ALWAYS MORE WOLVES. A LUPINE REACTIONARY HORDE.

SUPPLEMENTARY PROPAGANDA, LOVINGLY COMMITTED TO MEMORY.

Sounds like the sort of thing a goon would say.

Sixty-six... like the wolves?

It's suddenly clear why, of all their programming, the Luzians seem so eager to push the cartoon through the Culture Blockade.

PROPAGANDA FOR THE JUNIORS.

Sometimes they try. There was a rather notable broadcast during Nestor's second deposement where Portofiro's top radio host called for that exact thing.

Rivers of waterlogged rainbow silk, clogging the canals. The body of the radio host soon to join them.

Hair in a silk wrap, eyes closed, hands clasped, she mutters under her breath for a full minute. Her husband is already asleep, used to this.

Don't even think about it. Too late. The assignment calls.

HISTORY CALLS.

Paralytic dread, a microsecond of indescribable agony, then eternal silence.

She smiles at you again, but her eyes are cold.

A life lived in a permanent state of war.

You have worn your true feelings too openly and aroused the suspicion of the enemy priest.

Continue to downplay your beliefs.

She thinks she's won this conversation, and there is nothing you could say to her that would convince her otherwise.

THE WAR-LOVING REACTIONARY CHALLENGES YOU IN THE IDEALOGICAL ARENA. WILL YOU STAND FOR IT?

Bite. Gnaw. Chew through neck.

YOUR FLOURIDATED COMMUNIST TEETH WILL MAKE SHORT WORK OF HER JUGULAR.

NONSENSE. SUPERBLOC MEDIA RECENTLY CELEBRATED ITS FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF DECLARING ITSELF PROPAGANDA-FREE.

A fascist is... a fascist is... fuck, it's hard to put into words easily, isn't it?

True fanatic detected. Be careful what you say, and how you say it.

Strong goon aura coming off this one as well. She's in on the Luzian scheme, whatever it is.

Keep clear of the nails! One swipe and she could open your jugular.

This is the Luzian version -- sanitised and brimming with valour.

The heavily applied paint gives off a petroleum smell that sticks to the back of your mouth.

This is full polycarbonate plastic and cancerogenic glory.

You'd need to be careful when drinking out of it. It's been designed with form in mind more than function, and its spiky angles could easily take your eye out.

Souvenirs, yes... good point. Are you really going to return to Melita arms swinging?

There's even a little tram station!

Incredible detail -- handrails, tools leaning on the shed, a giftshop sign. But the faces carved into the rock are featureless, unidentifiable.

A shrine to possibility -- a shrine, perhaps, to right now.

You can see her eyes reflected in the glass.

ALLOW IT TO CROUCH IN THERE AND HOLD ITS GROUND -- A TINY OUTPOST OF REVOLUTION IN THE MIDST OF THE ENEMY'S STRONGHOLD.

Her nails scratch against your knuckles.

THE PATHOLOGICAL NOSTALGIA OF FASCISM: A CONTRADICTION SO GREAT THAT IT DRIVES THEM TO CRAVE A PAST THAT IS NOT ONE.

THE REVOLUTIONARY SPIRIT, A FOREVER SPHERE.

Looks like a shrine. Faces carved into mountain.

The Raposeira -- Iron War Queen of the Luzian naval fleet.

Powered by two A4W nuclear reactors and four great steam turbines, this Lanza-class behemoth carried out the bombardment of the Western Provinces in 82.

In the smouldering wreckage of a schoolhouse, a screaming child writhes under the limp, heavy body of his teacher as their world burns around them.

They are all complicit -- from the most insignificant enlisted sailor to the top admirals.

Thousands of tons of steel, hundreds of sailors inside, guns and missiles and torpedoes, and yet somehow still buoyant. A miracle, a marvel.

AH-HA! SO SHE ADMITS THERE IS SOMETHING TO THE WHISPERS.

The dead and the discarded.

Wait until you get your hands on Bitter Wolf... she has a special straw... oh, and Radiant Wolf, he glows in the dark...

THIS PERVERSE COLLECTING MANIA CAN ONLY BE OVERCOME WITH AN IDEOLOGICAL STRUGGLE SESSION. RECOMMENDED DURATION: ONE HOUR PER WOLF.

Oh, god, it'll be all sticky.

Strong goon aura coming off this one as well. She's in on the Luzian scheme, whatever it is.

Checks