ZERO PARADES
field manual
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The script
1,293
Proofs for the next issue, pinned for review.
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PROPAGANDA.
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PROPAGANDA. THE CONSUMERISM MUST BE THIS WAY.
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Propellant cylinders. The warning signs are in Mircean.
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Propped open to let in fresh air.
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Protection out of joint.
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PSEUDOPOD shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the boatman.
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PSEUDOPOD, you presume.
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Psychology textbooks and heavily leafed notebooks.
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Put on your seatbelt, Hershel. The future is here.
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Quarried rock. This travelled a great distance.
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Radio's dead -- shame, this would be a great party spot.
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Rain boots, distinctly splotched with colour.
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Rainboots. They'd look good on us.
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Ramses' body, breathing softly.
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Ramses' disc collection: hours upon days of violent noise, not for the uninitiated.
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Real thick future shit.
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Refrigerated. The office's supply of coffee?
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Reminds you of childhood visits to the Landau Royal Zoo.
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Reminds you of your year 8 school trip to the Landau oil refinery.
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Remnants from a past equal parts in surveillance and music.
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Remnants of sky-blue paint on the metal dome.
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Reno owns the transit company.
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Renovation materials.
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Repurposed conference table, its legs sawn. The 'mattress' is industrial foam.
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Rest your elbows on the railing.
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Revolving security guards lived here in shifts.
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Rickety stairs leading downwards, towards the canal.
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Right speaker stacked upon left -- a crime against acoustics.
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Ripples of electrons scan across the display.
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Rotanev's shrine sits undisturbed under its worn wooden awning.
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Rubbish, kicked but never collected.
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Rust halfway through devouring the support beams.
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Rust-soldered and gathering mould, these controls no longer seem to do anything.
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Rustamian letters, written in a hand so shaky the characters threaten to break apart.
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Safety guidelines for contractors, stamped by a Portofiran office.
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Sandstone. This island was once an ancient seabed.
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Satisfyingly geometric, carved deep.
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Scalpel. Clamps. Sutures. All meticulously accounted for.
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Scattered items beginning to gather dust.
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Scattered star stickers, edges curled, cling to the EXIT sign.
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Scrap silk, salvaged from the ruins of Essilk #3.
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Screenburned ghosts on glass.
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Screens covered in black tape. No chance of reflection.
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Scribble time: GÄNG 4EVER. SUK YA DAD.
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Scribbled under a warning sign: 'CHECK PRESSURES HOURLY.'
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Scuff marks run across the grain.
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Secondhand chairs. Probably picked up from the alley downstairs.
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Seeing these binders reminds you of your own red folder in Foto24.
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Shadowed waters wrinkle below; an isolated cutout of an abyssal sea.
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The script - ZERO PARADES - Page 16 of 26