You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the hard candies, the cigarettes...

You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the cigarettes...

You clearly never grew out of the oral fixation stage. This explains the hard candies...

A far-off sense memory: the taste of your thumb, once-soothing, suddenly bitter and sour. Painted with foul-tasting polish to keep you from sucking it.

Squished and bounced around in the bag, they've come un-stuck from the textbook's pages.

Hazy memories flick by. Among them, you see the amalgamation of bitter flesh that birthed you, sitting like a creature in her lair.

Grrrrrr...

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of mildew and urine.

Sniff test determines you may be dehydrated.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of stale coffee and mildew.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of sour alcohol and mildew.

A work of psychology. SILHOUETTE's been honing her craft in her free time.

Sure would be a shame if something... happened to it.

Glug glug glug. A sickly sugary odor rises from the bag as the sticky beige liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A rich acidic odor rises from the bag as the tar-black liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A strong, slightly chemical odor rises from the bag as the thin black liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A sweet, malty odour rises from the bag as the dark liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. An astringent, sickly-sweet herbal odour rises from the bag as the purple liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A smoky odour rises from the bag as the clear liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Glug glug glug. A thin, hoppy odour rises from the bag as the yellow liquid puddles in the canvas bottom.

Perhaps a more subtle revenge can be arranged?

Sign our name to that shit, so she knows better than to fuck with the gäng again!

Not to mention this makes Duchess highly suspect. You may have been consorting with an operant the whole time.

Operant CASCADE is classified ONLY CHILD. Understanding of sibling dynamics best described as 'theoretical'.

No boots in the house. A tidy, meticulous occupant.

A hundred old women's eyes watch this alley from behind the lacy curtains of their windows.

A granopticon.

Don't trust it. Feels like bait.

This makes Duchess highly suspect. You may have been consorting with the enemy this whole time.

An electric shudder passes through the deepest canals of your body. Painless but concerning.

OPEN IT. ALL PARCELS MUST PASS THROUGH PROCEDURAL SCREENING AND CUSTOMS. JUST IN CASE.

It's quiet. No activity behind the door. Once open, you should be in the clear.

The keypad sends its input to a series of relays inside the door. If the input is right, solenoids pull the bolts open.

Assuming an eight-digit combination, you're looking at a hundred million possibilities. Rounded up by one.

An intricate configuration that reminds you of the night sky.

There is only one security system that uses that setup, the Abwehr-Pastorius Mk. III. A legendary keypad and lock duo.

A vulnerability leaked to the Opera in 87, courtesy of a disgruntled engineer who had defected to the People's Republic.

A cheat? There lies the scoundrel's way. No thrill in that, no panache!

You remember the first batches of number, at least. The right combination must be among what's left.

Your knees could go at any second, the elation's that strong.

You roughly remember where you stopped last time. Whatever's left, you'll have to try all over.

But what's the order? And there's four digits. Which number's repeated? You're not just going to guess, right?

Glossy metal finish, no hint of rust or weathering.

No prey here -- only a challenge. Your teeth chatter from the thrill.

Confetti floats from above, a rainbow of crepe paper falling around your head and shoulders.

Surely you weren't anticipating otherwise? That's ghost 'fetti.

RIGHTEOUSNESS ALWAYS SPILLS FROM THE SOLDIERS OF THE PEOPLE, NO MATTER HOW DIMINUTIVE.

A Pocket Combatant -- a type of miniature army which reached its sales height in the 50s. Recalled, discontinued, sued into oblivion when the figures were found to be made of lead.

You hear a splat, followed by a man's yell. A woman cheers, 'Ectoplasm!'

Checks