Medium · Perception ≥ 4
In the silence -- a sputter of wings. A flock of quails takes off in the distance...
Motorics
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
703 · Voice lines
In the silence -- a sputter of wings. A flock of quails takes off in the distance...
The boat's belly is a shiny yellow colour, industrial paint over fresh tar. You see it reflect off the water, along with the factory number: A72.
He's right. There it is, green and shiny under the glowing Whirling window... The sky above is dark and the lights sparkle.
He is very tired, but the dark circles under his eyes make him look younger, not older.
Something like the dark blue, serious colour of the early night sky above.
Wow. That's unbelievably orange. Anyone can see that. It's practically effervescent!
It's clean of chemical odours too. Just some dried toothpaste on the handle.
But not for scrubbing blood off tiles -- or anything else interesting, it seems.
Once more you hear that odd clicking sound coming from Gary.
The sound you heard was not the sound of something easily abandoned.
As he shifts uncomfortably, a series of clicks, like the clinking of glass beads against one another as they roll across a hardwood floor. You've heard this sound before, but where?
His eyes narrow slightly. He's wondering where this is going.
As he shifts uncomfortably, a series of clicks, like the clinking of glass beads against one another as they roll across a hardwood floor. A strange sound.
The netting is a little untidy, messier than the others. Like someone or something picked up the trap and shook it before dropping it back down on the ground.
The netting is a little untidy, messier than the others. Like someone or something picked up the trap and shook it before dropping it back down on the ground.
The netting is a little untidy, messier than the others. Like someone or something picked up the trap and shook it before dropping it back down on the ground.
This is the scab leader. His chest rises and falls under the ceramic breastplate. His fingers reach for the butt of his sidearm.
This is the mercenary at the gates! His chest rises and falls under the ceramic breastplate. His fingers reach for the butt of his sidearm.