Reading

Open fileNeed to knowMy clearance

A.Journal

Checks

406 checks

Must be someone on the other side.

A shame. Some pointers on how to improve your technical know-how wouldn't go amiss.

It hurts because it's true.

That thing he's carrying has got buttons, a little antennae... that's a grade-A thingy, alright.

Gäng don't fuck with ghosts. Scatter.

For a moment you hear a few words of a song, but it's gone before you catch what they are.

Gone. Just gone. It was insanity to bring him on a hit.

The likelihood that he is playing a cover instead of having merely lost the plot drops by the sentence.

Motorcycle go fast, vroom vroom.

It's unclear whether or not he's joking. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation?

So not technically zero. Cool.

Archive yields zero results, bar a few unsolved mysteries where the perpetrator was never uncovered.

This is a known fact about you?

It finds you wanting, but how?

Way back... where?

The sound of your name on his tongue -- unnatural, upsetting.

Easy? So, like... alphabet but reversed...

This is old news. You've cracked his stupid cipher.

Some tossed off dregs involving space shamans and deals with ascended beings.

Each heavy with significance, all of it lost on you.

No. There's nothing to consider. Your brain cells rebel at the thought.

Don't look now... but you can see through the metal floor. All the way down.

A lance of dread pierces your sternum at the thought of it.

End of transmission.

DEFEAT ALL DOWN THE LINE.

Don't forget your coats as you make for the exits.

Heart-in-throat, crumpled knees against cold linoleum. A deafening pulse inside the skull. Oblivion oozes through the doorframe.

Staring at photos all day doesn't make her a student of the human condition, just another species of voyeur.

It must be said there's no mention of a 'Fogged Mirror' in the files. It almost certainly holds no deep personal or professional significance for you whatsoever.

A bleep-bloop boat, in other words.

The Operant Bureau probably has loads of boats. A whole secret navy.

Ignore her. You're definitely a real person.

No entries. Sounds fake and made up.

You feel very cold all of a sudden.

Thing's probably got ghosts in it, spooking up the wires.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be here. This should be happening to someone else.

You feel the receiver slipping from your sweaty palm.

Checks out. No discrepancies detected.

Some astrological thing -- who can keep track of it all?

Wow. An under pressure phase. He really pulled it off, right when it mattered.

Perhaps an avid Einzeltone collector?

The sadness in it seems meant for you, and you alone. Fragments of old faces begin to reassemble in your subconscious.

Why does he not sound impressed then?

Shit, he really has tried everything.

Your fault. Un-fixable. Fucked.

Fuck. She sounds wretched, this is mega-tragic.

It's hard to see any resemblance to the proud, mustachioed leader behind the coloured hair, the spindly pale legs, and the permanent sneer.

All systems go down. A brief but total outage.

If wretched and rancid are good... is 'grandma' an insult or a compliment...?

406 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 5 of 9