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A faint but all-encompassing shiver passes through the old man like a tree-shaking wind. Then it's gone -- the tree resettles, a few leaves less than before.

Milk fills the glass of his eyes.

In the background you can hear the sound of machinery and men hurling masculine insults at each other as cargo is hauled from ship to shore.

Raindrops gather on the wreckage overhead.

You see a haze of coloured light, dark figures moving within.

You hear laughter and music ahead.

He's none-too-discreetly hiding a cigar-sized joint under his wrist.

Dust and carbon paper flakes dance in the circle of light.

The book flashes open for a moment -- you see that the margins are black with annotations furiously scribbled out on almost every page.

Ramses was white lithium grease and hash. Vespar: leather, salt, sour pear. Karolina, often up programming all night, wafted coffee wherever she went.

A delicate fragrance rises from the bush: jasmine.

It tasted like perfume -- floral, bitter. The flavour lingered on your tongue all day.

A vast improvement on your current odour.

The smell is ecstatic, overwhelming.

A hangover massages your skull. The sound of a blender makes your eyes itch.

Upside down, the planes of the bathroom wall and floor form alien geometries. It's hard at first to tell what exactly you're looking at.

Your fingers itch for grip.

Wet cloth and iron dust. Foul. Chemical.

Like the one over there, to the east.

The sweet smell of ripening waste drifts up from dozens of household bins.

The rumble of flowing water beneath your feet.

Outside, the murmur of water is all but gone.

A violent, pressurized hiss is heard as the lock drains through the immense pipe to your right.

The sound of water outside. Use it as your guide.

A gate opened -- it shouldn't have. Pull it again!

And the cling of metal on stone. You're on the right track.

A high-pitched whine from a motor.

No haptic feedback, no audible change. Best ignore this one going forward.

The groan of shifting iron, muffled by masonry. Now, let the water flow.

Safety pins, refusing to yield yet.

Main drive engaged.

The cabinets too.

Expired coffee, greasy condiment residue. Typewriter ink. Chemically processed wood pulp.

XXs and smudged ink where the author struggled with a sticky key on the typewriter.

Old schnapps and the faded sour cologne of body odour and bleach. Soft yellow light filtered through cracked shades. The rumble of the ice machine, a hissing television.

You discover your thumb rubbing itself along the numberless business card you found on your double.

Green so green it stings like lemon injected straight into the optic nerve.

Sweetish, faintly burning. The odour of leaking refrigerant.

Scent of metaphysical essence as yet undetected. Possible fabrication.

789 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 16 of 16