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He doesn't know, but he has suspicions he's not prepared to share yet.

He remembers every betrayal, every expression of horror when his target hears the mental click of the cage-door locking behind them.

Wow! This truth sauce is strong. Hahaha! But ooohh, should you really be saying all this?

A note of genuine disappointment. He wishes he could think better of his former employer.

A damaged heart, longing to redeem itself.

And no one else to attest to what he saw. Over years the memory has smudged into dream.

A tinge of respect, beneath the bruised ego.

He relishes the thought. He thinks it's funny.

A mix of emotions in his voice.

Marginally impressed.

A name he'll never answer to again.

He needs time. And space.

It's less an opinion, more a criminal sentence.

Tarred, somewhat inevitably you feel, with the replayer brush.

A wistful lover, content to gaze upon beauty without ever touching it.

Specialists, collectors of the rare and the defunct. People like him, in other words.

Talking to the Einzeltone, not you.

'No more. No more of this.'

Agreement is not, in itself, agreeable to him.

And now, he is you. Almost.

What is this man going on about?

A box of little nemeses.

You barely recognise her voice, emerging like a stranger's from a haze of red mist.

All but calling you a traitor.

She titters nervously, wanting it to be a joke.

This woman is serially drawn to victims of world history. Septimus, KALEIDOSCOPE, you...

The 'weird' is for your benefit. Her sexual intrigue just went up a notch.

He bought her three more to bribe her into not telling anyone.

Like you... a self-loathing pity farm.

Only a half-lie. And look, she's so happy.

Like you... a paranoid fabulist with next to no idea which parts of the world are real.

Like you... a violent loner.

Like you... detached, melancholic, prone to self-indulgent epics of existential doubt.

Nor for you, either. You've made her just like you.

Some solid reassurance there for your most fragile asset. Well done.

She's dressed just like you when you first came to Portofiro.

It's happy to see you again.

A drug order -- no question. Dr. Hugo was right, this is the man you need to fix Ramses.

He'd happily sell drugs to you. He's just caught wind of an opportunity to get something out of you.

This is the closest he's ever got to having respect for his former colleague.

Put it this way -- will it help? No. Will it make his condition any worse? Also probably not.

PSEUDOPOD harboured a secret love for Luzian pop music? Seems unlikely.

He was a rule-follower, alright. It's written all over his face.

You don't have conclusive proof he was not like that, at any rate.

Surveillance master, wiretapper extraordinaire, a man capable of planting an invisible bug on a moving tuk-tuk.

He knows full well you wouldn't be here that were an option.

He works himself up into a bout of romantic fervour with practiced ease.

A little prejudice builds rapport faster than truth.

1,054 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 20 of 22