Reading

Open fileNeed to knowMy clearance

A.Journal

Checks

344 checks

Here, the foundation of a house -- two middle-aged women inside, silent as they pack up furniture that belonged to their mother.

On the deck of a boat bound for the Illuminated Empire, a young woman contemplates throwing herself into the sea. The water is cold, dark, clear.

The huntress flips open her satchel with her left hand, holding the cliff face with her right. She plucks three large eggs from their nest.

A sudden breeze slices through a man's skinny calves. There is a dim but dawning awareness of pain through the soles of his cotton socks.

Washing out the container that carried homemade rice and beans, glancing out the window above the sink as the sun goes down.

Her father, calling from beyond. Calling for her help.

A stolen keyboard watches the underside of the thief's bed. Alone but not forgotten, it develops rust.

A loose wind rattles the window fittings in a long-deserted building.

Thud, thud, thud. The War Drum's crowd thunders its beat.

Swish of a dirty-green cloak, dust flies up after it, blinding you. When you can see clearly again, the man responsible has disappeared.

The last words she said to him replay in her head.

The monkey calls out faintly in this strange place. His fingers are cold against the metal bars, he is blind in the dark.

A melody rises and falls, but you can't tell where it's coming from.

'I betrayed Crew. M.I.H.O. compromised from within.'

Across time and chasm, a garbled signal reaches you.

Tempo grins with her.

Monaxial Intelligence and Hermetic Operations.

T+16:34: PERDA DE TODOS OS DADOS.

Just two. One of which is entirely optional.

Across town, a pair of eyes blink in the rhythm of an undying machine.

Kneeling on a stranger's rug, small body wrapped in a towel.

Beyond the apartment's walls, this girl has a form of family, friends, classroom enemies, unfinished homework. None of them will know her again as she was.

'And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

There are other ways. There always are.

Half a city away, an old man hunches on a damp mattress and thinks of the odd stranger who went through so much effort to find him.

A weave of city away, the being formerly known as PSEUDOPOD twitches in his dream.

'For my old friend, CASCADE, tell her TAXMAN is ready to begin the ritual. No silly cunts! CASCADE only, person to person! CASCADE or nothing! And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

'And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

'And you tell her -- if we pull this one off, all will be forgiven!'

On the second floor of a failing photo outlet, a pair of green eyes widen, catch a glimpse of the impossible, then cloud back over.

Never on your own. One among the dancing thousands -- multi-limbed shadow, neon-scaled beast -- the spirit animal of the city.

A trembling young hand searches for the bite of the deadbolt. It takes five attempts.

A red disc passes from one man's hand to another, then disappears into a leather briefcase.

A red disc passes from one man's hand to another, then disappears into a leather briefcase.

His fingers ripple nervously across the handle of his briefcase. He checks his watch.

A red disc passes from one man's hand to another, disappears into a leather briefcase.

Submerged, dissolved. There is nothing to return.

He has only a mother. Who will very soon be receiving an unstamped postcard, announcing that her only son has been sent on an overseas assignment and may be gone for a very long time.

Above you, a little girl holds up a snail for her father's inspection. Its eyestalks stretch toward him, inspecting the giant in return.

She is checking her hair in a darkened window.

You can feel her digging into your mind, childlike, thumping buttons, pulling wires...

SILHOUETTE. That is the name they've given her.

She sits hunched over her desk, fingers crawling over lines of poetry -- the artistic overspill of strangers' souls. She reads, and finds herself repulsed.

In another life, you are both earnestly selling your cotton wares, far beyond the shadows of international intelligence.

Thousands of miles away, his mother flinches in her sleep.

Far above, the stars remain fixed in their sockets.

The ending of the End.

In a dim underground office in Novessa, a woman in her mid-thirties lifts the right side of her headset tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

Snatches of the song's chorus echo down the tubes. You're closer to the source.

344 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 3 of 7