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A ghost hologram.

As she speaks, a tiny shiver passes through her.

Probably not what it's actually called.

Acquire this instrument. Wield it. Relieve the world of the burden of consent.

What is this thing? At first glance it could pass for some unmarked consumer novelty. -- a portable television, or a handheld game system.

Quiet magic. Dormant. Danger.

Squelching one person into another.

Finally, the Hershel Clone Army can begin to fill its deviant ranks!

You have noticed her eyes avoid mirrors and windows -- anything with a pronounced reflection.

Sounds familiar... she's talking about Goat-Eyes, the lovelorn soul of many endeavours.

Horizontal pupils... Undersexed... You've met him. The being known as Goat-Eyes.

The Ultra Violeti encountered this man. He scared them.

The soft piano music rises again, nearby yet very far beyond you.

You get the distinct sense she's about to confide something to you. But at the cusp, she retracts the words and puts others in their place.

Overplaying it, needlessly. The Operant Bureau's instructors would have a lot of notes.

When you were sixteen you once put your blood type down as 'mysterious' in an attempt to impress a vaguely attractive doctor.

Siccing people on them.

'Scarf'. Come on.

She's used to dealing with peripheral creeps, but this one's unsettled her.

Door liable to get kicked in any minute.

The air in the apartment is very stale all of a sudden. Cigarette smoke swirls like a spell.

Your heart begins to thunder.

KINDRED. The first glass domino.

Right when they were about to make it big.

That's your cue. To know what this is.

'Ritual'... not a term from the Operant Bureau's playbook.

Must be a Tempo styling for something significant -- all gravitas and enigma.

She was counting on it.

Uh oh. Tempo didn't know they shelved you after 91. He thought you were still... respected. Revered even.

No need to mention our half decade career ender in 'the Freezer'. Play it mysterious, teenage girls love that.

'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!'

She has iced over with sarcasm.

'Ritual'... 'deal'... you could easily hear Tempo exchanging one word for the other...

The exit papers you discovered at the shrine grow a little heavier in your pocket.

With your old friend, it was never one deal. Always a tangle of side bets, optional riders, and overlapping interests, arranged in such a way that Tempo always wound up across the table from himself.

This time when he sat down, the other him was already slumped over the table, bleeding across it.

Hit, point awarded.

Highly likely that this sign doesn't exist.

She was going to say another name there.

This is her way of asking for help. She needs a friend.

We're currently two friends down -- we could use one too.

Here's your best shot at completing the assignment you were never officially given.

This fixture is not yet rained off. The scoreboard is bleak, but there is still time to turn it around.

A distant door slams somewhere beyond you. The soft, stifled piano carries over muffled laughter and child-velocity footsteps from the apartment above.

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

Human smuggling -- risky, yes, but not exactly earth-shattering.

9,179 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 70 of 184