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"The Opera never tires."

The kind of laugh that compels others to politely avert their gaze.

Dread, realising itself as vomit rising up the back of your throat.

Awaiting your signal.

To your left and right, his goons avert their eyes.

KALEIDOSCOPE is still unknown to him. Good, good.

Yana is still unknown to him. Good, good.

The Opera set you up. They knew you'd fail; they sent you here to die.

Block out these vicious theatrics. Don't give him the fear he wants.

No reaction. Your face gives nothing away.

Your guts slide a couple of inches downwards.

That, you know to be true.

Now. Stop circling each other. Commit.

End of the line. The PSEUDOPOD terminus. He bounced off this man and landed somewhere in oblivion.

A familiar silhouette peels itself from the dark.

Your cerebro-spinal fluid turns to liquid refrigerant.

He's going to make you say it out loud.

And from the other side, only silence.

End of the line, coming up fast! Soon you'll be drooling, just like PSEUDOPOD.

A jolt of fear snaps through you, but you kick it down.

A jolt of fear snaps through you, writing itself across your face.

It won't always be like this. Eventually, you'll learn to dissociate better.

A tiger punch upon the elbow nerve of life.

Your pineal gland. Telling you to wake up.

Her voice sounds like she's clenching her jaw -- an internal battle won at the cost of enamel.

As long as you can hack standing permanently in the shadow of one of your old friends.

Like an actor asking the director: 'Are we rolling?'

Six zones? Are you dying? You might be dying.

No need to be childish.

This is an old man, coping with existence by clinging on to a nonsense routine. Let it be.

Wrong. It's all shame now. You are a shame-based lifeform.

Careful, you need a working camera for Ignatz's gig. No batteries, no gig.

Nothing in her eyes.

She's trying to seem detached, but she's clearly disturbed.

She means it. She's with you, no matter what.

A slow, cold needle to your soul.

The enemy's knife turned against its own throat.

'Human capital' -- the euphemism makes your stomach turn on itself.

Ghosts descend from the rafters of the city.

The girl, Yana.

A reason to live.

Lesser people than you would feel embarrassed for being caught in such an act. Fortunately, you have the indifference of a low-class pervert.

How embarrassing! Caught peeping at a sleazy magazine full of what are probably under-age girls.

Anxious disposition. Cold sweat. Likely stomach problems. It's all there...

A feeling like an ice-dagger pierces your gut.

It takes all his strength to negate what the model train is doing to him, but it has already had its effect. Pliancy increased tenfold.

Can't even convince himself with the insults jittering out of his brain.

704 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 2 of 15