Fichário Danificado: Sem resistência -- ou som -- os dois painéis movem-se um contra o outro. O compartimento agora está aberto. Dentro, você vê dois canhotos de ingressos e um cartão postal feito à mão.
Você: Porra, se mata, seu arrombado.
Fichário Danificado: As palavras simplesmente... cruzaram sua mente, de alguma forma.
Você: Para quem eram?
Limiar da Dor [Média: Sucesso]: Você.

"For a moment you feel like you have made a terrible mistake. Who would choose this weight? This anxiety? This deep well at the center of existence.
But then you feel it. Riko's hand, gripped hard around yours, trembling a little, sweating a little. Riko's hand with its brittle bones and crumpled skin. Riko's hand.
And in that moment you understand why you made this choice. And then you squeeze Riko's hand, and you wake up.
Something passes between you then, a kind of shared sadness for the impossible choice; the choice to escape your body, or to stay and suffer it. Her smile is warm, and generous, and whatever the wisdom of your choice, you are glad to feel welcome in this moment, in this place."