Reading

Open fileNeed to knowMy clearance

A.Journal

Checks

9,823 checks

Carabineros: Portofiro's sanctioned police investigators. They report directly to the Prefectura and deal in actual crime -- murder, grand larceny, rape.

Unshakeable. He will never budge on this.

A respectable show of how to maintain one's cover.

You recall Vespar speaking of his time in the Guardia Municipal. A decade of low-stake days.

Making Goat Eyes look like a snitch, with none of the perks.

Party Alley offers options in bulk, if one is looking for ground-level sources. Why him?

It wouldn't do for an Azzurri associate to be too close to a carabinero, and vice-versa.

Tritos 91. A highly-inebriated Operant CASCADE (schnapps count: ??) is pulled over for 'reckless tuk-tuk driving'.

And for a moment, you're aware of a great hollow, shaped exactly like your old asset.

The details are hazy. It was some years ago, you were in the city for work, he pulled you over for something bad you'd done.

And he just happened to come across it?

Words that echo of marble, drums, and banners.

Rings honest enough, but there's something more.

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

His employer? What's he heard?

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

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.

Not wanting to be seen together. But why?

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

A strange, terrible clarity blooms:

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

One of us, until the end.

There's something you're missing, a piece that doesn't quite fit.

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

Defences going up -- but curiosity as well.

So that's it. He's gone.

Asset VIRTUE: confirmed ZEROED OUT.

A steady crowd noise drifts over from that direction.

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

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

The Azzurris smelled something was off about it, then.

A courtesy he'd like to be mutual.

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

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

Theft, obviously.

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

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

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

Both fake and shit.

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

Someone's used to improvising pitches.

Astounding. Must've been harvested just a few days ago.

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

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

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

Prove you can be trusted with the other drugs.

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

RELIGION IS AN ILLUSION MEANT ONLY TO HOLD CAPTIVES.

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

Skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 34 of 197