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

You can feel it, your body tense, your skin ready for the shock...

Steam rises where your blood hits her -- she's red hot beneath the false flesh.

It's going to feel so good...

Deep, cold, agonising pleasure. You writhe.

Swallow, swallow it.

You feel it, the sweet cold release of metal death.

This is it. The closest you'll ever come to transcendence.

Finish this metal bitch!

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

CASCADE, hero of all mankind!

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

Her canny method, it must be.

It's her, she's joining in with the gäng!

A soft, excited laughter folds into each word -- like sugar melting into warm cream.

'Miracle' Line -- like the card in PSEUDOPOD's pocket. It's a phone sex thing.

His expression is soft, curious.

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

A fundamentally flawed, but potent machine.

Somewhere, in whatever cosmic accounts are settled, there has been a mixup. Until such a time as it is cleared up, you appear to be off the hook.

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

Another time, another place. A different life overlapping for a moment.

Vehicle riding full speed ahead to the Great Nothing.

The girl in the projected ad. The vision in purple.

The kitchen light hums and splinters momentarily.

On the hidden side of the sun, a polar radiation storm congeals.

An artifact of no substance onto which nothing of substance has been recorded.

Amateur wirework.

Seeing what will come with it.

One among their number turns to look at you, his technicolour robe billowing behind. He wears a small, neat moustache, as well as a large pair of headphones.

You don't recognise the artist.

No existential effacement detected with this one. Nice.

Maybe we're bomb proof, maybe we die grooving. Either way -- it will mean victory.

COLD OR HOT THE WORLD WILL STOP --

Or maybe that's just your vision burning prismatic at its folding edges.

We're going to die.

No... you're coming home.

Your blood froths. Demanding you fight or fuck.

YOU UNDERSTOOD NOTHING OF THIS SCREAMING MAN'S MANIFESTO. IS HE FOR REVOLUTION OR AGAINST IT?

Evil. Evil. Turn it off!

No use. The Umatic disc encoding method is basically extinct. You can't play this thing without specialised equipment.

No use. This disc must use a non-standard encoding method. You'll need special equipment to play it.

A Protypo 909 50-watt with multi-disc changer. Last-generation model, designed for affordability at the expense of power and clarity.

But, below that: vanilla, must. The pulpy fragrance of paper.

Reeeally get up in there.

The artist has broken the boundaries of the panel to traverse time and space, the Hombre slithering through a chiarascuro dreamscape.

Or, worse: It gets adapted into a film.

FORTUNATELY SUCH SUCH MEGA-VIOLENT CONTENT IS BANNED IN THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLICS.

9,179 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 150 of 184