A.Journal

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Challenging

Rings honest enough, but there's something more.

Medium

He makes it sound like curiosity, but it's concern.

Trivial

His employer? What's he heard?

Trivial

Portofiro's largest organised crime syndicate. Who he no doubt works for.

Legendary

A man leans over a fluted balustrade, savouring a pre-bed cigarillo. The Noscorrentes sea churns like liquid mercury. At his back, a suite of malachite and glass -- and a figure detaching itself from the wall, gun in hand.

Medium

Not wanting to be seen together. But why?

Easy

You feel it, already: a movement, a choice, and a consequence, looming.

Easy

A strange, terrible clarity blooms:

Easy

He'd gone to ground. Hiding -- or maybe just counting out the days.

Medium

One of us, until the end.

Medium

Holed up for days on end, frying your circadian rhythm for The Work. A mangled part of you craves it, always.

Medium

Defences going up -- but curiosity as well.

Trivial

So that's it. He's gone.

Trivial

Asset VIRTUE: confirmed ZEROED OUT.

Medium

A steady crowd noise drifts over from that direction.

Trivial

Should have went west at the roundabout, by the sounds of it, not east.

Challenging

Gentle heat on your skin, coconut liqueur on your tongue. He's onto something...

Medium

The Azzurris smelled something was off about it, then.

Medium

A courtesy he'd like to be mutual.

Easy

Easy

Jacket: Pristine, not bootlegged. Nails: Recently manicured. Money: Made.

Medium

The words roll off his tongue, smooth as the smoky bergamot cologne he's wearing.

Easy

Theft, obviously.

Medium

'Fell off' the back of a tuk-tuk.

Medium

The way his lip curls -- revulsion, as if he'd smelled meat left to rot in the sun.

Medium

You know the feeling, and how to put it into words for him.

Medium

Both fake and shit.

Medium

Smells like rubber bands, hardly vegetal. It is also very obviously dry.

Medium

Someone's used to improvising pitches.

Medium

You don't have to use it to sell it.

Easy

He means that. If he said otherwise he'd be going against some kind of code.

Easy

This guy is a businessman first and foremost. No way he's not selling something if it can turn a profit.

Medium

Do we need to be part of his gäng? Seems like the safest option.

Easy

RELIGION IS AN ILLUSION MEANT ONLY TO HOLD CAPTIVES.

Medium

Of course. Religion is a drug for the masses -- it's code.

Medium

Hard to tell if he's genuinely worried about being exposed, or it's just part of the sell.

Easy

Definitely not. Operants cannot allow themselves to have such a vulnerability.

Medium

He's scanning you, as he has scanned many before.

Medium

A coded question. He needs to be let 'in' enough on the details to be willing to open himself up to risk.

Easy

No need to spill your guts, though, operant.

Medium

His posture spells it out: not at the moment, at least.

Legendary

His right pant pocket creases around something narrow and weighty. A switchblade.

Easy

He's not lying, but it's not your lines he's interested in.

Easy

A high ranking member of the military, sworn to protect the Rustamian head of state -- back when the Dream of Rustam still was a state.

Trivial

The bullet by your heart twitches, then stills.

Challenging

A dash of nonsense to disarm you while he runs a checklist.

Medium

It's not the lines he cares about. Only your reactions to his reactions.

Challenging

Could be another of his sales pitches. Could be...

Easy

The past you can account for... but the future?

Medium

Thud in your chest. Heart skipped a beat.