Part 8: 19:07-20:36: These Pants Are A Burden

Chapter 8: 19:07-20:36: These Pants Are A Burden



Well, let’s go see if we can find another way past Measurehead.



CALL ME MAÑANA: “Sorry. Busy surveying the situation.” He takes a swig from his flask. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You guys gave all sorts of gadgets these days. Wire tapping. Telescopic batons. Futuristic circuit-bending to infiltrate harbour machinery. Maybe you could even knock that Kvalsund crane over using some remote controls…”



KIM KITSURAGI: “Because we don’t. We don’t have air support—or any of those other things.”
CALL ME MAÑANA: “I get it, hush-hush about the secret technology.” He pats the side of his nose with his index finger.



CALL ME MAÑANA: “First—don’t fight him. Obviously. Second, get him to share his theory by being *subordinate*. Admit your lack of expertise. Basically grovel. That’s how I’d do it,” he tips his beret and concludes: “You’re welcome.”
CONCEPTUALIZATION: [Easy: Success] Hmm… maybe that *would* work? We’ll have to see.



We never checked out the watermarks under the headlights, so let’s get on that.



KIM KITSURAGI: He turns the pre-heater on, waits, takes out his keys and says: “All right. Ready. I turn, you press START—it’s next to the pre-heater.”




COUPRIS KINEEMA: The lights unfold with a little click, casting electrical light onto the ground before the vehicle.




KIM KITSURAGI: “There she is: Revachol West.” There’s a note of pride in the lieutenant’s voice.




DAMAGED LEDGER: You catch a faint glimmer from a broken beer bottle. In the distance—sounds. Two men engaged in a drunken argument, followed by the closing of some distant window.



KIM KITSURAGI: “Let me see.” He takes the ledger for a moment and inspects it.











KIM KITSURAGI: “Those are *perforations*. They represent your record as an officer of the RCM. They’re your statistics, as it were. I should have guessed you keep a record, officers often do. Let’s take a look…”




KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, that *does* seem quite likely. Your youth coincided with some heady days for Revachol. But let’s move on, shall we? This next row—the one that wraps all the way around—is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You’ve got, let’s see…”





KIM KITSURAGI: “For an RCM officer—especially Precinct 41, which is in the Jamrock Quarter—it’s rather… tame. I mean that in a good way. There are certain officers who treat their kills like some kind of ghoulish game. If they do happen to *solve* a case it’s usually by accident.” It’s obvious the lieutenant doesn’t think very highly of these officers…



KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes,” he says, declining to elaborate.



KIM KITSURAGI: “Everyone has their own method of coping, some more effective, or self-destructive, than others…” He gives you a meaningful look.



KIM KITSURAGI: “Why not gardening? You’ve already got the gloves…” He points at your yellow gardening gloves.




KIM KITSURAGI: “Right. I’ll go turn off the lights…” He presses a remote control on the key.



We put a point into Logic.



Here’s that tank top we found last update, by the way.



And here’s our Officer Profile, showing our statistics.



Let’s go check our ledger again.





Dammit.




CUNOESSE: “I’m going away for a long long time, Cuno. Going away for life!”



CUNOESSE: Stay away from me, pig—you don’t wanna see what happens when you corner me.”





KIM KITSURAGI: “Probably some kids...” The lieutenant inspects the rigged slot.



COIN-OPERATED VIEWER: A thick layer of graffito covers the lenses—you spell out the word “ONUC” written on the other side—with N and C scribbled backwards.



COIN-OPERATED VIEWER: Under the graffito a sea of blues and greys appears—behind the water lies a coast studded with concrete and reeds. On it—a church on stilts, lanky weather-worn wooden planks, an x-shaped cross topping its tower.
INLAND EMPIRE: The church looks old and weather-worn. There are no lights in the windows.

Let’s inspect the other viewer now.








Probably not the best idea when I’m about to die on the street, but what the hey.




COIN-OPERATED VIEWER: The lenses shift, the ghost sharpens into an islet in the bay. In the runs a man-made structure is visible: a half-sunken sea-fort, its concrete almost reconquered by nature. It looks as if it was abandoned quite some time ago, nothing but a rotten tooth remains of the anti-aircraft tower. A lonely birch tree grows out of it.






This late in the day, the Whirling-In-Rags is busier. We’re not here to talk, though.



There’s plenty of bottles we can pick up in our room, if you recall.





KIM KITSURAGI: He takes a step toward the door. Like he’d like to leave.

After picking up all those bottles, we head back over to the suspicious Scab Leader for more tips on Measurehead.



SCAB LEADER: He smirks. “Not before you get in there and get your ass whooped. Learn by failure, I always say.”



Well, that didn’t help much.









INLAND EMPIRE: Yes! Buy something nice! A figurine.




KIM KITSURAGI: “Franconigerian knights.” He looks at the dusty figurines in the dim light. “I used to be very serious about these guys.”







BIRD’S NEST ROY: “You’re probably talking about the revolutionaries, yes?” the man behind the glass answers. “Yes—they are soldiers. Revolutionary soldiers.”



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “Maybe.”






BIRD’S NEST ROY: “The Headless FALN Rider. It’s an urban legend—about a man who rides the streets of Revachol sporting a FALN tracksuit. As you can see, he’s missing his head.” He points at the decapitated figurine.





Neat.



SHELF OF BOOMBOXES: One especially catches your eye. Deep gold and amber plastic with a big old handle on top. A classic boombox that says: “STEREO 8 approved.”
INLAND EMPIRE: This is you. Gold and orange. A sunset suite.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “If police work means playing tapes, sure. You can use it for that. Or any other time you’d need to play a tape.”






Damn, can’t afford it at the moment. Something to remember for later, you suppose.




BIRD’S NEST ROY: “What can I do for you?” he asks.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “Oh, no, not at all.” He flashes a smile. “I guess I haven’t had many customers lately, RCM or otherwise.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Who are your customers usually?”
BIRD’S NEST ROY: “All kinds of people come through here… Locals, travellers. People looking for a deal. People looking for a keepsake. People who are terminally bored.”







BIRD’S NEST ROY: “Why on earth?” He staggers away from the glass, but quickly recomposes himself. “These are prescription. I can’t really see without them.”
EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There’s a note of indignation in his voice. Interesting.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: He hesitates. “I was… I was with the Emergency Relief Brigade. You know, after the People’s Pile disaster.” He coughs, as if to mark his words. “Had to take Pyrholidon for radiation sickness. That’s what you were hinting at just now, wasn’t it?”




BIRD’S NEST ROY: He points at the white triangle on his orange safety jacket. “We were an all-volunteer force, self-organized. Tried to help fire brigades contain the spill. I lived by the river since I was a small boy. The Esperance… didn’t have the heart to let it all go to shit without trying to *do* something, to help out.”



BIRD’S NEST ROY: He hesitates. “There’s a reason why everyone’s tried to forget any of it ever happened, and why no one has tried to repair or replace the Pile.”



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “No one’s, everyone’s… He sighs and shakes his head.
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] So much bitterness.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: The clean-up happened fifteen years ago. I was young then. Later my second aunt died, left me this shack and the assorted junk in it. So I came to Martinaise. People told me don’t go there, it’s a *shit-hole*. I said: people, we just had a *nuclear pile meltdown*. I’m gonna get as far from Fauborg as I can. Still in the same city, but…” He shrugs.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “I like theory more than story. Outward movement, not vortices.”





BIRD’S NEST ROY: “The corpse behind the hostel, I assume…” He looks into the swirling lights, then to you: “I don’t have a truck with a mounted platform or anything of that sort myself...”




BIRD’S NEST ROY: “Someone else came here earlier today asking the same question—I promptly sold her the gun you pawned a couple days back.”
LOGIC: [Medium: Success] This is a pawn shop… And it *did* feel as if you’ve met before. Oh god…



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “You, uhh…”
VOLITION: [Medium: Success] With Kim here too?! That just sounded really, really bad.
BIRD’S NEST ROY: “You were adamant about getting rid of it, officer.” He hesitates. “Said you were *undeserving* of a service weapon of the Revachol Citizen’s Militia. And I don’t like keeping guns around the shop for long. Off-the-charts photon emissions. The unhealthy kind.”




BIRD’S NEST ROY: “You were very distraught. You said the gun was a threat to your life, and… that you can’t *trust* yourself with it tonight. And you need the money. When I said that I don’t normally buy firearms, you put the gun barrel in your mouth and sort of… sucked on it. Then I agreed to take it.”



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “15 reál.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant looks from you to Roy and then back to you. It’s clear that he hopes this tableau might still turn out to be a bad dream—it’s not, though.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] This has got to be the most… wow…




BIRD’S NEST ROY: “She didn’t seem like a policeman, although she kept referring to herself as a *Pig*. Which was odd. I found her interest in the gun a bit.. obsessive. But I was just happy to get rid of it. And of her. Truth be told, she was terrifying.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Right, so let me get this right,” the lieutenant turns to you, “you sold your sidearm, issued by the Citizens Militia, and now a civilian is running around the streets of Martinaise with it.”




BIRD’S NEST ROY: “My apologies, officer, but I have no idea where she was coming from or where she went.”




That went about as poorly as it could have.



SAWED-OFF STREET LIGHT: The light pole has been carefully cut, and the wiring has been redone and attached to a standard indoor plug. The light buzzes faintly but persistently.



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “Yes, officer. As you can see, it’s in perfect working order.”



BIRD’S NEST ROY: “It was brought to me to be altered.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He leans in so the pawnbroker wouldn’t hear him. “We’re not here to investigate the theft of city property.”





You know instantly that you will not find enough money to purchase this street light even if you actually wanted to.



Let’s talk to Kim.





KIM KITSURAGI: “Well, sort of. It’s less a matter of who *gets* to police Martinaise than who *has* to. It’s an orphan district, in other words… I think the dispatch desk just told both our stations about the hanging. There was quite the brouhaha at the 57th, I can tell you that. Time to *settle it*, they said, *Cop Off*. But…” He leans in: “I assure you, I am not their *finest* or *toughest*, with *one-hundred-and-two cases solved*. What I am is *least interested in a pissing competition*.”







KIM KITSURAGI: “I agree. Too dark.”






Fuckin’ snake eyes, goddammit!



Well, let’s head back to Measurehead for now.






*sigh* Let’s give it a shot, I guess.



I like how Kim reaches for his gun. He’s got our back.







Looks like Kim’s got something to say to us.








You already said that.

KIM KITSURAGI: He nods. “Let’s think of something else.”



Well, I don’t want to subscribe to Measurehead’s ideology, so we should probably see if we can’t find that other route.



Behind the Whirling-In-Rags, we find whatever this is. Also, if you look closely, you’ll notice that we appear to have fused with Kim into one, unstoppable Hypercop.










KIM KITSURAGI: “Perhaps not?” He looks at you. “This is below our pay grade, detective. However…” He points to the ladder in the corner. “See that *ladder* there? It’s probably another way into the industrial harbour, no? A secret path the local kids use.”

You’re so smart, Kim.







We end up on the roof of the office next to Mañana.

KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes. It’s probably yours. It bares the RCM insignia and you have a bad habit of being careless with your equipment…” He judges the drop.




EMPATHY: The look in his eyes is a mix of the engineer-like interest and the wonder of a six-year-old seeing a horse for the first time.



KIM KITSURAGI: “Is it?” He looks at you, impressed. “Kvalsund makes a lot of heavy equipment, but this is phenomenal even for them.”



KIM KITSURAGI: “I was under the impression we could ask the leader of the union to help us get this body down. This is why we’re here, right?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. He looks around, wind rustling his hair. “Or it could be that we’re just *exploring*.”



KIM KITSURAGI: “The cloak? I *do* think it’s yours, yes. As to whether you should go for it...” He looks over the ledge, at the cold pavement below. “Well, it doesn’t seem too dangerous—two metres tops. Whenever you’re ready to do it, I’ll be right behind you.”




Ugh, not liking these odds. What to do?

If we want to make this jump, we could always…




...take our pants and shoes off!



Much better chance of success now.








SAVOIR FAIRE: As the concrete floor welcomes you, you realize it’s been a while since you felt so alive, alert, capable. Must be the adrenaline.
KIM KITSURAGI: “I knew you could do it!” The lieutenant exclaims. “My climbing down might not have been as disco as your jump, but at least we can explore the harbour now.”

Thanks, Kim! Wait, you climbed down? Laaaaaaame.



And we've finally entered the harbour.