See and express what others can’t. Engage your creative engine. Lateral thinking and subconscious associations.
- Faculty
- Intellect
- Limit
- DELDelirium
- skill checks
- 714
- Flows
- 229
- Loudest around
- You 17
- Gear
- Tailored Dark Trousers -1Tailored Dark Trousers₽ 40 · Clothing
Tight enough to mean business, but fitted so they're not distracting. Mascot Head +1Mascot HeadClothing
Mr. Pink Miniskirt +1Pink MiniskirtClothing
Mass-produced in Agora Minor. Placid Wolf Cup -1Placid Wolf CupTools
Sword sheathed, pipe drawn, this wolf looks like he could fight if he was forced to. Priest Skirt +1Priest Skirt₽ 20 · Clothing
A modern rendition of a clerical wrap. Spacecraft Specialist Cap -1Spacecraft Specialist CapClothing
A soft-shell relic, once donned by technicians who could calculate re-entry vectors in their sleep. Ultra Violeta T-Shirt +2Ultra Violeta T-Shirt₽ 17 · Clothing
Merch, a declaration of allegiance. Distressed Shirt -1Distressed Shirt₽ 1 · Clothing
Sometimes it's important to blend in with the unwashed masses. Tyrant Wolf Cup +1Tyrant Wolf CupTools
One of the six collectible drinking cups for the animated show, 66 Wolves. Feather-White Sneakers -1Feather-White SneakersClothing
Cushioned to provide the lightest of steps for those who labour on their feet all day.
Conditioning
Difficulty ladder
714Case files
Status effects touching this skill
Voices in
229"Yyyes?" Again the heavy, authoritative Azzurri voice comes through.
"Thanks again for clearing out the squatters. I won't forget that." He nods, then looks away.
A typed page lies upside-down in a stack of similarly formatted files. The cover reads: 'Remote Viewing Testimonial N.28'.
Ultra Violeta remains frozen mid-song, trapped within the shimmering projection. Her music plays somewhere behind you.
"As I suspected, my sources were very pleased with your work. Well done, Hershel. It's an honour to work with you again."
"Fuck off, Tigerpussy."
The glimmering purple keyboard is just as you left it.
"Yyyes?" Again the heavy, authoritative Azzurri voice comes through.
Look, around your feet.
THE WANG GUIDE TO IMPROVISED FIREARMS, VOL 2.
"Wow... an actual liquidity mage..."
"Goodbye."
"Here again."
You have already engaged in model train repair and improvised weapon manufacture here. There is nothing else to do at the workbench.
"It's cold out here." The girl rolls her shoulders and lightly stamps a foot.
There's nothing to do here anymore.
"Didn't work, did it?"
"Hello, lapinette."
"Hi again. Still not leaving yet, sorry." She puffs on her pipe.
"..." His idiotic expression remains unchanged.
"You. Again." The tapping begins.
You loom once more over the shrine and its congregation of frames.
The ration pack crinkles as you turn it over.
She will not look at you.
"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm…
You return to the postbox.
"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."
Tiny figures jog across the screen, lobbing the hard pelota ball back and forth.
The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr.…
The pink paper tab is no bigger than a fingernail. One side is decorated with a simple illustration of a cockerel.
"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."
"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.
"You should move, CASCADE."
Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.
PSEUDOPOD shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the boatman.
You return to the lone payphone.
Ramses' body, breathing softly.
The stereo is right where you left it.
A shade in a leather jacket thrusts a decapitated head towards the reader -- its lolling tongue and dripping viscera a promise of what's…
The weight of the thesis threatens to strain your hand muscles.
"Hello again."
"Back again, are we?"
"How goes it, H?"
Three posters stare back at you from the wall. A watchful triad, ready to creep into your midnight's hour.
The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.
The door looms before you once more.
"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."
The intercom gleams in the daylight, fully exposed.
The gate stands before you, still locked.
One more phone, one more voice.