Medium · Pain Threshold ≥ 5
Ringing by the bedside of a dark but capacious apartment with long windows... you know this to be true.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
302 · Voice lines
Ringing by the bedside of a dark but capacious apartment with long windows... you know this to be true.
No. We're not gonna do this. Your hand is not going to cramp up, not now.
Hey, you already practically sacrificed a limb when you got shot in the tribunal... it's nothing major!
Below it all the bass grows, like the jaws of a giant compressor gnawing on metal and wood. It does not sound benevolent at all.
This only made it harder. Here comes the pain.
You would be incinerated. Or worse.
Nothing of interest. Only silence and the cosmic background pain-radiation.
A twinge at the back of your head makes you flinch. Your eye starts twitching.
You focus on the overwhelming mass of colourful novels to find anything of note, but it only ends up with your eyes aching from the strain.
As you focus on the overwhelming mass of colourful novels, a discrepancy catches your eye -- one of the books is not like the others.
Someone thought this was a romance story, but it's actually a thoroughly excruciating work of psychological realism.
A quick grimace of pain passes over René's features, but he immediately regains control. His face now a dispassionate mask again.
And gets over it in two seconds? Seems like it didn't really hurt him.
The chair you're sitting on has got to be the most uncomfortable chair in the world. It's violating your backside.
The chair is incredibly uncomfortable. Fortunately, your ass is made of iron and the chair is made of wood. Iron beats wood. You manage not to shift around too much...
Written in a rush. In pain. A race to beat your own heart's pulse to some dark finish line.