you. Feels different over the phone.

Still vibrating a little from the adrenaline and the death whistle, Ramses, too, slowly comes back into himself.

He thought he'd be dead. He isn't sure how to conduct himself alive.

774 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 13 of 16