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None of which precludes professional assassination.

Could've guessed that was coming.

The formalised Ending of History. Considered a fundamental misstep by almost all leading economists and philosophers.

But a department nonetheless. Further proof that EMTERR are pulling the piano wire.

His 'department'? Press this.

EMTERR is normalised. Something that sane, non-conspiratorial people can complain about to each other. All is right with the world.

Raw deal. The flowers will deprecate. The shift is forever.

Equal parts capitalism and alcoholism, both late stage.

You've wandered into some bizarre capitalist shit here.

Back to the well. The one filled with alcohol.

Alcohol is the key. Ply him with the stuff.

EMTERR and Luz, bound for intersection, united in 'secret treaty'.

Though it may be smashed beneath him, this man was sent here with an assignment.

This is the phone addict's senior. Soaked in alcohol, duty long since discarded.

Colleague? How does he know that?

Doesn't make sense. Why not go for something that sinks?

As a member of the Guardia Municipal, it's unlikely he can openly talk about a bootlegger.

Common boar deterrents: loud noises and strong smells, such as predator urine, placed in strategic locations.

EMTERR is all business, all the time. Lots of money to be made from people taken against their will.

A single data point is noise. But more could suggest a pattern.

He's not so much connecting dots as he's sketching them into existence.

Hard to argue with a non-existent point.

Eno -- must be her father's name.

He'd have to know about any official movements on his patch. He's testing you.

The only places that would need such a high volume of cheap tableware are schools and prisons.

Meaning they may not be for legal use. Criminal or at least non-ethical force may be behind these.

These stools are on the bigger side -- either they come from a large dog breed, or they're human.

The sanitation crews are running behind schedule.

The giftwrapped box Kurt was talking about -- she sent it to cubby hole D6 in the upstairs office.

Every freckle and shadow seems to have been mathematically arranged for the image. She is, without a doubt, a Luzian popstar.

The prisoner Dante warned you the quality of the device's work was highly variable.

The old prisoner warned you the quality of the device's work was highly variable.

She is decomposing.

Looks like she's in REM sleep -- where the brain is most active, where it dreams. But she's salinised the dream controls, which makes it seem like she's trying to prevent the act of dreaming at all.

If she's staying conscious through sleep then it isn't real sleep. She'll die of exhaustion.

Statistically possible...

There's no such thing as luck.

Seagulls are territorial. It was defending its airspace.

She'll be in Novessa's underground dancehalls by spring.

No smell of gas, though a person suffering from chemical hallucinations would be unlikely to suspect themselves of the fact.

See how focused they are on their task? Melita wouldn't have to use her disappointed voice if you were like that.

The metal stripper.

Five seconds between release and shatter. The bottom of the silo is approximately eighty metres below ground.

Has to be a rational explanation, there's a source in here somewhere.

These crates aren't 'smuggled' at all -- they're government-sanctioned from the Luzian Cultural Ministry.

Top-shelf tobacco. There's at least 500 sol worth of cigarettes in this crate.

So, technically: no.

The fact that none of your dreams can be remembered is a sign of fragmented sleep.

The second word is almost definitely 'CASCADE'. You, in other words.

817 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 8 of 17