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The sole members of the 'Post-Orbital Club'. High-status, high-funds.

Everyone else simply assumes they have one.

Stage separation events and plum signatures were observed fourteen times above Luzian airspace in the past decade alone.

PORTOFIRO COULD HAVE SHARED IN THE PEOPLE'S GLORY, HAD NESTOR NOT SPREAD-EAGLED FOR FOREIGN BANKERS.

Portofiro would've become one of the Big Boys of the Developed World.

For the people of Portofiro, the stars receded; austerity remained their orbit.

TRANSNATIONAL CAPITAL DOESN'T GET THE LAST LAUGH, IT GETS THE LAST INVOICE.

After the rocket exploded live on the world's television screens, Sweet Nestor made bold televised speeches blaming 'foreign hands'. By the time he boarded the helicopter that would ferry him to exile, he'd accused at least half the Developed World of engineering the disaster.

If the story were that simple, Hauzmann would have no interest in it.

If the story were that simple, the heartless man would have no interest in it.

Historical figures never live up to the tyranny of the mundane.

'Nestorismo' -- Nestor's personal brand of politics. Its meaning was whatever was most beneficial at any given moment.

Sweet Nestor, Portofiro's supreme leader from the years 28 to 80.

The slight smile in her eyes fades as she takes in the little card.

She rubs the card between her discerning thumb and forefinger.

Could have been anyone who killed him, she means.

Ribboned flesh, spots of white fat beneath the skin. A tuk-tuk horn blares outside.

You feel your lip twitch into a snarl.

That's a 'would'.

She's about to tell you something awful.

All systems go down. A brief but total outage.

Alive, then. But in what condition?

Don't act surprised. The network was blown, this was inevitable.

Still, it sickens you. One of yours. One of yours.

Of course you were the best. She had nothing to compare you to.

You once heard an old hand say that the tortured walk their own province.

On behalf of the invisible master.

A miserable defiance to the set of her chin.

Same age as you were when you were shot in the chest.

If Karolina managed not to give them anything then the Weeping Eye will have taken a lot in return.

You would have stayed had you known. You would have rescued her.

She doesn't know what to say. She let Karolina down, too.

Or was it the drink, the job.

She hates agreeing with you.

You try to imagine the casual workplace conversation of human traffickers. You fail.

No you're not, she wanted it bad.

She puts her hand to her heart, sighs.

We're definitely more believable than that wet drunk.

She purses her lips in distaste.

Her voice a low hiss.

The shadows under her eyes deepen. She swallows.

Ring binders stacked on a glass-topped conference table, a chair at either end. She notices a tiny circle of paper on the carpet -- lost from a hole-puncher? A polite cough brings her attention back to her interviewer.

Voice hollow. She's not trying to insult you, just telling the truth.

Automatically, your eyes scan up from hers. You notice the lace at the front of her wig.

Skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 188 of 197