[x] Insist that there is an infiltrator in your midst.
"There should be thirty-nine, right? There were forty-one, two are dead," Fincher winces at this. "we have thirty nine. But we have forty."
FINCHER: "There were always forty-two."
ORISON: "That's what I made it as well."
"No, you see, you only think you thought that, but... I don't know, I think your memories are being altered?"
FINCHER: "Oh yeah? Then why aren't your memories altered?"
"Maybe because of my enormous brain."
FINCHER: "Boss, this is stupid. There were forty-two. I told you there were forty-two, think about it."
You think about it.
four incapacitated leaves me with thirty-eight able legion
"Alright, I concede that my thoughts are also being affected. This is even more insidious than I expected. Maybe if I ask a few of the-"
FINCHER: "No!" she slams her hand on the old kitchen counter, sending up a plume of dust. "Fucking
enough of this. My people are tired, and cold, and hungry, and we
do not need this shit." She advances on you, finger raised. "Do not say a fucking
word about this bullshit to anyone. Stop talking to yourself. Stop talking to your fucking
fingers. Stop being so fucking
weird around people. They are having a hard enough time already."
ORISON: "Hey, easy. We're all on edge, but-"
FINCHER: "Just... fuck!" She throws up her hands in frustration. "I'll talk to the Paleans so you can all fuck off. Just sit still and don't eat any fucking paint."
She storms out of the room without another word.
Orison turns to you, eyebrows raised.
ORISON: "I think you annoyed her."
[ ] Do you believe me about the numbers?
[ ] Maybe the infiltrator is manipulating her mood.
[ ] I'm going to investigate.
[ ] What's her problem?
[ ] Should I apologise?