Part 59: Addendum I: Botchcop Begins

I mentioned when I started this that I wanted to show off some alternate possibilities for the path of this game. Well, we’re doing it. But not in any way that makes sense. It’s time for…





Botchcop is a nightmare person. Botchcop is two hundred and forty-five pounds of gelatinous libertarian biomeat. Botchcop straight *sucks*, yo. This is going to be a trainwreck.



Botchcop also picked Authority, because of course he did.

Addendum I: Botchcop Begins



We’re just going to rush through some of these options to see the new content.

When we try to figure out the mystery of the broken window:




When we try to grab the tie off the ceiling fan without turning it off first:





CEILING FAN: This is not a *real* heart attack. This is a joke. It’s probably just your lungs or your oesophagus. The oesophagus does practically nothing.

When we turn on the lights:





When we inspect the mirror:







Even with 7 Electrochemistry, this check is near-impossible.

When we talk to Klaasje:





KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “Okay.” She breathes in the silvery smoke.







Smooth, dipshit.







KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER): “All right, then. Looks like I should go and prepare for what’s to come. And thank you, this has been delightful. I do hope it happens *sooner*. Otherwise...” She extinguishes her cigarette.




This is information we wouldn’t have gotten until much later without having attempted and failed that check.







ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Good. They’ll make you stronger and better. You’re too old to be cool now, but find cigarettes, smoke them—blam! Instantly a cool renegade man, a mystical red dragon with smoke rising from his nostrils!



When we think about singing karaoke:




We haven’t heard about Ostentatious Orchestrations yet, so this dialogue option is more vague.



INLAND EMPIRE: No-no, don’t sing the happy song, it’s stupid. Sing the sad song, it’s profound.



When inspecting the spilled booze next to the sleeping dockworker:





ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You press your tongue against the counter. The stain is crusted at first, but after a couple of licks it starts to melt like a snowflake. If snowflakes were made of spiced black rum. Maybe it’s your imagination but there’s already some lemonade in it too. And some human hairs.



When waking up the dockworker:



We’re able to get him awake on the first try this time.







When meeting Kim:





Passing this check is actually really fascinating because it means that Raphäel Ambrosius Costeau never comes up. It’s a running joke for the entire game and passing this check means you just never see it.



KIM KITSURAGI: “Okay then.” He processes the information, then disregards it.









KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at you for a moment, in silence. “I can see you drank last night, and the night before. And that you are still drunk now. But I have seen officers go through much worse. Much worse. If you need something for your headache, there is a general store nearby. But, as I said, the dead body should be our number one concern.”
PAIN THRESHOLD: [Medium: Success] Yeah, a painkiller would be good about now. This thing is *pulsating* with discomfort.




KIM KITSURAGI: “Then you’re in luck, because we’re in the midst of a *major* strike by the Dockworkers’ Union. Maybe more than that. The Union clearly wants a *piece*, not just of the Industrial Harbour, but the Wild Pines corporation itself...”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Strike, coup, revolution, it’s brigandage however you parse it.”



This game is so good.

KIM KITSURAGI: “When I said we have to navigate community matters, I did not mean we have any *say* in them. I meant we should be careful. If we are not… the *shit* will blow right in our faces.” He makes a quick gesture towards his visage—where the shit would blow
CONCEPTUALIZATION: [Easy: Success] From an imaginary fan.

When talking to Lena:







LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Sequence killers, oh my…” She sounds impressed. “But I think you already have a partner, sweetie.”



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Yes, and it seems to me that you’d do well to stick close to him. He has the look of an upstanding officer of the law, someone you can lean on—and sweetie, you *are* looking unsteady.”



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Thank you, but...” She looks out the window wistfully. “Martinaise isn’t the most wheelchair-accessible place, you see. I’d slow you down.”



Lame! I’ve decided this game sucks, actually! (Lena was apparently originally meant to be a full party member early in development, but was cut for pretty much the exact reasons already stated)



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Now, now.” She tilts her head as she looks up at you with maternal solicitude. “We are alive—in a hostel called the Whirling-in-Rags. And the Whirling itself is in the city of Revachol.”



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “There, there. The year is ‘51, and spring has only just started. I’m sure there are better days ahead.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant studies you, rubbing his chin.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Easy: Success] I’m beginning to suspect that you might indeed be completely adrift in this reality, thinks the lieutenant. How can it be *that* bad? Never mind—we’re in this now.
SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] Outside, the melting snow seeps into the cracks in the walls and the cobblestone streets. All the way down into the sewers… Above ground, the first may bells blossom. You can feel it. A great cold. Then the shiver passes.



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Oh… no, nothing like that, dear. Revachol is a Special Administrative Region, led by an alliance of foreign powers called the Coalition. We have almost no government of our own—certainly no machines.”
RHETORIC: [Easy: Success] I don’t know… still looks like there’s a lot of hustling going on. Maybe she’s wrong.

When talking to Garte:




GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What is this, a joke to you? Is *this* what you get when you call the police now? *This* guy?” He turns to the lieutenant. “We’ve been waiting for a week here!”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Sir, I understand your concern, but we’re here to do a job, and for us to do it, I need you to stay calm.”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Yes, of course.” He takes a step back.



GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What are you—crazy? Of course I didn’t *kill* him.





GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Do I have to answer him?” He asks Kim. “Is this mandatory?”




GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: He ignores you.



GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Fuck you, man.”



GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: He stares angrily at you. “That’s a real pity.”



GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Does she? Maybe she does… maybe she *pertains* to the apocalypse.” He snorts. “Sylvie is not here because I asked for her number. The dead body out back didn’t help either, but it was mostly me. I hope you appreciate that…”




GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Good for you. Was there something else? I’d like to get back to what I was doing.”




This looks like a job for Botchcop!





oh no



I hate you Botchcop








ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: You are *way* cool, cooler than the bottom of the sea. Too cool for this world.




oh god i’msorryi’msorryi’msosorry

LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “It’s a joke, sweetie. I didn’t actually think you saw the Kind Green Ape of Tien-En in a hostel in Martinaise. That would be ridiculous. Are you okay?”



We take one Health damage.

LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “The chair took the brunt of it. Don’t worry.”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Are you sure, ma’am?”
LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Yes, yes—check on him!”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Sir, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry, this has always been a cop-friendly place...” The man seems shaken by the incident. “The drinks are on the house, okay? There were *a lot* of drinks on the tab. I still have to charge you for three nights and the broken window, though—that’s 100 square.”



GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Not *entirely* cool. You still owe me 100 reál. If you don’t have it by tonight, I can’t let you back up there…” He points upwards, toward your room.



Nothing to say about any of this, Kim? All right.

When thinking about how we don’t know where we live:




KIM KITSURAGI: “A saying. Up on Marvel Hill—a great, high place. One that is impossible to climb back to.”





HOBOCOP

Talking to Lena after fucking crashing into her, you monster:




LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Don’t beat yourself up over it too much, dear. People do strange things when the old fight-or-flight kicks in. I’m just glad you weren’t injured.”



LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: Her expression becomes very serious. “Oh sweetie, I heard your conversation with the manager about your… financial troubles. When do you get your next pay check?”



KIM KITSURAGI: “You must be joking.” He pauses, reflecting. “Although our pay does sometimes feel like a joke.”
LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “It’s not easy to assert your right to a decent living wage when you don’t have a strong union behind you…. Maybe you should talk to Evrart, the Union leader?”








LENA, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST’S WIFE: “Oh, I’m sure you would make a wonderful *gigolo* dear—with those strong arms of yours. But welfare checks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. My husband and I are barely scraping by.”




Well, that was… a trip. What wacky hijinks will Botchcop find himself in next?