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Humming in subdermal tones. Crackles in the ear canal. Jag of noise. Soothing whisper.

Changes in resistance converted into analog control signals, interpreted by a Kontoor 35 synthesizer. Fleshy fungal sample, talking.

He was the one holding the clipboard.

Not in the official literature? Interesting. Take notes.

Doctor Gäng is in.

SICK LEAVE IS A FUNDAMENTAL RIGHT EXTENDED TO ALL WORKERS. HOWEVER, ALL REQUESTS MUST BE SUBMITTED IN WRITING AT LEAST TWO MONTHS IN ADVANCE FOR APPROVAL.

PSEUDOPOD will not be exposed, nor will you.

Ethics, how tedious.

As he pronounces the name 'Gonza', a hair-tingling scream echoes along the canal.

Followed by the sound of an electric saw, unhinged laughter, and a torrent of blood from the side gutters.

Probably unconnected.

Paired with self-loathing.

That's the second time he's brought up drugs.

Gäng won't admit anyone with a shit tolerance. Legends don't pass out, they rally and press on.

He's never felt such freedom.

A nod declaiming any and all liabilities for whatever befalls you there.

THEOCRACY OF THE CLIPBOARD! DON'T BE ROUSTED BY THE FOR-PROFIT CHARLATAN. YOU ARE HERE TO SUPPORT A COMRADE.

No ambulances, no hospitals, no cops.

Wondering how long it's been since you took your medication.

Without his meds, the outside world might as well be one big giant seizure-inducing machine. You're not getting Ramses all the way over here without at least one dose to level him out.

You've neatly slotted yourself into the 'drug-seeking behaviour' category in his eyes.

His disgrace is political. Gonza's is visceral.

The same medical board that fucked them both. The well of his hatred runs deep.

A mantra repeated.

His voice is so flat it brings the ceiling down a little, making your shoulders slump.

You can see the resemblance now. Karolina has his eyes.

Doctor. Clinic. Houseboat. This is KINDRED's father -- Dr. Hugo Abe.

Behind him, shelves heaving with medical textbooks.

The recirculated air smells like antiseptic and wet dog hair.

That little jump he gave when you walked in the door -- you're the first visitor he's had in a while.

It's always hard to let one of the gäng go, especially when it's an effigy of an absent child.

It's always hard to let one of the gäng go.

You shook him up. He needs a little time to recover. Try again later.

Those little arguments made his day.

TEMPO DEL SUR: I heard some stuff over in Cicatriz F. It got me seeing pictures, Hersh. This thing, when it hits... new world order.

They are already untangling themselves from each other.

Marco would have been fathoms beneath Tempo's sphere of awareness.

The most loyal -- to the corps more than the people. Gäng over all.

Useful. Hiding place. Proud.

He'd be eyeing the top shelf liquor, daring it to try.

Scheming. Yelling about dead ministers and 'international plays'. Back in the game.

In herself, she means. In her own mind.

'Thought' maybe, but she was clutching something more with the barest of fingertips. That's gone now. You almost heard it go.

You do not. Emotional liabilities become operational liabilities.

She can't bear the thought. You shoved her into this -- you alone will follow it through.

In fact, you haven't heard it since you got here.

Push her, now. Get this over the line.

The silence between you is so heavy it begins to exert its own gravitational pull.

Skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 72 of 197