Godly · Shivers ≥ 10
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.
Below -- broken-down, battered people mill on the dusty streets with no purpose. Yet amongst them there is no sight of this man. Nowhere.
Life in the Domain is even worse off than in Martinaise. The cold air is stiff from the fumes of motor carriages and lorries roaring overhead.
A monstrous shadow, high above the firetraps of the Domain -- the 8/81 motorway running over this district of Jamrock. Concrete pillars rise up from the midst of the dilapidated wooden houses. On the horizon, barely visible, the hazy machinery of the harbour...
The wood creaks as a gale blows by outside. Dust particles fall through the darkness, settling down on the age-bleached floor boards. The structure does not feel particularly durable.
The wind pushes a piece of tare across the cracked tiles. From the north comes the malicious laughter of two children...
Slowly peeled by the wind... Your skin crawls from the sensation as you look around.
There, hundreds of thousands of motor carriages roar on the 8/81, high above the mass of brown and red roofs that is Jamrock. The commuters don't even look down; the world ceases to exist outside the windshield.
Wind rips through the empty hallways of the once great military hospital, now just a ruin under an overgrown park. Beneath the hospital, great sewer tunnels hum and vibrate with life of their own...