Part 51: 9:06-10:18: Aftermath
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Brother, you already *were* a ghost. Up there, screaming—along with all of them. Scaring each other. Haunting each other.
LIMBIC SYSTEM: The fight? There is no fight. The fight is over—it was lost. A thousand years ago. You have laid here forever. Keep falling. Deeper… take the door.
ARIST: [Legendary: Success] No… You can’t. That’s not how this ends, that’s not a story… I am the part of you desperate to find meaning, to impose narrative upon the desperate chaos of life… I am the part of you that tells the story, and there’s yet more to tell…
LIMBIC SYSTEM: He’s *not* taking it. His body is not taking it. Oh god, no, he’s not disintegrating—he’s swelling up instead. Over the hours. Hurting. Moaning in his sleep. And rotting. And being disinfected. And smelling of drugs and feeling saliva in his mouth. Drifting in painkillers. Thrashing in his wound sleep.
VOLITION: [Medium: Success] He can’t go. Not before the case is solved.
PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] There is a radio in the distance. A radio of the world. Playing sounds: good morning, Elysium. Soon you will return to the world.
Chapter 51: 9:06-10:18: Aftermath
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Kim…
KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s not *ouch* time yet. You just got a *drouamine* pill an hour ago. Wait until it wears off.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Sunrise, Parabellum. Sunrise, Prepare-For-War. It’s an old revolutionary saying.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He looks out the window. “The gates of the harbour are boarded up. The streets are a little more empty. Apocalyptic violence is yet to erupt, I am relieved to say.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Very. He died in the hospital.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “You were bleeding out, you said something, I don’t know what…” he thinks. “And you warned me. I was able to disarm officer de Paule before she got the jump on me.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] Thank you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Because we *deterred* them? Or Joyce did? Maybe the harbour—in full lockdown—is too costly a target. Or maybe…” he breathes in the fumes, thinking.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, officer,” he says calmly. “Six people are dead. It’s not a success. But what’s done is done. The violence is cordoned off, the hornets did not get into the beeshive.” He rubs his swollen chin. “The worst scenario has not materialized—yet. And…” he smiles: “We are still alive—both of us.”
RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] He did not expect you both to survive once you stepped between those two armies.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Pretty bad, officer. You’ve suffered two wounds. The first is below your shoulder. The bullet passed through your shoulder blade, luckily missing your lung—and heart.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We will see.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “No.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] A man and a woman sit in the front seat of an armoured motor carriage. The woman is driving, the man lights a cigarette. Jean Vicquemare is his name, the asphalt vanishes under the wheels of the machine. Ahead, harbour cranes rise to the sky…
KIM KITSURAGI: There’s a pause. “I’m sure they’re worried about you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know.”
DRAMA: [Challenging: Success] He may have some idea—but he’s not gonna get into it with you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Not very.” He rubs his chin. “I have a concussion from that woman beating me with the butt of her gun… I try not to move too much.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know what to think. It might not have been a *bad* idea. There is a *pin* somewhere in the machine. Something is keeping Krenel from sending in a death squad…”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know. I think the theory you presented—it’s someone else, outside our circle of suspects—was right. It’d better be. Everyone within the circle is either dead or gone.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Don’t be narcissistic. Half the cops in Revachol West are his *peones*. Even if you are, it is not a decisive factor in this case.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don’t have to keep *everything*.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We should go upstairs, rethink the ballistics *in situ*.” A light nod, through some pain. “I agree with this. What else?”
(I don’t generally like to point out spelling or grammar mistakes in this game because English is apparently not the author’s first language and the writing is really excellent even before you take that into consideration. Most of the mistakes I’ve noticed it’s been relatively clear what the intended meaning was so I haven’t bothered, but I feel the need to point out here: “There are thousands lying, around *we* found one.” is I think supposed to read: “There are thousands lying around. *We* found one.” Again, I only point this out because it’s a couple compounding mistakes that result in a bit of a confusing sentence at first glance)
KIM KITSURAGI: “We could find thousands more if we wanted. All of Revachol is full of them.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It can feel that way sometimes, yes.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Good.” There’s a pause. “Where do you want to limp?”
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You enter Kim’s room. The enigma unravels just a tiny bit more…
We’re going to put a point into Pain Threshold because we just took two bullets and could probably use the relief. Also because we’re cool roleplayers like that.
ARIST: [Formidable: Success] You look down into your hand and for some reason, you’re holding your gun. Put that away!
While we’re at it, we also put the Eight-Eyed Teratorn Tie back on because we forgot to do it after losing the
ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Despite your talk with the lieutenant, you don’t head straight for Klaasje’s room. You instead head downstairs. There’s some things you’d like to know first.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “You’re welcome. I thought it would be nice for you to wake up in a clean place after you—let’s be fair—defended this establishment and its clientele from gunfire. I give credit where credit is due and that was a crazy move—crazy *effective*. Petroleum bomb, never seen anything like that… I was there until it struck him, crawled inside then. Bullets started flying. Anyway…” He clears his throat.
SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] He really wants you to realize that he was also on the balcony looking by. In the *danger* zone, so to say.
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Yeah, I was, yeah.” He nods. Trying to remain aloof. “That’s because I’m a *bad ass*.”
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: He nods back at you—even more stoically.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Easy: Success] Just two bad ass men nodding, stoically.
See you around, cafeteria manager.
ARIST: [Medium: Success] As you walk up to their usual spot, your immediate thought is almost confusion—confusion that the Hardies are missing half their number. You already knew what happened, but for that instant it hadn’t hit you. The empty space between them weighs down the atmosphere, coloring every word they speak to each other. They’ve noticed you walking up by this point. For a second, they fall silent.
EMPATHY: [Challenging: Success] Just as quickly, though, they’re smiling. They’re happy to see you. Or at least pretending to be.
TITUS HARDIE: “Crazy motherfucker…” He lets out a whistle. “Didn’t think you had that fury in you, but I guess I’ve misjudged a lot of people lately… There I was, thinking—where are we gonna find a tin opener large enough for those cans? Then coppo loco shows up and just sets a man on fire. Impressive shit, copper. None of us would be breathing right now if it wasn’t for…” He pauses, then extends his hand. “I guess what I’m trying to say here is, thank you.”
TITUS HARDIE: His bruised face stiffens. “Theo was old. I think he’d be pretty happy with the way he went. Never could imagine him withering away on a sickbed. But Angus…” He gulps. “He was just a stupid kid. Didn’t realize the mess he’d gotten into… trusted me… Still, the balls on that kid! Went down fighting for someone else’s shit like a fat angry bear.”
EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] Here it comes. The last one is the worst one. He only deals with it by drinking copious amounts of 8% beer.
TITUS HARDIE: “Well yeah… *memento mori*, right?”
ALAIN: “Absolutely! Today, I’m going to get drunk, eat good food, and bed a good-looking gal, ‘cause tomorrow a motor carriage might run me over…”
EUGENE: “Or you might die of a heart failure… Or syphilis?”
TITUS HARDIE: “*First*, we’re gonna find Dennis…”
ALAIN: “*I’m* going to find Dennis,” he interjects. “I’m going to find him and then I’m going to kill him.”
ARIST: [Medium: Success] Well, uh… so much for saving *that* life!
TITUS HARDIE: “Mhm,” he nods without really listening. “We’re hunting that rat down—let it be known what happens to cowards. And then…” He thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ll take a closer look at our Union members. There’s bound to be some ambitious fellows there who’d love nothing more than advancing social democracy by bustin’ some heads. Might even ask Tibbs if he’s tired of replacing windows and maybe wants to have some fun with his brother.” He pauses. “Anyway, don’t you worry—as long as Titus Hardie’s standing, there *will* be Hardie boys.”
LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] From the way Titus has talked about Angus and Tibbs here, you gather that Angus was not actually the third Hardie brother like you seemed to think.
TITUS HARDIE: “Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll be glad if I never see that fucking woman again.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Nope.”
TITUS HARDIE: “Judging by the sight of you…” He looks at your bandages. “I’d suggest crawling into bed with a big bottle of whiskey in one hand and a big tit in the other.”
ALAIN: “Yeah, go pay Monica a visit in Jamrock. She’s got a knack for making men forget about their worries. Biggest pair of milkers in all of Revachol.”
EUGENE: “Hell, you both look like you could use some feminine company right now.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you for your advice, Eugene. And you too, Alain. I do always appreciate a good use of the expression ‘milkers’.”
RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] It sincerely amuses him—how hard these guys typecast themselves.
TITUS HARDIE: “Take care, coppers,” he says with a warm smile. “You two look after yourselves now. Death passed on you today, but men don’t get that lucky twice.”
ALAIN: He nods to you and then to the lieutenant. “Coppo loco… and the, uh, normal cop, I guess. Good luck in Jamrock. Scars make the best tattoos, they say.”
EUGENE: “Thanks for getting involved, guys. Not a lot of cops would step in that line of fire, but you did.”
TITUS HARDIE: “And if you ever feel like the uniform is holding you back… I’ve got a few vacancies. You’d make one hard Hardie boy, copper.”
TITUS HARDIE: “I will, coppo. That’s a promise.” He puts his can down. “Now scoot, ‘cause the Hardie boys got some mourning and drinking to do.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Take it easy on the drink. The danger has not passed—this town needs you on your feet.”
So, this thought was bugged for a long-ass time after launch and just would not pop for any reason until they eventually patched it, which is why it’s suddenly popping now despite us not having really done anything to earn it here.
All right, let’s head up to Klaasje’s room.
KLAASJE’S NOTE: “I’m sorry I fucked everyone over. PS. I didn’t kill him. PPS. Gift upstairs.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I am not drawing my gun… yet. But I don’t like ‘gifts’.”
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] He says he’s not, but his hand moves instinctively toward his holster as he studies the note.
Just a joke, Kim. We’re sober now!
KIM KITSURAGI: “This is ballistics. She’s left a trajectory for us…” The lieutenant tests the thread with his finger. Drawn taut, it rebounds instantly.
VISUAL CALCULUS: It suggests the bullet came from the extreme upper quadrant of possible angles—from a point beyond the roof: B triple prime.
KIM KITSURAGI: “She was there that night—she would have known precisely where the bullet hole was in the glass…”
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] She had a long time to think about it after. Standing on that roof—staring at the glass…
KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know. At this point…” He stops mid-sentence.
KIM KITSURAGI: “So it is.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “I just haven’t gotten a lot of sleep these past few days.”
KIM KITSURAGI: The wind blows in from the open window. The lieutenant sighs, looking into the cold distance across the water…
LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] The lead is flimsy. You might as well go around Martinaise looking under every rock and talking to every person—but *what else is there*?
KIM KITSURAGI: “Could be the makings of a sniper’s nest…” he nods.
We’re going to the island. It’s the last and only thing we can do for this case now.