Part 4: 11:40-13:38: Radio Chatter

Chapter 4: 11:40-13:38: Radio Chatter



Thanks, Kim. I promise not to pawn it to pay for my room tonight.



The call box seems so tantalizing… you cannot fight the urge to play with it any longer.



ELECTRONIC DOORBELL: This button looks new, but someone has removed the name card. Nothing happens when you try to ring it.



ELECTRONIC DOORBELL: An off-key melody starts playing after you ring the doorbell… Then a woman picks up the receiver…



PLAISANCE: “Please don’t do that! Doorbells are not toys, and this one isn’t even working properly. Please don’t call us again, thank you.”



ELECTRONIC DOORBELL: You ring the doorbell, but no one answers.








TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “Yes, hello, this is Tricentennial Electrics.” This is a woman’s voice, crackling and fragile through the static. “Have you come to place an order?”



TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “My god…”



TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “It’s you. My god, I didn’t think I would hear your voice again…”



TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “Michel, just please…” She stops and you can hear her breathe heavily, her breath distorted by ancient static.



TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “Ever since I came to work here it’s been different… as if my mind’s been wiped clean…” A spot of static overrides her words; when she speaks again it sounds like she’s submerged: “…It’s so nice.”






TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: Another seagull passes by… It’s getting cold standing here, staring at the silent call box.





Let’s just go back to playing with the call box for now.




Ice Town Costs Ice Clown His Town Crown







MAIL COLLECTION BOX: The box seems happy.









All right, that’s the ammonia down. Let’s take care of what we can with Kim’s motor carriage at the moment.





COUPRIS KINEEMA: Vapour emanates from the large engine on the back of the vehicle. It hasn’t had time to cool off yet.




KIM KITSURAGI: “This is the Coupris Kineema, my motor carriage. You can use the toolbox and the radio if you’d like.” He nods at the cabin.




KIM KITSURAGI: “The Coupris Motorcorps does provide most of our patrol vehicles, yes.”






KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, sorry about that… the Coupris Kineema does have a rather… distinctive engine sound.”




COUPRIS KINEEMA: The frequency tableau lights up and a green button labeled PRIMELINE glows like a feline eye… and then you hear something. The soft purr of electrical kittens—radio waves cast far and wide over the metropolis. A woman’s voice greets you through the static:




ALICE: “This is officer Alice DeMettrie, Precinct 57. How may I assist you?” a voice replies in the radio.



ALICE: “Just a second, officer…” She puts you on hold, the static crackling softly like a bonfire. After a while you hear an old man greet you from the radio. His rattly voice is oddly familiar:







KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant’s eyes go wide. “But you said…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”



JULES PIDIEU: “10-4, message received. This is a *very* serious situation. I need to 10-22 the captain. Over.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Is it *him*?” a dry voice asks in the background. “What does he want?”
JULES PIDIEU: “Says he lost his badge and needs to report it.”




JULES PIDIEU: “You mean your partner? Over.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What is he saying?”
JULES PIDIEU: “He’s asking who you are.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “I’m his *goddamn* partner!”
JULES PIDIEU: “It’s your partner, Satellite-Officer Vicquemare, sir. Over.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Did he lose his memory along with his fucking badge?” The man in the background sounds like he’s losing his patience.



JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Dick fucking Mullen, who do you think?”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “It’s officer Dick…” he tries to speak through laughter, “...Mullen from the bestseller ‘Dick Mullen and the Lost Identity.’”



JULES PIDIEU: “He says this has probably happened to other policemen before him and laughs sarcastically.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Oh goddammit, is he fucking kidding? The whole Station’s gonna be *dicked* for this.”
JULES PIDIEU: “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare is wondering if you might be joking and adds that this tarnishes the reputation of the entire station. Over.”



JULES PIDIEU: “He wants to know who you are.”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “I’m the goddamned Hjemdallermann! Yeah, tell him I hail from the north!” His laughter is high-pitched and joyous, almost childlike.
JULES PIDIEU: “This is Satellite-Officer McLaine, sir. Over.”



JULES PIDIEU: “He’s asking you to stop. Says this is serious.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Of course it’s serious. He lost his fucking badge!”



JULES PIDIEU: “10-4, I hear you officer. I’m just going to make a note here that you are in pursuit of your *misplaced* badge. Over.”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “Fuck me! Mack, come here, you’ve got to hear this! Dick Mullen lost his badge!”



CHESTER MCLAINE: “Supercop here lost his badge!”
MACK TORSON: “He lost his *what* now?!”



JULES PIDIEU: “He asks you to please stop saying he lost his badge.”
MACK TORSON: “Why, did he find it?” The room at the other end of the line erupts in volcanic laughter.
JULES PIDIEU: “Sergeant Torson was wondering if you found your badge yet? Over.”




JULES PIDIEU: “10-9, come again, I didn’t get that. Over.” The animated conversation in the back is making it difficult for him to hear you.
CHESTER MCLAINE: “...new heights even for Captain Sober!”
MACK TORSON: “Ask him...” The speaker gasps for air. “Ask him if he still has his *gun* too! The room roars with laughter.
JULES PIDIEU: “Sergeant Torson wants to know if you lost your gun too. Over.”



HALF LIGHT: Okay, it’s gone. Your gun is most definitely gone.
HORRIFIC NECKTIE: Don’t sweat it, *bratan*. You don’t need a gun to have fun… we can still have fun. It’s not all over.




Uh-oh.



JULES PIDIEU: “He says he didn’t lose his gun—*or* his fun, whatever that means.”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “Ask him to describe it! His gun! Not his *fun*, just the gun will do…” He laughs.
JULES PIDIEU: “Satellite-Officer McLaine requests a description of your weapon. Over.”




JULES PIDIEU: “Says it’s a Kiejl 9mm… Armistice.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Armistice? What, is he a fucking…?” Clearly he doesn’t have his Villiers any more.”
MACK TORSON: “Dear god, he lost his gun!!! Oh my… I can’t… He…” The man succumbs to laughter again.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “This isn’t really a laughing matter…”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “Mack can face the Giant of Koko Nur by himself, but Disco here made him piss his pants!”
MACK TORSON: “Oh I… I can’t… Fuuuuuck, he lost his… Ask him if he still has his wiener!”
JULES PIDIEU: “I’m not going to…”
MACK TORSON: “Ask him!”



JULES PIDIEU: “He acknowledges your joke and asks you to lay off.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Lay off? Lay off?! Tell him we’ll lay off when he retrieves the goddamn police property that he has been entrusted with.”



JULES PIDIEU: “10-4, affirmative. Officer is in pursuit of his firearm.” There’s static.
MACK TORSON: “Oh god, I...” The man is fighting back tears.
JULES PIDIEU: “Officer, do you need further assistance? Over.”



JULES PIDIEU: “10-4, I hear you. I don’t heave the authority to grant your request, but…”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What does he want now?”
JULES PIDIEU: “He is asking for money.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Is he fucking kidding?!”
JULES PIDIEU: “I don’t think he is.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Don’t give that asshole anything, he’s just gonna drink it all!”



JULES PIDIEU: “He says he’s in trouble, doesn’t have a place to sleep.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Well, I guess he’d better crack the case before sundown then!”
JULES PIDIEU: “Vicquemare said…”




JULES PIDIEU: “Uh… okay, 10-4, sir—I hear you, relay your question. Over.”



RHETORIC: You’re going to be looking at a straitjacket if you tell everyone you lost your memory. Be smart about this! Ask if he’s there alone.



JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What? What is it?! He’s still on the line?!”
JULES PIDIEU: “He wants to verify the information on his badge.”
MACK TORSON: “But of course, it says Dick Mullen—High General of the Revacholian Cavalry Force.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Tell him to stop wasting time!”





JULES PIDIEU: “Uh…”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What? What is it? What can he possibly still want from us?!”
JULES PIDIEU: “He seems intoxicated and keeps asking me to call him by his name.”
CHESTER MCLAINE: “Mullen’s drunk and emotionally aggressive. That’s new.”



JULES PIDIEU: “10-… uh… excuse me, sir? Over.”




JULES PIDIEU: “10-4, well that’s a…”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Does he actually want anything or is he hell-bent on disrupting our work?!”
JULES PIDIEU: “He asked if he ever told me about his days before joining the RCM.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “For god’s sake, cut this shit out! Tell him to stop wasting time and be a goddamn policeman for a change!”





JULES PIDIEU: “Roger that. 10-10. Over and out.” The static ends with a loud click, then everything is silent in the cabin.



ESPRIT DE CORPS: The small room is filled with cigarette smoke abuzz with laughter, when officer Judith Minot enters. Her left arm is in bandages and hair trimmed short.



JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What happened is my partner made contact—it’s not good. He’s lost his badge *and* his sidearm. He seemed confused, delirious even…” He stops to think.
MACK TORSON: Mack ‘The Torso’ Torson is finger-fucking his fist, laughing hoarsely and apparently telling some dirty story to his partner, Chester McLaine, near the entrance. “Suddenly he interjects: “Yeah, Mullen was fucked alright. Sounded fucking drunk to me.”
CHESTER MCLAINE: The tall ginger on his right still has tears of laughter in his eyes. “Yeah, Mack’s right, this was some gnarly shit there. I mean, before he started begging for money—it was…”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare bites down on his knuckles. “Enough!” he shouts across the room. The commotion dies down. All eyes turn to him. “None of this is funny! It’s fucking sad, that’s what it is. He’s a cop. He’s one of us, goddamn this…”
JUDITH MINOT: Minot looks down at her neatly polished black shoes. There is a quiet firmness to her voice, when she speaks: “We must help him.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Yeah? How do you fucking plan to do that, huh?! Get him off the drink?! Go jogging with him in the morning and get him on carrot juice?! He’s a lost man!”
JUDITH MINOT: “I just know we can’t give up on him when he’s at his weakest. He wouldn’t…” The crowd in the room has started fidgeting uncomfortably. Someone’s trying to slip out unnoticed.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Mack, man the door,” he gestures Torson to block the doorway, then turns to Minot. “You know what he told me? ‘I don’t want to get better—I want to get worse.’ Those were his words.” He sighs heavily and turns to address the room… “This shit does *not* leave this room! Not a word of this to the captain or anyone else. We’ll give him a couple of days to pull his shit together!”
JULES PIDIEU: Oldboy lights another cigarette and says: “I guess I can hold off the report for a few days.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Good,” Vicquemare turns to the others, “Okay everybody, nothing but a prank call here. We all got our laughs, now get back to work!”



So, yeah. That’s Esprit de Corps. It gives you a psychic link to other cops. It’s amazing.

COUPRIS KINEEMA: A metallic drawer slides out from under the seat and clicks into place. The tools inside are neatly organized.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Take what you need, officer. It’s going to be a long case. I’m not *protective* of my tools. Like some men are…”



COUPRIS KINEEMA: The prybar feels nice and cold in your hand. Heavier than you’d think.



COUPRIS KINEEMA: The handles are long and sleek. *Snap-snap* go the cutters in your hand.



COUPRIS KINEEMA: It’s robust, weatherproof, and well made. Police issue—blue.





COUPRIS KINEEMA: As you tap the gauge, the indicator pin jerks as if startled. It’s in the large orange sector, indicating the engine is warm. Next to the gauge is a red switch labeled HEAT.
KIM KITSURAGI: “There’s no use pressing the HEAT button,” he says and jingles his keys. “It won’t start without the ignition key.”
RHETORIC: [Easy: Success] Translation: We’re not going anywhere right now.




ALICE: “It will take just a moment, officer…” Her voice fades out into the familiar radio static. “… …”








NIX GOTTLIEB: “Even better! Anything else? I wouldn’t worry about that. Officers your age have coronary trouble all the time. Also—death is a natural part of life.”



NIX GOTTLIEB: “With all the damage you’ve been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I’m not surprised.”



NIX GOTTLIEB: “What else? I’m not a *brain* doctor. Look on the bright side—you’ve got a whole new life now. Use it wisely.”




NIX GOTTLIEB: “Do that. I need to go. Some idiot has glued his eyelids shut with Cyanoacrylate. It *looks* like Mack Torson, but it’s hard to say because his eyes are swollen...”



Mack’s having a hell of a day.

NIX GOTTLIEB: “Mhphm.” The phone clicks. Suddenly you hear the already familiar voice…




KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, hold on…” the lieutenant takes a look at his notes. “Her number is 005 1944 298.”
ALICE: “Received. Hold on, officer. … …”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Give it a minute, she might be busy at the moment… takes a bit to get to the phone.”
VOLITION: [Medium: Success] Just wait. Relax.
ALICE: “… … …”




SYLVIE: “Oh, right…” She recognizes your voice almost immediately. “Hello, officer, what can I do for you?”





SYLVIE: “You know whom.”








SYLVIE: “You know…” she seems to be looking for words. “What the Union says, goes. People listen to them and they take care of their own, which is, like, everyone here.”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Legally, no. In reality, yes.” He looks around. Martinaise is *de facto* policed by the Dockworkers’ Union.”



SYLVIE: “I… I didn’t want to get in trouble with the others…”
AUTHORITY: Push her *further*. Show her the error of her ways.




SYLVIE: “No, sorry… I don’t.” She clears her throat. Not a lot of people have phones around here. Copper thieves take the wires… People don’t have the money to have the cables put in again. They use the Union’s phone or the one on the coast.”




You see no reason not to ask her where your badge and gun are.




SYLVIE: “Oh… no, I haven’t, sorry.”



COMPOSURE: He’s in plainclothes. Voluntarily. It’s different from not knowing where your uniform is.












SYLVIE: “Yes, obviously. You were the worst client I’ve ever seen. And I have seen *so many* assholes in this place…”



SYLVIE: “Well… You were worse than all of them. Honestly, you were getting borderline aggressive.”



SYLVIE: “Then there was your room. Your *project*, an experiment to see how bad it can get in there. I tried to send the cleaner, but you wouldn’t let me. Threatened to ‘make me understand’. I had no idea what you meant—and I *don’t* want to know.”



SYLVIE: “And *then* I had to deal with your toilet. The one you clogged with *police documents*, causing water damage downstairs in the kitchen.”




SYLVIE: “I… dammit, I don’t remember what I did to your damn papers! I don’t remember every little thing I do.” Resentment gives way to concern in her voice. “Especially when there’s a hurricane loose. It’s *your* fault for losing them-- not mine.”





SYLVIE: “The stuffed bird. The great skua. You threw it against the wall, while screaming ‘fuck that bird’ and laughing like a maniac.”





SYLVIE: “Yes. That’s the one you liked to sing along to the *most*. The later it got the more *that one* came on.”



SYLVIE: You hear a sigh of relief on the other end of the radio. Wordless, the call breaks. Then the already familiar voice:



COUPRIS KINEEMA: “…AS ALWAYS IT’S DJ MESH AND FLACIO AND YOU’RE LISTENING TO S-S-S-SSS-SSSPEE-EED FREAKS FM, BRINGING YOU THE HOTTEST, THE NASTIEST, THE MOST VULGAR…”
KIM KITSURAGI: Right away the lieutenant reaches into the cabin and turns off the radio. He’s not looking at you as he says: “Someone must have been messing with the radio, or maybe it picked up a random frequency… You wanted the primeline, right?”




ALICE: “57th over and out.” Her voice disappears into void.







We now have our tools, opening up a world of possibilities. Sort of.



Also, we got a skill point a while back for getting 100 experience points, so we’re going to spend it on Endurance to give ourselves a nice boost in maximum Health. Maybe we won’t die immediately now that we have 3 instead of 2.