Disco Elysium texts

script.py

import re


strings = set()

with open('texts.txt', mode='r', encoding='utf-8') as file_input:
    content = file_input.read()
    regExStr = r'^\s*\d string title = "(?:tooltip\d+|Name|Dialogue Text)"\n\s*\d string value = "((?!(START|input|\w+\(\)|\!\(\w+\(\)\))).+)"$'
    compiled = re.compile(regExStr, re.MULTILINE)
    matched = compiled.finditer(content)
    for m in matched:
        strings.add(m.groups()[0])

ignored_regex_strings = [
    r'TASK\.',
    r'^\w+\.\w+$',
    r'^\w+_\w+$',
    r'^[a-z]+$',
]

strings_filtered = strings
for regex_string in ignored_regex_strings:
    regex = re.compile(regex_string)
    # strings_filtered = filter(lambda i: not regex.search(i), strings_filtered)
    strings_filtered = [i for i in strings_filtered if not regex.search(i)]

with open('extracted_texts.txt', mode='w', encoding='utf-8') as file_output:
    for string in sorted(strings_filtered):
        file_output.write(f'{string}\n')

texts_extracted.txt

 Kvalsund multitool.
" ... "
"'...member of the board?'"
"'88... This elevator was maintained a long time ago."
"'A man my age'? What are you implying? I'm at the peak of my abilities."
"'A science person'?" He snarls. "The *so-called* science community hasn't accepted me as one of their own quite yet."
"'A slow, sad song started playing. Like organ music, on repeat. That went on for quite a while. Some of the time you were yelling along to it."
"'After life, death -- after death, life again. After the world, the pale -- after the pale the world again.'"
"'And'?"
"'Ask Revachol'" is the name of a war time radio show the communists used to address civil issues," he remarks. "Maybe that helps?"
"'Bout fuckin' time, man. I've done my duty." He brings his hand up to his head for a salute.
"'Cause that's what they're all called. Kojko Pitjic, Lzloslaw Kojko. Kojkowicz Someone. Low self-esteem those guys have. Mind you, they look occidental, but they're not... *really* like us."
"'Cop Sets Fire to Himself.' That would be quite an interesting conceptual piece, don't you think?"
"'Count C,' for its popularity among the aristocratic class of the prior century..."
"'Course you fucking can. How do you think Cuno made all the docky boys his gimps? Just gotta fly, pig."
"'Cuno window'? C'mon kid. Just stop."
"'Defended' may be putting it a bit generously, though. I had a great view of you doing *nothing* to stop those psychopaths. Then I crawled inside. Bullets started flying. Anyway..." He clears his throat.
"'Every worker a member of the board'. I tried to convince my employer it was simply a piece of rhetoric and not a serious demand. But the... *stridency* of it seems to have spooked them."
"'Ey! Tequila! You wanna buy some speed?"
"'FALN'? That's medium-concept stuff. Not my style at all... I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should lay off the booze -- It's fucking with your head."
"'Fortress Accident SCA produces revolutionary interactive call-in radio games' -- that's what the catalogue says."
"'Found god knows where'?" The big man exhales loudly. "That *Acele* is the daughter of Mico the Kebab -- a man who once killed a guy with a kebab."
"'Fraid I can't hang out and chat." He looks west, across the water, chewing on a piece of salami. "Damned water lock's finally been fixed, so I've got to get going."
"'Fuck off, midget.' Gaumont is short of stature, you see."
"'Harrier,' that's long for 'Harry'. So you *are* Harry...." He thinks. "Evrart was half right. Probably not a lot of people know your full name. Whoever told him you're Harry Du Bois didn't."
"'Harry please?!' -- I am going to *end* this call, dammit."
"'Hell no, I'm just an honest scab?' That didn't sound too convincing."
"'Hey'? That's all I get?" (Smile.)
"'I don't care about my gun'..." he repeats. "I love it, Harry! Wish I could be like that. But I can't. I have a responsibility to this community. I can't have a loaded gun out in the streets."
"'I don't care about my gun...'" he repeats. "I love it, Harry! Wish I could be like that. But I can't. I have a responsibility to this community. I can't have a loaded gun in the streets."
"'I have grand plans for you, Man from Hjelmdall.' She gestures her diabolical hand toward an array of potions and unguents. 'First you shall please me, then lead my armies  against the vicious cannibals.' Not a muscle moves in the face of Man from Hjelmdall, yet inside there is turmoil -- this goes against all he holds sacrosanct."
"'I saw some piglets suckling their dead mother' -- have you heard this one, cop-man?" He continues without waiting for an answer: "'After a short while they shuddered and went away.'"
"'I see. You know something, but you've decided not to tell us."
"'I'm gonna fuck that Cuno up. I'm gonna shut his shit down...' You know what? You should have hit the Cuno, because NOW..." He raises his voice again.
"'In Guillaume's time you'd have been shot without a trial'. That's what he said to me." The old man gathers himself and wipes his eyes again. "He lived a cunt and he died a cunt. Let's leave it at that."
"'In many ways'?
"'Kind of'?! You tried to pin a murder on me... on *US*!" For a moment he looks like he's going to hit you. "Why did you do that?!"
"'No thanks to the squares at the precinct,' as you put it."
"'Officer' is my stage name, right? I can see myself as a middling disco artist called 'The Officer.'"
"'Oh yeah,'" she declares. "'Life gets hard -- but we go on.'"
"'Oh, did I leave my casserole on? Better go home and check. The election can wait!'" The man frowns, disapprovingly. "When she got back the whole thing was over."
"'Okay' what?"
"'Pines cow', who's that?"
"'Ramblings'? Nonsense! Your description of the phasmid is the most precise I've ever heard!"
"'Random kids'?" The big man exhales loudly. "That there is the daughter of Mico the Kebab -- a man who once killed a guy with a kebab."
"'Raubritter' is a fun game of economic competition, but can get quite intense after a while. We have games for the whole family. You can play with your children!"
"'Refusal to aid an officer of the peace.' You are impeding me from carrying out a murder investigation with your inane requests for money."
"'República'." (Smell the air.) "That's not very healthy."
"'She broke me. She fucking broke me.'"
"'Show me your cunt! Why don't you show me your cunt?' Then he gets knocked on the head with a wine bottle -- doesn't even fall down!" He shakes his head in disbelief.
"'Sine'?"
"'Sinus salt,' 'the white knight'...."
"'Sir' it is, then. Soldier on."
"'Spookiness' is not a matter for police investigation."
"'Spying' has such a negative connotation. I did track your progress along the coast, however, and decided I would be better able to assist you from here..."
"'Surrender to the Night'," she replies, slowly rocking back and forth.
"'THE TIME HATH COME.'"
"'The record' -- so official!"
"'They' who?"
"'Thine spells are no match for purity and strength of will. Brothers of Hjelmdall stand above the vices of flesh for it is weak and corruptible, yet mine is forged in gore and strife.' Queen Lydiaana just laughs, a sultry and salacious sound, then says..."
"'This *shit*?" Her eyes with their cataracts look at you "I'm not going to do your work for you, just because you've got a potty mouth."
"'Tis pity she's a whore." (Wink.)
"'Turn into...'" He pants from exhaustion. "Cuno ain't turning into shit! Cuno *is*! CUNO *IS* THAT SHIT."
"'We Go On' by the OO." She sighs. "I can't listen to it any more, you've turned it into a parody."
"'Where can I listen to this?'" he mocks you. "Why don't you try shoving it up your ass, genius?!"
"'You tryna' tell us you saw the Insulindian phasmid out there in those reeds? Get outta here!'" She smiles. "They'd just give me a cider and ruffle my hair and tell me to stop dreaming -- but I saw it."
"*...a member of the board*," she nods. "I tried to convince my employer it was simply a piece of rhetoric -- or a joke. They did not appreciate the humour."
"*A Deuill*," she pronounces: "*Who being of great Charme and Guille, sneaketh into the homes of the Godlie*."
"*Absence...!*" she gasps. Then, after collecting herself: "I imagine things must be rather bleak for you to return to me. Tell me, what have you found?"
"*Ah*. And what do I care about the Union boss? He's not Gabriel, he's not Franconegro. He's not even Hermenegildo the Hand."
"*All* of them."
"*Alright*, man!" He claps his hands, enthusiastically...
"*And perswades them to addict themselues to his seruice...*"
"*And what is it doing in the fridge?!*"
"*And* I also fixed the strike situation."
"*And* an incision on the thorax, from a chaincutter." There's a pause. "I wouldn't mention those. Better not to muddy the waters."
"*And* in the process you turned up some information relevant to your investigation. Only from Evrart, surprisingly!"
"*And* short. *And* memorable!"
"*And* you managed to locate and pull out the bullet. So we can get ballistics, make of the gun -- all this is invaluable."
"*And*, I suspect it may also have developed other *specialized techniques* to protect itself from predators... or scientists, in our present case."
"*Anodic* dance music," he nods. "Regular dance music wasn't hard enough. And yes, I do."
"*Anything* else I should know about this task? This weasel person? When he'll be home?"
"*Apologizing* would be a good start."
"*Astonishing quality! Unbelievable prices!"
"*Autocannibalistic locusts*? I appreciate your *unconventional* thinking, officer, but really, cryptids aren't your area of expertise."
"*Baby?*"
"*Back-up*?! There's nothing to back up, nowhere to back down -- the terrible finale is on us!"
"*Beats...*" The old man scoffs. "Violent bourgeois language. Even music is a form of homicidal competition. Saxophone blowing anti-communism..." His voice trails off into a gust of sea wind.
"*Besmertie*? That sounds vaguely familiar."
"*Beyond *curious. I will *choose* to interpret that as you turning the alcohol in the strike brew *down* -- for the sake of our professional relationship."
"*Bon dieu*," he mumbles, slowly shaking his head. "You and Gaston must be related. His blood runs yellow too."
"*Bonne prise*," the lieutenant commends you as you shift through the treasure -- well worn and folded into neat squares.
"*Both* apartments are now unrentable. Both!" She's still shaking her head, manicured hands now crossed over the chest.
"*Both*?"
"*Brief*, yes. That sounds good."
"*But* what? There's something I'm not getting, right?"
"*Callous*? What are you, Kras Mazov? Almost all establishments in Revachol keep their trash locked. The Whirling-In-Rags is not special in that regard."
"*Capitaine Arnoux -- le fléau des chevaux*!"
"*Ce serait délicieux*! he shouts excitedly. "Can you make that sandwich, officer?"
"*Cha-CHING*, Kim!"
"*Civic pride*, Cuno." 
"*Click*, *click*, *click*, *click*" goes the little pipo-wearing asshole behind the fence.
"*Clown Cops Climb Tree, Fall Down*," he says, furrowing his brow. "*Enraged Cop Assaults Children -- After Falling Down Tree*."
"*Completely* empty?" The cryptozoologist's eyes grow wide.
"*Cool*? I wouldn't go that far. I'm sure there are cooler things than delivering a comically oversized novelty cheque to a cafeteria manager, but, sure... if that's what's cool nowadays."
"*Cop* is a pejorative term. I don't have a problem with policemen. On the contrary, I admire the effort to bring order to our streets."
"*Crab-man* is an unfortunate choice of words -- but I was there. The church on the coast shook from an audio-spatial anomaly. It may have been entroponetic, or perhaps related to radio waves..."
"*Cryobacter katlensis*," she answers immediately.
"*Cryobacter... katlensis*?"
"*Cursed*? Who said that, Annette?" She blinks. "I will have a word with her... This place is not cursed, it has a robustly *magnetic* energy. Good for commercial activity. My business is *thriving*, sir!"
"*Death Blow*. You're one of them. Tell me, who speaks like that? We had 50 million people on Caillou alone..."
"*Decisively*. Without fear of offending the sensibilities of the frail and weak-minded among his subjects! This is something the insurgents never understood..."
"*Detective*," he intones, "control your emotions. We did ouit *job*. This won't be the worst thing that happens to us on this case, believe me... You can't let this break you."
"*Diamorphine*, girl. Quit clownin'. We need a hook-up for that D..." He breathes in through his teeth.
"*Disrespecting* the force?!?!" (Kick the door.)
"*Doesn't remember them*!" the rat-faced man shouts. "He just forgets! Are you hearing this, Titus?"
"*Dozens*, at least. Of course, in the future it'll all be automated. But my point is this..." he says, jabbing his finger into the air a bit...
"*Duped*? Hey, here's a brilliant idea -- don't be a morbid drunk and you won't be duped so easily."
"*EVERY WORKER -- A MEMBER OF THE BOARD!*"
"*Entroponetics*," she corrects, "is the scientific study of the pale. Or a recent iteration of it, by way of Graad. The study of the pale reaches back 6,000 years -- the Perikarnassians called it the Western Plain."
"*Establishment...*" His suspicion is confirmed. "I thought so."
"*Estás crudo*, wey. I see deep inside you. Your body and spirit are suffering greatly from *overindulgence* and you don't even know it."
"*Ethereal*?" She throws her head back and laughs. "Thank you, but I think it's just the lighting."
"*Even* a mod..." Her face stiffens. "Glen, I went to *law school*. I am an attorney."
"*Every worker*..."
"*Everyone*, yo! We gotta tell the *world* about this. Case solved -- insect found. We're fuckin... master detectives or some shit. We're *good*."
"*Everything's* cool. The goods are cool, the customers are cool, the place is cool -- and one more thing, officer..."
"*Everything* could change." She looks around. "This city, the extradition rules... The people after me could be in jail. Or maybe Revachol..." She falls silent.
"*Everything* will be constantly shifting and moving under our rule, the future will belong to a circus of identities, just spinning around, surreal and unreal... You won't even know who you are any more."
"*Everything*!" She shouts with glee.
"*Exactly* what I didn't want you to do..." He sighs and turns to the woman. "Ma'am, my partner wanted to know if you work in pale transport."
"*Extreme violence*. The wards only make them invite their ghost-families. And the Semenese want that because they're in league with the ghosts."
"*Extremely* tenuous..."
"*Extremely* unfortunate. You need to contact your station about it as soon as possible." The piece shines in his outstretched hand. "Try not to lose this one, please."
"*Far Out* Son of Liver Failure -- the supercop who voluntarily enters an alcohol induced delirium to solve crimes.
"*First*, we're gonna find Dennis..."
"*Formerly* the most dangerous, yes... But do you know the most dangerous *living* cryptid?"
"*Franconigerian hard-body*. Softly round, yet still in shape. Ladies dig it."
"*Ghosts?*" she repeats. "No, I don't think so, I don't believe in ghosts."
"*Give up*? After we've come so far? Not a chance!"
"*Gladly*." The dicemaker turns away so that you can zip up your pants.
"*Grand* art. Art DeLuxe. The artsy-est, the most ground breaking, the..."
"*Hail Holy Queen* by The Etenniers. 'Hail holy queen of the sea,'" he quotes. "'You're whirling in rags -- you're vast and you're sad."
"*Handled* him?" He baulks. "She got into some stupid shit with that guy. Shit *we* had to take care of."
"*He* didn't do anything. It was the indisputable truth of his theories!"
"*Horizontal*? I see they taught you well in your RCM school. My old man -- a hunter and a half blind one at it -- could've say that. Horizontal lines..."
"*Hosiannna...*" A sigh escapes her lips, then silence, as she stares within herself.
"*How* can a bar be out of vermouth?"
"*How* did you kill him?"
"*I'm* going to find Dennis," he interjects. "I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him."
"*I'm* not *doing* anything. The music made its mind up a long time ago -- I'm just *implementing*!"
"*I* am the authority around here."
"*I* certainly haven't." He shakes his head. "Though I understand the socio-economic causes of the Revolution, it pains me to imagine the revolutionaries setting fire to this precious device. But so they did. The Feld Playback Experiment vanished into the fires of '07."
"*I* could come back for you. Once I've taken him to the Precinct."
"*I* don't even have my badge -- so spin on this!" (Give him the finger.)
"*I* don't have a problem! I'm a *cop*. I *fix* problems!"
"*I* don't have to do anything, I'm a police officer. *You*, however, have to do what I say."
"*I* don't place much stock in the curse and so on, but the label frightens the clientèle. Who wants to stay at a *doomed* hostel? Everything's doomed enough without that...
"*I* only said: *Unity*. One word. Figures of authority always misquote you." He points to his friends.
"*I* think you're loosing it, fiddle-man."
"*If* it's true." He looks at Shanky, then Titus. "But it's not -- right?"
"*If* she actually wants to see me, she will find a way. Any good negotiator would. And I just don't have anything to discuss with a bad negotiator."
"*If* there is an investigation it will be part of an ongoing operation -- subject to confidentiality. I am sure you understand."
"*If* you make it -- if you've been sober for 10 months -- tell us. I'll work with you again. But not like this. Never like this again. This is over."
"*In the middle of this town there's a ghostly motorway -- it takes all the people where they want to stay...*"
"*Intuition* is an aberrant psychologism." He chortles. "It reeks of cryptofascism. The parasite class use intuition to justify their rank in life. It's all just palmistry and magic *erl-creatures*."
"*Isola* is a Messinian word for a continent of matter, enveloped on all sides by the pale. Also: isolation, or land mass. We used to believe there was only one. In the last four centuries we have discovered seven..."
"*Joyce* is much more efficient."
"*Jumalauta*! The f****t can't even cry."
"*Just dock workers*? Do dock workers spy on the Police? We let you off easy, Miss. Don't think it will happen again."
"*Klaasje*..."
"*Known* him?! We don't associate with scum like that, asshole!"
"*Krenel* -- an Oranjese military company. As far as I know three arrived in Martinaise. They report to me sporadically, but they do not answer to me. To be frank, our relationship is deteriorating."
"*Le Retour...*" the lieutenant says. His forehead furrowed, he puts his notes down.
"*Let* me be here?" He looks around. "The SAR is an unlawful successor of the Commune of Revachol. We took this fortification from the loyalists. Even the Claires understand this..."
"*Like* you?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm not an entomologist, okay -- neither was the para-scientist. Who knows, maybe you're right. The only thing I'm sure of is..."
"*Liked* is a bit strong," she tosses her head. "He... he was the most charismatic among them. He handled all the talking. His departure left a major gap in the group's *communication skills*."
"*Limbo*, huh? So that's where I am."
"*Locker room talk*? What are you, fucking brain-dead?! I've been to plenty of locker rooms -- they don't plan rapes there!"
"*MAN!*" The screech from the red-haired goblin is nearly deafening.
"*Many* bleak scenarios have already come to pass to lead us here..." She looks at you, eyes damp from the wind.
"*Masterpiece*..." He rolls his eyes. "Get over yourself, Harry -- I can still smell the booze on the wind."
"*May*?"
"*Maybe* from the coast? I've been too busy with this shit to see if it's possible. So no." He shakes his head. "I don't think it was a sniper. It was close up."
"*Me*?"
"*Mental illness* is a term the powers use to homogenize people. I think I don't reach mental illness. I am merely politically ill. A suspicious element."
"*Merciful*. Downright merciful -- you cops keep exercising *that* muscle and people will be more willing to cooperate, you know."
"*Merde*!" the old soldier yells in outrage. "*Bordel de merde*!!!"
"*Mon dieu*, how much can a man whine, Gaston?"
"*Mon dieu*, officer!" He looks at your wounds. "It is worse than I thought! Believe me, I know all about that kind of pain, I've had hip trouble for the past... week."
"*Mon dieu*, that is an excellent idea!" he exclaims. "That would virtually negate the component loss."
"*Mon dieu*, the pain is exceptionally bad today..."
"*Mon dieu*, you set it on fire!" He looks at the plaza. "What kind of a policeman are you?"
"*Mon dieu*," the jolly man exclaims. "Good job, officer. That was an excellent throw!"
"*Mon dieu*..." he mumbles, rubbing his temples. "Alright. Alright. Fine. What do you want, officer?"
"*Mon dieu*..." the carabineer closes his eyes, like he's never going to open them again.
"*More* fiddle playing! I can't believe this shit. What is this *mime* trying to do, *get* to me?"
"*Mr. Du Bois*, you don't look so good..."
"*My* boys?"
"*NOW* IT'S GONNA HAPPEN! C!!!"
"*Nein*, Tyrbald!" the Man from Hjelmdall bellows over the army of flesh and bone. "Have courage! For the Northlands... for HJELMDALL!!!" He leaps to the mezzanine to face the black-eyed figure and like a mad ice bear whirling twin *zweihänders* -- *Sturm* and *Drang* -- he ploughs through the ranks of the deathless, surrounding the necromancer...
"*No one* parties harder than me."
"*No one* plays Johnny Jacket. I find it -- I keep it."
"*No one* says Arno van Eyck is a mass murderer. The anodic pioneer Rietveldt is not a mass murderer. He is not accused of mass murder..."
"*None* of this is fortuitous for me."
"*Not* a good position to be in, by the way. Internal Affairs handles these cases thoroughly -- by cross-examining you for inconsistencies. It is hard to *cover* for anyone. Which is for the best."
"*Not* cool."
"*Not* so useful." Titus looks at Alain, then Eugene.
"*Now* I understand why you haven't told him about your doubts."
"*Now* I've heard enough."
"*Now* we're getting somewhere," the street vendor nods. "If you'd only give me a good reason as well..."
"*Now* will you answer some questions for me?"
"*Now* you are talking sense, son." His eyes light up. "All three of us, working as a group -- we can make a difference."
"*O sim*.." The woman stares at you, her mind elsewhere now, on other matters.
"*Obviously* I'm gonna quit some day."
"*Officer*? Am I military personnel?"
"*Oh meu deus*, the Lawman solved the case..." She lights the cigarette. A white cloud of smoke disappears into her mouth.
"*Oh yeah...*" He looks at his friend with an expression of profound understanding.
"*Oh*. And what happened to it, detective?" She returns the lieutenant's badge.
"*Oh*. And what happened to yours, detective?" She returns the lieutenant's badge and turns to you.
"*Ohhh*, you mean *cocaine*."
"*One* week."
"*Or *it can be a coincidence."
"*Or* she knew what happened, because she killed him."
"*Or* we could ask around for the representative of the logistics company. My initial information says the Wild Pines have sent some sort of *strike negotiator* to wrangle control back from Evrart."
"*Or* we could shut this place down? The stuff is clearly stolen."
"*Or* we could talk to the representative of the logistics company again. I know we already met Joyce, but that didn't count as an interview. We need to ask her how the strike and lynching are *connected*."
"*Or* you can find your badge, which, honestly, seems like a lost cause."
"*Or*, lieutenant?"
"*Or*..." She picks the cup back up. "You can recover your badge -- though if I may be blunt with you, it sounds like that may be a lost cause."
"*Pardon*, René," he quickly turns back to you. "We must pick this up later, I'm helping the officer right now."
"*Party eyes*?"
"*People* yes, but not *you*.
"*Perfect folding mechanism*..." He rolls his eyes. "Get over yourself, Harry -- I can still smell the booze on the wind."
"*Please* don't bring Garte into this, it's none of your business!"
"*Please*, friend, let's just share it."
"*Please*, turn it off! I can't take it any more!" (Move on.)
"*Police* business."
"*Possibly* induced," he corrects you. "But even without that -- this man spent fifty years on the islands in the bay. In solitude. Loathing what Revachol has become. There's plenty for prosecution to pick from in terms of motive."
"*Powerful*..."
"*Precisely*. Someone needs to move the ingredients *from* the harbour into the city. Once they reach Jamrock they're distributed to a network of local manufacturers, well beyond our grasp. But in transit they are *vulnerable*."
"*Precisomundo*!"
"*Précisément*! Too much inflation, bread becomes too expensive; too much deflation, it becomes too cheap for bakers to produce..."
"*Pull his head off*. There's no point  performing an autopsy if you do, we'll have compromised the coroner's case."
"*Re-set*," he repeats. "I have big plans for Martinaise. And they do *not* include humans living in those pig sheds on the coast. That land will be used for municipal buildings and commerce."
"*Real music, real proletkult*." He nods. "That's La Revacholière, not your rock and roll misanthropy. *Chanson de soldat* of the black-and-whites."
"*Real* big dick cops... Look at them! Reckless, swinging in the wind."
"*Real*..." He scoffs at the concept. "I know you think one is a respectable profession while the other is superstition, everyone does!"
"*Resuscitated* -- that sounds great..."
"*Reál* sounds like some fancy skin care product... but why would I owe you one hundred and thirty of them?"
"*Rich* people. Rich people are east of the river."
"*SIX* years?"
"*Saw my equations*?" She snorts. "You've been sniffing through my lorry, right? I expected as much. I *am* a bit surprised you knew what you were looking at..."
"*Silence!*" he snaps at Gaston, then turns to you: "Since you put it that way, I *symbolically* accept your cordial gesture." He eats the sandwich-half in two well-measured bites and nods. "For Revachol."
"*So* weird... what was that, officer?" The old man is visibly shaken, but tries to force a smile. "Actually, *please*, let's talk about something else."
"*Someone* did," he shrugs. His eyes grow cold suddenly. "Or maybe the cow just fell. The past is blurry, all I know is..."
"*Someone* shot her," he shrugs. His eyes grow cold suddenly. "Or maybe the cow just fell. My memory is full of holes. All I know is..."
"*Someone* was..." She nods as though her meaning were perfectly clear.
"*Something* about this man peaks my interest. I think this can be a side-thing."
"*Something*."
"*Something?* Listen, I can't help you." He sounds annoyed now. "If you need further assistance you can visit us on the corner of Voyager and Main. Are we done?"
"*Speedfreaks FM*, huh?" (Look him in the eye.)
"*Stay*? Most people here are trying to *leave*..."
"*Still...*" she says, her voice breaking. "After all this. Sir, please... it's a shitty world and I know I'm shitty too, I know..." Her hand turns into a fist, slowly, crushing the cigarette she's still holding.
"*Sunrise, parabellum*," the lieutenant says. He's in the middle of a freshly cleaned room, with the fan above his head like a halo. His face is covered in bruises.
"*Supreme-titanium*?" The lieutenant blinks. "Sure. A door in this complex has super-hard, super-expensive chains."
"*Taivaan tähden*, you killed Cuno!"
"*Taking* it..." She looks toward the colourful mountain of crates, like toy blocks rising above Martinaise.
"*The Cocaine Skull*!"
"*The bear*..." she repeats, pressing thumbs into her temples, like trying to suppress a headache.
"*The* Landing. Coalition military called it 'Operation Death Blow.'" He winces.  "I later found out, on the radio -- they called it..."
"*They* usually hang them completely naked for that. La Puta Madre, the Mazda, the besmerties, and the like. This one still has his underpants."
"*This* is Gabriel Buenguerro..." She shows you the photograph in the lavish amber frame.
"*This* is especially strange." (Show him the passport.)
"*This* is gonna make a hell of a sad tattoo..."
"*This* is traditional war-paint. It will grant me safe passage with the spirits that guard this place."
"*This* is what I studied law for?"
"*This* should take care of that nonsense." He points to a giant novelty cheque on his desk -- it's absolutely, comically huge.
"*This* time, though..." (Imitate drum roll.) I thought I'd ask you for a *walk*."
"*Thousands* of corporate secrets may be at stake here. I shudder to think what damage that might do to the international markets..."
"*Total*. Everything between an ancient concrete cathedral and a glass cube is Dolorianism. This is just a homespun version of it, folksy stuff, early mass production. They made thousands like this. Does that help you out?"
"*Transparence* has always been our highest priority."
"*Trash*?" The young man shakes his head in confusion.
"*Trying* is worth as much as is accomplished. In this case -- almost nothing."
"*Twisted* by psychopharmaceuticals, alcohol and the class interests of the bourgeoisie. They all are -- women nowadays..." He raises his eyes from the ashes.
"*Un Cangrejo*!" He laughs. "Never thought of myself as a crab. More like... a flame flickering among the rafters and beams..." He pauses. "It may be that I gotta work on my technique."
"*Upgraded it*? I don't care about your weapon-mania, Harry. I only care about your official sidearm -- which you *lost*."
"*Vanished*?! Harry, the woman left her casserole in the oven and couldn't make it here in time for the voting."
"*Very* important. Mikael, say hi to the officer." He rests his hand on the boy's shoulder. The child stays hidden behind the hem of his father's coat, clutching to his würm-themed colouring book.
"*Very* mysterious."
"*Very* nourishing indeed." (Rub your belly.)
"*Very* real trouble..."
"*Very*."
"*Vittupää* wants to fuck up again, bad."
"*Was* it a good talk?" He leans back, suddenly worried. "I'm not sure we made much headway here. I was hoping we'd bust the case wide open, heck, I even wanted to tell you what I *really* want to achieve with the strike..."
"*We* shouldn't do anything. I don't tempt such forces."
"*We* who?"
"*We* won't be killing anyone. And *you* shouldn't say things like that. You're a police officer... there's been enough killing. I've *seen* it..." She coughs.
"*Well*? Harry, you let the suspect escape -- Ruby-something. You were too *drunk* to take her in, weren't you? "
"*Well*? No, it didn't."
"*Well?!* A suspect shot herself in the head, Harry. I know what you did -- you went in drunk and *intimidated* her, didn't you!?"
"*Well?* You let the suspect escape! Klaasje-something. Because you were too *drunk* to assess her flight risk."
"*Wet*, okay? It was raining really hard." There's a trace of derision in his voice.
"*What* good times?"
"*What* the fuck does he want now? More attention? A fiver? A parade?"
"*What*?"
"*What-did-you-do?!*" she demands in a single breath, hand clasped around the pendant. "You *looked?*"
"*When* did she go away?"
"*When* else would you be then?"
"*When* was Revachol built?"
"*Where* is the lady driver?"
"*Who* said that? It's the fat racist, right? I bet it's him. He has an agenda against me, because I'm an immigrant who works harder than he does. He's a hater."
"*Who* you are? You lost your human visage a while back. Now let's get on with it -- I've got more important things to do."
"*Who*?"
"*Why* did you do that to yourself? You know I don't cheat, Harry. I never cheated on you."
"*Why* didn't we come here before?"
"*Why* do you wanna come with me?"
"*Why* in the name of fuck would Cuno be hurt?" The kid rolls his eyes at you.
"*Why* would you say that?" Lieutenant turns to you, more surprised than angry.
"*Why*? That's not what you were supposed to do here."
"*Workshop Spare* actually. It was in *your* box. Ruby's been here, right?"
"*You don't get to tell me what to do*." He impersonates you. The crowd laughs again...
"*You're* an asshole!" He pauses. "You know what, maybe we're both assholes..."
"*You're* insane." He stares at the firepit. "Radio shows, speed racing, sporting goods... None of it is real."
"*You're* the Apricot Chewing Gum Scented One."
"*You* broke the skua?!" He's face is flushed with emotions. A rash covers his neck.
"*You* could come back for me. Once you've taken him to the Precinct."
"*You* do not speak his name, craven! Although he was a clown..." he adds. He turns back to you. "But he was *our* clown. Ours to ridicule -- and to mourn."
"*You* look like shit, asshole!"
"*You* made me do this. You did this to yourself."
"*You* took the boots?" He grimaces, before writing down the serial number.
"... AND NOW FOR SOME MUSIC!" another voice screams into the microphone. Rhythmic rock music fills the cabin, as the back-to-back DJs mix it with sounds from car crashes and illegal speeding competitions.
"... Fuck me, I forgot the bullets." (Just stand there.)
"... GET INTO GEAR, DROP THE MOTHERFUCKING CLUTCH AND LET THE P-P-PPP-PPPPOWER TAKE YOU ON A JOURNEY OF A LIFETIME!"
"... No. I don't."
"... a secret passage. That leads to the roof."
"... and for his fellow man! That's right, Mr. Du Bois! You're turning out to be quite the individualist there..." The last sentence is spoken more to himself than anybody else. "So, you had business with me?"
"... and neither have you. Had you let me in on the script of this play before you performed it, I could have gone along. As it stands, the entire line of questioning has been compromised."
"... and realize the man-body, with *you* in it, is just a husk now. All memories -- erased."
"... and realize you've pushed yourself too far. Past the point of no return."
"... and realize your mind -- everything that was *you* -- is gone."
"... and the conclusion is that a man with your calibre should form his own one-man-policing-unit." He nods eagerly along. "Anyone else would just slow you down."
"... and, Mikael, notice the windows? Especially with how there are no windows on the south side? This was to deal with..." A blonde man stands next to his son, pointing to the weather-worn ruins. He sees you approaching and smiles...
"... and, come to think of it, Fritte's probably closed at this hour. They're open from seven to eleven."
"... behind darkness, I get it. Let's go."
"... but I shouldn't, really. I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Gotta run around, try to make some money."
"... but am I? I'll spare you another *20 hour mind-project* -- yes, I am. Now let's get back to work."
"... but* am* I? I'll spare you another twenty hours thinking about it -- yes, I am. Now let's get back to work."
"... did it look like a germ? Did it look like a piece of *bacteria*?"
"... each of you filling with resentment and bitterness for having *ruined* each other's lives..."
"... each of you tearing at the other's innards, leaving a gaping emptiness, a vacuum heart that still hurts ceaselessly!"
"... equals equals false, close brackets, equals equals true?"
"... had an arithmetics teacher, miss Bellows," Leo let's out a little chuckle. "Her real name was miss Bellams, she was a real pretty lady but when she got mad..." He starts laughing,
"... in your shit-pipes, right..." Indecipherable mumbling.
"... interestingly enough, brings us to the socio-economic structure of the traditional rural tribes of the Lomantang isles, which..." He goes on to give you a detailed overview of their way of life, the amiable, slightly nervous smile not once leaving his face.
"... is in a private hospital across the river. Krenel claimed him from the local butcher shop, where Titus died. Turns out he's *insured*."
"... it was *a hundred million years ago*. I was someone else then -- filled to the brim with love for you. Hanging on your every word. Oh Harry, you were the *coolest*... But I am no longer that person. This..." She points to herself. "... has taken her place. It will devour you. Harry -- I will eat your mind."
"... kipt kipt kipt." He comes to an abrupt stop. "Alright, shut it down, C, the Cunn has business to do." He turns to you, victorious.
"... nest in your abdominal cavity, like a little wild mouse..." The masked man's words are barely intelligible, but you can hear them.
"... new heights even for Captain Sober!"
"... no offence."
"... no worse than the bangers on Boogie Street."
"... rip you open..."
"... the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"... the mercenary tribunal." The lieutenant nods.
"... the wires go *bweeeeeeeeee* and then *neeeeeeeow*?" (Loudly imitate the sounds.)
"... then for my daughters'. We had an obligation to defend our sovereignty. We should have *burned* the whole isola down rather than let them have it."
"... to kill us all if we don't open the gates, if we don't let the scabs in. If we don't bend over." He cracks his knuckles. "And that was *before* he started coming *here*."
"... unusual medical episode."
"... where other phasmids imitate sticks or leaves, this one's a living *reed*. It disguises itself among the reeds here on the Insuliandian coast."
"... will hunt you down and gut you like butcher..."
"... with no head on his shoulders! Wearing a FALN tracksuit. Searching for the legendary FALN cap that went missing -- when he lost his head."
"... yeah..."
"... you could torture me, abandon me, even *divorce* me, and I'd be dry as a desert, yessir." (Wipe your eyes.)
"... you're *very* cool." He makes both hands into finger-pistols and fires a few finger-bullets into the air.
"..."
"...*PIGFUCK!*" The voice from beneath the helmet interrupts your thoughts. You only make out the last word.
"...*PIGFUCK!*" is the only word you can make out.
"...*PIGFUCK!*" is the only word you can make out. It doesn't sound calm.
"...*mayyyybe* you're interpreting them wrong? He enjoyed life, you see. A little too much, if anything. Up to the point where other people had to pay for it."
"...AND DE FACTO THE FASTEST MUSIC IN ALL OF R-R-REVACHOL R-ROCK CITY. ALL YOU HOOLIGANS, DOWNTOWN DRIFTERS, SIDEWAYS SALLIES AND POWERSLIDING PIERRES...
"...AND NOW I JUST WANT A KID TO KEEP HER EARS WARM IN THE COLD AND SHE WON'T EVEN PUT ON A *HAT*."
"...AS ALWAYS IT'S DJS 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..."
"...At any rate, the suspect isn't there any more."
"...I feel I must remind you that we are here to conduct an important investigation that also affects *your* business."
"...It's so nice."
"...Mr. Du Bois, Mr. Kitsuragi, how nice that you found a moment to pay a visit to the Débardeurs' Union. I'm Evrart Claire, head of this little operation here."
"...Mr. Du Bois, how nice that you found a moment to pay a visit to the Débardeurs' Union. I'm Evrart Claire, head of this little operation here."
"...Really?"
"...SSSSOUPED UP MOTOR CARRIAGE FOR ONE BAD BAD MOMMA'S BOY, F-F-F-FFFOR THE H-H-HEAVY OF F-F-F-FFFOOT AND FREAKY IN..."
"...a foolish hope. But it's okay. I get it. It would have been *cool*." The lieutenant nods. "Now let's get some rest."
"...a superpower, feared and respected. A testament to what this country *can* be under the leadership of a True King, someone who knows how to rule."
"...actually less, because it's his home and his backyard. You are a guest here, Harry. Please remember that."
"...all I'm saying is I'm surprised people's skin colour varies so drastically."
"...all of you fucking cunts inside out...."
"...and Egg Head."
"...and I'm sorry."
"...and if it's, you know, part of all that *shit* you see..."
"...and if the law officials of our nation need help with the basic terms of reality -- well, then I am here to help." She bows.
"...and it's right here! A maintenance door." He points to a rusted metal double door to the right of the pipe, obscured by the reeds.
"...and so he removed my appendix *on the spot*, while the party was still on in the other room. And I was delirious with pain and all the schnapps I'd had, but I remember thinking -- man, that Gottlieb can stitch..."
"...and that is what caused the Communards to fail in defending the beachhead. Yeah, a lot of failure has gone down around here."
"...and use their superior technology to blackmail, mislead, and manipulate, turning high-ranking people in government and corporations into Seolite agents."
"...and you enter the harbour through the office. Esta!"
"...beating us to the ground. Moaning with joy..." He breathes in with strange animation: "You hounds get so thorough when a company-trained killer dies. I haven't seen you on this coast for *forty years*. You know... maybe I should have killed one sooner?"
"...because of some chick."
"...because they *like* killing."
"...because you work for the wrong people."
"...because you're a *foreigner*."
"...both of you," he turns to Kim. "We shouldn't have fucked with you like we did. You got between us and a lot of bullets in that fight. Martinaise owes you one."
"...bullet's too good for me... Just let it end, *madre*..."
"...but -- do you also use the *titular*?"
"...but I do know when someone's not telling me the whole story. What am I doing here? What's my case?"
"...but Titus and his boys got into some drunken trouble and Evrart sent them on a nice vacation. For a week or so..." He stops -- but seems eager to tell you more.
"...but now, only boring hell remains." Her crown-of-hair is aglow with the red of the neon on the corner. Like this, she tramples her feet for warmth. It's getting *really* cold outside.
"...but that just means you don't have enough money."
"...but the doorbell is broken and the bookstore shouldn't even be on the list anymore, so I can't help you. Please don't call here again. Thanks."
"...but there's a *thing* that's been keeping me up at night. I *want* to talk about the hanging. I mean... if we could just calmly talk, exchange information, we could blow this thing wide open!"
"...by telling you to do more drugs, mostly."
"...compared to the *eight people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood, Harry. It was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *eight people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is barely clinging to life in the hospital. Harry, it was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *nine people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood, Harry. It was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *nine people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is barely clinging to life in the hospital. Harry, it was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *seven people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood, Harry. It was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *seven people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is barely clinging to life in the hospital. Harry, it was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *six people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood, Harry. It was fucking *mass murder*."
"...compared to the *six people* who were gunned down! The streets are literally red with blood. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is barely clinging to life in the hospital. Harry, it was fucking *mass murder*."
"...death, life again," he nods. "After the world, the pale; after the pale -- the world again."
"...do exactly that. Put yourself out of your misery. Take a deep diaphragmatic breath in and..." You hear an exaggerated inhale and a long exhale on the other end of the line.
"...even though I got my shit compressed!? How is it possible?"
"...everything has a price, sweetie."
"...for himself!"
"...for processing." He looks at the dead man one more time, then at the slip of red paper in his hand, then at the corpse again.
"...for the same reason that she's everyone's type as an object of desire, she's not irreplaceable."
"...fucking murdered him. Had him stink the village up for two weeks after. And you fucks did nothing." He points at you.
"...get back to it. We left Torson and McLaine to run the C-Wing. It's not good."
"...he is ambushed by a tribe of female warriors and taken to the ancient citadel of Cloud City, where a mysterious and wicked queen rules supreme. Will Man from Hjelmdall be able to escape his dire situation and find his missing friend?"
"...how could I stop you? Are we not human? Are we not *curious* to hear another person's take? It's only natural. We would only be..." she smiles, "gossiping."
"...how the fuck do the rest of you get by?"
"...huddled on the floor. The artillery was eighty kilometres away in Ozonne but I *knew*, I knew the Commune would fall. We would all be turned into ash. So I said I was going to the map room..." He looks east.
"...hypothetically speaking."
"...if it's part of the *shit* you see..."
"...is a living god!"
"...is an organ in the great state organism of war! Also, looks just like *me*."
"...is the Harmon Wowshi W02 -- made in Vesper, designed in Seol," he says. "Plays all reel-to-reel formats: 2mm, 8mm, 12mm. It's even got a little radio in there. It'll set you back 12 reál."
"...is what it would look like, but we know better. We *know* the ligature mark is a treatment." He awaits your call.
"...it's beautiful. Beautiful freedom!"
"...jumping canals at night?" He interrupts you. "If I was Jacob Irw I wouldn't drive in *Martinaise*. The roads are awful."
"...maybe there is something else I can assist you with? While you're *hot* in pursuit?"
"...now I use those same hands in service of something greater than my own restlessness."
"...open Angus up like a can? Yes, he did." He nods. "Now, we can whine about it, whack him, or we can go on with our lives. I'm having a 'go on with our lives' kind of day, Al. How about you?"
"...or because I'm balding, yes. I want to fuse the remains of my hair together, before it leaves me."
"...or two." She looks around.
"...or, actually!" He seems to be positively surprised by the idea. "It could be *both*, given your profile."
"...ouch." (Grab your wounded toe.)
"...seems like a bit of an idiot." She breathes out. The air tastes sweet.
"...some people would feel compelled to take it. Yes, I know."
"...something more concrete perhaps? Do you have something *concrete*? Mundane. *Usual*."
"...steal, kill and destroy?" She counters, quick as a whip. "That they say we've been doing for over four decades now. Perhaps regrettably, I've had my fill for this century..."
"...that he was dead. Yes. They moved fast. This is a good treatment."
"...that really *sucked*."
"...that there's any question who's the leader." That's how he would have ended it. Titus won't let him.
"...that's not *a lot* of things. We should have dug up more yesterday. Still, we need to talk to them. And it won't be easy."
"...the Insulindian Phasmid," he finishes your sentence in awe.
"...the Mother will eat all of you, and never spit you out."
"...the neighbours of this old woman contacted my men, because they trust me and the Débardeurs Union. Apparently she was waving it around at the entrance to her building."
"...the old man is corrupt for our *benefit* and we know it. Appreciate it, even. He is, personally, not too lavish."
"...the shot couldn't have come from the roof. Or we would have all heard it downstairs."
"...the way it moved, the colour, how some of its limbs were white like marble..." He breathes excitedly. "It matched *perfectly* with what I know from other accounts! It was amazing."
"...the wolf always wants more. I like wolves."
"...then go past him again..."
"...then press the button to unlock the door..."
"...then you pull the trigger?"
"...they were performed so recklessly that when they happened upon the right frequency... well, they wiped out most of the population."
"...this isn't Revachol," a man's voice says. "This is a fucking village, I can almost see the elephants." Another loud screech. Some kind of machinery.
"...until it starts *swallowing*? It's already started. Starting with sound."
"...war?" She purses her lips. "The thought crossed my mind. But the mercenary's death was going to have repercussions either way. Although, the way things are going..."
"...what has *not* been proven is total memory loss after drinking too much Commodore Red. Honestly, I think he's just lying to us."
"...what?"
"...where it has been hanging for seven days straight. We should go there as soon as we're done talking to the owner."
"...which is *why* the work of the Moralintern is so critical. It is our great bulwark against another century of bloodshed."
"...with *cool* names," he adds with contempt. "Like *La Puta Madre* and *Ahura Mazda*. It's a dark parody."
"...you get more fish in a shorter time. And, for time is of the essence and fleeting ever so quickly, one must think of a way to fuck the whole world -- and not get caught up in fucking some *one*."
"...you have me -- I will assist you in any way I can. Even if we have to do it one basic term at a time." She gives you a slight bow.
"...you made it look... like he'd been hanged..."
"...you may be thinking, 'But fire crackles!' No, homes, that's the material that's burning. The flames themselves are without sound."
"...you pull the trigger?"
"...your place among your fellows, your place in the world. I ain't got no use for such a place any more."
"1,000,000 reál."
"1. Bite marks."
"1. External examination -- now that we have the chaincutters, let's cut the belt."
"1. External examination -- summary."
"10 reál and I can get these ready in eight hours."
"10 reál."
"10-... uh... excuse me, sir? Over."
"10-1, you're breaking up. 10-9, repeat please. Over."
"10-18, 10-20? Over."
"10-18. State your message, sir."
"10-2 (Receiving Well), 10-5 (Relay Message). This is 41st, come in! Over."
"10-2, 10-5. This is 41st, come in! Over."
"10-22 the captain?! This sounds bad."
"10-4 (Message Received), 10-5 (Relay Message). What's your status? Over."
"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."
"10-4, I hear you, officer. I'm just going to make a note here that you are in pursuit of your *misplaced* badge."
"10-4, I hear you. I don't have the authority to grant your request, but...."
"10-4, I know, I already wrote it in a report, but..." He hesitates. "It will stay on my desk for a few days. Over."
"10-4, Station 41. I've got a urgent business. Over."
"10-4, affirmative. Officer is in pursuit of his firearm." There's static.
"10-4, come in, officer! Over."
"10-4, come in..." He hesitates. "...*Fire walker*. Over."
"10-4, message received. This is a *very* serious situation. I need to 10-22 the captain. Over."
"10-4, sir, I'm not hearing your question?" the radio operator inquires again.
"10-4, sir, glad to hear that! I'll write down that there's no need to issue a new one to you then. Over."
"10-4, sir. Roger that. And very glad to hear it. I will make relevant changes to the report."
"10-4, sir. Sorry, but I'm under orders to give a negative to requests for personal information. Over."
"10-4, sir." There's a pause, as he seems to mull it over behind his enormous radio-microphone. "Well, there's been some talk, sir," he finally says reluctantly.
"10-4, well that's a..."
"10-4, what's your status? Over."
"10-4. Anything else for you, sir? Over."
"10-4. Anything else, sir? Over.
"10-4. Orders are still orders. Anything else? Over."
"10-4. Your address---"
"10-4. Your badge should have most of your personal details? Look over that. Over."
"10-9, come again please. Over."
"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.
"10-9, come in, officer! Did you get my question? I was wondering about your gun. Over."
"10-9, come in, officer! Did you get my question? We were wondering about your gun. Over."
"10-9, come in, officer! Over."
"10-9, repeat message! I didn't get that, sir. Over."
"10-9, repeat message. Over."
"10-9. Over."
"1000? Why not more?"
"11. Evidence of treatment:"
"11.30 to 12.15. I don't know the exact time. Around midnight."
"12th FEB, '52: Brought some food from the grocery store. Apparently there's a strike going on in the harbour. Definitely not happy to see the Martinaise people again. Everything's now set up in the church, going to start working tomorrow 8 AM."
"15 reál."
"2 reál."
"2,372," he replies like a whip. "Plus yours truly, of course."
"2. Contusions."
"2. Coroner's case no:"
"2. Internal examination -- summary."
"2. Internal examination -- where were we?"
"20 years ago, when you met Edgar. The Claires didn't run the Union yet, did they?"
"200?" He thinks for a moment. "Could it be the combined weight of two people, one carrying the other who's tied up? Let's say, a heavily built worker carrying a similarly built, soon-to-be-dead man?"
"236189281... If you're looking for a deal on mattresses... SUHSUHSUHSPEEDFRRRR... 23567... 32971047302819... O' strange light, O' light of mine.."
"236189281... If you're looking for a deal on mattresses... SUHSUHSUHSPEEDFRRRR... 23567... 32971047302819... Oh Rosaline, oh Rosaline..."
"24h Window"
"25th FEB, '52: I've been sending data up to Lintel for a while now, trying to recreate the data loss, but nothing. Didn't even feel like logging in the disappointment. But I did discover a curious *audio-spatial* anomaly at the back of the church. I've named it *the swallow* (it swallows sound). Need to get some mics."
"28th FEB, '52: Yes, the first recordings confirm that the swallow is real and I'm not just losing my mind. It's a pillar of silence with a diameter of approximately three meters. Seems like the higher I go, the less I record. This might be a coincidence. Or it *could* be connected to the data loss that led me here."
"3 reál and it's yours, friend. The deal of a lifetime!"
"3 reál."
"3. Description of injuries -- now that we've fully examined the body."
"3. Description of injuries -- summary."
"3. Ligature mark." (Finish the autopsy.)
"3. Name:"
"3.20? Hey, that's a rip-off!"
"3.30? But I sold it for 3.20..."
"300 reál and it's yours, as promised." He shakes the bottle. "Best shit around!"
"300 reál."
"33A -- this old *proletarian* haunt here." She waves at the ruin looming overhead. "As I said, *plenty* of people drive boats. Of all social strata."
"4. Date of birth." (Nod)
"4. Date of birth:"
"4.46 jacketed ammunition, modified for range," he lists. "We have it. This is it."
"41 is his rank in the underground street racing hierarchy." (Rub your chin.) "Small fish this one."
"41, huh? This street racer is quite the ladies man."
"41," the lieutenant steps in.
"41st?"
"42," she nods sadly. "That is the light rail the took me to Couron to school and work. Every morning... it's the same stop I met you in, Harry. A hundred thousand million years ago..."
"42. And he was *deceased*. He had been decomposing for a week."
"43 is pretty large for a girl, don't you think?" He rubs his chin. "But then Ruby's what you call a *butch-girl* -- she's no daffodil."
"43 years and 10 months."
"43 years. Hard to fathom, I know."
"43 years... No." He looks into the fire -- a wisp of smoke rises from somewhere between the charred logs. "I've been on other islands too."
"44? I'm young!"
"44? You think so?"
"45% is around where I operate. Things are getting better though."
"4th of February? That's over a month ago... Whoever set up those machines has been here for quite a while."
"5 reál."
"5. Age:"
"50 cents. Bargain-priced! I'll throw in the tiny cap too -- I think he's looking for it, or something. That part of the story has many interpretations."
"50% it is." (Agree with the deal.)
"55%. I want the control stock in this or I simply won't be motivated." (Shrug.)
"57th over and out." Her voice disappears into void.
"57th?"
"6. Race:"
"60%. I hold all the cards here, kids. I can lock you up and say this was all an act."
"6000 kilometres from the end of the world?"
"69."
"6th FEB, '52: Had a little chat with the local fishermen. Said I shouldn't go near that place, that the church was *spooky* and ridden with *narcotics*. It's a little spooky, alright. Still haven't figured out the electricity."
"7. Sex:"
"70%. I'm a police officer. I could be risking thirty years of service for this. Actually -- I should take 75%."
"70%. Nothing below that."
"700 reál. A bargain, I dare say."
"700 sounds about right. I imagine it wasn't easy sawing off that street lamp."
"7th FEB, '52: Finally got the electricity in! Next on the agenda: a new antenna. I'm thinking ESKER series? Something advanced."
"8. Date of death:"
"85% is good enough. No one lives forever, baby!"
"85% is not good enough when you're dealing with another person's physical well-being."
"851023933... Come in..."
"875263... 23621837... for that special someone..."
"8th FEB, '52: Bought the antenna, had some problems setting it up, called Simo for help. Heard the others are back to *making art* (drinking somewhere out of town). Sulisław started a rock band again, Lexie has been seen asking money from strangers..."
"99 999 999.9th?"
"A 'curse' is something superstitious, but a 2mm hole in reality?" She gives you a rueful smile. "We all know what it means -- it's pale."
"A 'killer' party? What is it with you and *pulp* staples. My god. Please, no more talk about my daughters. They are fine!" She picks up a book and tries to concentrate. A flock of seabirds passes by.
"A 'normal' die? I'm a novelty dicemaker, I don't make 'normal' dice."
"A 'psychic studio'? This is even worse than a bookstore in Martinaise..."
"A 'skull thing'?" She shakes her head. "Man, you sound like a hundred years old when you say that."
"A *crab man*, man!!!"
"A *detective*." He finishes the sentence for him, then his tone turns surprising mild. "Pardon me, I did not wish to seek conflict. It's simply my training to question things."
"A *different* cryptid?" The cryptozoologist furrows his heavy brow.
"A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"
"A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right."
"A *fishery*. I've been speaking with Lilienne here. She gave me the idea. The infrastructure is all here, and with my connections..."
"A *fugitive*? Well, I would say that is very bad, indeed. Not super."
"A *little* drink?! You smell like a corpse. I'm downwind and I can barely breathe." He covers his nose. "You smell like shit."
"A *lot* of stuff," she concurs with a smile.
"A *male artist* is a contradiction in terms..."
"A *none-of-the-above* kind of man? No harm in being that."
"A *politicien* is never off z'e clock."
"A *sequence killer*?" Kim narrows his eyes in the wind. "There's nothing that connects those two bodies. This is a completely different case -- an accident."
"A *she...*" The negotiator does not seem be shocked at first.
"A *third order* presence, yes..." She lets go of the pendant.
"A 7-to-11 grocery store?"
"A Code 31 emergency? Really?"
"A Killing Is Declared", "Dick Mullen in the Murderhouse", "The Final Case of Dick Mullen" (an obvious lie), "Dick Mullen in the Clock Tower", "The Ordeals of Dick Mullen", "Dauntless Dick", "Dick Mullen's Funeral Pyre", "The Murder of Dick Mullen"...
"A Nachtwey 80 front-loader. Two-barrelled -- not really what you were looking for, I'm guessing."
"A RECEDING GENETIC POOL HAS LED THE MAUN ON REPREHENSIBLE STREET PARADES, IN MAUN CITIES LIKE STAADSKANAAL AND VREDEFORT, WEARING WOODEN CLOGS ON THEIR FEET, AND LITTLE GREEN TASSELS ON THEIR HATS."
"A Revolutionary matronym?"
"A SHOE WAS DEFENESTRATED!"
"A Samaran rifle... How did you get hold of one?"
"A Samaran-made rifle."
"A Seolite."
"A Seraise man, who lived a long time ago. An ancient hard core brother."
"A Stas-Rajko, KK-2. That's a classic model," the lieutenant replies with a nod. "Never thought I'd see another one repainted after what happened last time."
"A Triangong 4-46 -- military aid from our brothers in the Hsin-Yao Commune. The Belle-Magrave is..." The old man looks to the sky, waiting for the words to come to him.
"A Trigat Sunshine. Mini."
"A Villiers 9mm, front loaded? Two-or three barrelled..."
"A bad idea. Some poor leftists built a particle decay generator in hopes of bringing affordable electricity to under-served communities. It malfunctioned. Radioactive waste everywhere, probably some of it in *you*, too."
"A bad memory of what?"
"A bad memory, officer."
"A baggie... but like in this vial."
"A beacon of light in the dull shores of mediocrity. You're welcome, Martinaise."
"A beautiful, strong man sent here by the honourable private military company Krenel."
"A besmertie is a Revacholian crime syndicate. They see themselves as the inheritors of the 14 Revacholian indotribes, but really they're just violent gangs vying for control on the West side of Revachol..."
"A better deal! Yeaaaaaah!" He waves his hand in the air. "Medium core!" The words echo magnificently throughout the nave.
"A better sound system?" she repeats. "Alright... But where would we get one?"
"A big political and military conflict. Ask around, or buy a book." He seems annoyed by the question.
"A big time operator of the pederast army. How about I keep it, huh? Hand it over to a real killer. A *briscade*."
"A big wheel of the 4th Regiment of the pederast army." He sighs. "To hell with it. It's a walking stick anyway...."
"A binoclard."
"A bird?" She tilts her head. "A *sphenicid* -- a flightless bird of the polar regions?"
"A bit much? What are you talking about? That's what my grandma told me, okay?"
"A bit of a week?" He squints. "You let a suspect *escape* -- a certain Ruby. You let her escape because you were too *drunk* to take her in."
"A bit of a week?" He squints. "You're drunk. And you let a suspect *escape* -- a certain Klaasje. Because you were you too *drunk* to assess her flight risk."
"A bit of a week?" He squints. "You're drunk. You let the suspect shoot herself in the head. You went in drunk and *intimidated* her."
"A bit too dramatic, don't you think?" He says it like it's an aesthetic question. "If you really must do it then I'd go with something else... some other substance."
"A black bloc, a part of the city left unrenovated after the war. Or one that has fallen to gang violence. Or has become inhospitable in some other way."
"A boiadeiro? No, homes. I don't go in for that kinda thing. It's all about surrendering to the Mother now."
"A book about cockatoos? There should be one upstairs, right next to the shelf of biographies."
"A bottle of magnesium, please."
"A bouncer? Where? I frequent a lot of bars, maybe it's one I know."
"A brain condition?"
"A breech-loader?"
"A broken old broomstick is what you showed me -- but point taken." He nods.
"A bullet, you say?" He pats the back of his head. "That's mighty curious."
"A bullet." The lieutenant picks it up between his fingers. "Unknown calibre. Rifled... you may remove your hand from the victim's head now, officer -- well done."
"A bullet..." The lieutenant puts a small bag marked *evidence* under it.
"A bullet?" The lieutenant turns to you and gives you a little nod...
"A bunch of *what*, detective?"
"A bunch of poor people built themselves a primitive nuclear reactor, hoping for the best. What do you think is going to happen?"
"A business named Revachol Ice City. I think they used to sell ice cream around here."
"A cafeteria manager, you say? How strange. Normally fugitives don't take on such *public* roles."
"A car drove through the fence."
"A carnivorous stick insect? Seems unlikely."
"A casual term of endearment popular among the 50+ crowd. It's a disco holdover, pay it no heed."
"A chance to cook some speed, you mean?" she asks sourly, crossing her arms.
"A cigarette is such a great idea. I think I'm going to have one too."
"A city has millions in it, so the world would have a lot more. I think I knew the number once..."
"A city state divided into free market zones. Under the *everlasting* interregnum of the Coalition of Nations. And you, of course -- the Citizens Militia."
"A civil war is brewing and the only way to prevent it is to solve the murder. That means talking to Ruby."
"A classic set. The figurines represent the 5th-century Franconigerian Cavalry."
"A clue? You think our suspect is a seagull who's been defecating on unsuspecting jackets?"
"A colossal stick insect -- three metres tall. It on the island, camouflaged as the reeds. It... unfolded from them. I did not -- unfortunately -- get a photo. But I believe it may have been the Insulindian Phasmid."
"A colossal stick insect. It was on the island, camouflaged as the reeds. It... unfolded from the reeds. I think we may be dealing with the Insulindian phasmid."
"A communard. One of the leftist revolutionaries in the Antecentennial Revolution."
"A company getaway. For a weekend or a summer holiday. Then came the Revolution, but that's another matter..." She takes a sip. "I'm here to make sure the Pines can fulfil their responsibilities to the place they *built*."
"A confrontation is imminent. They have followed in your footsteps..."
"A conglomerate the size of Wild Pines is like a shark -- if it stops moving and growing it will die. Then what becomes of those 72,000 families? It is a tremendous responsibility."
"A conglomerate the size of the Wild Pines is like a shark -- if it stops moving it will die. Then what becomes of those 72,000 families? It's a tremendous responsibility."
"A contact mic is a microphone that records sounds from inside things. Like all this wood."
"A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice."
"A contusion is a bruise. I'm talking about the marks your stones left on the corpse."
"A cop limping down the street, bleeding from the shoulder, face bruised, looking like hell... You know what that is?"
"A cop who's into building critique." He taps a floorboard. "Okay then. This is folk Dolorianism, lawmongerer. It's a subset of early *Dolorian* architecture."
"A cop's cloak! It's a cop's cloak!!!"
"A cop... You've worked there for so long you can't even talk like a normal person anymore! It's always lists with you. *Questions*."
"A corpse-free yard. Don't you have civic pride?"
"A couple of campers found it when it was already dying. They heard an odd wailing in the woods and followed the sound. They were scared and wrapped it in tarpaulin to suffocate it."
"A couple weeks ago I stopped a young man for going slower than the speed of traffic. Turns out he was some Coalition official's son -- and high."
"A cover-up -- where the author of the cover-up is the perp? Makes sense."
"A crab *and* a banger?"
"A crab *and* a banger?" The lieutenant raises an eyebrow.
"A crab man?"
"A creature is a creature. I wish I was the wind."
"A crygasm."
"A cryptozoologist. She lives in Jamrock, on Tabernacle road. She told me about this phasmid."
"A curious pendant you're wearing." (Narrow your eyes mysteriously.)
"A dark grey corona?"
"A dark red abraded ligature mark encircling the neck, with a gap on the nape measuring... let's say 7 cm. The hyoid bone is fractured, the cervical column intact."
"A data loss?"
"A dead guy smiling."
"A dead what?" Her eyes widen with shock at the mention. "Oh my god, a victim of the curse? The curse has started killing people? It's *killing' now?!" She grabs her head with both hands.
"A deal with who?" She narrows her eyes, then scoffs. "It's the Débardeurs Union, isn't it?"
"A deceased security guard's uniform? Oh yeah, in the extreme." He covers his mouth with a sweaty hand. "Now how can I help a cool guy such as yourself today, Harry?"
"A deep synthesis," she nods. "I'll assist you however I can then. Go ahead. Ask."
"A defeat, I'm afraid. The people of this archipelago tried to build something new, something *different*. The rest of the world didn't like it, so they came and ended it. This was forty two years ago."
"A degenerate workers state? Goat shit? No thank you. I'm Revacholian," he spits. "My days are short. I will to rot away here -- in a Moralintern cell. I will not testify to anything." He coughs.
"A degenerate... can only produce degenerate *art*..."
"A detective *and* a civilian. Jean -- *and* the gun. He has it..."
"A detective hat?"
"A devout man of the centre," she nods. "Hard to come by. It's good to have someone who takes a moderate approach to head-shooting -- in your line of work I mean."
"A dick with no balls! Bam! Mullen's no real deal, he's got nothing on me."
"A discount? I do have to keep the lights on, man. It's twelve reál."
"A disgraceful mercenary. The Oranjese state should have checked his breast for sublime patriotic rage before they trained him!"
"A disguise... why?"
"A drug-addled *spy-ring*! That sounds rather *strange*, don't you think?"
"A drummer? That's stupid."
"A drummers only uses their right foot for the kick drum..." He explains, then stops and looks at the hole in the mud. "You're right, it's stupid."
"A drunk and a loser."
"A fan... No, I wouldn't go that far. But I do think the Hjelmdallermann Saga is an integral part of our shared reality."
"A fantastic change of heart, Harry!" He rubs his nose. "Go talk to Mañana down by the gates. He'll brief you and give you the key."
"A farce -- this world. Is this... is this us..." His voice drowns out in a sudden gust of wind.
"A few more questions about the harbour."
"A few more things about the tape before I go listen to it..."
"A field *autopsy*?"
"A field autopsy isn't necessary if the cause of death doesn't appear to be criminal -- and this looks like a simple accident to me."
"A fine example you are setting here today, officer." He says, slowly shaking his head. "I will remember this. And Gaston will too."
"A fine machine..." (Run your hand over the smooth metal surface.)
"A first-rate find -- that should tell you all you need to know about their network, I would imagine."
"A fishing village. On the seashore." She looks around. "This place doesn't really have a name. It's sometimes called... *Illisible*."
"A fitting punishment," she smirks. "To be forgotten, if not forgiven. Save a prayer for us in our *châteaus* on Ozonne and in Stella Maris."
"A flightless *cursor owl* found in the Semenine isles. Its long legs permit the Nnong Okk to run faster than any other avian, perhaps any other *animal*, who knows?"
"A fondness for contradictory statements?"
"A form of martial arts from the isle of Lo Manthang, right?"
"A fractured corona doesn't feel like it's gonna bring anyone *together*."
"A fridge?"
"A fridge?" She fidgets with her pendant. "No, I don't know anything about a fridge. Aren't you interested in books?" She nods at the bookshelves.
"A friend? An acquaintance. I don't know... She was the only person in this damn jam I could talk to. She's someone I don't want to rat out to the law, okay?"
"A fucking giant stick insect..."
"A fucking perfume..." he sighs.
"A ghost."
"A giant bug, watch out!"
"A giant leech sucking the life out of Revachol."
"A giant statue of him or, better yet, his twin brother. Practically the same thing, but makes him seem less like a psychopath."
"A gift, huh...?" The kid turns to the staircase. "That's fucking suspicious to Cuno."
"A gift...." The lieutenant turns to the staircase suspiciously, looking for any signs of another presence in the shadows above.
"A glitch of a sort, I think. Inside my mind."
"A good joke."
"A good one?" (Point at the book.)
"A good place to hide. Cosy. Relatively safe from the rain..." He pokes the mattress.
"A good point. He could have been intoxicated. Or something we cannot yet imagine... I shouldn't have assumed so much just from the clothes."
"A good starter pair, officer! And when you're ready to upgrade, come back and see me!"
"A good thing too! I am not one of your fatuous Königstein neurosis analyst fucks, cashing in on the anxieties of nice ordinary folk. So, what now, mister Sensational Sleuth, sir?"
"A gossamer state? You're right, this *is* cool. I'm part of a hip, thin, almost non-existent state apparatus!"
"A great white ghost? Wow... that sounds really bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage."
"A group of occultists, I assume. They called themselves Revachol Ice City."
"A guy Cuno knows!" He shouts at the fence. "Martin. From out of town. From Graad or some shit."
"A guy like that didn't scare you?"
"A guy told me I need money to live, otherwise it's game over -- and I don't want to die."
"A headless man, wearing a FALN tracksuit, riding a horse. That's right. It's the *Headless FALN Rider*. "
"A heartbroken drudge."
"A highly educational primer. It's exceptional for the young mind... and obviously, very popular."
"A historic figure? The author of the modern age?" He thinks. "You will have to look elsewhere for opinions. The subject of humanism is too abstract for me."
"A history of violence streaking all across Revachol."
"A hole in the wall, can you believe it?" She spreads her hands. "And then the tenant ran off with his stuff. He's gone, the *money's* gone, just like that!" She snaps her fingers.
"A hole in the world... What does that mean exactly?"
"A horse faced woman."
"A horse?"
"A hug a day keeps the bourgeoisie away."
"A hug monster? How do these two go hand-in-hand?" She hasn't let go of your embrace yet.
"A hundred beers -- now we're talking!" Glen livens up. "Hoppity-hop over here cafeteria manager!"
"A jacketed bullet. Okay... It would have been shot from a military-grade breech-loading rifle, not from a muzzleloader like those typically found on the streets of Martinaise."
"A joke, of course. Rest assured, I have no intention to compete with you."
"A key, huh?" He runs his fingers through his moustache. "What door is this key supposed to open?"
"A kind man... from Zsiemsk. I heard he had some trouble with the law when he was younger, and that's why he wanted to start the gym, as his way of giving back."
"A kind of a worm, content with mere survival. They come, they want to do *our job* for shittier pay, screwing over both themselves and us. Everybody loses."
"A lavender shadow..." He smirks.
"A lavender shadow?"
"A liberal and a pederast. It's what most liberals are."
"A life full of suspicion. Perhaps you should talk to Noid, you'd get along nicely... Now, was there something else on your mind?"
"A life is true if it's free from fear and internal division among oneself. And others -- mankind has seeds of greatness in it. A germinal will come, a return to trueness. It will be hard core."
"A light-hearted jest -- locker room banter. Boys will be boys."
"A little -- on the coast."
"A little down? You've worked there for so long you can't even talk like a normal person anymore! It's always lists with you. *Questions*."
"A little early in the day for a nap, isn't it?" The lieutenant frowns at his wristwatch.
"A little help, lieutenant?"
"A little late for that, I think..."
"A little premonition for you, lieutenant." He turns to Kim. "Sooner or later -- probably sooner -- your new friend tells you he doesn't need you. He will then suggest you should *fuck off*."
"A little thing -- Ruby had these posters in her truck. Old movie stars."
"A little wisdom from old Titus -- not everything is connected to one thing. Keys just lie around. It's a messy world."
"A little, yeah."
"A little. I was flattered, you know. But then I had to let her off and it was *not* easy. I came to regret being friendly with her." She looks at her feet. "We maybe kissed. Nothing more."
"A little. She's okay. Troubled but -- a nice person. She left last week. Left me the keys to park her lorry if the jam should break."
"A little. The drugs were good enough -- and we did enough of them."
"A little? Like you partied with the deceased?"
"A live grenade." The man spreads his arms. "Right here in *our* bar!"
"A long time ago? How long?"
"A lorry driver. Who drives a lorry. Or is sometimes stuck in traffic jams, guarding that lorry."
"A lot of cops go *solo* and *hermit* once they reach that level of alcoholism."
"A lot of it," she nods. "It comes in from large Samaran factories. In Tien-En, Siigay and Hsin-Yao. The literage they must get from this terminal alone must be *oceanic*."
"A lot of our boys did... I spent some winters there. Never liked it. kept thinking of them..." He stares at the ruins of the Feld building. "No need to go underground any more. It's better in the ruins on the ground.
"A lot of partying going on."
"A lot of people could have gotten to that roof. Like Garte, the cafeteria manager."
"A lot of people got hurt," she concludes. "But that's just more of my shit you shouldn't have to deal with. You're solving a murder."
"A lot of people got killed because some asshole wanted to sing karaoke."
"A lot of people out there appreciate a good disco breakdown."
"A lot of things point to the Dockworkers' Union: the circumstances in Martinaise, my preliminary information. Hmm, actually..."
"A lot of women there. Especially for a lady driver's cabin."
"A lot. A lot-lot. For the room, drinks, and broken window -- 130 reál."
"A lot. For the drinks and broken window -- 70 reál."
"A lot. For the room and broken window -- 100 reál."
"A loud blabbering weasel. When weasels feel no one is watching, they start acting *foolishly...*" He removes his glasses and rubs his nose.
"A lullaby my mother used to sing. I sang it to my kids too. It's an old Samaran children's song."
"A man can *never* be truly happy with who he is."
"A man walking on the edge of a razor, eh. Leaves more for me!" He laughs and takes another sip from the flask.
"A man was hanged in the backyard of the Whirling-in-Rags."
"A man who knows his style," the street vendor nods. "Much respect."
"A man with such a funny mug collection can't be that bad."
"A map of the stars?" He turns around to breathe before inspecting it closer. "I do see some similarity to astronomical charts, Great Century messinian maybe... But this seems more particular. Customized somehow."
"A martial art, sir." She raises an eyebrow. "Is that it?"
"A mercenary."
"A mesquese epic then, all across Martinaise," he glances South, where the canal runs: "I hope it will be a real *bonanza* for you."
"A military man -- but not a patriot?"
"A million?!"
"A mine? The RCM could use a mine. Where is it?"
"A mirage... or a psychogenous luminance." She does not elaborate the nature of this luminance further.
"A mirror’s temperature is always zero. It is ice in the veins. Its camera is an x-ray."
"A mob." The lieutenant says succinctly. "The Débardeurs are a crime syndicate. Sad as it may be, we're forced to cooperate with them."
"A moment ago it was love... And, no, I don't think the Union is *communist*. They're a couple of shades pinker than that."
"A moment of your time, fellows." (Don't get involved in the game.)
"A moment of your time, please!"
"A moment, if you don't mind, sir." The lieutenant pulls you aside.
"A moment, officer."
"A momentary lapse of faith?"
"A month ago? Something like that."
"A morbidly obese 250 kilogram man? Let's say it is a very *low* probability. I'm thinking..." He looks around. "Maybe there's a more *commonplace* explanation."
"A more logical conclusion -- that you wish to avoid -- is that she knew what had happened, because she *did it*."
"A more serious consideration -- that you wish to avoid -- is that she knew what happened, because she did it."
"A motorized vehicle, officer. I'm sure you are familiar with the concept. We've had these for nearly a century."
"A mundane reason... don't forget, we're dealing with para-natural and ghastly forces. Do not underestimate them!"
"A mutant?"
"A name -- this is very good. Ellis Kortenaer..." he says to himself.
"A name worthy of the man who holds it, friend. Names are important."
"A nation is only as strong *as* its leader. That's why it was such madness to try to..."
"A nest?" The whisper is anxious. "Don't do anything now. Later, when it's gone maybe... "
"A nest?" The whisper is anxious. "We can't get to it yet, don't scare it off. Maybe later..."
"A new badge usually comes with a new rank. You seem to have been... doing well then."
"A nice brisk pace. The way I like it."
"A nickname?"
"A nightclub..." He taps on his chin. "Harry, I'm an old fashioned guy. After work I like to listen to some rock and roll music and have a non-alcoholic lager. Nightclubs don't interest me."
"A nightmare scenario. A world of slavery and violence. Which brings us back to the essential truth of modernism..."
"A nom de guerre would be more like *Guerra Mañana*." He chuckles. Then realizes something.
"A noose is one of those things that's easier to use one way around..." He points to the buckle tying the belt to the branch above.
"A notebook." (Take it.)
"A novelty *dicemaker*?" Her eyes widen. "Well, spit it out! Why does she need the dice -- for some kind of *sorcery*? Sometimes they use the ankle bones of sheep..."
"A pain, a strange tingling."
"A pair of binoculars? Or a scope of a *rifle*?" He points to the makeshift bed. "You'd be prone, lying on the mattress, barrel resting on the embrasure..."
"A pale dream, is what it is." She nods her head according to a rhythm known only to her -- staring at the photo in her hands.
"A pale latitude compressor is used to sort of... make the pale more manageable. With a lot of these, you can force a radio signal grid on the pale -- literally crunch the distance across it."
"A partner who needs for you to get back to helping the people of Martinaise."
"A password? I'm really bad at passwords. Can you give me a hint?"
"A peep hole? You mean like a hole in the wall?"
"A penitent cop-monk..." she says to herself. "What brings this *changed man* to me?"
"A petting zoo, a place for animals!"
"A pin from '31 ought to be priced at 3.10 -- but I added another ten cents, just to be nice."
"A pin from '31 ought to be priced at 31 cents; I just added another cent to make it an even number, but, you're right, it wasn't a good deal."
"A pinball wizard."
"A pity," the lieutenant says. "Those actually weren't half bad."
"A pity."
"A place to call home?"
"A pleasure to meet you, Harry -- what happened to your badge?"
"A pleasure wheel?" The lieutenant looks wistfully at the horizon, as if picturing gondolas rising to the sky.
"A police detective."
"A police woman."
"A policeman's gotta have *the right stuff*. An ingrained sense of The Law. No one would follow a weakling like Mullen."
"A poor remedy for prion disease," she says. "That was the attitude of most of the more moderate indotribes, particularly those who supported the king..."
"A postcard," she observes you for a moment, "is a small cardboard picture. You can write a few words on the other side and send it to your friend or your *beloved*."
"A powerful anti-communist force. Perhaps *too* powerful... but still. They have it coming."
"A prank is more likely, no? The kids these days..." She shakes her head. "We were just one of them and now they're terrorizing us. No solidarity."
"A pre-revolutionary tenement. Old buildings are called *tenements*, you see, and new buildings *batiments*, after *les batiments noveau*. But 33A and 33B are not *noveau*, they're old." She looks up at the crumbling facade...
"A precinct, yes!" He tilts his head and continues in a soft voice. "A police precinct. Precinct 41 -- *your* precinct."
"A programmer? That's odd. What was she like? Did you ask her about the nightclub?"
"A quicksilver mind. This Mullen guy looks like he needs four hours just to come up with a single idea."
"A radiocomputer," says the lieutenant, stepping closer. "And it's turned on." He seems cautious around the machine.
"A radiocomputer," the lieutenant repeats a little impatiently, "we have one down at the station."
"A radiocomputer..." says the lieutenant, watching you circle around the machine. "Just sitting here without anyone in sight." He sounds surprised and a bit cautious.
"A rallying cry for coppers everywhere! *We haven't done anything, we are never of any use*, ha ha."
"A rather uninviting bench," the lieutenant notes. "I'm not one for sitting on benches anyway -- before the murder investigation is solved."
"A real pretty lady with a skin like those 'Doux & Sucre' candy bars my missus likes so much. Them are real nice to suckle on once the dinner is done and me and the missus sit down besides the radio."
"A real rainbow splattering of pharmaceuticals, I bet." She grins. "Barbiturates, amphetamine, sildenaphil..."
"A really cool guy."
"A reasonable question. Say, I get hurt. I want to make sure it never happens again. So I analyse the situation. Exercise caution. Caution is suspicion."
"A red haired woman? Ruby..."
"A referral, you mean? I take it this was for someone in the RCM..." She waves her hand. "Don't answer that."
"A relationship between a man and a talking necktie? No, apparently I am not." His voice rings of insincere sadness as he turns to leave.
"A rhinoceros that looks ordinary during the day, but burns brightly by night. Well, at least the males do."
"A rifle's scope has the best magnification."
"A risky gambit, detective. Sorry it didn't pay off."
"A risky move, altogether."
"A role to play in *what*?"
"A runaway? Good work, this is a tangible lead towards solving the whole mystery."
"A sanctuary filled with hand-picked positive photons... There would be no room for sadness in such a place. It's a brilliant vision. But..."
"A saying. Up on Marvel Hill -- a great, high place. One that is impossible to climb back to."
"A scalpel is not always required. I hope this is one of those cases... Latex gloves are, however."
"A scoop of ice cream would have been nice, yes," the lieutenant agrees. Someone's stomach grumbles. The room feels very cold.
"A seaside hostel called the Whirling-In-Rags, to be precise. And the Whirling itself is in Revachol."
"A second is all it took."
"A security guard or worker of some sort, hired by Wild Pines. This was just hearsay from Martinaise, of course. We need to find out the truth."
"A sense of surprise there ain't more bodies hanging from more trees."
"A sequence killer." You can hear her stop typing. "Are you suggesting that this might be connected to the case you're working on?"
"A serious bout of denial? Or perhaps the result of the incessant stream of alcohol you've been pouring down your throat?"
"A seriously bad guy. I might even be on his take!"
"A seriously bad guy."
"A shakedown."
"A shame you didn't..."
"A shame. Young man like you, with a body like yours, you'd be a credit to any track team."
"A shame." He sighs. "What can we do now? Do you see a way out of this jam -- and into a laser-lit future of dance and unity?"
"A she..." She raises a brow. "I hope she wasn't too serious a suspect. If she got away..."
"A skilled *Sam Bo artist* could have climbed the outer wall, like a spider..."
"A skull filled with cocaine?"
"A slow, sad song started playing. Like organ music, on repeat. That went on for quite a while. Some of that time you were yelling along to it."
"A small 'Tempo' by the monument, green..." He turns to you. "Let's get into that lorry."
"A smart boy getting smarter, one basic term of reality at a time..."
"A snazzy shit-ripped SKULL-mobile like this would make a fine trophy. We could, like, hang fucking shrunken heads from the side mirrors! Cops' heads... Scary tribal shit."
"A song?"
"A sort of... spiritual quest? Something of ancient iilmaraan origin?" There's more than a trace of irony in her voice.
"A soucriant, a blood-sucker, the rich whore on her boat."
"A sound monetary policy is *essential* for addressing *uncertainty*. Stability is the *raison d'être* of the Moralintern. It's the reason why I identify as a moralist."
"A special forces gym teacher?"
"A speck of dust on the paper..." She stares at the printout of the off-site copy lying on the floor. It fades into shadows, expect for the gleaming white dot in the middle of it.
"A speck of white?" She sounds excited, as the filament clicks into place. "That's exactly what I'm hoping to find."
"A spell! As if!" She snorts. "This place doesn't need any spells or hoo-doo mumbo-jumbo, this place has *wonderful* energy!" She wavers under your gaze, mouth pressed into a tight-lipped smile... then something breaks:
"A star that fell from the firmanent? Those cost more than 7 reál. Are you sure?"
"A stick insect of some sort. Pretending to be the reeds..." he shakes his head. "Has it been there all time?"
"A sticker... you mean the yellow one? Can you describe it to me?"
"A straggler -- from the Revolution?" He sounds incredulous.
"A straggler? From the *Revolution?*" He sounds incredulous.
"A strange psychosexual fixation. Aggravated -- possibly -- by proximity to the phasmid and its chemicals. He himself gave a political reason -- said he had killed an enemy combatant."
"A strange thing happened when I tried calling a company named Slipstream SCA -- someone answered."
"A strangest conversation. Something went wrong in my head."
"A street called Voyager Road." She smiles, sadly. "It was a million years ago, Harry. No -- it was a *hundred million* years ago. We were so, so young then. I loved you more than you will ever know. I loved you more than anyone has ever loved *anyone*."
"A stroke could partially explain the *memory trouble* you've been experiencing."
"A strong, solid name telling of dedication and honour." He gives a small salute. "Well met, Harrier."
"A student in the apartment building seemed to have some as well."
"A supra-natural event took place." (Point to your head.) "Within my head -- on alcohol."
"A supranational political alliance, the United States of Occident."
"A suspect! Ruby is a suspect we chased down on the coast. She was hiding..."
"A takeover?"
"A tape computer?"
"A tape? We have boomboxes for sale that will play it. Check the shelves."
"A teenage boy. A million years ago."
"A term of hatred that originates, like many such things, with the Mesque petrofascists."
"A thing? You mean..." He tilts his head to the side and falls silent.
"A third place? Interesting." She takes a sip of coffee. "That's probably why the cleaning lady quit."
"A third... Oh, this is bad."
"A thought is going to come out of my head and into my mouth -- and I will say it."
"A threat? Good. I like those."
"A three-thousand-year-old tyrannical regime of History, built and maintained by hundreds of generations of self-appointed *intellectuals*..." he looks around. "It's false-core."
"A thrown out towel, a mug. That's all."
"A ticket stub..."
"A tie," he says, with evident irritation. "Well, I suppose that's what we deserve for trashing the suzerain's economy. Good game, detective."
"A tiny hole... in reality. It may be connected with pale, an origin point of sorts. It would explain why historically so many things have ended in failure here in Martinaise."
"A total shift," she nods. "In human comprehension of reality. On the second day a Great Skua was shot down, above the flagship *Lysergic*. The bird was preserved and brought back. Along with pollen."
"A tragedy..." The lieutenant looks in the can, eyes watering from the smell.
"A tragicomedy..." He shakes to life. "Druggies, prostitutes and rentiers."
"A trap, probably." He nods confidently. "But don't sweat it. You got the Cuno spotting you. Let's go in."
"A tremendous evolutionary advantage, I'm sure. But perhaps we've had enough speculative biology for today?"
"A true *Vacholiere*."
"A true King in both blood and mind. Lead Revachol before Frissel. He would have been better, but the damn commies drove him into exile."
"A true believer," she looks out the window. "Sometimes I still see it, too. The real memory of it. How it was there... Not the memory *of* the memory. But it's so hard to tell the two apart..."
"A true cultural touchstone." She nods. "Enjoy the read."
"A valid hunch. Long term exposure to something like that could be neurodegenerative... Also, please be careful when approaching unknown species in the future, detective."
"A very influential historical figure, but surely I don't have to tell you that." She waves her hand, as if casting aside the thought. "You're a law officer and law officers have at least *some* education."
"A very loud radio station about motor carriages and rock music, I think."
"A very moralist answer," the man nods.
"A village on the Samaran isola, in Tien En. Graad committed war crimes there -- the kind of thing he talks about."
"A visitor from the first world. He's not like you and me, gendarme." He smiles and his smile seems melancholic. "He can always return."
"A vortex? Sounds fascinating."
"A war zone. At the edge of the world."
"A warehouse? I don't know. Maybe. I don't really care what Frittte does."
"A waste." He blinks his black eyes. "The material base for an uprising has eroded, the working class has betrayed mankind and themselves.."
"A week maybe? Seven days would fit the time frame provided to us by the caller, who reported the hanging."
"A what... a *child*?" He seems confused at first, then disappointed.
"A what?"
"A wheel?" The kid looks wistfully at the horizon, as if picturing gondolas rising to the sky.
"A whisper light and low..."
"A white star." (Point to it.)
"A white star." (Point to the star on the label.)
"A willow person. It's a long story, one non-specialists would find rather dull."
"A window was smashed. The tape player probably -- the song stopped -- and furniture too. A real *destructothon*. There was screaming. Then, I think, you passed out."
"A window was smashed. The tape player probably -- the song stopped -- and furniture too. A real destructothon. There was screaming. Then, I think, you passed out."
"A wise investment. I agree. The best part it is that you *can't* carry it around -- I would really dislike it if you could."
"A wise man once told me that money is all about trust."
"A witness?" The tall man crosses his arms on his chest. "You ain't got shit. The locals would never come to you with this."
"A woman or a kid?"
"A woman shot herself -- in the head. Because you went in high and *intimidated* her, didn't you!? Ruby-something? You basically *killed* her yourself."
"A working class husband."
"A young woman called Klaasje -- ring any bells? Flowers like these were behind her window." (Continue.)
"A young woman told me a mercenary has been hanged, and the manager thinks it was the Union that did it. That's all."
"A young woman told me a mercenary's been hanged -- that's all."
"A young-ish woman. Gruff, but... in a cool way."
"A youth centre with Edgar Claire's statue on top of it!" She looks down the jetty, remorsefully.
"A youth centre with Edgar Claire's statue on top of it..." Her eyes run across the water, remorsefully.
"A youth centre would be nice."
"A youth centre, huh? What *kind* of youth centre?"
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the freezing snow. All four of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the freezing snow. All three of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the pattering rain. All four of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the pattering rain. All three of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes, springtime sun warming his handsome face. All four of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes, springtime sun warming his handsome face. All three of you turn to admire the mural before you.
"A-ha, so you just confess to murder?"
"A-ha. Okay. Maybe I'll ask later about all this."
"A-ha. Sounds like trouble." She seems to sigh. "Alright. Next time, have Lieutenant Kitsuragi with you."
"A-ha." The lieutenant looks at you with his usual lithic mask of a face.
"A... a what?"
"A... new species?"
"A: Opinion -- fatal injury."
"ABOVE ALL -- RAMPANT MULTINATIONAL FINANCE STILL REIGNING LARGE. TELL ME, WHERE HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOUR LOVE OF PATHETIC COMMUNISM FROM?" He leans closer. "DEGENERATE YOUTH CULTURE? ROCK AND ROLL MUSIC?"
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head is a fascist now.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head is a moralist now.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head is an ultraliberal now.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head won't become a fascist after all.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head won't become a moralist after all.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess Egg Head won't become an ultraliberal after all.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess he is a communist now.
"AIIIIIGH!!!" he yells. You guess he won't become a communist after all.
"AL GUL IS AN ANCIENT IILMARAAN POISON, A PARASITIC FUNGUS THAT HAS COLONIZED YOUR RACE. IT IS A TRICK THE DESERT PYGMEES PLAYED ON YOU -- FOR HUMILIATING THEM AND STRIPPING THEM OF THEIR LAND."
"ALL CORE! ALL RIGHT! YEAH!"
"ALSO -- TO SERVE IS NOBLE, IT TAKES DISCIPLINE. YOUR PETULENT INDIVIDUALISM HAS ONLY CONTRIBUTED TO YOUR *RACE FAILURE*. IT IS LAX AND MORONIC."
"AMNESIA!"
"AND LEAVE THE TRAPS? ABSOLUTELY NOT!" he yells in response. "I won't let Lena down..."
"AND THEN YOU STOLE HER FROM ME!" He jerks forward, but then grabs his chest and stops.
"AND, OF COURSE, YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO FREE YOURSELF FROM THE YOKE OF *GUL*. IT IS TOO LATE. IT MAY BE LETHAL TO STOP AT THIS POINT, BUT STILL..." He pauses in heroic doubt.
"AND?"
"ANYTHING FOR YOU, BABE." He looks to a space right above your head and gestures you to speak.
"AO5577789RHG9999. The make and model of the armour is Fairweather T-500 / VE."
"ARE YOU ADMIRING MY MORPHOPHYSIOLOGY?" A ripple of muscle passes underneath his skin. He lets you look.
"ARE YOU READY, POSSE?!"
"ARRRRGH, CUNO! It's so lame even the *pig* knows it's lame. Please, stop!"
"ARTEMITEP's Boxing for Young Athletes & Gym"
"AS PROVEN BY THE MAUN AND THE MESQUE, OCCIDENTAL TYPE A IS IN RETROGRADE; THE SEMENESE AND THE AREOPAGITE ARE ON THE ASCENT."
"Aaaaa! It huuurts!"
"Aaaaaand you're back in business with the Cuno. Now what is it?"
"Aaaand here we go. Back to the usual." The woman sighs.
"Abby? Don't call Agigail!"
"Abigail!"
"Abigail!" He grunts. "Don't... don't call her." He waves a finger in your general direction.
"Abigail... oh, Abigail..." He mutters while trying to brush something off his extremely dirty trousers. His movements are slow and awkward.
"Abigail..."
"Abigail?" His voice perks up, then trails into a string of random babbling. "Abigail, where are you?"
"Abomination?"
"About *what?* You don't look like a cop..." He inspects you. "You know what you look like?"
"About Martinaise..."
"About Oranje -- just tell me what it's like there."
"About a month? Something like that."
"About another thing..."
"About fuckin' time."
"About half an hour had passed since the moment of death?"
"About head-shooting?" She smiles.
"About my bill for tonight..."
"About my bill..."
"About my fun container?" He chuckles. "It's a hoot, Harry. Who knows, maybe you'll be in here the next time they move it. It will be very fun, I promise."
"About that shooting... I didn't mean to... It was only a warning shot."
"About that..." Cuno squints at the helmet. "Me and C kicked that shit into the ocean. She took it off the corpse and kicked it, rugby style. How'd it wash up here..." He pauses -- he squints. "I don't know."
"About the boat?" A wisp of steam rises from her thermal cup.
"About the church door..."
"About the church... I checked it out."
"About the crime scene -- you kids often play in this yard?"
"About the document you signed... Evrart  plans to muscle you out with construction noise."
"About the hat and the robe I'm wearing..."
"About the off-site copy you asked me to bring..."
"About this deal you made," the lieutenant immediately understands what is happening, and turns to the suspect.
"About this hat I'm wearing..."
"About this robe I'm wearing..."
"About twenty, yes. Ruby explained it would make the blood... you know what it does." She looks at the ground. Then raises her light brown eyes to meet yours.
"About what time was all this happening, approximately?"
"About what?"
"About who you *are*?"
"About your pin..."
"Above all, though... today was exhausting. What's with all the *running*? You run a lot. Is that a standard Precinct 41 practice?"
"Above my hair, man!"
"Abraq-ad-abra, perished like this world!"
"Absoltuely, sweetie," she smiles, glad you agree. "Cryptozoologists have been tracing it ever since, but Uamrao is vast, mysterious, and holds many secrets."
"Absolute idiocy," he nods in acknowledgement of the idiocy on display.
"Absolutely *wonderful*."
"Absolutely -- my commitment here is long term."
"Absolutely -- this is a great. This does not say 'vigilante murderers' to me at all. This says: science, news, human interest." He smiles. "You know, it's a really good thing you have that photo."
"Absolutely Harry, absolutely. Sock it to me."
"Absolutely not!"
"Absolutely not, sir. I did see some other girls get the call for doing stupid things down in Jamrock, a place called Door to the River... I was in their company."
"Absolutely not. That would be idiotic. I have no idea why you're even saying this right now..."
"Absolutely not. That's not why we're here. Why would you even think that?"
"Absolutely not. These mercenaries are muscle, pure and simple. They are meant to intimidate the Union into surrendering."
"Absolutely not."
"Absolutely not." He breathes in and out. "Fuck you for even implying it. It wasn't me, it wasn't my staff. The establishment will look at it and ascertain what it was."
"Absolutely not." His voice is coarse. "She died of pneumonia in her bed at the age of 79. This is highly... usual."
"Absolutely not." She is mortified. "It's more dangerous than I ever imagined. I definitely can't let you in now, we have to contain it."
"Absolutely nothing."
"Absolutely nothing?"
"Absolutely out of the question."
"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..."
"Absolutely, Harry! What's on your mind?"
"Absolutely, man. Wouldn't bother me none to have 'em spin music in here. I'm usually way up there, imbibing."
"Absolutely," he nods. "There's no other way to go about it. We screwed up."
"Absolutely. Age is just a number, man."
"Absolutely. I've tested each one myself with recordings of speech, found sounds, and music from a variety of genres. Even though," he grimaces, "I don't really like music."
"Absolutely. Superstars always get back up and try again."
"Absolutely."
"Absolutely." She nods. "Things like what for example?"
"Absolution? I don't know that brand, but I'm pretty sure you can get Astras at the Frittte."
"Absurdly and pointedly phrased." She doesn't laugh. "You can be quite funny, officer. Anyway, what did you want?"
"Accepted the Cuno like a motherfucker..." He nods respectfully. "What are we gonna do now?"
"Access to the Union is important for our investigation, but there may be another way in... Without becoming a race theoretician."
"Ace's high!" The lieutenant raises his right hand, waiting for you to slap it.
"Aced that. Take that, you book."
"Acele who? I'm not a young suitor, this is official police business."
"Acele's right, van Eyck must live around here. It's definitely his creation."
"Acele, what would you suggest as the name?"
"Acele."
"Aces! Good to know the law's got our backs." He gives a quick two-finger salute. "For Revachol, the Suzerain! The world is our Suzerainty."
"Acid gnomes? Sounds like a stupid, low-concept band name."
"Ack! Of course. Thank you for passing along the message. That damned water lock is broken, and we can't go all the way around the 8/81..."
"Ack, so that's what this is." He ignores your jab. "Lena sent you. Can't say I blame her -- we've been here for days. That damned water lock is broken, and we can't go under the 8/81..."
"Acromatic, odourless, featureless. The pale is the enemy of matter and life. It is not *like* any other -- or *any* thing in the world. It is the transition state of being into nothingness."
"Active decay," The lieutenant raises a white piece of linen to his nose. "It's okay to throw up, officer. No one is judging."
"Actually -- I do get the feeling that someone or something may have messed with the trap..."
"Actually -- I don't." He turns to her, the cuffs still in his hand. "What exactly in your relationship made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"Actually -- are you? Are you still a cop? There's so much disco going on, it's hard to tell."
"Actually -- don't. It's has *bad idea* written all over it."
"Actually -- forget about it."
"Actually -- it was total annihilation, Kim."
"Actually -- now is not a good time for a reality low-down. Maybe later."
"Actually -- there is a shortage of people who talk to us in a normal, calm, informative manner."
"Actually -- we do."
"Actually -- you didn't."
"Actually I already know all this. I just wanted to know if you do too."
"Actually I am, yes."
"Actually I don't have an opinion. I lied."
"Actually I don't wanna resort to lying after all."
"Actually I don't."
"Actually I shouldn't have called you  my partner. Kim's my partner, he's going to know."
"Actually I wanna keep the book."
"Actually I wanna talk about something else."
"Actually I was just leaving." [Leave.]
"Actually do you know anything about the Hardie boys?"
"Actually it does have to be murder. This is a murder investigation. But we digress."
"Actually it was f****ted. Cuno just said that because he felt sorry for you, pig. It's not your fault you can't shoot -- it's your pig-hands."
"Actually it's already afternoon."
"Actually just one wire, I picked on it 'til the braiding came loose. The wire leads to a contact microphone."
"Actually just one wire, I picked on it till the braiding came loose. The wire leads to a contact microphone."
"Actually less, because this is my home town, my territory and my backyard. You are a guest here, Harry. Please remember that."
"Actually never mind. Don't tell me about it. It will just turn into another..." She stops mid-sentence.
"Actually never mind... Wouldn't be the same..."
"Actually nevermind, I don't wanna lie."
"Actually no, I should not forget it, I should look into it myself, there are some really interesting techniques..." He stops, as Trant Heidelstam junior jerks his coat hem with an excited, almost silly look on his face.
"Actually not a coincidence. The Kineema is the next generation sports edition of the 'Forty', which was a real work horse. Favoured by the *police* all over the city." His expression is unreadable.
"Actually not a coincidence. The Kineema is the next generation sports edition of the old 'Forty', which was a real work horse. Favoured by the *police* all over the city..." He raises his finger.
"Actually nothing."
"Actually, Cindy told me herself that she's not a very good SKULL."
"Actually, I *do have* a window-related emergency." (Look at Whirling's second floor.)
"Actually, I *don't* want to hear you say things."
"Actually, I *might* have suffered a stroke. I'm not sure."
"Actually, I can see why they would entrust me with the law. I have the right character."
"Actually, I changed my mind. I don't need any Pyrholidon." (Refuse to take the pyrholidon for now.)
"Actually, I don't have one."
"Actually, I don't have the money on me right now."
"Actually, I don't know why I lied. The number is: E50.100.1000"
"Actually, I don't need to pay -- I will brave the streets. Go undercover as a hobocop."
"Actually, I don't really care about safety hazards."
"Actually, I don't want to know. I don't want to know what happened."
"Actually, I had other questions..." (Back.)
"Actually, I had some non-mic questions for you."
"Actually, I have a pair at home -- just haven't gotten around to fitting them yet. I need to lay some wiring for the ballasts first..."
"Actually, I have all I need for now."
"Actually, I have been thinking...."
"Actually, I just came to say goodbye." [Leave.]
"Actually, I may have better things to do too."
"Actually, I might be."
"Actually, I need more time to think about it."
"Actually, I need to get back to you on this door thing."
"Actually, I need to think about it first." (Back off.)
"Actually, I suspected something was off."
"Actually, I think I might be a birdie. A birdwatching enthusiast, you know."
"Actually, I think it made her a little *nostalgic*."
"Actually, I think it was way worse than that. Like, corporate espionage."
"Actually, I think the ham sandwich race still has it in them."
"Actually, I think there is..." He pauses. "No, it's too much, he's joking."
"Actually, I told you the wrong serial number. It was something else."
"Actually, I turned the knob like this." (Turn the heat *down*)
"Actually, I want to talk about something else."
"Actually, I want to talk about this crime some more, before I tell you what I think about its hardness."
"Actually, I wanted to address other matters."
"Actually, I wanted to ask you a few general questions."
"Actually, I was the one who took the boots. I can tell you the right serial number -- it's E50.100.1000."
"Actually, I'd rather not deduce anything. Every time I deduce people get hurt."
"Actually, I'm in a bit of a hurry right now." [Leave.]
"Actually, I'm just gonna hold onto this."
"Actually, I'm not really feeling the vibe anymore... The psychic force has left me."
"Actually, I'm not so sure about that."
"Actually, I'm not that interested in your cargo."
"Actually, I'm not that sure if I *have* a motive. I had another thing..."
"Actually, I've already been inside the Doomed Commercial Area."
"Actually, I... I... I'm sorry... I can't deduce anything.
"Actually, Johnny Law isn't going to tear it up, that would be unprofessional."
"Actually, Miss Beaufort is the right-hand man, but she's a lay-dee," a goodhearted chuckle again.
"Actually, boss, we've been talking and we think she could maybe..."
"Actually, do tell me about *yourself*."
"Actually, he told me he wouldn't mind the nightclub at all."
"Actually, insects *do* have brains," she corrects you. "But yes, I understand what you're saying. I think the protesters took it a little too far."
"Actually, is that free room still available?"
"Actually, it doesn't have to be a beach. With a boombox like that, I'll bring the party into the streets!"
"Actually, it was not de-constructed so much as *captured in the moment of the explosion*."
"Actually, it's evening, miss."
"Actually, it's more likely to *hinder* us."
"Actually, it's only your workshop that's protected. You should still do something to defend your person."
"Actually, let's discuss something else for now."
"Actually, let's honour your old unit -- *Épées de la Couronne* it is!"
"Actually, let's not do that right now." (Back.)
"Actually, let's talk about something else."
"Actually, make that 54." He squints. "Alcoholism has severely impacted your appearance."
"Actually, never mind, I need more evidence to come up with a list of suspects."
"Actually, never mind."
"Actually, never mind." (Back off.)
"Actually, no -- I don't have the money."
"Actually, no one knows. No one even knows what a computer made entirely of tape would look like! But word has it they were *very elegant* -- exquisite, alien-looking turn-of-the-century hardware..." He raises his finger, remembering something.
"Actually, no."
"Actually, no." (Take the photo back). "You knew him right?"
"Actually, no." (Take the photo back.)
"Actually, no..." His tone changes. "Excuse me for getting emotional, this is a big deal for us. You've helped us *twice* now -- and brought some great news, too. My gratitude, *and* the gratitude of the Société Cryptozoologique de Revachol, is yours."
"Actually, no..." he scratches this head.
"Actually, now that I think of it, maybe it's dangerous?"
"Actually, officer, I didn't know his name. I just called him Lely."
"Actually, quite many cultures have their own version of stick fighting, such as the sacred mabolo tradition of the hali people, the name deriving from the butterfruit tree traditionally used for crafting the long, slender sticks -- whereas the sticks used in other cultures..."
"Actually, scratch that -- there is no sequence killer, I just made it up."
"Actually, talking about this makes me uncomfortable. Let's back up a notch."
"Actually, tell me about the others."
"Actually, that's all I've got."
"Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do, thanks for the tip." (Get task.)
"Actually, that's it for now." [Leave.]
"Actually, the bookstore isn't doing that well. There are hardly any customers and she has to exploit her own daughter to keep the company going."
"Actually, the police *really* needs to talk to you."
"Actually, there are numerous degrees you can get in signals intelligence."
"Actually, they *are* here." (Point to the enemy) "It was one of you."
"Actually, this chair is uncomfortable. I could use that glass of water." (Sit upright.)
"Actually, vigilantes is okay with me."
"Actually, we don't know where he's from. Or who he is, really."
"Actually, yeah. Let's not go to the island."
"Actually, yeah. Let's not go to the island." (No go.)
"Actually, yes. Let's. Eight is an even better number than twelve. Even more internal balance." He observes the light on the wall and adds: "Better integrity too."
"Actually, yes. The thought did cross my mind when Mademoiselle Lilienne earlier told me about the fresh produce these women sell to restaurants on the Delta."
"Actually, yes. The thought did cross my mind when Mademoiselle Lilienne over there told me about the fresh produce these women sell to restaurants on the Delta."
"Actually, you didn't *say* it. You *wrote* it in a letter, a handwritten letter. I kept it in my paperwork."
"Actually, you don't."
"Actually, you know -- this would indicate it was a male. This is far from anything in my field, but I think such nests are called 'bowers'. They are for attracting mates."
"Actually," she turns to the lieutenant, "I've heard the analogy made by a blindingly modern school of philosophy called *karperie*. It may not be as far fetched as it sounds."
"Actually," the lieutenant becomes defensive, "that motor carriage has been specially issued to serve as a patrol and *pursuit* vehicle."
"Actually... it appears I have *forgotten* what a field autopsy is."
"Actually... that is not why I need a low-down."
"Actually... the Slipstream SCA mystery might be a *recording*. I called again later and got exactly the same message."
"Actually... this is not Evrart-related, but I tracked down a suspect.
"Actually..."
"Actually..." (grotesquely whine from the pain) "I did get pretty excited..."
"Actually..." She raises her finger. "We are *not*. You could say that about almost any other nation, but not Revachol. Try *one* more time, officer -- what mode of government?"
"Actually..." The lieutenant turns to you. "I think we should maybe even *get going* now?"
"Actually.... that's not why I need you to give me the low-down."
"Actually...."
"Add a request then. We'll know if drugs or poisons remain in his blood... " He looks at the monster. "At this stage I doubt processing will find anything, even if he was *brimming* with it."
"Addicts, all of them... And sometimes I hear them screaming." She winces.
"Admirers? I'm too old to be a débutante." She looks over the railing at the plaza below. "And this place is no fashionable society."
"Admiring the atmosphere..." He smiles. "What about you, officer?"
"Adolescent imbecile." He squints.
"Adolescent imbecile..." He squints.
"Adu hai indung suhoorang..."
"Advanced? Where do we get one?"
"Aeropagite?" He starts laughing. "Boss, I think he's trying to say me and Theo."
"Aerostatic craft?"
"Aerostatics. The Landing had started. I climbed out -- into hell. There were ships all above. Hissing, whirling, and men pouring out. The chain was submerged so I had to swim back. The fortress was half submerged too, shattered."
"Affirmative, Lieutenant Du Bois." There's a pause, tense with anticipation.
"Affirmative?" There's a pause.
"Afraid of what? That tape the Hardie boys recorded? Your mother probably never told you this, but girls are *evil*."
"After Her Innocence Dolores Dei."
"After Mijanou treated himself with the bacteria, she stopped ageing, but also became increasingly eccentric and irascible, so that even her oldest friends were forced to pull away..."
"After all that Sylvie stuff, he betrays me..."
"After all this?" He sighs. "Man, then I don't even know what to do now."
"After all what?"
"After he was discharged from the military he joined a group of mercenaries."
"After it's been up in a tree for that long, any kind of ripping is inadvisable."
"After life death."
"After quitting in frustration, he became a recluse, a ghost-driver, searching for death on the streets of Revachol, speeding..."
"After that I sort of..." She smiles. "Transitioned out of the whole culture scene."
"After that, the corpuscules appear to have migrated elsewhere. There have been recordings of anomalies similar to those spotted in Ea -- but they've been few and far between. It's impossible to confirm the presence of any stable Col Do Ma Ma Daqua population anywhere."
"After the untimely death of deer friend and fellow racer Alfie Deletraz at Fjordhammer, Jacob Irw was desperately chasing death on the race track -- but death *eluded* him."
"After the war it was turned into a goodwill hospital for shell-shocked veterans and folks looking for some quiet in the old sanatorium gardens."
"After they clear the terminal we lose track. The actual production is taking place at various sites -- in and around Jamrock Quarter."
"After this shit you better have something *real* interesting to say if you wanna stay in Cuno's face."
"After waiting in hiding for hours, I saw a figure slip from one of the trees, a lavender shadow dashing through the grove..."
"After we're done with the day I'll be still staying in the Whirling-in-Rags for the night. We'll meet in front of the shack in the morning."
"After which your reality contracted -- you jammed the pedal, ploughed right off the jetty and through the ice."
"After you *climbed* up to the roof, you mean? There's a maintenance entrance under the boardwalk. It's next to a drain pipe, possibly a storm drain -- it was easy to miss before."
"After you've told me the filament's name and password you can access its contents."
"After you, detective."
"After you, officer."
"After you." The lieutenant gestures at the opening.
"After..." He thinks. "44 years? That's not nearly enough time to hide what happened here, officer."
"Again -- how do the Hardie boys know you?"
"Again -- it was a dark joke." He turns to you. "Maybe we should go for a little walk, joker? Before we continue? Jogging around seems to have a positive effect on you."
"Again -- you've been hiding here for *43 years*?"
"Again in your defence, I seem to have named one..." He peeks into his notes. "THE MAN WITH THE HOLE IN HIS HEAD. That was a real person, his death was real. Still I named it that. To amuse myself."
"Again, I am not a philosopher. But whoever has lived here -- they have *some* education. And a certain *set* of interests."
"Again, I'm very sorry, ma'am."
"Again, I'm very sorry, ma'am." [Set the library card by her. Leave the room.]
"Again, if there's anything we could do for you, then don't hesitate to call the RCM, ma'am.
"Again..." He looks around. "I was asked to share my take on some of the more *fringe academic* theories developed in Königstein in the Thirties. For example -- partial psychotraumatic amnesia., group personality theory..."
"Again? Just get the dead guy's autograph -- since you're his biggest fan."
"Again? Man, I tell that one at least once a month. It's not that interesting," Chester replies.
"Again? Seriously, man..." He shakes his head. "Fine, fire away."
"Again? Someone ask the guy for an autograph -- you cops are his biggest fans."
"Again? What have you done for Edgar before?"
"Again? What have you done for him before?"
"Again?! I can't believe this shit..." He shakes his head, looking like he really is having trouble believing this *shit*.
"Against the law?"
"Against you?" He's taken aback. "Oh, Harry, I'd like to think I used it *for* you."
"Agent... Is La Puta Madre some kind of travel agency?"
"Aggressive? You make your living enforcing violence. These people are just *dock workers*."
"Agreed -- next injury?"
"Agreed -- no treatment."
"Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."
"Agreed, let's keep moving." [Finish thought.]
"Agreed," he points to the belt. "Especially on the neck. The belt acted like a tourniquet keeping the blood in his head. The hypostasis supports a hanging."
"Agreed," the lieutenant chips in, "pinball is the worst."
"Agreed," the lieutenant notes.
"Agreed. "
"Agreed. The public relations potential of this is too valuable to let go."
"Agreed. What about the whole group?" He quickly adds: "I propose *Épées de la Couronne* -- Swords of the Crown, in honour of my old unit."
"Agreed. Yet there is always a chance, albeit small one, of a truly *good* surprise. One simply needs to look at the history of science -- serendipities abound!"
"Agreed."
"Ah Cuno's not into that hallucinogenic shit -- that's for pussies."
"Ah yes -- as the novelty dicemaker said." He makes a note in his notebook. "This has absolutely nothing to do with the case, I'm sure. But I do like a nice little *connection*."
"Ah yes -- back to the *low-down*."
"Ah yes -- the *episode*. Sounds like an acute case of encephalopathy now that I think of it..." She puts down her thermal cup and looks at you.
"Ah yes -- your hunch, before. We can have a semen analysis requested -- from Processing -- if that's what you meant."
"Ah yes -- your hunch, before." He takes a moment to breathe. "We could have a semen analysis requested from processing, but we're already requesting toxicology. There's a one test limit."
"Ah yes! Let's rock out with our cock *out*."
"Ah yes, *officer*... about that."
"Ah yes, *that* paperwork. I found it."
"Ah yes, I've been meaning to go there..." She looks over the bay.
"Ah yes, of course, I'm sad to hear that." She nods, as if its self explanatory. "How much do you need?"
"Ah yes, the *doom* of bad business practices..." Kim looks around in the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.
"Ah yes, your condition. The International Collaborative Police maintains a database for these sorts of things. Perhaps you should consult it. It was just a suggestion."
"Ah yes, your side-investigation! Thank you." He adjusts his glasses. "You've got some spirit, clearing up phony drug accusations alongside this murder. I'll talk to the mayor and see if I can get you the key to the city, Harry. Now let's talk real business."
"Ah yes. As you said." She looks confused for a moment.
"Ah yes." She pours herself some more coffee. "The night before I saw you in the hallway -- and reminded you you're a police officer."
"Ah! Annette mentioned that the previous tenants have experienced some financial troubles."
"Ah! No. This is a *contact microphone*, it's for recording *inside* solid objects. Contact Mike just beats people up."
"Ah!" She spreads her arms almost as wide. "*This* is the pier of Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 33A, where the tenants have been kind enough to rent me a slot..."
"Ah!" the cleaning lady says, leaning on her broom. "All I know about politics is that it has brought us more harm than good."
"Ah, 'Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns,' right?" The cafeteria manager is waiting for you to acknowledge that he recognized the song.
"Ah, *mon dieu*! The pain in my back is unbearable. I can't even say if it's in my back or hip any more. Feels like it's in *both*!" He tries to measure the throw.
"Ah, Goracy! I have some questions to ask!"
"Ah, I can see that you have, officer." She nods.
"Ah, I didn't check the basement when I was there..."
"Ah, I see." She takes a pensive drag of her menthol cigarette.
"Ah, I should have known..." She shakes her head. "This is yet another Union mess. I'm not afraid of them, you know. We're not in the habit of being afraid around here."
"Ah, I was just messing with you." His smile deepens his wrinkles even more. "No one's ever seen a cop scab."
"Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself. I was five and a half. In Betancourt, in the suburbs. My grandmother had a summer home there.
"Ah, Martinaise at night," he smells the air and says.
"Ah, Martinaise," he smells the air and says.
"Ah, Revachol. I remember walking its streets as a teenager. There used to be a bowling alley in Stell Maris... I wonder if it's still there?"
"Ah, Tequila, I *knew* you'd come through. That's fucking great, man!"
"Ah, a fellow history buff! I, myself, am currently reading up on Franconigerian era trains. Very interesting stuff. "
"Ah, another broken thing in a line of broken things." She takes a drag. "Well, perhaps you'll find one elsewhere."
"Ah, another broken thing in a line of broken things." She takes a drag. "Well, perhaps you'll find one somewhere."
"Ah, but of course! It's all a huge part of the secret homo-sexual underground."
"Ah, but there *is* and it *protects* me!"
"Ah, cut that shit out," the mesque interjects angrily. "That's the kind of rhetoric bangers tell to kids in Jamrock to get them to join a gang. I'm sick and tired of this honour bullshit!"
"Ah, don't worry about it, Al." The big man smiles, pushing up his cap. "The cops wanna dress up and play policeman. Let 'em. We'll keep doing the real work."
"Ah, down the drain, like your career," jokes the dicemaker, her eyes tracking the remaining polyhedron. Then she catches your eye. "I apologize, officer. That comment was unnecessary."
"Ah, forget about it."
"Ah, fuck it. Let's have more cryptids."
"Ah, fuck it." She puts the barrel of the gun into her mouth.
"Ah, good to hear. Excellent. On behalf of the Moralintern, let me thank you for this service..."
"Ah, good to hear. I wouldn't want to pry into a confidential police matter. But, in the event you'd like to share more... I *would* like to know who it was."
"Ah, he was a soldier?"
"Ah, interesting. I've made quite a few real-estate plays over the years."
"Ah, it's you. Walking, talking, though?"
"Ah, look at me ramble on." She waves her hand. "What brings you to us?"
"Ah, man, me and narcotics go way back." He folds his hands behind his head and leans back. "Had some good times surfin' the psychic waves of my own consciousness, you know?"
"Ah, my friend, but the lesson of the revolution is that communism does not work, my friend."
"Ah, my friend. My friend is a good young man. His family immigrated here from Kedra and life has not been easy for him. But he understands the importance of education. He has taken his future into his own hands and that's all that matters."
"Ah, of course they left it plugged in. Even in death the bear is costing them money."
"Ah, of course. Carry on then."
"Ah, right. Sometimes the brain's able to preserve certain responses even when conscious memory has been... let's say... *misplaced*..."
"Ah, right. Thanks for the explanation."
"Ah, right. Your *condition*. Nevermind. All I mean to say is that we have a puzzle on our hands, but not all the pieces... yet."
"Ah, so this is a struggle over *who runs Martinaise*!"
"Ah, so you're saying being rich isn't worth the hassle."
"Ah, something happened to it? Another broken thing in a line of broken things. Quite a shame." She takes a drag. "Well, perhaps you'll find another one."
"Ah, that clears everything up."
"Ah, that explains all the war damage."
"Ah, that's right. You did say this was all just a *hypothetical* scenario..."
"Ah, the Semenese trinkets, of course..." She nods as if this explains everything.
"Ah, the illusive CS Municipal. I doubt we'll be able to track down who was sent here last and when. This will have to be one of those *little* threads that solves itself -- down the road."
"Ah, them! Nice people -- but no. Lena said they were going back to Jamrock. I saw them pass by, outside." He waves at the windows. "This was *before* the fight started."
"Ah, this?" He closes the folder. "My friends in your organization gave it to me, Harry."
"Ah, very good, then." Your remark seems to have completely vanished from his mind.
"Ah, well, I'm renovating it. It is an interesting project. The building used to be a twelve-story skyscraper before the cannons took the top four stories off. This of course happened when the Coalition forces landed here..."
"Ah, well. Burglary is a serious violation of the right to property, but it is a *local* matter. Thus, the Moralintern need not get involved."
"Ah, yes -- probably 'Roll With Me" by The Fletchers. People often quote the Fletchers at me." She settles down. "Morell says it's my theme song."
"Ah, yes yes... the spirits." His tone cools considerably. "That'll be 300 reál."
"Ah, yes, Fortress Accident." She shakes her head lightly. "It's too bad they never finished their game..."
"Ah, yes, King Filippe III on his steed -- a reminder of what Revachol once was..."
"Ah, yes, the unattainable ideal. Never settle for less! Good luck with that, my friend."
"Ah, yes, their famous motto!" You hear the man exclaim behind you. "A fine examples of technological optimism, from..." He says something, but the wind blows and you can't hear him.
"Ah, yes. From the Wild Pines...." He takes a note. "We'll meet her soon enough, I'm sure."
"Ah, yes. Lots of cops are." The street vendor nods, dead-serious.
"Ah, yes. Money is very important." The street vendor nods, dead-serious.
"Ah, yes. Now you're displaying it... the *eccentricity* that becomes a wealthy individual." If the money-saint's visage weren't wrapped in physics-defying light, you would see his approval.
"Ah, yes. That is what counts, I suppose. For my part, I was more of a *New* girl."
"Ah, yes. The case brief you missed. Now I remember." He opens his notes.
"Ah, yes. The problem with mass market paperbacks... They're not made to last..."
"Ah, yes. There won't be time for that once things go down. Matter of fact -- I don't think there's time for it *now*, but..."
"Ah, yes. There's something very satisfying about discussing the fundamental facts of reality. Go ahead."
"Ah, yes..." She looks hesitant. "This is not very *central* to reality, is it?"
"Ah, you know more than you let on..." She gives you a coy little smile. "Philosopher-Detective of Precinct 41."
"Ah, you mean the rat squad!"
"Ah... But for the better part of history it *has been* illegal."
"Ah... Yes, of course. The village. Let's go."
"Aha! So you finally admit it?"
"Aha! The gardener was wrong -- I'm not just some disco holdover, I'm going to experience the future."
"Aha!" He takes a sip from his beer. "Do you want to know how Tequila Sunset came to be?"
"Aha, a *condottiere*," the man says, as though describing a character from a fantasy novel. "Yes, it's hard to believe they still exist."
"Aha," he says, his voice suddenly cool. "A *nationalist*, I see. In other circumstances I might be compelled to report you for *sedition*..."
"Aha," she exclaims. "Like Snow Men!"
"Aha."
"Ahem." He steps in. "While I appreciate the interest you take in my *brutal motor carriage*, I have to stop you right there. The RCM takes threats directed at its property seriously."
"Aiiight!" He snatches the tape from your hand and attaches it to the empty reel slot. One hand on his headphones, he listens to the audio. Then, shaking his head, he says:
"Ain't no use keeping a stiff catalogue in your head, that's for sure." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Airborne landing?"
"Airlifting? I thought it was used on lorries -- for strapping cargo to them."
"Airships. I climbed out." He closes his eyes: "-- into hell. The Landing was complete. The chain was submerged, I had to swim back. The fortress was half submerged too. Shattered."
"Airships?"
"Al Gul hails from beyond the veil, ma'am. Al Gul guides the way."
"Al Gul is a trick the desert pygmees played on us. Do not *succumb* to it!"
"Alain is a fucking cockroach name... (unintelligible)... suits me..."
"Alain? He won't be leading anything." He turns to his friend. "I mean, look at him -- the man's broken through and through."
"Alas!" Always "alas, and then it was gone!" Isn't that overly convenient?
"Alas, no. And the first scientist who got his hands on the creature's corpse put it in a jar of formaldehyde, thinking that would detoxify the Gnome's venom."
"Alas, the first scientist who got his hands on the creature's corpse put it in a jar of formaldehyde, thinking that would detoxify the Gnome's venom."
"Alas, the young Drysant was all piss and no vinegar, wearing a tunic of purple velvet and cockatoo feathers to battle." He spits. "Even his riffle was *gold-plated*. Shone from five clicks away. Can you imagine the asininity?"
"Alcohol makes closeness possible. Let's *connect*."
"Alcohol may have played a role, yes."
"Alcohol raises testosterone levels, especially in men," she says matter-of-factly. "The levels remain elevated after inebriation ends and the pain begins. You seek comfort. It's only natural."
"Alcohol? Connect? I'm not sure I'm following you." There's confusion in her eyes.
"Alcoholism has a similar effect on living tissue, I hear."
"Alice this is Firewalker. Re-connect me to the 41st."
"Alice, please connect me to the 41st again."
"Alive and limping."
"All *real* connections begin in the mind."
"All *we* need to do right now is get our brewskie on."
"All *will* burn, Satellite-Officer Vicquemare. Make no mistake about it."
"All I can say is that it was late."
"All I did was take her fortune and invest it prudently. Believe it or not, it takes more than a bit of skill not to blow a vast fortune on sailing boats, bad choices and *unsupervised* state policy."
"All I got I built with my bare hands..."
"All I know is that Revachol used to be really cool in the Thirties."
"All I know is: we are approaching the *end times*."
"All I'm saying is -- from what I saw in her cabin she'd have *no trouble* getting a gun."
"All I'm saying is he had lots of mugs."
"All RCM vehicles have headlights designed to reveal halogen watermarks. Mine too."
"All for what? My snitching? I sure hope so."
"All four, back door, HARD CORE!"
"All he means is that the situation is serious."
"All kinds of people come through here... Locals, travellers. People looking for a deal. People looking for a keepsake. People who are terminally bored."
"All kinds of places he visits. Him and his brother both do when they're on a vacation. Right now it's Mr. Evrart's turn to look after the Union, but last year he spent a whole winter in Tien En." He chuckles.
"All kinds sir. Beer *and* wine."
"All kinds. I've seen archaeologists, gangsters, even a bunch of ad agency types. I'm telling you, Tequila -- this thing's got a *pull* on certain kinds of people."
"All large human gatherings are narcotic. Ask any such undertaking in history -- this included." He nods toward a human-shaped pillar nearby. "Chemistry is true to its word."
"All men are predators, dear. Nothing much to be done about *that*. It's all a matter of where you get to file your teeth..."
"All men, I presume. But again, I couldn't see very clearly."
"All natural materials, see?" the street vendor interrupts, guiding your hand over the fabric. "Real wool, 100% skin-friendly! And they're yours for only 2 reál!"
"All of *this*..." -- he points to you -- "...is very unprofessional. "Makes me think the Citizens Militia is nothing but a badly organized band of bullies and jesters. Again: I *don't* like this."
"All of Revachol is gonna flock in here."
"All of it. However, right now we want all the harbour workers to be on the company's board, so they could take part in *the decision-making process*."
"All of it?" The lieutenant raises his brow. "There are junior officers out there, eager to prove themselves. I would leave *some* for them -- and I would leave the *boots* to Processing -- but okay. Let's find *all of it*."
"All of it?" The lieutenant raises his brow. "There are junior officers out there, eager to prove themselves. I would leave *some* for them, but okay. Let's find *all of it*."
"All of them, I don't know. I told you all I know. Are we cool now? I really want us to be cool now."
"All of them. Even the ones who've left. I don't hang out with them, I don't remember who has tattoos."
"All of who?"
"All of z'is is perfectly normal. A bit mundane if anything."
"All out of lies now, huh?"
"All right then -- all's well that ends well." The lieutenant turns to you. "Should we return to our *ordinary* lives?"
"All right then. Change of topic."
"All right then."
"All right then." (Conclude.)
"All right then..." He sighs. "He has *questions* now."
"All right!" he snaps back to his act. "Very cool. Let's cap this off with a *purchase*. A pair of funky sunglasses, detective. You deserve it! And *I* deserve it too, don't you think?"
"All right, I may have *some* advice for you on how to deal with Jean-Luc there -- out of solidarity to the RCM. It's low on technology, however."
"All right, I'll play along. Those two doors of yours -- the winch connects them? With some kind of... dumbwaiter?"
"All right, but quickly. She has endured that sight long enough." He nods toward the yard. "It's time for us to do our duty."
"All right, cop." He nods. "Keep talking. I'll tell you when I've had enough."
"All right, let's *not* take them now, then come back once we realize we have to: have this conversation *again* and then take them."
"All right, let's rock with our cock."
"All right, now we talkin'. Same shit as before. You give Cuno Cuno's kilo -- Cuno gives you half a kilo back."
"All right, now we're talking. Whooh that's heavy..." He waves the minuscule bottle around, then slips it into his coat pocket.
"All right, piggo!" His face lights up. "Shit's rolling."
"All right, so you got Cuno's kilo." He rubs his hands together. "Here is how we do it. First, you give Cuno Cuno's kilo. Then Cuno gives you half back."
"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.
"All right, you fucking druggie..." He taps the side of his head. "Cuno knew you'd try that sneaky pig shit on him."
"All right," she concedes. "My father was a Zemylaki. He died years ago. He was a bad man. Not a lot of good things to say about him and what he did."
"All right," the lieutenant looks across the canal. "We can go to the coast now. Expect rugged terrain -- and drunks."
"All right," the woman nods approvingly: "Let's trash the place."
"All right. Cuno hears you. See that shit house over there?" He points to the collapsed building with the book store.
"All right. Enough of this." (Conclude.)
"All right. Fair is fair." (Give Cuno the vial.)
"All right. I want to buy *Medicinal Purposes of the Pale*."
"All right. Let's move." [Finish thought.]
"All right. Off course, officer."
"All right. Saddle up." (Accept the Cuno.)
"All right. Thanks." (Conclude.)
"All right. That's enough sharing details about the investigation for one day."
"All right. That's enough sharing details. Let's go."
"All right."
"All right." (Give him back his gun.)
"All right." He claps his hands. "We're on to something -- Cuno meant fire guy too."
"All right." He nods. "Keep talking. I'm getting a bit *curious* about some things myself."
"All right." He remains guarded.
"All right." He takes out a shiny black body bag and starts pulling the plastic over the dead man's face.
"All right." He wipes the sweat from his brow. "Let's do this. Smear your shit all over this fucking dung field..."
"All right." She nods and takes a drag. "I like it sudden."
"All right." She takes a long, pensive drag of her Astra Menthol.
"All right." The lieutenant knocks on the metal. "I retract my statement. It was naive. Let's look around and get it open."
"All right...." He taps the side of his head. "Cuno knew you'd try that sneaky pig shit on him."
"All sorts of things. The OO. Some disco, rock too. So much disco and rock..."
"All that matters is that the energies are retreating. I can already *feel* the curse lifting! It will be a long time until we're *fully* free of it, of course. But still.."
"All the best parts of it. Rue de Saint-Ghislaine with its bastions, the plaza's Meteoran mosaic. Even some of the old street lamps have been put back thanks to investments from the WP." She points behind you where the seawall rises.
"All the boys liked her if you know what I mean, mister..." He winks at you. "We used to sneak in her yard in the dark and peek through the window. One time we saw miss Bellows with a fellow. Yes we did, yes we did, mister." He looks for signs of disbelief in your eyes.
"All the detectives from all the Precincts who experience extrasensory perception go to the Remote Viewers Division. Their work is invaluable to the force."
"All the failed businesses and ideologies -- there's something *wrong* here."
"All the failed businesses in the Doomed Commercial Area. All the failure in Martinaise..."
"All the locks have an electronic component. They have to be unlocked down here -- with a *master* key before your *guest* key will open the lock."
"All the pressure has made Annette really anxious. You know she's been chewing her nails?"
"All the real communists are dead. They died fighting for *communism* -- are you *dead*?" His voice turns into a hiss: "No. You're an inert lumpen with a gun."
"All the stars burn in absolute silence. Have you ever realized?"
"All the while talking racist shit -- don't think we aren't watching, *fascha*. People here trust us. We're getting *complaints*."
"All they do is produce components to keep the pharmaceutical industry running. That's people's health we're talking about. Old grannies, little babes, people with disabilities..."
"All things considered..." The lieutenant is still reeling from the pain. "...that could've gone worse."
"All this pressure has made her really anxious. You know she's been chewing her nails?"
"All this time?"
"All three are good to know," the lieutenant looks up from his notes, "when we're out *policing*."
"All we can do is keep that which has not from following suit. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."
"All we can do is keep the little that has not from following suit. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."
"All we can do is keep the rest from following suit. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."
"All we can do is keep the rest from going the same way. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."
"All we can do now is *not* mail these to Evrart's accountant." He pauses. "Your gun would probably stay missing though."
"All will be well as soon as I get this *being Cuno's bitch* situation off my back." (Don't wait for the lieutenant to answer.) "Let's get to work, Kim!" [Leave.]
"All you know is I saw it happen -- and I liked it. I liked it a lot. Her plump body, bobbing up and down in that canal like a cork. That chick-yellow bag still on her, strangling her..." Cold black coals look at the canal, then at you -- blink.
"All your minds are rotting." He nods inland. "I've seen you turn the lights back on. After it was all dark in the twenties. More and more each year now. Glittering in the dark, like a Merry-Go-Round....
"All yours?" She nods. "That's been the motto of many an indotribe. There is something *clarifying* about that strain of ultraliberalism..."
"All." He nods.
"Almost *where?* Almost ready to bleed to death?" He looks at the bloodstain on your pant leg...
"Almost landed on your fat ass there!"
"Almost nothing, and it's beginning to worry me."
"Almost there. Could use just a bit more consolidation, a tad less regulation..."
"Almost there. Could use just a bit more heart..."
"Almost there. Could use just a bit more work..."
"Almost there. Could use just a bit more... something..."
"Alone in the blasted desert heat the doctor wandered eastward, where man hasn't stepped foot in over a thousand years -- since the fall of Perikarnassis."
"Alone on an uninhabited archipelago, forced to face themselves and nature. Pre-industrial quantities of solitude. The sea. Perhaps something more... fundamental."
"Alone. I don't drag my men into shit with me."
"Already did. Let's go?"
"Already forgotten, officer."
"Already got one, smart ass." He utters through his teeth. "Comes with the rank and my service record."
"Already got that. I'm interested in *your* background."
"Already?" He glances at his watch. "Well, I'm glad I could help."
"Alright -- she took a fucking leak, okay? For one moment. *Maybe* went out too -- she has an operation to run from her lorry." He points to the intersection. "We're not getting into what that *operation* is again, cop."
"Alright -- you've been notified." (Conclude.)
"Alright alright, simmer down. I think we all learned out lesson."
"Alright alright, we can get the barman bring them down -- what else?"
"Alright then." [Finish thought.]
"Alright! HERE COMES THE NIGHT!"
"Alright!"
"Alright!" Andre grins as if this settles it. "It's going to take us a bit to move our stuff inside. A couple of hours, maybe. Come check back later!" He waves to the other speedfreaks. "Let's get moving!"
"Alright!" He grabs the pen and paper and carefully, scribbles on the dotted line -- next to Lilienne's signature -- 'Idiot Doom Spiral'.
"Alright!" He grabs the pen and paper from your hands and, very carefully, scribbles on the dotted line, next to 'Lillienne Carter': 'Idiot Doom Spiral'.
"Alright!" He grins. "It's going to take us bit to move our stuff inside. A couple of hours, maybe. Come check back later!" Andre waves to the other speedfreaks. "Let's get moving!"
"Alright!" He slams his giant fist on the door frame. "All-fucking-righty then! I guess it's good then! That fucking..."
"Alright, *Kras*," the lieutenant notes. "If you say so."
"Alright, *Kras*. You fought in the Revolution and everything," the lieutenant notes. "If you say so."
"Alright, I believe you. You look like the kind of man who knows it's a *crime* to lie to an officer."
"Alright, I got some questions for you."
"Alright, I guess it did get a bit porny there."
"Alright, I had some questions for you."
"Alright, I talked to Egg Head, he plugged in the cable. You can now *unmute* your speakers."
"Alright, I think I get it. Let me ask you something else."
"Alright, I think I'm ready." (Proceed.)
"Alright, I think that was enough. I have proven myself."
"Alright, I will walk with you." She raises her finger. "But you need to understand that *nothing* is going to happen. We're just walking."
"Alright, I won't push you on this. Are you ever coming back to work?" (Conclude.)
"Alright, I'll call RCM then," she nods to herself.
"Alright, I'll call them..." She breathes in again, trying to steady herself.
"Alright, I'll do that."
"Alright, I'll go look for the off-site copy." (Proceed.)
"Alright, I'll let you sleep." [Leave.]
"Alright, I'll see how it goes." (Proceed with the quest.)
"Alright, I'll see if I come up with something on my own. A citizen investigation." (Take the task.)
"Alright, I'll take a look then." (Conclude.)
"Alright, I'll think about it for a while..." (Continue.)
"Alright, I'm done talking about her."
"Alright, I'm in. But organizing a funeral takes lot of time and effort, doesn't it?"
"Alright, I'm ready to take the damage for the sake of my conscience."
"Alright, alright," the old man is taken aback by René's commanding tone, but dares not dispute him. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Alright, alright..." He throws his hands up in the air. "You *fucked* the Cuno! Everybody, Cuno got fucked by his pocket pig -- just when we getting our business on, the pig throws it all away!"
"Alright, but -- and, forgive me, but this has been bothering me since morning -- how have you managed to run around all day *wearing no shoes*?"
"Alright, but -- and, forgive me, but this has been bothering me since morning -- how have you managed to run around all day *wearing only one shoe*?"
"Alright, but make it quick. Once I finish this cigarette I have to run."
"Alright, calm down. What is this about?"
"Alright, cockatoo not missing. I just wanted to make sure."
"Alright, detective, you win. How do we play this game?"
"Alright, detective. Your turn."
"Alright, don't kill yourself over it. I was shooting the shit with Hardie and the boys over a few beers, like always. Then Klaasje comes in, all pale and shuddering..."
"Alright, enough nonsense. The point is that we sometimes take on *unusual* cases."
"Alright, entertain me -- what's so great about these pants?"
"Alright, fine. I won't do it again." [Leave.]
"Alright, go ahead. Do you have any questions?"
"Alright, go then."
"Alright, got it, thanks."
"Alright, got your message."
"Alright, how about I surprise you? Come back in eight hours with 7 reál and I'll give you your *cursed die*."
"Alright, it's a good-bye then." (Hang up the call.)
"Alright, let's back up to a less sensitive subject, okay?"
"Alright, let's go back to Evrart." The lieutenant turns towards the industrial harbour. "If we don't mention anything to him, he won't know before it's too late."
"Alright, let's go."
"Alright, let's talk about something else."
"Alright, man!" He claps his hands enthusiastically.
"Alright, never mind then."
"Alright, pig... you can plug him, but you can't stop him. It'll only buy you time."
"Alright, she took a fucking leak, okay? For one moment. *Maybe* went out too. She has a complex operation to run from her lorry." He points to the intersection. "She's a busy girl -- always has been."
"Alright, so you have no idea whatsoever where I could find tapes?"
"Alright, that's it then."
"Alright, the cops are going into the harbour!"
"Alright, there's another topic I'd like to address."
"Alright, this is all very good and sad, but I have my research to finish. Trust me, this is far more important than the fate of some local speedfreaks and their dance music."
"Alright, this should help you get back on your feet." He takes a ten-note from a leather pouch.
"Alright, time to freeze the body!"
"Alright, tree. You got me, fair and square. We're even, for now."
"Alright, we'll talk later." [Leave.]
"Alright, we're finished here. Let's quickly debrief and go over what we found -- so we don't do it in front of the company rep."
"Alright, well... All radiocomputers perform operations up on air, so in order to gain more processing power you need to invest in a *good antenna*."
"Alright, what about the other ideas?"
"Alright, when you put it that way -- I'll help." (Accept task.)
"Alright, where can I get it repaired?"
"Alright, yeah." He bites his lip. "Cuno's in it."
"Alright, you know what? I'm willing to let you investigate the Doomed Commercial Area. We are set on the path... there's little else to do."
"Alright, you want more? We saw you try to punch that kid. A grown man, a *police officer* trying to punch a snot-nose punk kid! A kid, for fucks sake!"
"Alright, you were talking about the building, go on." (Continue.)
"Alright, you've convinced me. How do we play?"
"Alright," she finally says, blinking twice, "Bring me the game's off-site copy from my old workspace if you really want to help. It's stored on a filament memory and I'm unable to go and fetch it myself."
"Alright," the lieutenant coughs abruptly. "I'm glad we stopped when we did... my neck was starting to hurt. If there's nothing more, we should get going."
"Alright," the lieutenant coughs abruptly. "It's a good moment to stop. My neck was starting to hurt. If there's nothing more, we should get going."
"Alright. Are you *the* lady driver?"
"Alright. Bitemarks, contusions on head and chest, and a ligature mark encircling the neck."
"Alright. But did this person say anything?" She still sounds sceptical.
"Alright. But here's the big thing -- Kras Mazov looks Samaran, and you don't."
"Alright. But it's not just the bookstore that's still up and running. What about the Whirling-in-Rags? Some people say it's part of the building complex."
"Alright. Do what you gotta do, man. We trust you." He looks at his posse, then back at you, smiling. "If you need any help, let us know."
"Alright. Goodbye, Egg Head." [Leave.]
"Alright. Got it."
"Alright. I had another question actually."
"Alright. I had something else in mind." (Conclude.)
"Alright. I'll go put the kids to bed and we'll meet at Land's End in... fifteen minutes."
"Alright. It's a date... sort of."
"Alright. Maybe some other die then?"
"Alright. Tell me as much as you're comfortable with."
"Alright. The station is going to want details, however. Let's examine that library card you found on the man's body, see if it has any clues. Then we can call the station from Kineema and hand over the case."
"Alright. The station is going to want details, however. Let's make sure we didn't miss anything before we head back to Kineema to make the call."
"Alright. The station is going to want details, however. We already examined the library card we found on the body -- good, that should be enough for the first lead."
"Alright. Two weeks maybe? I don't know... I need another beer." He turns to Glen.
"Alright. We should first examine that library card you found. Then we can call the station from my Kineema, let them know we're taking the case."
"Alright. We should go to Garte again and ask if he knows who put the clothes in the trash. It could be as simple as someone from the hostel cleaning the yard, or *that* one..." He nods toward the red-haired boy behind him. "I'd advise *against* confronting that force."
"Alright. We're still going to have to call the station to let them know we're taking on an additional case, and so they can take away the body."
"Alright. We've already examined the library card -- let's call the Jamrock Library from Kineema, see if we can learn anything about this Billie Méjean."
"Alright."
"Alright." He calms himself. "Did she say anything else? About me, you know." He repeats: "Did she say anything about *me*?"
"Alright." He juts his chin out. "Entertain The Cuno! Show me whatcha got. Whatcha got there? Whatcha got, huh?! Show me whatcha got!"
"Alright." He wipes the sweat off his brow. "Now we can do *business*."
"Alright." Looks like the lieutenant doesn't really know what that means. "You could also get it fixed at the pawnshop across the street -- we shouldn't waste our time."
"Alright." She picks up the tape recorder and looks you in the eye...
"Alright." The jolly man smiles. "Let's hear them, officer."
"Alright." The lieutenant puts the slip back in his notes and observes the young woman for a moment.
"Alright." The lieutenant's face stiffens as he turns to look at the road ahead. "I won't ask again."
"Alright." The operator turns back to you. "That's a negative on the additional funds, sir. Over."
"Alright." The speedfreak dips into his belt pack and produces a yellow key. He then makes a sudden, cool-infused move, tossing it in your general direction.
"Alright..." She smiles a little, without meaning to.
"Alrighty then." [Leave.]
"Also -- we have a sniper's nest with full view of the room in which the mercenary died. Right on the island. *And* two officers on the scene that Mr. Dros *confessed* to."
"Also -- we have ballistics from the gun, matching the bullet found in the dead mercenary's head. *And* two officers on the scene that Mr. Dros *confessed* to."
"Also for talent!"
"Also inoperable?"
"Also numerous residual scars, covering about 40% of his skin. Extensive scarring, to say the least." He coughs. "Hands were clean, no sign of injury from struggling. That's about it."
"Also!" He wags his finger. "You and your partner are staying here *free* now. I'm not gonna let you ruin it for him. This establishment supports cops. Even cops like you."
"Also, Harry, here's five reál." He holds out a banknote.
"Also, I studied the footprints at the crime scene. Worker boots."
"Also, he was hanged."
"Also, my MC has a sloped roof, it's a *sports* model." He makes a gesture indicating a harsh degree of sloping. "The roof is slippery -- an all-around bad platform to stand on."
"Also, the gun." He smiles very politely. "We should pick it up and discuss it in front of him. Make a show of it."
"Also, the gun." The scratches his head. "Why you still haven't picked it up and used it against him is beyond Cuno."
"Also, the phasmid was female. The reeds are its nest."
"Also, they don't heat or clean the building. Shit's gonna collapse."
"Also, you look like a fucking idiot."
"Also, you've got to admit, it catches the eye. And since the grand piper is slowly but steadily moving towards basing the economy on it -- attention -- it is imperative that the medium itself convey the message."
"Alternative? I don't even have a *mainstream* way in, I'm afraid, although..." He points over the guardrail, to the sewage run-off there.
"Although -- if I remember correctly -- there are still some centuries to go. Very anticlimactic."
"Although -- probably because his life ended as a result of his work in Katla -- no one remembers his contributions to the search for the Nnong Okk."
"Although I guess she was pretty handy with the mechanical and technical stuff. Even fixed the heater in the shack. You should be thankful for that."
"Although I see the appeal, being thus adrift interferes with performing one's duties. Moving on..."
"Although the 'low' part is a little ironic -- the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua makes, or, rather, *is* such a high-pitched sound that other animals, including humans, can't *hear* it. It could be everywhere, all of the time -- and we wouldn't know."
"Always a pleasure to see an officer of the law!"
"Always aim for the centre of mass"?
"Always glad to help out the RCM. Shame I can't do more -- things are meagre at the moment, due to..." He nods toward the protesters.
"Always good to think ahead. Now..." He points to the rope squeezing the dead man's neck.
"Always seemed like there was something off about that islet to me..."
"Always the comedian..." He shrugs. "Never mind. I just hope she can game her way through the system and come out the other way."
"Always up for a good jog -- otherwise, would I still be *on* this case with *you*?" He smiles and raises his collar. It's windy.
"Always waiting. Always...."
"Always waiting." The old man turns his eyes from the shore and back to you.
"Always," She nods. "That's the *can't-do-attitude* that truly defines Late Modernity. You may prove a Modern Man yet."
"Always..."
"Am *I* a moralist?"
"Am *I* getting points right now?" (Look around.)
"Am I a suspect?" His eyes narrow. "Done no crimes. I only fight for the rights of people."
"Am I going to ask? Hell, Harry -- you *spin-kicked* my strongest man in the face. I saw it from my window!"
"Am I going to need bolt cutters for this?"
"Am I gonna have to?" He tilts his head like a hawk, eyes narrowing to a mere shadow beneath his ball cap.
"Am I not a cop? Everything is my business."
"Am I really that awkward?"
"Am I smiling? Do you see me smiling and shaking my little shaker? No? Do you know *why?"*
"Am I wearing a little bow tie? Am I wearing a bow tie and doing this?" he shakes the imaginary shaker, furiously.
"Am I...?" The big man shakes his head in disbelief. "Harry, these people... Martinaise is the most important thing in my life. I would never let anything bad happen to them."
"Am I? Or did you ride in, take the body down, solve the murder, and *not* trash my hostel room?"
"Am I?" He arches his brow. "Anyway, did you want something -- related to policework."
"Am I?" He shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm not an entomologist! Neither was the para-scientist. The only thing I'm sure of is..."
"Amber, a poor man's gold?"
"Ambush behaviour." (Nod.) "Crab man."
"Ame-fucking-what, pig?"
"Amends, Cuno. I was wrong to try to hit you. I'm sorry."
"Among many other things, yes. I could have done something. There's always *something* you can do, right?" She looks into her coffee. "Ask me something else."
"Among other things... but calm down, I'm but a lowly single-digit billionaire."
"Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"
"Amphetamine lab?" He seems taken aback. "That sound very immoral and debauched. Frankly a health risk."
"Amphetamine?"
"An *artist*?" He pushes his chest out. "Maybe I *am* an artist? You hear that everyone, I'm a fucking *artist* now."
"An *orange* patrol cap -- you need it."
"An *unconfirmed* sighting is just a story."
"An Ister 50. You could blow Dick Mullen away with that." (Back off.)
"An absolute disaster."
"An absolutely colossal fridge -- still plugged in -- *literally* in the shape of an ice bear!"
"An accident? I wouldn't know anything about that. I just heard they ran out of money and couldn't get the project done on time."
"An act born of sympathy for the working man. I set fire to the fumes of struggle."
"An aerostatic is an airship. A hybrid airship, semi-rigid." He points up to a small dot in the cloudline. "*That* is an aerostatic."
"An aggressive opening, detective," the lieutenant says, appearing to relish the challenge.
"An amateur-entroponetic police officer... I'd like to say I've heard stranger things, but I'm not sure. This is a hell of a guess, however. Well worded I might add..."
"An antique bullet... from a Belle-Magrave, 44.6 mm. How hard can it be to find one? How hard can it *be*?"
"An antique. That makes sense. There can't be many breech-loading rifles floating around in Martinaise, or anywhere in Revachol, really..."
"An appropriate attitude." He withdraws his hand and looks you in the eye:
"An arrest."
"An audio shortfall, you say?" The other speedfreak points his thumb toward the speaker in the back. "Guess what, we've got speakers with *massive* low end. There's a good chance it can do it."
"An autopsy? Wow. Sure, keep them." She hands you the rubber gloves. "I have another pair."
"An effective advocate for the rights of local workingmen."
"An ex-wife?"
"An expression?"
"An honour -- and a burden -- attached to your rank once you've proven yourself able, usually after five to eight years of field work. Mine is *lieutenant-detective*."
"An honour -- and a burden. Attached to your rank. Mine is *lieutenant-detective* -- unfortunately. I can't tell you how tired I am of this corpse..."
"An iconic duo I take it?"
"An illumination?" He covers his face in his sleeve. "A religious pattern maybe? Or... a roadmap of a complex highway system? No. I don't know, I've seen all manner of tattoos but the visual language here is unknown to me. It's clearly very well done."
"An immortal temple of light? That sounds nice. I *do* want someone to do that for me -- who wouldn't? -- but not you. I don't want *anything* from you."
"An insane goal." Her eyes return to you. "Krenel has a thousand men on their payroll. The next batch will be a platoon of twenty men and a gunship, the one after that, a hundred."
"An insane goal." Her eyes return to you. "Krenel has a thousand men on their payroll. The next batch will be a platoon of twenty men and a gunship. You can't simply *trick* them."
"An instant colour camera." He produces two metal-capped ampoules and clicks them into place on the side of the apparatus. A thin slot shines there...
"An interisolary racing series. You should definitely give it a go if you like motor carriages -- it has fantastic competition." He smiles again.
"An intriguing mystery! I wonder what *terrible secrets* lie behind this dark and ominous veil, ha ha."
"An intuitive conclusion of that development is that one day the pale will cover everything -- but this sort of talk is mostly left to extremists."
"An investment?" He raises a brow, intrigued. "What kind of investment?"
"An obese person is becoming less likely."
"An oceanic isola. It comprises mostly of water. Mundi is the largest, Katla the coldest, Insulinde the bluest. What can I say..." She stops. "Each is perishing and dear."
"An octopus belongs to a very different Class. It's not even an insect, it's a mollusc. But, yes -- I see your point."
"An octopus? I will *slay* it!"
"An official investigation has been launched -- by me -- to determine just that ma'am."
"An old Belle-Magrave rifle -- that's *rare* to find in such good order. Seems to no longer be functional, but still -- rare. Here..."
"An old Belle-Magrave, from the Revolution," the lieutenant notes with approval. His eyes are gleaming. "Seems to no longer be functional, but still -- a beautiful thing, in its own way."
"An old case from my precinct. A couple of Zsiemsk migrants saw a Stas-Rajko stopped in street, painted just like this: muddy brown. Murdered the driver on the spot."
"An old man's brand of cigarettes...."
"An old military hospital and its surroundings." She looks toward the buildings to the south. "Or it used to be, during the time of the Suzerain."
"An old woman has it and, let me tell you, Harry, word on the street is she's a character. So watch out."
"An omen?" He looks at you, his neck crooked and his brow furrowed, then says shakes his head: "Whatever..."
"An ominous vision..." She nods solemnly. "At least you understand the gravity of the situation. And the maps should prove very valuable indeed."
"An opioid receptor antagonist. It's used for diamorphine overdoses."
"An ultraliberal, it's a type of liberal. From the Revolution. It's... not the moderate kind."
"An uncomplicated man," she nods approvingly. "I take it that means you're interested?"
"An underground place with no name? Sounds like something the crab man would say."
"An unidentified middle-aged man. Height 170-175 cm, dark hair, medium build. Looks like he slipped, fell through a hole in the boardwalk and hit his head against the metal bench."
"An unidentified middle-aged man. Looks like he slipped, fell through a hole in the boardwalk and hit his head against the metal bench."
"An unnecessary development, if you ask me." She shakes her head. "What brings this supposedly *regular* law official back to me?"
"An uproar of matter, darling, *rising* into the pale. Rolling. Evaporating even, a great vision. The area of transition between the world and the pale is called *porch collapse*."
"Analysin' the fundamental structural and psychological conditions of being stranded in the midst of a sea of motor lorries and their sad, despondent chauffeurs."
"And *I* can work with you, Harry!" He raises his index finger. "Now, what else can I do for you?"
"And *I* need the fatty to get his feet amputated 'cause the smell is killing me -- we can't always get what we want."
"And *end* implies a stable state, whereas we can see from experience that everything is in fact always transforming. Thus, there can be no end."
"And *how* could she have killed him?"
"And *life*..." (Nod.) "I knew you were a man of the people, Evrart."
"And *now* people are getting *lynched* I hear. Behind the Whirling-in-Rags... a disastrous situation if there ever was one."
"And *then* I had to deal with your toilet. The one you clogged with *police documents*, causing water damage downstairs in the kitchen."
"And *then* what?"
"And *this* protects you?"
"And *who* is your supplier, exactly?"
"And *why* would you do that?!"
"And -- naturally -- all the most fashionable tastemakers refused to be seen in chitin from then on. The atelier went bankrupt before they could finish the collection."
"And Elizabeth too -- Elizabeth Beaufort was her name. The gardener."
"And Glen... Glen was my friend. Best I've ever had. I loved that crazy homo like my own brother." He takes a sip of his beer. "We're all fucked without him, but whaddaya do? This job is shit."
"And I *don't*. Just one."
"And I *really* need to finish this cigarette," he replies with a subtle smile.
"And I *was* wrong about the age of the deceased. "
"And I asked *you*, past-less detective of the Citizens Militia. What insight has acute ensephalopathy given to you?"
"And I asked *you*, philosopher-detective of the Citizens Militia."
"And I blew them all. What does it matter now? He's gone. Ancient dust."
"And I don't have a..." She stops mid-sentence. "You know what, it would be really helpful if you could just stop talking and let me work."
"And I don't like keeping guns around the shop for long. Off-the-charts photon emissions. The unhealthy kind."
"And I don't like the dead body that's been hanging out there for a week!" He gestures somewhere outside. "No one wants to work in these conditions!"
"And I don't mean that as a metaphor."
"And I don't mean the scrawny Mesque punk either." He points at the dockworker idling on the staircase. "I mean Head-Measurer -- or whatever he is."
"And I have a job to do instead of this absurd idiocy! Goodbye." [Leave.]
"And I knew you're one too, Harry! Right when you rolled into town. I've got the centre, I've got room for a retail complex, and In four years I'll get the church too. The wheels are turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo -- I won't stand for it. There's kids practically playing with their own *faeces* out there... It cannot go on."
"And I realize that their hygiene habits were completely appropriate for a nascent culture... I just didn't feel comfortable. Let's change the topic."
"And I specifically added that I didn't *need* to know where he was."
"And I suppose you have a theory about that too, cop?"
"And I suppose you have a theory on that?"
"And I thought getting my knee shattered and surviving on rat carcasses in the trench was bad... here, have one of my medals! You've earned it, *officer*."
"And I wanted her to see his head explode," he nods. "That too. She should know better than to hold a child murderer between her thighs. I knew he'd be there for one more second, *writhing*..."
"And I was wrong about your big dick too... you don't have a big dick." He stares disappointed into his beer.
"And I'll *never* do it again. I don't know what got into me, really... work has been stressful lately. Damn kojkos price dumping us out of competition."
"And I'm definitely not anyone's bitch."
"And I'm eager to return to her, I assure you -- but I can't leave before we've finished with these traps."
"And I'm having a grand time!"
"And I'm sure you two had a hell of a time." He throws a couple of playful punches in your direction. "But I couldn't care less about the bitch. Let's talk about the *real* stuff, Harry. The stuff that matters."
"And I'm sure you're gonna open this one with flying colours, Harry." He chuckles. "This really is very simple and there's nothing shady about it."
"And Insulinde is...?"
"And Lena's sighting of the Phasmid. Is that..."
"And Pryce is..."
"And a melody. A good melody is what makes the song really *stick*, so that you can't get it out of your head anymore." (Point at your head.)
"And after that?"
"And again, I have no idea how *stupid* mistakes like this can even happen, but Ron, when he came to close the door, didn't close the neighbouring door! And there's a hole in the wall!"
"And almost endearingly moralist standpoint," she bows. "It must be hard to take a moderate approach to head-shooting in your line of work."
"And aren't all detectives philosophers?"
"And beautiful."
"And because I don't like the idea of them any more drunk than they already are." She nods. "What else?"
"And before you go on, I am *not* disrupting any order here, I'm a circuit bender and no one has anything against circuit benders."
"And blood. Some of it is even yours."
"And by 'man the booth' I mean 'slump behind the counter with a face that could maim you if you ever dared to disturb their bored magazine-browsing.'" She leans back, disapproving.
"And by 'these people' I mean people in Soona's radio game company -- Fortress Accident."
"And by that you mean crimes against humanity?"
"And by that you mean the representative of the harbour company?"
"And can you describe me their appearance? Any features that stand out, something to make identifying a little easier?"
"And dark. And the process begins. Erasure. Kilometre by kilometre. In any direction. The Motorway South is a road you cannot come back from."
"And did you ever find it?"
"And do what? Walk away, knowing that there are two delusional hoodlums interested in joining a criminal group whose main areas of expertise are jacking cars and killing police officers?"
"And do you have any information on her whereabouts?"
"And do you have any information on this 'songbird of misery'?"
"And don't forget about that bitch's window. Scope that shit. Cop Cuno's telling you, that's the break in the case."
"And double-yefreitor?"
"And eight-eyed mind-controlling bird. Fuck yes."
"And eight-eyed mind-controlling bird? C'mon..."
"And eight-eyed mind-controlling bird? No way."
"And even *if* I did I still would not give you ten thousand reál. I would rather buy something nice with it. Like expensive hi-fi or a new *Hydrodynamique E40* sail."
"And even then -- a route doesn't put that bullet in the merc's head. A gun does that. And Ruby doesn't carry one."
"And everything's better now, sir?"
"And for god's sake watch out for yourself."
"And fuck you too, moral-f*g!" He throws a glance at Titus as the last syllable leaves his lips. The big guy sighs.
"And fuck you too," he adds, turning to you. "Putting Cuno on the spot like that. Cuno doesn't need to fucking *explain* his shit, Cuno's KING, he rules here -- fuck did you want?"
"And fuck you, too, copper -- picking on Angus like this. We're done with this schoolyard shit. And just so you know, he *doesn't* have trouble breathing."
"And genetic atrophy."
"And go where? The fish are plentiful here and we get enough orders to get by. It's not great, but it's something."
"And has anything 'truly surprising' ever happened to you?"
"And have you found anyone to be sweet *to*?" She smiles conspiratorially.
"And he *solved* it. Near-perfectly. In one week we have: a confession, a murder weapon -- *and* the perpetrator. Locked on the island right now, awaiting transportation."
"And he *still* went on to govern Revachol for twenty five years! We lost 2 million lives toppling that mode of government -- and those grotesque statues too, hundreds of them..."
"And he believed you?"
"And he left you here -- gesturing at your swollen face. The rich man rules over you and over the world. And he laughs at your fidgeting." He stares into the dead embers.
"And he let you be here?"
"And he says..." She lowers her voice, comically. "'That was *too* hard core. Don't ask me about that.' So she goes: 'Okay. But what's this, baby?' And he's like: 'Saw some bad shit there, killed some loincloths.'"
"And he was married." Kim points at the ring on the man's left hand, the flesh around it swollen and grey.
"And here I thought my modest payment of 100 real would stick..." She shakes her head in mock regret.
"And here I thought my modest payment of 130 real would stick..." She shakes her head in mock regret.
"And here I thought my modest payment of 30 real would stick..." She shakes her head in mock regret.
"And here I thought my modest payment of 40 real would stick..." She shakes her head in mock regret.
"And here I thought my modest payment of 70 real would stick..." She shakes her head in mock regret.
"And here I thought that you were curious to hear what's on the tape..."
"And here I was thinking you were an idiot." She breathes out and the air tastes sweet. "So, are you? An idiot, I mean."
"And here I was trying to be polite. Just can't win with you pigs." Despite the sass, she puts the brush aside.
"And here you are. Quality sound reproduction on the go. It'll play anything. Wherever. Turn *any* tape into a conversation of sounds and shapes."
"And here's my Kvalsund multitool. You might need it to hack loose some ice. It opens everything. If you get me the off-site copy, then you can keep the Kvalsund."
"And his role in this strike was... what?"
"And how are the talks going?"
"And how did you meet?"
"And how do we get there then?"
"And how do we get there?"
"And how do you know that?"
"And if he does not change course it will be a war negotiation, detective."
"And if it *can't*, well..." He shrugs non-committally.
"And if it *were* a conflict, the RCM would not pick sides. My colleague's *unusual* approach to police work does not represent the organization at this time."
"And if that fails? If we don't find her?" (Conclude.)
"And if those authorities drink so hard they need help recalling the basic terms of reality -- well, I am here to help." She bows and smiles.
"And if you don't like it.."
"And if you don't like it..."
"And if you don't like what you see..."
"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."
"And if you see him, let him know Lena is waiting for him here at the Whirling. He gets so tangled up in his work that he may not know the water lock's been repaired. And it's *cold* out there..."
"And in Jamrock and the G.R.I.H?" (Continue.)
"And information," she nods. "Causing data losses in the East-Insulindian front. Have you considered why it's formed in a church? And, also, *when* or *how* it might start growing? Or -- if it has other effects? In addition to sound and data..."
"And it shouldn't. Nature does not concern herself with ethical propositions. As a scientist, my interest is *strictly dispassionate*."
"And it was. Good work, Harry. You're insane now. There's one less person for me -- and everyone else -- to rely on."
"And it worked? He got a war going?"
"And it's distilled too."
"And it's great! Such diversity is a boon to the economy."
"And its people?" She bursts out laughing. "Glad to be of assistance then."
"And just 'cause she was gone for five minutes doesn't mean she *magically* got to the roof and shot him." He taps on his temple. "I've been through this -- it's not plausible."
"And just how big is it?"
"And keep an eye on that partner of yours." He lets the silence linger, then concludes: "Good talk."
"And last but not least, it looks like the Hardie boys knew this driver, as we know that she was present at the lynching. This may be the Union connection we've been searching for."
"And last but not least, it's *Ruby's cabin* we found. This is an undeniable connection to the Union."
"And money -- she liked that too. That Holly was a real bridge-builder and a deal-maker..." His eyes glisten suddenly, with hatred.
"And more." She nods. "I made the mistake of confiding in her -- I told her I was on the run. She started *protecting* me. It became an unhealthy relationship."
"And my Crown of Immortality? No." She shakes her head. "You scared her out of me. With your crying, your..." She stops. "The awful time we wound up having. In the cheap rental flats you could afford..."
"And my friend's not even your typical local -- definitely not just another Martin Martinaise or Raoul Revachol. Maybe that's why we're friends."
"And no such recordings exist, to my knowledge. Seol has bigger squid to fry."
"And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I got work to do. Some idiot has glued his eyelids shut with Cyanoacrylate. It looks like Mack Torson."
"And no, it never stops."
"And no, it's got nothing to do with Contact Mike."
"And no, taking it outside the building *wouldn't* have protected it from the data loss. There's nothing wrong with keeping the backup in the basement. What happened was a freak accident that has nothing to do with how the backup was stored."
"And not only did I open it, I went inside too. It was a real weasel's den, Evrart."
"And nothing. She stands by what she said."
"And now *suspicious*-looking people are sneaking around the church. I don't like that."
"And now I do," he nods.
"And now he's..." Her gaze drifts toward the yard, but she catches herself and her eyes fix on her reflection in the window instead. "Yeah."
"And now they've drawn the ire of the Union. The plot thickens, as they say."
"And now you're telling me, what," she closes her eyes, "that it was all because I didn't run my little shops and ventures from a dump inside an abandoned chimney?"
"And now you, binoclard." His voice is chummy as he turns to Kim.
"And of all cellular-based life. What's your point, law-bringer?"
"And on that note, perhaps we should get back to making sense of our own case?"
"And one more thing -- as you've seen, these sorts of attitudes are quite common in Martinaise. So I expect this to happen again. And again..."
"And one more thing..." He pulls the black plastic over the dead man's face, then looks at you. "This was was *very* good work, detective."
"And one of them was *empty*."
"And others have to suffer terrible consequences just so you can sleep at night? I think not!"
"And others too. Some cordons of Revachol were still fighting. There were cells, I tried to contact them..." He shakes his head. "Soon they all went silent. The frequencies, dead."
"And potentially bring attention to herself? No. Besides, the shot was made from a distance -- otherwise we would have heard it downstairs."
"And sadder yet because the dopeheads and burnouts holed up in there are *the worst* kind."
"And second, outfitting an expedition like that is expensive. It'd have to be a *big production"* to do the Cocaine Skull justice. You need new gear, people who know what they're doing, all kinds of provisions..."
"And she didn't do it -- believe me. If it's something *bad* then she didn't do it. Didn't know her for long but I know people."
"And she didn't do it, believe me. If it's something *bad* then she didn't do it. Didn't know her for long but I know people."
"And she's a pro. She must be. To keep the Hardies in line. I tried severing ties with her after that. I thought it had worked, but..." She looks through the window of her room.
"And she's also the one running the drug trade... What a handful."
"And she's not. Disrupting any order, I mean."
"And skuas. But shhhh." He raises a pointer finger and inclines his head toward the speakers. A new, high-pitched, shivering sound.
"And so is producing something extraordinary." Her eyes wander to the shelves full of die prototypes and discarded models.
"And so it goes -- star after star, port after port, third world country after third world country. And he's done horrible things in every single one of them."
"And so they did."
"And sometimes," he continues, "they just prefer the type of police work available to their current rank -- in your case, lieutenant."
"And that antenna is its... processing unit?"
"And that even whilst crawling with a mangled half-dead prince on his back, he still managed to murder three rebels on his way."
"And that seems to corroborate the ethnicity we gave." Kim is pedantically happy about it.
"And that too."
"And that topic was what? Staircases? Ladders?"
"And that's a privilege?"
"And that's it?"
"And that's not all! Some of the slaughterhouse apprentices went hiking by a nearby creek and saw a moose nibbling on an unidentified carcass!"
"And that's okay. Some are queerer than others, you can still be a Hardie." He glances at Glen. "But if you bring your own personal shit into our outfit..."
"And that's what? What number?"
"And that's, what? Unjust? I think it's perfectly just." His tone is ever-so-slightly less agreeable than before.
"And that's..." (Conclude.)
"And the *vacholiers* you mentioned?"
"And the AR-1? Is it a 'good antenna'?"
"And the Areopagites..."
"And the C-Wing is..."
"And the Heads -- I won't even get *into* the Heads, millions of them..." She stops. "Go find that copy from that ice cream maker, will you? Thanks."
"And the Moralintern more broadly, but yes." His gaze is absently fixed on a window below that just went dark.
"And the Semenese are..."
"And the amount of lyrics I got is against the law!"
"And the apes -- were they evil?"
"And the big one," he squints his eyes, studying the men in the mess hall, "must be Hardie himself..."
"And the bruises -- you could you see her bruises through the scope of a rifle?"
"And the crab man hasn't shown himself much, thank god."
"And the door? The steel door in the kitchen, how do you open that?"
"And the flashlight works a lot better if you *hold it in your hand*."
"And the hole in his heart."
"And the kids on the street can get speed and pyrholidon?"
"And the kids on the street don't have to give up on speed and pyrholidon?"
"And the law says you have to wear a hat in this weather."
"And the major..."
"And the mosaic sidewalk."
"And the other eye's on that hulking, blaring leader of the scabs. What a suspicious fucking guy."
"And the other must be in one of the four-story buildings overlooking the roundabout. He or she was reporting back to you while we were canvassing the lorry drivers."
"And the others?"
"And the wires?"
"And the woman goes like..." She points at the air with her sharp-nailed finger, picking out an imaginary tattoo-star. "'What was *this*, baby?'"
"And the woman goes like..." She points at the air with her sharp-nailed finger, picking out an imaginary tattoo-star. "'What was this, baby?'"
"And the word on the street is your memory is a bit... hazy." He looks at you questioningly. "If that's true, maybe I can help you out? Do you a little favour so to speak."
"And the worst part of that, officer," he says, face terrified, "is having to spend your days playing pétanque with an angry snake."
"And the... sort of... quivering jello thing with the eye?" (Point to you twitching eye.)
"And then I'm going to paint it red using heavy fuel oil. And then I'm going to fucking light it on fire."
"And then crabman and the programmer lady moved in while you were gathering your shit."
"And then put it *back?* Why?" He points at the key. "It's damn interesting you found it there -- but it doesn't fit with Ruby. And you know it."
"And then she just... disappeared."
"And then that motherfucker Gottlieb -- reeking of schnapps -- ordered me into his butcher's room..." Officer Fischer is in a storytelling mood -- he continues: "And I ask him, 'You sure, doc?' and he's cool as can be, 'Yeah, if you're in pain, we've gotta get that baby out..."
"And then there's me..." She sighs, looking at her messy work table. All kinds of tools lie there scattered, from knives to carving flies to wire cutters.
"And then there's the church." He looks at the bell tower. "If I were a murder suspect I would not hide in the most prominent building here, but who knows? Maybe she's reckless..."
"And then there's the drunks..." She sighs. "Not a pretty sight, but there's little we can do about it. Home is home, even for them."
"And then there's the motor carriage in the sea -- something I was *not* present for..." He breathes in sharply. "But -- despite all this -- he is a great detective. One of the best I've seen, in fact."
"And then use those stocks to make even more money."
"And then we feel trapped by the names we've been given, as symbols of the intentions and expectations of others..." He pulls a long, pensive drag.
"And then we might go wild together, which sounds fun. But I guess I have a strike to watch."
"And then went to the same military academy. And the same unit. And the same war..."
"And then what? You fuck in there? You fuck in Cuno's kingdom?"
"And then you screamed something incomprehensible about churches and the scent of apricots and aquariums." She takes a deep breath.
"And then you see it. As it strangles and beats your friends to death... the sweetest, most courageous people in the world," he's silent for a second. "You see the fear and power in its eyes. Then you *know*."
"And then, boss..." he shakes his head "...use us to cover it up? I mean, that's just fucked up."
"And then, you know, right behind her a man *crawled down the wall*. Upside down, like a crab. Down the church wall. I think the woman didn't even know he was there, he was completely silent..."
"And then?"
"And there was something about and undiscovered sub-species of man?"
"And there's a big fridge there?"
"And there's a little girl wearing the gloves there?"
"And there's no public phones nearby?"
"And there's still much to do at the crime scene too. We didn't search it thoroughly enough."
"And there's still work to be done at the crime scene. Now, for the interviews..." He takes a deep drag and looks at the city.
"And they already had *the bear*..." She closes her eyes as if remembering something painful.
"And they can be yours for mere three reàl. My regular customers have passed them all up because they've got no taste, but *you* found them..."
"And they have roots in ancient mass society." He pauses. "And they're the custodians of the Perikarnassian Church. Plus they anoint the innocence. They, like, made the innocentic system, no?"
"And they live happily ever after?"
"And they lynched him for it?"
"And they never cleaned up the debris either. Now it's just littering the hallway and I have no idea how to get rid of it on my own."
"And they play this weird neo-disco music."
"And they worshipped *bears*, you say?" She shudders. "I suppose they brought it upon themselves... the curse, I mean."
"And they're all dead, all three... of the contractors?"
"And this has been during, or *after* the War?"
"And this is Abs." He points to the man in the pipe. "So yeah, that's basically us. We drink together."
"And this was a role playing game?"
"And this was the last break we got?"
"And this was... when?" The lieutenant instinctively looks to his notebook, but does not take it out.
"And those look like airman pants. Good for storing tools in."
"And to think -- there are years when the group books *losses* in the billions..." A wave hits the sloop, she grasps the mainstay for balance.
"And undoubtedly inferior to our species as well."
"And want me to make an exception for you? You're not even a hostel guest till you pay your outstanding bills..." He changes his mind.
"And we also have a huge case load, lieutenant," she says with a smile. "Piles that we need to get back to. Mountains, even."
"And we saw you got the body down. Oh, such wonderful progress! Hold the applause, ladies and gents."
"And we saw your attempt to shoot the dead guy down from the tree. That was an... exceptionally impressive failure, if I say so myself."
"And we're not really the wildlife protection services."
"And what *crowd* is that?"
"And what *do* I call the Coalition?"
"And what *is* Frittte?"
"And what *is* that?" She sticks a filterless cigarette into a cigarette holder and reaches for the light.
"And what about this Ruby? Is she the eighth Hardie who runs this thing for you?"
"And what about you? Keeping the name?"
"And what are the *most* suspicious things?"
"And what are these recordings for -- the cracks, the footsteps?"
"And what are you, Kid Master General?"
"And what brings this track-and-field god all the way up here?"
"And what business is that?"
"And what did he tell you?" His eyes narrow. "That we killed him? That we took a cargo belt from the harbour, went out back, and used it to hang him?"
"And what did she say?"
"And what do you do? You go and push her anyway!" Something breaks in him. He takes a step closer. "I am going to... fucking..."
"And what do you have to gain from a war?"
"And what do you think I'm doing right now, Mr. RCM?!" The scrub brush flies into the bucket so furiously some splashes hit your face.
"And what do you think Lilienne's kids are going to do when they grow up?"
"And what does it mean? Why is the dead guy smiling?"
"And what does that mean? Were you..."
"And what exactly do you think should happen to those with *undesirable* traits?"
"And what exactly you've been doing that's so god damn special -- shitting yourself in front of us?" He leans in. "Going around, harassing kids on the street, kids who've done nothing wrong?"
"And what has the necktie been telling you, if I may ask?"
"And what is it you're recording exactly?"
"And what is that situation?" She looks at Kim.
"And what is that?"
"And what is the *Founding Party*?"
"And what kind of business is that exactly?"
"And what makes you think that the organization would accept you?"
"And what miracle would that be?"
"And what point would that be?"
"And what rank would that be, dog?"
"And what would that make the alphanumeric?"
"And what would that miracle be?"
"And what would this entail?"
"And what's behind that door if I may ask?"
"And what's going to happen if we don't?" The little guy leans forward. "You gonna go and *tell* on us?"
"And what's so bad about that?"
"And what's that -- this 'interactive call-on radio play'?"
"And what, does it mean that I'm safe from failure?"
"And what? What did I do?"
"And what?"
"And when did you first arrive?"
"And when they do..." He holds out his index finger. "They will have a *good* place to go. I'm currently working on renovating the buildings near the roundabout into affordable *workers palaces*."
"And when was this exactly?"
"And where are the gloves now?"
"And where are you from?"
"And where exactly is the off-site copy?"
"And while we're there we should also call the station, let them know that we're taking the case."
"And who are the Semenese and Areopagites in this?"
"And who are you?" The lieutenant fires back. "What is your business here? Why are your clothes four sizes too small for you?"
"And who makes all these rules?" (Continue.)
"And who named it Whirling-In-Rags?"
"And who should I contact...?"
"And who was Artemitep?"
"And who was this woman?"
"And why did you have the keys?"
"And why did you need me?"
"And why didn't you just tell me that?"
"And why do people think the skull is here, in Martinaise?"
"And why so? Our things are a part of our life-world. They're made with human sweat and they share human history. We should care about them as we care about humans, to some extent at least."
"And why will it *resolve* History?" (Continue.)
"And why would you help someone like that? By taking on a murder?"
"And why wouldn't they, ey? Sounds like right strong stuff."
"And yeah, you're already acquainted with Abs." He points to the man in the pipe. "So yeah, that's basically us. We drink together."
"And yes, I'm being more like Contact Mike, alright. Don't even bring it up."
"And yet it never seems to get us any closer to solving the case."
"And yet mysterious." He looks around in the church as light beams wash over the dance floor, bathing it in violet blue.
"And you -- watch out for yourselves. You seem to have a habit of walking into traps."
"And you are unable to breach the entrance?"
"And you believed that?" He laughs. "No, man, Cindy's all SKULL. A true artist of the future, just like Arno van Eyck."
"And you brought her may bells?"
"And you can't just evict her?"
"And you could see her bruises -- through the scope of a rifle?"
"And you didn't notice the fucking *ice bear* fridge?" The kid scoffs. "Pig, you need a new pair of eyes. This is fucking embarrassing."
"And you don't know where she is?"
"And you had ideas about *his* past too?"
"And you just... found him there? Lying in the cold?" She shakes her head.
"And you knew this from me keeping my hands folded?" She shoots you a suspicious glance.
"And you know how all kinds of political movements are *big* in the Occident. The activists shut down the biggest chitin suppliers, which of course caused the price to skyrocket."
"And you led her on?" The lieutenant narrows his eyes.
"And you look like you don't bathe -- on principle," the man with sunglasses interjects.
"And you never took your eyes off the work to look out of the window?"
"And you propose dance music will supplant this system?"
"And you saw a *door*?" She closes her eyes. "It must be real then... This place is cursed, just like everyone said.  They don't call it the Doomed Commercial Area just for nothing!"
"And you spent time with this person? Romantically?"
"And you survived it! Congratulations. Are you mobile?"
"And you think there's a problem with this?"
"And you think they lynched him for it?"
"And you too, lieutenant," he turns to Kim and stresses: "The situation is perilous, but I am *sure* you're dedicated to avoiding further loss of life. Unlike the Union, who won't even let me talk to them.."
"And you want us to investigate." (Move on.)
"And you went and pushed her." Something breaks in him. He takes a step closer and says: "I am going to... fucking..."
"And you were probably right, too -- I would have never let you abduct a kid and take him on a creepy boat trip in the middle of the fucking March!"
"And you work for the government?"
"And you're a big Man from Hjelmdall fan?"
"And you're just going to *let* him manipulate you like that?" He raises an eyebrow.
"And you're just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart, Cuno?"
"And you're standing out here in the cold because...?"
"And you're telling me *this* world here is working out well?"
"And you're the ones to reform, thus reaping your own benefits?"
"And you, detective." She turns to you with a sad smile. "You've been great company to an old lady and her stubborn husband. Thank you, truly."
"And you... oh my god, just look at you! It looks like even the *police* can't take care of all this. Someone should do something about this." She rubs her pendant between two fingers, thinking.
"And you?"
"And your conclusion?"
"And your eyes also used to..."
"And your husband's also involved with the book store?"
"And your name was Germaine?"
"And your opinion, officer?" Beneath the description there are two boxes waiting to be ticked:
"And your race garbage. You can keep that too, keep the conversation going for the rich man, on Channel 4, eroding working class solidarity." He stares into the dead embers.
"And your surname?"
"And! And!" the other one butts in. "We make a fire. We make a... we make a fire."
"And, I mean... it would be one twist too many if it turned out these two old men were our killers. That's just unlikely. No..." He seems pleased with himself. "We would only have wasted our time here."
"And, Jean... please take it easy with the race science. That's a *yes* to getting the body down, *no* to the race science." He hangs up and turns back to you.
"And, as you know, they have this very distinctive dress uniform with scarlet breeches and little cylindrical fur caps, I think these are called..." You daze off, as Trant tells you about the peculiarities of mounted police forces in central Occident.
"And, for the record: No, I didn't do it."
"And, if we are to believe Hardie boys, it's somewhere in there..."
"And, in the process, you broke the landline downstairs."
"And, of course, any loss of life is a tragedy." The man seems to observe a moment of silence. "So tell me, what have you learned about the victim?"
"And, shit, you can even fuck back in Cuno's kingdom! Cuno saw you sniffin' around that fuckin' pile of eternite. It's a secret door, okay?! Just pull it off -- and fuck back in there." He concludes the invitation with a benevolent nod.
"And, shit, you can even fuck back in Cuno's kingdom! That fuckin' pile of eternite," he points to the back of the yard, "it's a secret door, okay?! Just pull it off and you can fuck into Cuno's shack." He concludes the invitation with a benevolent nod.
"And... (point north)... there?"
"And... despite everything, you helped her by staging the lynching?"
"And... most of the locals?"
"And... what about the side business? Have you made up your mind?"
"And... you haven't changed your mind about our little side business, have you?"
"And... you're still sure about keeping out our little side business, right?"
"And..."
"And..." he smiles: "We are still alive -- both of us."
"And...?" He tenses up. "What happened?"
"And? *The crab man* has seen you!"
"And?"
"Andre doesn't care about the Ecclesiastes. He just wants the operation to run smoothly. And Egg is a demi-beast. You shouldn't listen to what people say, you should listen to what they are."
"Andre's got it. Sounds like a local folk song re-mixed."
"Andre's got it. Sounds like a local song re-mixed."
"Andre's overthinking it," says the girl with the microphone.
"Andre, do you know what 'involuntary manslaughter' means?"
"Andre, pull the compressor! The place is gonna come down..."
"Andre, tell him about the feeling!"
"Andre? He's a cool guy. Doesn't really come off as one, but he is. To me at least..."
"Andro-Orlando Hair SCA"
"Angie -- check out what's behind those doors when you get the time. It's probably nothing, but we need to know."
"Angie, where's your goddamn inhaler? You sound like you're dying."
"Angus, his ever-growling stomach, and his smelly feet are all part of the Union. You have as much right to *arrest* him as I have to arrest your partner here." He points to the lieutenant.
"Angus, his ever-growling stomach, and his smelly feet are all part of the Union. You have as much right to *arrest* him as he has to arrest you... "
"Annette is quite the trooper. She's a great value-add."
"Annette's a sweet sprout, but she doesn't know anything about marriage. Why am I even talking about this..."
"Annette, yes. My daughter. I hope she wasn't slacking off again with her nose in science fiction! Tell me, was she at her post, doing her job like a proper girl?"
"Anodic dance music, you wouldn't get it."
"Anodic music doesn't really do vocals in the traditional sense. Vocals are thought of as *rock*. That's to say they're a bit *backward*. No offence if you like rock music, though. Rock music is cool by me."
"Anodic music will *definitely* contain whatever we're dealing with." His words echo in the chamber...
"Anodic music? Liven up the place? Yes, that checks out. Let's change the subject."
"Another *fantastic* moment," the lieutenant grudgingly admits. "What next?"
"Another empty trap," the lieutenant takes a note -- more out of habit than duty.
"Another hideous disappointment..." He pokes at the ash: "Unions are the *real* enemy; the true enemy of the proletariat, placating the masses."
"Another look at the window perhaps? -- the one he was shot through. I don't know... I can't think of anything better."
"Another one?" he seems angry for a second, but then settles down.
"Another part of Death Island? Some secret hidden shit, Cuno thinks. Important shit..."
"Another part of the island probably." The lieutenant looks into the keyhole. "The lock looks like it could still be usable."
"Another question about her."
"Another question then?"
"Another question, Leo."
"Another question."
"Another radiocomputer," says the lieutenant, stepping closer. "And this time it's already turned on." He seems cautious around the machine.
"Another radiocomputer..." says the lieutenant, watching you circle around the machine. "Just sitting here without anyone in sight."
"Another revolution?" She looks down at the pendant in her trembling hands, she collects herself.
"Another sane decision, detective."
"Another thing -- great. I love those."
"Another thing you've annihilated is half the bar -- you've run a tab of 30 reál. Actually more, but we'll round it down to 30 for your hard work maintaining the stability and order of Revachol. That's 60 + 40 + 30 = 130 reál. And yes, reál is still money."
"Another thing..."
"Another time maybe." [Leave.]
"Another time, perhaps."
"Another traitor. I thought you of all people would support the ethnostate."
"Another unsuspecting victim of the doom... yet, I suppose they brought it upon themselves with that *bear*."
"Another we set in Land's End, to the north-east. It's behind a small sand dune there, on your way to the old radio tower. After the church."
"Answer me a question."
"Answers? How strange. These days people only come to me for dice and role-playing games..."
"Anxious to hear more about mineral rights or who got shot in the head?" A flash of teeth in her feisty grin.
"Any admirers, miss?"
"Any capable light with the right wavelength will do."
"Any day now." Her eyes turn to the sky. "I'm sure of it. Are you interested or not?"
"Any halfway competent notary should be able to handle this. *Not* getting Isobel's actual signature was probably the best thing to do."
"Any halfway competent notary should be able to handle this. *Not* getting her signature was probably the best thing to do."
"Any halfway competent notary should be able to handle this. *Not* getting their actual signatures was probably the best thing to do."
"Any idea what I should do now?"
"Any idea what happened to Klaasje?"
"Any idea where I can find this buyer?"
"Any idea where you last had it?"
"Any idea who killed the hanged man?"
"Any information on his foster parents?"
"Any information on the library card?"
"Any moment."
"Any more mistakes could put us in an unfortunate position with the locals. We have eyes on us. I didn't do us any favours with that."
"Any more?"
"Any news about my... uhm, family?"
"Any organization gets all kind of folk. I'm sure we try our best."
"Any other good news?"
"Any signs of violence?"
"Any theories about what happened here?" He gazes down at the sign.
"Anyhow, it's much easier to work undercover if one doesn't look like him."
"Anyhow, it's yours now..." He slides the tape closer to you on the counter top.
"Anyhow, let's get back to the case. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"
"Anyhow, my name is Roustame Diodore -- investor, licence holder, and extremely high-net-worth individual. And you are?"
"Anyhow, what was the sticker like?
"Anyhow, you might ask Lilienne if she's seen anything lately -- that girl's got a way of attracting lost and broken things."
"Anyhow.... you also need Isobel's signature. If it's a bad idea, she won't sign. You'll find she's a tougher nut to crack than me."
"Anyone could know the number. And that someone coughed -- it means nothing."
"Anyone else get shot in the head -- on the opposing side?"
"Anyone ever tell you you're a total dickhead?" His voice is quiet and resigned. "Well... you are, man. Just fuck off and leave us be."
"Anyone? Have you killed someone else then?"
"Anything *else* I can do for you, officer?"
"Anything I can help you with?"
"Anything at all."
"Anything else I can assist you with, officer?" he asks impatiently. "We still have a game to finish."
"Anything else I can do for you?"
"Anything else I can help you with, officer?"
"Anything else I can help you with?"
"Anything else I should know?" (Conclude.)
"Anything else of note?"
"Anything else this merry band of adventurers can do for you, or do you need to go and mail that serious looking document of yours?" His face lightens up. "I think I saw a mailbox near the plaza."
"Anything else this merry band of adventurers can do for you, or do you need to go and mail that serious looking document of yours?" His face lightens up. "There's a mailbox on the plaza."
"Anything else you need from me?"
"Anything else you need from me?" Alice asks.
"Anything else you're thinking of selling?"
"Anything else you're thinking of selling?" Both the lieutenant and the pawnbroker turn to you.
"Anything else, detective?"
"Anything else, officer?"
"Anything else, sir? Over."
"Anything else? *Anything*?"
"Anything else? Another failed business perhaps? I've been here for a long time..."
"Anything else? Like where she is now?"
"Anything else? What does this guy look like?"
"Anything else?"
"Anything else?" He thinks. "Yeah, this ain't really my area of expertise. I just do my job and get paid. I have things to do and places to be. All of us do."
"Anything for you..." He smiles again.
"Anything more?"
"Anything of note?" he asks in a lowered voice.
"Anything you can tell me about the boardwalk with the ruins and the fishmarket?"
"Anything's better than annihilating yourself with drugs and alcohol..."
"Anything?"
"Anytime." She smiles.
"Anyway -- I thought it would be *funny* to say I didn't do it. Because I knew about your investigation..." She cringes. "Does that make me a suspect? I really must stop saying stupid things..."
"Anyway -- we do it the old fashioned way: sector by sector. Go over the whole peninsula, ask the locals, enter the places where we *can* enter first. Like we did in the village."
"Anyway, I assure you, I am a very well informed man. Information reaches me before I even get the chance to request it."
"Anyway, I can't help you there. A lot of women come and go here."
"Anyway, I shut down the amphetamine production, but let them go on with the nightclub plan."
"Anyway, I thought I'd make some, too. It's supposed to be, like, a music place anyway..." She rubs her shoulders and looks around.
"Anyway, I thought we were talking about the Whirling."
"Anyway, I'll call the station tomorrow and let them know the name of the deceased."
"Anyway, I'll call the station when we're finished with the day and let them know the name of the deceased."
"Anyway, I'll forward that woman her bill and be done with it... Now, was there anything else?"
"Anyway, enough sentimentality. Is there anything else you want to know?"
"Anyway, even if you don't have vocals you still need someone to say something every now and then, right? To urge things on. That's where the party boy comes in..."
"Anyway, he's been giving me kind of a *psychic rundown* of this place..."
"Anyway, let's not focus on the sensationalism of the drug trade. This hypothetical drug trade is all anyone ever seems to be interested in. It would only be a small part of the Harbour's turnover -- just like the harbour is but a small part of Martinaise."
"Anyway, long story short, life spiralled out of control. I haven't gotten into my apartment for years, and my girlfriend left me because she didn't want to date a homeless man. The company, well, you see where I'm going with this..."
"Anyway, now that it's settled... how did she seem? I mean, disposition-wise, about the dance club idea? 'Ja' oder 'Nein'? Rockin it or droppin' it?"
"Anyway, now you know the story of the fallen ice cream empire." She seems almost sad, finishing the story.
"Anyway, now you know the story of the fallen ice cream empire." She seems almost sad, finishing the story. Some dust beams swirl in the afternoon air. Her eyes follow it idly.
"Anyway, now you know the story of the fallen ice cream empire." She seems almost sad, finishing the story. Some dust beams swirl in the morning light. Her eyes follow it idly.
"Anyway, sometime later he started his own personal studio here in Martinaise, and that's when he started working on some *really* wild stuff. I'm talking some glass-smooth, forward looking design language, the kind of thing that would totally overthrow the old regime, design-wise."
"Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that mixing art and sex can make you fucking *rich*.
"Anyway, that's the story of the *Headless FALN Rider*. Pretty crazy, huh?"
"Anyway, there was a brief silence -- a *gasp* of silence, if you will -- followed by a real commotion. We heard the carriage careening towards the coast at top speed."
"Anyway, to each his own. You want to hear any other stories?"
"Anyway, we should move. I suspect our investigation will bring us back  soon enough."
"Anyway, we should probably get back to the case. Let's go."
"Anyway," she concludes. "What other basic facets of reality should we discuss?"
"Anyway. Tell me something else, Mr. Dros..."
"Anyway."
"Anyway." He mentally props himself back up. "Cuno doesn't do that radioactive shit. Makes Cuno's dick fall off. Cuno's got a huge dick."
"Anyway... I can't believe you used obscenities like that in front of a police officer. And you should... you should..."
"Anyway... That's all yours to figure out, copman."
"Anyway... you'll have to get Isobel to sign it too. I saw the signatories --  she won't if it's a bad idea. She's a much tougher nut to crack."
"Anyway..." He settles down. "There is *more* than enough evidence to justify at a thorough *search* for the dread moose. Let's close the subject, before it turns into an argument."
"Anyway..." She clears her throat. Twice. "I'd look near the fish market north of here. Drunks are *drawn* to markets, for some reason. Was there something else?"
"Anyway..." She looks around again, her nose red from the cold.
"Anyway..." She turns back to her terminal. "You should do some research before you decide to buy anything. Ask around, compare the prices. There are many milieus dedicated to that sort of thing."
"Anywhere with better opportunities."
"Apocalypse?" He backs away, visibly worried. "I uh... I don't know, what this means, officer. I'm sorry. But thank you! I'm here to cooperate any way I can."
"Apologies, I was just thinking out loud. Go on."
"Apologies, but this is my last one." He takes another drag and shivers.
"Apologies, it's an acronym for research and development, they don't use it anymore." He smiles brightly, laugh lines around his eyes.
"Apologies, my partner," the lieutenant steps in, giving you a sideways glance, "did *not* mean to make light of the situation."
"Apologies, that didn't come out very well. I meant someone who would go along with the lie."
"Apology accepted, detective." The lieutenant relaxes. A weight seems to have been lifted from his shoulders.
"Apparently she had a *thing* for Klaasje."
"Apparently so."
"Apparently the idea was *too* high-concept even for this genius. He dropped dead right at his desk before he could finish. His last words are recorded to have been: "It's as white as a blizzard... *of cocaine!*"
"Apparently this is the reinforced kind. For air transport. My brain tells me so."
"Apparently, working with the local Union boss to get info on an investigation is not something I'm squeamish about."
"Apparently, yes -- like a water strider, only..." He shakes his head with amazement. "I've never seen *anything* like that in my life."
"Apparently." Please do try to control yourself." The anger is gone from his eyes and it's almost as if his voice is softer than before.
"Apples then. From Graad. Right. Sure."
"Apples" is exactly the kind of thing you'd say if you had something to hide...
"Apples."
"Apples." He puts out his cigarette and flicks the stub across the street.
"Apples?"
"Appreciated."
"Appropriate."
"Ar'ya... callin' Abigail?"
"Are *you* over-radiated?"
"Are *you* part of the homosexual underground?"
"Are Lena and Morell still in town?"
"Are the twins outside your brothers?"
"Are there any *invisible* cryptids?"
"Are there any more stories you can tell?"
"Are there any photos of it?"
"Are there any reliable eyewitness accounts of a moose killing other animals for food?" (Conclude)
"Are these the men Garte told us about yesterday?"
"Are these your shoes lying around here?" (Show him the red brogues you found.)
"Are these yours?" (Show him the scarf and shoes you found lying around.)
"Are they foreigners? I bet they're foreigners."
"Are they here now?"
"Are they in a *rough neighbourhood*?"
"Are they now?" The lieutenant cocks one eyebrow.
"Are they really gonna let us have this?"
"Are they? They look outlandish."
"Are they? They're mostly just cumbersome."
"Are those prayer beads I keep hearing?"
"Are those specks stars too?"
"Are those things really on sale or did you just jack up the price first?"
"Are we about *done* with this now?" The lieutenant has taken a few steps back.
"Are we done here, Gary?" (Conclude)
"Are we near the ocean?"
"Are we not detectives? There may be *clues* inside the boot."
"Are we really so bad for wanting compromise, peace, and prosperity -- on reasonable, achievable terms? Ask yourself that."
"Are we?"
"Are we?" He looks at you mysteriously.
"Are you *always looking* through the scope of a rifle?" He explains: "I'm just trying to *understand*."
"Are you *liberated* enough to offer up your home on a plate for financial colonists?" She looks you in the eye. "No, I think not. Tell me -- now that I've *uncoiled* myself -- do you find me frightening?"
"Are you *quite* sure?"
"Are you *sure* there was a crab man?"
"Are you *sure* there's not some sex-angle we should be considering?"
"Are you *sure* you don't remember where the paperwork I flushed is?"
"Are you *sure* you don't want to give those little welkins a second go?"
"Are you 100% sure no one's going to end up homeless?"
"Are you Dora Du Bois?"
"Are you Lilienne's daughter?"
"Are you Lizzy -- Elizabeth -- Miss Beaufort?"
"Are you a *caviar socialist*?"
"Are you a Union-member?"
"Are you a commie-cop?"
"Are you a cryptozoologist too?"
"Are you a mercenary hired by Wild Pines?"
"Are you a moralist?"
"Are you a nurse?"
"Are you a police man or a nanny?" She's definitely disturbed by now.
"Are you a thought reader?"
"Are you a... communist?"
"Are you a... girl-liker?"
"Are you alright, Harry? You say you got this, but you seem a little *anxious* to me. Don't be. Everything's going to be alright."
"Are you alright, Harry? You seem anxious. Don't be. Everything's going to be alright."
"Are you alright, ma'am? You were out."
"Are you alright? Should I call a doctor?"
"Are you alright?" The lieutenant steps closer, his eyes soft and worried. "This looked... pretty intense and painful, I must admit."
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"Are you being *clever*? What is this socially abhorrent joke?"
"Are you bitter because your radio game project failed?"
"Are you by any chance keeping an eye on us?"
"Are you by any chance... (Lean in real close.)... *working class*?"
"Are you cooking *morphine* in there?!"
"Are you currently sporting some *anal beads*?"
"Are you deaf? There will be no singling anyone out. You can't arrest *a* Hardie boy without arresting *all* Hardie boys."
"Are you doing some kind of science here? You look like a science person."
"Are you done?"
"Are you drinking that?"
"Are you drunk right now? You're drunk right now, aren't you, you fucking *bum*. I can smell it!"
"Are you enjoying yourself, darling?"
"Are you famous or something?"
"Are you getting a reward for it at least?"
"Are you getting this? You think I'm fucking telling you a joke here? How hard do you think it is to kill a fat-ass?" He pokes you in the gut. "Sweet talk 'em, then knife 'em."
"Are you gonna... kill me too?"
"Are you happy now, officer? Happy that you've *ruined* everything?" She closes her eyes and starts mumbling something to her pendant.
"Are you having a seizure in Cuno's yard now?" He sounds agitated.
"Are you hiding something?"
"Are you high right now?"
"Are you human? You weren't moving like a human."
"Are you hurt?"
"Are you implying I might be in some sort of a danger?"
"Are you in charge of the dockworkers?"
"Are you interested in a new and exciting book?" She stomps her feet to feel warmer.
"Are you kidding me?!"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Are you kids siblings?"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Are you lost? You look lost. Out of place."
"Are you making fun of me right now? You better start complying."
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Are you more of a 'PISSF****T' or a 'FUCK THE WORLD' kind of guy?"
"Are you not afraid that we're going to arrest them?"
"Are you now?" She smirks. "There are a lot of lawbringers around Martinaise, but not a lot of law."
"Are you okay Mr. Dros? To go on?"
"Are you okay, Cuno?" She looks worried. The *Cunn* has her confused.
"Are you okay, officer?" You feel the lieutenant pat you on the back. Heavy, rhythmic pats.
"Are you okay? I am very sorry I crashed into you earlier. I don't know what got into me."
"Are you okay?"
"Are you on amphetamines?"
"Are you on drugs?"
"Are you on the track team?"
"Are you out of your mind? There's one just like that on every corner!"
"Are you ready to limp?"
"Are you really reading that, detective?"
"Are you referring to... *cocaine*?"
"Are you satisfied, detective? What else can you tell me about your *mail delivery quest* for Evrart? Do you think it will *improve* the place?"
"Are you saying I'm ruined?"
"Are you saying a man who looks like Cuno broke into his father's apartment and passed out in his father's bed?"
"Are you saying my business was spared because of a *technicality*? Where is this coming from?"
"Are you saying that you were *asked* to tell us you were assaulted?"
"Are you saying you *made it up*?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"Are you serious? From your work, I don't know... you can take bribes, I guess." He looks at Kim. "I'm sorry. I don't think cops take bribes."
"Are you serious?" The lieutenant's face changes immediately, taking on a more sombre expression.
"Are you shitting me, Harry? Did you not really open the door and are now just telling me you did?" His lively eyes are mapping your face. "You're a wild one, Harry!"
"Are you sleeping right now?"
"Are you snitching, Cuno?!"
"Are you some kind of a sex pervert?"
"Are you sure *you* haven't been spying on your guests?"
"Are you sure I wasn't being assaulted?"
"Are you sure a SKULL would say that?"
"Are you sure about that? What about this drug lab plan?"
"Are you sure at least *one* of them wasn't a woman?"
"Are you sure he didn't die of auto-erotic asphyxiation?"
"Are you sure it didn't?" The lieutenant narrows his eyes at the girl. "Who can tell with all the delinquent behaviour?"
"Are you sure it happened like that?"
"Are you sure it was Slipstream SCA? Was it a *woman*? Maybe it was Plaisance from the bookstore..."
"Are you sure it was him? Oh, thank heavens! Silly me." She smiles, though there's still concern in her features.
"Are you sure it's a *crab* he reminds you of?"
"Are you sure she didn't go somewhere more pleasant... and less wet?"
"Are you sure that's the right number? Doesn't sound like a serial."
"Are you sure the *Revolutionary* has got nothing to do with this?"
"Are you sure this is all in working order?"
"Are you sure we have time to go chasing after bug-hunters just now?" The lieutenant taps his foot impatiently.
"Are you sure you don't have any more? I thought you were a billionaire?"
"Are you sure you don't mean astronomy?"
"Are you sure you don't need help getting to Gary's?"
"Are you sure you don't need the sword?" (Look at it)
"Are you sure you weren't raped?"
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here, get a nice, cozy fire going in the heater?" She drops the rag into the bucket -- it's clean now. "Seems like a better idea to me..."
"Are you sure you're Pierre? Your voice, it's different... I... there... chrysanthemum..."
"Are you sure you're not making this up?"
"Are you sure you're okay? You thrashed around, then you bolted up, half-covered in blood from your wound."
"Are you sure you're sure? Your colleague seemed adamant..."
"Are you sure you've exhausted all the alternative explanations?"
"Are you sure, ma'am?"
"Are you sure? But they look so good on you!" The street vendor frowns. "You should think this through, officer."
"Are you sure? I checked the submersible. There was nothing there."
"Are you sure? I find it a little odd."
"Are you sure? I mean... that jaw is clearly an atavistic stigmata."
"Are you sure? I see communism *everywhere*, telling us what to think, stifling... ouch, my *leg hurts*!"
"Are you sure? I think it's pretty serviceable..."
"Are you sure? I think something is already happening."
"Are you sure? It seems kinda important."
"Are you sure? Love is *terror*..." She breathes in a large billow of menthol-infused smoke, savours it, then lets it out slowly.
"Are you sure? There are things we still need to do here..." He looks at the ruined flak tower on the cliffside.
"Are you sure? There's shit we need to do, sheriff..." He looks at the ruined flak tower on the cliffside.
"Are you sure? Who's could say it's not true? If you really don't remember anything.... how would you know?" The thought makes him uneasy. "We should move."
"Are you sure? You were looking at it for a *long* time. Almost as if you were hypnotized." He thinks. "Where you hypnotized?"
"Are you sure?"
"Are you sure?" He squints at you. "So you haven't been telling everyone what a *boring cop* you are -- and that you should kill yourself? People say you've been out of your mind. I asked around."
"Are you sure?" She looks skeptical. "Don't think I haven't seen *charlatans* before..."
"Are you sure?" The lieutenant looks a little disappointed. "It's going to take a while to set everything up again."
"Are you sure?" The lieutenant raises his eyebrows. "Cause right now it looks like you're organizing a vigilante group."
"Are you talking about my chin?"
"Are you telling me that you are so rich that light literally bends around your face?"
"Are you telling the story of the Headless--"
"Are you the *fire-guy*?"
"Are you the Leo, who wrote the note to make more banners?"
"Are you the bartender?"
"Are you the company lookout Joyce hinted at?"
"Are you the eighth Hardie boy -- A Hardie girl?"
"Are you trying to ask for a *bribe*? If so, you're not doing a very good job..." He looks at the vendor.
"Are you trying to frighten me now?" He turns to the lieutenant: "What is this?"
"Are you trying to sneak up on me?" she whispers. "Come to slit my throat? In my sleep?"
"Are you trying to tell me you've gotten hold of some of our documents?" The lieutenant inspects Evrart over his spectacles.
"Are you using some random kids to start an amphetamine lab?"
"Are you with him?" (Point to the man with sunglasses.)
"Are you, Gary? Are you a racist?"
"Are you... are you part of the *homo-sexual underground*?"
"Are you?" He squints at you -- squints into your soul. "*Are you?*"
"Are your legs attached to Cuno? Can the *Cuno* move your legs? The fuck should I know..."
"Aren't all philosophers detectives?"
"Aren't there any local authorities who might look down on such activities?"
"Aren't they?" She seems perplexed. "I thought they were as *vacholiere* as any of us, just way richer."
"Aren't we going to talk about the boots I'm wearing?"
"Aren't we jumping to conclusions?"
"Aren't we the lucky ones then? But I'm getting *real* bored with this... maybe it's time to change the subject."
"Aren't you a young lady trying to look old?"
"Aren't you afraid of *masked gunmen*? The roof falling in? Killer waves? Aircraft accidents? Botched surgeries? I'll buy it for four reál."
"Aren't you fucking listening? My man is talking to you. He took *care* of it. They got the girl out before anything else could happen."
"Aren't you going ask how I got past your dad?"
"Aren't you going to ask me how I got in?"
"Aren't you gonna ask me what's back there?"
"Aren't you worried we might arrest them for this?"
"Argh.. my back! I swear it's getting worse..."
"Armistice? What, is he a fucking...? Clearly he doesn't have his Villiers any more."
"Armour like this isn't mass-produced -- it would have probably been fitted. Perhaps there's a record of who signed for this particular suit of armour."
"Armour? No." He changes his mind. "I mean -- yes, of course. I know he was wearing armour. But I don't know anything *about* it..."
"Around the bullet, man..." Alain pinches the root of his nose. "That's a good one."
"Around these parts I go by Tequila... Tequila Sunset."
"Around." He shifts his gaze away. "Eminent Domain. Previous... workplace."
"Arrived at the church. The door was boarded up, so I used a crowbar to get inside. Looks like the place has been deserted. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I'll ask around. Need to figure out how to get the electricity in."
"Art is a bourgeois establishment. It's an affront to humanity. Every gallery should be bulldozed and the artists should all be given 30 years of hard labour in Yekokataa."
"Art is extremely relevant to my investigation. Thank you." (Conclude the conversation.)
"Artists, programmers, *Lexie* -- who are all those people?"
"As *queen regnant* I write a lot of letters." She brushes a strand of white hair out her eye.
"As I already said," the lieutenant replies, adjusting his glasses. "I understand this can't be avoided."
"As I already told you, he has a problem with drinking. And so he... disappears every now and then."
"As I already told your partner, I didn't actually know his name. I just called him Lely -- it's short for Lelystad, where he came from."
"As I awakened into this world something came *with* me. An ancient sadness."
"As I recall, it was your turn, detective."
"As I said -- an Inslulindian Lily, or a May bell. Girls pinned them on their boys during the Revolution."
"As I said -- there's talk. In the competitive intelligence crowd. A lot of people, like me, who need... a new colour on the map. It's all blue, you see. And that blue doesn't like us."
"As I said it's been below freezing since last Sunday. Today is the first chance to thaw. Things would be... *worse* if it had thawed earlier.
"As I said she's a character. I didn't have time for details." He smiles. "It sounds like she's unstable, but don't worry. No one got hurt."
"As I said, Detective Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau."
"As I said, I pulled last week's forecast for coastal Revachol. Seven days below freezing. The day before his hanging was the last warm day."
"As I said, I refused to talk to him. That's why he came back a second time. That's *also* why he hasn't come back a third."
"As I said, it weighs on me heavily..." He bows his head in shame, then looks up and smiles: "But once we get *really* talking... well, I'm gonna hand you the keys to Martinaise! And maybe even help you figure out who's behind this killing."
"As I said, ma'am," the lieutenant interjects, "his technique may be *very* unconventional. But he *is* an officer of the RCM."
"As I said, she's a novelty dicemaker. Her business has been up and running for a long time now."
"As I said, the loss of any life is terrible, no matter who the person may have been..."
"As I said, they're useless anyway. I should have remembered I have these earlier..."
"As I said, treatment is an attempt to manipulate the body after death -- to hide the real cause with a *false* cause. In this case..."
"As I said. It's a peninsula. There's no one there. Just ghosts and vagrants. And teenagers making out."
"As I was saying..." Her voice breaks the silence and suddenly you're back again. Nearby, a seagull pecks at a piece of garbage... "If there's *any* way I may be of assistance, please don't hesitate to ask."
"As I've done before when she's been in trouble, or just looking for solitude. I've made it clear -- we welcome all kinds of people here."
"As a common lorry driver, you say? Interesting. Are you sure?"
"As a mankind."
"As a matter of fact, I do." He looks behind a pile of coasters, finds a slip of paper, and hands it to the lieutenant.
"As a merc, he killed a lot of people on the Semenine Islands to advance Oranjese business interests."
"As a nation."
"As a police officer, you must understand that I cannot take you at your word -- without *evidence*."
"As a wage it's regrettably small. But for a piece of hardware -- yes, that's a lot."
"As a young girl should be. With the proper attitude she'll have a bright financial future."
"As always, I am... the Lawbringer."
"As an Oranjese yourself, didn't his lack of patriotism annoy you?"
"As arbitrary as any judgement. That doesn't make it less of a fact. We all have to use *facts*. Once you accept it, you'll gain the clarity of understanding."
"As cursed as my life."
"As cursed as this commercial area."
"As displayed in our interactions with him here, and also his interactions with the locals, where he did not remember being a law official... It's all very interesting."
"As displayed in the station call, our interactions with him, and -- I don't want to be a 'snitch,'" he makes air quotes, "but also mine with him before, when Harry did not seem to know who I was... It's all very interesting."
"As displayed in your interactions with him here and previously, at the bar, and -- I don't want to be a 'snitch,'" he makes air quotes, "but also mine with him before, when Harry did not seem to know who I was... It's all very interesting."
"As do we all, Harry." He nods, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "We're all just trying to do our best, aren't we? I'm gonna help you do yours."
"As eager as I am to *share* it, lieutenant, once the job is done."
"As far as I can tell he's not going to leave. He'll climb around up there, and guys, you'll never catch him."
"As for me, well..." Some static. Then... "I am sitting in my cubicle surrounded by a wall of radios."
"As for the interviews..."
"As for the rifle -- I don't know what else to tell you." He shrugs. "These BM446's are an antique. No one uses them any more. The ammunition is impossible to find.""
"As for your 'paranatural abilities' -- I'd love to hear about them sometime, really, but can't we just enjoy the view for a moment?"
"As founding members they are *both* very EPIS. Oranje carries a lot of political weight, while Sur-la-Clef takes care of the business side of things -- Sur-la-Clef hosts the headquarters of the major EPIS institutions."
"As good a call as any..." the lieutenant says, still looking at the ocean. "Better not to have made one at all though. You'll lose your mind trying to mediate everything these delinquents come up with."
"As if my mind's been wiped clean..."
"As if they didn't already have *the bear*..." She closes her eyes as if remembering something painful.
"As if you've got better ones, Officer Bloodshot." A muffled voice suddenly clambers through the thick, solid metal gates.
"As impressive as the fridge is, this is a *small* victory. Among numerous defeats."
"As in cloning itself? What makes you think so?"
"As it should be. Anyway. Thank you for returning my key."
"As it stands, I'm going to have to thwart your plan by explaining to the woman that we are police officers."
"As long as there is mankind, there is also meaning."
"As long you're making ends meet and advancing your career objectives."
"As mankind or... as a nation or..."
"As retaliation, their rifleman shot you. He hit. With his carabine -- I was looking for a clear line of sight. When I found it..."
"As retaliation, their rifleman tried shooting you. He hit the cuirass... I heard it go off. I was looking for a clear line of sight to him."
"As retaliation, their rifleman tried shooting you. He missed -- or you dodged..."
"As the leader of this group -- reconsider your actions. This does not need to end in bloodshed."
"As they do."
"As to who hired me for the job -- I don't know. But *they're* after me too. Along with Looskap, and their friends in the MI." She breathes out, heavily. "Once you're done in the competitive intelligence circuit, you don't have allies. You're radioactive."
"As you *probably* know, there's a corpse hanging from a tree there. It smells pretty bad. So I have to take breaks."
"As you can see -- it's about three metres tall. In fact, we think it may be the largest land invertebrate ever discovered."
"As you can see... I have a wide selection of goods for everyone to choose from."
"As you can see..." Cuno nods towards the fence. "Cuno and C don't trust you. Can't do business without trust."
"As you know, there was considerable interest in this case at my station, but probably not for the reasons you have in mind..."
"As you may know, us high-net-worth individuals do not have a lot of cash on hand. Investments and liquidity are enemies of one another -- I think I only have coins for coffee machines."
"As you ought to. *Communism* style."
"As you please."
"As you will..."
"As you wish. Till next time," she nods, turning back to her table.
"As you wish." He takes another drag.
"As your investigation reaches a climax, so does theirs. They are your shadow. Arm yourselves. Armour yourselves..."
"As... *elegant* as they are, I don't think they are relevant to the drug trade."
"Ask around the harbour. There might be some workers there who'd be willing to help."
"Ask away, pig man, but I don't promise to answer." Despite the sass, she puts the brush aside.
"Ask away, policeman."
"Ask him to describe it! His gun! Not his *fun*, just the gun will do..." He laughs.
"Ask him!"
"Ask him..." The speaker gasps for air. "Ask him if he lost his *gun* too!" The room roars with laughter.
"Ask him...." The speaker succumbs to laughter. "Ask him to check his hand -- the one without a wine bottle -- it bet that's where his badge is!"
"Ask me a normal question or leave me alone."
"Ask the wind or 'Aska i Vinden" is the name of a vaasan lullaby," he remarks. "Maybe that helps?"
"Asking?"
"Ass up."
"Assault of a police officer! Help!"
"Asshole till the end, huh. Well, fuck you too, then!" He doesn't sound angry, despite shouting.
"Assholes..."
"Assign it to someone else, Alice -- we've got enough on our plate."
"Astrology?"
"At MAXIMUM velocity, fucko!"
"At any cost -- until humanity is free and the age of Capital is past."
"At any rate," he gestures toward Gary as though he were presenting a work of art, "*this* is that racist."
"At dawn he comes upon two kipts, breeding in the bushes by the river. Or maybe they weren't breeding -- maybe they were just making eyes at each other. I like to think they were breeding..."
"At ease, patrol officer Pigs, your heart is in the right place." (Bow.)
"At first I thought -- why not, maybe the pieces can feed the strike? Buy us a few more days under the sun, you know."
"At first, yes. I *was* angry at you. But I truly am *not* any more. My life is in a very good place..." She glances over her shoulder.
"At last, someone sensible..." She fiddles with her pendant. "However, I still urge you to buy one. Can't judge a book by the cover, they say!"
"At least *something* good came out of all this." The lieutenant glances at the badge in your hands.
"At least crab man seems like an *advanced* being. He's hard. He'll understand."
"At least for the time being." He nods. "If we don't like it, I can always amend this later. In my paperwork."
"At least he got to say his peace."
"At least he put the fucking fiddle down. I've seen this before, Titus. Addict cops. They got access to confiscated drugs and then they start *experimenting*."
"At least it had some spark to it. Most young designers just combine lace with leather and call it original." She shifts in her simple workwear shirt.
"At least it's in good hands." He sips his beer, recovering. "Well. We'll get her help. You just stay out of the way. Way far out of the way."
"At least it's not running them a loss anymore, now that you've un-plugged the cable." He points at the red snaky cable running from the fridge.
"At least not in the same *manner and volume* as the others do. They are the long standing provisional rulers of Revachol now -- the Coalition Government."
"At least now I know how I lost my sidearm. Let's talk about something else." (Conclude.)
"At least now we know a quick way in and out."
"At least some people are willing to make the necessary sacrifices in order to reach higher, and to better the world."
"At least they left some old music behind." (Tap on the tape you picked up)
"At least those who remain..." She falls silent and turns to look over her shoulder, as though looking for someone.
"At least we can now ask Titus some concrete questions about it."
"At least we have a pretty good suspect. If we found your motor carriage in the sea, maybe we'll find her too."
"At least we've stopped the body from decomposing further -- or will have, once you plug the fridge back in. Then you can conduct one more inspection."
"At least we've stopped the body from decomposing further. Now you can conduct another inspection. Under controlled *circumstances*."
"At least you called."
"At least you got a nice jacket for your troubles." The lieutenant shrugs.
"At least you got the benefits, that's something."
"At least you know it." He nods toward Martinaise. "The traitors of this city turned the lights back on in the Thirties, after the fighting stopped. Ruins, glittering in the dark, like a fucking merry-go-round..."
"At least you understand the gravity of the situation, detective. We need to take a breather from this scene." He points at you. "Now."
"At least you were forthcoming with your doubt. Now, let's move on. I find this subject tiresome."
"At least, that's the intention. The net isn't a perfect solution, but we didn't want to use anything that might damage the specimen's delicate exoskeleton."
"At night, crying, or smoking on the roof. Like she knew I was here..." He says to no one in particular: "It doesn't matter."
"At night. I used a dinghy..." He nods toward the deflated tire in the reeds. "I only went after dark then. When I got to the city I stayed underground. Patrols. You lot. The commons too, they'd started snitching..."
"At the 57th we like to prepare an initial list of persons of interest and then just... skim the surface." He gestures with his fingers. "Prepare the field, get to know the players. You don't do that? Maybe it's not an inter-district practice..."
"At the Station gym, I mean. I prefer running. It clears your head..." The lieutenant steps away from the barbell, letting your recover in peace.
"At the end of the last century." He nods "Look on the bright side. If it fails, we will only sustain minor injuries -- I'm talking three, maybe four months in the hospital. maximum five."
"At the upper limit is the large prime number generator station. It's used specifically for pale latitude compression. That's why you may be hearing some numbers. But you might also hear -- or think you're hearing -- local radio chatter."
"Au contraire, officer. I also feel queasy about the pittance the Coalition calls your salary. Now is there something else I can do for you, or did you want to chat about *dialectics* some more?"
"Au contraire. It's how millions of people end up where they are, meeting the people they meet. It's how I came here, and my friend, too."
"Avenge and die... that simple (hic)... You'll be proud, T..."
"Aw man, really?!" His smile wanes slightly. "You're a complete ballbuster."
"Aw shit, it's on..." He grins. "Turn: emergency, open."
"Aw, c'mon, you gotta cut him some slack. Pig's been working hard. Digging through the guts of corpses and shit. Getting shot and shit."
"Aw, can't you do it Kim? I'm wiped out."
"Aw, fuck, pig. We totally gotta go to the island now." He pumps a fist in the air. "Tryna not go to the island... Just one Q."
"Aw, fuck. Took some convincing my ass. And those guys *liked* me -- I know it. If this is what happens to people whom people like..."
"Aw, shoot." He bursts out laughing. "Why not?"
"Aw, shucks! And here I was, getting ever so hopeful. Does the ardent copman want to ask *more questions* then?"
"Aw, thank you, dear. I confess -- I am glad to see it again. Very honourable of you, officer."
"Aw, thank you, dear. I confess -- I am glad to see it again."
"Aya aye -- it's political." She stops you. "No need to step on a soapbox about it. What if we *disagree*?"
"Aye -- walk right past Measurehead and go in."
"Aye! I saw him one night when I were right shit faced!"
"Aye', cut that shit out, man."
"Aye, 's'what I said."
"Aye, I bet they are. The good ones at least."
"Aye, I guess you are." She nods. "I understand that's how it goes."
"Aye, I guess you do. What's on your mind, Officer Harry?"
"Aye, I guess you do. What's on your mind, officer?"
"Aye, always do... I like it. It's like being on another planet. A water planet. With water worries... and water joys."
"Aye, but don't let grow too much... this is not the place to settle down. Now, what's on your mind, Officer Harry?"
"Aye, but don't let grow too much... this is not the place to settle down. Now, what's on your mind, officer?"
"Aye, by amphetamine I mean speed."
"Aye, by the looks of you, you do. Well, we're here now." She nods to you, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Aye, even *I* can see that. I told you not to bring your trouble with you, policeman. We've got troubles of our own here..."
"Aye, every word he says is true."
"Aye, good thinking."
"Aye, if you say so." She plucks on her net. "Probably better that way. I mean --who likes construction noise?"
"Aye, laundry fetchers are some of the most *honourable* people I know." Her smile gleams like a freshly honed knife.
"Aye, ma'am... And it's a jetty, by the way."
"Aye, now here's the thing... at any time, some other capitalist could take the place over with the blink of an eye, without even owning any of the buildings."
"Aye, officer. I certainly will."
"Aye, officer." A woman in a rain coat stands on the quay, considering an overturned boat. A sword in a scabbard hangs from her hip.
"Aye, so an officer should be. All that running around must need a lot of *structuring...*" She lets out a little laugh, as she turns to face the sun reflected in the waves.
"Aye, so here you are. Early in the morning and the sun is up." She breathes in the fresh air. "And not a drunk or teenager in sight. I'm surprised."
"Aye, so here you are. It's late and it's raining. The water is..." She puts her hands out and lets the rain fall on her palms. "Cold. Ice cold."
"Aye, so here you are. It's late and it's snowing. The snow is..." She extends her hand and catches a snowflake in her palm. "...Well, it's not really snow, it's slush."
"Aye, so here you are. It's late and the sun is going down. It'll be dark soon. If we stay here long enough we will be joined by a cortège of drunks and teenagers."
"Aye, so here you are. Mid-noon and the rain is..." She puts her hand in the rain, "...ice-cold as always. And it appears the drunks and teenagers haven't arrived yet."
"Aye, so here you are. Mid-noon and the snow is..." She catches a flake in her hand. "...well, it's not really snow, it's slush. At least the drunks and teenagers haven't joined us yet."
"Aye, so here you are. The sun is up and the rain is..." she puts her hand in the rain, "...cold. Ice cold. I don't mind. At least it keeps the drunks and teenagers at bay."
"Aye, so here you are. The sun is up and there's a ton of snow coming down." She catches a flake. "Well, it's not really snow, it's slush. At least it keeps the drunks and teenagers at bay."
"Aye, so here you are." She looks around. "I'm a bit surprised we're alone. It's mid-noon and the sun is out. I expected more drunks and teenagers. And drunk teenagers."
"Aye, that was it." He gives you a thumbs up. "The spirits, real good stuff, you see!"
"Aye, that were a classic, too."
"Aye, that you are, dark Omen -- help yourselves and your organization. Help the storm clouds gather on the horizon..." She shakes her head.
"Aye, that's the jacket you stole two weeks ago. From the kid who was making it with his gal on the beach."
"Aye, that's what I said just now... 300 reál. Don't you try to trick me, buddy-boy". He points his ginger in your general direction, "Now you want it or not?!"
"Aye, the mind..." He pats his temple. "...plays tricks sometimes. Always double-check. So you want it or not?"
"Aye, the sea's gonna calm down soon. I can feel it. The wind is turning south-east." She nods. "What's on your mind, officer?"
"Aye, they're good kids. I brought them up the right way." There's a touch of pride in her voice.
"Aye, we all feel that way sometimes..." She turns her gaze towards the beach. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm the protagonist even in my own life story."
"Aye, we do... we do..." A hint of sadness passes through her face. "But how do we do that?"
"Aye, you lost me there, honcho. But it's okay as long as you're not a sorry-ass scab." He looks at them in disbelief.
"Aye, you're the starriest of them all," she says with mock seriousness, then bursts out laughing as she turns to face the sun reflected in the waves.
"Aye," she nods.
"Aye," she nods. "And a benevolent one. When did you last have one of those on your side?"
"Aye-aye, sir." The easy-going man winks at you.
"Aye. Brains, generally, aren't very good, are they? I prefer backs, arms, shoulders -- lungs, too." She smiles. "You know..."
"Aye. Feels deserved, don't you think? Falling in the line of duty like that and all."
"Aye. Lilienne's not the only one who's too trusting."
"Aye. No one wants to talk about how frightened they are. But only frightened people are *really* dangerous -- and *plenty* of them are dangerous."
"Aye." He seems pleased with himself.
"Aye." Her eyes grow wide with glee. "Sometimes it's as though I've also gotten lost inside this nameless nothing."
"Aye." She looks at the rain circles on the water. "*Sunny* days. You got a problem with that?"
"Aye." She looks at the snow melt in the water. "*Sunny* days. You got a problem with that?"
"Aye." She nods and looks at the shack. "The room is pretty bare bones, but it's got a bed and roof over it. That's more than some folks have around here."
"Aye." She nods solemnly. "I've always taken you for one, that's for sure. Not a lot of RCM men who aren't killers."
"Aye." She nods solemnly. "Not a lot of RCM men who aren't killers."
"Aye." She nods. "I better head home to the kids."
"Aye? Do tell." A seagull flies overhead -- obviously a bad omen.
"Aye? What's this about?" She takes out the documents and squints her eyes. "Come now, I can't read all this scribble. Tell me what it says."
"B triple prime..." The lieutenant lowers his voice, stepping closer with his hand on his gun. "This looks like a good place to shoot from."
"B: Non-fatal, post-mortem."
"BABE, SEE THAT THEY STAY HERE THE WHOLE TIME."
"BABE, THANKS." The tattoos on his stone face briefly form a smile. "BUT I GOT THIS."
"BEAUTIFUL CORE, BEAUTIFUL LIFE!"
"BEGGING FOR HELP. ATTEMPTING TO PASS FEAR FOR COOPERATION. HOW FAR THE OCCIDENTAL HAPLOGROUP HAS FALLEN..." He pauses in melancholy reflection. "YOU WERE ONCE A NOBLE AND POWERFUL RACE."
"BLOW UP! BLOW UP!" The young man with the large head pumps his fist in the air.
"BRING YOUR TROOPS TO THE SEMENINE ISLANDS AND TO BOOGIE STREET AND WE WILL PULVERIZE YOU. WHEN YOU ARE GONE WE WILL BUILD A MUSEUM FOR YOU."
"BUT ENOUGH. IT IS CRUEL TO ENTERTAIN OURSELVES WITH THE DEFORMITIES OF TYPE C-F. WERE THERE ANY ABLE BODIED RACES YOU NEEDED EDUCATION ON?"
"BUT." He leans in and intones: "WHILE I AM GONE SOMEONE MUST STAND GUARD ON THE BRIDGE. THAT SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE *YOU*."
"Baaang! Got fucked by the Cuno." You hear him say as you walk away. "We alright. You wanna get fucked again, come back."
"Babroudine, yes. Inexpensive. Size M. Colour: white."
"Baby, don't be mean," The woman pleads with Measurehead. "Give him another chance."
"Baby, you know who I am -- everybody knows." (Wink.)
"Babybeard was in here. Was probably a *bitch* to clean this shit up..." This seems to please him.
"Babysitting imbeciles... what the heck, Liz?"
"Back already?" He grins at you.
"Back in Mesque during the time of the revolution." The smile returns to her face. "The sidewalks and cafes are filled with young people... I was on my way to see a new boiadeiro picture starring Gabriel Buenguerro."
"Back is symmetrical and intact." He struggles to turn the corpse on his side. "Upper and lower extremities are intact, but asymmetrical. There are combat injuries on the right hand, thigh, and hip."
"Back off, fuck-eyes. Cuno is a man." He puffs up his chest. "Cuno can smoke if he wants."
"Back out and take your fat ass with you."
"Back there, on the plaza? I think you very nearly had a heart attack. Alcoholism has damaged you more than bullets have..." There's a small pause. "We should go."
"Back there, on the plaza? I think you very nearly had another heart attack. Alcoholism has damaged you more than bullets have..." There's a small pause. "We should go."
"Back to me." She breathes in the menthol-flavoured fume, savouring it in her lungs.
"Back to police-mode." (Smile and nod.) "I have some questions, Gaston."
"Back to that shithole," he says.
"Back to the heavyweight jam!" says the young man with the tape player and the large boiadeiro boots. Lung-shaped trees sprout on his silver belt buckle.
"Back to those basic terms of reality then."
"Back to you."
"Back was symmetrical and intact, upper and lower extremities also -- but asymmetrical." The lieutenant nods along to his meticulous overview. "Old combat injuries on the right hand, thigh and hip."
"Back when you waved your gun and it went off -- she does the fisher-people-näkk thing when she's *way* in the red. On overdrive."
"Back-up?" She lowers the megaphone half-way, but immediately raises it again and screams: "BACK-UP, BACK-UP! STATUS UNCONFIRMED!"
"Baconman's in a rush. But what's in it for the Cuno?" He crosses his arms. "What's the return on Cuno's investment?"
"Bad arthritis, yes. He's not playing this week." (Lie)
"Bad for him, I guess."
"Bad people. Criminals. Dangerous women."
"Bad." The man glares at you. "Standing on a narrow bridge, he's got a strategically advantageous position. And he's trained."
"Bag him. Take him away, Kim." (Let the lieutenant take the body away without further examination.)
"Bah! I've handled enough heavy machinery in my day."
"Bah! Why do I even have this useless bolt?"
"Bah!" His gaze wonders over the bay. "There were many such stories in those days. Many such men too. True Revacholians, men with *backbone*."
"Ballistics. Let him cook here for a minute or two -- we can have another look around the island for a sniper's nest." He looks to the small tower on the coast. "I think we should check out the post."
"Ballistics. Let him cook here for a minute or two -- we can have another look at the set-up he had there, with the mattress." He nods South-East to the tower. "Ballistics always impresses these military types."
"Banaital, '41... that really happened didn't it?"
"Bankrupt."
"Barely alive. They like to kill while they're on their drugs. After the landing, in the burning years I would take shots at them, *end* them. The worst ones. If I had a bullet to spare."
"Based on what I've heard about you -- you *are* serious scum," she responds, holding your gaze.
"Basically -- yes."
"Basically a socialist mob."
"Basically it makes sure the price of bread doesn't change."
"Basically what you need to find here is a tape with some banging music on it, so that Egg Head could use it to remix van Eyck's jam."
"Basically, yes -- although it's mostly about frequency range, not the wires making *bwee-*sounds. Still -- I'm impressed."
"Basically, you're a self-interested moderate?"
"Basking in your glory, yeah. Practically drowning in it. Please, tell me what your complaint is before I am completely submerged."
"Bastards..." (Slowly shake your head.)
"Basteeerds! We have a RIGHT TO WORK!" the man yells towards the harbour gates. His voice is the loudest of the lot -- and oddly screechy for a man his size.
"Be *very* careful...." the kid whispers, then takes a step toward to giant anthropod...
"Be a communist, Egg Head. The future needs your help."
"Be a fascist, Egg Head. Our future needs your help."
"Be a moralist, Egg Head. The balance needs your help."
"Be an ultraliberal, Egg Head. Capital needs your help."
"Be careful -- it's loaded." He unholsters and gives you his firearm. It feels oddly light and buzzing in your hand. Like a funny toy.
"Be careful in there, officer. And tell us how it goes, yeah? We'll be here."
"Be careful out there, Lena." (Conclude)
"Be careful out there. Sea's calm as death, but still... there are ruins underwater. You can scrape the paint... or worse."
"Be careful, detective. Don't do anything that might set her off."
"Be careful, detective... It's moving."
"Be friendly, dear," the woman says. "The detective really likes these critters, we've talked about them in great *detail*."
"Be how it may -- if it fits, it fits!" He pumps his fist in the air. "Bring up the volume!"
"Be it far from me to ever question your integrity, Harry, but you must have opened the wrong door," he says with a wry smile. "Next time, please be certain you get the right one."
"Be logical, kid. I haven't done anything to you."
"Be more specific. How did you subdue him?"
"Be my guest." She looks at the boys. "They've a strange way of talking. See if you can get anything *useful* out of them. I seldom do..."
"Be my guest." She takes a sip from her thermal cup.
"Be pedantic, if you like -- it doesn't matter. No one else is going to investigate this man's murder. And if they *do*, such details would only *confuse* them."
"Be seein' you." [Leave.]
"Be seeing you." [Leave.]
"Be sentimental, if you like. Either way -- the Moralintern leases us the right to keep the peace in this city. And they will take it away if we misuse it."
"Be serious a moment, please..."
"Be straight with me, Titus: What really happened?" (Wrap this up.)
"Be straight with me, what kind of music *do* you listen to?"
"Be straight with me. I need to get my bearings."
"Be that as it may, it doesn't change the fact. We have a duty to her. Let's see it through." He gestures back toward the tunnels. "After you."
"Be very, *very* careful," the lieutenant whispers, then takes a step toward to giant anthropod...
"Be wary of the abyss," his blonde friend adds ominously and points to his temple.
"Be welcome -- and *please* take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space."
"Beat it. You're cramping my style."
"Beats and bright lights to shatter falsehoods. Nerve impulses for the collective body. We are very much alike in basic structure. A hard enough beat would awaken everyone to a truer calling -- in unity!"
"Beats me. Somewhere in the ground, I think."
"Beats me. They mumble nonsense about *board rooms* and *workers rights*. While we --" he raises his fist and starts shouting again, "-- HAVE THE RIGHT TO WORK!"
"Beats me." She exhales a puff of shimmering cold air. A moment passes.
"Beats me... Noid said they get along, somehow. They're both crazy enough, I guess."
"Beautiful world. Beautiful aerodrome."
"Beautiful!" The smoker crawls up to you like an animal preparing to jump. "Beautiful, that's exactly what we're looking for! Who knows, maybe you *were* homo-sexual in the past, maybe all of that has been *repressed*..." He circles his hands around you.
"Beautiful," he replies, smiling. As he looks at you, something sparkles in his eyes.
"Beautiful," he says again. A nearby street lamp casts shadows on his chin, drawing out the slender cheekbones.
"Beautiful," he says, wiping his hands in his handkerchief. "A dead body in an ice bear fridge -- this is some of the best police work I've ever done."
"Beautiful." (Wipe a tear from your eye.)
"Beautiful..."
"Beautiful...."
"Beauty, don't abandon me in all this ugliness!"
"Because *actually* he wanted stability and incremental progress -- and so do I."
"Because Frittte has an army?"
"Because I *did it*?" the man scoffs.
"Because I *hope* you didn't mean to climb that ladder..." He points to the ladder next to the sign and says: "It's *not* safe."
"Because I believe a powerful nation-state is the only way to protect the working class from subhumans."
"Because I couldn't *handle* it anymore." She takes a drag -- her voice thick with disgust. "None of these people called. He just kept hanging there. Then they started stripping him..."
"Because I feel like a killer."
"Because I felt a twitch in my index finger."
"Because I have a problem with homo-sexuals. Major problem."
"Because I have that."
"Because I needed to drive into the ocean."
"Because I needed to get to the ocean."
"Because I want you to bribe me. I'm a police officer, remember? That's what you're supposed to *do* around here."
"Because I was weak." He says, staring at nothing in particular. "I should have told you the moment I saw you, but..."
"Because I'll be a superstar cop, in the papers and everything! That'll show 'em."
"Because I'm a broke cop without a cent to my name."
"Because I'm a communard."
"Because I'm a police detective. And manufacturing drugs is *illegal*."
"Because I'm a police officer, right?"
"Because I'm afraid that something might happen. It's an unknown phenomenon..." She turns to Egg Head. "We can always turn it back up if there's a need."
"Because I'm an *idiot*." The answer comes fast.
"Because I'm insane."
"Because I'm not a bartender. I'm a cafeteria manager. Is there anything else you wanted?"
"Because I'm not. Now tell me something else about Noid."
"Because I'm one of the best camionneurs around, that's why. I drive routes no one else will."
"Because I'm under stress." Her mouth is tense, the muscles in her feet tighten.
"Because I... am corrupt? I don't really remember how it works, though -- being corrupt, I mean."
"Because a great percentage of Revachol's culture hails from Sur-la-Clef -- its language, its people, its cuisine even, or at least in the downtown La Delta area."
"Because cynical advertising yuppies erected a *deconstructed* version of it."
"Because getting physical wasn't an option!"
"Because he asks to put the fire out!" the other explains.
"Because he laid the foundations of modern economics, even if he got the ethics wrong."
"Because he was a *god damn* dandy!" he exclaims furiously. "Had no business leading men or even being on the battlefield. All he was, was *related*. That's it."
"Because he was totally a gangster and a bank robber who went for *all* the cash in the world. That's *me*."
"Because if you don't, who will?"
"Because instead of the traditional family unit we're going to have all this *razzamatazz*," he wiggles his hands, "and mysteries, of course, too -- mysteries of *sexual* nature, very esoteric. And disco music and drugs."
"Because it reminds us of death. And we humans tend to think that death is pretty scary."
"Because it told me to."
"Because it was manufactured in Revachol East by a company called Cor-de-Leite, and it's hull is '19 paces long."
"Because it's a *sniper's nest*, you stupid fuck. Radio Gauche is right, you have worms in your brain..." Another sudden twitch, then one more one in his right eye...
"Because it's black, the colour of immeasurable cosmos."
"Because it's buried in a sealed plastic bag at an undisclosed location on the coast. Along with cash and airline tickets."
"Because it's chronically mismanaged, deeply corrupt, and completely outmatched."
"Because it's impossible, I know that. Still..."
"Because it's just trial and error, trying to locate the swallow -- the exact point in space."
"Because it's me... Look, I don't understand what you're saying or why you're calling me. You seem drunk."
"Because it's not human. Humans  betray you."
"Because it's not part of..." He makes a precise hand gesture: "Reality."
"Because it's sleek... and fish-like."
"Because it's the funkiest building in Martinaise. And because all the other buildings are bombed to hell."
"Because it's the nature of the powerful to exploit the weak."
"Because life is hell, officer," she finds refuge in her cigarette. It's thin, but it's something.
"Because moralists believe in a normal, stable world governed by democratic values."
"Because of all those hauls through the pale?"
"Because of the *racists*. Everyone is a racist in Martinaise, it's their favourite thing to do in the whole world -- listening to race-themed radio shows. In the ruins, in their lorries." He points inland.
"Because of the Hardies -- I couldn't just dispense with them, they were only trying to help me." She looks at her feet. "Out of the shit I'd gotten into."
"Because people either show up on their own or you'll never find them," he says with a flash of teeth.
"Because she was dead."
"Because she was here *all night*. With us."
"Because she's from Martinaise and people from Martinaise have never ever seen a radiocomputer. She thinks it emits elemental *evil*."
"Because she's your real leader."
"Because that keeps the network... working... right."
"Because that's what happens when communards hijack your country, execute your supreme leadership, and turn your capital into a slaughterhouse. You use *heavy ordnance* to clean up your home."
"Because that's what they were doing..." He shrugs, then smacks his lips.
"Because the cow caught a bullet in her right lung. Fell into the canal grasping her tit and drowned. Or bled -- hard to say. It was a sloppy job. On a moving target."
"Because the king is holy and his statues are indestructible."
"Because the way you earn points is by pleasing the suzerain, and the player with the most points wins the game."
"Because they can no longer recognize the person I once was."
"Because they have guns!"
"Because they're not really human, right?"
"Because this is a *culinary* establishment, not a morgue. I can't believe you even asked me."
"Because this place is the damn Beachhead," he says, pointing to the bay. "Had to soften the commies up first."
"Because we *deterred* them? Or Joyce did? Maybe the harbour -- in full lockdown -- is too costly a target. Or maybe..." he breathes in the fume, thinking.
"Because we are! We totally are!"
"Because we can be just as psycho and vicious. You'll see."
"Because we do, we totally do!"
"Because we don't. We don't have air support -- or any of those other things."
"Because we talked about this. We talked about not wandering off again!" She scoffs. "I don't know what to do! I honestly don't know what to do with his addiction... It just makes me feel weak."
"Because we took it," he says, "from the harbour where we work. Then we went out back and used it to *hang* him."
"Because we're friends, Harry! Besides, it doesn't matter now. You can go tell her, if you want -- it won't change the course of events. We have a significant head start."
"Because what wasn't an option?" The lieutenant looks startled.
"Because when one fucks everything, he fucks nothing. And that, to me, feels glorious -- sticking your dick into the void."
"Because you forgot to take it down?"
"Because you haven't taken it away yet, and it must be stinking *hard* about now. Well -- your not putting it here. Rest assured."
"Because you usually aren't."
"Because you're a dangerous subversive, obviously."
"Because you're a police officer, sir." She pulls on her cigarette.
"Because you're an *ill omen*. But you're still welcome here as long as men with guns aren't chasing you. And maybe even then, because that's the kind of fishing village we've built."
"Because you're not a bartender?"
"Because... Listen, man, why does anyone do anything?"
"Because.... because..." The boy pauses to think.
"Been admiring the stompers, eh?" He grins. "Sure thing, check 'em out." He lifts his left foot, then the right.
"Been holed up here for three days now. I'm used to being alone and all, but -- I don't know when I'll be able to leave, or if I'll be ratted out. They *will* rat me out, of course. I've made it a point to believe in the best in people (the boys, for example), but -- experience tells me..."
"Been looking at anything else you haven't *liked*?"
"Been readin' shit here," Cuno notes, thoughtfully. "Hooked on the book."
"Been spending a lot of time here ever since. The past is nothing to me now, wey. It didn't belong to me."
"Been thinking of getting *Whirling-In-Rags* tatted on my ass, boss."
"Been waitin' for you to fucking man up." He nods at the building behind him. "In there is Cuno's violent dad. On steroids. Cuno's dad does steroids *and* speed. If you can take him, you can have half the speed."
"Beer me, Glenny!"
"Before -- outside. When we were walking across the sand, I felt someone watching me."
"Before -- when I evaluated his state -- he seemed strangely animated."
"Before I came, you seemed... *away*."
"Before I go on, where is Rue de Saint-Ghislaine?"
"Before Martinaise was swallowed by the industrial harbour, even before it was part of Revachol -- long before Terminal B was erected here -- the Pines built it as a resort for its Revacholian employees."
"Before that, tell me..."
"Before the Beachhead the Coalition bombarded Revachol's coastal defences for a week -- some rogue shells found their way to civilian neighbourhoods like Martinaise..."
"Before we continue -- who is Ruby?"
"Before we do..." He turns to her, the cuffs still in his hand. "What exactly in your relationship made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"Before we go on -- if it's *snitching* then why do it?"
"Before we go on with that let's talk about how you said it was just some roofing material some gimps left behind. That was a *lie*."
"Before we go on, what do you mean by *Meteoran*?"
"Before we go on, what is this Frittte?"
"Before we go on... you seem to be well off enough, can you give me some money? I feel there won't be an opportune moment to ask later."
"Before you get to the church, there's some ruins -- an apartment complex, or some kind of electrical plant... Run down bunch of houses, empty."
"Before you go I have some *questions* for you."
"Before you said *they* hoisted him up on a tree. Who did you mean by *they*?"
"Before you was only the room -- the sound of the motor vehicle. Steam in the bathroom. And darkness."
"Before you were a cop, you were a gym teacher in Couron." She looks around. "It's getting really cold outside. Should we maybe..."
"Before, you mentioned the headlights of your vehicle?"
"Before? After? *During?*" She shakes her head slowly. "I seriously advise you to stop testing these men. They're getting *agitated*."
"Before? After? *During?*" She spreads her arms. "This is getting ridiculous. They told you what happened. Stop wasting your time."
"Beg the book-bitch?"
"Behind this building there's a courtyard." He points to the kitchen behind him. "They hoisted him up on a tree there."
"Behold my brain the golden throne of my conciousness. In here I am seated. Shackled. From here I police the land."
"Behold my vast accomplishments."
"Behold! We have created an *ice bear sarcophagus*."
"Behold!" (Point to *The Expression* on your face.)
"Behold, my badge!"
"Being a police detective, I have performed a handwriting analysis on this, so I *know* it was you."
"Being off speed makes Cuno sad. Makes Cuno *think* about shit." He makes vague gestures around his head with his fingers.
"Being rich does not make one impervious to the human condition. Maybe I do have a strange chin and you are the first person to call me out on this. Not that you should. But you did. For this -- I am grateful."
"Being smart is the only way to *cop*, little girl. I can do this way better than him."
"Being sober also tends to help with precision. Anyway, we performed a field autopsy on the victim. We didn't learn much, though."
"Being sober also tends to help with precision. At any rate, we still have to perform the autopsy. And there's more work to do at the crime scene."
"Being sober also tends to help with precision. But, moving on to the interviews..."
"Being sober tends to help with precision. Anyway, we performed a field autopsy on the victim. We didn't learn much, though."
"Being sober tends to help with precision. At any rate, we still have to perform the autopsy. And there's more work to do at the crime scene."
"Being sober tends to help with precision. But, moving on to the interviews..."
"Being what?"
"Believe it or not, Wild Pines isn't even the most notorious example -- that would be Saint-Baptiste. You can go quite far with that attitude."
"Believe it, you *need* this shit..." He unzips his jacket to give you a quick peek at the plastic-wrapped pants. They are graphite-black and look brand new.
"Believe it. I am the miracle worker. The bedazzle-man. Around me, dreams come true."
"Believe me, Harry, he's a nobody. Just your basement-variety nobody... Can't imagine him being connected to a high-calibre case like this."
"Believe me, I'd know. I *know* spectres." (Rub your temple.)
"Believe me, dude, it's better we talk about something else."
"Believe me, he's not a killer. He's a nobody. Just a basement-variety armchair fascist, who comes up with needlessly complex conspiracy theories."
"Believe me, officer, I wish I could help you, but I need this sandwich to keep my blood sugar stable." He's squirming, avoiding your gaze. "In my age you need to pay attention to these things."
"Believe me, they felt uncomfortable."
"Believe me, we know. We've got our eyes on you. Can't keep it to yourself, can you? Always creepin' into the lives of others, trying to dominate their actions, even their conversations."
"Believe me, you don't wanna get into that shit." She flicks the ash from her cigarette.
"Believe me, you won't *guess* it. You either know, or you don't." He corrects his hat and says -- as if it's the most sensible thing in the world...
"Believe me," the lieutenant replies -- sounding a little defensive -- "it's plenty enough. Kineema feels right at home on the raised motor tract. Hard to find something that could overtake it."
"Believe us. It really is."
"Bell boys..."
"Belle-Magrave rifle. The ammo points to it."
"Below 2% of what?"
"Benita. She's a model. Usually it's a model. Or a singer-songwriter. Or a model."
"Beside your gun and your badge? You said something about your hope, or heart, or something. To be honest the details are a little hazy..."
"Besides *muscular*, did he have any other identifying traits?"
"Besides, I doubt you could have taken down a hardened mercenary single-handedly..."
"Besides, I've been to Katla, though not quite as far north as the Hjelmdall, and watched the northern lights travel across the sky. Very unique energetic tides there."
"Besides, I've got to run."
"Besides, did you know that *smell experiences* are all the rage now at the most forward-thinking venues?"
"Besides, didn't I have some Seolite hope catchers around here somewhere...? I must find them; everything will be alright if I can just find them."
"Besides, getting the body down would benefit all of us. It's a stain on the neighbourhood."
"Besides, in certain less-advanced nations the Moralintern may defer to local custom..."
"Besides, it would look *extremely* bad for the RCM to be caught up in something that has the word *COCAINE* writ large on it. The PR is tricky on this."
"Besides, owning a Rehm Prefect isn't such a big deal anymore."
"Besides, the RCM doesn't *do* search warrants. I know the law. You'll just have to wait for the kitchen to open -- if you *have* to get in there. Which you don't."
"Besides, there are no non-corrupt systems in the world anyway. And *moralism* is the most corrupt of them all."
"Besides, this gear costs a fortune -- there's no one in Martinaise with that kind of money."
"Besides, this would only tempt the phantoms of doom... They can sense the desperation, you know."
"Besides, we should really get to the island." He looks at the sea.
"Besides, we're not that different." He leans closer. "It helps if people see us talking -- cops and strikebreakers together. Shows authorities are on our side. Builds confidence."
"Besides, you also need Isobel's signature," she says with a smile. "If it's a bad idea, she won't sign."
"Besides, you're only saying this because things didn't work out between us." She stops. "I really have to go to the aerodrome, I don't have time for this."
"Besides," he points to the sign on his booth, "there are no returns or exchanges for items purchased in this shop."
"Best not to be a communist. Having extreme views on issues is detrimental to understanding all sides."
"Best of luck to you, officers."
"Bet he can't even bend over to pick the gun his rigid fingers dropped. Real detectives are sinewy and snake-hipped. Like me."
"Bet they like it that way," she mutters. Quietly, under her breath.
"Bet you've been sneaking around a lot... hidden." The kid sounds agitated. "Know any secret paths? Cuno knows paths..."
"Betrayed by the things we love -- what a rotten deal..." She breathes in a large billow of menthol-infused smoke, then lets it out slowly...
"Better conclude this part of our talk."
"Better here than in that tent." (Shrug.) "It wasn't safe."
"Better keep those hands where they are, Noid."
"Better late than never."
"Better mouth your watch 'round me, boy... (hic)."
"Better not to add anything to that."
"Better not to frighten you ma'am."
"Better not to go into the Nnong Okk."
"Better not to relay it."
"Better not to tie the forestay to the backstay on this. I hope there is something else I can help you with?"
"Better not to. The semeno-kojkic chimera seems like more than I could handle right now."
"Better safe than sorry. Anything more you can tell me?"
"Better safe than sorry."
"Better safe than sorry." She takes a drag and smiles.
"Better still than an imbecilic *Cop Off*."
"Better things than take over the whole world on the sly? Sure you tell yourself that." He looks around, shadily. "Our talk here is concluded. It's not *safe* to discuss this any more."
"Better to forget about it." (Proceed.)
"Better. I even hid one bullet so I'd always have one. For him..." The lines on his face straighten as he looks inland. "Haven't seen him there lately... must be down with arthritis. Old cunt..."
"Better? No. It makes me worse."
"Between Evrart the Human Leech and Measurehead, this Union sounds like a *motley crew*. I'm into it." (Wink.)
"Between that," he points to the elevator doors in the corner, "and that," he points to the barred door.
"Between the reeds there -- it doesn't like bein' out in the open. Shifty fuck... I saw it slip there. It's gone now, but..." He pants. "Wow."
"Between this and the broken tire he's used for a boat -- I think it's safe to leave him here, while we go and get help. It will need to be medical first, I'm afraid."
"Between you and me -- I don't know if you've noticed this about me... I'm a little *suspicious* of authority. But you -- you really came through for the hard core underground."
"Between you and me," he looks you up and down, "this is why I don't get involved in local politics."
"Beyond curious... Tell me -- what do you *think* of the pale?"
"Bi-curious or plain curious?"
"Bidjakla sana dipandang manis... "
"Big deal?!" Not a muscle moves in the lieutenant's face.
"Big fucking surprise..." He mutters. "They hire psycho scum, arm them to the teeth and let them loose in the city. What do you think is gonna happen?"
"Big mess. Caused by Union greed." He shoots you a wary, distrustful look. "But I only fight for the rights of people."
"Big relief. It's a very serviceable name, too."
"Big surprise." The lieutenant grins mirthlessly. "Anyway -- one down, three to go."
"Billie, Billie *Méjean*, you said? Give me a moment, I'll have to check our database." He puts down the receiver.
"Bingo."
"Bingo." She snaps her fingers. "That's exactly what they're up to."
"Binoclard... binoclard..." he repeats to himself, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Binoclard? Is that how they do things over at the 41st? No wonder your clearance rate is so low."
"Bitch bird got what was coming to her."
"Bitch next door? That's what Cuno's thinking too," he agrees. "Good call. Let's rock it, pig-man."
"Bitch saying your injuries weren't *fatal* Cuno. You gonna let it stand?"
"Bitch you're gonna be in this shit with Cuno *forever*!" The pipo-headed critter doesn't let him finish.
"Bitch-fight, C. Bitches are at it."
"Bitches are at it. This pleases Cuno."
"Bitches fighting."
"Bitches slapping each other, fighting for Cuno's attention. Cuno likes this pole dancing shit -- but it's not good enough." He crosses his hands.
"Bitches think Cuno doesn't *know* shit..." He says angrily. "The fuck outta here, Cuno's tired of this shit."
"Black reverb? Wow... that sounds really bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage."
"Blacked out. Should you be driving a lorry if you get like that?"
"Blackout drunk, here I come!"
"Bleed, pig!" someone opens a window and says, but Emilé can't see who. His sight grows dim with pain...
"Blend in where?" He raises his brows. "A carneval?"
"Blood and violence, scantily clad women, epic narratives, all those mystical things he encounters. They're bound to grab those with little imagination and nothing to do."
"Blood ground..." The other one shakes his head. "You got old René going there. Like he isn't angry enough already..."
"Blood spatter reading, rooster sacrifice -- still quite common in Revachol," he remarks. "Hope it helps."
"Blow her away, lieutenant!"
"Blow it up!"
"Blue and violet, dyed." He answers reluctantly. "It was violet when she got here. Blue before she went."
"Blue, light blue. They were like..." She stops, her eyes half closed, then continues: "Like little blue galaxies, you know. It was strange, seeing those eyes in his fucked up face..."
"Board games are like little games on a table, made to pass the time... There are several different ones." She pauses to ponder. "But sailors here mostly buy cards."
"Body hair is light brown, distribution is consistent with age." He kneels in to get a better look: "The deceased had male pattern baldness. Hair is combed back, short."
"Body still hangin' in the tree?" He rubs his chin as if pondering his core beliefs. "Aye, that's a rough pickle... can't help you with that, sorry."
"Boo! The eyes of Martinaise are upon you, piggy!"
"Boo-fucking-hoo. People will always be taking drugs. Might as well do it clean and organized."
"Boo-yah. Master cop work."
"Boom -- I got you. Me, the most boring cop on Earth."
"Boom -- the *revelation*."
"Boom shakalaka, motherfucker!"
"Boom shakalaka."
"Boom! I got you!"
"Boom. Boom. Boom."
"Booooring!"
"Booze. Did you already forget our party?" He taps his finger to his temple. "The thing I relayed to you earlier?"
"Boring? Try *dangerous*. You should do a thorough inventory of that -- make sure some has not fallen into the hands of the RCM's enemies: organized crime, or worse... Official notes sometimes contain informants' names, even undercover operatives."
"Boring? Try *dangerous*. You should do a through inventory of that -- be sure some has not fallen into the hands of the RCM's enemies: organized crime, or worse... Official notes sometimes contain informants' names, even under cover operatives."
"Boring?! That you are always being watched and judged? Nothing you do escapes are grasp, we are ever vigilant."
"Born ready," says Andre.
"Boss, I don't want to make excuses for her, but..." He stops.
"Boss, I think he means a joyride made of suckas. You telling us we're suckers?"
"Boss, I think he's just gonna keep saying cock carousel."
"Boss, but maybe..." The blonde guy interjects. "A single machine like that is worth over 500 reál."
"Boss..." The big guy in the corner speaks up with a wheeze. "There's another in the kitchen. A blue door. I've been there..."
"Boss..." The big guy in the corner speaks up with a wheeze. "There's another on the roof next to her window. Me and Tibbs saw it when we... were replacing..."
"Boss..." The big guy in the corner speaks up with a wheeze. "There's this strange blue door in the kitchen. I've been there..."
"Both, maybe?"
"Bothered by it? Harry, you're a *goddamn* cop! They're afraid of you!"
"Bothered by it?! Harry, you look like you need a fucking organ transplant!"
"Bottles, all around him." (Point at the tare.) "She said he was drinking somewhere in Martinaise."
"Bottom line is: I know." (Proceed.)
"Bottoms up, captain!" He hands you an ugly brown bottle.
"Bought cigarettes, bought beer, even bought a bit of speed. And look at me now... I got everyone on my hook." He spreads his arms and smiles a crooked toothless smile.
"Bourgeois love from a bourgeois god-queen towards a world getting rapidly more bourgeois, that's lungs for you."
"Boy howdy." He sips his beer, recovering. "Well. We'll get her help. You just stay out of the way. Way far out of the way."
"Boy oh boy, is that not good..."
"Boy, am I ever so grateful to you, officer! But I'm not the only one who wants to thank you..." He nods toward Lena.
"Boyish. Hair's red, dyed. She looks like a lorryman."
"Boys, with *those* jackets, you're gonna be the SKULL-kings in no time!"
"Boys..." He looks around in the container. "Harry felt queasy about it. We're not doing it. Can we talk about my beautiful incorporated Martinaise and its many-sided business ventures now? This bold new vision of incorporated socialism I'm offering?"
"Brace yourself. It is *very* high concept."
"Break him, Cuno!"
"Breaking into my radiocomputer again, I see." She glares at you as she holds down the OFF button for several seconds. The machine reboots.
"Breaking into my radiocomputer, I see." She glares at you as she holds down the OFF button for several seconds. The machine reboots.
"Brilliant! Without children who'll be there to buy stuff in the future?"
"Brilliant!" He claps his hands. The air in the tent feels lighter. "Noid, the key!"
"Brilliant." The worker blinks, as if trying to scare away the sleep.
"Bring in everything you have and wipe them from the face of the earth."
"Bring it back to the source, subliminal force. No remorse."
"Bring it to me at once. Just make sure the trap is closed tight."
"Brinkmanship -- or sable-rattling... Was he surrounded by *Union men* he wanted to impress?"
"Broken bird. Feathers." (Nod knowingly.) "This is all part of the mind-fuck on the cock-carousel."
"Broken..."
"Brutal, Titus." He shakes his head. "Brutal but true. She has a hold on him."
"Brutal."
"Bugs everywhere. *Plants* turning into bugs. It's a typical hallucination. Every drunk past the age of forty has seen it."
"Build a solid routine and stick to it. That's all there is."
"Bullet holes generally look the same, so... probably." He leans in to inspect the wall. "But you are right, more old bullet holes from the Revolution."
"Bullet?" There's a silence. Her brows meet in the middle, for a pained frown. "They *shot* him too?"
"Bullshit, you're trying to..." (wince grotesquely), "throw me off. No one says that."
"Bummer it wasn't in here..."
"Burnouts!" He angrily spits on a screw, then starts cleaning it.
"Business?"
"Businesses often hire private security this side of the river. It's an unfortunate state of affairs, but not unheard of."
"Bust out the big guns."
"Busted the neck, did you?" He cranes his neck left and right, stretching. "Glad I stopped when I did... my neck was really starting to hurt. Don't worry, it'll mend... now, we should get going."
"Busy -- with what?"
"But *Disco* Elysium..." She looks unsure. "Isn't it wacky? Disco's kind of gone, isn't it? Forgotten."
"But *I'm* a cop. Whatever it was hasn't stopped me!"
"But *he's* the one trying to provoke *me*!"
"But *how*?"
"But *not* with a monetary pension unfortunately," the checkered suit snaps at his partner and turns to you. "What can I do for you, officer?"
"But *that* nook too?" The lieutenant does not let you finish.
"But -- I am derailing us. You wanted to know about the strike."
"But -- I can."
"But -- I won't pry further about the case. You mentioned something about Mr Claire, I believe? Or something in conjunction with the Union? I might have gotten the wrong idea, but..."
"But -- maybe a *fresh set of eyes* is what this world needs? And -- while I'm no doctor -- such bouts of amnesia are often temporary. So I wouldn't worry *too* much."
"But -- that was months ago. Anyway. Was there anything you wanted, or is that it? I'm in a hurry."
"But -- this is one of the great questions of our time. Maybe when they get the complete set together it will jolt us out of our rut -- bring us together. However naive it may sound."
"But -- to most of my countrymen I will always be some *monkey fucker*."
"But -- won't it be dangerous?"
"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."
"But Contact Mike is --"
"But Gary said..."
"But I *can't* think straight with this thing weighing on me..." He slaps himself on the forehead. "You're a police officer, aren't you? I have a crazy idea. You guys are basically door-opening machines. Incredibly talented at opening doors."
"But I already *bought* the sneakers."
"But I already looked at the sneakers."
"But I am so relieved to hear that he's okay. Thank you for putting an old woman's heart at ease, if even a little."
"But I appreciate the *grandiosity* of your ideas. Thus you might understand -- the entire org structure of the RCM needs to be redefined. You need a unified chain of command, an end to petty spats between precincts, new metrics for measuring performance that reward real *police work*. Does that sound right?"
"But I assume you're not here for giant würms, when there are so many real things to see. Just as I was telling Mikael before -- this is where the Coalition landed in '08. We could be standing on what is the most interesting landmark in Revachol West." He points to the building again.
"But I bowed out at some point. I prefer to watch from afar while the Big Wigs come and go."
"But I can't listen to the radio all the time. There's so much to do around here and I'm always busy keeping things running here. Yes I am, yes I am."
"But I can't remember anything."
"But I cannot describe how these defences work -- much less how they evolved -- without studying a live specimen."
"But I did. Anyway..." he looks around, a little uncomfortable now.
"But I didn't promise anything."
"But I didn't say anything."
"But I didn't try to shoot her, I just aimed at her."
"But I digress. We were focusing on your *cloak* here." He looks at the sad piece of fabric flapping in the wind.
"But I do want... details, actually..." (Cringe from the head-splitting torment.)
"But I don't deserve to be sent to the Moralintern and ground into paste just because I disturbed the *sanctity* of accounting. At some multinational..."
"But I don't have anywhere to go..."
"But I don't have children. I think."
"But I don't have the money..."
"But I don't have years to spare."
"But I don't think *anyone* has attempted to create an *interisolary* game before. We just don't have the technology."
"But I don't wanna get my shit together!"
"But I don't want to ask for it, asking is beneath me."
"But I don't," the lieutenant interjects quickly. "In fact I dislike them so much I'm willing to drag you boys back to the station just to calm myself down."
"But I have to smoke. It's part of my cool guy persona."
"But I haven't *done* anything..." She backs up against the railing -- with a forced smile on her face. "Anything *illegal*."
"But I heard someone walking inside."
"But I just *found* you again!"
"But I know the *time* of the call too!" She breathes in. "I know I have not been 100% truthful with you, officers. But I *am* now."
"But I like knowing who I am."
"But I like my lists."
"But I need some speakers."
"But I need those leftovers to survive!"
"But I promised Cuno we'd split it."
"But I put it down, there..." (Point to the red autopsy slip.)
"But I really got you good there for a moment, didn't I, Harry?" He laughs like he just pulled of a successful prank. "Now what can I do for you?"
"But I really need it."
"But I really want to be a SKULL."
"But I sense this place calling for me. I must investigate *beyond* the threshold!"
"But I suspect you knew that already. I can't say I'm surprised. The fine reputation of the men and women serving in the RCM is well deserved."
"But I swore I wouldn't let you go. You *told* me -- you asked me to be this way."
"But I swore fealty to her. She was my beautiful laede."
"But I talked to someone through the door."
"But I think that death arrived through head trauma, not liver failure."
"But I think we're done here for now. Let's head out, this is done."
"But I thought we'd be okay now -- sine-wise."
"But I thought you'd like my idea!'
"But I told you, officer. He's a bright young man here to pursue his education. Education is the foundation of our future, especially the arts. It is a cornerstone of our civilization."
"But I want to know everything now."
"But I wanted to use the prybar... I feel like I'm losing out on something not using the prybar."
"But I was talking about the singing of a burning heart... You may be thinking, 'But fire crackles!' No, homes, that's the material that's burning. The flames themselves are without sound."
"But I wasn't sad." She tilts her head.
"But I'm *the law*! It's our motto! To serve and to... warm."
"But I'm a police officer. You *have* to answer me."
"But I'm already wearing them." (Point to the sneakers.)
"But I'm completely lacking in basic information about even this organization we're in. Can you help me?"
"But I'm glad we got this sorted out. Anything else I can help you with today?"
"But I'm not going to quit *today*."
"But I'm not joking."
"But I'm obliged to inform you that both alcohol and cigarettes damage your health. But I guess you already know that."
"But I'm really hungry."
"But Jacob Irw...
"But Kim! I also can't *afford* to look any better than I do now. That's why I need the money!"
"But Kim, I'm the Augur of Desolation."
"But Kim, the spirit..."
"But Kim... the plasmic manifestations..."
"But Klaasje couldn't have known I was here. How did you?"
"But Klaasje was... mourning..."
"But Mr. Evrart and his brother always came to help. Once they beat old Noel Becker so bad he needed stitches on his head..." He chuckles again. "Noel never started another fight with anyone after this."
"But Seol makes their technology available for others."
"But Slipstream is history now. All their remaining assets got seized by the bailiffs in '47. I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around in the house..."
"But a route," he forms a gun with his hand, "does not put that bullet in his head. A gun does that. And Ruby doesn't carry one."
"But all of this seems too much of a hassle, then there's also the option of reporting back to the station and leaving the case for our colleagues to solve."
"But anyway, don't let me drift away to memory lane." He adjusts himself in the chair. "Tell me how can I help you, Harry."
"But anyway," he says after a while with a charming, apologetic smile, "I am boring you with details again. You were saying?"
"But anyway," he says after a while, "I am boring you with details again. You were saying?"
"But anyway... thanks for sharing your theories, officer." She gives you a tired smile.
"But are you *really* cornering the market is the question?"
"But as you're still staring at me like a calf stares at a freshly made gate... I assume there was something else."
"But at least the artists have their act together -- they're qualified labour, they can get work anywhere: graphic design, ads. The programmers are doing fine, too, I mean they're programmers. The writers, though... they're fucked."
"But at the same time, I mean -- things can't go on like this forever. Something will give. It always does."
"But back to the investigation."
"But back-up..." She looks around, bewildered. "I thought Mr. Morrant..." She raises the megaphone and screams: "AGGRAVATED ASSAULT, MAN DOWN, SUSPECT ON FOOT!"
"But before..."
"But being *cultured* doesn't offer any protection against the curse, does it?" She looks around in the dusty store. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened to him after all..."
"But boring. You're not using my lovely brush to spread boredom."
"But darling, I didn't even get the *size* of it right."
"But daydreaming is a rich man's game. At sea you can't afford to be careless and dream. Anyway..." She shakes her head. "What are we talking about here again?"
"But did she? They say it was her daughter who called in for her. That wasn't her daughter, was it?"
"But didn't you hear it when the traffic menace drove over your roof?"
"But didn't you say your husband was kind and helpful?"
"But do magnetic dice even roll properly?"
"But do you also like the *razzle-dazzle* of gold? Do you like parties and discos and having fun under the vibrant lights of Saturday night?"
"But don't you think the owners have a right to the harbour? Didn't they organize it into existence?"
"But don't you want to express your individuality?"
"But earlier today she told me about... welkins?" Acele grimaces, as if it's the first time hearing the word. "And she seemed oddly happy. Like she had had some idea with those... little creatures. Some artistic idea. I didn't really listen, I was busy with my mic."
"But enough about me and my  container." His face turns serious. "The killers the company hired... I think there were three of them. All hardened commando-types."
"But enough about me and my fun container." His face turns serious. "The killers the company hired... I think there were three of them. All hardened commando-types."
"But enough chit-chat, Fortress Accident. Now please tell me what filament memory have you inserted into the machine."
"But even *I* know that they don't play pinball. They have a rigid class society, and a punitive justice system..." He looks around. "We should continue with our exploration of this place. It doesn't matter."
"But everything's so... moist."
"But first I need to see all of your identification documents."
"But for now I am going to set those possibilities aside. I'm not from the Inspectorate General."
"But have you had sexual relations with any of the Hardie boys?"
"But he *did* say he's going to do it. You can't edit words into someone's mouth."
"But he *does* live nearby -- maybe it's a pedantic weasel? Fascists are known to be neat freaks... I feel like a real detective right now, Harry! Am I getting this right?" He imitates bashing something with an imaginary baton.
"But he *does* live nearby... maybe it's a pedantic weasel? Fascist are neat freaks, if you don't mind me saying so. I feel like a real detective right now, Harry! Am I getting this right?" He imitates bashing something with an imaginary baton.
"But he did that shit. To get the Union fucks killed, so they'd get the other fucks killed. Boom! Giant kill-storm. Mastermind shit -- only, like, a really old mastermind who's  fucking stupid."
"But he's got his window fitting business, a wife with two kids and the third one on the way... No way he's gonna leave all that."
"But he's likely up to no good." Andre shakes his head. "He's a crab man, man... a menace to society."
"But he's still wearing his white briefs -- thank god for that. The make of the briefs is 'Babroudine' I think. Let's see..." He turns the body onto its side to check the underwear label.
"But here I am, talking about myself, when you have much more important things going on." His expression becomes serious. "Tell me, Harry, how can I help you?"
"But honestly, it's not progressing very well." She grows silent, staring at her circle of basins -- it looks like some ancient ritual.
"But how am I going to take it with me?"
"But how can an animal be a sound?"
"But how could it *become* harder-core? I know the answer in my heart, but cannot think it in my head. If this is not hyper, how could anything be..."
"But if I could help you finish the project then you wouldn't have to live in a church next to the boom-boom anymore -- just think about it."
"But if it were pale we'd have other symptoms. Nothing really thrives around pale, and yet here we have an entire capital humming with life."
"But if no one can prove it exists, how do you know it's real?"
"But if the dream comes to naught, what good is it? No, the thing is..." She looks down at her legs...
"But imagine a sandwich absolutely minimal in design. Sleek, efficient, simple."
"But imagine a sandwich covered entirely in fine metal dust from an industrial plant..."
"But in a non-threatening and definitely legal way," the other one quickly adds and whispers something to his friend.
"But in theory, Kim, if we were to confiscate these jackets, which one would *you* wear?"
"But insects don't have any... brains or... feelings."
"But is it? I mean, really?"
"But is it? I mean, really?" He tilts his head to the other side, like an owl.
"But isn't *that* mysterious?"
"But it *is*. We've spent years searching for the phasmid, hunting it together. Without it, what are we? Just another pathetic old couple..."
"But it all makes so much sense! It would have been *so* convenient for me to forget all about the murder, and everything else..."
"But it could also be," he tilts his head and stresses: "... the number of a police precinct. Precinct 41 -- *your* precinct."
"But it could be hyper, HYPER HARD CORE!"
"But it does make the famous people more famous!" She smiles gleefully.
"But it doesn't have to be like that. One single, concrete suspect delivered into Civil Court -- and I *may* be able to defuse this situation."
"But it is gone now. Nothing came of it. No children, nothing built. We live in the coldest of all possible worlds, Harry, orbiting the most distant star. It is agony, sheer agony..." She shakes her head slowly: "How *bad* I have to go to the aerodrome."
"But it is still hard for humans to navigate the pale without getting lost. Or having our minds damaged."
"But it isn't anymore?"
"But it seems as though you are, or at least *were* one of the good ones. So we have that to be thankful for."
"But it wasn't the revolutionaries that *sullied* the idea for you, was it?" He looks at the old soldier almost gently. "She gave them to me too and your jealous little heart just couldn't accept it."
"But it's all blocked with that stupid traffic jam right now! Anyway..."
"But it's not inane, I just... you owe me money."
"But it's not the cheapest one on the market, so I wouldn't recommend it for your regular red tape operations. Fraser 1000 is a foolproof line for civilians."
"But it's not true, right?"
"But it's so sad, Kim. Too sad for me!"
"But it's still there."
"But just one. I doubt your partner would appreciate it if I were to distract you from your duties for much longer!"
"But let's get back to business, Fortress Accident. If you need any help with a password, please tell me what filament memory have you inserted into the machine."
"But let's move on to the Wild Pines rep."
"But let's talk about Joyce Messier for a moment."
"But let's try to not run ahead -- for now all we know is that he's an unidentified middle-aged man found dead on the Martinaise boardwalk."
"But lieutenant, think about the splinters!"
"But look at me going on and on, like some kind of a father figure." He laughs. "And to think we're about the same age..."
"But maybe it *was* -- just imagine it, a giant man at least two and a half meters tall."
"But maybe it did?"
"But maybe we should circle the building and look for another way in first. The building has seen enough mistreatment."
"But maybe we should look for another way in first... The building has seen enough mistreatment."
"But most of the time I'm fully absorbed in my work with the radiocomputer," she then goes on, "and there are still parts of the church I haven't had time to explore, so..."
"But my own code serves me well. If my code starts failing -- a code can fail a man as well as a man can fail a code -- then I will have to submit to a new one. Which may well be communism."
"But my shit already *is* together!"
"But no one heard the shot..."
"But not *too* far below, no. Too below is also bad -- below, *but close to* 2%."
"But not in there?"
"But not really," the other one adds. "Brown hair. Old. Heavy, dark sines."
"But not you. You're volunteering. So thank you, sweetie."
"But not you?"
"But now I'm afraid I just can't trust you."
"But now dreams are worn thin, much like my tracksuit," he says thoughtfully, brushing dust off his shit-stained pants.
"But now that I start to think of it, it was for an improv class anyway. It's this funny theatre thing, you know," he moves his fingers, "very *creative*, helps relieve stress."
"But now we're both getting old, and he's still working himself sick out in those reeds, looking for it..." She shakes her head, still unable to meet your eyes. "But what if I was just *wrong*? I think I was..."
"But of course! It's the least I can do for my good friend, Harry. I'll do it right after we've concluded this talk."
"But of course! What else?" He smiles and ruffles his kid's head.
"But of course!"
"But of course, Harry."
"But of course, Harry." He nods. "Your precinct is the 41st and you live in Jamrock. You're a Jamrock boy. A long way from home, but that's okay."
"But of course, all joking aside, I *am* going to help you." He picks up the handset of a radio-phone to his right -- then clicks a button.
"But of course, it says Dick Mullen -- High General of the Revacholian Cavalry Force."
"But officer, I don't have that kind of money. There's got to be a more modest investment."
"But officer, bribe you to do what?" The street vendor's expression is dead serious.
"But officer, there's nothing *natural* about entire companies declaring bankruptcy! I'm talking about *caco-daemons* feeding off bad business practices and disappointing income statements!"
"But perhaps I should return to the tape computers. As I was saying, the device itself was very elegant, fragile even. One could write directly on the tape using a special chemical solution. The machine would then analyse the handwriting, perform operations and project output onto a white screen. It was a beautiful delicate thing."
"But please -- do continue this reality-exploration. I was just remarking."
"But real-estate is an illiquid asset. What happens if you need a short-term capital infusion and all your holdings are tied up?"
"But rest assured: The Oranjese government has committed to producing a timetable that would lay out a path to transition to a professional army. Soon there'll be no need for mercenaries like this poor man."
"But see, they are the pedastal for my sneakers. If I let go of the speakers, where will the sneakers go? I can't leave premium lifestyle sneakers on the *ground*..."
"But seriously, let's quit joking around, alright? We have a case to investigate." He turns back to the cabin.
"But she couldn't have known I was on the coast. How did you find me?"
"But she didn't! She would *never* do that." The blonde man looks around. "Why aren't more of you defending her? This is fucking stupid, Titus."
"But she didn't! This is fucking stupid, Titus. This and the queer thing, all of it!" The blonde man looks around. "Why aren't more of you defending her? This is fucking stupid, Titus."
"But she didn't. She knows she can't lie to us. Unlike you."
"But she said she's insane. Like me."
"But she told me a beautiful story about the discovery of the Insulinde."
"But she's a real nice girl, grew up in this here neighbourhood, knows everybody and gets along with everyone, real pillar of the community one day, I'm sure."
"But she's pretty."
"But she's the innocence of humanism. Humanism seems to be a pretty big deal around here."
"But shouldn't I have a badge or something?" (Check your pockets.)
"But shouldn't the ones that are more hard core rule over the ones that are less hard core, offer them guidance?"
"But thank you, sweetie. You did make me forget about my worries for a while." She smiles up at you, but concern is creeping back into her expression.
"But that charm wears off pretty quickly. Before you know it, you're wearing a shit-stained tracksuit and spending your days picking tare."
"But that doesn't tell me anything about Kedra itself. Is it warm there? Cold? Something in-between?"
"But that is merely our meagre sense experience. There are dark forces at work now that we cannot even envision, much less see."
"But that there was an interesting find -- an alternative path into the harbour that the kid uses. Well done."
"But that was just a sandwich! This is a topping pie!"
"But that's exactly what drugs are for. Exactly. Time to expand your mind!"
"But that's horrible."
"But that's just a lazy assumption. What do you think?"
"But that's like... the same thing." She squints her eyes, trying to solve this puzzle.
"But that's not all! Some of the slaughterhouse apprentices went hiking by a nearby creek and saw a moose nibbling on an unidentified carcass!"
"But that's not fair!"
"But that's not really what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to thank you instead."
"But that's not very much material at all."
"But that's what everybody saw. Explain it as you please, but it doesn't really do to just deny it ever happened."
"But that's what the cops are for..."
"But that's who I am. Who *we* are."
"But the gloves keep my hands warm -- look." (Show him the gloves.)
"But the good news is, the moment you change your mind and want to look into this matter -- just tell me, and we'll be buddies again." He smiles pleasantly.
"But the gradient -- it clearly hasn't started yet. We're here and the pale is not."
"But the idiots left me alone in there. Now, I used to teach high school biology. I *know* what doctors use to preserve dead thingies..." He gets an excited gleam in his eyes.
"But the milk -- it clearly hasn't started curdling yet. We're here and the pale is not."
"But the million reál view stays. You can't take that away." He knocks on the balcony door, his face mirrored in the darkened glass.
"But the most important transformation is the light's placement among ordinary *indoor* fixtures, which has adjusted its morphological field. The light became suitable for use inside the home just a few days ago."
"But the sine was *way* off too. I couldn't feel the love at all..."
"But the story doesn't end there. Supposedly, when they performed the autopsy, the coroner discovered nearly a *quarter kilo of coke* jammed into his nasal cavity."
"But the stuff you do aligns admirably well with the World Republic, why not call yourself a communist?"
"But the years have changed that. I don't now *what* I believe in now...." He thinks, then changes his mind. "No. I believe in the RCM. That's enough for me."
"But then again -- you're a cop, it definitely fits the genre." He looks at his hands folded on a table. "*I* fit the genre, we all do... moulded by fiction like we're characters in some bad novella."
"But then again, some of us truly are on the take. It's unfortunate. Over."
"But then again..." A faint smile. "It's a legendary district. And a hell of a Station, too. It must be an honour and a curse to work with people like Pryce, McCoy, Berdyayeva..."
"But then the figurines don't do anything..."
"But then this is all meaningless."
"But then who watches him -- there -- while I come back for you?"
"But then, I'm no doctor." She takes a long sip of tea. "Ask away, officer -- I'll help however I can."
"But then, once you've reached my position, it's nearly impossible for me *not* to make money. My assets are so diversified that I'm bound to come out ahead no matter what..."
"But then, something turned. You see, it's widely known that *nose candy* and pioneer graphic design work go hand-in-hand..."
"But there is no lightning. Only a heavy downpour and the silhouette of the *Headless FALN Rider* looming on the horizon!"
"But there may be something pertinent to the investigation in the kitchen."
"But there was a question..."
"But there was no question..."
"But these are not the *Franconigerian centuries*. We are in the present. It is safe to sometimes drink water here." He hands you the canister.
"But these others weren't uninhabited. We had to kill people there, wipe out indigenous populations, gunboat economies. Or they came to do the same for us. Or had done to each other. But here..." she spreads her arms.
"But they are working towards it! You're all doing very well here, relatively speaking." He gives you an approving nod.
"But they could not. They were sane and conscious, as islands began to appear on the horizon... There are 78,000 uninhabited islands in the Insulindian archipelago, officer. The freckled face of god," she smiles.
"But they should have returned by now. They were just going down the coast, across the water lock, to set a few traps. He said they'd be back on Monday..." She sighs. "What could be keeping them?"
"But they're just white rectangles."
"But this establishment only takes cash. Now, do you have that cash, Mister Novelty Cheque Man?"
"But this is clearly a *departmental matter*, so I'm  going to leave you to discuss it among yourselves."
"But this is intolerably bad."
"But this turned out well for you. You've *slipped* past all suspicions."
"But this weasel might have cleaned up after the killers."
"But this..." She raises her head, staring at all the machines that litter the church, cables coiling up on the floor like pests. "This is just another failure. Silence sounds like silence. That's all it is."
"But uh, are you done now? Can I unplug the microphone? I'd like to unplug the microphone." He's ready for things to get back to normal.
"But until that happens I can try to assist you the best I can," she adds with a smile. "So, what will it be, officer?"
"But wait, there's more!"
"But we *are* the police..."
"But we *know *the victim had a bullet in his head. A more precise way to put it is: it was *made* to look like a lynching."
"But we do need to get the key from this 'Mañana' Evrart mentioned." The lieutenant glances at the door. "Cause we are *not* gonna break the lock."
"But we performed a thorough search of the premises of the crime scene. That's great."
"But we should stop for today, sweetie. You look like you need a break. Besides, I'm not the best person to explain the *big* things to anyone..."
"But we were talking about my friend here, not politics..." He chuckles gently.
"But we weren't done looking for the phasmid..."
"But we're looking for a fridge and we're pressed on time -- so..."
"But were you wrong? The Founding Party is okay with everything. Look around." He spreads his arms. "They do not have enough love for the *human crew* to oppose anything any more. We're on our own."
"But what *else* can we do?" (Commit to it.)
"But what *is* Al Gul?"
"But what about all the good times we had together?"
"But what about the body?"
"But what about the workers?"
"But what could it be?" (Look at the water basins behind you.)
"But what did they actually do?"
"But what do I know about kids these days, the music they listen, the drugs they do while they listen to that music..." He shakes his head with a melancholy smile.
"But what do we work on? KEEPING EVERYTHING THE WAY IT IS."
"But what do you say to those who claim that the assets underlying those derivatives are overvalued? Does that pose a systemic risk to the wider capital markets?"
"But what exactly *is* money?"
"But what if I don't have any?"
"But what if I don't have any?" (Proceed.)
"But what if I get famous only through dying? I couldn't enjoy the fame at all."
"But what if I need some *me* time?"
"But what if I wanted to talk to them?"
"But what if it *was* the phasmid? What if it ate them and got out?"
"But what if they *really* deserved it?"
"But what is a normal, stable world?"
"But what matters is that it's true to my subjective experience. Anyway, that was all the story one bottle gets you." He looks at it. "Almost empty this one..."
"But what was done exactly? Revolution, the rise and crash of capital, international intervention..."
"But what's done is done. The violence is cordoned off, the mercenary tribunal is neutralized. The worst scenario has not materialized -- yet."
"But what's further down the coast?"
"But what? Tell me there's *something* good..."
"But what?"
"But when I arrived here, all the other rooms were taken, so I had to build myself a makeshift home. Besides, I don't really have to pay any rent here, so that's a plus."
"But when I reached my office I remembered that I'd asked one of my producers to change the locks that day -- and since I hired only the best, he'd already done it, and I couldn't get in..."
"But where?"
"But who are you then? A salesman of some sort? Modern goods are rubbish. And I can't afford them anyhow. It's a shame what you did to our country..." The woman moans and the phone lines howl in unison with her.
"But why *didn't* you call? Didn't a corpse behind your workplace bother you?"
"But why are they here?"
"But why aren't you a communist? Communism is the truth."
"But why did she leave me then?"
"But why do you convene, what do you *do*?"
"But why is he sleeping during the day?"
"But why was she like this in the first place?"
"But why would Frittte need an army? It's just a corner shop."
"But why would it need to hide its carnivorous nature?"
"But why... why would I hurt my own *peone*?" asks the man in white. "What kind of an *animal* would do such thing?"
"But why? We work twelve-hour shifts. We get shot at, spat on..."
"But why?"
"But won't I be *lazy* if I don't do it all now?"
"But yes, that's on me. Let's get on with the murder investigation."
"But you *are* a lorryman. Another driver has identified you *and* your lorry."
"But you -- you have *no idea* what you're doing up there. I can see it in your face, every time you come down and sing her song. She's in your head, man. You're fucked."
"But you already have," she looks around. "And you're doing just fine, despite the rubble."
"But you can just evict them, right? You're the law, man. You've got this." He seems to be getting jittery with excitement.
"But you can still pour me a drink, right?"
"But you did *do* it."
"But you did want me to relay info to her?"
"But you didn't say that, Kim."
"But you didn't talk to him?" He hums to himself. "I think you should go back -- figure out the situation, see what he wants."
"But you don't have a problem with cops?"
"But you don't learn about the *important things* in life from fabricated stories."
"But you guys said the Ecclesiastes were all about love and hard core -- before, remember?"
"But you haven't -- because you're *drunk*. You lost your gun -- and you're drunk. You're a drunk, gunless bum! I can smell it."
"But you haven't physically *seen* anyone?"
"But you know he's around?"
"But you must agree that nature, in her infinite wisdom, has made men more fit to perform certain... more *challenging* tasks, don't you, officer?"
"But you must have appreciated my Sam Bo style stealth."
"But you need to believe in *something*. Freedom, the people, Revachol or even money..."
"But you probably had some official business too?" he asks and puts the hat back on.
"But you said I have a vast soul and you will always come back to it."
"But you said you didn't know where he was."
"But you said you were trained and assigned to the Defence Corps."
"But you see, I'm an officer of the RCM -- it's actually *my* job to make sure *you* behave. I would advise you to remember that."
"But you see, a *law*, lawman," he says, squeezing his beer can, "is something people agree upon.  And here in Martinaise we agreed that this man had to die."
"But you see," he says slowly, savouring every word, "Cuno *wants* for it to decompose. Cuno digs that cadaver shit."
"But you still are..."
"But you still know your way around, yes? In case we need directions."
"But you told me your husband's all right."
"But you wanted to be more than just *friends*."
"But you would *still* prefer if we didn't take her away?"
"But you're a foreigner. I'm protecting business interests of foreign nations!"
"But you're all part of the Union?"
"But you're calling because of the personal log, right?"
"But you're not a local, are you?"
"But you're not trying your best, are you?" He says with a flash of anger.
"But you're right, let's not run ahead. For now all we know is that he's an unidentified middle-aged man found dead on the Martinaise boardwalk."
"But you're still here. Alive."
"But you're the most mobile person of them all!"
"But, Cindy, art is bigger than either of us."
"But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."
"But, I don't know, you're a *police man*..." She says it with admiration, eyeing you up and down. "Maybe you can convince her somehow?"
"But, Kim, maybe our suspect is hiding out in the reeds along with the traps?"
"But, Kim... Don't *you* want to hear about another cryptid too?"
"But, but... this is so much more *interesting* than my real job."
"But, dear, you're not for me." She looks off into the distance. "I'm too old, and too married besides."
"But, despite your misanthropy, we conducted an interview with Evrart Claire. No small task."
"But, fine, take the brush. I'm all out of fuel oil anyway." She drops the paintbrush at your feet.
"But, madam, I need to know about this lynching. It's *very* important to me. It's the case I'm solving."
"But, officer," he looks you in the eye, "then we would have to *swim* back to the mainland. Let's just look around, okay."
"But, see, you *can't*, or you just refuse to, not that the difference really matters."
"But, wait, what's further down the coast?"
"But, yes, the books are very sexist. In a not-entirely-unenjoyable way."
"But, you see, he didn't."
"But, you see, they didn't. They're all dead. The living dead..."
"But-- I thought if I threw the damned letter away it would help."
"But." He lowers his voice again. "This island on the other hand..."
"But... I am not the only one at risk, I have to think of my daughter. You are certain you can help us, keep us safe? I can't allow any *collateral damage* to hit us."
"But... I don't *want* to be Harrier Du Bois." (Don't accept it.)
"But... I don't have a truck."
"But... I don't know either."
"But... I was fighting *bad*, unsavoury ideologies. I'm a hero."
"But... Morell told me you'd seen it. *You* also told me..."
"But... Morell told me you'd seen it."
"But... before we go on, tell me... did you encounter *the malignant Entity?*" Her eyes narrow, as she whispers the name.
"But... before we go on... did you encounter *the malignant Entity?*" Her eyes narrow, as she whispers the name.
"But... but... *that's* not in any of the ancient texts! How am I supposed to protect my bookstore from *that*?!"
"But... but... *why*?" He looks truly puzzled. "You're turning this into a huge thing."
"But... even if this is true... " The lieutenant forces himself to finish the sentence: "Weren't you worried this 'lynching' might lead to..."
"But... if someone puts a gun to your head?"
"But... isn't that sloppy?"
"But... it needs to be played, on the turntable. And it's broken." Seeing this abuse of music brings a twinge of sadness to his face.
"But... it's not a sunny day."
"But... thanks for this. It's nice to talk to someone. And I know it wasn't easy to ask." He smiles. "I hope you find your way through your own troubles."
"But... that's not a very good way for things to be."
"But... what *else* can we do?"
"But... what else did you find? Did anything survive? No. Of course not. Have you located the... Entity?"
"But... what kind of doctor are you then?"
"But... when I spoke to Garte it seemed like he thought you left because of *him*."
"But... why were you in my apartment, officer?"
"But... why? It's a perfectly wonderful light."
"But... you're *also* a woman."
"But... you're threatening us with it!"
"But..."
"But..." Her eyes fill with tears, then suddenly she slams the megaphone against her lips and teeth. Blood gushes down her chin, but she doesn't notice it.
"But..." His eyes fill with sudden terror: "You said I would be taken to the, uhm, the..."
"But..." She looks up, and there's fear in her eyes as she considers the possibility. "But pale isn't here. We're thousands of kilometres from the edge."
"But..." The lieutenant looks worried, he whispers: "I don't want to give you my gun. Not after the last time."
"But..." The lieutenant looks worried, he whispers: "I don't want to give you my gun."
"But..." he pauses, letting the memory dissipate. "Those days are behind me. There are other addictions in my life now. Why the inquiry, my man?"
"But...why?"
"But?"
"By 'sexually assaulted' you mean 'raped'?" She takes a quick drag, unperturbed.
"By *early stages* you mean these were taken from him no more than two days after his death?"
"By *ka-ching* do you mean..." He tilts his head. "Let's not log them as evidence, let's steal them?"
"By *negotiator* you mean Joyce?"
"By *real* do you mean some form of street cred?"
"By *they* do you mean the Hardie boys?"
"By *wöman* you mean my wife, I assume. I will return to her -- but I can't leave before we've finished with these traps."
"By Heavens, why would he not be corrupt? We live in a harsh and disordered world, see. And in this world..."
"By a shadowy figure known only to me as the ex-something."
"By all means, Harry!" He nods excitedly. "What's on your mind?"
"By all means, Harry. What's on your mind?"
"By all means..." He coughs and wipes his mouth.
"By all means..." She stretches her back, the cigarette in her teeth. "We can have this conversation again. I like it."
"By bargaining then..." She takes a drag. "I do that too. It's not all that effective."
"By being a damn good shot -- Ace's High!" The lieutenant raises his right hand, waiting for you to slap it.
"By bold new revenues you mean the drug trade?"
"By causing more trouble? I think we're good."
"By god... is  it somehow *connected* to the case?"
"By hiding bullets under floorboards?"
"By kilo you mean gram, right?"
"By learning about the world I hope to learn more about myself."
"By love, you did!" She inspects the piece of blue plastic, her eyes scanning from left to right.
"By not remembering a single god damn thing."
"By now I'd say I know about as much about it as anyone on the coast."
"By now I'm *sure* you've figured out who the dead man was working for -- the bad guys. Wild Pines. Sent to scare us. Another *violent measure* of the top hats against us flat caps."
"By revenue -- did you mean *drug trade*?"
"By that I mean conflicts. Ideological conflicts. The stuff of men."
"By that you mean Joyce Messier, the Wild Pines rep?"
"By that you mean corruption?"
"By the 'Pines cow' you mean Joyce Messier, the representative for Wild Pines?" The lieutenant pretends to check his notes. "The same company you're striking against?"
"By the 'Pines cow' you mean Joyce, the negotiator for Wild Pines?"
"By the 'Pines cow', you mean the representative for Wild Pines?" The lieutenant checks his notes. "The shipping company you're striking against?"
"By the 'cock parading in his colourful uniform,' you mean *René*?"
"By the Hardie boys, by Klaasje, by us."
"By the way -- where were you when it happened?"
"By the way, I have internalized his *weltanschauung*."
"By the way, I'm a fascist."
"By the way, I'm going to sing karaoke here."
"By the way, I'm really digging the view here." (Point to the city skyline.)
"By the way, I've talked to Evrart Claire."
"By the way, do you work out?"
"By the way, if you hadn't paid before 21.00, your door would have been locked electronically." He taps his foot against a metal box installed in the back of the bar counter.
"By the way, if you see Cindy, give her our regards," he adds, returning from whatever void he was just visiting.
"By the way, let me now ask *you* a question: Where are we, exactly?"
"By the way, we put a dead body in that fridge."
"By the way, we speak Revacholian in Revachol." (Get your Revacholian Nationhood on.)
"By the way, when you get the chance -- *perhaps* you should ask me to share the RCM brief you. I'm pretty sure you've *forgotten* it."
"By the way, you're not angry with me any more?"
"By the way... do you, um, happen to have any *guns*? Like the ones carried by cops?"
"By the...?" She pinches the root of her nose.
"By these tracks, yes."
"By which I mean," he says, gathering himself, "I've heard enough first-hand accounts to believe quite firmly that the Insulindian phasmid is more than mere superstition."
"By your command!"
"By your old workspace do you mean the studio of Fortress Accident in the Doomed Commercial Area?
"Bye bye now!" He returns to his work.
"Bye kids, take care." [Leave.]
"Bye!" The girl's large, curious eyes remain fixed on you.
"Bye, Sylvie."
"Bye, Titus." [Leave.]
"Bye-bye, gendarme."
"Bye." [Leave.]
"C'mere, you mesque coward... die with the rest... die like a man..."
"C'mon ,detective, he's the most repentant law official in the land. I don't mind."
"C'mon Cindy, just help me out here."
"C'mon Glen, she likes Monica's titties more than *you* do." The mesque smiles. "Everyone knows which way the wind blows there."
"C'mon Kim, it's just a mental exercise!"
"C'mon Lizzie." The big man takes a sip of beer. "We're generous people here in Martinaise. With *property*."
"C'mon guys, I *need* this!"
"C'mon guys, she's one of you. Of course she's carrying -- you all are."
"C'mon guys, you know me."
"C'mon man, pretty please! One more time!"
"C'mon man, you're killing us..." Andre runs his hands through the spikes of his hair.
"C'mon man. After everything I've been through..."
"C'mon man..." He looks surprised. "Really?"
"C'mon operator, tell them to stop. This is serious!"
"C'mon! Get in and close the flap behind you! The warm stuff is getting out!"
"C'mon! Get in, the warm stuff is getting out."
"C'mon, Gary, it's never that black and white."
"C'mon, I can tell." She shakes her head slowly. "But, okay, be a boiadeiro about it if you want to."
"C'mon, I was only joking around."
"C'mon, Jean..."
"C'mon, Jean..." The woman next to him sighs. "It looks like it's been a rough week on him."
"C'mon, Kim. Where's your adventurous spirit?"
"C'mon, Kim..." (Whisper.) "Obviously I'm not gonna take it. We need to get drugs away from a minor."
"C'mon, Titus, it's been a long day. I'm tired of running back and forth between you. I can see you're tired too -- why don't you just..."
"C'mon, Titus. The stakes are too high here. There will be blood on the streets -- the tribunal, remember?" He closes his notebook. "I know you're tired -- why don't you just..."
"C'mon, Titus. We know you didn't hang him. He was *shot*." He taps on his notebook. "I know you're tired; so am I -- why don't you just..."
"C'mon, detective, cut him some slack. These may be the final hours of human existence."
"C'mon, detective, cut him some slack. This guy's been through some heavy-duty emotional stuff."
"C'mon, detective. This is the endgame! Let's just finish up quickly."
"C'mon, don't shut me out. Let me in."
"C'mon, guys! I gotta feed my kids!"
"C'mon, guys. She hangs out with you meatheads. This can not come as a surprise."
"C'mon, it's just magnesium, don't mystify it."
"C'mon, man, I just said 'Welcome to Revachol'... It's a lorry driver thing."
"C'mon, man, at least *think* about it first. It's our lives at stake here, our *dreams!* I'm sure you'll see things differently once you've let me explain it... You guys like questions, right? Cops *love* questions, ask me some! You'll see!"
"C'mon, man, the holler... It's just a greeting. A lorry driver thing."
"C'mon, man, this *is* your jacket. You just don't remember it."
"C'mon, man. Don't be like that. I mean, maybe she did, but you don't know that."
"C'mon, man. Don't mess around..." She hesitates.
"C'mon, man. Life is just a joke."
"C'mon, man. We were just having some fun! Where's the harm in...?"
"C'mon, man. We're in it. This is North Jamrock -- Martinaise. Sort of. The technicalities are confusing."
"C'mon, man. Who will you trust, a spooky programmer or us? We just wanna make the world a better place."
"C'mon, man... who *really* did it?"
"C'mon, pig..." The kid saps his fingers. "Thoughts didn't kill Cuno's gimp. It was a person. Even Cuno can figure this shit out."
"C'mon, quit playin'. Will you help us with the church?"
"C'mon, quit stalling on me. What did he look like?"
"C'mon, stop it," she says quietly.
"C'mon, there's plenty of work for everyone!"
"C'mon, you must have heard something..."
"C'mon, you've gotta admit -- it was pretty cool."
"C'mon. She hasn't killed police officers."
"C'mon. You're doing this for yourself, not her."
"C'mon... (hic) the night's still young."
"C, it's happening!"
"C, my pig is gonna fuck his head off!"
"C, relax, he respects the Cuno. Cuno made him respect the Cuno. You respect the Cuno..." He turns back to you. "You get all kinds of shit!"
"C, these pigs are fucking corrupt," the boy nods approvingly.
"C, you're only making them do those things less."
"CAN'T TURN DOWN THE HARD CORE!"
"COME DOWN TO US! LOVE!"
"COME ON, KID, JUST PUT THE HAT ON ALRIGHT? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE FUCKING *LISTEN* TO ME -- SHIT!"
"COME ON, MORELL. WE'VE BEEN SOAKING OUT HERE FOR DAYS. IT'S TIME TO GO BACK."
"COME ON, SHE WANTS US BACK. I'M SOAKED UP TO MY NUTS OVER HERE. WE'LL BOTH CATCH REED CRABS IF WE DON'T DRY OUT SOON."
"COMMUNISM FOREVER!!"
"COMPLY, OR I WILL LIGHT YOU THE FUCK UP!" she continues to yell as she lumbers about.
"CONFINED QUARTERS, ASSAILANT COMING AT ME! SPLIT-SECOND DECISION, FIRE AT WILL!"
"CONFISCATED CONTRABAND!" The megaphone makes her voice almost painfully metallic. "RESTRICTED ACCESS, TWO KILOS MISSING, EYE-WITNESS REPORT COMPROMISED!"
"COP MAN!" yells Egg Head.
"CORRECT, MY SMALL-SKULLED SERVANT." He nods approvingly.
"CORRECT."
"CRAB MAN!"
"Caillou." She looks to the waters. "Imagine a pebble, a smoothed over pebble admidst a great blue sea. Mis-shapen, cracked. The cracks are the River Esperance. We're in the delta of this river, on the sixth branch -- the Martinaise distributary."
"Call Me Mañana.. What kind of a name is that?"
"Call it a gut feeling."
"Call it what you want. You were a valuable member of your precinct. Now, let's look at the last row..."
"Call me Mañana. I'm just a humble harbour-worker... for the past six, seven years."
"Call me like that..."
"Call was terminated by the other party. Anything else, officer?"
"Called in they say -- on the eve of battle. Ran away. Vanished like a piss-stain..." He squints and smiles at the black logs.
"Calm down everyone. Let's stay professional."
"Calm down," she says to the man, then turns to you.
"Calm down? I'm not angry..." His hand still trembles. "I *adore* him. He reminds me or everything we fought for. At least we killed that Frissel and his kingsmen..." He's overtaken by a coughing fit.
"Camaraderie?"
"Came to see the New New World," she shrugs. "It's a tourist thing."
"Can I actually help you with something?" She looks at you apologetically.
"Can I ask you about specific union members?"
"Can I at least finish my fucking sentence before you piss on it? Is that okay, René?" His eyes are furious. "I'm not anyone important in the Union. I just know Evrart."
"Can I become famous by reading one of those books?"
"Can I borrow that sword?"
"Can I borrow your boat?"
"Can I borrow your gloves? I'm doing an autopsy."
"Can I do anything?"
"Can I get a discount on this boombox? A *police* discount."
"Can I get a drag of that then?"
"Can I get a normal version of this die? One that isn't modified to land on a single result?"
"Can I get my gun now?"
"Can I get the spirits now?"
"Can I give you some friendly advice, mister police man? Don't listen to kids."
"Can I go back and do my turn over?"
"Can I have Nosaphed?"
"Can I have a drink?"
"Can I have it back?" (Conclude.)
"Can I have it? I know someone who really likes stuffed birds."
"Can I have it? I should look at it later, without the corpse smell."
"Can I have it?"
"Can I have one?"
"Can I have some money, ma'am?"
"Can I have some more?"
"Can I have some of that salami?" (Point at his food.)
"Can I have some? I have some nose problems too."
"Can I have some? Just a little?"
"Can I have the gun? I should try."
"Can I have your address? Just in case there's news."
"Can I help you with that?"
"Can I help you?" He arches an eyebrow.
"Can I just play a tape on one of the boomboxes real quick?"
"Can I listen to it?"
"Can I pay with this cheque?" (Show him the giant novelty cheque.)
"Can I see your licence?"
"Can I smell it first?"
"Can I... walk?"
"Can Marie describe to me how the husband looked like?"
"Can we change it to toxicology? Seems prudent."
"Can we go over a few details concerning the murder again?"
"Can we go over couple of things regarding Ruby again?"
"Can we go over the preliminary info again?"
"Can we maybe ask your twins about that place -- before we go? Would that be all right?"
"Can we please just forget this ever happened?" (Button up your pants.)
"Can we turn it on and drive somewhere?"
"Can you at least tell me when it happened?"
"Can you be a little more... specific?"
"Can you describe it?"
"Can you give us a few more details? Did you muffle him? We haven't heard any reports of screams."
"Can you hear anything?"
"Can you hear the pulsing bass underneath the east wind?" He raises his hand to his ear. "A sure sign of junior delinquency."
"Can you hear the pulsing bass underneath the wind?" He raises his hand to his ear. "A sure sign of junior delinquency -- somewhere east of here."
"Can you help me get inside the harbour?"
"Can you help me get into harbour?"
"Can you help me solve it? I need to solve it. They won't take me back if I don't."
"Can you let me in please? I need to get inside this building."
"Can you let me slide by so I can grab the thing?"
"Can you make out the mark now?"
"Can you please describe the body -- age, sex, cause of death?"
"Can you please employ this special *technique* somewhere else? I work here and my work requires concentration. Half-naked people don't help with that." She turns away, so that you can zip up your pants again.
"Can you please just go and move the water bowls for me? Thanks."
"Can you please not call me names?"
"Can you please stop whining for one second and let me take the shot."
"Can you please try to refrain from attacking random things?"
"Can you push it out?"
"Can you reload it, please? I need another shot."
"Can you say any more about what's on the tape?"
"Can you see into the future, Kim?"
"Can you see it *now*?" (Point to the Phasmid)
"Can you set up a meeting?" (Conclude.)
"Can you sing for me? Sing for me something."
"Can you stay for a moment? We need to talk. We need to have one more massive, epic showdown."
"Can you stay here while I go inland and find you transport?"
"Can you still shoot, though?"
"Can you stop being such a jerk?"
"Can you teach me? Do you have the sticks with you?"
"Can you tell me about the Cocaine Skull again?"
"Can you tell me about your friend?"
"Can you tell me anything about the dead body?"
"Can you tell me anything about this reality we're in?"
"Can you tell me more about Lely, the hanged man? My partner needs to hear this."
"Can you tell me more about the victim? General information, I mean."
"Can you tell me more about this machinery?"
"Can you tell me what happened here?"
"Can you tell me what the tattoo means?"
"Can you tell me when you've taken him away then. Because I'm sort of waiting for *that*."
"Can you tell me where on the coast I should start looking?"
"Can you tell me where to get cigarettes?"
"Can you tell me your name?"
"Can you tell us more precisely what  these mean?" (Hand her the photo.)
"Can you tell us precisely what these mean?" (Hand her the photo.)
"Can you tell? From this distance? I don't think it's possible.
"Can you... can you get to it?" He searches his pockets for something.
"Can't I just buy the sad, conquered Samaran speakers?"
"Can't I just wash them?"
"Can't believe it no one's coming to fix this till Wednesday..."
"Can't believe you didn't take the shot. Fucking coward... waved your gun like a clown. Next time you point that shit at me, you better take the shot."
"Can't believe you missed... We were so close, you and I... fucking noodle fingers! Can't you see I'm *IMMORTAL* now!"
"Can't do it with class? Don't do it at all."
"Can't escape the sound, can't escape the future!"
"Can't even get a few jokes past you, my man." He grins. "I've got another haul of FALN cargo. Mostly sporting goods. Tracksuits and that kinda thing."
"Can't have it."
"Can't he just... hang out here for a while longer?"
"Can't hear shit."
"Can't hear you, Cuno! Speak louder, Cuno!"
"Can't live in this world without names, see. Important things, they are. Vessels of the soul."
"Can't promise that. I might attack him again." [Leave.]
"Can't really remember seeing any women after losing my keys."
"Can't save the whole world, you know."
"Can't say I wasn't sad to see her go -- our Klaasje there -- her face when your friend walked her out. Goddamn..." He shakes his head.
"Can't say it's a pleasure, officer. I was really hoping *not* to make your acquaintance. But -- here we are. "
"Can't say. Gotta ask questions first."
"Can't someone else do it?"
"Can't talk, pig. Shit's coming up strong. Throwing rocks."
"Can't tell Cuno what words to use. Fucking *kipt*." He imbues the last syllable with special kind of joy.
"Can't the boys from Processing take care of this?"
"Can't wait till Wednesday, I got meat to sell."
"Can't wait to change out of these rags."
"Can't wait to hear it." She smirks and turns toward the sunlit sea.
"Can't we do it without my last name? I can't really remember it."
"Can't we do something else? I think I want to solve something else now."
"Can't we go back and fill those out?"
"Can't we just move on? I want to get it reported and be done with it." (Proceed.)
"Can't we... do something about it?"
"Can't you just like, toss that one down?"
"Can't you just... talk like a normal person?"
"Can't you see -- I can never think you're cool again. I can only think that way about *new* people."
"Can't you see I'm throwing rocks?!"
"Can't you tell? I'm painting a beautiful mural. An aero-graffito visible from low orbit..."
"Can't you tell? It happens to exceptionally *committed* substance abusers. They fall asleep with their eyelids still open. Not a pretty sight."
"Can't you trust me with it for *just* a second?"
"Can't you turn back to the person you were? Can't you think I'm cool again?"
"Can't you turn back to the person you were? I can see her in you. Under the gown and that wreath.."
"Capital *is* finished. But understand this -- its end won't *free* anyone. It will only lead to more suffering."
"Capital." He nods. "Makes one speechless, does it not? Blinds like the sun that rises from beyond the horizon after a gloomy winter."
"Capitalism. Capitalism fucked me beyond all recognition. Trant is right."
"Capitalist *plot*." He rolls his eyes. "The pinball we have in the corner now is broken -- I want to diversify the entertainment options."
"Cardiovascular. The body exhibits lividity in the lower extremities -- feet, hands and neck -- visually consistent with a hanging."
"Care to share your Pyrholidon with me?"
"Care to spare some change for a working stiff?"
"Careful, I'm packing fire too..." (Flash your piece.)
"Careful. It may be poisonous." The lieutenant watches you apprehensively.
"Careful. Looks like we got a situation here." He gives you a knowing nod.
"Careful..."
"Carly said they've been trying to set up a *race rally*, whatever the fuck that means. Trying to get the *kipts* out of Revachol, before the economy goes to shit..."
"Carly said they've been trying to set up a mass execution." He shakes his head in disdain. "Bulk-purchasing guns. Ammunition, too."
"Case solved."
"Catch phrase?"
"Catch you later, Cindy." [Leave.]
"Caught the bug, I see." He cracks an unwieldy smile. "It's easier to get caught up in the *search* than you'd imagine."
"Cause it's not my job. Why don't you go and fucking do yours and solve this damn hanging."
"Cause one night he walked straight up to the mic and said: I'm Oranjese goddamn Special Forces and I'm gonna fuck you all."
"Cause that's how foreigners *are*, Gaston. They won't stop 'till you have nothing left."
"Cause the girls asked us to. They were in some shit."
"Cavalry... oh my god..."
"Celebrity problems."
"Central Jamrock Public Library?"
"Central nervous system," he says and then concludes abruptly: "I have nothing. Do you have anything on this man's central nervous system?"
"Centuries don't have numbers, they have names, and this is the current one."
"Centuries of care, deliberation -- and *madness* -- have gone into this endeavour. Vessels pass through the Great Unrest to re-emerge with apricots in tow. The logic of the system is totalizing... It's taken *everything* from its employees to build it."
"Ceramic plate. Zirconium dioxide most likely. This is where the make would be..."
"Certainly not. I am an *honourable* policeman."
"Certainly so, ma'am. I can assure you my partner is eminent in this *particular* field."
"Certainly! I kept it, as I promised. It's "
"Certainly, Harry."
"Certainly. It's prudent for a person to have at least an elementary understanding of history and society. Imagine the chaos we'd be in otherwise."
"Champagne? That doesn't sound like anything *I'd* be into. I'm straight edge."
"Chances are that whoever's going to greet us behind that door is somehow related to the deceased. This means that our job here is to deliver the death notification, as well as identify the body."
"Chances are you *are* going to turn into that."
"Change of plans, Alice -- connect me to *you*."
"Change of topic then."
"Change your mind, did you? I thought you might. Won't find a better deal than free."
"Change? No, not exactly. But I think all of us at some point imagine what our lives might have been had we been something else."
"Chaos is my method. I am its scion."
"Charles Villedrouin, a high ranking government official from Rue de Saint Ghislaine 33-B."
"Charmed, enchanted, put under his spell."
"Charming. My man was like that too, Had to knock two of his teeth out to establish a good relationship dynamic." She chuckles. "I'll see you at Land's End in the evening, Be there after dark, alright?"
"Charming. My man was like that too, Had to knock two of his teeth out to establish a good relationship dynamic." She chuckles. "I'll see you at Land's End in... let's say fifteen minutes."
"Cheap flats... So the rich man took you from me."
"Check it out!" (Pull out your gun.)
"Check out the stand-up comedians the RCM has. When are we gonna get funnymen like that?"
"Check out this bizarre drug I found." (Show him the pyrholidon.)
"Check the fucking basement, pig. Don't you know anything?" The kid rolls his eyes. "Always check the fucking basement. Recon style."
"Check this shit. Someone's been squatting here." The kid waves his hand at the bed. "Cuno knows because this shit looks like Cuno's place."
"Cheers!" He salutes you with a half-eaten piece of salami.
"Chest is intact." He presses down on it. "Normal contour. Abdomen is protuberant, pelvis intact. Genitalia..." He pulls down the man's underpants.
"Chewed-on-nails... means you're recycling your body material."
"Child, converse with me."
"Children are stupid."
"Chill out, man -- I'm a chill out cop who just wants some of what you're having." (Wink.)
"Chill out, man. Here you can receive the Mother's love, and, when you're ready, she will take your hand and lift you out of the despair at the bottom of the bottle."
"Chill. I'm the cool cop, remember?"
"Chimeric experiments?"
"Chimney... the passage between heaven and hell, of course. It all makes sense now!"
"Chimney... the passage between heaven and hell, of course..."
"Chimneys aren't big enough for anyone to live there."
"Chimneys aren't big enough for that."
"Choked you out there. Serves you right for using reactionary shit."
"Choose his destiny, Hjelmdallermann," the the voice says, yet his lips do not move. "Life for life. His for ours." Man from Hjelmdall has but an instant to make his fateful choice: Fulfil the mission, or save his oldest friend...
"Church, what church?" (Act confused.)
"Cindy, I need some paint. And your brush too."
"Cite me the statute that says you can't paint murals with fuel oil, and I promise I'll cease and desist."
"Cities can't talk. It's bourgeois idealism... I don't wanna talk about this shit any more."
"City of Rage sounds like a cool place."
"Civilization has existed for eight thousand years, sir." She grins.
"Claire also helped you... how should I say? *Remember your name*? That's a relief."
"Class traitor..." He looks inland, toward the little houses. "They all are."
"Class-A fucker..." Cuno shakes his head. "Blind fucks are always ruining it for everybody."
"Classy." He snatches the bottle and pushes the cork in through the bottleneck.
"Clean, yes. Nothing will grow here for twenty years. Krenel will send in gunships and the Coalition Government will follow suit."
"Cleansed? What do you..." She looks down at the pendant in her trembling hands, she collects herself.
"Clearly not *you*. What do you want from me anyway?"
"Clearly we can't."
"Clearly, I haven't. We're having this conversation, aren't we? How *well* could it have gone. I mean... " She looks around.
"Clearly, yes. Dwelling on it longer only makes it worse."
"Clever retort."
"Clever. Few suspect a woman in this sort of skulduggery. Good move on their part."
"Climb down from the equestrian monument, cop-man. Conciousness is new to the universe. We all have our ways to ease the shock."
"Climb up there and... saw the branch?"
"Close," she nods. "Port cities. This is an Oranjese Map of the Waterways -- a sailor's tattoo worn by wayfarers of the Dolorian century, over 300 years ago. The sailors would mark their bodies to map their travels."
"Close... the shop? But it's all I have! No, there *must* be a way..."
"Clothes," he begins. "The deceased wears armoured boots and white briefs. The make of the briefs is Babroudine I think. Let's see..." He turns the body onto its side to check the underwear label.
"Clothes," he begins. "The deceased..." He blinks, staring at the body. "The deceased *used* to wear a pair of armoured boots -- they're gone now. Interesting."
"Coalition military called it Operation *Death Blow*." He winces. "I later found out, on the radio. They called it..."
"Coalition military."
"Coca has really fucked him over, Jean." The woman looks half-bored.
"Cock carousel."
"Cock csrosssel"
"Code 31! Code 31!"
"Coffee in the back"? Something familiar about that. Coffee and stale cookies...
"Coincidentally, at that exact moment, a horse happened to pass under him and his beheaded corpse mounted it, where it remains to this day... But then, no one really knows."
"Coinslot's dead."
"Col Do Ma Ma Daqua" can also be translated as "a whisper light and low."
"Cold-hearted cop..."
"Combat trauma shit," he adds after a few seconds of sombre silence.
"Come again, sir, I didn't get that! 10-9. Over!"
"Come in dispatch, come in dispatch!"
"Come in, Delta-Ten, this is Firewalker, copy."
"Come in, officer! 10-9, repeat message please. Did you misplace your firearm? Over."
"Come now!" Her eyes light up. "Enough with your jokes, no backing down any more. Do I have your word?"
"Come now, it'll take weeks to get everything set up, start making the produce and deliver it around to the needy. This is a lengthy process."
"Come now, it's not personal, it's about proper sales practices and market research." She crosses her arms. "I expect an answer."
"Come now, there is not even a scent of corruption here. I am merely being polite... so let me check my pockets."
"Come now. I just need you to go open a *little* door for me -- and leave it unlocked. A simple thing. Absolutely nothing shady about it."
"Come now. Nobody carries that much cash on their person, particularly in a place like Martinaise... I'd get robbed."
"Come on now, let it go."
"Come on now. Be a little creative."
"Come on up -- the door is open!" She shouts: "I'm drying my hair..."
"Come on, I just need you to move about twenty centimetres back."
"Come on, Kim, *puh-leeeeeze*."
"Come on, anyone would notice that!" She rolls her eyes.
"Come on, detective, don't be a spoil sport. You'll have plenty of chances to earn your own points."
"Come on, detective, you knew the rules of the game going in..."
"Come on, detective. Let's go -- we've got a potential witness to interview -- his 'Sunday friend', remember?" He nods at the apartment door before you.
"Come on, did you hear anything?"
"Come on, don't be silly. That's not a proper deduction." She rolls her eyes.
"Come on, don't do this to me, baby, it's my time to be cool..."
"Come on, give me something to work with here."
"Come on, it might help us think of more creative solutions to the case."
"Come on, lieutenant, open up a little."
"Come on, ma'am. It's obvious she can't do anything about it. You're placing an unnecessary burden on a young child."
"Come on, man! Just talk to her -- I'm sure there's a workaround. Pretty please? We can run the club without bothering her."
"Come on, man. You're not under suspicion yet, but you will be if you keep evading questions."
"Come on, man. You've gotta talk to her for us!" He attempts to conceal his disappointment.
"Come on, officer." He pulls on a pair of  latex gloves. "You know what a field autopsy is. You've done a hundred of them."
"Come on, there is no place called the Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre of Arts."
"Come on, we even got in the Light Bending Guy's container, but you're saying we can't get in here?"
"Come on, why not?"
"Come to think of it -- I *should*. Where would I get one around here?"
"Come to think of it -- the *whore* could have written them to her *lover*!"
"Come to think of it, I've never really looked them up, you know. I can't give you a precise definition, but they're a very powerful religious organization."
"Come to think of it, yes!" She laughs.
"Come. We need to go now." The lieutenant puts his hand on your shoulder.
"Comes in handy when you've done too many opioids."
"Coming from an officer of the law, this appraisal means an awful lot to me." He bows slightly. "Thank you."
"Commies didn't drive Guillaume out. He left, when things got bad and left Frissel to take the hit."
"Commies just don't understand how money works."
"Commies, communists, socialists, anarchists -- call them what you like. They just chose the name to feel special." The carabineer frowns. "Senseless sentimentality."
"Communism is making a *massive* comeback, Kim."
"Communism is pretty cool."
"Communism is stupid, Cuno. And it's not a person. It's an ideology."
"Communism. It's a political ideology."
"Communism. You know, like in the world revolution?"
"Communists are pansies. Can't fight invaders with internationalist babble. You need the strength of a pure nation."
"Complete shit."
"Completely."
"Completely? Does that mean you took the body down from the tree?"
"Conference centres. A lot of them."
"Confidence -- good. That's how it goes. Wait for no one's permit." He takes a swig and points up the stairs with his flask. "Go ahead."
"Confirmed," he replies quickly. "It's 100% verified and meets all the standards of an authentic cryptid sighting. "
"Congratulations -- that's the gauntlets down, then. We're doing good on the armour collection front."
"Congratulations on the graffito removal." He turns to Titus. "All I see is you sitting around talking about *Monica's titties* -- while there's a rape victim."
"Congratulations, Kim. It was a test and you passed."
"Congratulations, you have seen the future. Now if you excuse me again, officer..." The worker sinks back onto the table, ready to continue his nap.
"Congratulations. All I see is you sitting around talking about *Monica's titties* -- while there's a rape victim."
"Congratulations. That must have taken an enormous, concerted effort. *Considerable* ingenuity. And timing. Now -- I'm going to report you and you're going to go to jail."
"Connect me to Jamrock Public Library."
"Consider, though: Seol is famous, or shall I say, infamous, for its spy tech. Don't you find it... convenient?"
"Considering what we're trying to do here this doesn't look like a good sign."
"Contact Mike is a reprise of the most inspiring basic sporting principle of open competition! A 5,000-1 rank outsider!"
"Contact mics," she repeats, turning the device in her hand.
"Container belt? Like we use in the harbour?"
"Container, container, I'll turn you nice and red. Container, container, put the logos on..."
"Container, container, used to be Wild Pines. Container, container now belongs to Evrart!" The tiny man is so engaged in his work he doesn't notice you.
"Continue working here. The locals, the case, or tend to your own business? I will meet you downstairs of the Whirling-In-Rags, tomorrow morning -- 7:30 sharp."
"Convenience has got nothing to do with what goes on up there..." He gazes up at the ceiling.
"Convenient," he nods. "But what are you doing *here*, talking to me?"
"Cool machine."
"Cool or not... One of them was obsessed with recording the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua -- and he was one of those passionate people who know a lot about all kinds of strange things, so he got the rest of us to join in his search..."
"Cool pig-head. I liked it. I got one too, this one." (Point to your head.) "It's shit."
"Cool place. Lot's of shit to do there."
"Cool shades. Are you wearing a disguise?"
"Cool shit, sub-zero shit. Cuno's listening. You got his attention." A nod of approval, then: "So what's next?"
"Cool what? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Cool" She looks at the white cents in your hand. "I've made more money by just *being* than I have with Oranjese lit."
"Cool, I'll think about it."
"Cool, but your boat really needs a name."
"Cool, cool, cool. (Rub your hands together.) I changed my mind anyway."
"Cool, cool, cool." He nods along. "That's very cool to Cuno."
"Cool, cool... We all want to know each other, know each others woes and all -- but people, man, they have *slippery* souls..."
"Cool, man! Yeah" Look around as much as you wanna, this is *your* place too!"
"Cool, man! Yeah, we should light her up with disco lights. People are gonna lose their shit when they see a club for anodic music with this kind of... sacred shit."
"Cool, man, cool. I'm glad you got off on it --  what the *fuck* are we talking about?"
"Cool, very cool about the debris -- but what's a *snuff milieu*?"
"Cool, whatever. Cuno doesn't really give a shit."
"Cool," the lieutenant nods approvingly. "You really showed that mail collection box."
"Cool. (Give her a little wink.) I am too."
"Cool. And what are you doing here?"
"Cool. Another question then."
"Cool. But I want to ask you about something else."
"Cool. Got lied to. Double-lied to. I get it. You cops need the Cuno on stuff like this. No one lies to the Cuno." He nods, with a stern and serious expression.
"Cool. I *liberate* pretty hard myself."
"Cool. I dig organized crime. It's the best."
"Cool. I don't even have any interesting replies."
"Cool. I don't have anything to add to that."
"Cool. I guess we'll handle it from here."
"Cool. I have other questions." (Conclude.)
"Cool. I like men with guns and power." The woman twirls her hair. "I'm Katya by the way..."
"Cool. I think I'm developing a pinch of that too. It hasn't done wonders to my taste in interior decoration."
"Cool. I took some. For personal use." (Show her the *Preptide*.)
"Cool. I'm glad you joined us. Not a lot of money in doomcrying... Let's move on, shall we?"
"Cool. I'm glad you remember. Let's talk about something else."
"Cool. I'm satisfied with this explanation."
"Cool. No brush then. Not a problem."
"Cool. Okay." He inspects the bird. "I was really hoping *not* to think about the cock carousel any longer, because it made me feel like *shit* -- but this *is* a competent piece of taxidermy."
"Cool. Ride until you're dust, sister."
"Cool. So can I get it for that?"
"Cool. So's Cuno -- Cuno's also having a vision of a *giant insect*. And it's *real*. Back off before it eats you..."
"Cool. That's *cool*." He nods and settles back into the pile of boxes.
"Cool. The ban on foulness, that's the moralists' plot to alienate us from our bodily functions so they can control us more fully..."
"Cool. They sent a ghost-cop after me. Congratulations."
"Cool. To me it sounds like you got played by Evrart Claire. Duped -- for the hundredth time."
"Cool. You told us about the investigation Friday night. Downstairs. At a table full of local kids and dockworkers. You told pretty much everyone. After you showed them your gun, that is..."
"Cool. You're Noid right? Do you have a moment to talk?"
"Cool. Your *friends*. Say hi to your friends for me then."
"Cool."
"Cool." (Raise your thumb.)
"Cool." He really does sound like he thinks it's a little *cool*. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Cool." He stares at you over his glasses. "No, no -- really. Rock and roll."
"Cool." She looks at the black note in your hand. "I've made more money by just *being* than I have with Oranjese lit."
"Cool." She seems happy to return to her reading.
"Cool." The woman nods.
"Cool." [Leave.]
"Cool... and what's the Moralintern?"
"Cop -- that's *exactly* what it means."
"Cop Off?"
"Cop's bitter cos' he fucked that corpse up, Cuno. What a fucking *kyrpelö*."
"Cop, I have no idea -- the girl says she didn't..."
"Cop, I'm gonna stop you right there." He pushes up his hat. "I'll save you the embarrassment -- I won't force you to tell me you've not been back there."
"Cop, you just don't understand how things work." He exhales sharply in frustration, but then quickly collects himself.
"Cop-man can ride the knobs! SO COOL." He gives you a thumbs up.
"Cop. We are living under the cop-regime."
"Cop."
"Coping mechanism?"
"Coppo loco." He looks at you and nods. "Good luck in Jamrock. Scars make the best tattoos, they say."
"Cops bribing citizens? Doesn't it usually go the other way around?" She doesn't wait for your reply.
"Cops gonna cut his shit up next."
"Cops gonna cut his shit up."
"Cops like it."
"Cops walking around with no memory of who they are, saying what I just said... The end can't be more than two days away."
"Copsicle. You meant to say copsicle."
"Corporate espionage may technically be legal in *Revachol*, but elsewhere it's a very high-level offence. It violates a number of international agreements, in particular the First La Cherte Accord..."
"Corpse desecration is morally repugnant, but what does that have to do with corporate espionage?"
"Correct."
"Corresponding to the twenty-centimetre hole in your brain? Sure. This theory has great symmetry. I see how it folds into itself neatly."
"Corrupt henchman of pedophiles..." The old man shakes his head. "You're desperate to report something back to them, aren't you? Your liberal masters. They must have really loved that dead fuck..."
"Corruption! That's how he's done it. Fantastic, würm-like corruption reaching into the bowels of the Earth." She looks at the ground and nods.
"Corruption?"
"Cos' she fucking looks like Cuno."
"Could I become a paraplegic?"
"Could I get a refill here, please?"
"Could I get into the harbour from the roof?"
"Could I get one of those FALN tracksuits you're hauling?"
"Could I have some of that 'unimportant' money then?"
"Could I see your passport, please?"
"Could be a coincidence. Or -- the same person has visited Land's End and..." He looks around, "...here."
"Could be a kid?"
"Could be a woman?"
"Could be the makings of a sniper's nest..." he nods.
"Could be, we don't know for sure. But we do know they are *spooky*."
"Could be," agrees the lieutenant. "Her hands were trembling and she did seem uncoordinated... But what are we gonna do with her?"
"Could be. In Revachol West, someone somewhere is always whispering about Le Retour..." He squints his eyes at the writing. "It's an *aerograffito*, meant for Coalition aerostatics in the lower troposphere."
"Could be. We should keep an eye out." He sighs. "Nothing more for us to do here. Let's go."
"Could have been Titus. Then again..." He pauses to think.
"Could have saved me the effort."
"Could her name be *Ruby* by any chance?"
"Could it be *here*" (Look around.) "Right now?"
"Could it be another Stas-Rajko murder?" He gives you a crooked smile. "Honestly, that just doesn't seem like the type of vehicle our dead guy would drive, so my initial guess is the two are not related."
"Could it be another Stas-Rajko murder?" He gives you a crooked smile. "You really should ask me to brief you on the case. But right now I'm just gonna go ahead and guess the two aren't related."
"Could it be because of the drinking?" She raises an eyebrow. The cigarette sizzles.
"Could it be connected to the Mazov bust we found in the student's room?"
"Could it be love that *did him in*?"
"Could it be related to the lynching?"
"Could it be that he's balding? Him thinking it's his last chance?"
"Could it be there's something hormonal in his relationship to the phasmid."
"Could it still be he was moved after death?"
"Could our suspect be staying here?"
"Could she be associated with the Hardie boys?"
"Could she be in there?"
"Could she have gotten this info from... Evrart?"
"Could someone have stopped through here recently?" (Conclude.)
"Could someone on your staff have put them there?"
"Could that be why they lynched him? Jealousy?"
"Could the film industry be involved?"
"Could the murder weapon we're looking for be similar?"
"Could the people after you have killed him?"
"Could the shooter still be... here?"
"Could the victim have been mixed up with some foreign guerilla fighters?"
"Could this be part of the Feld Playback Experiment?"
"Could this be related to the cryptozoologists and their little expedition?"
"Could this mean the Whirling-In-Rags really *is* part of the Doomed Commercial Area?"
"Could this structure have been used to take the shot?"
"Could we make it less *poetic* somehow? Just a normal case name, you know. Think -- what would that be? A good *normal* name?"
"Could you all please just stop saying 'lost his badge' for a moment?!"
"Could you and your pals sign this document?" (Show Evrart's letter.)
"Could you connect me to the 41st Precinct? I have something I need to report."
"Could you contact the company? Tell them to call them off."
"Could you guys help me get in to the harbour?"
"Could you help me get a dead body down from a tree?"
"Could you please stop asking *everyone* for money? It does not reflect well on the RCM and to be perfectly frank we can't afford to look worse than we already do."
"Could you please stop asking people for money? It does not reflect well on the RCM and to be perfectly frank we can't afford to look worse than we already do."
"Could you run a serial number from a pair of armoured boots for me?"
"Could you say it again, only a little less plodding?"
"Could you take a look at me? I've been through a lot lately."
"Could you tell me about one, just *one* interesting cryptid?"
"Could you... tell me about it?"
"Could you..." She closes her eyes. "Could you just... *shh* for a moment? Or get to the point -- I really need to focus on something."
"Could your attachment to your sports model motor carriage be clouding your judgement?"
"Could've been her. Small kid with giant white armoured hands. If you've seen one of them you've seen them all."
"Couldn't help you even if I wanted to." He shakes his head. "The whole harbour is in lockdown and Evrart sent word to sit tight and wait for instructions."
"Couldn't keep up, huh?" The young man shakes his head. "Sure, let's try something different then."
"Couldn't you *keep* the hole there? What if there are some hotties staying in that room..." (Wink.)
"Couldn't you just give it to me for free then?"
"Coupris is still around, aren't they?"
"Coupris, Resplendent... both gone now. Those that survived mended their ways. They're all *ultras* now."
"Cover *everything*? That can't be. Where would we go..."
"Cowardly king."
"Cowering. I was cowering downstairs with Sylvie."
"Crab-man... Look, I get it. In your delirium you came up with an *entroponetic* explanation for why you're such an insane drunk."
"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..."
"Crazy people? The fucking *näkkies*? I don't know..."
"Crazy? What are you talking about? She was very lucid."
"Crazy?" he whispers tensely. "You don't know the half of it. She's not crazy, she's insane. Dangerous. She smoked a man. She's done people in, probably even pigs..."
"Creative." The lieutenant looks around in the spacious room, its ceiling fading into shadows above.
"Crime Bros." (Nod at Kim.) "We're called *crime bros*, my partner and I."
"Crime fiction is about murders or burglaries or things like that. And the work of a policeman or a private detective who's trying to solve a crime and catch the criminals."
"Crime is a deviation from the law punishable by either a civil or criminal sentencing. It's what *The Law* prevents."
"Crime is what criminals do. And policemen... solve?"
"Crime is what we were solving before this conversation began."
"Critical theory books... What do you think this means?"
"Cross me again and I will bury you, Pigs."
"Cross the plaza and follow the road along the coast. Down by the water, there will be a shack nestled against an old stone façade. That's the pawnshop. An old friend of my husband's goes there often. He says the owner is quite helpful."
"Crowd -- you know. The drug crowd."
"Crown of Immortality? Aren't you already wearing one?"
"Crying helps, though. Get it out of your system and then maybe we can talk, okay? I'll be here."
"Cryptid extravaganza? I like the sound of that."
"Cryptid? Of course. That must be it." She takes a drag of her cigarette, warm amusement in her eyes. "Thank you, I feel better already."
"Cryptids?"
"Crypto-what?" Some odd connotation catches the old man's ear.
"Cryptozoology and detective work are very similar."
"Cryptozoology does seem like a lot of wishful thinking."
"Cryptozoology? You're giving me *cryptozoology? Trant was feeling *pity* for you -- you use the chance to go *full crypto*!"
"Cryptozoology? You're giving me *cryptozoology? You say you have a motive and you use the chance to go *full crypto* on me!"
"Cunn and what-the-fuck now?" He stares at Cuno, scratching his head.
"Cuno *knows* shit. Cuno's not a snitch, that's all." He shakes his head, clearly  offended. "Tryin'a make Cuno sing into the popophone..."
"Cuno -- 'City of Rage'? 'Night City'? What's going on there? I'm intrigued."
"Cuno -- Shush."
"Cuno -- please. If it's on the island, then it will be seen again. Calm down..."
"Cuno -- what will you do now?"
"Cuno ain't spoiling this shit for you." He gives you something akin to a wink. "You gotta climb in there yourself a check it out."
"Cuno beat the shit out of popo!" The kid is laughing so hard, tears are running down his freckled cheeks. "Beat your fucking knee off."
"Cuno can already see you soaring through the air like a fucking eagle." He looks at you with pride. "Pig's in Cuno's debt now. Money-debt."
"Cuno can hear you, cop -- and Cuno don't know shit about the rags, okay? You don't have to come asking about them again like some bitch."
"Cuno can see you're trying to shit him, but Cuno's unshittable, so fuck does Cuno care?"
"Cuno can't believe this shit!" It's like he's now realized he has super-powers. "Can *no one* stop the Cuno?!"
"Cuno can't wait to see you shit your fat pants!"
"Cuno cares now."
"Cuno could do this shit. Live all alone like this. Cuno could hack it."
"Cuno could hook you up with some sweet rags. Shit like Cuno's wearing." He points to his pants. "Your size, good price, 500 reál."
"Cuno could've hit it easy, but then -- Cuno's not fucking handicapped is he?"
"Cuno did."
"Cuno dies, you're gonna pick one out of his brain like that too? Cuno's gonna go out in a hail of bullets. Gonna look like a fucking porcupine."
"Cuno doesn't do that *smart* shit." He seems offended. "Don't throw that book shit at Cuno. Cuno knows you're lying."
"Cuno doesn't fucking care."
"Cuno doesn't give a shit about the armour."
"Cuno doesn't give a shit about your handicap. Get a wheelchair or something. Cuno doesn't care."
"Cuno doesn't give a shit. Cuno's not hooked on the book. Tryna get me hooked on it, teachers and shit..."
"Cuno doesn't know anything about it though. Except you stink bad, which is why it left you."
"Cuno doesn't know what that means -- Cuno just knows it was FUCKING GIANT. Holy hell..."
"Cuno doesn't know, but Cuno wants to know."
"Cuno doesn't reward weakness," he says looking at your pathetic limp. "It's business as usual with Cuno. Cuno's cold like that."
"Cuno doesn't want to talk about this shit." There is a moment of thoughtful silence. He almost looks behind him.
"Cuno don't give a shit about your shits."
"Cuno flexes for hobos. Cuno sees you're in need." He spreads his hands like a baker presenting the goods. A smile spreads across his flushed face.
"Cuno fucking *knew* there had to be something wrong if you can run like that..."
"Cuno fucking knew it. This a sniper's nest, right? Fuckin' assassin action... Cuno *barely* understands what's happening -- but he likes the shit out of it."
"Cuno gets it from his dad. Cuno and his dad are major suppliers!" His eyes bulge; their veins reach out like tree branches. "That's where Cuno gets his lightning on."
"Cuno gives this info out on a need-to-know basis. And *you* don't need to know." He draws snot up his nose. "Cuno didn't smoke the gimp, if that's what you meant."
"Cuno gives you hot fucking leads... snitch-bitch style -- and you come back griefin' the Cuno? The fuck out of here!"
"Cuno gonna FUCK YOU UP!" She pumps her bony fists in the air. "UP! UP! UP!"
"Cuno had some business ventures set up in the neighbourhood. Had money coming in... But not any more." He punches and invisible target in the air. "Cuno's a straight-ass pig now."
"Cuno has hands." He displays his little fingers, they're pink. "Cuno can shoot that shit down for you."
"Cuno hopes you learned your lesson and Cuno doesn't have to send his guys after you again." He nods seriously. "Now, what do you want from Cuno?"
"Cuno is present on the scene." He looks around with his hands on his hips.
"Cuno is this about... Rage City?"
"Cuno isn't a machine-meister." He stares at the dials. 'Urgence -- Ouvert!', 'Allumer,' 'Radiodiffusé.'... Yeah, why the fuck not?"
"Cuno just told you your friend is dead! And you're crying about pain? That doesn't seem right to Cuno." He shakes his head. "The binoclard was alright, he didn't deserve that shit..."
"Cuno kicked that shit in the sea. Rugby style. That shit means *nothing* to Cuno."
"Cuno knew dress-up-pigs were in town. Cuno meant to dust them -- Cuno pig-duster -- but didn't, 'cause Cuno cares." The kid nods solemnly.
"Cuno knew the pig was a f****t."
"Cuno knows all kinds of shit. Cuno gets *around*."
"Cuno knows all kinds of shit. Cuno's not a snitch, that's all." He shakes his head, clearly offended. "Tryin'a make the Cuno sing into the popophone..."
"Cuno knows how to fucking throw!"
"Cuno knows it's fucking lame. That's why Cuno changed it."
"Cuno knows that shit. All the worst dreams are about bitches -- you wouldn't *believe* the shit Cuno sees about C..."
"Cuno knows this four-eyed fuck, totally hooked on the book, can't get enough of this shit. Fucking sad really... Cuno could make mad money off him, exploit his disease."
"Cuno knows to respect that violent shit. You should see Cuno's dad -- Cuno's dad doesn't give a shit about *anything*," he declares with pride.
"Cuno knows what Cuno means."
"Cuno knows what you meant. Cuno's not a snitch, that's all." He shakes his head, clearly offended. "Tryin'a make Cuno sing into the popophone..."
"Cuno knows where you sleep -- the pig who fucked his window up. I'm gonna climb in through that balcony, put the fucking knife in you... yeah," he mouths: "I've been in your room."
"Cuno knows which kipt Cuno meant. Cuno knows *all* the kipts. Cuno's dad's a kipt-expert, says kipt every day! A hundred times a day!!"
"Cuno knows. Cuno and C saw you shit yourself. It's okay, pig. Not everyone can face the fear -- Cuno style."
"Cuno knows. This place is spooky as fuck."
"Cuno likes this brain-shit. Thinking-shit."
"Cuno made Cuno. Cuno says whatever the fuck he wants! There are no *rules* here, pig." He steps closer...
"Cuno made himself into Cuno. Cuno can make himself into *anything*. Cuno can make himself into a *pig* if he wants, Cuno can make himself into a f******t. Cuno doesn't give a shit."
"Cuno made you his fuck-gimp!" He bursts into a violent fit of laughter. Sounds like a flock of seagulls taking flight.
"Cuno means she killed someone. That's right, C's a killer." He stares at you intently. "Like, actually a killer."
"Cuno on the case."
"Cuno owns the fatass," he whispers, then looks around and yells from the top of his lungs: "Help, the RCM is trying to *FUCK* Cuno!"
"Cuno owns you now, pig! You're Cuno's property!"
"Cuno saw you wield that can," he says with an approving nod. "Sweet graffito action, pig. Cuno likes that delinquent shit."
"Cuno sees you're too pussy to face Cuno's dad. It's okay. Come back when your balls are big-time."
"Cuno sent your fat ass running around like jello!"
"Cuno thinks you have brain damage or some shit." He twirls a finger next to his head. "Cuno cares."
"Cuno thinks you're fucked," he concludes with a solemn nod. "But I can help you. What'cha got? Bounce that shit off Cuno."
"Cuno this boot-shit is super boring  and the guys are total *vittupää's*."
"Cuno told me you were supposed to know about the armour."
"Cuno tried to get the helmet on. It was too big." He performs a kick-off on the imaginary helmet.
"Cuno turned you into his prison bitch! You're gonna be *in* this shit with Cuno..."
"Cuno used to hang there sometimes. It's a real shit-hole. Everyone is old or a fucking drunk or dead, except..."
"Cuno wants to hear all about it, but first we split the kilo," he leans in, "then we shoot the shit."
"Cuno wants to like reckless shit..." He looks at one hand, then the other. "But then you almost kill Cuno's girl. Cuno's conflicted and shit."
"Cuno wasn't around. And C was with Cuno. Told you this already."
"Cuno won't take this shit lightly. The pieces are moving, pig. This is fucking domino shit."
"Cuno won... You *won*, Cuno!" The relief is palpable. The little hat jumps up and down behind the fence.
"Cuno! Please stop calling here! Grown-ups don't have time for your stupid games."
"Cuno's Cuno!" The boy points to his chest with both thumbs. "You already know that, slow-shit."
"Cuno's Cuno, pig!" The boy points to his chest with both thumbs.
"Cuno's a pig now." He picks his tooth with a dirty fingernail.
"Cuno's a street kid I helped."
"Cuno's back to full power now, he doesn't give shit about kipts and retards." He let's go off his throat. "Let's talk normal shit."
"Cuno's been everywhere, pig."
"Cuno's clock's not doing shit." He looks at his wrist. "Cuno's got a fuckload of time."
"Cuno's cruising his bitch on the town and the bitch comes back griefin' to the Cuno? What is up with that?"
"Cuno's dad doesn't give a shit. Doesn't even see her there. Or thinks it's fucking Cuno..." He points at himself. "Shit's all on Cuno."
"Cuno's dad has this shit. Wine belly." The kid looks at you. "The cops can take care of this, right? Medicine shit. With, like, facilities."
"Cuno's dad is a fucking monster," he says proudly. "He's the most violent man in Revachol. He doesn't give a shit about a single thing. He drinks too."
"Cuno's fuck-gimp's got one big thing wrong with him. He's a fucking mutant."
"Cuno's fuck-gimp." He picks up a rock.  "Cuno uses the fuck-gimp for target practice."
"Cuno's fuckin' nineteen."
"Cuno's fucking electricity! 20 000 volts. Cuno-volts."
"Cuno's fucking electricity! 2000 volts. Cuno-volts."
"Cuno's fucking smart, Cuno wasn't *in* that fuck-pile. Cuno knows when shit goes south, unlike you."
"Cuno's gonna get you hooked on illegal narcotics, if you run a little errand for the Cuno -- get you *hooked*, pig. Get his hook in you. Then Cuno gonna get you hookin' for more. Cash in big-style. Pig hooker."
"Cuno's gonna go out like that too. Gonna be just like Cuno's violent dad. Fuck on speed, do crime shit -- go out fast, Revachol West style."
"Cuno's gonna go out like that too. Gonna be just like Cuno's violent dad. Speed shit, crime shit, fucking on the bed -- go out West Revachol style."
"Cuno's gonna have a fucking heart attack!"
"Cuno's gonna have one too. Gonna be just like Cuno's dad. Speed shit, crime shit, fucking on the bed -- Cuno's gonna go out like Cuno's dad. Revachol West style."
"Cuno's gonna let the fucking locusts die."
"Cuno's gonna say it's *not* any of the things you *think* it is. Cuno'd have to get deep into this shit, but whatever it is -- you got played here. That's for sure."
"Cuno's gonna scram now." He rubs his hands together. "Can't be seen with pigs. Can't shit on Cuno's good name."
"Cuno's gonna stop you right there. This..." he strokes the console, "ain't gonna work." He points upward, to the generator. "Not without the juice. You gotta fuel that shit if you want it to work. Let's look outside maybe?"
"Cuno's got brains. This shit doesn't surprise Cuno." He squints at you. "So Cuno's gonna give you one more chance. Know this, pig -- shit is *major*."
"Cuno's got everything Cuno needs. All civics and shit."
"Cuno's got no fucking clue." He looks at you. "You need to pig this shit. Cop style."
"Cuno's got no fucking idea. Her hair was all wet. I think she pissed on the floor too. She was there for three days -- in the corner. Every time Cuno went out."
"Cuno's got nothing to say to you."
"Cuno's got that shit under control."
"Cuno's got this shit under control." He spits through the gap in his front teeth.
"Cuno's got this."
"Cuno's got this." The boy throwing rocks at the dead body can't be older than twelve.
"Cuno's got zero patience for this weepy shit. Cuno's been through way worse than this."
"Cuno's gotta say, man, that was unimpressive. The fuck were you trying to do?"
"Cuno's great. I should have taken him to the island. He'd tell you it's all true."
"Cuno's in action."
"Cuno's in the game. Let's fucking do this, pig." he whispers, excitedly.
"Cuno's just gonna beat the shit out of you again." He is clearly still in awe of himself right now.
"Cuno's like Cuno's dad -- Cuno doesn't give a fuck about anything."
"Cuno's likin' this shit. Jamrock is the real shit -- Martinaise is fucking white as balls. Sea-shit. This ain't a real ghetto."
"Cuno's liking this tense shit."
"Cuno's little shitshow..."
"Cuno's never seen anything so lame..." he says mostly to himself. "Listen, pig... If you were Cuno, the fuck would you care?"
"Cuno's not fuckin' trying to be tough!" He pushes on bravely. "This shit is real. Cuno's fucking violent dad's gonna be a vegetable -- Cuno knows that shit. Stroke shit, stomach fucked up, and..."
"Cuno's not gonna say anything without his lawyer present."
"Cuno's pa' is. You're just shit at life," he says without malice. "Now what's your case with Cuno?"
"Cuno's riding it, C." He wipes sweat from his brow and sends another rock flying.
"Cuno's sorry too. Cuno feels sorry for the binoclard."
"Cuno's violent dad's got Cuno's key, so you need to fuck your way in there. Go to the pier-side. Bang on the door till the cleaning gimp lets you in. That's how Cuno does it."
"Cuno, I found your shack." (Point to the shack.)
"Cuno, I have couple of questions about Martinaise."
"Cuno, I met your dad."
"Cuno, I need a fridge to stash the body."
"Cuno, I wasn't trying to shoot her. It just went off. Sometimes it just goes off..."
"Cuno, I... I threw up and I can't investigate the body now..."
"Cuno, can *you* see it?!"
"Cuno, could she be Suruese?"
"Cuno, do you have a camera or something?"
"Cuno, doesn't know who lives there. And if he did, he wouldn't squeal. But if you find out, maybe you can..."
"Cuno, doesn't know who put that shit in there. And if he did, he wouldn't squeal. But if you find out, maybe you can..."
"Cuno, if you're going to interrupt -- make it snappier."
"Cuno, let's go to the fucking island."
"Cuno, let's talk about your shack again."
"Cuno, let's talk about your shack."
"Cuno, listen to me -- she's trying to *control* you. We gotta get you outta here."
"Cuno, listen. I know this *boundary-pushing* thing is new to you, but it's old news for us grown-ups."
"Cuno, shouldn't you be at school or something?"
"Cuno, stop being nice to the pig!" The screech pierces through the yard. "Step away from Cuno, fat-ass creep!"
"Cuno, the pig wants to *help* you..." she moans. "That's how lame it is. Please just don't say you're --"
"Cuno, the pig's getting pretty close to me," she hisses. "Come to snuff my shit out, I think."
"Cuno, there's a stack of eternite back there..." (Point to the shack.)
"Cuno, they've almost made you a snitch now..."
"Cuno, throw the pig!"
"Cuno, uh... that's.... that's what Cuno is starting to think. Yeah."
"Cuno, what is the *ICM*?"
"Cuno, with a pair of binoculars, I would be able to see *inside* the room."
"Cuno, you must have seen all kinds of things throwing stones here. Wanna help the RCM bust a murderer?"
"Cuno, you still have my back, right?"
"Cuno, your dad is a half-dead alcoholic. He was sleeping under some clothes."
"Cuno. Am I having a violent epileptic seizure?"
"Cuno. I think the shot might have come from the islet."
"Cuno. Keep your head in the game."
"Cuno... I had this..." (Shake your head) "Fucking dream..."
"Cuno... do you think it's possible that she's killed other children?"
"Cuno..."
"Cuno...there's something there."
"Cuno? Is that some kind of gang name?"
"Cuno? Sounds like something you'd call a rabid dog..."
"Curiosity. Going to figure out this strike mess."
"Curious yes, I guess we'll never know... About something else though?"
"Cursed in a way that makes them say that no business has ever really thrived here, sir. That they all go..." She's looking for the right word...
"Cursed? But I thought the curse wasn't real."
"Cursed? But curses aren't real, ma'am."
"Cursed? In what way?"
"Custom-made. Cost me a pretty penny!" He rubs the back of his balding head.
"Cut down on the drinking, pal. In fact, cut *off* the drinking. The drugs too. Anything else?"
"Cut it out" is indeed what he is thinking.
"Cut off the snake's head. Evrart's pushing all this."
"Cut the bullshit. She told me the truth."
"Cut the crap, bozo! I saw you cheating!"
"Cut the crazy act," the man with sunglasses interjects angrily. "She's being polite enough by not telling you to fuck off."
"Cut the shit." The words are addressed to you. "Every second you stand here running your mouth the case grows colder."
"Cute. Your still under arrest."
"D'accord hard core! Germaine Egg-Head."
"DANCE!" (Point at Andre.) "It's *The Law*."
"DEAL!" yells Egg Head.
"DEMOCRATIC ETHNOSTATES ARE MICROSCOPIC. THEY BREED GENETIC MEDIOCRITY. THE SEMENO-AREOPAGITE SUPERSTATE WILL COVER THE *ENTIRE* REMAINING PLANETARY CRUST, UNINTERRUPTED FROM HOLY SEMENINE TO THE BOREAL PLATEAU OF KATLA."
"DENNIS!" Titus roars. "Stand down or I'll beat your head in. Theo --" He points to the old man. "Take your hand off the belt -- this isn't '31. I've got this under control."
"DID HE SAY WE CAN GO BACK NOW?"
"DISCO ELYSIUM."
"DO NOT BE NAIVE. I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THE GREAT RACE ENIGMA. WHY WOULD I SHARE IT WITH A DEFORMED INFANT? YOU DO NOT HAVE THE DEVOTION FOR  SERVITUDE."
"DO NOT PRESUME THIS HAS DRASTICALLY ALTERED OUR RACE DYNAMIC."
"DOLORIAN CHURCH -- THE PLACE TO BE!" Egg's losing himself in the sound. "Pump it, pump it!"
"DON'T BE VULGAR. WHITE OR NOT HAS GOT LITTLE TO DO WITH THIS. THE *RACE ENIGMA* RUNS MUCH DEEPER THAN THAT." He turns his eyes towards the harbour, seemingly bored with you.
"DON'T MOVE!" She seems to grit her teeth. "HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, HUMAN SHIELD! HANDS ON YOUR FUCKING HEAD!"
"DON'T WORRY, GARY. I'LL HANDLE IT."
"Daba-doop-doop-dead," he says without a hint of melody. Not one muscle in his face moves.
"Dad, can I go climb that ladder?" Mikael asks. "I want to go climb that ladder!"
"Daddy is going to take you on his lap, little darling."
"Dammit. What now?" [Leave.]
"Dammit." She lets out a loud sigh, before tearing off her headphones; she's still avoiding your gaze.
"Damn Frissel -- he was the king we couldn't protect. The carabineers failed him... and the crown." The old veteran falls silent and massages his chest. "He died in the hands of the *hoi polloi* in a very public execution."
"Damn Jean, how are you so romantic..." the woman swoons.
"Damn corpse. We had a good rhythm going..." Kim gets up and brushes his pants.
"Damn it doesn't. So why don't you just shut up and leave it to the *master*?"
"Damn it to hell, Harry!" He slams his fist on the table. "I specifically told my guys to check all the containers for mega rich light-bending guys."
"Damn it! Damn it! I didn't get it right..." [Leave in rage.]
"Damn it's cold outside..."
"Damn it, Harry, that's exactly what it means!"
"Damn it, now you've got *me* curious... this is *not* what we came to the harbour for."
"Damn it... He's definitely *someone's* husband." Kim points at the golden ring on the man's left hand, the flesh around it swollen and pale.
"Damn it... I meant.. do you want to find someplace private to... no, shit--"
"Damn it... I really need my gun -- and to see where this is going."
"Damn may bells..." He looks at the blossoming field behind you. "The whole island is turning white with them..."
"Damn may bells..." He looks at the blossoming field: "The whole island is turning white with them..."
"Damn right I am, Harry!" The fist lands on the table again. "I'm gonna make the working man as rich as she is one day. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."
"Damn right I'm up to something, Harry!" The fist lands on the table again. "I'm gonna make the working man as rich as *Joyce Messier*. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."
"Damn right it does, Harry. What you did was participate in history. When history calls, you *have* to pick up. You had no choice. None of us ever do. A hard disco cop like you -- I knew you weren't one to resist temptation."
"Damn right, son. They laid the fire of hell on this city before they stormed it. And it worked, too." There is a strange gleam in his eyes.
"Damn right, we just discovered a GIANT INSECT. Ain't no one done that..." He looks across the water.
"Damn right."
"Damn songbird of misery that one..." The man shakes his head.
"Damn straight. I'm a sharpshooting cop."
"Damn straight."
"Damn you, you arrogant book."
"Damn, Evrart, I was hoping I'd somehow get to fuck you over in the end. Not the other way around."
"Damn, Harry..." He shakes his head. "I was hoping that too, but the information I gave you proved too powerful."
"Damn, I always warned her to watch herself... man, nothing to do now, I guess."
"Damn, I didn't know it would be *connected* to the case..."
"Damn, I don't know. Even a real *bröderbund* like that can't survive everything..."
"Damn, I don't wanna..." He looks you straight in the eye. "Please just let it go. Whatever she did, it can't be that bad. She's not a bad person, I know that much."
"Damn, I felt *really* strange just now."
"Damn, I missed asking these guys about the dried may bells."
"Damn, I was hoping it would be in the *first* one."
"Damn, officer, you look like a mega-secret spy, very secret," the man nods eagerly. "They're practically made for you. I'll let you have them for... two reál and fifty cents!"
"Damn, that's too bad."
"Damn, this reminds me: I got side- tracked asking Cuno about the rags... The damned FALN pants got in the way. We should ask again, Kim."
"Damn, we should have helped the cryptozoologists."
"Damn, you're right. What kind of a business relationship would that kick-start?"
"Damn. That girl's pretty, but not *that* pretty. In fact, no one's pretty enough to waste time skulking about the Whirling, drilling holes in walls..."
"Damn... Cuno's read about that shit in a *book*.  Cuno's booked that shit. That was, like, a secret animal. Like one of those they *think* is real but haven't seen. The Insulindian phasmid..."
"Damnit, fine, I'll look into it, we need to talk about that murder." (Accept the task.)
"Damnit, maybe I can still restock the trap for you?" (Accept.)
"Dance music -- basically disco? I know all about it."
"Dance! Aren't you going to *dance*?!"
"Dance, monkey fucker!!"
"Dance, you yellow monkey fucker!"
"Dance? Yellow?" He pauses to look at you with tired eyes. "*Monkey fucker*?"
"Dance?" he repeats. "*Monkey* fucker?"
"Dang," he grunts, unable to suppress his reaction. "That's some *great* shit. You came up with that yourself?"
"Danger comes with the boiadeiro lifestyle, right?
"Dark magic?"
"Dark times will do that to good men." He nods gravely, then shifts his gaze to the floor tiles.
"Dark times will do that to good men." He nods gravely, then shifts his gaze to the pile of soggy logs at his feet.
"Dark?! Dark is when you start a goddamn death-rock band! He said he'd rape her!" He shakes his head in disbelief.
"Dark?" The big guy bursts out laughing. "What the fuck was that, you carnies? We haven't seen RCM in four years and *this* shows up!"
"Darkness rides." (Pick up the coins.)
"Date of issue: 7th of November, '50..."
"Day of miracles..." she says, pulling the gun out of her mouth, eyes still fixed on you. Then she turns her gaze to the tunnel behind you. "I'll take it."
"De Ruyters are at the end of this hallway, right next to the communal bathroom."
"Dead animals are very spooky."
"Dead bodies of perennial plants." He taps on the wood. "Sigma functions have left this place. It's a good thing we came along -- the spiritual collapse has been total."
"Dead body, spirit entered. What is there to talk of?"
"Dead body?"
"Dead, daba-doop-doop."
"Dead."
"Dead? Just don't say that you know how they feel. You don't."
"Deadady-dead-dead-dead."
"Deadady-dead-dead."
"Deal."
"Dealing with ghosts is simple. You have to show them who's boss."
"Deals so good you just *can't* pass this up!"
"Dear child, it's freezing. Where's your hat?"
"Dear god, he lost his gun!!! Oh my... I can't... He..." The man succumbs to laughter again.
"Death Blow... sounds grim."
"Death ain't sad -- theirs was glorious. Hope mine will be dignified like that..."
"Death by misadventure. He slipped and fell through the boardwalk. A truly unfortunate accident... If it wouldn't have been for that bench, he'd be alive."
"Debating. You should consider joining a debating society for adults. I hear they're *oodles* of fun. I used to have a flyer for one, but..."
"Debrief over," he nods. "After you."
"Declined?"
"Deep down everyone is lonely."
"Definitely not."
"Definitely. I think she knows something -- about the mercenaries, maybe. And she won't be around if the situation explodes."
"Definitely. It amazes me how we've managed not to... The Wild Pines has information that may be critical to our case."
"Degenerates? I've been trained to identify the slightest hint of degeneracy by the pre-eminent authority on it."
"Delinquents -- my favourite." It doesn't sound like it's really his favourite.
"Delusional art bourgeois..." He waves you off.
"Demo-tape? Like some kind of a musician?"
"Democracy is a meaningless sham as long as the working class is under the boot-heel of Capital."
"Denial...? I don't know."
"Dennis? That poor little rat is dead too." He shakes his head. "I always thought he'd run. But, no, he stayed. Stupid brave fella."
"Dennis? You *saw* him run. He's a mean little shit and I never trusted him." He shakes his head. "He better run real fast now -- *real* fast."
"Deny everything, Cuno! You need to lawyer up!"
"Deora, 19° centigrade, clear."
"Deora-of-the-Seven-Seas. It's on the other end of Le Caillou, pretty much -- on another island, called Laurentide, off mainland. We've got a little place there. I can almost hear my kid laugh, when it snows..."
"Deora?"
"Departed," his partner finishes his sentence, then chuckles: "Until the very end she couldn't decide between us. The most indecisive woman I've ever met."
"Depends. How much do you pay the kid?"
"Desires drive people *loco*..."
"Despite *all* that I've done?"
"Detective -- please. Don't start talking about your *pheromones* again. This is serious. If you don't..." She doesn't finish the sentence.
"Detective Disorientated." She smiles coldly. "Are you still wondering where you are? This is Martinaise, in case you've forgotten. I advise you not to overstay your welcome."
"Detective Mullen has done it again! 'Uh... where's my gun?'" the speaker crudely mimics your voice.
"Detective Skin-Colour." She smiles coldly. "I'm still black as you can see. Do you have any more keen-eyed observations?"
"Detective Vicquemare... I'm not saying he's the Son of Lung. But lying? I mean --  he *has* blacked out before..."
"Detective Vicquemare... he *has* blacked out before. We should take this seriously."
"Detective, I advise you to be *very* selective with what information you choose to share. This may have consequences beyond our line-of-sight."
"Detective, I'm serious. Have you considered what will happen to the RCM's reputation if one of our own starts going around talking about the end of the world?"
"Detective, I've been able to make out the mark ever since we arrived. I find it odd that you haven't. It's a Coupris, model 40." His eyes turn to you.
"Detective, enough. I don't want to hear about your degenerate ravings. I've heard *plenty* as it is. Just stop."
"Detective, if I may be frank -- you seem to be in a deranged state. You have trouble remembering things, you've *misplaced* you badge. I cannot let you act in the name of the RCM without supervision until you you've regained control of your faculties."
"Detective, if I may be frank -- you seem to be in a deranged state. You have trouble remembering things. I cannot let you act in the name of the RCM without supervision until you you've regained control of your faculties."
"Detective, is everything alright?
"Detective, it's better if *I* do that..." he says in a lowered voice.
"Detective, it's our job to *protect* citizens, not force our questionable fashion choices upon them."
"Detective, may I remind you that Mrs. Messier is a *professional negotiator*?" He doesn't look like he thinks you'll best her in single combat.
"Detective, you're the one in charge." The lieutenant motions toward the door.
"Detective," he says almost gently. "We *don't*. A rescue operation really isn't viable at this point."
"Detective," he says, his voice level as a tabletop.
"Detective," the lieutenant closes his notebook. "A word in private before we continue."
"Detective." He points to the mess hall doors.
"Detective." He thinks of putting his hand on your shoulder, then doesn't. "We don't have to demonstrate anything, let's just get back to the questions."
"Detective." She looks at Vicquemare. "I just don't want this *trial* to go on any longer. It's cold outside, and... let's just go."
"Detective." She looks at Vicquemare. "I just don't want this *trial* to go on any longer. It's cold outside, and..."
"Detective." The lieutenant acknowledges you with a sharp note. He's leaving it to you.
"Detective." The lieutenant gives you a stern look. "We have not come here to discuss ideology." He then turns to the old man.
"Detective..."
"Detective? Is everything alright in there?"
"Detective?" He turns to you.
"Detective?" The lieutenant turns to you, with well disguised impatience.
"Devil woman..."
"Diamonds are good for you, lawman. You should try them sometime. Make yourself pretty like Eva Deshoras."
"Diamonds, really?"
"Diamonds."
"Diamorphine? But that hasn't been around for years -- five or more, like, seven years maybe? Everybody just does *hunch* now."
"Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity."
"Dick Mullen on steroids..." A sad smile passes over his bruised face. "Glen would have liked you had he gotten to... never mind."
"Dick fucking Mullen, who do you think?"
"Did *she* kill him?"
"Did *you* know Gary was hiding the armour?"
"Did *you* order the hanged man killed?"
"Did *you* use artillery fire against them?"
"Did Cuno not tell you? Cuno doesn't do that entrapment shit. King Pin Cuno ain't going to the pork pen. Get the fuck out of here!"
"Did Elizabeth -- the gardener -- survive?"
"Did Garte put you up to this?"
"Did I ask for your *opinion?*"
"Did I do this?"
"Did I ever talk to you?"
"Did I have any visitors?"
"Did I hurt your feelings? You'll live. Someone's gotta be honest with you, even if you are a cop."
"Did I just ruin it?"
"Did I mention losing anything else?"
"Did I mention that this figurine is supposed to be lucky? Always carry it with you." He grins.
"Did I offend your moralist sensibilities? You beat people to death with a baton, you fucking dog!" The old man spits.
"Did I say anything about my colleagues?"
"Did I say anything about the case?"
"Did I tell you anything specific about this person that 'fucked me?'"
"Did I? Well done then, Harry. I like not knowing about it and I'm sure you made the right call. I spend the whole day delegating tasks, and it's a great relief to see people taking initiative."
"Did I?"
"Did I?" She arches an eyebrow and sighs. "Why do I still feel *suspicion* hanging over me then? What I managed was to get him killed. I understand that."
"Did I?" She looks into her coffee. "Fuck. I didn't mean to. I had no idea what I was doing."
"Did M feel truly betrayed by me? I was feeling threatened -- he'd have to know if he threatened people, they'd take measures to protect themselves. Even I know that. Economic measures first of all. Gotta make a living, right. I can still hear his voice in the receiver, taste the plastic..."
"Did any of them look like drummers?"
"Did he buy anything?"
"Did he discuss union business with you?"
"Did he hurt you? Is that why? Did you get some kind of sick *kick* out of killing him?"
"Did he just call you a *pussy-boy*?"
"Did he just say... Insulindian phasmid?"
"Did he lose his memory along with his fucking badge?" The man in the background sounds like he's losing his patience.
"Did he now?" Her eyes narrow. "Well, then it should be any day now. Unless, of course, he's *lying* to you. Anyway, was there anything else you've heard?"
"Did he say *whores* a lot?... Was he pretty much on the verge of *doing it Li Shmin style*?"
"Did he tell you he had actually *done* any of those things -- here in Martinaise, I mean?"
"Did he tell you he had actually *done* any of those things? Here in Martinaise, I mean."
"Did he? I must have drifted away... somewhere between the copious mentions of pigs and homo-sexuality."
"Did he?" A smile flits across her face. "I never said he was a good man. Or that he had good intentions -- only that he was never bad to me."
"Did he?" He lowers his voice. "That one's a hoax. Some seraise rice farmers set fire to rhinoceros cadavers and used them scare tourists."
"Did it seem like she was hiding in here? Or running from something?"
"Did one of his *complex* theories turn out to be true?"
"Did one of his theories turn out to be true?"
"Did one of these "tiny apes" have a pale green face?" An old woman appears out of the blackness.
"Did she have any technical equipment with her, like radio stuff?"
"Did she talk to you much during her last stay?"
"Did she talk to you much this time?"
"Did she?" The lieutenant's voice is calm. "They say her *daughter* called in, not her personally. But that wasn't really her daughter, was it?"
"Did someone here make stuffed animals? I saw a lot of mounts lying around."
"Did that bring you together?"
"Did the Débardeurs themselves tell her this, or is it a rumour?"
"Did the communists and the anarchists shoot back?"
"Did the jogging help?"
"Did the wind just pick up..."
"Did they bring you good luck?"
"Did they climb up using the kids' ladder?" (Point to the one at the side of the tree.)
"Did they ever. Before they got shot themselves, they shot two million people."
"Did they kill the hanged man?"
"Did they... cross it? The Western Plain?"
"Did this violent life include drug trafficking?"
"Did we need anything else here?" He looks around in the cabin.
"Did we recently shoot up a church by any chance?" (Point to the church.)
"Did we talk about, uhm, politics?"
"Did we, though?" He sighs. "Okay, maybe we *did*"
"Did we? I don't *feel* lucky."
"Did you *kill* him?" The kid puffs his chest. "Fucking tell this cop."
"Did you *kill* him?" The lieutenant takes a sudden step toward him.
"Did you *party* with Ruby too?"
"Did you *party*?"
"Did you *steal it*?"
"Did you also tell her to start the amphetamine lab?"
"Did you check the local pawnshop? Because *I* did  -- and you're not gonna believe it, but you sold the pawnbroker a Villiers 9mm pistol -- to pay for booze!"
"Did you close the blast door?"
"Did you do something wrong?"
"Did you ever use artillery fire against the *communards*?"
"Did you feel... protective of the Union?"
"Did you find out more about the owner of the armoured boots?"
"Did you follow it?"
"Did you fucking shit in your boots?"
"Did you get a read on what kind of cop I was?"
"Did you get it, did you get the picture?"
"Did you guys shoot him?"
"Did you have a hard time convincing Miss Pigs to relinquish it?"
"Did you have feelings for that woman?"
"Did you hear or see the shooter -- at any point?"
"Did you hear or see the shooter in the course of this?"
"Did you hear that? Did you hear me sing? Did you like it?"
"Did you hear that? They're secretly working in there!"
"Did you just call me *Harry*?
"Did you just call me a *lady*, xerife?"
"Did you just climb down from the church tower?"
"Did you keep the documents in it?"
"Did you keep the materials? When I found it, the submersible it was empty.
"Did you keep the materials?"
"Did you keep what was in it? When we found the submersible it was empty."
"Did you kill Sylvie?"
"Did you kill him, Garte?"
"Did you kill him?"
"Did you know I don't like bad addict cops?" He stares at you over his glasses. "Almost no one in the RCM does."
"Did you know the man who died?"
"Did you learn this from studying Oranjese lit? Sounds psychological."
"Did you leave any.. flowers for Klaasje on the roof?"
"Did you leave the dried may bells behind her window?"
"Did you love him?"
"Did you make that hole?"
"Did you make the call?"
"Did you mean there are *electrical* lights?" He points to the streetlight.
"Did you miss the part about *ceramic armour* and *automatic weapons*, detective?"
"Did you miss the part where I said they aren't here yet? Besides, even if I did have some I wouldn't go putting my nose in them..." He looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes.
"Did you notice that he is not..." (Point toward the general area of your face.)
"Did you now?" She's intrigued, if a little confused. "What sort of borscht is he making?"
"Did you perform a field autopsy?"
"Did you put the padlock on the church door?"
"Did you recently tell two kids to put out their fire? Two twins."
"Did you rim the lemonade glasses with sugar? I like to do that."
"Did you say something, lieutenant?"
"Did you say something?" She squints at you.
"Did you see that, Kim? It must be Siileng's truck."
"Did you see that?" The lieutenant nods towards the vehicle. "The seals on the humanitarian aid lorry have been broken off."
"Did you see the HUGE BURNING graffito outside?"
"Did you see the HUGE graffito outside?"
"Did you see what happened?"
"Did you send her to spy on me disguised as a gardener?"
"Did you shoot Lely?"
"Did you suffer some singing tragedy?"
"Did you take the documents?"
"Did you take this passport and other papers from a buoy on the coast?"
"Did you tell him about your friend?"
"Did you try knocking on my window? I must have missed you, I've been listening to my *milieus*." She taps on her headphones.
"Did you try to salvage the project somehow?"
"Did you use that gun to shoot and kill the mercenary on the coast?"
"Did you witness it?"
"Did you... hear something? Sunday night -- from my room?" (Move on.)
"Did you? Or did you think I was a god damn ANIMAL HANDLER? We've been partners for how long, Harry?" He adjusts his tie. "Don't answer that -- you don't *remember*."
"Did you? Or did you think I was a god damn FIREFIGHTER? We've been partners for how long, Harry?" He adjusts his tie. "Don't answer that -- you don't *remember*."
"Did you? Or did you think I was a god damn MALE NURSE? We've been partners for how long, Harry?" He adjusts his tie. "Don't answer that -- you don't *remember*."
"Did you? Wonderful!" She inspects the piece of blue plastic, the faded green pearls of her eyes scanning left to right.
"Did you?"
"Did you?" (Look at Kim.)
"Did you?" He adjusts his tie. "Or did you literally not recognize my face? We've been partners for how long, Harry? Don't answer that -- you don't *remember*."
"Did you?" He seems incredulous. "It is almost as difficult to confirm a hoax as it is to confirm a sighting..." A cough.
"Did you?" His eyes narrow. "I'm not so sure. I *thought* we could establish the cause of death here, officer. Now I think we should leave it empty."
"Didn't Monica have giant titties?"
"Didn't Soona give you a perfect tool for this kind of job -- the Kvalsund? You should take it out."
"Didn't Titus have a brother? Tibbs?"
"Didn't check. Pinball is stupid."
"Didn't check. Pinball isn't relevant to the investigation."
"Didn't even know it was there..." The man looks at the key in your hand -- then around in the room. "Boys?"
"Didn't go well?"
"Didn't he cross a line when he asked you out?"
"Didn't mean to offend, sir, sorry, sir. It's just that you don't look like Dick Mullen." She points to a book cover, on which you see a strapping Vespertine officer. He stands grimly over the body of a dead woman.
"Didn't seem like you had fun doing it though."
"Didn't shoot *me*." There is sincere disappointment on her face. This kid was expecting *pandemonium* and release from her mortal coil.
"Didn't sound like nothing." He wipes the sweat from his brow. "Sounded like you were about to break into a sermon. Was that it?"
"Didn't stop *me* for shit, that's for sure!" His voice rings with pride. "Five lemons with half a pack of butter and you're good to go."
"Didn't that young woman, the gardener, mention using salts for the smell? Or maybe they sell ammonia at the local grocery store..."
"Didn't they teach you *anything* at the cop school, idiot?"
"Didn't think you had the stomach for it." He nods grimly. "Kids don't these days. I'm used to that."
"Didn't we all?"
"Didn't we already talk about this?" she asks, as the wind continues to seep in through the cracks in the old chimney.
"Didn't you already say that the last time we talked?"
"Didn't you glue your eyes shut earlier? And now you're making fun of *me*?!"
"Didn't you say that candidate members never become real members?"
"Didn't you say you and I were done. Professionally?"
"Didn't. But now I do. How's the drinking going?"
"Die ganze Truppe fliegt mit Mach 3 in den Himmel. Jaaa!!!"
"Died," he sharply fills the silence and adds: "No use sugar-coating it. Won't bring her back, will it now?"
"Different -- how?" The half-moons of her glasses reflect you as she looks up at you.
"Different, of course."
"Diggin it, Evrart. I have to say -- I'm diggin this part!"
"Dimple or not, I am a bitter man -- the years have taken their toll."
"Dios mío!" (Draw a cross.) "A LIBERAL!"
"Dirty popo-man is you." He nods at the building behind him. "In there is Cuno's violent dad. On steroids. Cuno's dad does steroids *and* speed. If you can take him, you can have half the speed."
"Disappeared?"
"Disarmed by a kid..." He smiles to himself. "To hell with it. It's a walking stick anyway."
"Disco *is* vile."
"Disco Elysium."
"Disco Infernum."
"Disco happened."
"Disco inferno!" (Press the button.)
"Disco isn't vile."
"Disco."
"Disco... whores?"
"Discount my wares?! I can see, sir, that you don't value books very highly."
"Disgraced?" The lieutenant raises his eyebrows and looks up. "No need for the histrionics, sir. It was, after all, just a trash container."
"Disregard the outburst, officer." She gives Titus a condescending glance. "None of the boys have any more comments on their power relations. That night they acted as one. That's all."
"Disturbance reported, authorize deadly force. SECTOR, TAKE THE SHOT!" Her head snaps at you. "BIG RED KEY, BIG RED KEY!"
"Do *lorry drivers* pass the pale?"
"Do *may bells* mean anything to you, René?" (Show him the flower.)
"Do *police men* just go around repeating what some kid off the street said?"
"Do *you* know anything about a fire guy?"
"Do *you* know what I'm talking about?"
"Do *you*... have a crime to solve?"
"Do I *have to* open the door?" You hear the clacking of heels again, as the other side walks right up to the door. Her tone is now getting a defensive edge...
"Do I *look* like I'm laughing? Do you see a *smile* on my face? I know what this is about. This is about the electronic lock not letting you in your room -- and it's anything but *funny* to me."
"Do I ever!" (Nod enthusiastically.)
"Do I have a choice?"
"Do I have a shaker in my hand? Is this..." He points to his empty hand. "Is this a shaker?"
"Do I have to answer him?" He asks Kim. "Is this mandatory?"
"Do I have to answer that?"
"Do I look like a fucking communard to you, man?"
"Do I look like a fucking lorry driver, man?"
"Do I? I don't think I do." She tries hard to focus on the book stand.
"Do I?"
"Do all policemen in the RCM have such *cool* motor carriages?"
"Do continue, *sir*." Kim steps up to him again, his frame tense as a coiled spring.
"Do dock workers spy on the Police? You were on that corner all day. Now we know why." He smiles: "Just dock workers..."
"Do drugs make you aggressive?"
"Do his powers help against the unsightly terrors lurking inside the void? I sure hope so... may le Million keep you safe."
"Do it for the masses, do it for the crew." His friend forms a fist with a screwdriver still in his hand. Approvingly so.
"Do it without me. I just can't keep it down."
"Do it, f****t! SET ME FREE!"
"Do it, homo!"
"Do it, primitive..." He points to his chest. "Take me out."
"Do look at the books, though. The books compel you. You *may* be able to make up for this by buying a lot of books. I hope you're a voracious reader!"
"Do not *defile* her memory, Gaston." There's an almost imperceptibly small tremble in his voice. "Let her rest in peace."
"Do not gloat, officer. These are grave matters."
"Do not speak of what you know nothing about, poltroon!" He slams the heel of his boot in the ground. "*Duty* is something you will never understand."
"Do not spend 22 days a year in pale transit, don't waste your twenties slumming it with your stupid friends, and don't deliver Evrart Claire's mail." Her bony finger is pointed like an arrow at your chest...
"Do not think your *failed suicide attempt* will win you any pity from these men -- do not expect them to forget it soon either."
"Do not think your *failed suicide attempt* will win you any pity from these men. Do not expect them to forget it either."
"Do people actually visit ateliers?"
"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..."
"Do they always do that?"
"Do they? Some of them do but..." She shrugs. "Sounds to me like you should choose your allies better, that's all."
"Do think about it, officer." He starts laughing and leans back against the counter.
"Do this shit again and Cuno's gonna climb in your room at night -- with a knife." He points towards Whirling-in-Rags and whispers:
"Do we have a problem with *disco*?"
"Do we have a problem with *police*?"
"Do we have any *money*? Let's give them more money so they can finish it and make it even bigger."
"Do we have the time?"
"Do we have to?"
"Do we know each other?"
"Do we need a scalpel for it?"
"Do we really have time for this?" the lieutenant whispers to you.
"Do we? Because I really, *really* don't." He tilts his head with something resembling curiosity.
"Do we?" He glances his watch. It doesn't look like he does.
"Do what you have to do, detective. I don't think deciphering that tattoo should come before public security. But if you should wade into the mob to find out -- I couldn't stop you."
"Do what you will with your dance club plans... just no drug labs, please."
"Do what, look?"
"Do what? I just found a random tape and brought it to Egg Head. He's just incredibly good at remixing."
"Do what?"
"Do you always try to pick the lamest option possible? Come on, Tequila!"
"Do you and lieutenant Kitsuragi want to take the case or should I assign it to someone else?"
"Do you deliver drugs?"
"Do you deliver guns?"
"Do you deliver letters to the secret mistresses of corporate and government officials?"
"Do you even know what books you have for sale?"
"Do you ever *talk* with yourself?"
"Do you ever feel like your vision beast is trying to *blackmail* the fun out of you?"
"Do you ever wonder if some lovely story from your childhood is just that... a story? Or a dream?"
"Do you feel guilty about what happened to him?"
"Do you feel guilty?"
"Do you finance those 'other addictions' with drug trafficking?"
"Do you go to Martinaise often these days?"
"Do you guys know Cindy the Skull?"
"Do you happen to know what happened to the victim's armour?"
"Do you have a fridge?"
"Do you have a licence for this boat?"
"Do you have a permit to sell all that?"
"Do you have a phallus in your ear? I said I'm a feminist."
"Do you have a problem with Seolites?"
"Do you have a warrant? I'm not obligated to open the door if you don't have a warrant."
"Do you have an.. alibi. For when Lely was shot?"
"Do you have another pair of gloves?"
"Do you have any *cursed dice*?"
"Do you have any advice on how to climb that ladder?" (Point to the one next to the mural.)
"Do you have any advice on how to tell her he's...?"
"Do you have any ammonia for sale?"
"Do you have any ammonia?"
"Do you have any clues on where Ruby went."
"Do you have any idea of the shit you just got yourself into, kid?" (Get up.)
"Do you have any idea what happened to the hanged man's armour?"
"Do you have any idea where this hole might be located?"
"Do you have any ideas, lieutenant?"
"Do you have any money?"
"Do you have any news about Pierre?"
"Do you have any other information about this company?"
"Do you have any other information on Billie Méjean?"
"Do you have any recordings of the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua?"
"Do you have anything to fortify ol' Doom Spiral? Tell me you got some story juice."
"Do you have everything you need from me? I'm afraid we won't have the chance to speak again once you leave."
"Do you have her number?"
"Do you have line of sight to the window?"
"Do you know *why* it was abandoned?"
"Do you know Klaasje?"
"Do you know Ruby?"
"Do you know a lot about the inner workings of the RCM and the ICP, ma'am?"
"Do you know about the... bunker.. next door?"
"Do you know anyone named Ruby?"
"Do you know anything about a lost jacket?"
"Do you know anything about my family? Do I have a wife or kids or...?"
"Do you know anything about the man hanged behind the Whirling-In-Rags?"
"Do you know anything about the man hanged in the back yard of Whirling-in-Rags?"
"Do you know anything about the murder that took place here?" (Point to the yard.)
"Do you know anything about the recent murder?"
"Do you know anything about the traffic menace on the loose?"
"Do you know how it got up there?"
"Do you know how my paperwork ended up in the trash container behind the Whirling?"
"Do you know how they discovered this place?" The wind picks up, her raincoat flaps in the gust.
"Do you know if Joyce -- the company lady with the boat -- is alright?"
"Do you know if Klaasje -- the blonde next door -- is alright?"
"Do you know if Klaasje -- the blonde next door -- is really gone?"
"Do you know me?"
"Do you know of an *alternative* way into the building?"
"Do you know someone who was?"
"Do you know something about the tribunal... the mercenaries are planning?"
"Do you know something about these tattoos?" (Show her the photo.)
"Do you know that a single Seraise Giant Hornet can kill forty bees a *minute*?"
"Do you know that old church down the coast?"
"Do you know the *Wirrâl Untethered* setting? I want a die for that."
"Do you know the feeling when you've begun filling in a crossword but some of your answers don't quite seem to fit? That's the feeling I have right now, for some reason..."
"Do you know the husband's name?"
"Do you know these guys *personally*?"
"Do you know what caused this wreckage?" (Point at the smashed billboard in the canal.)
"Do you know what created it?"
"Do you know what happened to Klaasje?"
"Do you know what happened to his medals?"
"Do you know what happened to other tenants? Everyone else is gone."
"Do you know what it's called now?"
"Do you know what she's doing with Ulan frequencies?"
"Do you know what the success rate in pharmacological research is? 0.000003% of bio-reactive agents have reproducibly beneficial effects. Yet science persists in the search for medicine. *As* we persist in our search for new species."
"Do you know what the tattoos mean?"
"Do you know what this is?" She raises her hand to reveal a piece of metal shining on her index finger.
"Do you know what time it is? It's so late here..." Sounds like she's looking for a clock on the night stand.
"Do you know what's behind it? Do you have..."
"Do you know what's behind that door?" (Point to the blue door.)
"Do you know what's further down the coast?"
"Do you know where I could find the representative for Wild Pines?"
"Do you know where I could get a new pack?"
"Do you know where I live?"
"Do you know where the other spooker is?" (Point at the strange machines around you.)
"Do you know who he was?"
"Do you know who killed the hanged man?"
"Do you know who lived in the foreclosed apartment?"
"Do you know who made that call?"
"Do you know who put the victim's clothes in the trash?"
"Do you know who takes the cream off these deals? Real estate developers, construction companies, restaurant owners, Claire's accountants in La Delta..."
"Do you know who this person was, have I told you..."
"Do you know who treated me, Cuno?"
"Do you know why?"
"Do you like it?"
"Do you like role playing games yourself?"
"Do you like to party, Alice?"
"Do you like to... hang out on rooftops?"
"Do you listen to disco?"
"Do you live here?"
"Do you mean there are dead bodies here?!"
"Do you miss me there?"
"Do you need a security detail?"
"Do you need anything else? Over."
"Do you need help?"
"Do you need the help of a policeman?"
"Do you now?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. After a moment she shakes her head.
"Do you often work Sunday nights?"
"Do you or don't you?!"
"Do you really see me as a safe bet?"
"Do you really think I have any idea?"
"Do you really think it's the same person who put the dead man's clothes in the trash?"
"Do you really think this cloak is mine? Should I go for it? Jump?"
"Do you remember how he looked?! Fucking growth hormone shit. He's a giant. The armour's too big for *any man*."
"Do you remember how when we met Measurehead and I said the next racist will be the *really* good one?"
"Do you remember what he was wearing when you last saw him?"
"Do you remember you said you'd fund your new independent harbour with bold, new exotic revenue streams?"
"Do you remember your name, sir?"
"Do you sell any... under the counter vices?"
"Do you sell speed at this establishment?"
"Do you smoke?"
"Do you still have your salts? I think I could use some."
"Do you take me for a complete fool?" She's getting irritated. "Leave it be and just go look at the books."
"Do you think *peace* is boring? What about *prosperity*?"
"Do you think I should turn it on?"
"Do you think I will ever find my gun?"
"Do you think he did it?"
"Do you think he was drunk?" (Point at the bottle.)
"Do you think he was trying to scare people?"
"Do you think it's *funny*, deceiving a police officer?"
"Do you think it's a coincidence?"
"Do you think it's connected to The Return?"
"Do you think it's important?"
"Do you think it's within my authority to give it to them? Do you think I can control the board and the shell-shocked mercenaries they've sent?"
"Do you think our conversation about his job pushed him to go out there?"
"Do you think our suspect is hiding inside?" He raises his sight to the darkened windows overhead.
"Do you think there's something we're missing?
"Do you think this is somehow *connected* to me?"
"Do you think this log might be connected to the case?"
"Do you think this weasel has something to do with my case?"
"Do you think we missed something?"
"Do you think whatever happens will affect our cryptozoologists?"
"Do you think whoever slept here is..."
"Do you think... this is somehow related to... Ruby passing through there?"
"Do you understand you're confessing to murder -- to a police officer?"
"Do you understand, sir?"
"Do you understand?"
"Do you want me to brief you?"
"Do you want me to take you to a hospital, sir?"
"Do you want to hit me right now?"
"Do you want to party?"
"Do you want to rise up and tear down the entire fucking system with me?"
"Do you want to see my ID as well? You can't *legally* ask for it, but why not? Want to see my residence permit, too?" She fumbles through her purse, fishing out a light paper-clad passport.
"Do you wish you were out there fishing right now?"
"Do you work for the animal control?"
"Do you work here?"
"Do you, uh, want to *talk* about what just happened?"
"Do you.. think she might have killed the merc herself?"
"Do you... collect guns... maybe old rifles?"
"Do you? Because we can't talk to Evrart, the harbour is in lockdown -- everyone in there is outside our grasp now. And Joyce has left too."
"Do you?" The dicemaker raises an eyebrow. "Well, good luck keeping it under control..."
"Do you?" The lieutenant arches his brow, then pulls on his cigarette. It's a slim white thing in his fingers.
"Do you?" The lieutenant looks at you.
"Do-eth thou also thorough inventories?" He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of those. Official notes contain informants' names, undercover operatives even. If some of it has fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
"Do-eth thou also thorough inventories?" He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of your notes, make sure it's all there. Official notes contain informants' names. If some of it has fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
"Do. I'm fine with that."
"Do. It's for the best."
"Do."
"Do? It's a Major Crimes Unit! We clear the desk of cases so Precinct 41 doesn't look like the worst station in town. We're *shit tier* now, Harry. Because of you."
"Doc, someone broke my heart."
"Doctor Lemaitre said so, and she knows about such things. Been a doctor for almost fifty years, she has..." He sighs and falls silent, watching you meekly with his blue blue eyes.
"Doctors are idiots, buddy-boy."
"Document A1. The detectives have taken a colour photograph of the markings. Photograph was produced on scene."
"Does Cuno look like fucking bino to you? Cuno doesn't know this shit. Fucking book-shit." He seems unpleased with his lack of knowledge.
"Does Frittte have a warehouse in the back of the Whirling-in-Rags?"
"Does anyone know why this key was hanging right outside the Union box window?"
"Does anyone, in a city like this?" she replies wistfully, looking around.
"Does he actually want something or is he hell-bent on disrupting our work?!"
"Does he look like he's okay?"
"Does it have anything to do with *ghosts*?"
"Does it have anything to do with all the bullet holes I've been seeing around?"
"Does it have anything to do with disco?"
"Does it have anything to do with the bullet holes I've been seeing around?"
"Does it have cool powers?"
"Does it look like he was *enjoying* his moment of death?"
"Does it make you see everything all... art-like?"
"Does it matter that he said *whore*? I said it too."
"Does it mean people know that I'm a dirty cop? Because I am. I'm the dirtiest, most dangerous cop in Revachol. My reputation precedes me."
"Does it mean that I'm safe from failure?"
"Does it say anything interesting?" The lieutenant leans closer to read the crumpled note over your shoulder.
"Does it?" He looks around, looking for the cold.
"Does it?" She arches her brow. "The company suspects foul play, but there's nothing they could do, it was a Union matter."
"Does not seem plausible, now that I think of it."
"Does she have a name?"
"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..."
"Does that arrangement include... you paying me *what we already agreed* you owe me?"
"Does that happen to you often?"
"Does that mean the body is no longer in the tree?"
"Does that mean you *like* me?"
"Does that mean you don't have any idea who the driver was?"
"Does that mean you don't have tobacco? Or rolling paper? Or any cigarettes at all?"
"Does that mean you're 11% not sure?"
"Does that mean you're a thought reader?"
"Does that seem relevant to your investigation?"
"Does the boat have room for three?"
"Does this *look* like part of a *Doomed* Commercial Are?" He makes a sweeping gesture. "This pre-revolutionary tile work? These high ceilings? The nice rooms? Well, *most* of the rooms..."
"Does this flower blossom in early spring?"
"Does this have anything to do with 'The Return' Klaasje is waiting for?"
"Does this have anything to do with 'The Return' Klaasje was waiting for?"
"Does this have anything to do with Contact Mike?"
"Does this mean I don't have to look into that drug stuff?"
"Does this mean if I do things for you I will get my gun back?"
"Does this mean we can't play?"
"Does this mean you are mentally ill?"
"Does this mean you can let me through the gate?"
"Does this mean... we need sine matching?"
"Does your supplier drive that HUMANOX lorry over there?" (Point at the lorry with the big HUMANOX sign on it.)
"Doesn't Evrart run the Union?"
"Doesn't feel like love at all."
"Doesn't it already have enough spice?"
"Doesn't it get lonely, doing this job?"
"Doesn't it seem callous to you -- guarding even your *leftovers* from the poor?"
"Doesn't look like he's going fuck anyone up any time soon."
"Doesn't look like it -- it's completely inoperable without the dial key."
"Doesn't look like nothing. Looks like you got banged up real good."
"Doesn't look like that pinball machine will ever get fixed."
"Doesn't look like you're going to fuck anyone up any time soon, little man."
"Doesn't look like you're spazzin' out" he whispers behind you. "Cuno knows all about seizures."
"Doesn't matter, put her on, I don't like waiting."
"Doesn't matter," the street vendor replies. "All that matters is the box. Check it out, officer."
"Doesn't matter... I don't think he understood us anyway. He wouldn't be smiling if he did."
"Doesn't really fly with my vibe, too morbid."
"Doesn't ring a bell? Alright, I'll ask your mom."
"Doesn't seem *that* likely, but we'll check out all possible leads. Next step -- finding the gun itself."
"Doesn't sound like any kind of disco I'd like to go to."
"Doesn't that beat the idea of humanitarian aid? It's *supposed* to be free. That's what makes it humanitarian."
"Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"
"Doing one's job doesn't automatically make one anyone's *bitch*. Besides, there are more nefarious powers to work for than the Moralintern."
"Dolorian church, the place to be! Make some noise, my church people!" Large speakers are set up behind the young man, blasting a familiar song.
"Don'... don'..." the man stammers, "don't call..." Slowly, his head nods off to the side and he passes out, tongue dangling from his mouth.
"Don't 'ya dare to call' er..."
"Don't *well* me. This might be fine by you but it certainly isn't fine by me. We've got to try to nip this kind of behaviour in the bud."
"Don't I get something for effort?"
"Don't answer that, actually. Meaning is whatever you want to make of it. That's the nature of meaning."
"Don't answer that." He exhales to calm his breathing. "Your badge, Harry. Show me your badge."
"Don't ask me how I know -- but this is a lashing belt used for airlifting cargo."
"Don't ask me what happened with the wall, I have no idea how we're going to find the time or resources to fix it."
"Don't ask me, I'm just lumbering from one moment to the next."
"Don't ask the pigs for permission Cuno. Don't ask the pigs for shit!"
"Don't assume I like the status quo, because I'm a cop."
"Don't be a communist. That path is *too* hard core."
"Don't be a communist... wait, what am I saying? Of course be a communist!"
"Don't be a dick, Gaston, there's plenty for everyone."
"Don't be a fascist. That path is *too* hard core."
"Don't be a fascist... wait, what am I saying? Of course be a fascist!"
"Don't be a lunatic. Of course he isn't. Germaine here just yells random things. Odds are, sooner or later one of them will come off as thought reading."
"Don't be a moralist. That path requires a sensible examination of all nuances unattainable to most people."
"Don't be a moralist... wait, what am I saying? You should consider your choice carefully and rationally."
"Don't be a sore loser, detective. Your moves were your own..."
"Don't be a sore loser, it's still a fair game between you two. Second place is a podium position."
"Don't be a stranger." He gives a salute with two fingers.
"Don't be afraid..."
"Don't be alarmed, but Mr. Garte implied there's an industrial Sad-spill in there." She taps the roof with her heel.
"Don't be an asshole, I'm on the case."
"Don't be an imbecile, I'm not going to serve you a Marinella. I have work to do -- and broken things to fix -- if that was all, I'd like to return to it."
"Don't be an ultra... wait, what am I saying? Of course be an ultraliberal!"
"Don't be an ultraliberal. That path is *too* hard core."
"Don't be dramatic. I can see your condition isn't terminal."
"Don't be fazed, madam. He functions perfectly well. He only needs a... *lowdown* on all of reality."
"Don't be glum, detective. There's always next time. Figuratively, I mean. There's no way we have time to play this game again..."
"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."
"Don't be offensive, Noid. We could use a partner on the other side. It's safer with someone watching over the operation, keeping the... khm..." he clears his throat, "other cops out of our soup. How does 35% sound?"
"Don't be sad, sir." She seems genuinely concerned. "I'm sorry I said that thing about Dick Mullen."
"Don't be scared, but I think I might have supra-natural abilities."
"Don't be shy, these are premium-class clothes! Good quality fabrics, best retro design! Save the economy with your style, officer!"
"Don't be silly, Harry." He smiles a broadly. "Harry Du Bois -- That's a real man's name. A Union man's."
"Don't be silly, no one wants to be a popsicle."
"Don't be silly, you're a kid. Answer me some questions instead."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, sir. You just need to clean up a bit. And technically, friends are a bit like family." She fiddles her pendant.
"Don't be so harsh on yourself. They let almost anyone be a police officer."
"Don't be so sure." The lieutenant looks to the sea. "Something is coming -- *trouble*. It will be a hard spring. I don't know what it is, exactly, but..." He shakes his head.
"Don't be squeamish. It is *commonplace* to relocate the workforce as the need arises. All nations do it. It's called settlement." He shakes his head and mumbles: "Some kind of bourgeois art-fascist..."
"Don't be stupid. The boiadeiro returns from the Western Plain a *changed* man. One night, as he and his beloved are out walking along the River Magritte, she pleads with him to give up his riding and settle down..."
"Don't be such an asshole to your fellow dockworker." (Show him the stolen ID card.)
"Don't be too hard on Samara, they're all alone in the world. Half of what we know of them is just propaganda."
"Don't be too hard on yourself if you don't figure it out. I think the jam's already pretty ultra."
"Don't be too hard on yourself, officer. And if there's *anything* I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Don't be too harsh. That's only because of their *socio-economic* situation."
"Don't be traumatizing her. Get the fuck out of here!"
"Don't be wondering about Cuno's shit, pig!"
"Don't be yankin' your shit in front of the Cuno. Cuno's always serious. Always rollin'. Big kilo, but you ain't gettin' any. Get the fuck off!"
"Don't be, I was going out later anyway. It didn't bother me."
"Don't be, it was funny. And, anyway, who gives a shit? Who gives a shit about any of it?"
"Don't be. It's too much work for you to find her." She drops the rag into the bucket -- it's clean now. "Better just stay here, get a nice, cosy fire going in the heater..."
"Don't be." He takes out his sidearm, checks the barrel, then holsters it again. "I have a gun."
"Don't beat yourself down -- neither can I. We'll have another look later"
"Don't beat yourself up about it. I think I gave you a pretty exhaustive answer about those flowers and what they mean."
"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."
"Don't beat yourself up, Harry. What you did was participate in history. When history calls, you *have* to pick up. You had no choice. None of us ever do. A hard disco cop like you -- I knew you weren't one to resist temptation."
"Don't beat yourself up, officer. We did not put guns in their hands, or get them drunk."
"Don't believe him, Cuno! He just wants to use your fridge!"
"Don't call Abigail! Don't call!"
"Don't call Abigail!"
"Don't call Abigail!" He snorts and takes a swig from his bottle. The bottle is empty.
"Don't call Abigail!" The drunk in the pipe snorts and takes a swig from his bottle. The bottle is empty.
"Don't call Abigail," grumbles an unshaven man with a ruddy nose. He narrows his eyes at you as if in recognition, then turns his head away.
"Don't call Abigail."
"Don't call Abigail." The drunk man looks at you with his sad, swollen eyes.
"Don't call her..." His trembling hand catches the paperwork. He lays it out on his knee and starts writing, slowly. The handwriting is almost illegible due to his shaky hands.
"Don't call him a *bino*."
"Don't call it a dump, you've made it nice and cosy here."
"Don't call... don't call her..." The drunk man speaks in his sleep. Drool dribbles from the left side of his mouth and down his jacket lapel.
"Don't change your name into that, Cuno!"
"Don't disrespect Miss LePlante, copper." The big man finishes off a can. "She's good people. We all get a little crazy sometimes."
"Don't do business with the pig, Cuno! He's gonna steal all your money, Cuno!"
"Don't encourage him, Trant."
"Don't even get me started on beauty..."
"Don't even tell me what was going on. Alcoholic brew, stronger, stopped it, strike. I'm just gonna let you surprise me, Harry."
"Don't expect my help from now on. The back door is locked and I threw away the key. I won't trifle with such forces." She fiddles with her pendant.
"Don't feel sad, sir! Mullen isn't even real. You're real!"
"Don't forget the *funny* tie too."
"Don't forget to purge the world of degenerates."
"Don't forget to shoot the bourgeoisie in the head."
"Don't forget your tape, lawman." He pushes the little tape toward you with his giant hand. "Compliments of Titus Hardie."
"Don't fuck anything else up while I'm away."
"Don't fuck around. I'm am the law."
"Don't fuck with me, boys. I'm one of the bad cops."
"Don't fucking tell us to smile!"
"Don't get all hung up on that yesterday's shit, piggo," the kid says, trying to sound mature. "That was then, this is now. Cuno's all about being in the moment."
"Don't get fucking clever with me, pig... you think you're so clever..." She hisses.
"Don't get mayonnaise on the measuring tape."
"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for slow and steady progress. I just wish people would be a little more *reasonable*, is all."
"Don't get me wrong, but 'bare-bones' isn't usually my style." (Point at yourself.)
"Don't get me wrong. I'm all for it. This *Paliseum* just sounded like their kind of place."
"Don't get me wrong: They're nice things, but once you achieve a certain level of wealth your time and mental space become *much* more important than material goods."
"Don't get smart with me."
"Don't get started on that again. What happened, happened." There is some weariness in his voice now -- he's heard this rant many times before.
"Don't give that asshole anything, he's just gonna drink it all!"
"Don't go..."
"Don't have any," she replies with a shrug. "Those get cleaned out so fast even the local bums can only stand by and watch with watery mouths. Always by strangers too. Union folk don't stand this kind of stuff around here."
"Don't hook him up with shit, Cuno!"
"Don't jerk my chain, paper-jockey. You did it, didn't you?"
"Don't judge me. I needed it for an official police investigation."
"Don't just say it, Harry." He wags his finger at you. "Do it. We gotta be more disciplined than they are, or we'll *lose*."
"Don't know anything about it. No one's been around since I set up camp. But I'm sure I'm not the first vagabond to..." Her voice trails off into white noise in your head. It feels like an aneurysm approaching.
"Don't know if I can afford another place to stay."
"Don't know if I've mentioned it, but I used to be a businessman and *as* a businessman I am going to keep the pen for my trouble." He nod confidently.
"Don't know it. But also..." She frowns, studying your face.
"Don't know what makes you think it'll be any different later, but..."
"Don't know, don't care. I'll be glad if I never see that fucking woman again."
"Don't know. He just kinda popped into my mind." "Ahem, excuse me, Chester," says a female officer who threads her way into the file room. "Where is old Ace now?" the bald officer asks.
"Don't know. People tell me I'm a cop, I'm getting used to that."
"Don't leave fingerprints on the bodywork, I just had it polished."
"Don't let all that 'technology' fool you." He makes little quotation marks with his fingers when he says *technology*. "Where do you think drugs come from?"
"Don't let him dominate you, Cuno! Fuck his fat ass!"
"Don't let him move in with us, Cuno."
"Don't like music? What do you like then?"
"Don't listen to him or his grandma. He's just making things up."
"Don't listen to him," the man yells over the music. "He's making shit up. There's no top-secret cop audio tech -- there's other top-secret-spying-on-people tech most likely, but cops don't care about *music*."
"Don't listen to that retrograde class warrior, Egg."
"Don't listen to the blind fuck, piggo, you're doing the right thing here, trying to get Cuno to like you again." He pauses to think.
"Don't look too glum, detective. There's always next time. Figuratively, I mean. There's no way we have time to play this game again..."
"Don't make an old woman regret opening her house to the police." A key appears from under her apron. She hands it to you.
"Don't make this *harder* for yourself," he says in a lowered voice.
"Don't make this about Lieutenant Kitsuragi. He's a *great* cop -- and you almost got him killed. I don't even understand why you're *here* after he got shot."
"Don't make this old women regret giving the police the key to her house." She takes out a key from under her apron and hands it to you. "Here."
"Don't make your unpaid hostel bill a *moral boon*, officer. It won't stick."
"Don't make yourself into a pig, Cuno. You'll have to take me away..." A leaden silence fills the yard.
"Don't make yourself too comfortable!"
"Don't mention it. But also don't forget it." Another wink. "I'm just kidding, of course."
"Don't mess with me. I think you know what I'm talking about."
"Don't pity yourself. You've managed not to die thus far. You'll manage now."
"Don't play games with me, hawker. What's going on?"
"Don't pray to me. I'm nothing."
"Don't provoke her." The lieutenant takes his sidearm from you, then holsters it.
"Don't punch your brother.... please. Don't start crying. We still need to ask more questions."
"Don't push your luck, runt." The man gives you a disgusted look, then turns his attention elsewhere, ignoring your presence.
"Don't put yourself down, Angus. It's important work." The chief picks his beer back up -- to offer a silent toast.
"Don't really follow her comings and goings. Just see her typing on her computer now and then. We've got different interests."
"Don't say anything, Judit."
"Don't say anything." He turns away from you. "Just let them go."
"Don't say that, he's a *po-leees oooffi-ser*," his brother whispers.
"Don't say that. He didn't." His brother punches him. The boy's eyes well up like he's about to start crying.
"Don't say that. He's not even real. You're real."
"Don't say that... I know this *positive* thing sounds stupid to you, Harry, but it works. We all have an obligation to be happy. You too. And you *will* be. Now..." She looks over her shoulder...
"Don't sit on it. Keep the hard stuff moving."
"Don't start *crying*," his brother says, then, in a whisper, adds: "I'm sorry."
"Don't sweat it, drunk-pig." Cuno taps his nose twice in conspiracy. "Cuno will keep your nasty secrets. Cuno's not snitchin'."
"Don't sweat it, vato. The password is 'AFTER LIFE DEATH.'"
"Don't take for fucking ever, Cuno's got wheels turning everywhere."
"Don't take me wrong, I love to stare at broads on posters, but we're talking about a *murder* here."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but -- during our short stint working together -- *something weird* is almost always happening to you."
"Don't talk -- just gun me."
"Don't talk to me about Kim!"
"Don't teach him, Cuno! He's gonna use it against you, Cuno!"
"Don't tell him that Cuno, it's lame!"
"Don't tell him that," the other one cuts in, too late. "SKULLS don't tattle, man. Cindy wouldn't."
"Don't tell me what to do, Kim. I like those sunglasses."
"Don't tell me. Just back off and don't talk to me again, okay? I can't talk to cops any more. I can't be involved in this shit. "
"Don't tell the pig shit, Cuno!"
"Don't thank her -- thank me."
"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 100 reál. If you don't have it by tonight, I can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.
"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 100 reál. If you don't have it by tonight, I just can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.
"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 60 reál for three nights stay. If you don't have it by tonight, I can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.
"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 60 reál for three nights stay. If you don't have it by tonight, I just can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.
"Don't thank me. You still owe me 30 for the drinks! If you don't have it by tonight I'm not letting you back up there..." He points upstairs.
"Don't thank me. You still owe me 70. If you don't have it by tonight I'm not letting you back up there," he points upstairs.
"Don't thank me." The old man takes out his pack of chewing tobacco. "I don't give two shits about your key."
"Don't think I forgot how I specifically let you know how I felt about her arrest either." He says shaking his head. "Now what do you want?"
"Don't think like that, Harry..." She smiles.
"Don't think so," he grunts, barely glancing at it.
"Don't think so," he grunts.
"Don't trust me -- trust the Mother. I'm only the messenger, homes." His voice echoes in the cold air of the church.
"Don't trust the f****t oinker, Cuno!"
"Don't use that tone with me. I am the law."
"Don't waste your time printing it out, there's nothing but a speck of white in a sea of ink. It's broken."
"Don't waste your time printing it out, there's nothing but ink there. It's broken."
"Don't we already have a motive? He's a soldier."
"Don't we have a bit of a logical inconsistency here? A categorical *no"* and a conditional *no*? Poor logic is a good sign of *lies*."
"Don't we have someone else for the autopsy -- like a doctor?"
"Don't we have someone else for this? A doctor?"
"Don't we have someone else to *cut his shit open*?"
"Don't worry about it, buddy -- happens to all of us. You have a nice day now!"
"Don't worry about it. You've been doing fine so far. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Don't worry about me. I live to alleviate the worries of our brothers. See if any other insane killers turn up. Then I'll run. And live."
"Don't worry about that one article, dear  -- regional papers are useless anyway. You probably spared the man his kneecaps. And *I* can be sure that the local shops have a bone to pick with Evrart." She smiles.
"Don't worry about the body. I'll rip it down."
"Don't worry kid. I'm a good guy with a gun."
"Don't worry madam. I am very sane."
"Don't worry, *many* people have seen me like this. No one said anything."
"Don't worry, Harry. He does." He nods towards the lieutenant. "At least I think he does."
"Don't worry, Harry." He leans in closer. "Between you and me, I'm not a huge fan of his race thing, but the Union did not get where we are today by frowning on eccentricity."
"Don't worry, I don't think he really gives a damn about you or anyone else."
"Don't worry, I have an *adapter* for it right here!" He searches for the cable on the ground and picks it up, looking at the jack.
"Don't worry, I put it there -- temporarily. It's all part of an official police investigation."
"Don't worry, I will figure this out sooner or later." (Conclude.)
"Don't worry, I'll keep calling you Kim."
"Don't worry, I'll never get around to it -- the information you pass to me will remain confidential," She waves you off:  "Let's get back to reality, shall we?"
"Don't worry, I'm going to find him and bring him back home, promise."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to vomit."
"Don't worry, I'm sure it's not *completely* impossible. For example, you could best Measurehead in a physical confrontation."
"Don't worry, I've got a gun. No bullets, but I have a gun."
"Don't worry, Kim, I'm just trying to... have... an apocalyptic... vision..."
"Don't worry, Kim, it was *all a ruse*." (Wink at Kim.)
"Don't worry, Kim. I'll be in much better shape tomorrow."
"Don't worry, Kim. I'll totally be up for getting the body out of the yard tomorrow."
"Don't worry, Kim. I'll totally be up for inspecting the body tomorrow."
"Don't worry, Kras Mazov shot fifteen million people in the head. But that was all the way over in Graad."
"Don't worry, Mikael, you'll learn all about it."
"Don't worry, Miss. We're here to clean it up -- you can get to work soon."
"Don't worry, Titus, we know her. Besides, you know how it is with bitches and books."
"Don't worry, Titus, we know her. Besides, you know how it is with bitches and dances."
"Don't worry, about it." (Give him a wink.)
"Don't worry, detective. We'll solve the case. Are you ready?"
"Don't worry, detective. We've solved the case. It's wrapped and done." He looks north. "Are you ready?"
"Don't worry, everyone is." He looks at the little scruffian, then at you. "How about we do some police work now? We're not getting anything out of here."
"Don't worry, it was mostly just luck. You'll earn some points soon enough."
"Don't worry, kid. I'm a cop. Maybe I don't have a gun, but I'm a cop."
"Don't worry, lieutenant -- I got this. Now, let's go." [Leave.]
"Don't worry, man, you got a place -- right here." He sounds happy saying this, his limbs a mere shadow below the ceiling.
"Don't worry, man. I'll remember them."
"Don't worry, the ICP has a separate division that deals exclusively with unlicensed sub rosas," the lieutenant turns to you. "This isn't our problem."
"Don't worry, we'll meet again." He gently rests his hand on your shoulder. "Come find me in the bar of the Whirling some evening."
"Don't worry, you can't miss the bear." She gives you a rueful smile. "It's hideous."
"Don't worry," the lieutenant catches Titus's glance. "We're *resourceful*. We'll find a good topic for us to discuss."
"Don't worry. He'll be *fine*. It's all part of his unusual medical condition." He opens his notebook. "Continue, please. He has questions."
"Don't worry. He'll be *fine*. It's all related to his unusual medical episode." He opens his notebook. "Continue, please. He has questions."
"Don't worry. I got her sword." (Show it.)
"Don't worry. I'm certain nothing bad is ever going to happen to your marriage."
"Don't worry. I've asked to look into it and I will."
"Don't worry. It's curable -- with *questions*. Ask me some, it'll help pass this night."
"Don't worry. Much appreciated." (Pick up coin.)
"Don't worry. Physical stuff like this is *really* easy for Measurehead. Mental stuff too. He's really spiritual, you know." She looks around.
"Don't worry. The fire will go out --soon."
"Don't worry." He takes out his sidearm, checks the barrel, then holsters it again. "I have a gun."
"Don't ya call her, ya hear. Don't call Abigail..."
"Don't you *Welcome to Revachol* me," the lieutenant fires back. "My grandfather came here from a three-thousand-year-old racist-isolationist culture, while your ancestors came to this island a mere three hundred years ago."
"Don't you *have* to?"
"Don't you ever eat?"
"Don't you ever wish Hjelmdall was a real place?"
"Don't you give her any more trouble!" the fat guy blurts out. "She's just had some bad luck, that's all."
"Don't you guys get it? Us, local boys, gotta stick together. Make the people feel safe again."
"Don't you have a real home?"
"Don't you have to be on drugs for that though?"
"Don't you know, sir? I thought you were from around here. You look like *Mr. Revachol*."
"Don't you mean Frissel the Fun?"
"Don't you mean the left-right *paradigm* and the pig/wheat *complex*?"
"Don't you remember that method I showed you back in... never mind."
"Don't you think that you should use your great wealth for the glory of your fatherland?"
"Don't you think that's what I'm *trying* to do?"
"Don't you want to go visit La Delta?"
"Don't you want to know where I found my badge?" (Put your badge away.)
"Don't you worry about that. We're gonna make up for the deficit."
"Don't you worry, I've got plenty on you too, my rigid friend."
"Don't," he says and turns to her, the cuffs still in his hand. "What -- in your relationship -- made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"Don't. The world can change. It has changed before..." She looks at you, frozen to her spot.
"Don't."
"Don't." You feel the lieutenant's hand on your shoulder.
"Don't... call Abigail..." he whimpers softly, his voice trailing off into nothingness.
"Done!" Soona jumps up from the keyboard like a spring. "I've got it, I've found the location of the anomaly!" There's joy in her voice as she bumps her fist into air.
"Dopeheads!"
"Dora something. Dora Ingerlund?" He thinks. "Yeah. You mentioned her name"
"Dora, is that you?"
"Dora." She's still confused. "Who is this? The connection is bad..."
"Doubt it, dog..."
"Doubtless I'll be off some place, keeping social classes from each other's throats..." There's a pause. "Let's go back to the basics of reality, shall we?"
"Down, rock!"
"Down...?" The gardener straightens her back. "Do you mean the body is finally gone?"
"Downright *haunting* if you ask me. The Wild Pines suspected foul play, but what could they do? It was a Union matter."
"Downstairs in the hall -- next to the main door. One of them even works. I've seen one of the Hardies bang away at it."
"Downstairs people have this *crazy* idea that you killed him."
"Downstairs." She taps on the roof with her 10 cm heel. "At the bar. He was on some sort of assignment -- a military man, as you probably know. Had a cool, scary scar."
"Drink -- water." The lieutenant is extending a small canister to your mouth.
"Drink up, boys. Social democracy's paying."
"Drink." He tilts the canister. "You haven't drunk water in two days. Did you know the human body is not made to survive on alcohol *alone*? You need a secondary form of hydration."
"Drinking less sounds like a great start!" She nods approvingly, but without condescension. "Go on -- you have my full cooperation."
"Drinking, partying and disco music are bad for you. You should take me as a warning example."
"Drop the ride *two hundo mill*, get the camber to frosty-frosty minuses..."
"Dropping out is... not the answer... fucking-up is..."
"Drug trade? Now you're being stupid, Harry. There are perfectly legal, 100% ethical chemical factories on the Samaran isola."
"Drug trafficking."
"Drug trafficking? Don't be stupid, Mr. Kitsuragi. There are perfectly legal, 100% ethical chemical factories on the Samaran isola. You don't need to be *colonialist* about it."
"Drugs and anodic music, I mean. And she doesn't like either one of them. Some people are just *born* retrograde."
"Drugs are a no go for me. I'll *report* this."
"Drugs are good," she looks to the sea. "I also do those. I try to *bargain* with myself too."
"Drugs don't make people abuse them; hopelessness does. As for the drug trade -- it would continue with or without me. I like to think that my efficiency as an organizer has at least prevented some internal conflicts."
"Drugs make people do *crazy* things sometimes, like steal corporate secrets."
"Drugs were an *integral* part of your relationship. Perhaps they contributed to its end?"
"Drugs!?"
"Drugs? I need info on this. Major narc." (Point to yourself.)
"Drugs? They're shit, man. I don't let anything pollute my body." He takes a long drag on his cigarette.
"Drugs?"
"Drugs?" For a moment he's unsure how to respond. "I don't go in for that, officer. Drugs ruin lives."
"Drummers? Why... no... but then, I don't know what a drummer is *supposed* to look like."
"Drunk-date." (Tap on your throat.) "All we need is booze. The rest will follow."
"Drunks and degenerates -- that's my crew!"
"Drying out? Becoming religious?" Her face is serious for a moment, but then she smiles warmly. "To hell with it. I'm not going to lecture you about your drinking, not here."
"Du Bois?" He shakes his head. "It was... Dora Ingerlund, I think. You've said her name. But you weren't married. You were engaged."
"Dude's seen some crazy shit. But he's actually a lot like us."
"Dude, you gotta reroute the sound juice through the fluxifier!"
"Dunno what happened between you guys, but it was not cool. You should go out and talk to him."
"Dunno, pig, doesn't look like we behind a door right now -- just Cuno's 2 cents of course."
"Dunno," Titus says, shrugging. "She lives by the water. Shit washes up all the time on the beach."
"Dunno. Whatcha need?"
"Dunno." He shrugs. "Kipt-ass gardener used to work there.
"Duped again! No one's who they say they are!"
"Duped again! Outsmarted by someone who isn't *drunk*." He rubs his face in frustration. "I'm not even gonna get into the *other* suspect -- who also escaped. A Ruby-something?"
"Duped again! Outsmarted by someone who isn't *drunk*." He rubs his face. "I'm not even gonna get into the other suspect -- the one who shot herself. In the head."
"During daytime there are usually those kids... And lately I've been seeing a lot of drunk workers hanging about. Must be because of the strike."
"During that time, the victim had been stripped of his belongings. The caller did not identify him, but used the word *lynching*. There is an ongoing labour dispute between the local dockworkers and the logistics company Wild Pines. I was told we should approach the death as part of this dispute."
"During the Burning Rhino's mating season, herds of male rhinos, all aflame, encircle herds of female rhinos, forming a fiery ring as they begin to copulate, loudly."
"During the investigation it became apparent that there was a love triangle, the third party being some small-time businessman -- I don't remember the exact details. The leading theory was that an argument broke out on the jetty and Deponte pushed Delgado into the canal, then cooked up this stupid cover story."
"Dweorgr, huh?" The lieutenant shrugs. "I was always more of a sidhe or huldur guy myself."
"Décomptage is the hierarchical system employed by the Revachol Citizens Militia. It means counting down to twos."
"E!" The man only slightly raises his voice. "The two are not mutually exclusive. Get that through your fucking head."
"E50.100.1000"
"E50.100.1000. The make and model of the armour is Fairweather T-500 / VE."
"EAT THE POOR!"
"EGG HEAD. A 3.5 CABLE!" She rises a black cable. "INTO THE AUXILIARY INPUT! OKAY?"
"ENOUGH OF TYPE B MEDIOCRITY," he nods, satisfied with the outcome.
"ENOUGH WITH THIS BEGGING. YOU SHOULD LEAVE THE STAGE OF HISTORY WITH DIGNITY -- BY INVITING THE OTHER RACES TO A *GREAT WORLD WAR*."
"EPIS is a very special program developed by the Moralintern to support certain Occidental nations. It began as a unified system of weights and measures, which proved to be a *wild* success. Nothing but kilograms and centimetres as far as the eye can see!"
"EVERYONE CAN SEE THAT. IT HAS LITTLE TO DO WITH THE *RACE ENIGMA*."
"EVERYONE SHUT UP!!!" Titus's loud baritone echoes back from the mess hall walls and the entire cafeteria falls silent.
"Earlier you said I would have to *interrogate* you. Suspects are interrogated."
"Earlier you said the *girls* asked for your help. Was this the other girl?"
"Early bird gets the worm, huh?"
"Ease off, C!" He turns to you. "Thanks, pig -- we're cool now. You punching yourself in the face worked out real good for everyone."
"Ease off, C. Cuno always takes the bullet over the hammer." He nods, big-boy style, incredibly proud of himself.
"Ease off, C. Don't be telling Cuno what Cuno can do!" He turns back to you. "What else you want, pigman?"
"Easier that way." She takes a sip.
"East Delta Pinball (Entrance from building B)"
"East Delta Pinball -- is that now the Whirling?"
"East Delta Pinball Arcade." The old man coughs. "*Weird* place -- went bankrupt."
"Easy E, let the kid be. This is a day of mourning and I don't want it turned into a joke... you chasing the kid around, the kid calling you a f******t. We don't need that shit."
"Easy Leo told me about you, he likes to talk a lot."
"Easy does it, partner."
"Easy fellows, no need for this to get ugly."
"Easy now, Al. His buddy got busted up pretty bad too. If that's his way of dealing with it, I say let him have it."
"Easy now, Al. This isn't comedy hour."
"Easy now, Glen." He turns to you. "What he's is trying to say is -- people who don't have guns don't shoot people. You need a gun for that. And you can't prove she has one."
"Easy now, Leo -- I just want to know where can I find this man."
"Easy now, René." He snickers. "I *will* join the seniors swimming class later, but right now I don't want to keep the officer waiting -- police business is usually urgent."
"Easy now. Let's just talk." (Back off.)
"Easy now... No one needs to die here today..."
"Easy now..." The lieutenant turns double again, before your eyes. An orange hue of pain...
"Easy there, Al." He turns to the tattooed man, who is taking heaving breaths. "Sit down. We've got one of our own to take care of. So let's not get worked up."
"Easy, Al." The man says soothingly. "Don't let him get to you. Have one for Auntie LePlante, huh?"
"Easy, Al..." He glances over his shoulder. "We all hate him. The man's all cock and no balls. Can't trust a fella like that."
"Easy, Cuno... I just had couple of questions?"
"Easy, E, he's tryna' faze you." He turns to you. "What are you trying to do? Scare my men?"
"Easy, Leo, let's keep this on the Hardies." He looks to you for assistance.
"Easy, Lizzie..." His voice is almost gentle. "Let me handle it. I know guys like this. I'm sure we can come to a peaceful agreement. Ain't that right, fellas?"
"Easy, Shanks..." The leader gestures for him to stand down. "I want to see where this is going."
"Easy, babes. What is this?" Titus spreads his arms, smiling gently. "I can't have a slap-fight in my bar. It's embarrassing."
"Easy, boys... These janitors have a helluva job cut out for them. I mean, I wouldn't go in there for a million..." He slaps his forehead.
"Easy, detective. No need to jump to conclusions." He eyes the spectacled man near the window, who smiles and spreads his hands.
"Easy, fellas, we got company," Titus puts an end to it. "Let's see what brings the cop around."
"Easy, ma'am, take it easy..."
"Easy, now. They're just chaincutters."
"Easy. It's the skinny man who thinks he's a poet -- never trust a poet..." She squints across the square. "Also, he's the only one I can see from here."
"Easy..." the lieutenant whispers. "Press her too hard and she'll..."
"Eat shit, pig!", "FUCKED BY THE CUNN" and "Saint-G" with a crown have been scribbled on it. "Jennie is a WHORE" and "*Baise cette* mailbox!" also.
"Eat the pigs!"
"Eat the poor! Yeaaaaaah!" He waves his hand in the air. "Harder core!" The words echo magnificently throughout the nave.
"Eccentric. But okay, I suppose we could look into it. As a... side-investigation."
"Economical, but also trendy!" the street vendor shouts. "Look first-hand, buy second-hand. Keep the economy moving!"
"Economy? Why should anyone care about economy?!" She shrugs and returns to sweeping.
"Ecstatic vibrations! Totally transcendent! And I've finished setting up the new compressor, too!" He looks at the imposing black box in the corner that's churning out the sound.
"Edgar Claire."
"Edgar did the talking. Paid his *respects*, like I were a fossil in a uniform. Offered platitudes about *the struggle*, flaunted his pink degree. Even quoted Mazov."
"Edgar didn't keep his part of the deal."
"Edgar had someone make the call -- why is that, Mr Dros?"
"Edgar looks *exactly* like his brother, except for that lazy eye. He also *talks* exactly like Evrart does. And when one's term as foreman is up, the other takes over."
"Ee... okay, sure sure, I'm not worried. We're here all the time. Every day. Impossible to miss us, officer."
"Ee... okay, sure sure," he quiets you. "Everybody wins, but is there anything I can help you with right now to *speed up* the process?"
"Ee... what?"
"Eee... I'm in full RCM lieutenant's uniform. Trust me. I'm a cop."
"Eeeh... why the hell not?" He chuckles merrily. "Now, how can I help you today?"
"Eerie."
"Egg Head -- whatever you do, don't stop it!"
"Egg Head actually has a better concept of the hard core. He just really likes saying *hard core*."
"Egg Head! It's in the desk!"
"Egg Head, you must have a lot of ideas."
"Egg Head?! Can you stop it?"
"Egg came with us. He made this wheezing puppy dog sound all the way back. Couldn't even speak."
"Egg means the situation is monitored." The man nods grimly. "It's 'relatively' safe. No one has died yet."
"Egg was yelling along to some jams someone was spinning, all night long. Just kept yelling until he didn't have a shred of voice left. When the sun came up over the mines... there were mines? Yeah, it was in Coal City!" She nods.
"Egg!" he yells. The tape player high above his head continues to blast strange music.
"Egg's right, they can call it No Truce if it's too long. At least it stands out from the others, it *evokes* something, it's victorious."
"Egg, can you please route Soona's signal through your speakers?"
"Egg, the music?"
"Egg..."
"Eh... I don't think that's gonna happen." He chuckles. "Why would you even...?"
"Eh..." she looks confused. "What?"
"Eh?" She frowns. "Come on, it's not about your brain -- even I couldn't figure it out on my own."
"Ehm..."
"Ehm..." The lieutenant puts his hand on your shoulder. "Unless we have more business, we should..." He looks to the door.
"Eight legs, walks upside down on the ceiling, spins webs sometimes..."
"Eight percent of *all* cargo in the world? That's quite the endeavour indeed."
"Eight, actually."
"Eight."
"Eight? Is that a normal number?"
"Either way -- something to consider."
"Either way -- this church, the coast in general... we shouldn't linger here. This isn't a good place to get lost in. We should conclude our business and move on."
"Either way, I have put this into my report -- you should read it. I do not, however, think it has anything to do with him drinking himself to the point of brain damage."
"Either way, I should go. Poor Morell is running a fever and I need to get him home to Jamrock. Before we overstay our welcome with Gary."
"Either way, another *ace* deduction by the #1 detective in town."
"Either way, good on you." The lieutenant gathers himself. "You were saying...?"
"Either way, have a safe trip back!" [Leave.]
"Either way, he's alleged to have sexually assaulted a woman. Sometime later a group of dockworkers got their hands on him...."
"Either way, it was a late Saturday night, when we, the Union of Moribund Alcoholics, got our drink on. Nothing remarkable about this, we get our drink on 24/7. Makes everything warm and glowy, I trust you know the feeling."
"Either way, it was real. I've even put it in my report -- you should read it. I do not, however, think it has anything to do with him drinking himself to the point of brain damage."
"Either way, we need to keep an eye on her."
"Either way, we need to keep an eye on him. Somewhere along the way, we might have been fed a lie or two..."
"Either way," he looks at the bullet again, "this enough to confront the her with."
"Either way... this church, we shouldn't linger here. This isn't a good place to get lost in."
"Either way..." he concludes: "What else?"
"Electrical devices do not work without electricity." The lieutenant looks on as you fiddle with the dial. "We need to power the generator upstairs first."
"Electronic instruments -- like what?"
"Ellis Kortenaer -- we have a *full* name to provide here..." He seems satisifed.
"Ellis Kortenaer? That's an interesting name."
"Ellis. Ellis Kortenaer was his name."
"Elysium."
"Elysium... The world needs a term of endearment."
"Embarrassment? That's idiotic. I need to talk to her."
"Emma's Fashion Atelier"
"Emotional ineptitude is no way to *cop*. He can't compare to my sensitive soul."
"Employing sulky teenage girls is a widespread practice, yes. Unfortunately they always come in packs -- I'm talking about acne-ridden *girlfriends* and gorilla-like *boyfriends* loitering near the shop. At least that's what happened with Revachol Ice City."
"Empty all your barrels on me, Harry."
"Empty as all of them..." he pants. "*One* more of these and we're done..." His face is red from the cold sea air. He crouches to catch his breath.
"Empty... Gotta look not here, piggo."
"Empty... Let's look elsewhere."
"Encasement. Confinement. Of something they were afraid of. Something new and unheard of on the isola." He looks up, into the darkness  beyond the beams. "I think that's what the crab man is experiencing when he climbs around upstairs..."
"End of human development. Mission. Complete."
"End of quote. This is a high-quality carcass." He kicks the floorboard. "The power of anodic beats and hard bass is needed to reanimate it."
"End of recording."
"End of story."
"Enjoy your shitty ride, junkie-cop. We still have it under control. All you're doing is contributing to the local economy. It's just a little hitch."
"Enjoying the view? There's a dead body hanging in the tree!"
"Enough about Ruby, I had other questions..."
"Enough about the church then. I had a another question." (Conclude.)
"Enough about the witness."
"Enough about this *skullery* then." (Conclude.)
"Enough already! What is this?!" The woman's voice is furious. "We didn't come here to fucking chat!"
"Enough business, let's talk about something else."
"Enough for now."
"Enough funny business. Will you just give us the key already?"
"Enough gloating. This is serious."
"Enough histrionics. What are you talking about?"
"Enough now, Noid, you have had enough fun bothering our guest with your crazy theories. Leave him alone."
"Enough of C-F."
"Enough of that now, officer..." The lieutenant pats you on the back. "There has got to be a better, more *age-appropriate* way in."
"Enough of this mumbo-jumbo, I have a decomposing body rotting away as we speak. Just let me in!"
"Enough of this."
"Enough tales then. Let's change the subject."
"Enough wackiness. Let's get back to business."
"Enough with this now, I have other things to discuss."
"Enough, Noid, you've had enough fun pestering our guest with your crazy musings. Leave him alone."
"Enough," he cuts in sharply. "I can go over these matters *in detail* with you, Gaston, but not while we have company. So officers...?"
"Enough. I need you to open the door to the harbour."
"Enough. Let's talk seriously."
"Enough." (Conclude.)
"Entrapment is where a law officer gets a person to commit an criminal offence they otherwise wouldn't commit. Often through some trickery or fraud."
"Entrapment? What's that?"
"Entroponetic crosstalk?"
"Envision bread as black as the soil it came from..."
"Equal wages for equal labour!"
"Err... okay, I guess."
"Escalate, Cuno! His dick is out, you're afraid!"
"Especially getting those boots off him. You'd have an easier time wrestling the spurs off a boiadeiro than that."
"Especially now that Annette is settling in at school again. She's finally making friends in this place!" She looks at her daughter, quietly studying in the corner of the shop. "No, we can't leave Martinaise. We can't."
"Especially when there's a hurricane loose. It's *your* fault for losing them -- not mine."
"Especially when there's a hurricane loose. It's your fault for losing them -- not mine."
"Especially when you're so busy doing *nothing* to stop psychopaths. How could you just stand there? Still, you did risk your life..."
"Establishment hasn't had its fill, is that right? First they obstruct our work, then they come for our shoes."
"Ether? I don't smell ether. Do you, Noid?"
"Eugene, let's assume you killed him..."
"Eugene, to your right! Don't let him..."
"Eugene?"
"Even *one* would be very useful," he agrees. "Though I understand the socio-economic causes of the Revolution, it pains me to imagine the revolutionaries setting fire to this precious device. But so they did. The Feld Playback Experiment vanished into the fires of '07."
"Even a weak child can think it. The only things holding someone back are *I can't* and *I shouldn't*."
"Even a wonderful business idea like that can go under?" She sighs. "The curse is relentless."
"Even about little things, like not turning down the volume at 3 AM. I even *liked* one of those songs you kept listening on repeat. No more. I hate it now."
"Even after all this time I still don't really understand who you are or what your angle is."
"Even as Seol remains closed off from the world, Seolite agents have been slowly advancing through the echelons of power on the other isolae."
"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."
"Even better, it's civil asset forfeiture." (Make an imaginary warning shot.
"Even easier to carry on a stretcher -- or between two men. Anyway, it's for future consideration. What else can you see?"
"Even if I had, it wouldn't be missing."
"Even if I were to change my name now, upon hearing any syllable that sounds like *kim* in the street, I'd turn to see who was calling me."
"Even if it is part of the damn Doomed Commercial Area..."
"Even if we have to do it one basic term at a time."  gives you a slight bow.
"Even relative to examining a week-old corpse, I'm not sure mucking about in the reeds qualifies as *fun*... but have it your way, detective..."
"Even simply catching a glimpse of the Insulindian phasmid would be the apex of my -- of *any* -- cryptozoologist's career. But to study it and its defences, find out how it's stayed hidden so long..." he shakes his head.
"Even so, I'd like to talk to him."
"Even taking into account the risk of obtaining the light, that seems a bit steep...."
"Even that is a small miracle -- these *organizations* usually double check their inventory." He leans closer and shouts: "Thank you, Alice. Great work!"
"Even that took quite a bit of convincing them to retrieve the information from the database, officer."
"Even the RCM uses ordinary unjacketed conical bullets. This is... strange. Very strange. I like this, officer. Strange means unique. Unique means incriminating. We need to find the gun that shot it."
"Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."
"Even the mongrels can see you're about to pull his head off."
"Even the pigs think it's garbage!"
"Even the rain feels nice." He leans over the railing and sticks out his hand to feel the rain.
"Even when I leave here (if I leave here alive) -- what's my next move?... Staging a lynching is a crime, even if I'm not accused of murder on top of that. Forever on the run? Not really my idea of the open road. \n\nMan, I was really looking forward to winning."
"Even worse," says Soona. "But the real question is -- how has no one ever discovered that before? Are we really the first ones to stumble upon the square millimetre of pale right under Revachol, the pearl of the world?"
"Even worse. But the real question is -- how has no one ever discovered that before? Are we really the first ones to stumble upon the square millimetre of pale right under Revachol, the pearl of the world?"
"Evening will come, we will sew the white sail! Workers of the world, unite!" [Leave.]
"Evening, officer!"
"Eventually Revachol Ice City lost a price war to its rival, Glacé 5000. Glacé 5000 sold caramel sundaes for only 5 cents a piece. Out of regular fridges."
"Eventually the Coalition took away the funding and the club went bankrupt. This was a few years ago. It's gotten much more peaceful around the plaza ever since."
"Eventually their shouts died down, and that was all. There were no gunshots, no celebratory shouts, no anything."
"Ever had any dealings with the Union Boss?"
"Ever more reason for me not to serve you, sir. Was there anything else you needed -- other than alcohol?"
"Ever see her through a window, on a roof?"
"Ever since I came to work here it's been different... as if my mind's been wiped clean..."
"Ever since I came to work here it's been different..."
"Ever since I woke up -- maybe even before -- I've been getting these strange *cold spells*."
"Ever smoke them on the mainland?" (Point to Land's End.)
"Ever thought about switching to helium headlights?"
"Every *fucking* morning, for thirty-four years..." He grinds his teeth in rage. "Throwing that ball. One ball against the other... I've always loathed that game. That is *not* a working class game. I don't care what they say on Radio June."
"Every day?" He tilts his head, studying you, then nods. "You look the part."
"Every little bit helps, you know."
"Every man gets what he earns. It's the height of tyranny to take that from him."
"Every meal we share strengthens our bond!"
"Every morning he's there. While the parasites he fought to protect are off in Ozonne, or Croyant-Morain, or some other island they've built their palaces on. Feeding on drugs and having sex with their own children."
"Every now and then the bird would dive down to feed on an animal carcass somewhere on the horizon. But by the time Uwe got there, the teratorn had taken off already -- and the carcass was picked clean. This happened many times."
"Every one of us has our role to play."
"Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don't have to catch *everything*."
"Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don't have to keep *everything*."
"Every school of thought and government has failed in this city -- but I love it nonetheless. It belongs to me as much as it belongs to you."
"Every snowflake is like a little gift from the sky." She shivers as one falls on her nose.
"Every step I take, it grows. By the time I reach the fuel station it has filled me entirely. I step on the light rail and look back, sparks fall from the bow collector. I know it will be like this until late afternoon, when I get off the 49 -- and walk back to you..."
"Every step I take, it grows. Until by the time I reach the fuel station it has filled me COMPLETELY. I step on the light rail and look back, something-something, bow collector. I know it will be like this -- until I WALK BACK TO YOU..."
"Every word I said was true. Tequila Sunset will break the looms of reality."
"Everybody calm down! This is only a demonstration!" (Turn to Kim) "Kim, the gun please?"
"Everybody calm down! This is only a demonstration!" (Turn to Kim) "Kim, the gun. Yours is better. It will make sense."
"Everybody does. It's the fucking Insulindian Phasmid."
"Everybody letting it *all* hang out -- elite entertainment zone."
"Everybody suddenly *needs* something from there...." She waves her hands angrily. "Leave the curtains be. It's what it wants..."
"Everybody! PLEASE!!! He's digging his dick out!!!"
"Everybody, don't panic, it's beautiful!"
"Everybody, everybody! Don't panic, I'm going to turn off The Arno for *just a sec*," the young man shouts as he clicks a switch on the mixer, "for a *special scheduled event*..."
"Everyone *knows* of it."
"Everyone can see that, yes."
"Everyone can see that. The rectangles." He points to his sleeve.
"Everyone does that, in a way. You don't have to get shot for that." She waves her hand dismissively.
"Everyone gets a little down."
"Everyone has their own method of coping, some more effective, or self-destructive, than others..." He gives you a meaningful look.
"Everyone has. They named a fucking perfume after it."
"Everyone in Jamrock. The cops, the criminals... Why do you think I'm holed up in here with a goddamn death ray, waiting for you?"
"Everyone in Martinaise knows the Claire brothers," he says solemnly. "I taught these boys human studies and history in the gymnasium."
"Everyone is a blobber in this world. Everyone betrays everyone. They're all already locked up -- for betrayal. The best ones, the ones with heart, were slaughtered, trampled..." he looks to the city.
"Everyone is so evil."
"Everyone is welcome -- to dance 'till the morning light! YEAGH!"
"Everyone knows I made it up. I'm just a drunk. A stupid dead drunk."
"Everyone knows that all the previous companies in this building have sooner or later declared bankruptcy. And their *malicious spirits* are still here, feeding off bad business practices and disappointing income statements!"
"Everyone needs to share z'e *responsabilité*."
"Everyone says that real estate agents don't *do* anything, but here I am, in the middle of the night, cleaning up someone's 'crash pad'."
"Everyone says you started crying in the middle of a firefight and then bled like a pig." He shrugs. "I guess that was cool."
"Everyone should try to be more like Measurehead."
"Everyone thinks they're better than other people. Some people are just particularly crude about it."
"Everyone thought the bacteria had driven her mad. But she really was a brilliant woman -- maybe the Cryobacter katlensis allowed her to see something no one else could..."
"Everyone understands you're *the law*. That's why you have that insignia on your arm. So you don't have to keep saying it."
"Everyone was picking those pieces off him and I was watching them do it. And they scattered his clothes all over the yard, everything was smelling..." He looks at his feet.
"Everyone's a critic, man." He waves you off. "It's okay. I've been here a whole week already."
"Everyone's just mooching off the entrepreneurial class. Shackling the *doers*."
"Everyone. It's a local rumour." He yawns suddenly
"Everything *you* do reflects on the idea and the people you are representing. When we," he says pointing to Gaston, "think of the RCM, we think of *you*. Please make it a pleasant thought."
"Everything affects the decision making process, detective."
"Everything alright, detective?"
"Everything appears to be in order." (Give the documents back.)
"Everything from forgotten regional lore to newspaper accounts like the one that brought us here to look for the phasmid. I keep a very open mind."
"Everything from scalp down is top notch, but you need a patrol cap."
"Everything has a price, sweetie."
"Everything has something to do with everything."
"Everything here seems to corroborate that assumption. But we should still get him *down* before assigning a probable cause of death."
"Everything is brands with you individualists... Who cares what *brand* my shoes are? Sansa..." He looks at his running shoes, covered in mud. "Some shit."
"Everything is good here!"
"Everything is on the shelves, take a look yourself." She nudges her glasses. "The shelves compel you, don't they?"
"Everything is political."
"Everything is related to the pale. My condition. The case. Everything. It's all *entroponetic*."
"Everything is sad and shit and we need art to make it okay. Just give me the brush."
"Everything points to the Dockworkers' Union: the *belt* used for hanging him, the circumstances in Martinaise, my preliminary information..."
"Everything points to the Dockworkers' Union: the tracks in the mud, the circumstances in Martinaise, my preliminary information..."
"Everything seems to be in order." (Hand back the passport.)
"Everything that's physically on the victim says otherwise -- but I agree. I was ready to establish a cause of death, officer -- now I think we should leave it empty. At least for the time being."
"Everything they did there, they brought over here. They want to turn Revachol into a Third World slum. Honestly, the only thing they didn't do, is kill the village elephant."
"Everything! Here I stand -- completely topless, assaulted by the elements!"
"Everything's still cool here, officer," the street vendor assures you.
"Everything." She smiles. "Right up to -- but not including -- *trade secrets*."
"Everything?"
"Evidence of what? I haven't done anything." He puts out his cigarette and flicks the tiny stub toward the street.
"Evil aerodrome, taking everything away from me."
"Evil."
"Evrart *created* this job for René, because he knows the Royal Carabineer's pension of honour and PTST isn't something a man can live off. 'A decorated kingsman collecting tare reflects bad on the whole neighbourhood.' -- his words."
"Evrart *personally* sent me to take care of this. If this goes south we'll all be in the shit -- but you, Titus Hardie, are going to be buried. Am I understood?"
"Evrart Claire is a hero of the worker's movement. He is the champion I've sworn fealty to."
"Evrart Claire is a man of the *utmost* integrity. If you can say one thing about him, it's that he always puts the interests of the workers first."
"Evrart Claire, probably -- the head of the Débardeurs Union." He inspects the note. "One of his aides must have left it. Nothing incriminating here."
"Evrart Claire? Surely you're mistaken."
"Evrart asked the Union's militant wing to fully cooperate with the investigation."
"Evrart confirmed, he sent you to spy on us."
"Evrart forgives, Harry." A wide smile crosses his face. "Don't cry, my boy. It's gonna be alright. I'm *still* gonna tell you about the murder. That's just the way I am. Benevolent."
"Evrart gave me five reál, he could easily give you fifteen. Or even fifty?"
"Evrart gets it. Big guys looking after the small and everyone working together -- I love it!"
"Evrart is a hero of the worker's movement."
"Evrart isn't paying me enough for this."
"Evrart knows more than he's told us. Maybe we should continue working for him?"
"Evrart probably has eyes on us, but..." He pauses to think. "If the second signature were to be somehow *wrong*..."
"Evrart probably has eyes on us, but..." He pauses to think. "We could try to get other people to sign this instead of those listed. *Or* you could forge their signatures yourself. By the time he finds out, we'll already be gone."
"Evrart said you have a key to a door?"
"Evrart says Titus Hardie and his boys killed him."
"Evrart says the Wild Pines sent mercenaries after the Union -- and now one's dead."
"Evrart sent me." (Place finger on the side of your nose and tap twice.)
"Evrart sent word you two would be around again. That's the only reason I'm being so forthcoming with ya. Don't wear it out."
"Evrart told you to help us get the body down from the tree."
"Evrart wants to turn part of the village into a little youth centre."
"Evrart's got a lot of knowledge about a lot of things, aye. Doesn't often dole it out, though. But sure, why not..."
"Evrart's planning to turn some of the village into a youth centre."
"Evrart, Evrart, Evrart, he looks after everyone. Huh... well, hey there!" He smiles. "How can I help you, mister?"
"Evrart, I'm going to leave now, but we might talk again later." [Leave.]
"Evrart, Joyce seems to think the Union is low-balling her."
"Evrart, Leo, where can I find Evrart?" (Interrupt him)
"Evrart, about the weasel..."
"Evrart, that's just giving orders."
"Evrart?"
"Eww." She shudders.
"Ex-wife? No. It's a sinister presence that hunts me across all plains of existence."
"Exactly --" He looks at you. "But all in due time. Crypto-business is not a priority right now."
"Exactly the kind of fascist memorabilia I was expecting." He shakes his head. "Weasel probably prays to it every night for the downfall of the Union."
"Exactly! How can one know shit? For example: How can one be sure that there truly is a body hanging behind the hostel?"
"Exactly! How can one know shit?"
"Exactly! It was going fine -- a month ago the place was empty, then suddenly it's all spooked up."
"Exactly! It's such a small part of my life. It's in the rear view mirror now. I'm climbing out of that hole -- with ingenuity."
"Exactly! That's *exactly* what we thought!"
"Exactly! That's exactly what it was -- civic duty."
"Exactly!" He agrees. "A world of slavery and violence. Which brings us back to the essential truth of modernism..."
"Exactly, now..." She glances over her shoulder. You hear distant traffic. An airship passes overhead, dogs bark somewhere.
"Exactly, what *does* it mean?" There's something frantic about her as she locks her gaze with you, eyes shining like pearls. "Up to now it has been impossible to say what it is, because it's impossible to measure *nothing*."
"Exactly," she nods, "very true! That's what I've been aiming for, that's why I have those basins. I've tried using hydrotransducers to record the silence -- to find out where it *begins*."
"Exactly. *I* don't find it boring, I find it *fulfilling*. Peace is what allows me to have my morning coffee, my afternoon golf, my sundown friends."
"Exactly. And I *really* did try."
"Exactly. But we've been doing fine so far."
"Exactly. Cause and effect work in both directions."
"Exactly. I don't wanna talk about it."
"Exactly. In this kind of a business relationship I could come and critique your work any time. I could demand things from you, limiting your creative freedom."
"Exactly. It's a brilliant idea. Thank you, officer! I'm going start drawing up business plans right away."
"Exactly. It's our chance to turn the grim desolation into an overwhelmingly fun dance party!"
"Exactly. That's what being a police officer is all about."
"Exactly. They had to perform it to whoever was looking -- the whole neighbourhood, I suppose." He ads: "And us too."
"Exactly."
"Exactly." He nods at the calendar on the chalkboard, wiping his marker-stained fingers clean against his jacket. "This schedule -- I know *doom* when I see it. The company was running out of funding."
"Exactly." She agrees wholeheartedly.
"Exactly." She pinches the root of her nose. "Truth is always so disappointingly mundane and boring."
"Exactly." She tries to smile and reaches in her net. "I don't mean to complain about my sad pauper life. We do manage alright. We're though people here."
"Exactly." The man nods excitedly in approval.
"Exactly... And these tests were performed so recklessly that when they happened upon the right frequency... well, they wiped out most of the population."
"Exaggerated?! Evrart, the time is now! We are looking at s *catastrophic global* loss of life."
"Excellent choice. I'm almost sad to part with it."
"Excellent form."
"Excellent job bullying that old man, officer," the lieutenant says with a frown. He looks impatient and not happy. "He'll be sure to put in a good word for the RCM in the future."
"Excellent! I know you RCM people like to your call signs. Harry 'Tequila Sunset' Du Bois -- I can see that. But to me -- and the census bureau -- you will always be little Harry."
"Excellent, *Harry*." The smile widens. "Of course, that's your name. What else could it be? Now, please, have a seat."
"Excellent, Mr. Du Bois, I can see that you're a reasonable man, and reasonable men... Reasonable men can be of great use to one other." He gives you a sly wink.
"Excellent, Mr. Kitsuragi. That's excellent news." He claps his hands together. "Looks like we have a friendly gun-finding competition in our hands."
"Excellent. That will be 10 reál for one set of magnetic dice."
"Excellent. Was there anything else?"
"Excellent." He rubs his hands together. "When can you get started? The sooner I get that jacket back, the sooner I can get my life back together."
"Excellent." She takes a long sip of tea. "According to my reports there are at least three lorry drivers lingering near the roundabout. Hopefully one of them will know something."
"Except I've weighted the die. When you try rolling it, you realize that each time it gets you exactly the same result -- *God is indifferent*. This is our curse."
"Except he isn't."
"Except nothing." He shrugs. "That shit is behind Cuno. Keep your nose out of it."
"Except that I *do*, detective."
"Except that Kras Mazov is dead. He's been dead for 50 years now."
"Except that... yeah." She looks at the old wooden church up on the poles. As a mean wind comes bellowing in, the six-story structure lets out a doleful shriek.
"Except the ones who are detectives."
"Except the ones who are philosophers."
"Except what?"
"Excuse me -- I have the tare bag but no tare. Can I still use the tare machine?"
"Excuse me sir, I don't have a billion real."
"Excuse me, *what*?"
"Excuse me, I didn't hear you." Her voice is kind, a little hoarse from the wind.
"Excuse me, I didn't hear you." her voice is kind, a little hoarse from the wind. "Did you say *money*?"
"Excuse me, I don't even know why I said that. A lapse of professionalism that does not represent my values."
"Excuse me, I had further inquiries."
"Excuse me, a *bad husband?*" Her back straightens. "What do you mean?"
"Excuse me, are you telling the story, now? No? You're not? Well then..." He scoffs.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I'd like to ask some questions."
"Excuse me, officer..." She calls out from the counter. "The back room is strictly for employees only."
"Excuse me, sir! I believe you've been *perusing* that particular volume long enough. If you'd like to continue reading I must insist you buy it."
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" The dicemaker stares at you while you start to fuss with your pants.
"Excuse me, what did you just say?"
"Excuse me, what?" She blinks. "What-did-you-say?"
"Excuse me," the lieutenant looks up from his notes, "From whom did you *hear* about this lynching?"
"Excuse me. I was lecturing you. I shouldn't have. You should consult a medical professional if you feel that you need help. You can use the radio in my Kineema to call your station's *lazareth*."
"Excuse me. I was lecturing you. I shouldn't have. You should consult a medical professional if you feel that you need help."
"Excuse me. Large topics are not my forte. You seem stable enough. Keep it that way. Now -- was there anything else or should we get to it?"
"Excuse me... I think you may be the person I've been waiting for." He narrows his eyes and extends his hand in greeting.
"Excuse me? Of course not!"
"Excuse me?!" She blinks. "I don't follow."
"Excuse me?"
"Excuse me?" He emerges from the reverie.
"Excuse me?" She casually brushes her hand through her hair.
"Excuse me?" She doesn't understand.
"Excuse me?" She sits up, visibly agitated. "A 2mm hole in reality? This can't be true."
"Excuse my verbally impaired partner, ma'am. He intended to say something else. We'll be on our way."
"Excuse the delay, miss," he says with a nod toward the yard. "This situation will be addressed now. We'll be back soon."
"Excuse us for a moment, Mr. Dros." [Leave.]
"Excuse us for a moment, madam." [Leave.]
"Exit from what?"
"Expired?" She narrows her eyes. "Like a *milk carton*?"
"Extensively."
"Extinction?"
"Extra fine."
"Extra good that I do."
"Extraordinary." She pulls on her cigarette and nods.
"Extravagantly phrased -- but I can roll with it."
"Extremely distasteful behaviour. I cannot condone either drug use or needless boasting..."
"Extremely fuckable, Harry. Gorgeous. A gorgeous bourgeois woman. Waifish. Like a *welkin* basically."
"Extremely."
"Ey, Doom Spiral! Ain't that the jacket you stole the other week?"
"Eyck-Head to the mega! The K became the G! The boy became the man!"
"Eyes up, detective. Something's not right here."
"F'course you want back in there. Everyone wants back in there."
"F****T!" She's ripping her blazer open to bare her chest." "DO IT!"
"F****t shit himself."
"F****t waved his gun." She's pants, breathless with excitement. "It wasn't intense, it was pathetic."
"F****ts can't get enough of that dick..."
"F****ts love it in the dick."
"F****ts talkin' 'bout shit."
"F... d... dfuck you!"
"FAREWELL, HAM SANDWICH. YOU ARE A UNION MAN FROM NOW ON."
"FASCINATING..." The phrenologic lines on his face move like a puzzle board: "THE REVACHOLIAN DEGENERATE SHOWS SIGNS OF RACIAL SELF REFLECTION. HOW DID YOU ACCOMPLISH THIS LITTLE FEAT?"
"FINALLY! Someone's talking sense!"
"FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF, ENDOMORPHIC BLOB."
"FINE. GOOD-BYE. RETURN TO YOUR DEGENERACY."
"FINE. THEY HAVE RECENTLY FALLEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF A POSSIBLY SEXUALLY PERVERTED FEMALE VAGRANT AND A NARCOTICS PEDDLER. IT'S SHAMEFUL."
"FRANCONEGRO!!!"
"FREE FLOW OF COMMERCE!" The man yells and wipes his face. Sweat is dripping down his brow.
"FUCK OFF, it's mine!" He jerks away, immediately startled by his own reaction.
"FUCK THE FUCKING POLICE!!!!"
"FUCK THE POLICE"
"FUCK WITH US AND GET FUCKED."
"FUCKING IDIOT! Mulkkupää asshole!"
"Fabron's Taxi..." (The rest has been burned off.)
"Failing that we could... go back to the mainland and get some from..."
"Failure to aid a police officer. You have wasted our time -- in a time-critical investigation."
"Failure to comply. Suspect is displaying aggression! OFFICER UNDER DURESS! OFFICER UNDER DURESS!"
"Failure... so much more failure!" She turns away from you, shaking her head.
"Fair enough, business man. Twelve it is."
"Fair enough. I got some other questions."
"Fair enough. Just making an observation."
"Fair enough. Seems interesting."
"Fair enough. Tell me something else."
"Fair enough."
"Fair point," he agrees, "You can't have a successful business without a loyal customer base. How much is your loyalty worth?"
"Fair point. Sorry, I haven't been... doing well these past days."
"Fair point. Yes, totally obvious."
"Fair point... Let's move on, shall we?"
"Fair, I guess. The probe will be done soon."
"Fairweather T-500 / VE" is imprinted under each heel.
"Faith is a kind of drug."
"Falsified documents?"
"Fame is a false existence. It doesn't happen inside the *head*." He nods mysteriously, then lets go of the suspenders and they hit his chest with a slap.
"Fame is... for vain people. I have better things to do."
"Fame sounds delicious. Maybe someone will write a book about me one day."
"Familiar faces."
"Family connections, I'd imagine? His father-in-law works for the Office of Standards and Best Practices." With that, the woman exits, a grey file folder tucked under her arm.
"Family, Harry..." He glances lovingly at the framed photo in front of him. "... is the most important thing in the world."
"Family? Harry, you're *not* a family man. There's not one peep of family in here. Unless you *think* you're a family man? Do you strike yourself as a family man, Harry?"
"Fantastic! Time for men like me and you to figure out who's killed who and why." His fist lands on the desk. "Real police work is gonna start happening now. I promise you, Harry, this is gonna be good."
"Fantastic, my friend! Just let me know when it's done and we can take our friendship to the next level." He flicks his fingers.
"Fantastic. Can the witch tell *Entity* then what the cursed die does?"
"Fantastic. I've gotta get on the road -- then you can go find your friends... Unless you have anything *pressing* to ask me."
"Fantastic. So *now* you remember how to do your job..." He despondently glances at his beer. "I'm so sick of this piss -- we should get something harder in here."
"Fantastic. Then we can get back to the murder case." He looks at his wristwatch.
"Fantastic. Try not to wear it with other similarly colourful clothes, okay?"
"Fantastic."
"Fantastic." The lieutenant looks at the familiar contraption and shrugs.
"Farewell for now, book peddler!" [Leave.]
"Farewell, friend, and may your peace of mind guide you to happiness."
"Farewell." She nods to you and turns to go.
"Fascinating. Let's talk about something else."
"Faster, harder, caater!"
"Fat Angus said you had a pale emitter..."
"Fat and plump, like a pheasant..." He does not hear you. "Just *begging* to be popped off." A grin stretches across his face and he says very softly: "Please, Mr. Dros. Shoot me."
"Fat and plump. Like a pheasant, just *begging* to be popped off...." A grin stretches across his face and he whispers: "Please, Mr. Dros. Shoot me."
"Fat chance. But you *can* still do your part to revitalize the neighbourhood."
"Fatal injury by seagulls?"
"Father Mazov, the hero of the working class!" (Salute the statue.)
"Fatty!" The little guy hits Angus on the back of the head. A loud slap. "Say one more thing to the cops and I'll..."
"Fealty-swealty, Harry. You knew something -- something big. And you wanted to see what happens when you tell someone. So you told her. Anyone who's ever been close to power will tell you: inside information is the sweetest thing in the world."
"Fear of failure, fear of death. How it *sucks* to be Oranjese. All national literatures are -- only the name of the nation changes."
"Feel free to come back later and 'have a blast' with these exemplars of youthful avant-gardism. But we really need to return to the present now."
"Feel free to use it if you find a bag, though. I'm sure there are some... out there." She points outside. "Somewhere..."
"Feel the love! GET DOWN AND FEEL IT!" The stuffy tent muffles the last two words. The command fails to impress.
"Feels like a... like a thousand fuckin' reál, man. Doing *good*."
"Feels like forever, like I was born on this here roundabout and this was all I ever knew. Just me and the metal and the tyres, the oil and the fumes of mazut..."
"Feels like someone's trying to jam an angry hedgehog down your nostrils, doesn't it, buddy-boy? Wait for the adrenaline-tsunami, it's *really* great!"
"Feld versus Tricentennial -- I wish we could've witnessed that, Mikael."
"Fellas. The cop is really threatening to off himself. This is insane."
"Fellas..." The big guy glances over his shoulders. "You getting any of this?"
"Felt like silence! Awful silence..."
"Female? What makes you think so?"
"Females reproducing without males!? A travesty. A crime against passion *and* common sense."
"Few more questions first."
"Field autopsy isn't necessary if the cause of death doesn't appear to be criminal -- and this looks like a simple accident to me."
"Fifteen is an *excellent* time to learn about the economic reality."
"Fifty years ago this place was the heart of innovation."
"Fighting for it how?" She hasn't let go of your embrace yet.
"Fighting, enemy... my philosophy is everyone just getting along."
"Figure it out?" She shakes her head, grinning. "No, I don't need you to figure anything out, I've got a computer for that." She pats the mainframe.
"Figured as much." [Discard thought.]
"Figured." He sighs and holds his lower abdomen. A flash of pain there... it angers him.
"Figures. All of you are liars. They're such sweet boys, though, aren't they? My sweet, sweet wannabe-SKULLS. They'll never be accepted. But their hearts are in the right place."
"Figures. Typical patriarchal nonsense, mascu-venomosity."
"Figures. What else is new! Certainly not a surprise when it comes to you nit-wit coppo-goons."
"Figures."
"Figures." He looks out the window. "But that Ruby *is* queer as cabaret, now that I start thinking about it. So there is some truth to it..."
"Filippe III was even brought into this world with the help of cocaine -- the court medic administered a dose to his mother when she was in labour. And it is well known that with the help of cocaine -- only the purest, of course -- he was able to connect with higher realms..."
"Final-style," he repeats. "You fucked everything up. Now Cuno's all you got. Terminal Cuno."
"Finally came to your senses, huh, buddy-boy? Ain't nobody else gonna give you a price like that." The man starts laughing to himself. "Had to let life squeeze you to get that, huh?"
"Finally we meet, Katarzine Alasije." (Proceed.)
"Finally, you're being sensible! I'll start packing right now."
"Finally."
"Finally." Kim impatiently gestures toward the door. "Let's go."
"Find a job. Pay them yourself. Your dad can't handle things any more."
"Find his killer?! Cop, his killer stands right there!" He waves at the men behind you. "Shitting his pants -- and *you're* standing in the way protecting them."
"Find his killer?! Cop, his killer stands right there!" He waves at the men behind you. "Shitting their pants -- and *you're* standing in the way protecting them."
"Find someone else to laugh at, I'm not a clown!"
"Find someone else to laugh at."
"Fine -- Frittte doesn't have a warehouse. Just a little back room here. M'kay?" She turns back to her magazine without waiting for you to respond.
"Fine -- fine! Finger-bang him then, I don't care." He snorts angrily, then turns back to his activities.
"Fine by me."
"Fine by me." She brushes her hair aside, waiting for you to speak.
"Fine then, I had something else I needed."
"Fine then." He sighs. "Just try not to black out again. And don't *contemplate*. We don't have time for that."
"Fine then." The piece shines in his outstretched hand.
"Fine, Cuno... *Don't* help me then." (Back off.)
"Fine, Harry." He waves you off. "You can even be Harry Raphael Du Bois De Costeau -- or whatever you *choose* to be."
"Fine, I only have one pair of handcuffs anyway." (Back off.)
"Fine, I will drop the matter *again*." (Find another option)
"Fine, I will drop the matter for now." (Find another way.)
"Fine, I'll ask for it. Can we have the key?"
"Fine, I'll just use this crappy pencil..."
"Fine, I'll take it off the bill! Sleep in a post-apocalyptic hell-hole if you want to. Just know I won't give you another room."
"Fine, I'll take it off the bill! You want to sleep in a post-apocalyptic shit-hole, go ahead! But I'm not giving you another room."
"Fine, I'm leaving." [Leave.]
"Fine, Titus -- I'm not getting into it, if it touches on your precious business."
"Fine, but what's his real name?"
"Fine, fuck it." The young man takes his jacket off. "Here, take it then. I can't handle this sad shit."
"Fine, fuck this. I'll do it myself, I'll call your Station... what was it, 41? I'll ask them to pay for the room. The drinks and the window you still have to pay for. That's 70. Are we done, officers?"
"Fine, if I happen to be there, I can ask them." (Accept the task.)
"Fine, if only to end this discussion: Theoretically, if I were a juvenile delinquent -- if I were to already be down that path -- I think 'PISSF****T' is the stronger of the two statements."
"Fine, if you really want to talk, I can dial it down. I've also got a gun, by the way." She steps reluctantly out of the shadows. The pain lessens.
"Fine, if you won't take this seriously, I'm going to ask about something else."
"Fine, let's return to it later."
"Fine, okay. A little." He shrugs. "But my job doesn't leave me time for wondering about *one* locked door in *one* of the cafeterias I manage..."
"Fine, our victim's already been dead more than a week. One more diversion won't change anything."
"Fine, perhaps I'll try again... later."
"Fine, take it, I'm all out of fuel oil anyway." She drops the paintbrush at your feet.
"Fine, take the stupid thing." (Give him the jacket.)
"Fine, where is it?"
"Fine, yeah, it looked like someone had messed with the wiring. It was shortly after the hanging, but I don't know if it's at all related... Plenty of assholes around here who aren't murderers."
"Fine, you take them then."
"Fine," he grunts. "Talk."
"Fine," he replies, shaking his head. "I'll just go over my notes then. You know, from the case we're supposed to be investigating."
"Fine," he sighs.
"Fine," he snaps at you, obviously annoyed for the interruption. "What is it then?"
"Fine," he steps away with his notes.
"Fine," she replies with a shrug. "The date is dropped. Now what else can we discuss?"
"Fine," the carabineer replies sharply. "What do you want now then?"
"Fine," the lieutenant shrugs. "'FUCK THE WORLD' just seemed to fit you more, considering your... heroic exit attempts."
"Fine," the lieutenant sighs. "It's a three-part form to be filled out on the scene, by the detectives responsible. One takes notes, the other dictates. The goal is to establish cause of death."
"Fine. Anyway..." (Change the subject.)
"Fine. Brilliant theory. A real masterpiece. You'll get a station call and you can tell all about it -- to some *other* officer. We'll send the coast guard to the island. Maybe they'll find your giant insect too."
"Fine. Fine. *After* you've paid your bills you can climb that stage and do whatever the hell you need to do. *After," he shakes the tape at you. "Damn this karaoke machine..."
"Fine. Fine. Climb on that stage and do your thing, just get out of my hair." He shakes the tape at you. "I'll plug it in for you. Damn this karaoke machine..."
"Fine. I can dial it down. I've also got a gun, by the way." She steps reluctantly out of the shadows. The pain lessens.
"Fine. I don't care about those wannabe-skulls -- and I don't care about your armour."
"Fine. I don't want to be a butcher. And I don't want to be a knight either. I just wanna be a person who can sleep at night. A little fame wouldn't hurt too."
"Fine. I had other questions."
"Fine. I'll show you!"
"Fine. I'll tell him. After a long walk along the *coast*." She walks off without looking back.
"Fine. I'm Kim 'Pinball' Kitsuragi." he puts them back on. "AKA The Kimball. You remembered -- congratulations."
"Fine. If we're gonna drop you off anyway."
"Fine. Let's change the subject."
"Fine. Let's leave it at that."
"Fine. Okay. The kitchen is closed until 13:00 because the cook is working. You can snoop around after that -- if you must."
"Fine. Tell me one more thing." (Move on.)
"Fine. Was there something you wanted?"
"Fine. We should get through this day first. Off-hours begin at 21:00. If you're still having trouble then, I can give you an orientation."
"Fine. Why not." He shrugs.
"Fine. You live, learn and move on." The former soldier nods in agreement. The matter is closed. Now what can this old carabineer do for you, officer?"
"Fine."
"Fine." (Let it be.)
"Fine." He gives you resigned shrug. "Let's *blast* Sad FM then."
"Fine." He nods decisively. "Four reál it is."
"Fine." He nods. "But let's move. I don't want to be seen snooping around here."
"Fine." He shrugs.
"Fine." He takes the *boule*. "You tried to right a wrong. It's still a gram better than actual *nothing*."
"Fine." He's not buying it. "Just try not to black out again. And don't *contemplate*. We don't have time for that."
"Fine." She hands you her pair of yellow gardening gloves.
"Fine." The lieutenant clenches his jaw. "But know that I don't approve of such gratuitous volatility.
"Fine... Cuno's gonna take it off your fat ass. At least he's gonna make some paper off this shit..." He eagerly pockets the book. "Now, what do you want?"
"Fine... I guess we're truly done." He sighs.
"Fine..." He seems disappointed. "We can make do. It's going to take us bit to move our stuff inside. A couple of hours, maybe. Come check back later." Andre waves to the other speedfreaks. "Let's get moving!"
"Fire-*water*? He's lost it... Fuck it, tell him to find his goddamn badge and gun, that's the only thing that matters!"
"Fire-guy..." He shakes his head. "Regressive bourgeoisie henchman. Can't even talk like a grown up."
"Fire. Walker."
"Firewalker. I walk in the flames."
"Firewalker? Yes, yes you are. Just don't breathe in the general direction of your fire-feet. Actually, wait..."
"Firmly?" He shakes his head. "Firmly doesn't go well with *could've*. There's a route to the roof. Me and boys need to check it out. That's what we've *established*."
"Firmly?" He shakes his head. "Try *shit on a stick*. All you've established is a *possible* route to the roof -- that you haven't found."
"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."
"First -- what *is* marriage?"
"First -- you could tell she was a *spook* from the documents?"
"First I have to ask: Are you okay, sir?" All of a sudden, she looks genuinely concerned. "You look like you're about to throw up... Can I bring you something?"
"First against the wall with him..." He's stopped poking at the ash now, just shakes his head.
"First against the wall with them," he sputters. "First against the wall, for keeping the mills of capital. They should go *before* the owners..."
"First against the wall with them," he sputters. "First against the wall. For keeping the mills of capital going. They should go *before* the owners."
"First against the wall with them," he sputters. "Keeping the mills running, collaborants, the whole lot. They should go *before* the owners..."
"First my badge and now THIS."
"First of all, I *will* stop drinking."
"First of all, yo -- those guys were all f****ts. The guys in the armour? F****ts. The union guys? F****ts. So yeah --" He stares Vicquemare in the eye. "Suck Cuno's dick. You don't *know* me. "
"First the drug smuggling, now this... How deep does this rabbit hole go?"
"First they take our jobs, then our women and when the sandwich is all you have left -- the anarchists will come for that too."
"First things first -- what are you doing here, man on the water lock?"
"First you tell me someone's been *raped*, and then you don't say *who*. That's bullshit!" (Stomp your feet.)
"First you'd have to repeal the Emergencies Act of Trade and Aliments that gives me the right to silence. It's quite the octopus."
"First, *you're* one of those inconsistencies."
"First, I know you're tired, Kim, but take another look at this wall. Draw *nourishment* from its beauty."
"First, I'm not *one of them*."
"First, I'm the policeman that asked you to open the door. Are you sure you don't want to see my badge?"
"First, has the firm continued to work for pharmaceutical companies through all these name changes?"
"First, it wasn't *some samaran shit*. It was 'Boy With A Scythe'..."
"First, it wasn't Plaisance, I know her and would have recognized her voice."
"First, let me make this clear: I'm not a drunk. I'm a cop. I just have a drink every now and then, everyone does."
"First, some of the Hardie boys said you'd visited them."
"First, there won't *be* a youth centre, whatever he's told you or the residents. It'll be something horrific. Perhaps even *worse* than a statue -- so yes, I do."
"First, they had just the faintest scent of chewing gum on them. I could still smell it under the... shit."
"First, we need to talk about your attitude."
"First, what do you mean *knew*?"
"First, what exactly is a *field autopsy*?"
"First, where is that quote from?"
"First, will this affect your decision making process?"
"First, you can call me Harry, because that's my name."
"First, you need to come with me to the boat."
"First. How did it go?"
"First. You *knew* Siileng didn't do it."
"Fisherman? Totally. It's all I do for fun."
"Five hundred Lears and I can't remember the first line."
"Five. I felt some interest."
"Five..."
"Five: Glen, Theo, Angus. The fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause. "And Titus."
"Five: Glen, Theo, Shanky and Angus, the fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause.
"Five: Glen, Theo, Shanky, Angus. The fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause. "And Titus."
"Fixin' the world one water lock at a time."
"Flashlights go *in* hand?" (Stare at your hand uncomprehendingly.)
"Flattered? You're Lieutenant Kitsuragi. *We* would be flattered if you even considered..."
"Flexibility. There are millions of different people out there and you have to get into their heads -- sometimes you gotta be the killer to catch the killer."
"Flying f****t... winged pig... shit is airborne..." These are the only words the wind coming in from the Insulindian ocean carries to you.
"Focus on *other* people's troubles. Not your own. That is the relief."
"Footprints left at the crime scene point to someone wearing a worker's boot. Possibly a dockworker.
"Footprints." He takes a sip of his beer. "Recent?"
"For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I mis-phrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"
"For 14 years, man -- that's how long I've worked here. I've kept this place up through hail and through sleet. Fuck me, if some Doom Ghost..." he steadies his voice.
"For 7 reál I could have it ready in eight hours."
"For 7 reál I'll craft you a 13-sided die from a piece of amber with a fossilised insect. It's perfect for those who can't seem to let go of their past."
"For Reaction to take hold."
"For Revachol SAR, the Moralintern defines junior delinquents as minors between the ages of 10 and 16 who have committed an act in violation of the law..."
"For Safre -- and for all man kind?"
"For Safre -- and for all mankind."
"For Titus... for Glenny... for... for Titus... wait... already got one for Titus..."
"For a cop?"
"For a few days at least."
"For a full set -- about four years of wages."
"For a full set of armour I wouldn't blame you. But these boots are hardly worth a disciplinary hearing. There are better ways to pay a hostel bill. Besides..." He taps the boot.
"For a middle class cop you're damn good at getting information out of an old revisionist deserter. Go ahead," he gives you an acknowledging little nod.
"For a week he seems *well* preserved actually."
"For all your talk of averting this catastrophe the situation at the gates is a powder keg. Does this not bother you?"
"For almighty Revachol!" (Go for the victory column.)
"For almighty Revachol, of course!"
"For almighty Revachol."
"For an RCM officer -- especially Precinct 41, which is in the Jamrock Quarter -- it's rather... tame. I mean that in a good way."
"For art. It's for art, okay?"
"For bravery," he interjects.
"For bravery?"
"For bringing munitions to the island, maybe? And supplies. You could also *lock* the bay, when you raise the chain."
"For commerce, the lifeblood of the isolas."
"For contacting an entire fleet of lorrymen, for example." He flicks a switch on the radio. "This is all shortwave, UW and UKV..."
"For destroying my first love. For working for bad people. The list goes on and on."
"For doing my duty in the heat of battle, for looking my mortality in the eye, when men like Gaston here hid in the bushes and shat themselves..."
"For ever and ever."
"For getting me and my friends in here. And we even found some new... associates, such as they are."
"For god's sake, cut this shit out! Tell him to stop wasting time and be a goddamn policeman for a change!"
"For god's sake, leave the box unticked then. What next?"
"For god's sake, stop SHOUTING!" The man behind the counter shouts. "Stop breaking things in my establishment! Stop provoking those oafs!"
"For god's sake, stop SHOUTING!" The man behind the counter shouts. "Stop crashing into people in my establishment! Stop provoking those oafs!"
"For god's sake..." She sighs. "Yes, we'll do it."
"For her to return."
"For me it was my favourite part. Chemistry is great. Besides, imagine all the drugs we could do if we had our own drug lab."
"For me it's a mix of *me* with a lack of cleaning services. How about you?"
"For me it's alcoholism, miss."
"For most people, their morals die first. They just... drink them away. Or sell them Or *fuck* them away. Then their minds follow. They get old. Their bodies go last. That's how humans go..." He coughs.
"For my *sins* of course. The long standing sins of a bad, frivolous person."
"For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."
"For now?"
"For one -- I could get some god damn shuteye." He rubs his eyes, then lets his head fall back on the table. "Right to *sleep*, I say."
"For one -- I could use some more shuteye in the mornings..." He rubs his eyes and sighs. "Right to work? Right to *sleep*, I say."
"For one, the way is blocked... by that big lorry that says 'Delta Logistics Company' on the side. You'd *definitely* have to search the area behind that lorry too. Yet it is impassable."
"For playing with friends I'd recommend 'Suzerainty'. It's a civilization-building game where you build a civilization, then set off to brutally colonize and repress other civilizations. It'll cost 12 reál."
"For real detective work, nothing beats a good notebook by your side..."
"For showing off to chicks? How so?"
"For some reason I feel like you have a point there."
"For some reason I thought you had a hundred and *four* solved cases."
"For some reason he gives you a discount if you trash the cafeteria."
"For some reason my brain would like the pink to be more pronounced, especially in the neck."
"For some reason the name Tequila fills me with foreboding. Maybe I *shouldn't* learn what it means."
"For starters, it's *massive*. Got flared cooling vents along the front and hydrogen flasks sticking out too."
"For starters, you're dressed like an old fascist. Is that really appropriate?"
"For starters, you're wearing *the exact same* outfit I first met you in..." He holds his nose.
"For supra-natural reasons."
"For sure. It's a consumer device with professional applications."
"For survival, to pay *me*. Unless you want to become a *hobo*? Do you want to become a hobo? There's nowhere else to stay in Martinaise and it's a cold spring outside. Money doesn't make you happy but it lets you be *un*happy for a bit more."
"For survival, to pay *me*. Unless you want to become a *hobo*? Do you want to become a hobo? There's nowhere else to stay in Martinaise and it's a cold spring outside. Money doesn't make you happy but it lets you be *un*happy for a while longer."
"For that we would have to take a closer look at the bullet you found, officer. I wouldn't read too much into this, yet-- what we have discovered here is an *inoperable antique*."
"For the *Big Time*." Her eyes light up. There's a flash of teeth.
"For the brötherhööd!" (Eat your half of the sandwich.)
"For the case I need to get *in tune* with the coast."
"For the drinks -- 30 reál.'
"For the fuck-gimp? Good thing you asked The Cunmeister." He nods, trying to look older. "Cuno knows a fridge, perfect for freezing f****ts."
"For the glory of the world republic. Liberation of the spirit and body."
"For the record -- which I have to type up later tonight -- no apocalypse related testimony was provided to us by the witness."
"For the record, you pressured us into getting it. 'It'll be cool Jean, we'll have wheels, rapid response...' I was fine being an equestrian cop. I hope you're fine driving a *bicycle*."
"For the record..." she steps in, forcefully. "Titus Hardie did not explicitly specify the *victim* as a whore. Nor did he say anything about trusting her."
"For the room -- 60 reál."
"For the sake of political neutrality I would like to *not* partake in anything Union-related."
"For the sake of the investigation... I'll stay."
"For what it's worth -- I agree. But cockatoos can't be stopped when they get like this. It's better to indulge him at this point."
"For what?"
"For when the Invasion comes..." He glances at the lieutenant. "The last thing they see before the lights go out is *illustrious Revachol*."
"For years it was a story I told at parties, when I wanted to impress *boys*, that sort of thing." She brushes her hair back. "Of course, most people just took it as a strange, amusing anecdote. So did I, honestly. But then I met Morell..."
"For you it probably is. I'm counting on my lungs outliving your liver by a wide margin." He pauses. "Not that that's anything to fête."
"For you, maybe," he replies seriously. "But take it from the Cun: binos's don't always get that. They get their feelings hurt. Cuno doesn't want this for your pal. He's alright in Cuno's book."
"For your information, alcoholism is a terrible, debilitating ailment."
"For your sake I hope you're right."
"Foreign powers cleaned up our mess and now they rule us." (Shake your head in shame.)
"Forever?" She cocks her head sideways. "In twenty years Revachol went from a king to a commune to a Special Administrative Region. She *is* forever. But the next thing she will *be* is something else."
"Forget Cuno said that. Cuno was just shitting. Cuno was just running his mouth. Cuno's stupid like that." He feels eyes on the back of his head -- and stops.
"Forget I mentioned it, it was probably nothing."
"Forget about all that -- what this is *fashion police* feature?" (Point at the cover.)
"Forget about all this, there's a giant..."
"Forget about it, I just want the spirits!"
"Forget about it. I don't wanna talk about this shit."
"Forget about it. I was out of line."
"Forget about that, I had something."
"Forget about the *fucking exit wound* chonk! THE PIG IS WEARING HIM LIKE A FUCK PUPPET!"
"Forget about the aerodrome for one second... I lost. And it was *you* who I lost to."
"Forget about what?"
"Forget about your stupid fucking scope, I don't know where it is! Find it yourself -- it's your problem now."
"Forget it, it's too much."
"Forget it, you're not *open-minded* enough to understand anyway."
"Forget it. I knew they'd never own up to it." (Back off.)
"Forget it. I knew you'd never own up to it." (Back off.)
"Forget it. I wanted to ask something else about the strike."
"Forget it. It's too personal."
"Forget it."
"Forget it." He waves his hand. "It would become an imbecilic discussion. You two continue. It's more *hard core* that way."
"Forget the past, my quest concerns the coming apocalypse."
"Forgetting those times means the mistakes were for nothing. That all those people died for nothing."
"Forgive me for saying this, but your colleague seems more committed to drinking and..." He stops mid-sentence.
"Forgot?!" he spreads his arms. "The Party had each of the 141 filippian monuments detonated with plastic explosives. We were *pedantic* about carrying out the order. No..." He points toward the city.
"Formal apologetic."
"Fortress Accident SCA"
"Fortress Accident is the company on whose name the terminal you're currently using has been registered to."
"Fortress Accident, is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"Fortress Accident, the radio game studio..." She closes her eyes as some remnant of a memory lights up her face.
"Fortress Accident... like the one in the Doomed Commercial Area?"
"Fortunately for you, madam, the RCM is on the scene."
"Fortunately the song is so monotonous I was able to devise an algorithm to factor it out. The other day one of the discomen came in. Before I could even say hello, she got scared and left. Good, I don't want anyone distracting me from my work."
"Fortunately they explained it. Every time the Wild Pines Group makes a decision -- about *anything* -- it needs the signature of *each* of the 2,200 workers in its Martinaise terminal."
"Fortunately we already wrote down the serial number -- E50.100.1000. Let's move on."
"Fortunately we already wrote down the serial number -- it begins with X5415. Let's move on."
"Forty-two? Are you sure? I would have had him above fifty..."
"Found a corpse recently. He'd had a Tequila Sunset moment."
"Found another batch of alcohol, can you tell me the third story now?"
"Found them when Lamby and I were playing hide-and-seek. In an empty house where no one lives! I think someone hid them there..."
"Four and final: transport of the coroner's case to the district morgue. I'll do that." The lieutenant stops. "God, he stinks."
"Four hundred million."
"Four kids were living in a tent on the ice. They were going to drown when it melted. It's not optimal, but the building *was* abandoned. So he put them in there. It's okay."
"Four months ago -- I'm guessing that's when you were promoted to the rank of lieutenant double-yefreitor."
"Four months ago? Seems like a new document was recently made. One is anded to you as part of a promotion, or... if you lose the old one.
"Four pieces of armour up for grabs, then. But I already sent the boots away..."
"Four years later the queen’s councillor was proclaimed Her Innocence Dolores Dei, the elected world spirit. The age of humanism, internationalism, and parliamentary rule followed. We were *high*..."
"Four years..." the woman whispers. "Twenty two people, millions of reàls... All that time *this* is what we were up against? Just erased it..." Her lip trembles. "Sulisław isn't gonna believe this."
"Four..."
"Four: Glen, Theo, Angus, the fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause.
"Four: Glen, Theo, Angus. The fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause. "And Titus."
"Four: Glen, Theo, Shanky and Angus. The fat one, he... took a lot of bullets." There's a pause.
"Franconigerian knights." He looks at the dusty figurines in the dim light. "I used to be very serious about these guys."
"Frankly, detective, you're in a deranged state. I can't let you proceed without *close* supervision. In fact, under normal circumstances I'd be duty-bound to report you. Take it as a token of good faith between our precincts that I haven't done so."
"Frankly, what was done was not pretty at all -- but neither was it illegal. And it was not for nothing." He turns to you...
"Frankly, you're just going to have to accept the fact that you can't get in through every single door."
"Friday afternoon. When you first arrived. I got word the RCM was in town, then she came in to see me. Told me she was leaving. That's when we had our little... conversation."
"Friend? Do we know each other?"
"Friends are technically like family." She fiddles with her pendant, thinking.
"Friends forever!" (Eat your half of the sandwich.)
"Friends with... benefits?"
"Friends, I told you. Sunday friends. Friends who like to get together from time to time."
"Frighten me?" She smiles. "I'm not frightened easily, but I understand -- some things are best for the police to keep to themselves."
"Frissel Fire Squad."
"Frissel Firing Squad?"
"Frissel the First, Filippe the Second, what's the difference? Syphilitic murderers the lot. I don't want to think about those things any more. I'm tired of all of it!"
"Frissel's Fun Firing Squad."
"Fritte. Near the gates." The lieutenant sounds tired. "They'll exchange it."
"From Revachol and Graad? Not far. The world managed to cauterize itself. Mazov's government was overthrown in '08, and the Coalition crushed the Revachol commune two years later. It was *The End*."
"From a guy on Boogie Street. Porta Rosa. Go there after midnight and you can get all kinds of funny things. Veterans of the People's Pile selling their stash."
"From an evolutionary point of view you could view this building as a logical conclusion to the more traditional *hut*."
"From another… planet," he finishes and turns to you: "Hey there."
"From back when you were not a cop, but a heavy-set dark-skinned dockworker named *Santiago John*?"
"From bunker to bunker..." He nods. "Not anymore, no one cares now, I don't even have to hide. They think I'm another antisocial vagrant. I could walk straight into that town if I wanted. I just..." He falls silent, his gaze fixed on the shacks huddled together across the water.
"From enemies." He looks up ahead. "Enemies of the Commune of Revachol. This seafort was a revolutionary fortification, I believe..."
"From here on it'll be straight all the way!"
"From here to The Whirling? I can't see how..." He looks South-East and blows on his fingers: "The church is in the way."
"From here, the boots the victim wears..." The lieutenant stops mid sentence. A sudden change in wind direction blows the stench of rotting meat right in your face. He tries to continue...
"From the 41st Precinct. Where is Lieutenant Kitsuragi?"
"From the Insulindian Citizens Militia -- the Army of the Revolution. I was recruited in Jamrock in '07, trained in the Ecole de Contrôle Aériene and consigned to emergency defence duties in '08."
"From the gates -- by negotiating or fighting. I'm *unenthusiastic* about fighting..." He looks around. "Or we can try to find some secret third path -- it's unlikely, though."
"From the gates -- by negotiating or fighting." He looks up to East. "Or we can try the secret route we found. Where your cloak is. It looked doable."
"From the kiosk? There's one near the harbour, it's a Frittte. You can look it up."
"From there -- a door leads straight to the roof. You can just step outside."
"From time to time people need a lesson in respect. That's just the way it is. Back in the day I caught the eyes of many men and believe me," she adds, tittering, "men need a lesson in manners from time to time."
"From way out in the north-west. He told me."
"From what I can tell, you're just playing into their hands -- disabling yourself from doing any actually useful work. Now, do you have any *current, pressing* medical problems?"
"From what I've seen of the officers of the RCM..." he begins, looking you over, then stops himself. "But I don't want to get into a debate about drug policies."
"From what I've seen so far the project *did* look quite impressive..."
"From when some *design-studio people* tried to spruce the place up, four or five years ago. They also renovated the horse-statue, set up those coin-operated viewers and designed the new street lamps."
"From where I stand I can see two options. We either take the case and follow the leads to identify the body on our own -- or we report back to the station and leave this for our colleagues to handle."
"From where I was standing, it looked like you were about to pull out two guns, but drew two... akhem... birdies instead. Well, I'm glad you're weren't injured."
"From where I'm sitting, it looks more like you've robbed a dead man, Mr. Du Bois." He leans back. "But as this matter is far below my pay grade, I'm just going to ask: how can I help you today?"
"From where, precisely?"
"From where? From another life?"
"From your neighbours, of course."
"From your perspective... I'm a Mysterious Pair of Eyes, boo!!"
"Frontier justice -- I like it!"
"Fucing pig's probably thinking about touching it again..."
"Fuck all of you, I don't *want* to be in your unit."
"Fuck are you looking at ping-pong-man? You wanna piece of the Cuno? Wanna get *fucked*?"
"Fuck are you talking about? What is this *con-tush-on* shit?" He grabs his head like it's suddenly hurting.
"Fuck are you talking to Cuno about that kiddy shit?"
"Fuck are you talking to, clown?"
"Fuck are you talking, *sad*?" The kid breathes in and out like a boxer. "Cuno's got hard shit." He punches the air. "Death shit. Nothing shit."
"Fuck did you want anyway, you got your fuckbag down?"
"Fuck do you mean *talker*?"
"Fuck do you think? Gonna rock that law enforcement shit with you guys -- Detective Cuno." He chews on a piece of imaginary chewing gum. "Like you promised."
"Fuck does Cuno care about your hunch? That's your shit. You figure it out."
"Fuck does Cuno care?" The boy turns to you. (He doesn't care.)
"Fuck does Cuno know. Cuno's not a fucking acrobat!"
"Fuck does Cuno know." He shrugs his shoulders. "Cuno would use it to bring shit to the island."
"Fuck does Cuno know?"
"Fuck him up, Cuno. Yeah."
"Fuck if I know... maybe it's collecting shit? Like an ocptopus can get, like, curious?"
"Fuck it -- I believe him." She looks at Vicquemare and shrugs.
"Fuck it, I don't deserve a cool jacket, I suck."
"Fuck it, I'm seeing Monica tonight."
"Fuck it, let's go." The man points down the street. "Trant brought his motor carriage. It's a 20 minute drive to Jamrock."
"Fuck it, let's go." The man points down the street. "Trant left his motor carriage behind the gates. It's a 20 minute drive to Jamrock."
"Fuck it, why not? A big ghost insect like that is probably going to fuck all your shit."
"Fuck it," he shrugs. "I'm a bad guy now. There's things more important than holding a grudge. It's okay -- you've been through enough."
"Fuck it. Fine. I don't care. Your life as a cop is over -- become a polonium dealer for all I care."
"Fuck it."
"Fuck it... Let's get back to work."
"Fuck knows -- she says it's the *song of her people* or some shit."
"Fuck me! Mack, come here, you've got to hear this! Dick Mullen lost his badge!"
"Fuck me? I understand this is by no means an easy investigation, but..."
"Fuck no! Art's shit." He takes a step back.
"Fuck no! Cuno doesn't buy that shit. Fucking entrapment shit."
"Fuck no!" He bursts out loud. Laughing. "What are you, fucking... mentally handicapped?"
"Fuck no, Cuno still doesn't give a shit."
"Fuck no, beer makes me a *better* driver."
"Fuck no, pig. Cuno ain't dealing to the popo. Not doing the pork pen for your sad speed habit! You don't *know* Cuno."
"Fuck no, she's not my sister. She's just a stray who got in. Like a mad dog or some shit."
"Fuck off, Cuno's not into this old man piss-drinker shit." There's a short pause as he shakes his head. "You ready to walk now?"
"Fuck off, Kim."
"Fuck off, Shanky," the big boss steps in. "Angus is a powerful guy. All muscle."
"Fuck off, asshole, can't you see we're mourning here?!"
"Fuck off, cop." He does take the advice. "She's gone through enough without you harassing her too! She doesn't need more embarrassment."
"Fuck off, copper." He just shakes his head.
"Fuck off, man."
"Fuck outta here, Cuno knows it's fucking lame. That's why Cuno changed it. Cuno can change his name into anything. Gonna change my name into f****t."
"Fuck outta here... Cuno made that shit up to *demean* you pigs, but..." He looks around. "Is that why your hooker-friend isn't here? Too ashamed to face the Cunn?"
"Fuck outta here... Cuno made that shit up to *demean* you." He looks at the lieutenant, then the roaring dragon on your robes. Scratching the back of his head he says:
"Fuck outta here... Cuno made that shit up to *demean* you." His eyes move between you and the lieutenant.
"Fuck politics! Let's just all work! Together!"
"Fuck right Cuno's dad was sleeping like a bum," he snaps back. "Cuno told you -- Cuno's dad doesn't give a shit about *anything*. Fucking breaking-and-entering shit -- that's nothing to Cuno's dad."
"Fuck right I am." He punches the air again. "Now get your nun ass out of here before Cuno fucks it dead." Another punch. "F****t. You think 'cause you brought Cuno one gram of speed you're friends now?"
"Fuck right I am." He punches the air again: "Get your nun ass out of here before Cuno fucks it dead." Another punch. "F****t. You think coz you brought Cuno one gram of speed you're friends now?"
"Fuck right there were. Fuckin' three years or some shit."
"Fuck that *banaanipoika* in the ass Cuno!"
"Fuck that f****t up, Cuno. Yeah! Right in the mouth-hole!"
"Fuck that shit. Cuno's gonna move underground. Le Royaume shit, ancient shit. Cuno's gonna live in a fucking catacomb."
"Fuck that! I'm completely problem free, you can't tell me otherwise."
"Fuck that! Kick his ass, boss, this is a fiddle-free establishment!"
"Fuck that, you're not getting mine," the other one snaps at you. "My dad's a lawyer in La Delta. He'll have your badge!"
"Fuck these people. What have they ever done for me? We move on."
"Fuck this place. I'll take my chances on the streets."
"Fuck this!" (Hit the lock.)
"Fuck this, I'm outta here." [Leave.]
"Fuck this. Take us in or kill us. We're not bowing any longer."
"Fuck this..." The man starts pulling something out from his pocket.
"Fuck with Cuno, fuck with Cuno's task force."
"Fuck with the Sunboy." (Point to yourself) "Get burnt."
"Fuck yeah I'm in." He spits on the floor.
"Fuck yeah we have! Battle-hardened urban soldiers, man. We got the guns *and* the reserves."
"Fuck yeah!"
"Fuck yeah, I knew it!"
"Fuck yeah, I'm a La Puta Madre agent... You better let me go."
"Fuck yeah, this is happening," he comments breathlessly, in awe of the potential violence implied.
"Fuck yeah," the tall, broad shouldered man takes a sip of his beer.
"Fuck yeah."
"Fuck you *f****ts* whispering about?!"
"Fuck you little shit!"
"Fuck you man!" his eyes are fixed on Kim. "You didn't see the place before we got here. Fucking... graffito everywhere..."
"Fuck you talkin' about. Half a G?! This shit is *giant*, grade A shit. So clean you can barely see it!"
"Fuck you too, piggo! Fuck you and your four eyed friend!" He shakes his head, disappointed. "Thought you wanted to make this right with Cuno..."
"Fuck you tryin'a do... get the Cuno to stop? Cuno's just getting it on!" His tone wavers.
"Fuck you whispering about?" he whispers back.
"Fuck you! *I'm* not from around. That's not why we..."
"Fuck you! I gave it my fucking best. I gave it EVERYTHING and you SHIT on me?!"
"Fuck you, *kyrpäle*!" Despite her words, her tone seems celebratory.
"Fuck you, Cuno says *kipt* if he wants to. Cuno's dad says *kipt* all the time. *Kipt's* a cool word."
"Fuck you, Cuno!"
"Fuck you, Cuno."
"Fuck you, Harry -- we didn't *know* there was gonna be a tribunal, did we?"
"Fuck you, I have a *vast* soul and she will always come back to it."
"Fuck you, I told you. I'm not gonna..."
"Fuck you, asshole!"
"Fuck you, mail delivery box!" (Kick it.)
"Fuck you, man, I would never fuck my guys over like that." He squeaks with indignation.
"Fuck you, man, I would never fuck my guys over like that." He squeaks with indignation. "Especially for some bird..."
"Fuck you, man, come say that to my face."
"Fuck you, man, take them then..." He looks around the plaza -- people are noticing him now.
"Fuck you, man."
"Fuck you, pig! Don't do Mag! You're gonna OD and you're gonna fucking die!"
"Fuck you, pig!" He stands. "What the fuck you playing at, huh?"
"Fuck you, you stupid barbell!"
"Fuck you, you're part of this shit-show."
"Fuck you. Die."
"Fuck you. You just got played by Evrart Claire. Duped -- for the hundredth time."
"Fuck you..." The man can't believe what he's hearing. "First he says she murdered him -- now she's a *f*g* too? It's a lie!"
"Fuck you..." the old communard says -- staring at the ground -- seemingly to the island you're on.
"Fuck your shit back to normal. What is this?"
"Fuck your things. Get out now."
"Fuck yourself, *ching-chang*!"
"Fuck! What's your problem? I was just trying to *help* you!"
"Fuck!" (Hang up the call.)
"Fuck!" The big man's eyes and veins bulge. "I knew that fucking whore couldn't be trusted!"
"Fuck, Dennis, we don't kill you if you work for the company! Half the harbour works for the company..."
"Fuck, I oughtta..."
"Fuck, I'm already tired..."
"Fuck, I'm sorry, man." He hangs his head in shame. "I just... don't like confrontations that's all.."
"Fuck, Rosemary, they were dating -- no one said they were feminists. Everyone always misremembering this stuff..."
"Fuck, boss..." The tattooed man realizes something. "This is why he was always asking for the other guy's gun. he doesn't *have* his own."
"Fuck, man... Go grill someone else with these questions, okay? There are plenty of drivers here who couldn't stand her. Or were *afraid* of her. They'd be more than happy to rat her out."
"Fuck, pig..." He looks at you with a worried glance. "Cuno doesn't know about this flower shit. Cuno's not feelin it."
"Fuck, pig..." The boy looks slightly uncomfortable. "The name's Kuuno, not *Cuno*. It's... lamer. My name's lamer than I said it was."
"Fuck, she was right... That must be the *third* mercenary..."
"Fuck, there are *three* of them... I was hoping there would be... less." The lieutenant points to the helmeted figure.
"Fuck, there's a third one... How did we miss something like this?" The lieutenant points to the helmeted figure.
"Fuck, yeah! Climb that shit, monkeys!"
"Fuck," the other one sighs deeply.
"Fuck-up," she repeats, "fuck up, fuck up, you fucked up, you fucked up, Gareth!" Spit is flying everywhere as she screams in the megaphone: "AGGRAVATED ASSAULT, MAN DOWN, SUSPECT ON FOOT!"
"Fuck. Where did it go?"
"Fuck." The lieutenant stands, motionless, watching the blood pool in the sand.
"Fuck..." Andre frantically smashes buttons. "I can't shut it up, the signal's passed... It's not *in* here! It's..."
"Fuckady-fuck..."
"Fucked your shoulder, fucked your knee, fucked your fat body up!" the one behind the fence hisses like a lit fuse ready to go off from delight.
"Fucker shit himself."
"Fucker! Cuno ain't buying that entrapment shit. Takin' kilo from the pigs... what, you think Cuno's green shit?"
"Fucker?" He shakes his head. "Lay off the swear words, they don't make you *cool*. This isn't kindergarten."
"Fuckin' 'ard work done for the day, man."
"Fuckin' *CAVITY* C..." Cuno's voice is hushed.
"Fuckin' A! Seems I got you all wrong. Cops aren't much known for their artistic sensibilities these days."
"Fuckin' A, Kim. I've got your back." (Give the lieutenant a punch on the shoulder.)
"Fuckin' cops, man, always hasslin' the poor folk." He shakes his head. "You know what? I'm keepin' the pen and that's the end of it."
"Fuckin' right!" Cuno points to the opening.
"Fuckin' say something already!" The rat-faced man doesn't let you finish the thought.
"Fuckin' say something already!" The rat-faced man doesn't let you think.
"Fuckin' spooky, yeah. Is what it is."
"Fuckin' tryin'a talk about Cuno's dad then can't handle it. Typical f****t shit." His face is redder than usual and so are his earlobes.
"Fuckin' yeah. Cuno knows you don't want to face this right now. This dark shit. Cuno faces this shit every day -- makes Cuno's skin crawl."
"Fuckin'... may bells everywhere."
"Fucking *beautiful...*"
"Fucking *low* velocity, chink-chonk!?" The kid explodes. "You think Cuno doesn't know what you're talkin' bout? Velocity was FUCKING MAX!"
"Fucking *mulkku*..."
"Fucking *näkki*..."
"Fucking *philosophy*, man. You can do aggressive shit with philosophy. Justify shit."
"Fucking *politics* again... You know what I'm more interested in?"
"Fucking *runkkari*! He's afraid to say it!"
"Fucking Harry... Fuck you for bringing this kid with you. It's *only* because he's defending you -- it's the *only* reason you're not staying here to die."
"Fucking Mesque, or I don't know. Some other place... Night City! Cuno was in fucking Night City."
"Fucking NOW!"
"Fucking SHUT UP!"
"Fucking bug..." He breathes out slowly -- his giant chest deflating and his mouth slightly open.
"Fucking cleaned it..." He hisses something under his breath.
"Fucking clown..." He squeezes his eyelids shut and shakes his head slowly.
"Fucking clowns..." He squeezes his eyelids shut and shakes his head slowly.
"Fucking corpse."
"Fucking deranged lunatic..." The sunglass-wearing man pushes through his teeth.
"Fucking die!" (Throw the empty gun at her.)
"Fucking fatal as SHIT *seol-man*!"
"Fucking fuckedy fucker!" He shakes his head in disbelief. "And what did she say then? That it's fine?! People are *supposed* to be like that?!"
"Fucking good to be alive though."
"Fucking great news, cop. Scare away whatever shit out there's gonna spook on us with an *empty fucking gun*."
"Fucking great. Spooky island shit is gonna shit on us and we can't even *shoot* it."
"Fucking hell is that..." The man cranes his neck, still looking at the photo. "Is this somehow... *connected* to the case?"
"Fucking hell" and "why me?" you hear through the white noise.
"Fucking hell..." The blonde man is in some kind of anguish that makes him stare into his garlic bread bowl, intently.
"Fucking hell..." The tattooed man shakes his head. "Titus, did he just..."
"Fucking idiot *mulkkupää* doesn't know any questions."
"Fucking imbecile..." The old man stretches out his leg. A black and white spiral pattern covers the sole of the worn out old running shoes on his feet.
"Fucking imp... it's more than *interesting*. Cuno's pig's laying down science here. Shit's legit."
"Fucking island is spooky as fuck. Cuno never liked it here."
"Fucking liars..." He pulls the trigger. A plume of smoke erupts from the muzzle of his gun.
"Fucking logical?" He snorts. "HELP! The logical pig is fiddling Cuno!"
"Fucking loincloth-talk, BLABLABLA!!! We're not talking our way out of this."
"Fucking loincloth..." He stares you down mutely for a second.
"Fucking mask is getting sweaty. I want take my mask off, but..." He shrugs.
"Fucking old man... couldn't keep his rock in..." he whispers, agitated.
"Fucking piece of shit!"
"Fucking pussy didn't shoot shit, did he? Didn't shoot me, didn't shoot himself in the mouth..."
"Fucking right, pig. Cuno's filling bath tubs with that shit. Cuno's a kingpin."
"Fucking shit. It's all over for me."
"Fucking shit."
"Fucking snitch binoclard..." He collects himself. "Yeah -- that chick. Get over it pig, she didn't do it. It was grandpa on the island. Merc was fuckin' her and he couldn't hack it. Cuno can hack it."
"Fucking talkin' about underpants..."
"Fucking waste this fuck!" the woman squawks.
"Fucking weasel..."
"Fucking whore!"
"Fucking with Frittte is *dangerous*, you know." She scratches her cheek, thinking. "Just leave it there, I'll put it away later."
"Fucking... Cuno doesn't have a photo camera 'cause Cuno *is* fucking POOR, okay?! That sucks about the Cuno. So Cuno didn't take a fucking PHOTO. And Cuno didn't paint a fucking picture."
"Fucking... I'm not dead, it just hurts, okay?"
"Fucking... homo cop." A globule of sweat gathers at his brow.
"Fucking... listen to him, pig! Grandpa's *deranged*. Cuno knows you don't believe this phasmid shit -- but he was hatin' rich people, some kind of *pederasts* too... fuckin' hating *everything*."
"Fucky-fucky!" the little monster exclaims, energetically.
"Fuel -- generator -- console. That's our best chance." He points to the console at the other end of the room. "That there could open it, now that the power's on."
"Fuel -- generator -- console. That's our best chance." He points to the console at the other end of the room. "That there could open it, once we've put some fuel in the generator."
"Fuel -- this should do the trick..."
"Fuel?"
"Fuel?" He looks at the empty bucket, then back at her, struck by a sudden realization.
"Full of ghosts and ancient memories." She smiles. "Has this errant yielded you any... information?"
"Fumes are bad for you, okay."
"Fumes are bad for you."
"Funky."
"Funkytown," she says and takes a sip of her coffee.
"Funny apery." Vicquemare finally manages to pull his gloves on. There's a small tear along the inside seam of the left glove. "Male-centric workplace humour. Have you seen him?"
"Funny apery." Vicquemare struggles with his umbrella, the ribs are protruding from its canopy. "Male-centric workplace humour. Have you seen him?"
"Funny how your sis didn't get it."
"Funny how?"
"Funny that your worried about this and not your ruthless exploitation of the entire *human race*."
"Funny, I could think of a few ways to dispute them." She pauses. "But we digress."
"Funny, I don't see any other *eel's heels* around."
"Funny, Joyce didn't mention any casserole."
"Funny, she was trying to set up a narcotics operation in the old church on the coast."
"Funny," the lieutenant says softly.
"Funny," the lieutenant says without a smile. "But my partner and I have a serious matter to discuss with you."
"Funny," the lieutenant says, looking up from his notebook. "She was trying to set up a narcotics operation in the old church on the coast."
"Funny. Don't get hit by a stray bullet."
"Funny. Funny sailor jokes." She nods, without smiling. "Sorry if I'm not laughing out loud, but the comedy has worn thin over the years."
"Funny..." The big man lets out a lazy yawn. "That doesn't ring any bells, Harry."
"Funny?" Titus mumbles, his lips barely moving: "No good goddamn psycho whore..."
"Furies. Yes. Well." It's obvious he doesn't like it. "I don't know. I have to be honest -- I'm not experiencing the *internal strife* that refers to. And also..." He furrows his brow.
"Further up the coast we go then."
"Furthermore," he raises his finger. "I am not saying it was a *confirmed* sighting. I am painfully aware of what goes into verifying such things. There is a serious possibility that I saw a squirrel, or a trick of the light. I am my own harshest critic."
"Fägäri...." she whispers as you're sneaking away. "Look at the ass on that."
"G'day to you, officer!"
"GARY! WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
"GET ON THE GROUND! I WANT YOU ON THE PAVEMENT RIGHT NOW! THIS IS THE PIGS!"
"GIVE YOU A LITTLE... ICE-COP-HAT-FUCK-SHOW?!"
"GOD. I'M ON MY WAY."
"GOOD, THERE IS A *FRITTTE* NEARBY. CONGRATULATE YOURSELF WITH ANOTHER DRINK. YOUR FEATURES ARE NOT YET CONGENITALLY DEFORMED ENOUGH."
"GOOD."
"GOOD." He releases your hand. "NOW LEAVE, BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOUR HOMO-EROTIC ORGANISATION ANY FURTHER."
"GOOD." He releases your small hand. "NOW GO. BEFORE YOU ENTER CARDIAC ARREST."
"Gah! Now I'll never know!"
"Game designers, I imagine."
"Game? *Everything* is just a game to you, isn't it?"
"Garbage." He crosses his arms. "It wasn't a Sam Bo artist, cop. I've been doing this for ten years -- let me give you a lesson. Boys?"
"Gardener, scab leader, *this*..." (Turn to the lieutenant.) "Tell me at least *you* are who you said you were!"
"Garte confirmed she left 20 minutes prior to the tribunal showing up."
"Garte, I found a new bird for the Whirling." (Give him the ruffed grouse.)
"Garte, I found a new bird... dammit, I FORGOT to take it with me!"
"Garte, I need to sing karaoke now."
"Garte, I saw a sign that said I couldn't go into the kitchen. Why can't I go into the kitchen?"
"Garte, I saw another *thing* at the Whirling..."
"Garte, what if I told I got into the back room? Behind the blue door in the kitchen."
"Garte, what the hell are you *doing* here?"
"Gary and I painted an entire grove's worth of trees in slow-drying paint. It was a bright lavender colour. I was hoping one of the willow people would get paint on it and not be able to camouflage itself."
"Gary didn't mean to interfere with your investigation, officers, he's just... thick headed and poor as dirt. But he's always helped us, given us a place to stay. And he's followed Morell into god knows what jungles..."
"Gary's as loyal as they come. I'd trust him with my husband's life any day."
"Gary, I feel like you bring out the racist in me."
"Gary, are you cross-dressing by any chance?"
"Gary, did you put the clothes of a murder victim -- the man who was hanged behind the Whirling-In-Rags -- into that trash container?"
"Gary, what are you doing there?"
"Gary, what's going on?"
"Gastrointestinal," he breathes a sigh of approaching relief -- this is the last field on the list. He looks around -- to the ground, the pool of faeces there...
"Gave herself facial deconstruction surgery. Real grisly stuff."
"Gee, thanks. Now, was there anything else on your mind?"
"Geez, sorry. I was just being curious?"
"Gendarmerie! You found me." The young man on the balcony gives you a bright smile, before taking another drag from his cigarette.
"Gender equality is a very noble, very *modern* idea, but in real life primal roles prevail. But I do not wish to discuss this matter further."
"Gene!" The big man raises his hand. "Tend to Lizzie -- NOW!"
"Gene..."
"Genitalia is male and unremarkable. No evidence of injury."
"Gentlemen, I need your jackets."
"Germaine." The one with the large head looks crushed handing you his paper. The name reads: "Germaine van der Wijk."
"Gertrude Het may have been the first to witness the *Headless FALN Rider*, but she wasn't the last, oh no..."
"Get a grip Glen. She went to law school."
"Get a grip. No one cares about your *entroponetic adventures* right now."
"Get a hold of yourself." You feel the lieutenant pat on your back, rhythmically.
"Get away from her, I'm a cop!"
"Get away from whom?"
"Get hammered with me. On a date. Drunk-date. It will be nice, I promise."
"Get lost, I don't want to see you again." (Evict them.)
"Get lost, comedian. You cops had your chance. Now it's fucking time for some justice." He licks his lips, waving his gun at the crowd. Losing his balance for a moment, he staggers backward.
"Get lost, f****t!"
"Get lost, loser!"
"Get my *what* on?" The lieutenant leans closer, unable to make out your words over the pumping beats.
"Get off the church-shit. It's making you sound crazy."
"Get on with it, then."
"Get our fucking foot in the door."
"Get out of here, punk! Can't you see we're honouring our dead here."
"Get out of here, trying to ruin my day!" She raises her bony finger. "And that youth centre better be a good one or you'll have trouble from me."
"Get outta here!"
"Get over yourself -- you're not a *perfectionist*. You're a cop and you did a good job. With a lot of help from Lieutenant Kitsuragi."
"Get sober." Her expression stiffens. "Do your *job*. Ask your questions and get the hell out of Martinaise."
"Get the body down."
"Get the fuck out of her face! You got something, talk to me!"
"Get the fuck out of here, fatass! Those pants are too small for you!"
"Get the fuck out of here, pig! Cuno doesn't have a magic tree house!"
"Get the fuck out of here, tryin'a fuck on me with that midget shit? Cuno's twelve! He's huge!" He squints at you.
"Get the fuck out of here, you race war asshole. We're not gonna march in your rally, stop trying to recruit us."
"Get the fuck out of here, you racist carnie." Titus points at the door. "There'll be no race rally in my town."
"Get to the point. Do you have any recordings now?"
"Get wanting to be a cop, you mean? Well, she..." He furrows his brow in thought. "Shit, I don't actually know. Anyone know why she started acting like a pig?"
"Get your fucking nun ass out of here before Cuno fucks it dead." He punches the air again. "F****t. You think 'cause you brought Cuno one gram of speed you're friends now?"
"Get your shit together, detective."
"Get your snout out of Cuno's ass!" He waves you off. "Cuno knows how hard Cuno pushes it. Cuno pushes it hard-level..."
"Getting her to really talk to us took fantastic interpersonal skills and perseverance. Good work, detective."
"Getting late. We should call it a day... best not sleep outside on the wind-stricken coast."
"Getting late. We should call it a day... no point in lingering here on the plaza."
"Getting older does present a whole new set of challenges..." (Keep it to yourself.)
"Getting too hot for you? Ha ha! Yeah, skitter off, find some actual criminals."
"Ghost insect... so you're ghost hunters."
"Ghost of the past." The old man removes his hat and sea wind ruffles his grey hair. "Everyone in this story is already dead, officer. I don't wanna talk about them."
"Giants? That the best you got? Give me a break, Tequila."
"Gimme another one!"
"Girard... what a douche name... Change it -- change your name!"
"Girl Child Nation is too strong for that."
"Girl Child Revolution?"
"Girl child Revolution."
"Girl child," you hear her say. "Girl child. Girl child..."
"Girl, just loosen up a little... Don't you ever party?"
"Girls like girls too, Angus," Kim explains. "Sometimes. This is one of those times -- she liked Klaasje."
"Give him a moment." He comes over with a cup of water and puts it to your lips. "See, this is why you need distilled water."
"Give him a moment." He comes over with a cup of water and puts it to your lips. "You've gotta drink water, man."
"Give it a minute, she might be busy at the moment... takes a bit to get to the phone."
"Give it a thought. Goodbye."
"Give it half an hour, get yourself together, then come back and have another go."
"Give it here." The lieutenant takes the bottle, examines it cooly.
"Give me Astra cigarettes."
"Give me Commodore Red wine."
"Give me Potent Pilsner beer."
"Give me Tioumoutiri cigarettes."
"Give me a moment. I got this. Let's try *again*."
"Give me a moment." An elderly woman is leaning on her broom, her knuckles white as bone. She seems to be having difficulty breathing.
"Give me a moment..." The cleaning lady still seems to be having difficulty breathing.
"Give me pale-aged vodka."
"Give me that armour, now."
"Give me your cash." (Ask for a bribe first.)
"Given that this isn't a martial arts thriller," a grin flickers across his face, "it's highly unlikely -- and not without risk to our health either."
"Glad to have been of assistance -- the little that I know. Anything else I can do?"
"Glad to have been of assistance -- the little that I know.... anything else?"
"Glad to have been of assistance!" He gives you a thumbs up, and the envelope also. "After all this time, I feel like I've made a difference..."
"Glad to have been of assistance!" He gives you a thumbs up. "After all this time, I feel like I've made a difference..."
"Glad to have been of assistance."
"Glad to have been of assistance." She tosses her head back defiantly and turns down the machine. "Best of luck to you, officers -- Revachol's a bitch."
"Glad to hear it was 'minor.' Can you go on?"
"Glad to help. Call back tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have more for you then."
"Glad we cleared that up."
"Glad we talked about *what*?" Another erratic gesture. He's trembling...
"Glad you asked. I've got Type 2 diabetes because sugar and fat was all my mother had to give me and my brother Edgar when we were kids."
"Glad you understand that."
"Glad? It's all gone..." He stares into the dust at his feet. Grey and dirty spring grass all around.
"Glass."
"Glen." Titus looks grim. "I thought the same thing when she skipped town and left us in this shit."
"Glen..."
"Glowing lungs... That's fucked up..."
"Gnhhhh..."
"Go ahead -- it's your body."
"Go ahead then. Kill me then. I *want* to die."
"Go ahead then. What do you want to know, policeman?"
"Go ahead, Glen."
"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. Just don't lose it." The Armistice P9 shines in his outstretched hand.
"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. Just don't lose it." The piece shines in his outstretched hand.
"Go ahead, ancient recording. Cry then."
"Go ahead, help him. Make it so. I have no power to stop him."
"Go ahead, officer -- ask me something *else*." The woman looks at you attentively.
"Go ahead, pull the trigger. I dare you."
"Go ahead, then." (Let her do it.)
"Go ahead," he nods. "Have another guess."
"Go ahead," she marks sharply, "call people rude things. We've heard worse here. Now are you interested or not?"
"Go ahead."
"Go ahead." He pulls the trigger. A plume of smoke erupts from the  muzzle.
"Go ahead." He turns toward the gate, slowly, and yells: "All right now. FREE COMMERCE! KEEP THE GOODS FLOWING!"
"Go ahead." The straggler closes his gap toothed smiled. "I've been in solitary confinement my whole life."
"Go ahead..."
"Go away, Cuno... Let me die in peace."
"Go check the backyard door, maybe someone there will..." She trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
"Go easy on that stuff. It gave me a terrible headache."
"Go easy, pig. You wanna lean on the Cuno or something?"
"Go fuck off and ask someone else! Cuno's not gonna snitch, he likes corpses!"
"Go fuck your mom, Dennis."
"Go on, it's okay."
"Go on. I want to know what I did."
"Go on."
"Go right ahead, don't be shy."
"Go right ahead."
"Go right ahead." She looks at you, head slightly tilted.
"Go right ahead." The man scratches his heavyset stomach. "You may be a cop, but that won't help you avoid the calamity to come."
"Go speak to Andre. I'm just the Noid," a strangely dressed young man says without looking up from his toolbox.
"Go think-man, go. Find some clues, put two and two together. That's how the magic happens, ha ha."
"Go through all that and then just dump it?" The lieutenant smirks. "You better just eat it, no need for dramatic gestures."
"Go to Room #12, first floor, and kick down the door. Police-violence style. Cuno-style. And then it's action time: You're locked in the room with violent fuck head."
"Go where? Accosting a minor?"
"Go, if you must, I don't care. I don't care about people leaving me all the time."
"Go. Good bye." [Leave.]
"Go? And *hand* the terminal over to the Claire brothers?"
"God bless them, though. I'd be alone without them. Anyway, that was all the story one bottle gets you." He turns his eyes to the bottle. "Almost empty this one..."
"God dammit, I know you know something. This shit is important!"
"God dammit, can't get..." (Keep tugging.) "...fucking gun... out!"
"God dammit, get your shit together!"
"God dammit. I did my best. I just need more time to solve the murder."
"God damn footprints, everywhere... I hate them..."
"God damn it," you hear Andre say to himself over the thumping beat, "this dance club idea might just work out."
"God damn it."
"God damn right I did. I just nailed you."
"God damn right I'm a f****t!" (Turn around and yell.)
"God damn right you did, you crazy asshole, you!" She wipes the tears from her eyes. "What kind of cop *are* you?"
"God damn right, I'm a policeman! And don't you forget it!"
"God damn right, rock music is the coolest. Rock music forever!"
"God damn right. They've been trying to fuck us out of our heritage in the name of profits. But when they try to replace us they'll regret it."
"God damn right."
"God damn that girl," she murmurs softly.
"God damn, this shit is too intense for me..." He looks at his feet, steadying his breath. "I don't wanna know, man. I don't wanna know if she even got away..."
"God damn..." He wipes the tears from his eyes. "Thanks for that. But no, it's not mine."
"God fuck, don't do that, you lunatic."
"God fucking shit..." He pinches the root of his nose."
"God's shithouse," He chortles. "Should've taken it down like they did in Graad; dismantled it for firewood."
"God, *no*. I'm a detective, not a charity service for shambolic degenerates who won't help themselves..."
"God, Harry..." She shakes her head, her eyebrows knitting together with worry.
"God, I don't know..." He thinks. "Six years ago? She was way before my time."
"God, I hope the traps will hold..."
"God, I shouldn't have taken a bath! The pheromone washed off!"
"God, I was so young... and stupid."
"God, I've told her not to do that. It's disgusting. And I told *you* to mind your own business." Her voice is firm. "Clearly you have no idea how hard it is to raise a girl in this economy."
"God, I... I knew I shouldn't have brought it up. Just... try not to call me again and let's pretend it never happened."
"God, Kim had a camera. Do you?"
"God, everybody knows your name..." She waves at you in a discarding motion. "Please go finish your investigation, so everyone can go home."
"God, no!"
"God, should I call them? Should I tell them to come home?"
"God, that's sounds shady..."
"God, ugh, I've told her not to do that. It's such a disgusting habit." Her voice is firm. "She'll get over it. Anxiety is a part of life."
"God, why are you still here..." He's getting quite drunk now. "I'm sick of seeing you cops around."
"God, why can't you just mind your own business..." she mutters.
"God-damn-it!" The lieutenant moves quick as a viper as he switches off the radio and sets it on primeline. Then he turns to you:
"God... Calm down, Jean."
"God... I don't know why, I'm just trying to do my best..."
"God... does it mean you talked to her? What else did she say about me?"
"God... this sucks."
"God... what is that? Why is it so bad?"
"God... where is it? I think I need to cover it up."
"God..."
"God..." *coughs* "... damnit..." *coughs*
"God..." He does not look too pleased.
"God..." He sighs. "There are four wings, Harry: A, B, C, and D. We're in C. It's made of losers and clock-punchers. You and I *re-conceptualized* it as a task force. It was a mistake."
"God..." He suddenly bursts out laughing. "Mason couldn't let go. Cut the tits off her cold body and fuckin' ate them. Said primitive spirits were watching over him now..."
"God..." She immediately steps back and raises her hands, sensing the aggression. "Easy now, I'll go. It's not an issue. Can I pack my things first?"
"God..." The girl immediately steps back and raises her hands. "Easy now, I'll go, it's not an issue! Can I pack my things first?"
"God..." your partner exhales loudly and uses his off-hand to wipe his forehead. "I almost blew her head off..."
"Goddamit, Gary..."
"Goddammit, Harry..." He shifts his weight, crosses his arms, and looks you in the eye.
"Goddammit, why's there no one to drink with by the seaside!" (Raise your hands in lamentation.)
"Goddamn Shanky... never liked that rat-faced fuck."
"Goddamn bindlestiffs waltzing in here..."
"Goddamn it, cop -- are you kidding me? You know it was no goddamn Pinball Murderer!"
"Goddamn right it's nothing. The fuck are they gonna do? We got ten thousand men in the Union."
"Goddamn right it's nothing. This isn't a fucking terrarium. This is Martinaise."
"Goddamn right we do." He nods. "We've done it before. Ain't that right, fellas?!"
"Goddamn right! Don't *come around* if you're not *from around*!"
"Goddamn right, I..."
"Goddamn right, son!" The old soldier nods in agreement. "No use complaining about it."
"Goddamn right, this is Uniontown! You work for the company -- we *will* kill you!"
"Goddamn ticker..."
"Goddamn you, Sunboy..." He says quietly. "I guess there's nothing to do about it now. I just hope she can game her way through the system and come out the other way."
"Goddamn! Who's there?"
"Goddamn, that's just about your favourite topic isn't it?" Titus slaps his thigh. "Every fucking five seconds!"
"Goddamn..." officer Michel 'Elfboy' Williams speaks to himself. His partner, Sundance Fischer, looks at the patrol uniform he's wearing -- then at an identical suit framed on the wall. It's blue and covered in dust. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he turns to Williams, "he hasn't been here in days."
"Goddamned pinball."
"Goddamnit, Dennis. You know I can't help it!" His whiny voice is in deep contrast with his stature.
"Goddamnit, Harry... Please warn me first if I ever make it to your shit-list. And I promise to extend you the same courtesy." He laughs.
"Goddamnit, get it over with already..."
"Goddamnit, son..." He pushes back his cap. "Once you realize Martinaise -- all of Revachol -- is *actually* going to shit, it will be too late."
"Goddamnit, we need to close that dump down for good."
"Goddamnit, you leave her alone!" The man with sunglasses snaps at you. "Keep your weird bullshit to yourself and be professional for once, for fucks sake..."
"Goddamnit, you're completely unhelpful."
"Goddamnit." She regards you and Kim with sudden sympathy.
"Goddamnit... I *just* bought that net..."
"Goddamnit... you fucking questioned her, didn't you? I told you not to push her! I fucking told you!"
"Goddamnit..." He clenches his fists. "I show you all kinds of kindness, let you snoop around in my town -- and then I ask you one thing..."
"Goddamnit..." He looks down, shaking his head. "Cuno can't believe you're making up shit about him. This needs to stop."
"Goddamnit..." The lieutenant grabs his head.
"Goddamnit..." the old carabineer looks at you, disgusted. "I thought I had you measured, but you can't really measure a slug, can you?"
"Godspeed, detective."
"Godspeed, detectives."
"Goes against your little theory, doesn't it?" He rubs his chin. "Then again I've known few people in my life who own more than one pair of boots -- and occasionally do change them..."
"Gold? It was just locker room talk. It's not evidence."
"Gone and hid things in there..." She shakes her head. "She's usually a good tenant. And not a *stupid* one either."
"Gone to heaven?" A quick smile. "Thank you, officer. Looks like I'll get mint in the ground by April."
"Gone where?"
"Gone."
"Gone..." He looks to the city and nods: "I knew it. She kept staring into the scope this last week. At the island, like she knew...." He sighs.
"Gone? Coward! I would never leave anyone."
"Gone? Gone where?"
"Gonna rent a room, Korty, a real nice one..." This part is unintelligible. "I don't give a shit, I'm fucking done. I'm done mentally."
"Good -- I *kill* killers." (Point to your chest.)
"Good -- I wanted you *not* to express yours."
"Good -- then you might know the giant ice bear fridge in the building's cellar. The filament is inside the fridge -- just go and get it."
"Good -- we're all watching each other." The lieutenant adjusts his spectacles. "Officer, your question?"
"Good God. A hidden room..."
"Good God..."
"Good afternoon, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1."
"Good afternoon, Fortress Accident on Saint-Brune, this is the East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1. Please repeat, is this the personal log?"
"Good afternoon, officer, I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good afternoon, officers, I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good analogy, boss." The rat faced man snickers.
"Good boy, a real team player." He rubs his hands together. "Now -- do you have any more questions?"
"Good boy."
"Good bye Lena."
"Good bye Titus." [Leave]
"Good bye then. I'll just become a bum now. A bum cop."
"Good bye, Fortress Accident," she says as her voice disappears into a whirl of static.
"Good bye, Harry. And -- I know it won't happen, but..." He looks at you, heart steeled and eyes cold.
"Good bye, then." (End alone)
"Good bye, then." (End.)
"Good bye."
"Good bye." She smiles and they leave -- two old cryptozoologists and one gas-powered wheelchair
"Good bye." [Leave.]
"Good call pigmeister. Don't come and talk to Cuno about his Kingdom."
"Good call, detective," he says, still looking at the ocean. "You can lose your mind trying to mediate everything these delinquents come up with. Fate will take care of it for us."
"Good call, not exposing yourself to stuff like that."
"Good call. So would I. Teach a man to fish."
"Good call. The guys at the processing can take care of the rest."
"Good call."
"Good call." Not a muscle in his face moves as he's nodding slowly. "Think we can get back to our game now?"
"Good call." She lets the thought go.
"Good call..." The lieutenant is still unsteady on his feet.
"Good catch, Art Cop." He crosses his arms. "The herdsmen of the Ubi Sunt? islands came here on the first boats. Their flowery version of Dolorianism could be what we're standing in."
"Good choice, officer! Mega-sporty. And it's only 4.50 for you, sir!"
"Good choice." He nods.
"Good day, ma'am. Everything alright?"
"Good day, officer."
"Good enough! Take that, you book."
"Good evening!" He nods to you, smiling.
"Good evening, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1."
"Good evening, Fortress Accident on Saint-Brune, this is the East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1. Please repeat, is this the personal log?"
"Good evening, officer, I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good evening, officers, I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good eye, my man. Yup, she's an old one, but reliable." He gives the side of the lorry a friendly knock. "Me and her spent a *long* time together."
"Good for her..." He looks to the city and nods: "That girl kept staring into the scope, you know -- in the end. This last week, kept staring at the island..."
"Good for me where? In FUCKING HELL?!"
"Good for you then. Women's fencing *is* a pretty graceful sight."
"Good for you!" He looks around the church hall. "Rock on, then..."
"Good for you, man. But you must know that nothing you achieve's gonna make you happy and loved like you think you wanna be -- comes with being a slave to *el vino*."
"Good for you. Can't expect to receive help if you're helpful in return. A fine arrangement, that."
"Good for you. I'm not letting *anyone* up there again -- ever. Now what did you want?"
"Good for you. Now, was there anything else on your mind?"
"Good for you. Smoking is a stupid habit. Maybe I should quit too."
"Good for you. Was there something else? I'd like to get back to what I was doing."
"Good for you."
"Good for you." She looks at the coastline, then at you. "Now back to the impending blood bath."
"Good fortune, you mean good fortune, right? You're basking in the floodlight of my glory."
"Good fucking luck, man... She knows this place like the back of her hand. You'll never find her."
"Good fucking question, Tequila! If I knew the answer, you think I'd be hanging out on a beach in this formerly premium but now extremely dirty two-piece Lickra(TM) tracksuit?"
"Good god, detective. One more stunt like that and they'll have you institutionalized."
"Good good, now that this is done -- GIVE ME THE SANDWICH!"
"Good hawthorn." (Pat the tree.)
"Good hygiene, really? A very *moderate* solution to an *extreme* problem. It's those sort of half-measures that doomed the authorities in Graad..."
"Good idea, piggies. Run along now, fuck her shit up good. Impound that boat while you're at it. I'd like to watch her *swim* back to Ozonne."
"Good idea. People are always going to do drugs. At least this way you have some control over it."
"Good idea."
"Good job we already found a way *in* the harbour."
"Good job, boys. Now who wants to flick it?"
"Good job, that was very close." He now speaks with the tone of a mother helping her kid take first steps. "Maybe try again?"
"Good joke, man." (Do a slow sarcastic clap.)
"Good joke, officer! Here we don't have permits, just economic freedom. Take a look around..." He takes a deep breath.
"Good joke, officer, you're very funny, you know that?"
"Good lord..."
"Good luck -- It's only kept in place by the vested interests of half the civilized world, including your own."
"Good luck crossing that river on your police salary then."
"Good luck detectives." She nods you good-bye.
"Good luck finding it. He's not much of a character, I think you'll find. Just a stand-in for the reader."
"Good luck if you go for those boots, though. You'd have an easier time wrestling the spurs off a boiadeiro than getting them off him."
"Good luck trying to use it." He taps his foot against a metal box installed in the back of the counter.
"Good luck with that, my man. Ain't easy being you, but hey, you're still breathin', right?"
"Good luck with that. Gotta run." [Leave.]
"Good luck with that. It's not easy catching those perpetrators." Then she lets the thought go.
"Good luck with that. My bug-chasing days are done."
"Good luck with that." He grabs another beer. "You've heard everything a *rent-a-cop* is gonna hear from us, *real* law officials. You're lucky you didn't get a beating."
"Good luck with that." He turns to you. "Sounds like you're in some shit."
"Good luck with the investigation."
"Good luck with the investigation." He walks away.
"Good luck with your report."
"Good luck, officer," she says with a mischievous smile, before turning back to her table.
"Good luck, officer."
"Good luck," the lieutenant notes. "I'm *not* coming in there."
"Good luck. You will not get information on a confidential operation from your station secretary just by calling. If you really don't remember -- it might be better to keep this one forgotten."
"Good luck."
"Good mail delivery box." (Pat the box.)
"Good monologue!" She smiles, flashing her pearl-white
"Good morning to you, officer!"
"Good morning! YEEAAAHHH!" He waves his hand in the air. "Harder core!" The words echo magnificently throughout the nave.
"Good morning! Yeaaaaaah! Pump it up, pump it up, pump it up!"
"Good morning, Fortress Accident on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, this is East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1."
"Good morning, Fortress Accident on Saint-Brune, this is the East-Insulindian Repeater Station 1. Please repeat, is this the personal log?"
"Good morning, comrade! Yeaaaaaah!"
"Good morning, comrade! Yeaaaaaah!" He waves his hand in the air. "Harder core!" The words echo magnificently throughout the nave.
"Good morning, officer. I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good morning, officers. I'm Joyce." She extends her hand in greeting.
"Good morning, tycoon! Yeaaaaaah!"
"Good morning, yeah! One, two, three! Yekokataa, the place to be!"
"Good move, officer. You won't find a deal like this anywhere."
"Good news! I managed to convince Soona. She's okay with you guys moving in, but on one condition -- she needs your speakers for her project."
"Good night, Kim." (Send him away for the night.)
"Good night, lieutenant."
"Good night, officer. We'll meet in front of the shack in the morning."
"Good night." He smiles: "And try not to break the case without me."
"Good one, Kim."
"Good one, officer. You're a funny guy! Now what can I do for you?" He nods toward his shabby wares.
"Good one, officer." He grins. "Don't worry, we here have solidarity with the RCM."
"Good one. I'm gonna go with *the rope*."
"Good one. Yeah, good one officer." He forces a grin. "You really have a courageous sense of humour."
"Good one."
"Good one." The man closes his vest, but he's not laughing. "You need to go and cool off right now, copper. Can't joke your way out of the next one."
"Good pick," the lieutenant nods.
"Good plan, I was kinda getting bored of this topic already. What's next on the menu, Inspector Repression?"
"Good point, binoclard." Hardie looks at his beer. "We'll keep the vol under 12% tonight."
"Good point. Martinaise is *famed* for its occult sex-murder rites. We'll get on it *immediately*."
"Good question. Being a phasmid, of the order *phantasmodea* -- a ghost insect -- it disguises itself as plant-matter. In this case the reeds..." He looks around. "Awful lot of reeds around, aren't there?"
"Good question. It looks like an ice cream fridge." The lieutenant reaches for one of the wrappers. He studies it in the light.
"Good question. It looks like an ice cream fridge." The lieutenant reaches for one of the wrappers. He tries to study it in the darkness.
"Good question." He turns to the cafeteria manager.
"Good question." She cranes her neck: "What would *you* have done differently?"
"Good rocks."
"Good sir, what does a young child do with money anyway? No, I save it for her, as a fund. She's securing her financial future out there."
"Good story. Thanks."
"Good talk. Let's conclude for now."
"Good technique." The lieutenant nods with approval.
"Good then."
"Good thing everyone else has tiny skiffs."
"Good thing he didn't understand a word of your stupidity," he concludes.
"Good thing that guest pays for her stuff on time -- I'll forward her the bill and be done with it. Was there anything else?"
"Good thing too, I've known Johannes for a few years now. 'Be *sinister* if he turned into a completely different person overnight."
"Good thing we got these *chaincutters*." (Pull out the rubber gripped cutters.)
"Good thing you didn't squash him."
"Good thing, because I don't think you can find it right now anyway."
"Good to hear that it's going well. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."
"Good to know that we were right," your partner remarks dryly. "Would have *sucked* to rip a man off for no reason at all."
"Good to know. Tell me something else."
"Good to know."
"Good to meet you, Just-A-Gardener. Another question then."
"Good to see you again, officer. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Good to see you too, friend."
"Good to see you! How's business? How's the whole *reality situation* treating you?"
"Good to see you, friend! Do I have *deals* set up for you, buddy-boy!" He spreads his arms as if wanting to embrace you.
"Good use of sarcasm there, man." You hear a faint clapping sound, brimming with caricature.
"Good work, officer."
"Good work." The lieutenant nods toward the impenetrable darkness inside. "Shall we?"
"Good, *Cuno*. Be that." He nods toward Martinaise. "I saw the *traitors* of this city turn the lights back on. More and more each year. Ruins, glittering in the dark, like a fucking merry-go-round....
"Good, I think. Noid is getting a read on the place, I think he finds the carpentry very impressive. Andre's been setting up the compressor and.... dancing. Egg Head's keeping the party up, he's got the stage under control."
"Good, I've unlocked the filament. After ending the call please press PRINT to access the filament."
"Good, I've unlocked the off-site copy. After ending the call please press PRINT to access the filament."
"Good, I've unlocked the production schedule. After ending the call please press PRINT to access the filament."
"Good, René's on board too -- time to take back the streets. Right-wing populism, here we come!
"Good, because I totally do."
"Good, confiscate it."
"Good, dear, you got the decade right! It's the spring of '51."
"Good, good, good," he repeats, nodding enthusiastically. "So you want this shit or not?"
"Good, good, yes. Cold spells..." He seems incredulous. "So basically your *hangover* is telling you she's down there?"
"Good, good," the cafeteria manager intervenes to cut the moment short. "Are we ready? I want to unplug the microphone now."
"Good, good. We should be courteous and tell the cryptozoologists that one of their traps was empty, but then we can get back to *our* assignment here."
"Good, good."
"Good, good." (Nod.)
"Good, good." He likes what he's hearing. "What did you want to know?"
"Good, okay..." he breaks his calm. "*And?*"
"Good, so you believe me." She looks at the tent. "You should go tell this to Andre, he'll know what to do next."
"Good, so you're not him."
"Good, thank you." It's not clear whether she recognizes your voice. "Please repeat, how can I help you?"
"Good, thank you." It's not clear whether she recognizes your voice. "Please repeat, is this the off-site copy?"
"Good, thank you." It's not clear whether she recognizes your voice. "Please repeat, is this the personal log?"
"Good, thank you." It's not clear whether she recognizes your voice. "Please repeat, is this the production schedule?"
"Good, thanks."
"Good, that's probably the right thing, thank you..." She nods, but with a wretched expression.
"Good, then my work here is done." [Leave.]
"Good, then you understand the gist of it. We would all be better off without the employers and their employment."
"Good, traditional Revacholian beats. Not moronic at all."
"Good, we have too many opinions anyway."
"Good, we should take a look at that library card after this is done."
"Good, we've examined the library card -- that should be enough for our colleagues. Now we can call the station from Kineema and hand over the case."
"Good, yes. We can return to the dead body -- by now it smells *exquisite*..." Looks like he would rather concentrate on taking notes for now.
"Good, you have a lead."
"Good," Vicquemare turns to the others, "Okay everybody, nothing but a prank call here. We all got our laughs, now get back to work!"
"Good," he says with a quick smile.
"Good," she takes a sip of her thermal cup.
"Good-bye." [Leave.]
"Good-good, my man." He takes a chug from his beer bottle. "Now what can I offer ya?"
"Good-good..." The fridge in the background buzzes with excitement.
"Good. 'Twould have been bad news had it turned out it wasn't a sunny day. Bad news for the skiff. Bad news for the nets. Bad news for the kids."
"Good. A good quality to have -- both for a police officer *and* an experimental zoologist."
"Good. And what is the Revachol Citizens' Militia?"
"Good. At least you know it." He nods inland. "I've watched them turn the lights back on. After it was all dark in the twenties -- more and more each year now -- glittering in the dark, like a Merry-Go-Round....
"Good. But even if you haven't, we'll have time for that after we take a look at the coroner's case."
"Good. Can you read it to me?" He tips the drying ball point of his pen on the tongue.
"Good. Controlling your emotions sounds good."
"Good. Evrart will have to start over with his scheming." The lieutenant nods. "When Isobel and Lilienne dispute the signatures the document will be rendered null and void."
"Good. Evrart will have to start over with his scheming." The lieutenant nods. "When Isobel disputes her signature the document will be rendered null and void."
"Good. Evrart will have to start over with his scheming." The lieutenant nods. "When she denies that this is her signature the document will be rendered null and void."
"Good. Gaston finally understands the rules now." An evil smile runs across his lips. "Let's see if it makes him a better *petanquista*."
"Good. Glad to hear that," he says, adjusting his belt buckle. "You can keep it, too -- maybe you'll need a reminder of human ugliness some day."
"Good. I also know the alphabet."
"Good. I don't care about drugs. Little molecules. They're nothing." She glances wistfully at the photo.
"Good. I don't need them."
"Good. I hope it clarified things up a bit. What else?"
"Good. I think I feel a heart attack coming."
"Good. I'm glad we had this talk." He nods. "After you."
"Good. If we, the Evening People, pull together -- we can form a bulwark against these troubled times!" The man grins at you. "Root out the forces that seek to undermine the well-being of our people."
"Good. It would be an awful nuisance if your experiments with your blood pressure were to cause permanent damage to your vision. A nuisance to you, that is."
"Good. It's already late, we get some rest. Tomorrow will be another tough day."
"Good. It's good it's dead. Communism is *stupid*."
"Good. It's good you're sorry. I'm not letting *anyone* up there any more. Now what did you want?"
"Good. It's late, we should get some rest."
"Good. Let's change the subject."
"Good. Let's go with that."
"Good. Not that it would have mattered -- in the end the Commune forced everyone to the barricades."
"Good. Now that that's settled..."
"Good. Now that we've sorted that out, let me ask you something else."
"Good. Now that's done. When can we get to our impending apocalypse of a murder investigation?"
"Good. Now that's done. When do you think will we return to our impending apocalypse of a murder investigation?"
"Good. Now unto the next thing."
"Good. Now, about another thing..."
"Good. Now, how did you know I was a police officer?"
"Good. Now, the way I see it..." He looks at the corpse with some disgust...
"Good. Otherwise you would only have *one* shoe, now..." He looks at his notebook.
"Good. Please repeat the password."
"Good. That's a good one..."
"Good. The victim is of Occidental descent," he scribbles in his notebook. "Light brown hair -- blue eyes."
"Good. Then it's not lost." She seems a little relieved. "Just don't throw it in the toilet again. Toilets don't work like that."
"Good. Then jot it down." He takes the opportunity to breathe.
"Good. Then you've made progress. It's imperative that you move fast. The *tribunal* will not be patient."
"Good. They will start asking for more... And more..."
"Good. We can always come back when you're feeling better. It's just a cloak after all." He looks around.
"Good. We should come back with the map and compare the landscape to the radius of the shot."
"Good. We're fighting for a cause here." He chants at the gates: "RIGHT TO WORK! RIGHT TO WORK!"
"Good. We've had enough problems with bums and drunks and thieves loitering in the hallway... You have no business here."
"Good. Yes. Because it's not part of Reality."
"Good. You can tell me the truth."
"Good. You got the room for the night, but remember -- you'll need *another* 20 reál tomorrow."
"Good. You made it." Cuno stands with his arms akimbo, looking at the shadow of the ruined flak tower looming overhead.
"Good. You'll need to be... whatever that is."
"Good."
"Good." (Put away your gun.)
"Good." He blinks his black eyes. "The material base for an uprising has eroded, the working class has betrayed mankind and themselves.."
"Good." He doesn't dwell on the particulars of your existence. "We're in the middle of a strike down at the harbour. Trying to force some sense into the executive board of Wild Pines."
"Good." He glances impatiently at his electronic wristwatch.
"Good." He hands you the waterlogged remains of your ledger.
"Good." He nods. "I think it's going really fucking well." He leans closer. "Just cut it with the punching shit, alright? Makes us look like we got nothing."
"Good." He nods. "Mistakes are forgiven, when men at least *try* to right their wrongs. I believe you will try. Now why did you approach us?"
"Good." He nods. "We're doing very good. He *wants* to confess -- I can see that. We just need to pile it on, a little more -- the more we have on him the closer he is..."
"Good." He pats you on the back, three small pats in a row. "I think we have it, detective. The origin of the shot. This is the *sniper's nest*."
"Good." He takes a note. "We should give them a call from my Kineema, see if we can learn anything about Billie Méjean."
"Good." He turns away from the file cabinet. "This is probably not relevant to our case anyway. After all, we are not investigating an accounting mystery."
"Good." He turns to her, the cuffs still in his hand. "What -- in your relationship -- made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"Good." She gets back to work.
"Good." She lets go of your hug.
"Good." She looks at you, then Vicquemare...
"Good." The lieutenant nods.
"Good." The lieutenant nods. "Very nourishing. Let's go solve crimes now."
"Good." The lieutenant returns. "He has not passed out from it. Perhaps I worried for nothing... Are we still on the reality low-down -- or should we do actual policework now?"
"Good." The lieutenant returns. "You have not passed out from it. Perhaps I worried for nothing... Are we still on the reality low-down -- or should we do actual policework now?"
"Good." There's a pause. "Where do you want to limp?"
"Good..." The lieutenant falls silent. He places his gloved hand on the corpse's chest, as if in preparation...
"Good..." the lieutenant takes out his notebook and draws a single line.
"Goodbye and thank you for your cooperation." [Leave.]
"Goodbye, I'm off." [Leave.]
"Goodbye, Joyce L. Messier." (Conclude.)
"Goodbye, Rejoyce Leyton." (Conclude.)
"Goodbye, nether creature of the forbidden swamp."
"Goodbye, officer."
"Goodbye."
"Goodness, no! Well, we did get separated once before, during that *monsoon* in Tien-En. But we were younger then, and Morell always takes the appropriate precautions..."
"Goodness, you were already doing good browsing the shelves. Why'd you stop?" She fiddles her pendant, then waves her bony fingers directly at you: "Don't you feel compelled? Go, go -- get back there. The books await you."
"Goooooooooood... lord... what is happening to me?" (Look up.)
"Goracy, could I have some of that brew?"
"Gosh, why?" One civilian looks on, amazed -- the bald man bellows a reply: "A very fuckin' dangerous case, ain't that right, Chester? They almost got you that time."
"Got a permit for this little shit-show?"
"Got a smoke?"
"Got any dope? We need some dope bad." He scratches his nose, then his armpit through the jacket. "I got the *Boogie Street* shakes."
"Got any smokes on you?"
"Got drunk like a megastar?"
"Got fucked... fucked real bad."
"Got it -- I had another question."
"Got it -- had another question."
"Got it -- let's take it back to reality central for the next one."
"Got it! There's no need to get anyone else involved. "He wipes the sweat off his head. "Okay, man, listen..."
"Got it!"
"Got it, Kim, no need to rub it in." [Leave.]
"Got it, thanks." (Conclude.)
"Got it. 89% is good enough. Moving on."
"Got it. Another question, then."
"Got it. Another thing..."
"Got it. Back to this guy..." (Tap the boombox on its speaker.)
"Got it. But there were other things I needed to discuss..."
"Got it. Couldn't be clearer. Tell me about something else." (Back up.)
"Got it. Enough of that then."
"Got it. I'll contact the ICP database immediately. Call back tomorrow. Hopefully they'll have dug up something useful by then."
"Got it. Let me ask something else."
"Got it. Let's go." [Leave.]
"Got it. Now about the church..."
"Got it. Parthonosis."
"Got it. Tell me something else then."
"Got it. Tell me something else."
"Got it."
"Got it." He takes out his notebook. "Kill you -- because they don't like you. All because..."
"Got my own little Li Shmin here."
"Got nothing to say about that boomstick, huh? You chokin'? That's the stick that did it!"
"Got some questions for you. I'm a cop."
"Got that right, kid -- he's a psychopath, and he made up this whole amnesia story to fuck with us."
"Got the 20 reál?"
"Got the fucking fuel, yeah."
"Got the picture. Let me ask you something else."
"Got you a little set of wheels, Cuno." (Throw him the keys to the abandoned truck.)
"Got you."
"Got your attention..." He looks you dead in the eye, pupils shaking. "*Now* you stop beating druggies and prostitutes in your basement. *Now* you come to investigate. Not when they die by the hundreds..." He breathes through flared nostrils...
"Gotcha. I have some questions for you."
"Gotcha. It's almost party time!"
"Gotcha."
"Gotta be bloody stupid or freakin' evil to scab. Or, I guess... scared, maybe. But scared of what, of who?" He looks at the mass, squinting his eyes as if trying to ascertain what they're scared of.
"Gotta be careful what you say these days."
"Gotta get the people going!"
"Gotta guard the stuff -- bosses don't look kindly on missing cargo. And it gives me time to work on my rhymes."
"Gotta prepare for springtime, right?" The street vendor seems pleased.
"Gotta ride this one out."
"Gotta spend money to make money."
"Gottlieb. What is it now?" There's not the slightest hint of wanting to know the answer in that familiar raspy voice.
"Gottlieb. What'd you get yourself into this time?" The question is followed by the sound of someone taking a long drag.
"Governmental issues take me all over Revachol as you can see."
"Grandma?"
"Granted, kindness may not be an evolutionary advantage..."
"Great -- after we've done this, we can finally get to the island," the lieutenant says, satisfied.
"Great -- and here I thought we were finally going to the island..." the lieutenant murmurs to himself.
"Great bodies of water, forest-covered surfaces... clusters of light where the cities lie. You've seen the montage, we all have -- this world is enough," she concludes.
"Great idea. What happened?"
"Great job, wise race mentor."
"Great minds think alike, René. You and I really seem to have it all figured out."
"Great news, I found somewhere new to sleep."
"Great technique. You'd make a great sergeant."
"Great things are difficult to achieve. For now, we're viewing the world from the inside -- sideways."
"Great to hear it. Stop by some time when you're done with your case -- I'll draw some blood, run it through -- let you know how much 'forever' your liver's going to give you."
"Great witness!" He must be really parched, because he takes a giant gulp of beer.
"Great! Any other complaints?"
"Great! Could you do it, please? This is important, I need to be able to play this tape for someone."
"Great! How's the drinking going?"
"Great! Just drop in on Wednesday if you want to see the water lock at work. They say the canal crew will be here 07.15." He cuts a fresh slice from his salami.
"Great! On a scale of one to ten, how compelled were you to buy books after talking with her?"
"Great! See you in eight hours then." She takes a small notebook from her table and writes something down, her expression pleased. "Was there anything else?"
"Great! See you in eight hours then." She takes a small notebook from her table and writes something down. "Was there anything else?"
"Great! That's great. That's actually what *I* was thinking too -- THE HANGED MAN. Good, strong name. We have a very good name for the case now."
"Great! Wouldn't want to get stuck in here."
"Great! You wanna bounce something off your old friend, Mr. Claire, right?" He seems genuinely pleased. "Well, let's hear it, Harry!"
"Great!" She shivers. "Let us know if there's any progress, will you? We've been waiting for weeks here."
"Great, Harry, great! I think we have truly built a bridge between Martinaise and Jamrock today. We have united the RCM and the Débardeurs' Union..." Suddenly there's sadness in his tone.
"Great, I think we got everything. A word, detective?" He steps away from the lorry. "*Before* we return to Joyce."
"Great, I'll give it to your colleagues. You don't have to worry about the case any more, we'll send our officers to take away the body."
"Great, I'll go talk to them then."
"Great, but can I have a quick word?"
"Great, everything should be aligned now..." She stops, biting into her chapped lip.
"Great, let's do it."
"Great, let's do that." [Leave.]
"Great, perfect, I hope you enjoy your freezing cold room with the window you broke *yourself*."
"Great, someone got through to him. Okay, let's get it all set up. Can we turn the music off, please?"
"Great, thank you for all the interesting information." [Leave.]
"Great, thank you officer, that's *all* I wanted -- payment for services rendered. If you continue to stay here, I just ask that you please pay your nightly bill in advance, starting tomorrow."
"Great, thank you officer, that's *all* I wanted, payment for services rendered."
"Great, that's 2000 kilo-calories wasted right there."
"Great, the case is closed then." [Leave.]
"Great, this shit again. What is it now?"
"Great, we should call the library -- maybe it can provide us with a lead. That is, if we decide to take the case."
"Great," she nods. "It's the abyss of the void. Soon it will be 'the gloaming'; then it will be the 'world-ending'... My friends are waiting for me on the platform, Harry. It's impolite to..."
"Great. Anything else I can do for you?"
"Great. Anything else I could do for you?"
"Great. Got it."
"Great. Great to hear that."
"Great. Have a medal. I have an autopsy to attend to. An autopsy of one Chester McLaine, who died of *fish poisoning*."
"Great. I don't need to know any more."
"Great. I have an autopsy to attend to. An autopsy of one Chester McLaine, who died of *fish poisoning*."
"Great. Imagine all time you'll have for work now -- matter of fact, we should get back to it right now."
"Great. M's peone is coming to town, no doubt to investigate the lynching, but also -- I feel it in my gut -- to finally put a bullet in my head. While I'm napping in my lorry or on a smoke break... Well, I won't stick around just to twist my own neck by constantly looking over my shoulder."
"Great. More patronising. So original."
"Great. Now I'm the *symbol of pain*." The smile immediately disappears from her face. The air remains just as cold.
"Great. Thanks." He turns to you. "You snorted the drugs. I know you did. Fuck it. It's all right. I mean -- honestly. *Anything* but the drink."
"Great. The owners of this building will just have to keep paying for the electricity sucked up by this monstrosity a little longer.
"Great. The owners of this building will just have to keep paying for the electricity sucked up by this monstrosity a little longer. Let's return to the fridge."
"Great. What are we talking about? And *why*?" She gets back to work -- a clear signal that this branch of the conversation is over.
"Great. Young people, they're worse than rats, you know -- always littering the hallways with trinkets and empty beer cans..."
"Great." Her hands are a whirl on the keyboard. "Thanks."
"Great." She dwells back into the glowing terminal.
"Great." She turns her attention back to the bookstand.
"Great." The lieutenant concedes with a head shake. "He asked the Pines rep about the pale -- and now he's talking to everyone about it..."
"Great." The lieutenant concedes with a head shake. "He asked the Pines rep about the pale."
"Great." The lieutenant mumbles. "First the sandwich, now a pie..."
"Great." The lieutenant shakes his head. "Wonderful. Good job. I mean why *wouldn't* you throw it... wait, turns out I don't actually care. Leave it and let's go."
"Great." There's relief in her voice. "Anything else?"
"Greed, my child. It's always greed."
"Greetings on this fine night. What brings you here?"
"Grit. A total disregard for personal safety. You gotta take the pain. This Mullen guy looks like he'd run to his mom. Ain't got no balls."
"Guess I enjoyed the way he bled." Her expression doesn't change. It's hard to say if it's a joke.
"Guess I need to pay him a visit, then."
"Guess I should have gone with a more consistent strategy."
"Guess I'll ask around then."
"Guess he was about to head home, 'cause when the dockworkers found him he was wearing civilian clothes and not the cockatoo uniform I saw him in all the time."
"Guess he was about to head home. The dockworkers found him in his civilian clothes and not the cockatoo uniform you... ugh... confiscated."
"Guess so." He grins, contented with himself.
"Guess we need to pay Siileng a visit, then."
"Guess we'll never know."
"Guess we're done here."
"Guess what -- I've come upon something incriminating.
"Guess what. Remember that *key* I found here?" (Point at the window.)
"Guess what: I've come upon something incriminating."
"Guess what? I've connected you to the local drug trade."
"Guess what? Not only was the hanging a cover-up -- it was orchestrated by a woman named Ruby."
"Guess you have, droite." You the old man's voice in the dark. "I don't see anything there -- does this mean I'm not under arrest?"
"Guillaume le Million, or something of the sort? There he hangs, as though unscathed by the void."
"Guillaume le Million? The singer who made that awful face? Well... I *do* see the resemblance..." She looks at you with sudden admiration.
"Guillaume's Lions?"
"Guillaume's Millions?"
"Guillaume. Guillaume le Million."
"Guilty as charged." He exchanges a look with the special consultant. "I heard you'd lost your mind *and* your memory. I wanted to see if it was true."
"Gulls and skuas. But shhhh." He raises a pointer finger and inclines his head toward the speakers. A new, very high-pitched, shivering sound emerges amidst the others.
"Gun me, Kim!"
"Gun-gun, I'm coming!" (Go for it.)
"Gun. Gun..." (Just repeat *gun*.)
"Gun? Badge? Car? These are all *things*. Things don't matter. People do."
"Gun? Behold *all* my guns. If anything, I need more *hands*!" (Show him your two pistols and two rifles.)
"Gunned down in the line of duty... it's okay."
"Guns are expensive... and fragile. I think." She shrugs. "Besides, I got kids. Can't have guns around them and sometimes a sharp blade is enough to keep folks at bay."
"Guy was cramping my style. Every superstar goes solo in the end."
"Guys like Mr. Evrart and Mr. Edgar -- his brother -- are real good guys, made Martinaise what it is today... Mr. Evrart and Mr. Edgar and I went to the same school, we did, when we were boys..."
"Guys, I'm out of juice..." (Stop.)
"Guys, I, uh..." The little guy breaks formation. "I'd just get in the way. I don't even have a gun."
"Guys, seriously. I've seen this. Stop laughing. Is his face drooping?"
"Guys, this is Revachol. Anyone could get a gun around here. *Anyone*."
"Guys, we can't do The Return. There are like tons of places called The Return already. There's this communist joint in Jamrock that my friends like to frequent, and then there's this really famous radio show, you know the one..."
"Guys, what's going on?" There's alarm in the man's voice, as he steps back to scan the surroundings. A slight rattle like crystal clattering in the cupboard fills the air, joining the chorus.
"Guys. Cuno's enrolling in a junior officer program."
"H-hey."
"HAAAAAAARD COOORE!!! AAAAAAAIGHH!!!" He lets out an agonized roar over the feeble-ish, obviously not too hard core beat below.
"HARD CORE PARTY 25/7 BEYOND THE WINTER'S ORBIT STYLE!"
"HARD CORE TO THE MEGA!"
"HARD CORE! Not exactly the hyper that I was hoping for, but... it's definitely ULTRA!"
"HARD CORE!"
"HARD CORE!" A witless, victorious smile adorns his face. "HARD CORE TO THE MEGA!"
"HDB41-0803." (No time of arrival.)
"HDB41-0803.1015"
"HDB41-0803.1111"
"HDB41-0803.1300"
"HELP! The pig's gagging him. Cuno can't speak!"
"HELP!" Tears of laughter are running down his flushed face. "The RCM is trying to fuck us!"
"HERE COMES THE NIGHT!"
"HERE COMES THE SUN!"
"HEY, BUSHMEN!!!" The veins on the man's neck expand as he he yells. "Your little CUNT isn't gonna help you out of this one!"
"HIS RAGE IS ALREADY PLAYED OUT ON THE STAGE OF HISTORY -- AS THE GROTESQUE TRAGEDY OF REVOLUTION. ALL IT CAN ACCOMPLISH NOW IS IMPOTENT ACADEMIC TEXT AND NEUROSYPHILITIC ROCK AND ROLL MELANCHOLIA."
"HOSIANNAH! MOTHER OF MEGA!" You hear Egg Head yell -- then something else, but his voice is growing faint...
"HOW MUCH MONEY?!"
"HYPER HYPER!"
"Ha ha ha ha!" A loud, derisive laugh echoes wildly through the gates.
"Ha ha ha..." (Laugh nervously.) "I don't know why I won't stop talking about the *three-metres-tall stick insect*. There was no insect!"
"Ha ha! Welcome to Revachol!"
"Ha ha, I dunno what you're talking about." One of the boys shrugs his shoulders and starts laughing.
"Ha ha, maybe you were."
"Ha ha, nothing like the gratitude of a good woman. Now, then, what can I do for you?" He gives you a gruff pat on the shoulder.
"Ha ha, you won't take us seriously? You will yet -- and you will rue that day."
"Ha ha. It was funny enough to me."
"Ha ha. Okay, good luck! I'm getting bored now... change the subject, why don't we?"
"Ha ha. Okay, you've got me *cornered* there, good sir officer. Anyway, this is really boring... change the subject, why don't we?"
"Ha! I can see that, yes. I dabbled in those dark arts myself -- not so long ago." She smiles enigmatically. "I assure you, it was a thoroughly *supracultural* phenomenon. All-permeating. Downright mandatory."
"Ha! It's enough that my fish goes there. 50 real a piece they ask for spring cod..."
"Ha! Yes. My pleasure." She smiles. "Where did we leave off... hell, let's just take it from the top. You start."
"Ha! Yes." He isn't actually laughing. "I have to tell you officer, I don't appreciate *ironic* titles. Other officers will have to use this as reference. If it's "IDIOT", or "COCK FINGER..."
"Ha!" She gives you a crooked smile. "If the workers were organized by Wild Pines then it would be a company secret. I could not share it with you  -- not yet at least..."
"Ha!" She lets out a loud cackle. "I suppose you are, officer. *All*-Revachol. But enough about Evrart -- what else can I tell you about?"
"Ha!" She smiles. "Aren't we all?"
"Ha!" She throws her hair back. "A real Man of the Left. What else can I tell you about?"
"Ha!" The young man stretches his ribcage made of suspenders. "I like this question, cop-man. She did not live the life of a human. She lived like someone who is playing a game. The life of an operator..."
"Ha!" The young man stretches his ribcage made of suspenders. "I like this theory of yours, cop-man. This one I like..." He nods. "She was not human. Not really. She was an operator, playing life like a game..."
"Ha, so you *are* their finest."
"Ha, the salty investors..." Something green sparkles in her eyes. "Well yes, they couldn't get the project done on time and thus lost the funding."
"Ha-ha everyone. Did you like my funny joke?"
"Ha-ha!"
"Ha-ha, officer has lost his badge, ha-ha. Like I'm the first cop to ever misplace his badge."
"Ha-ha," the scruffy-haired little kid laughs, as though in agreement.
"Ha-ha-ha, ho-ho-ho." He grabs his stomach in mirthless laughter. "Tequila Sunset -- no Sunrise, because you're almost dead. So funny, Harry. Thank you for fucking me."
"Ha-ha-ha, ho-ho-ho." He grabs his stomach in mirthless laughter. "Underwater killer. So funny, Harry. Thank you for fucking me."
"Ha." (Check out THE MAN WITH THE HOLE IN HIS HEAD.)
"Ha... live and learn, lawman. Get out there and blossom into a flower! Go figure things out! Meanwhile, I'm getting bored... how about we change the subject?"
"Ha...no." (Search for something about *you*.)
"Haa ha haa!" She continues laughing. "Lamby tells them part." She waves her fuzzy doll in the air.
"Haa haa, yessss!" She smiles, hugging her fuzzy toy.
"Habitual alcohol use has made you into a scared little pussy, homes. But don't worry, everything's gonna be alright -- you've come to the right place."
"Had *what* coming? Not recognizing people you work with *every* day?" He squints. "Brain damage?"
"Had I the physical robustness and social support I'd be *in* Li Shmin, *I* would be tearing it up *Soldier of the Apocalypse* style..."
"Had I the physical robustness and social support, *I* would be tearing it up *Soldier of the Apocalypse* style..."
"Had a battery of tests just last week. I'm practically a patchwork of interesting critters. Kind of like a man o' war." Despite the attitude, she puts the brush aside.
"Had a good rest there?"
"Had enough assaulting *madre natura*?" He looks at his wristwatch. "We should get moving."
"Had to take Pyrholidon for radiation sickness. That's what you were hinting at just now, wasn't it?"
"Had you put a large slice of Olduvaian cheese crosswise from the ham, it would minimize the component loss via crumbling."
"Haemorrhaging is observed on the skin above and below the ligature mark. The mark is well pronounced, consistent with a drop from 1 or 1.5 metres."
"Hah -- and what *is* this Revolution I keep hearing about?"
"Hah -- that! You drive a hard bargain, officer. I respect that." He nods. "Okay, what's it going to cost me? Be reasonable..."
"Hah! Couldn't handle us. A cause gives the workers strength. Gives them power." He bellows at the gates: "We have -- A RIGHT TO WORK!"
"Hah! I knew it. I've always wondered where those machines by the door came from -- *and* they told me there was some kind of pinball thing here too..."
"Hah! I think I was in my twenties actually. I'm ashamed to say I wasn't a teen anymore. It must have been my early twenties, because I remember a particularly *vile* disco track."
"Hah! Well!" He comes up with a counterargument. "We don't have any tapes. They all got stolen."
"Hah! Yes -- what Klaasje said. Very good. That makes sense to me." He takes a quick note.
"Hah!" She lifts the paper very close to her face and studies it intently. "I might be half blind, but it looks like part of the village is gonna be a street. The best part. The part we need to get out of our houses."
"Hah!" She smiles. "You mean like the ice bear fridge? Man, that's scary."
"Hah, no. I'm joking, my man." He grins. "FALN runs a nice, clean business. This haul of cargo is mostly sporting goods. You know, tracksuits and that kinda thing."
"Hah, that's why I always have to take the lead -- right, Kim?"
"Hah." There's a smile on his dry lips. "That is true, droite. That is true."
"Haha, never mind, girl. I'm quite the joker. I would never do something like that."
"Haha, very funny -- so I can't whistle."
"Hahaha... Mr. Du Bois..." His amusement seems genuine. "So be it! How can I help you today?"
"Hairy, sir. I said hairy. Covered with hair..." She sways on her feet, puzzled.
"Half a century? This was probably part of the network of defence posts the communards built against the amphibious landing."
"Half a gram?"
"Half of what?"
"Hand it over. I'm confiscating it as evidence."
"Hands are clean," the lieutenant concludes. The dead man's fingers slip from your hand, cold and sausage-like. "No sign of injury from struggling."
"Hands are clean," the lieutenant says as five cold, sausage-like fingers slip from your hand. "No sign of injury from struggling."
"Hands are clean." He inspects the wrist. "No sign of a recent struggle."
"Hang in there, little one."
"Hang on -- this *is* a 4.5! We're all good, people!" With a grin he sticks the plug into the auxiliary line-in. You hear a satisfying click.
"Hang on, I thought I'd get right now?"
"Hang on, I thought I'd get some money quickly?"
"Hang on, how *do* you know who I am and what I do?"
"Hang on, you're telling me you remember all these little mechanical details, but you have trouble remembering your name?
"Hang on. So you... know me? We've met before?"
"Hang tight." [Leave.]
"Hangovers do give officers super-powers. Many drink only to receive *the gift*.
"Happens to the best of us, I guess."
"Happily."
"Happy shopping, officer! Everything's cool here!" He gives you a thumbs up.
"Happy to help."
"Happy we could help. Good bye, officer." The librarian hangs up and the call gets redirected back to the station with a soft click...
"Happy we could help. Good bye, officer." The librarian hangs up and the call gets redirected back to the station.
"Har-Mageddon is upon us. She's better off in the holding-pen once the Blood Rains come down."
"Hard Core Superstar!"
"Hard core fills the air!"
"Hard core will never die -- but you will!"
"Hard core!"
"Hard core!" His friend shouts from behind his mix table, with a smile surpassing your own in wideness, a total moon-face, and eyes full of naive wonderment.
"Hard core, *shmard core*... I did 15 years in the Juvenile Crime Unit. I can *do* age-inappropriate."
"Hard core."
"Hard of core." He nods appreciatively.
"Hard to argue with that, I suppose."
"Hard to say, cop man. Sines in here are distinctly *wild*. Gonna take a while before everything's properly *synced*..."
"Hard to say. I think I did some construction work here, back when I still had material worries. Up there, I realized what the true purpose of the church was..."
"Hard to say. Their client list is rather diverse. And... incomplete. The only constant seems to be that the mercenaries are always deployed in third- and fourth-world countries."
"Hard to say. This distribution network looks certainly large, yet still vague enough... It doesn't reveal much about the *besmertie* behind it."
"Hard to tell exactly what it was over the phone. Could be a combination of peripheral neuralgia and high blood pressure. Could be that you were having a heart attack..."
"Hard-Cop!"
"Hard-cop." She nods to you with respect and turns off her recording device.
"Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."
"Harder than this?" (Keep pointing to your face.) "I didn't know it was physically possible."
"Hardie *boys* or whatever the fuck they are --- they were tellin' everyone and their mom how they wasted one of those armour fucks. It was *always* gonna go down like that. My pig stepped up -- got fucked in the leg for it. Sacrifice style."
"Hardie boys are local legends now."
"Hardie boys without a Hardie? That's just stupid."
"Hardie? Not yet, I had another question."
"Hardly." He looks at the door, then you. "Anyway, Garte is the person to ask about this -- the cafeteria manager."
"Harold and I are old friends... from way back." He crouches forward to be at Cuno's eye level. "Mind letting us have a moment?"
"Harrier Du Bois it is, then." (Accept it.)
"Harrier Du Bois, and don't forget it."
"Harrier Du Bois, that's me."
"Harrier Du Bois."
"Harrier Du Bois..." He looks you up and down. "It suits you. I'm going to call you 'Harry,' since it's short for 'Harrier'."
"Harrier and I are old friends... from way back. Mind letting us have a moment?"
"Harry Du Bois," she replies quickly. "One corrupt motherfucker with the disco pants and the funny tie. Agent to La Puta Madre."
"Harry! Are you alright?"
"Harry!" he exclaims, indignant. "I have *little people* in my organization. I would never call someone a midget. What is this?"
"Harry's Hounds."
"Harry's my name. I don't need any others."
"Harry, Harry -- I was only trying to be tactful. A lost gun is a dangerous thing. I can't have it around in my neighbourhood."
"Harry, Harry, Harry!" He flicks his fingers. "Do not fixate on this little matter. Maybe it was a rabbit stew... or a hair dryer, or an iron. The point is, her heart wasn't in it. Mine *was*."
"Harry, I assure you, I am a very well informed man. Usually I have all the necessary information *before* I need to request it."
"Harry, I bugged her cabin. I bugged her whole boat. I had cameras surveying her boat. Hell I even wanted to bug that thermal cup, but my boys advised against it."
"Harry, I don't want things. I want to go to the aerodrome."
"Harry, I'm a very busy man and, more importantly,  I don't have that extraordinary physique you do." He slams his fists together. "You look like you could run around all day!"
"Harry, I've got to be honest with you." He turns solemn. "Your gun was found two days ago. Withholding this information weighed heavily on me. But it had to be done."
"Harry, do you notice how... none of this is very *funny*?"
"Harry, if I *was* supplying raw materials to drug manufacturers, I would need an army of Rubies."
"Harry, imagine a Youth Centre-Supermarket-Church complex! Employing hundreds, no, thousands of people. The coast will be lit up with enterprise -- and *life*! All those ruins out there turned into *low-income housing*..."
"Harry, it's beginning to dawn on me that you're a real fascist. A mega-fascist who imagines mega rich light-bending fascists. I love it! Thank you for sharing this facet of yourself with me."
"Harry, my dear friend." He sinks deeper into the chair. "I am what people call a *local big wig*. I know everything that goes on in Martinaise."
"Harry, please..." A sad voice answers, dressed in distortion.
"Harry, sometimes I think we're so similar it frightens me!" He holds his giant head between his hands. "I too love... regular, normal music!"
"Harry, that's because you're a cop with 'fuck the world' written on his back."
"Harry, the future I have in store for Martinaise will have all the *macho* aesthetics you love so much. The crowns, the guns... I will even slip in a skull and a bones for you, my friend."
"Harry, the length you're willing to go to keep your nose clean is *remarkable*." He stares at you lovingly. "You will always have a warm bed in Mr. Claire's household, my friend, and a special place in the future of Martinaise."
"Harry, there are probably pictures..." The full gravity of the situation dawns on him.
"Harry, there is no strike, only war. Class war. Or, in business terms: a *dawn raid*. Or wait..." He pauses to rub his chin. "Is that when you still *pay* them something? Because we won't do that."
"Harry, they're almost all of them *great* guys, born leaders. Real Whatever happened -- I'm sure they only had the best interests of Revachol in mind."
"Harry, this strike is the culmination of many *many*, mistakes made by the Wild Pines Group. They tried to shut the strike down by sending in armed mercenaries."
"Harry, we can't be together because you're insane." Her eyes turn to sorrowful ovals.
"Harry, we outnumber them fifteen hundred to one. And that's just Martinaise. With all the unions in Revachol -- and with public opinion on our side -- we can hold off two men. Or fifteen men. Or even fifty men."
"Harry, we want to help you. Trant, I believe this is where you come in?"
"Harry, we're here because we're worried."
"Harry, what you need to realize is -- we dockworkers are not pushovers."
"Harry, when I need to *tell* people, I might as well do it myself! That's why I like initiative -- and *inspiring initiative. It's more *natural that way."
"Harry, you made a concious decision to relay that information to her. You could have kept it for yourself."
"Harry, you smooth-talking son of a bitch," he says with the fondest of smiles. "Time is a precious resource and I don't have enough of it to count containers with you."
"Harry, you're a cop with 'piss f****ts' on his back! Do you have any idea how hard the liberals are going to fuck us for this?"
"Harry, you're not simply a cop, you're a star! A bright shining star in the drab law enforcement sky, outshining all other stars. You're a *super* star.
"Harry," he says, ignoring the lieutenant, "what you need to realize is -- we dockworkers are not pushovers."
"Harry," it begins -- you're already reading. "I wanted to write you a letter, so you can read it when you wake up. Maybe it will make you happy."
"Harry," the big man says with a tragic look on his face. "Had you asked me earlier, I could have used your help in dealing with a certain weasel. It would have really *solidified* our friendship."
"Harry... " he says almost gently. "Honestly, I'm just relieved you didn't get a hernia. A man your age..."
"Harry... it explains *everything*. The running around. The jumping. The *shot-put*. Your inexplicable facial hair..."
"Harry... you're bleeding all over the place. You're half dead."
"Harry..."
"Harry..." He exhales slowly. "I can't see into the future. We are all playing *by ear* on this planet. I had no idea she'd react so strongly."
"Harry..." He shakes his head. "By now you should know I would never do anything tricky like that. However, if the construction noise and limited street access makes *some* people consider moving..."
"Harry..." He sighs. "You wound me, Harry. In the heart. But I trust you to put this to bed. Do what you must and let's change the subject, shall we?"
"Harry..." he repeats. with a quizzical expression. "It's cool. But I'm sure you could come up with something even cooler."
"Harry..." he says gently. "I just know the things that matter to our friendship. And I want you to feel free to ask me about those things."
"Harry? How do you know my name?"
"Harry? Who's Harry -- are you sleeping with him? I'm also Harry!"
"Harry? Who's Harry -- are you sleeping with him? Is *Harry* there?!"
"Harry? Who's Harry?"
"Has any of the scabs tried converting to his world view?"
"Has anyone ever done this before?"
"Has anyone from my Station been to see me?"
"Has anyone from my station been to see me?"
"Has anyone here ever bested him in a physical confrontation?"
"Has anything like this happened to you before? Like... a *seizure*?"
"Has anything like this happened to you before?"
"Has confessed to causing it *at maximum velocity*."
"Has the time come already?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Has this got something to do with you being... Miss Oranje '37?"
"Hate to break it to you, Gary, but rhinos don't just combust in flames."
"Hate to correct you Kim, but only four-thousand-three-hundred-and-ninety-five people were on that protest."
"Hate to tell you, but it reeks of sweat in here."
"Hate-gate, mate-date, no room for the fake-flake -- chicken-chaser night-cake!"
"Have *I* killed anyone?"
"Have *you* seen it?"
"Have I ever told you about my life before the RCM?"
"Have I ever! This is the biggest fan of Ostentatious Orchestrations I have seen in my *life*. And I have seen a few..."
"Have I ever... This is the fabled Cop of the Apocalypse."
"Have I ever... This is the world's most lamentable cop."
"Have I ever... This man has an *unforgettable* way with words."
"Have I ever..." She turns to you. "Have you grown accustomed to your role as a 'police officer'?"
"Have I ever.... This is the one and only Superstar Cop. He's kind of a big deal around here."
"Have I slept with any of them? Yes."
"Have I told you how they discovered this place?" The wind picks up, her raincoat flaps in the gust.
"Have I wronged you? I've done that to a lot of people."
"Have a good day, Mr. Du Bois, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." He waves and returns to his typing.
"Have a good day, Mr. Du Bois, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." He waves and returns to typing.
"Have a good day." [Leave.]
"Have fun." He snorts. "Union shits are on full strike. Don't think they're going to let you through the gates. You trying to meet their fat boss?"
"Have it your way, Mr. Du Bois. You'll be back..."
"Have people from Evrart Claire's Union come here to track that gun?"
"Have some dignity," the woman sighs, turning back to her radiocomputer.
"Have some integrity. You're an officer of the law, not some fat slug's corrupt little crony."
"Have the days always been this long?"
"Have they no shame taking money for a service they provide!"
"Have we firmly established Ruby could have had access to the roof where the man was shot?" (Move on.)
"Have well-armed Jamrock bangers started crossing over into Martinaise?"
"Have you *met* the Wild Pines rep?"
"Have you *seen* him?"
"Have you approached them?"
"Have you asked Lilienne about this? I won't even consider signing till I know she's on board." She hands the envelope back.
"Have you been *spying* on me?"
"Have you been listening to what Egg's been saying? Love is *hard core* man, and a mother's love is the hardest core of all..."
"Have you been questioned before?"
"Have you been raped?"
"Have you been spying on me?"
"Have you been talking to other police officers?"
"Have you by any chance heard the *viejita* say the password to her radiocomputer?"
"Have you come to make me one of them?" His grip on the rifle tightens.
"Have you come to make your offering to Cuno?"
"Have you come to place an order?"
"Have you considered storming in? Like, all of you?"
"Have you even *listened* to it? Like *actually* listened?"
"Have you even *smelled* that jacket? It's like some wretched night-wandering creature died in it."
"Have you ever *really* talked to him?"
"Have you ever been there?"
"Have you ever discovered a cryptid?"
"Have you ever heard what two Giant Seraise Hornets can do to an entire colony of bees? They destroy it."
"Have you ever killed anyone, Kim?"
"Have you ever made a water lock move yourself?" He adds, gesturing toward the water lock control panel to his right. "It's quite the thing. Makes a man feel real powerful."
"Have you ever seen a hornet invade a beehive, lieutenant?" She leans back. "It's not pretty."
"Have you ever thought about a sale? Maybe this could lure in some customers."
"Have you ever thought that maybe things *should* go to shit?" The woman twirls her hair. "I'm Katya by the way..."
"Have you ever tried to find the kind green ape yourself?"
"Have you ever tried your hand at graffito? When faced with a blank wall, most people write unimaginative stuff like *Pigs Go Home* and *Mona was here*."
"Have you ever wanted to change your name, Kim?"
"Have you found your door open lately?"
"Have you got a crush on her? Aching for an opportunity to defend her honour?"
"Have you got any more stories?"
"Have you got any more urban myths?"
"Have you heard back from the ICP about the serial number?"
"Have you looked around? I don't see anything thriving in Martinaise. In fact, all I've seen are failing businesses, struggling to meet ends."
"Have you looked around? I don't see anything thriving in Martinaise. In fact, the only commercial building in the district is rumoured to be cursed because businesses just keep flopping."
"Have you looked for her?"
"Have you no self control?" Then realizing the naivete of the question he looks at the ground. "Please spare me this sight."
"Have you no shame," the man says to his partner. "Whining about your back every time you bring out the measuring tape?"
"Have you notice people sometime appear and disappear in places? It's called *doing things*."
"Have you noticed anything *off* about your friend Gary?"
"Have you noticed how quiet it is?"
"Have you noticed the *quiet?* Every so often, you might hear a gunshot pierce the air somewhere in Jamrock. But in Martinaise? No gunshots, no sirens. The people are languishing in boredom and complacency."
"Have you noticed the winch out back? On the outer wall of the Whirling?"
"Have you removed the dead body from the tree?"
"Have you seen a suspicious woman around here? A woman who looked like she might be on the run?"
"Have you seen a woman named Ruby around here lately?"
"Have you seen a woman named Ruby around here?"
"Have you seen any women around here lately?"
"Have you seen anyone suspicious -- say, a woman named Ruby?"
"Have you seen anyone suspicious around?"
"Have you seen my badge?"
"Have you seen my gun?"
"Have you seen my police man uniform?"
"Have you seen the man living up in the rafters?"
"Have you seen the way he dresses?" The man asks. "It's like he's not even a cop any more. Shows up in here looking like clown, reeking of alcohol. Screams at everyone... I'm done with that guy."
"Have you seen this symbol before?" (Point to it.)
"Have you sought help from anyone?"
"Have you told Gary this?"
"Have you tried concentrating on something other than your personal affairs?"
"Have you tried it before?"
"Have you tried using the key?" The lieutenant nods toward the lock. "I suspect that will work."
"Have you... *experienced* the compressor yourself?"
"Haven't you asked me that already? What is it with you and this woman? She has nothing to do with this. "
"Haven't you heard, officer? We've got to be economically conscious. Recycle your cash, keep it in circulation! Don't buy new things! Buy eco!"
"Haven't you heard? I'm the dirtiest cop this side of the river. I'll make life *hard* for you, using every connection I've got.
"Haven't you heard?" She nods, pedagogically: "I am a nether creature of the forbidden swamp, one of those who pushed the king under a shitwagon and betrayed the Revolution..."
"Haven't you noticed what's going on outside?"
"Haven't you seen the crates outside, Harry? There's all sorts of fun stuff inside them!" He pushes up his glasses as he laughs. "I mean, heck -- this one has you, me, and my novelty swordfish clock!"
"He *could* have kept it with corruption! Fantastic, würm-like corruption that reaches into the bowels of the Earth." She looks at the ground and nods in agreement with herself.
"He *did* present this theory to me -- once before. I had trouble believing it then, but he seems to be convinced. And I've seen him work. His methods are... unorthodox."
"He *fucked* the tree up! Fucked it good! It was porno."
"He *has* displayed addict behaviour. And not *just* to painkillers."
"He *has* displayed addict behaviour. And not just to painkillers."
"He *has* hinted at the possibility before. I have trouble believing him, of course, but he seems to want to convince himself of it. And I've seen him work. His methods are... unorthodox."
"He *is* a juicy bon-bon, that one. A real treat. For the black day -- the blackest. When I put that gun in my own mouth. I think: no, don't waste it. Put this lead in that cock René. For the boys he killed -- and then I look at him throw those balls and I suddenly feel..." He lets out a wistful sigh.
"He *smells* good..." The lieutenant squints his eyes, trying to hold back laughter.
"He *took it out of the bin*? Wow. That's filthy."
"He abides by the hard core, sir. You would have to ask him yourself."
"He acknowledges your joke and asks you to lay off."
"He ain't one of us drivers -- I know that. All accounted for. Otherwise, I haven't really asked about that. Been wastin' time right here. Keepin' busy."
"He also had political reasons."
"He appears to be wearing some kind of armoured boots. I can't see any exotic prints here..." His face muscles twitch. "Someone had to carry him. Are any of the other prints deep enough?"
"He apprehended a revolutionary brigade who stayed hidden for fifty years, ever since the Revolution; who's probably committed other murders over those years..." He pauses. "Oh -- and he also discovered a new species."
"He apprehended a straggler who stayed hidden for fifty years, ever since the Revolution; who's probably committed other murders over those years..." He pauses. "Oh -- and he also discovered a new species."
"He asked if he ever told me about his days before joining the RCM."
"He asked me to deliver an envelope."
"He asked me to open a door."
"He asks you to please stop saying he lost his badge."
"He ate the whole pack, right? It's to cover the smell of alcohol before going home. The worst thing is..."
"He basically just stands on the stage and dances and yells how awesome everything is. It's very catchy."
"He bought the family a huge house, so we got to live... at least temporarily... in a giant *castle* in Jamrock. And then he died."
"He can be very *enterprising*..." The lieutenant looks at his feet, hiding his face.
"He can talk human beings into telling him anything. And he doesn't stop. In all the time I've spent with him, he has not once stopped working on the case. He is tireless. Madly driven."
"He can't *see* it, Kim. It's just the reeds for him."
"He can't be a cop, Harry. He's a child. A child who says 'f****t' every four seconds."
"He can't be a cop, Harry. He's twelve. And he says 'f****t' every four seconds."
"He can't be that bad."
"He can't do that, Cuno! He's tryin'a fuck at you again!"
"He clearly enjoys the physical activity. Guy climbs like a freak!"
"He could also be drugged out of his mind."
"He could be a witness, him or his *Sunday friend*. Either way we need to look into that *muscular type* who's asking about our case..."
"He could be a witness, him or his *Sunday friend*. It's worth looking into..."
"He could be a witness. And either way we need to look into that *muscular type* who's asking about our case..."
"He could be a witness. We should at least rule out the possibility..."
"He could have been walking around naked -- just like this for all we know."
"He defeated History. We are living in the age of History, and in the eyes of History we are always already dead. How can we ever smile, then? Because History is a lie, and so are its deaths..."
"He did *something* -- he stole his employers goods and another, honest lorryman's job. You know..." His smirk turns into a suspicious grin.
"He did *something*. He stole his employers goods and another, honest lorryman's job. Talk to him -- I don't know anything."
"He did everything he could," the lieutenant interrupts him. "*We* did everything we could. The company hired unvetted mercenaries. Lieutenant Du Bois got between them and the locals."
"He did it before we killed him. He's not gonna do it again." He crushes his half-empty beer can. "So what does it matter?"
"He did leave us a sign, did you see that? He wanted to draw our attention to that stone right over there." The lieutenant nods towards a small rock on a soggy patch of grass.
"He did refer to the atrocities in Tien En, yes."
"He did seem distressed when it finally came to arresting him. Like he didn't want to leave this place. And the insect maybe..." He looks at his notebook.
"He did so at considerable risk to his own life. He was shot -- not once, but twice. We stopped an execution, not a negotiation. The loss of life was minimal compared to what it could have been."
"He did so at considerable risk to his own life. He was shot, and survived only because of his armour. We stopped an execution, not a negotiation. The loss of life was minimal compared to what it could have been."
"He did so at considerable risk to his person. Remember -- he was shot. We stopped an execution, not a negotiation. The loss of life was minimal compared to what it could have been."
"He did too many narcotics. So many he fell off his boat and split his skull on a buoy." She rubs soap off her hands. "Folks who saw it, say his head cracked open like a melon. Nasty-nasty."
"He didn't deign to stop to chat ... 98713... hhhsssszzzz... completely lost his mind, or... hhhhhsssssszzzz... prenatal vitamins, because no child is a blank slate... 352628789... shameless asshole..."
"He didn't just stumble in like an oaf," he nods to you. "He figured it out. Some kids told him about a monster on the island. I told you, he has brains." He points to the path leading to the tower.
"He didn't quite *solve* it -- he cross-pollinated information between the company rep and Evrart. Until the rep came to see that the Union desires war. At which point Mrs. Messier decided to..." He shrugs.
"He didn't respect the sea. Went out there drunk like a skunk and sure enough one day the boat was found floating empty. The bloated corpse turned up two weeks later."
"He didn't seem at all worried about the whole conflict that's developing."
"He didn't." A shadow of respect crosses his face. "I hoisted the prick on my back and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."
"He died in the arms of a lover, guarding her *and* the fragile, beautiful corporate interests of Wild Pines against militant labour."
"He died? Was he... murdered?"
"He disappeared? Sounds like a missing persons case."
"He does not appear to be the kind of man who likes his establishment to be part of a neighbourhood ghost story. About *bankruptcy*."
"He does not need your money. Please disregard that. We're just here to ask some questions."
"He does not seem to be *animated* now once it's left..." He looks to the sea. "Honestly, I'm ready to believe anything at this point. Maybe it *is* psychoactive."
"He doesn't have it..." He points to the sea. "Here's an idea. Maybe you could look in the mother fucking motor carriage you drove into the sea? Maybe LOOK THERE?!"
"He doesn't listen to me. He only ever seems to care about *hard core* and *Yekokataa*, 'a place to be' apparently."
"He doesn't seem to have any character flaws. No human being is that perfect."
"He doesn't," the veteran replies sharply. "That was one hundred years ago. Ain't got nothing to do with anything."
"He doesn't." He points to his jolly partner. "I do."
"He drank himself to death."
"He dunno what you're talking about," the first kid says loudly. Or you think it's the first kid -- it could be the second.
"He fell and smashed his head against the bench."
"He followed it?"
"He found it!" The patrol officer picks it up and gives it back to you -- slippery and cold. "He found it, Jean. It's his badge!"
"He found it. It's his badge. I can confirm."
"He fuckin' deserved it."
"He gave me this odd lecture on alcoholism, before rambling on and on about Mother's love."
"He gave up Ruby *and* Klaasje -- to save his own ass."
"He gives up and *I'm* running around?"
"He got high on some weird taxidermy chemicals... I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. Eventually they caused him to lose control of his bladder. The smell was awful."
"He got the name from the Census Bureau and everything else from your actions here in Martinaise."
"He grabbed someone?"
"He grabbed someone?" The lieutenant is trying to make sense of this flood of information.
"He had a combat wound -- on his chin and mouth?"
"He had a tattoo -- what did it mean?"
"He had blue eyes didn't he -- your colonel."
"He had many scars that made him appear older. But no." The memory makes her smile.
"He had something to do with the strike. One has been roiling since I got here. Rotten timing..." She thinks. "But you probably know all about it."
"He has a pen and everything..." She takes it from you, a doubtful look in her eyes, clicks it and places the tip on the paper.
"He has keys. And he likes the view..." He waves gently with his cigarette-holding hand. "To the sea, I mean."
"He has to -- he's the Master of Ceremonies after all."
"He has told me so in his own words -- he's taking it. He'll also use the drug trade to finance the harbour."
"He has... That's true."
"He hears us... The spirit?"
"He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."
"He is *reasonably* lavish, sure. That's his prerogative. It's not like you want a saintly demeanour on a corrupt motherfucker. That would be a manipulative illusion."
"He is -- he's getting better. And I can confirm that he drank a *lot* of alcohol prior to it happening."
"He is a good one, that. Weather resistant."
"He is asking for money."
"He is not the champion I have chosen -- I wish to swear fealty to you and the Cause of Capital."
"He is nothing compared to Measurehead."
"He is the most corrupt individual I have ever seen. And I deal with men like him for a living. If there is anyone more venal, more irredeemably nepotistic -- then it's his twin brother, Edgar."
"He is," he points to the corpse.
"He isn't even drawn right. This is not how human shoulders work, the perspective is all wrong."
"He isn't getting a red cent, you can tell him that!"
"He just had a hunch. Detectives have those sometimes."
"He keeps himself physically active, thinks spiritual thoughts and doesn't drink. Who am I to evict such a person?"
"He kept throwing stones at him for *three days*. I could hear the *thud*, *thud*..." She shakes her head. "So I called you. I hope with all my heart it's not the last thing I do in Revachol."
"He killed him in an act of rage induced by the phasmid's semiochemicals."
"He killed himself all right."
"He killed the mercenary hoping to start a war between the company and the Union."
"He killed the mercenary in an act of jealousy."
"He kills?"
"He knows everything about me."
"He knows where we are. He just wants directions." The lieutenant seems uncomfortable with the level of disorientation you are displaying.
"He left his native village of Hjelmdall after his son was kidnapped, having many exciting adventures and killing many enemies with his swords, but he lost his family in the process. Tragic stuff, really."
"He liked the way it *sounded* when he said it. As for Li Shmin..." The young woman lights a new cigarette with the butt of her old one.
"He liked the way it *sounded* when he said it. As to Li Shmin..." The young woman lights a new cigarette with the butt of her old one.
"He liked to get high and tell brag about war crimes he'd committed."
"He likes to fire mortars at random coordinates. Wipe out mud-huts like that. When he gets *bored*. Lely knew how to command."
"He lives upstairs in room #28. Go to the balcony. It's one of those doors there," she points east. "He's usually home in the evening."
"He looked like a banger, okay? He was all muscular and stuff. Had a mesh tanktop. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that only made it scarier, in a way..."
"He looks just like me," the other one says.
"He looks like me. I could have ended up just like him -- dead on some empty boardwalk with a bottle next to my corpse."
"He lost his *what* now?!"
"He lost his partner, the binoclard. Cops can't function without their butt-buddies."
"He lost the scope. Then it somehow made it's way over there. With the help of a magpie phasmid?" The lieutenant observes lens sparkle in your hand.
"He made concessions for the company in previous negotiations. Why would you let an ally like that go?"
"He made the initial investment. Since then he's been what you might call a *silent partner*."
"He may have been a communard, but we're in agreement about that. Still, I imagine the architecture is quite lovely."
"He may have committed *other* murders over the years."
"He may have committed other murders over the years -- we have him confessing to one too. A big one."
"He may not look like an corporate spy, but that's what makes him so effective."
"He means it."
"He means like one of those rich-boy private radio stations, where you can listen to people getting killed on. Then jerk off to it... sick shit."
"He means the book store -- we have to ask..." He checks his notes. "*Plaisance* is the mother of the little girl peddling books on the plaza. We have to ask Plaisance, in the store."
"He means the bookstore -- we have to ask the proprietor of the bookstore."
"He means the people living in Graad."
"He means you fucked him up good, Cuno," the girl yells. "Fucked him up brutal-like."
"He meant *join* us. At Precinct 41. Transfer."
"He might have information about a killing that took place behind the hostel."
"He must be *really* out of it, yelling like that. Well, at least he's *alive*...." Officer Minot in the blue uniform frowns: "Jean, maybe something *happened*? He's in distress..."
"He must have been in the container when someone accidentally closed the door."
"He must have had a weapon nearby. Did you use that?"
"He must have seen you."
"He probably pawned it for booze and then forgot about it. You know how drunk men are..."
"He probably worded it differently, but that was the idea. Sure sounded to me like they killed him." He chuckles. "I gave them two weeks paid leave and told them to lay low to avoid retaliation."
"He purchased a remarkably garish paperweight the first time he was here... Nothing the second."
"He said I'm his 'pig hooker' or something, whatever that is."
"He said Mr Evrart sent you to law school?"
"He said communism killed him."
"He said it belonged to a weasel."
"He said it was for his nose. What more do you want?"
"He said love did him in."
"He said no such thing." She accidentally raises her voice. "This isn't about me."
"He said that the bear was his *vision beast*. He said he met his *vision beast* while high on desiccants. He called it 'Megatherion.'"
"He said to thank you. Wasn't too keen on chasing down that armour anyway."
"He said you were in debt to Mr Claire."
"He said you're Mr. Evrart's *Doux et Sucré* Death Machine."
"He said you're now the king of the entire *Jamrock*?!"
"He said you're the union fixer. You fix things."
"He saved some *maudit* princeling who foolishly strolled into the front line in his gown of velvet and gold."
"He says he didn't lose his gun -- *or* his fun, whatever that means."
"He says he didn't."
"He says he doesn't have it."
"He says he needs money."
"He says he's in trouble, doesn't have a place to sleep."
"He says he's sorry and he didn't mean nothing by it."
"He says it's important to the case."
"He says it's just a regular gun."
"He says this has probably happened to other policemen before him and laughs sarcastically."
"He says you're *stupid*, Cuno! They want to make you stupid again!"
"He seemed... a little *off* for a man his age. Randy."
"He seems intoxicated and keeps asking me to call him by his name."
"He seems like a cool guy."
"He should be back by now."
"He should be more careful, that Johannes. Can I have the card?"
"He should what?"
"He smells good and that's weird."
"He smells good. Why on earth does he smell so good?"
"He sounded vaguely Oranjese." He closes his eyes. "No, not vaguely, scratch that. He sounded *definitely* Oranjese."
"He still hasn't come home?"
"He stopped right before he got to the floor, then just hung there like that, looking at me. Right at me. I fucking turned around and walked out. End of story."
"He takes care of shit. Sorry, I mean he's got a *vision*. Of what life should be, you know. He tries to push things until everything falls into place. He's an organizer."
"He told me -- love did him in."
"He told me he asked you out. Are you saying it didn't happen?"
"He told me you promised to 'sic the pigs' on him."
"He tried. Wanted to come to some *mutually beneficial arrangement* around my dealings with the dockworkers... I politely declined to *hear him out*."
"He used reactionary slurs on my crime scene."
"He wants to build a youth centre here. For the children of Martinaise."
"He wants to know who you are."
"He wants to verify the information on his badge."
"He was *deceased*. He had been decomposing for a week."
"He was Occidental I think. Light brown hair, a mix accent. Oranjese, or Messinian maybe? His injury gave him an accent all his own..."
"He was a blue-eyed boy with thick arms. From a small town. He was also *poor*, and the government of Oranje needed some people killed, so they turned him into a grotesque killer -- for money."
"He was a good commander. I can see you miss him."
"He was a killer. But he was still under the protection of the law."
"He was a mercenary."
"He was a motherfucker and a killer."
"He was a poor kid before the Oranjese government put him in a military academy."
"He was a prig who wouldn't dance with me."
"He was a rapist. I'm not saying he didn't deserve it."
"He was a soldier too. He was a man."
"He was alright."
"He was an agent of the opposition, attempting to undermine our honourable efforts."
"He was brooding, needed some help opening the door. You got it open for him and took him to think about what he'd done in a more secluded place. Somewhere more quiet."
"He was by no means a stupid man..." She takes a long drag of her cigarette, then washes it down with coffee. "A people person, a small platoon leader. Certainly not a patriot."
"He was dead *before* you hanged him?"
"He was definitely controversial. The tenant here seems to like him..." He leans closer to inspect the photos of revolutionaries on the wall.
"He was forty-two."
"He was forty. Or fifty. It's hard to say which, he had a combat injury on his lower jaw. It made it difficult to estimate his age, or gauge his facial expressions."
"He was found as a newborn, in a leaf compactor, near an abandoned farm. He spent 4 months in the neonatal unit -- survived, apparently -- and was assigned to a foster family at two."
"He was good. On the island. He can do this."
"He was hanged from a tree."
"He was heavy. I pushed him off and he fell to the floor -- there." She points through the window. "He only had his boots on. I bit the pillow... not to scream, then ran downstairs..."
"He was like the Semenese conflict, the Li Shmin massacre, and the '36 famine in Yeesut all rolled into one person, then cast in Oranjese ceramic armour. Which he wore in bed *and* in the shower..."
"He was like the Semenese conflict, the Li Shmin massacre, and the '36 famine in Yeesut all rolled into one person, then encased in Oranjese ceramic armour. Which he wore in bed *and* in the shower..."
"He was lost, without any navigation equipment and desperately low on water. After a day or two he noticed a bird high in the noon sky. A great black bird, it seemed gargantuan."
"He was my half-brother."
"He was out drinking with his pals when he got the news, and, flushed with paternal pride, he got into his Coupris at once and raced to the clinic..."
"He was screaming that I'm trying to molest him, while I clearly wasn't."
"He was sent to protect fair, just, beautiful corporate interests in an ugly labour dispute. He was murdered."
"He was shot from a great distance. A *sniper* did it."
"He was shot in the head *before* he was hanged."
"He was still on the floor. Slouched. I couldn't be there with him any more. So I ran down -- and out of my room. Into the hallway. Down the stairs. I knew there would be people there."
"He was still warm, but the blueish light coming through the broken window made him look as though he'd been dead for a good long while..."
"He was taken out behind the Whirling-in-Rangs and lynched. Last Sunday night."
"He was taken to the city morgue. The local coroner will be contacting you shortly to arrange the funeral. Here's his number in case you want to contact him earlier."
"He was the biggest star of his day. Girls used to faint in the aisles of the cinema whenever he came on the screen, and school boys used to memorize all his lines..." She leans back, savouring the world she's conjured up.
"He was the commanding officer and I was on duty. Just doing my job. Shouldn't hand out medals for that..." He shakes his head. "13 months later I received 'The Sun'. For distinguished service. It's not worth mentioning."
"He was tormenting me with outrageous demands for *money*."
"He was wearing boots, trousers and an old leather jacket with a bright blue lining. I found a library card from his pockets."
"He wasn't *actually* there -- he didn't do a tour, or at least didn't tell me he did. Would've been overkill anyway. He lived his own little Li Shmin. It was in his... *everything*."
"He wasn't actually there -- not from what he told me, at least. But he might as well have been. I could see he'd lived his own little Li Shmin. It was in his... *everything*."
"He wasn't hanged!" The lieutenant shouts. "He was shot! By someone in Martinaise. They're *helping* us find the shooter."
"He wasn't my fucking brother! We just grew up on the same farm and got beat into place by the same sick fuck..."
"He wasn't particularly forthcoming with useful information, however."
"He wasn't trying to impress anyone. I think he *wants* things to escalate."
"He wasn't, that's the thing." He sighs heavily. "Titus, Theo, Dennis, Angie... they're all gone, but he got away without a scratch."
"He went to Killer Academy in Vredefort. Then he killed some people on the Semenine islands. And on other islands too -- all of the islands. After this he came to Revachol and got killed himself."
"He what...? He lost his badge?!"
"He will grant us three wishes."
"He will." (Point to Alain.) "You just need to sober him up, that's all."
"He won't be down there long, miss. We will move the body to the morgue soon."
"He won't care." The old veteran glances at his partner. "As long as there's food in his fat belly, he'll lick any boot that's kicking it to him..."
"He worked for Krenel -- like Joyce told us. This is military equipment, provided by a wealthy security contractor. With state ties. *Way* above what we have."
"He'd still be into you. That's not how these things work."
"He'll put the fiddle down." He turns to you. "Put it down, officer."
"He'll tell you his name is Raphael, but his real name is Herve, so make sure you call him that."
"He's *bad news*." Kim removes his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief. "There have been attempts at a serious investigation before, but they... haven't ended well for those involved."
"He's *thinking*. Let the man think." The lieutenant defends you.
"He's a 'hero' from the frozen northlands. He travels to all sorts of lands and mainly kills people. There are hundreds of books in the series... and they sell incredibly well."
"He's a Faubourger I guess, like the rest of us. Okay, maybe not Egg, I don't know about him, but Noid and the rest are from Faubourg, making the pilgrimage up north to visit The Paliseum."
"He's a Union man through and through. Good guy." He falls silent, hesitating. "He's very calm... laid back. Doesn't do much. Talks to Evrart sometimes."
"He's a beautiful man. Beautiful and *just*."
"He's a bloated rainbow-socialist."
"He's a bright young man here to pursue his education. Education is the foundation of our future, especially the arts. It is a cornerstone of our civilization."
"He's a carpenter. Trained and all. He's very good, he just doesn't have the mindset to work like that -- in a shop somewhere."
"He's a communard. The victim was a mercenary. We should get him talking politics again. You could even tell him we already *have* a motive."
"He's a dangerous and corrupt man, and we cannot predict what he will want from us in return."
"He's a ginger. What else do you need to know?"
"He's a little ginger gremlin who likes to defile dead bodies."
"He's a music-based superstar, right?"
"He's a quiet man, mostly communicates through music... and by being a master of ceremonies."
"He's a scaredy cat." The woman looks at Gary, her eyes motherly.
"He's a sharp one," she says to herself and runs her hand across the washboard.
"He's a tough cookie, that one."
"He's a trained sniper. The weapon he used is more than capable of making the shot."
"He's a truly free spirit. He likes all the arts. Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows. The world is open wide for a talented youth like him."
"He's about to blow! The cop's gonna blow, Cuno!"
"He's actually *not* wanted for murder. We just want to talk with him.
"He's already planning to go to war with Wild Pines. It's definitely the kind of thing he'd do."
"He's always leaving... Why is he always leaving, Kim?"
"He's an asshole."
"He's an old man, Harry. I wanted him to spend more time with his family." He looks down and sighs. "God knows how long he's got left."
"He's asking who you are."
"He's asking you to stop. Says this is serious."
"He's beaten up -- see the bruises?"
"He's been by the shop a couple of times." He gives a lazy half-shrug.
"He's been fuckin' *eating* in the kitchen!" The rat faced man explodes. "The cop and the lardo don't have shit."
"He's been here for a long time. Who knows how much of it in its company?" (Conclude.)
"He's been on about Mike again?" The detective shakes his head. "I hate that guy."
"He's been stealing locusts from some cryptozoologists."
"He's been throwing rocks at a corpse."
"He's calling us f****ts, Cuno! He says we're fucking each other."
"He's cobbling together shit so he can put her away. It's Cop 101."
"He's coming around." He nods at his friend, then turns to you with a mischievous grin: "You're *getting* it."
"He's dangerous..."
"He's deeply enmeshed in the study of the fine arts, yes."
"He's describing his Pepperbox alright."
"He's extremely clever like that. Careful, though, he'll also try to convince you that you owe him money."
"He's fine, ma'am. He couldn't get back earlier because the water lock on the canal was broken. He should be back soon."
"He's fine, ma'am. He couldn't get back earlier because the water lock on the canal was broken. Now he's just finishing up some work."
"He's fine, ma'am. He couldn't get back earlier because the water lock on the canal was broken. Now he's just finishing up some work..."
"He's fine. He couldn't get back before because the water lock on the canal was broken. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
"He's flashing Cuno, he's showing his genitals! If you don't help Cuno now it will be too late!"
"He's from Graad -- a kojko," the lieutenant informs you.
"He's going into some kind of... psycho-motor immobility." The lieutenant inspects him gently. "The good news is -- this solves our transportation problem. Doesn't it Mr Dros?"
"He's gone." The lieutenant puts away his notebook and turns to you.
"He's gonna fucking mi..."
"He's gonna sleep it off, I know this shit."
"He's here to see if you're insane. He's smart. Let's move on."
"He's in a better place now."
"He's in some kind of a self-destruction mode with that hair of his. Bleaching it like that. Probably wants to get rid of it altogether."
"He's in the morgue."
"He's into some ancient warrior shit. Hate shit. Pressure cook him. Push it on him, like -- motive shit. Pig style."
"He's investigating a lead on his own. Listen, I need help."
"He's just on edge because of the lynching. Don't judge him too harshly. Anyway, I'm glad you weren't injured."
"He's known as the father of scientific communism, also known as Mazovianism. His theories about economic history greatly influenced -- some would even say *sparked* -- the Antecentennial Revolution."
"He's my sister's grandson. He used to visit me as a lad... Fine young man..."
"He's not *that* bad."
"He's not a communist. That's just something he likes to yell. He picked it up from a tape-jockey at The Paliseum... *she* was a communist though."
"He's not dead, he's in the hospital."
"He's not gonna off himself, C'mon!"
"He's not racist and there is no rally." He turns to you. "There is no Carly either, it's a joke. Let's move on -- or get some air."
"He's not replying. Looks like he is still looking for it." You can hear laughter in the background.
"He's old and fried. Cuno's seen this... like, after a massive bender. Cuno's dad..." He stops mid sentence.
"He's one of the most highly regarded men in the force. You're lucky."
"He's probably dead by now -- even his shack is long gone... not that it matters. These buildings are all carbon copies of one another."
"He's probably in his container at the harbour, so head right on in there." He re-adjusts the beret on his head.
"He's probably in the Pox, drinking with his friends. I sent him to the library a few days ago, but I guess something came up..." She smiles sourly.
"He's ready for a war. They all are."
"He's real hard core about the lifestyle."
"He's resting. It's been rough around here. Listen, I need assistance."
"He's right you know." The lieutenant nods towards René. "We're supposed to be protecting people -- not take advantage of them. Now wrap this up."
"He's right, dear Morell. Come now, we've waited so long, what's one more season?"
"He's right, you know. You're very pretty."
"He's right, you know." The lieutenant notes dryly. "Great work, but the not shaking people's hands thing -- is a little odd."
"He's right. There will be slow, simmering, hideous civil war. The beginnings of a failed state. No apocalyptic rapture, just ugliness."
"He's right. You're undermining our best shot at real self-determination."
"He's saying he lost his badge."
"He's seen *you*."
"He's smoking and drinking of course. And his chest and shoulders and arms are studded with stars. Tens, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands."
"He's so cool, completely out of this world."
"He's so proud of it. He always tells everyone..."
"He's so rich he could get in anywhere."
"He's sort of the king around here."
"He's spent a month behind enemy lines scouting kipt villages. Nothing but fucking bugs and snakes for fun. Men are getting restless... there's talk of switching *employers*..." He licks his lips, as if drunk suddenly.
"He's still there, on the boardwalk."
"He's such a good listener, I liked talking to him."
"He's telling the truth. You were a gym teacher in Couron." She looks around. "It's getting really cold outside. Should we maybe..."
"He's the Samaran guy who likes to pretend he's some kinda businessman... Really he's just selling his employers stuff. Stuff he *stole* after he broke the seals on his Humanox lorry."
"He's the real deal, he has a badge."
"He's the real deal, he has a gun now."
"He's the real deal."
"He's there, doing... *what* exactly I don't know," Satellite-Officer Vicquemare points at the ruins. "Behind that anti-aircraft-something. That's why we can't see him."
"He's tryin'a forget it Cuno. Don't let him forget it just like that."
"He's tryin'a fuck at you again, Cuno!"
"He's tryin'a fuck you again!"
"He's trying to woo us with cop science. Forensics shit. I've heard this mambo jambo."
"He's wanted for murder. He's goin' away for life."
"He's wounded." He looks at you. "It's been a long week -- and he's handled an actual corpse."
"He's wounded." He looks at you. "It's been a long week."
"He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."
"He's your man, alright. One-hundred percent. He's a lorryman selling his employers stuff -- broke the seals on his Humanox lorry. No doubt he's selling drugs too."
"He, uh... being a Communard probably had to do with it. You know, class warfare stuff."
"He... He said he sodomized your mother."
"He... has a problem with drinking. And so he... disappears every now and then."
"He... he terminated the connection." The radio operator is no longer speaking to the microphone and is addressing someone in the background. "I guess he was in a hurry..."
"He... he... hekkhhhh..."
"He... so you spoke with the victim *before* he died?"
"Head. Yes!"
"Heading home to Grand Couron or Betancourt... Some place like that. Where they build those new batiments for the people who flourish in the hell around her. And the ruins..."
"Heads up, lieutenant. Something's not right here."
"Hear that, Kim? I am a *huge* deal around here."
"Hear that, detective Pig? You're a fuckin' hero now."
"Hear that?" He grins with glee. "Sounds like the missing part of van Eyck's jam!"
"Heavens no, I'm not an undercover agent. There's a shortwave at the ship's wheel," she nods toward the sloop's cabin.
"Heavens, no. There have been *two* prior strikes. Both times the Union won significant concessions -- including overtime pay *and* a medical plan. This time their demands are more... I guess you could say *aggressive*."
"Heck," he says with a chuckle. "*Technically* we're both still engaged to her."
"Heh!" She smiles aggressively. "Sounds like you've spent too much time undercover in some rock band."
"Heh". The old man squints and looks you straight in the eye -- two black beads, moist from the sea air.
"Heh, yes of course." He seems to relax a bit. "I hope it hurts like hell, I hope he sweats blood. Must be torture -- not to throwing his balls for a *whole week*..."
"Heh, yes, of course..." He mutters to himself. "Must be passing a kidney stone. I hope it's excruciating. At least it keeps him from throwing his balls..."
"Heh," He chuckles. "Just look at the three of us. The three careless boiadeiros. Good times, good times..."
"Heh," he scoffs. "She's a sentimental alcoholic. They all are, Harry. Never take a drop and you'll be eight laps ahead of the upper-class winos, just like old Mr. Claire here. Try it. You'll be a real superdetective."
"Heh." A condescending chortle. "I knew you people don't understand *poetry*."
"Heh." He does not fall for it. "It was someone. *Someone* shot her," he shrugs. His eyes grow cold suddenly.
"Heh." he smiles. "The little *boia* did good on his promise."
"Heh..."
"Heh..." A mirthless laugh. "Cock carousel -- I think I understand now. It's what they ride. Until, like, 39."
"Heh..." A sputter again, nothing more.
"Heh..." A sputter from the old man.
"Heh..." He shakes his silver-grey head.
"Heh..." Not a muscle moves in the wrinkled face. "I'd like to see him try. If anything, *I* am gonna muscle *him* out with construction noise."
"Heh..." a sputter again. "Now that sounds like you want me to *testify* in your charade of law. My days are numbered. Let them rot away in a Moralintern cell -- I've said all I will." He coughs.
"Hehe, I'm not so sure about the hustle- grind, but..." He waves at you. "You know, it doesn't matter. It's a good thing you're doing. Thanks."
"Heiligeili!"
"Hell island? Finally."
"Hell no! Can you imagine how much work that would take? Why would I do that when I can just speculate on exotic financial derivatives from the comfort of this shipping container?"
"Hell no!" he exclaims. "They'd fuck it up. They can't do anything right. I mean my *real* boys. My special task force boys."
"Hell no, I had no idea. And I'm still cross with him to be honest. It's not like him. He's got his quirks, but dishonesty -- or disloyalty -- are not one of them."
"Hell no, I'm not *alright*! You see what this job's doing to me? Huh? No, it's cool. I WANT YOU to see."
"Hell no, I'm not *alright*! You see what this job's doing to me? Huh? No, it's cool. I WANT YOU to see." (Begin tugging at your shirt.)
"Hell no. I'm just an honest scab. I won't have talk like that around here, you understand?"
"Hell no. It's a *guild*. Invitation only. Unions work for the rich fucks. They're basically the same. Been trying to fuck us out of our heritage in the name of profits. But you can't replace experience."
"Hell yeah! Tequila Sunset all the way!"
"Hell yeah!" The lieutenant exclaims. "My climbing might not have been as disco as your jump, but can we still get an Ace's High?"
"Hell yeah, man." The shopkeep sounds enthusiastic. "I don't usually carry printed tees, but this one was just such a pure exemplar."
"Hell yeah." He picks up a small hammer and holds it out, ritualistically.
"Hell yes!"
"Hell yes!" The red-nosed drunk brings his hand up to his head for a salute.
"Hell, I get longing. I've felt something similar since I woke up."
"Hell, you both look like you could use some feminine company right now."
"Hell. Keep at it, pig!"
"Hell? You know not of which you speak!"
"Hello again! How do you do, officer? I'm *still* waiting for Mr. F-ing Field Research over there to be done with his traps."
"Hello again! Very generous of you to help us out, officer. I can't wait to get out of here."
"Hello again!" He nods to you, smiling.
"Hello again, esteemed officer," she keeps reciting like a robot. "And welcome to Crime, Romance and Biographies of Famous People."
"Hello again, esteemed officer. And welcome to Crime, Romance and Biographies of Famous People."
"Hello again, esteemed officer. And welcome to Crime, Romance and Biographies of Famous People." Her stare is cold and hars but the line remains the same.
"Hello again, ma'am. So why did you need to make that call?"
"Hello again, my man." He greets you. "What's on your mind?
"Hello again, officer. How are things?"
"Hello again, officer."
"Hello again, officer." She sounds tired now. All the pep is gone.
"Hello again, officers. Have you come to admire my mural?"
"Hello again, sir! Are you interested in a new and exciting book this time?" She sways slowly on her feet.
"Hello again, sir!" The girl is sipping on her hot juice. She looks at you with shy amusement.
"Hello again, sweetie. I see you've met up with your colleague." She looks at the lieutenant.
"Hello again, sweetie." Her grey eyes shine above the rims of her glasses.
"Hello again. How can I help you?"
"Hello again." She turns around. "You must really like walking through the dark. What can I help you with?"
"Hello again." The girl looks up at you for a moment before turning back to her work.
"Hello hello! Let me know if I can help you with anything."
"Hello hello! What can I do for you?"
"Hello hello!" He gets up. "What can I do for you, officer?"
"Hello! Are you there? Speak to me!"
"Hello! Did you say anything?" There's a pause. "I can't hear you, please come upstairs! There's a safety curtain on the second floor, I'll open it!"
"Hello! I'm Gary. How do you do, officer?"
"Hello! I'm Gary. Very generous of you to help us out, officer."
"Hello! Isn't this a fine morning?" He nods to you, smiling.
"Hello! Lena and I were just discussing the design of the new trap."
"Hello! Who is it?" A voice calls out from the other side of the door.
"Hello!"
"Hello, Alice, please assist our colleague from the 41st Precinct here. I'm putting him on."
"Hello, Girard speaking!"
"Hello, I'm Andre. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Hello, I'm Billie. Would you like something to drink? Tea, lemonade?" she asks nervously. "We're out of coffee, I was supposed to get some tomorrow..."
"Hello, I'm Kim Kitsuragi." He looks unfazed. "Lieutenant, Precinct 57. You must be from the 41st..."
"Hello, I'm Kim Kitsuragi." His grip is firm. "Lieutenant, Precinct 57. You must be from the 41st..."
"Hello, I'm Neha." A bird-like woman sits on a throne of tools, with emerald light shining through her hair.
"Hello, I'm Trant Heidelstam. I believe we've met on several occasions."
"Hello, compatriot!" He recognizes you. "You have something to discuss?"
"Hello, darkness."
"Hello, dear. It's good to see a familiar face." The elderly woman smiles up at you hopefully.
"Hello, detective."
"Hello, detective." She fastens the end of the line around the post and straightens her back.
"Hello, detectives." She fastens the end of the line around the post and straightens her back.
"Hello, is there anybody in there?"
"Hello, ma'am."
"Hello, mister!" A young girl, barely four-five years old, sits on the sofa. She is looking at you with frank curiosity.
"Hello, mister!" The Net Picker's daughter waves at you.
"Hello, officer! I think I almost have it! A new trap design, that is! I know you're sceptical, but I have a good feeling about this."
"Hello, officer! Name's Gary. Boy, am I ever so grateful to you! But I'm not the only one who wants to thank you..." He nods toward Lena.
"Hello, officer."
"Hello, officer." He turns to you. "How might I be of assistance on this fine day?"
"Hello, officer." Legs crossed, she leans back against the railing. "What brings you up here again?"
"Hello, sir! Step right in, the store is open!" A young girl with chubby red cheeks waves at you, smiling. Her nose is also red from the cold.
"Hello, sir. Got time for a few questions?"
"Hello, sir. How is the investigation going? Found any *cuuurses* yet?"
"Hello, sweetie. How are you?" She sounds tired.
"Hello, sweetie."
"Hello, sweetie." The elderly woman turns to you with a smile.
"Hello, this is the police calling. I have some questions for you about your last days at work."
"Hello-hello. So what brings you here?"
"Hello. I don't know who I am."
"Hello. I have, uh, law enforcement business with you."
"Hello. Who are you?"
"Hello."
"Hello." (Adjust your tie.)
"Hello." (No ceremonies. Just hello.)
"Hello." She nods, her attention fully focused on reading.
"Hello." She sounds sleepy.
"Hello... hello... hello...." (Mimic echo.) "Is there anybody out there?"
"Hello? I yelled, but it didn't work..."
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Hello?"
"Hello?" you hear a woman's voice answer.
"Help me, I'm poor. I need money to keep living."
"Help you? No, sorry, gendarme..." He shakes his charming head. "I have to run."
"Help! He's digging his dick out!!!"
"Help!"
"Help!" The boy joins in. "He's got the Cuno!!! HELP!!!"
"Help, Kim, I think I'm turning into some kind of an hyper-star!"
"Help, Kim, help! My brain's on fire!"
"Help, misters! HELP!" He prances around, eyes bulging out of their sockets, rolling hard, yelling at the windows...
"Help, people!" His face is contorted with hideous laughter. "The RCM is trying to fuck Cuno in the ass!"
"Help, the RCM is trying to fuck Cuno in the ass!" Tears of joy mix with sweat smelling of laundry detergent on his face.
"Help.. someone..."
"Helped them?" He falls silent for a moment. "I don't see what more we could have done?"
"Hep. Yeah, when were you last tested?"
"Her *proposal* was likely part of her design. This all is."
"Her friends, colleagues?" He shrugs. "She must be quite educated if she knew how to set up all this machinery."
"Her idea?"
"Her journal? We should probably leaf through it. Might learn something useful."
"Her life."
"Her name is Klaasje and she's already in police custody."
"Her name is Klaasje and she's at the Whirling-in-Rags."
"Her passport. And tickets to Villers." He coughs. "And from there to Casherbrume."
"Her people? She's one them? Then she hates them. Then everyone's a *näkk* and she's trapped? Look..."
"Her situation is pretty bad, wherever she is. Maybe she'd hide some place that's meaningful to her?"
"Her, who?"
"Her..." he repeats, with strange slowness.
"Her...." He repeats, staring at the ashes -- then at the reeds. There's a twitch in the corner of his eye.
"Her...." He repeats, staring at the ashes -- then the reeds. There's a twitch in the corner of his eye.
"Herding the strikebreakers like that -- I kept an eye on them." He stares inland, then back at you.
"Here -- a souvenir." He hands you the piece of rolled up photo paper. It's no larger than a pack of cigarettes. "Don't lose it."
"Here -- in Revachol."
"Here -- you're one of us now. A real red and white Union man. Take care, Harry."
"Here I am. I am the face and I'm here to answer -- Rejoyce Leyton."
"Here are many options before leaving."
"Here in Martinaise."
"Here in Revachol."
"Here in the Whirling, here in Martinaise, or here in Revachol?"
"Here in the Whirling."
"Here it is. Sorry for the trouble."
"Here on the Insulindian isola."
"Here we are! You haven't rented anything in five years, but you still have a copy of *Blue Ocean Hell* from November '46. Wooh, not a fun film, that one."
"Here we go -- alcoholic delirium. *Visions*. All must pay..." He shakes his head.
"Here we go again!!!"
"Here we go, hyper-soul, inside -- into the MEGA-heart!"
"Here we go, sir: Rue de Saint-Ghislaine 33B, apartment no 20. It's in Martinaise, I believe... Capeside Apartments, it says. That's all."
"Here we go. Nice and easy. No way out, little guys, not out of this jam..."
"Here you can receive the Mother's love, and, when you're ready, she will take your hand and lift you out of the despair at the bottom of the bottle."
"Here you go, boss!" The tall blonde throws him a can. Titus cracks it open.
"Here you go, friend." He hands you a tiny bottle with a straw. The powder looks clotted and quite mouldy.
"Here you go, man." He presents a large cap-shaped object on the palm of his hand. Very odd-looking...
"Here you go, mister."
"Here you go, officer." He hands you the pin. "Anything else I can do for you today?"
"Here you go." The clerk removes the  garment from the lower shelf and hands it over.
"Here's 1.50 for a pilsner."
"Here's 100 reál."
"Here's 130 reál."
"Here's 30 reál."
"Here's 60 reál."
"Here's 70 reál."
"Here's a drink, kid. It's alcohol. This should make us friends." (Extend the bottle of liquor.)
"Here's a fresh batch of locusts. They should slide right down the funnel. And thank you again. We will definitely mention you, should this lead to a discovery. I'm not talking co-discovery, of course, but..."
"Here's a round of seed funding. This should be enough to prove out the concept and get things off the ground."
"Here's an idea. Maybe the locusts ate *themselves*?"
"Here's the *cursed* die you ordered," the dicemaker opens her desk drawer and hands you a tiny black sphere with six phrases written on it.
"Here's the 100 reál you need for your bill. Do *not* waste it." The rest goes in his pocket.
"Here's the 130 reál you need for your bill. Do *not* waste it." The rest goes in his pocket.
"Here's the 30 reál you need for your bill. Do *not* waste it." The rest goes in his pocket.
"Here's the 60 reál you need for your bill. Do *not* waste it." The rest goes in his pocket.
"Here's the 70 reál you need for your bill. Do *not* waste it." The rest goes in his pocket.
"Here's the kicker -- this designer, this *lead designer* of a world famous design studios -- was *born* in Martinaise. A local boy. Martin Martinaise."
"Here's the money for the spirits."
"Here's three reál, how much can you get for this?"
"Here's to you, honoured dead."
"Here's your amber die," the dicemaker opens her desk drawer and hands you a die the colour of dark syrup.
"Here's your prize." He drops the bullet in an evidence bag and puts it in your hand -- your other hand, the one *not* covered in blood and cerebral cortex.
"Here's your trash container key."
"Here, I want to give you a small token of my gratitude." She hands you a thin ribbon held together by a silver bird skull. "It's a tie, Mesque in origin. The pin is an antique... quite special."
"Here, I've got a Potent Pilsner." (Give it.)
"Here, Kim! Let's share." (Hold out the sandwich.)
"Here, catch!" She tosses you the dice. "They're a gift from me."
"Here, jerkwad!" He slams an audiotape on the table. "Listen to this shit, and then come back and tell me the *Soldier of Apocalypse* was an innocent man."
"Here, let a pro show you how it's done." (Turn some knobs at random.)
"Here, something to remember your friend by..." (Give him the photograph of René and the girl.)
"Here, take this." (Give her the lieutenant's handkerchief.)
"Here, use my pen." (Give her your pen.)
"Here," he hands you the chaincutters back and then kneels closer to the body -- running his finger along the dark red groove. Until he comes to a a gap...
"Here," she suddenly says, rising her ink-stained fingertip, "I found it."
"Here."
"Here." He takes a keyring from his pocket -- then looks at it before giving it to you. In silence...
"Here." Kim takes out his handkerchief and offers it to the woman. She nods and slowly wipes away her tears.
"Here..." He uncorks the bottle and holds it under your nose. "Be careful, it's extremely flammable. One spark and the entire City of Revachol is wiped off the map."
"Here? For you?" She lets out a dry chortle. "No, officer. The only money we have here is some coins the drunks tried hiding from their women -- and then forgot about."
"Here?" He looks around. "I don't see signs of recent habitation. This place is abandoned."
"Here?" She looks around. "Oh no... what does that bloated hellbat want with my little cinder block town?"
"Heroic doses, *xerife*. Heroic."
"Hers -- you mean..."
"Hers?"
"Hetero -- sexual. Life -- partners."
"Hetero... sexual. Life... partners."
"Hey *tough guy*, I had more questions."
"Hey -- hey." He waves his hand under his nose. "You took the shot -- bang! -- and got rid of the evidence. *Bug* brought it back. Sound about right?"
"Hey -- how do you know about Al Gul?"
"Hey -- why not support *this* local entrepreneur? You can start by buying a pair of sexy pants. Or cool sunglasses... maybe some macaroni?"
"Hey Abs!" He shouts to the mumbling drunkard next to him. "HEY ABS!"
"Hey Abs!" He shouts to the non-responsive drunk still dribbling drool from the side of his mouth.
"Hey Andre, what's all this?" (Continue.)
"Hey Cuno -- think you can turn *the Cuno* down for a moment? Let's talk like normal people."
"Hey Cuno... got any speed?"
"Hey Kim! Come help me spot the instigator."
"Hey Kim, check this out!"
"Hey Kim, look -- old cybernetics."
"Hey Kim, where are we?"
"Hey Kim, who is this rooftop message for?"
"Hey Kim. Do you know who *shelled* our city?"
"Hey asshole, up here! We're talking to you!"
"Hey kid, a word. Police business."
"Hey lieutenant. What is this?" (Point to the sticker.)
"Hey man, I'm not judging." He waves the bottle towards you. "This life's a valley of woes. Some of the highest-concept people in history have killed themselves -- *and* been drunks."
"Hey man, that's serious criminal talk. Are you trying to pull some sort of an... entrapment thing on me?"
"Hey man, who knows what she's on about." He scoffs. "I get it, she doesn't want us into the church. She's got something against us."
"Hey man, you know. There are all sorts of Invasions... " He looks at his boots, then you. "I thought we could rely on the cops. We're in this together, whether you realize it or not."
"Hey man, you've stood there for like... half an hour!" The hedgehog-haired man yells from across the coldness of the church.
"Hey man. What can I do for you?" The girl looks up.
"Hey now!" He furrows his brow. "I'm 70% sure they're substance abusers."
"Hey there, sugar."
"Hey there," The girl with an electronic recording apparatus turns to you as you approach.
"Hey uh... there's no need for that." He raises his open palms. "We're just talking here. Joking too. Stay light, man."
"Hey! Goddamn *Abigail* is here, wake up! WAKE UP!" His efforts get no response.
"Hey! I called you to dance!"
"Hey! Stop right there! How does one know anything?"
"Hey!"
"Hey!" The lieutenant interrupts with a flicker of anger in his eyes. "If you cannot restraint yourself then I'll be handling the interviews from now on and you can quietly take notes."
"Hey, Gaston, I found you a new *boule*." (Hold out the ball.)
"Hey, Gaston. No comment on the duds?"
"Hey, Girard, get your wife for me, will you?"
"Hey, HEY. Fuck you, Tequila," he says, his voice level.
"Hey, I asked you a question."
"Hey, I can't see the off-site copy anywhere..." (Check the shelves again.)
"Hey, I don't know where it came from, but it's not every day you get to buy and sell something so extraordinary..."
"Hey, I don't think I want to do it anymore... seems too *dangerous*." (Slowly start to back off.)
"Hey, I don't... oh, okay..." Glen bursts out laughing. "Yeah, take me!"
"Hey, I have a tape with me, maybe you can use it to improve van Eyck's jam."
"Hey, I hug whomever I please! I'm a hug monster."
"Hey, I made a mistake, but it's not all my fault, you know."
"Hey, I said I wouldn't do it, but I found you a new *boule*." (Hold out the ball.)
"Hey, I'm *only* 42!"
"Hey, I'm not *that* ordinary!"
"Hey, I'm not that regular, check out my tie."
"Hey, I'm on an important official investigation, I demand you answer my questions."
"Hey, I'm standing right here!"
"Hey, I'm the one who got shot here. In the leg... *and* in the shoulder!"
"Hey, Kim, share this topping pie with me?"
"Hey, Kim, wanna play?"
"Hey, Kim, what do all these holes mean?" (Point to the dots on the watermark.)
"Hey, Kim. Do you think you could lend me some of your fuel oil?"
"Hey, Kim. Looks like we've had a couple of party-goers here."
"Hey, Kim."
"Hey, Kim..." (Lower your voice.)
"Hey, Kimball."
"Hey, Lena, I'd like to hear about some of the cryptids you've studied. Could you just tell me about a couple of them?"
"Hey, Lena, I'd really like to hear about some of those juicy *cryptids* you've studied. Could you tell me about a couple?"
"Hey, Neha... The curse is real and I figured out why it has spared you."
"Hey, Pissf****t, look who it is! It's the bully. He ran out of people to be an asshole to."
"Hey, Pissf****t, look who it is! Shrunken cop head material!"
"Hey, Sylvie, it's the police again."
"Hey, Tequila! Welcome to reality. How's it treating you?" A thirty-something Lickra(TM)-clad man takes a sip from his beer.
"Hey, Tequila!" A thirty-something man clad in a two-piece Lickra(TM) tracksuit puts down his pilsner and extends his hand in greeting.
"Hey, Tequila, pay attention! The story goes that one day he was balls-deep in work on what he thought would be his *pièce de résistance*: An advert so *minimal* it contained neither text nor images. Just... pure white..."
"Hey, Tommy -- spill the beans. What's troubling you?"
"Hey, a man needs to decompress every now and then -- nothing wrong with that -- I got it in check."
"Hey, a quick question -- do you sell any tapes?"
"Hey, about that *complex operation*  out of Rubys lorry -- I think that's tied to another case I'm working."
"Hey, about that two-millimetre hole again..."
"Hey, and if you don't..." he takes a cap from the back of his lorry, "you'll always have shitty lorryman cap to remind you of the time when you told Tommy you're hunted by a shadowy figure."
"Hey, are you a boiadeiro?"
"Hey, are you really Cuno's father?"
"Hey, are you still there?"
"Hey, are you the lead programmer of 'Wirrâl Untethered' by any chance?"
"Hey, are you there? I've checked the backyard, but couldn't get in that way."
"Hey, at least you went out playing the game how you wanted. There's something to be said for that."
"Hey, before we talk to the owner..."
"Hey, come back! Where are you going?"
"Hey, didn't you guys, like, *invent* pinball?"
"Hey, do you know how to fix this?" (Show him the bundle of magnetic tape.)
"Hey, do you think that vision beast could guide me toward some *amphetamines*?"
"Hey, do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me some time?"
"Hey, don't be going soft on me."
"Hey, don't look at me! You're the one packing shitty chaincutters."
"Hey, f****t! Understand this -- they're gonna hang me by the nuts if you leave me here. You want that on you? A dead kid? *Or* you want the Cuno at your station, solving shit? Like we *just* did?"
"Hey, f****t! You don't get it. Cuno's got pig all over him -- Cuno smells of bacon grease. Been *seen* with you. Fuckin' informant shit. You think no one *sees* this?" He spreads his arms.
"Hey, guess what. I found a way into the Doomed Commercial Area."
"Hey, guys -- I'm a hero!" He hands you the envelope, and waves his hand erratically at his companions.
"Hey, guys -- we're heroes!" He waves his hand erratically to the other guys.
"Hey, hey... fuck you for ruining a beautiful idea!"
"Hey, hey... what happened?" He sounds genuinely worried.
"Hey, hey... what's happening? You okay?" He sounds genuinely worried.
"Hey, if it yields results?" (Shrug and give the thumbs up.)
"Hey, if the name and description fit by the very grace of nature, who am I to say otherwise."
"Hey, if the rich folk screw over poor folk, with little concern for their merits or futures, why shouldn't poor folk screw over rich folk from time to time?"
"Hey, if you don't like the fallout, maybe *don't* fuck with the Firewalker!"
"Hey, it kind of *does* look like you." He thinks for a moment. "Surely a sign of things to come. What did you want to ask about it?"
"Hey, it's you again!" He smiles, more than a bit drunk now. "I've been thinking about it and you know what... we're both cops. This city is big enough for two cops."
"Hey, it's your neighbours who came up with this name, not me."
"Hey, kid!"
"Hey, kids! Oh... never mind."
"Hey, let the police flick the switch!"
"Hey, let's not jump ahead of ourselves, this is *your* story. Stop interrupting." He takes another sip -- then continues.
"Hey, listen..." (Lower your voice.) "I am just trying to make things okay again. Can we meet again somewhere else?"
"Hey, man, are you... alright?"
"Hey, man. Cops are human too."
"Hey, man. I see it in you -- you are prepared to surrender yourself to the fire of revelation. But you're still a bit shaky spiritually." He looks you over. "You're also just, physically, shaking."
"Hey, man." He blushes. "All I meant was there are not many Seolites around here. I'm just stating a fact."
"Hey, marriage is great. Marriage is sacred."
"Hey, not judging -- I've got drug problems myself."
"Hey, officer. Got a minute?"
"Hey, remember how earlier I said I didn't *need* your help?"
"Hey, sorry for being a buzzkill earlier. I'll supply the booze if you'll supply the stories."
"Hey, talk to me! Are you even alive?"
"Hey, that's a rip-off!"
"Hey, that's just what I heard. Old wives' tale. So -- what next?"
"Hey, there." She gives you a shy smile. "I've been recording some new audio from all these beams and rafters. The sounds travelling through the wood are pretty cool -- creaks and stuff. Like you're underwater, you know... But, like, underwater inside a tree."
"Hey, those visuals you've got here would look great in the church." (Point at the lights in the pawnshop.)
"Hey, uh, what's that weird rattling sound...?"
"Hey, up here, piggo!"
"Hey, wake up!"
"Hey, we can be just as hard! Like pavement on top of pavement, or a brick on top of another brick."
"Hey, we don't have to fucking take this shit..."
"Hey, what if it's something *paranatural*?"
"Hey, what's that noise down there?"
"Hey, where are we anyway? What is this place?" (Look around in the room.)
"Hey, where do I get a map of Martinaise?"
"Hey, where is your mom?"
"Hey, who is this?!"
"Hey, who needs drugs when you've got a bottle of beer or two?"
"Hey, who's there?"
"Hey, why am I even telling you this?"
"Hey, why am I telling you this?"
"Hey, why don't I get one of those?"
"Hey, you can't smoke in here." The girl's voice betrays little interest or enthusiasm. She doesn't even look up when as she continues: "Please don't fuck with Frittte."
"Hey, you seem like a really successful entrepreneur... would you like to support a member of the local police force?"
"Hey, you!" (Turn to the big guy.) "You having trouble breathing over there?"
"Hey, you're the man in boots at the gates -- Cuno said you know about the armour."
"Hey, you're the one impersonating a police officer!"
"Hey," Eugene interjects. "Wasn't Evrart's B Team looking for her the other day? They said something about her... I dunno, finding something?"
"Hey," she says coldly before turning back to her work.
"Hey. Can I borrow your gardening gloves?"
"Hey."
"Hey." He nods in greeting. "Was there something you needed?"
"Hey... " The kid must have some idea. "You ever go to Martinaise lately? Cuno hasn't seen you around..."
"Hey... Cuno doesn't wanna *hurt your feelings*, but you look like shit. Maybe you should like down in the bed -- like recover. Before you die."
"Hey... HEY, DIPSHIT!!! You hard of hearing or something?! The bossman is talking to you!"
"Hey... I don't mean to pry but the hanged man -- was he your brother?"
"Hey... Why do you keep your hands folded?"
"Hey... don't get me wrong. But you're a *cop*, right..."
"Hey... why am I even telling you these things?"
"Hey..."
"Hey..." A wide smile appears on his face. "Wasn't there a *giant ice bear sarcophagus* below that building?" He points toward the commercial area.
"Hey..." Acele looks up from her microphone. "What did you do to Egg Head, cop man? Did you *break* him?"
"Hey..." Her black eyes widen. "You're a cop..."
"Hey..." The kid interrupts you at 'you're under', his voice subdued. "You sure we got all this shit?"
"Hhhhhzzzzzzzzssss... 136841... hhhhhzzzzzzzzzzssss... 37891303... hhhhhzzzzzzzsssss... hzzzzsssss..."
"Hi again, gendarme."
"Hi again. Have you changed your mind? You changed your mind, right?" The tips of his hair are sharp and white. The bleach has consumed almost all of the toothbrush on the mirror in front of him.
"Hi again. So, uh... How're things going?" He looks excited. The tips of his hair are sharp and white. The bleach has consumed almost all of the toothbrush on the mirror in front of him.
"Hi!"
"Hi, Alice, I'm a policeman too. Nice to meet you."
"Hi, Alice, this is the officer from the 41st Precinct speaking. Nice to meet you."
"Hi, ace detective." She smiles warmly. "Are you here for more books?"
"Hi, gendarme. Another rendezvous." There he is again -- the smoker on the balcony! Right here in the Whirling-in-Rags.
"Hi, it's me again. I wanted to talk to you."
"Hi, this is... *me* here, I work at your station."
"Hi-fi? I like high fidelity disco music too."
"Hi-hi. So what brings you here?"
"Hi."
"Hidin', gatherin' themselves. The harbour's in full lockdown, friend. No getting in our out... for the time being."
"Hiding something in the water. She had a fag after she'd done it. I was up in the ruins there -- she couldn't see me, but I could see her. Smoking... she was nervous, but not scared."
"Hiding, fishing, waiting..." He looks across the water.
"High Speed Love" chronicles the romance between two of the finest TipTop Tournée racers in history.
"High Speed Love" chronicles the romance between two of the finest TipTop Tournée racers in history. One of them is the madcap driver Jacob Irw. His blonde mane graces the cover.
"High intensity microwave frequencies? They're used for navigational purposes, to compress the interisolary space. They may use it to communicate with incoming freighters...
"High school. Harry! Your goings-on with Cuno, Andre, Acele -- the whole thing on the ice. That's why you're so *juvie*."
"High time I got moving up the coast. But please, officer, after you."
"High velocity, temporary cavity in brain tissue. Small exit wound on the occiput." He underlines the injury, forcefully. "How does that sound?"
"Highly educated, work-ready, human capital ready to be directed toward any number of your vast interests."
"Highly unlikely. I've known John for several years now. Also, you *told* me you're a cop, remember? How did you get his shift card?"
"Him and his boys stirred something up in town. Probably drank too much and got into a fight or something... I heard mister Evrart telling them to take some time off..."
"Him and tens of thousands of his *wonderfully* fascist kingsmen. It was a *wild* time."
"His angry little heart finally gave out." He sighs. "The dockworkers found him in the guard booth this morning. Wasn't even supposed to be working for another week, but he just had to prove how though he is..."
"His arrival is a sign of the end times. All this," she looks around, "will come crashing down in mere days."
"His badge. He lost his goddamned fucking badge."
"His dad's a major drug kingpin in Martinaise."
"His dad's in a coma and his only friend is gone."
"His earpiece?"
"His eye colour?"
"His eyes, they used to be blue."
"His face and hands are pink. Thighs too."
"His head, yes -- you were about to cut off his head." He sinks the cutters into the knot, preparing to perform the cuts -- with his elbow to his knee for precision.
"His medical condition makes him a little *grumpy*, ma'am. I hope that's not a problem."
"His name is Garte, and he's working at the Whirling-in-Rags disguised as a cafeteria manager."
"His name was Ellis Kortenaer. He was part of a security detail here in Martinaise."
"His name was Ellis Kortenaer."
"His name was Ellis. Ellis Kortenaer."
"His name was Lely."
"His name was..."
"His name's not really important. What matters is that he was a mercenary."
"His name?"
"His old leather jacket."
"His parents left him in a fucking leaf compactor."
"His platoon members? The other contractors -- though I do *not* suggest you go and show them that picture. This man was their friend and comrade."
"His promise?"
"His pupils appeared to be dilated. They still are..." He examines the catatonic man's eyes.
"His shirt."
"His shirt... No, I don't know why his shirt is always unbuttoned." His mouth tightens, as though trying to hold something back.
"His shirt... why is his shirt always unbuttoned?"
"His shirt..."
"His shirt..." The lieutenant squints his eyes, trying to hold back laughter.
"His tribe are natural liars. It's in their blood..." He nods in a sagely manner, then another puff of that cigarette: "He's your man, alright. One-hundred percent."
"History, detective. They built this city to *resolve* History -- our part in it at least, our centuries."
"Hjelmdallermen."
"Hm, Cuno." Her eyes narrow in the dim light. "Who's Cuno?"
"Hm, an installation?" She raises her eyebrows. "Us, poor people, are stupid and don't get 'installations'. All I see is a heap of trash. This actually calls for a funeral I think."
"Hm, thanks. Not the ones I'm looking for."
"Hm, that's not very scientific."
"Hm. I've never heard anybody say anything about my chin. Yet I know that people often tell each other half-truths, things they think the other party would wish to hear."
"Hm. Really?" She looks at the windowsill, where a dead fly is lying on its back, legs curled up in a bowtie. "Anyway..."
"Hm." He sounds disappointed. "But do let us know if something changes in the church..."
"Hm... I should maybe get a different one." (Back off.)
"Hm?" The clerk looks up, out of her magazine. "Oh. That's the tare machine."
"Hmgh... she's right. No one mentioned *hearing*... shots. I... the shot didn't come from the roof."
"Hmh, maybe you can help me some other way, then."
"Hmh," a hum and a nod. "My methods do not differ from other scientists, I simply draw upon a wider variety of evidence, and I have more hope that something truly surprising might happen."
"Hmh," she nods with well-contained curiosity.
"Hmh," the lieutenant hums, reading his notes.
"Hmh," the man corrects his glasses: "roughly 50."
"Hmh. Okay then."
"Hmh. So you were spying on us. And now you represent murder suspects -- *just dock workers*."
"Hmh. Then it's inexplicable. Whatever." He picks up his toolbox, then puts it back down again.
"Hmh." He lets out a little pensive hum. "Thought so. Let's go?"
"Hmh." He lets out a little pensive hum... "That's what I thought. Let's go?"
"Hmh." He seems suprised at your choice of racist, but then slowly nods.
"Hmh." The lieutenant thinks. "I have a feeling we'll make their acquaintance sooner or later."
"Hmh." The young man nods, he looks worried. "You may be on to something, copper-man. She's got those mass murderin' hips."
"Hmh.." the lieutenant mumbles optimistically. "Alcohol use *has* been declining in the under 16 bracket this past decade..."
"Hmh... How *do* I like it?" She casts her gaze toward the village -- slush melting on the cinder blocks, construction work left half-finished ten years ago...
"Hmh... No one mentioned *hearing* any shots. And a rifle like the one used would have been *loud*. She's right... I don't think the shot came from... the roof."
"Hmh... The steel-reinforced belt presents a *unique* challenge. I brought chain-cutters, but I don't see a good angle of approach to the belt."
"Hmh..." (Try to understand what the lieutenant has written about the case at hand.)
"Hmh..." An imperceptible nod.
"Hmh..." He hums -- thinking about something else.
"Hmh..." She doesn't smile. She taps the ash from her cigarette and shrugs. "Sounds oddly feminine..."
"Hmh..." She flicks a bit of ash away. "Maybe you *don't* know." The ash lands on her jumpsuit. She brushes it off.
"Hmh..." She flicks a bit of ash away. "Maybe you don't..." The ash lands on her jumpsuit. She brushes it off.
"Hmh..." She hums.
"Hmh..." The lieutenant falls silent, abruptly.
"Hmh..." The lieutenant is not satisfied with the approach.
"Hmh..." The lieutenant looks down the street. "We can sit on benches after we've solved the murder. Let's go."
"Hmh..." just a hum. No reply.
"Hmh..." the lieutenant seems incredulous.
"Hmh?"
"Hmh?" She adjusts her scarf, cheeks rough and ruddy from the wind.
"Hmhm. People say there was a pinball arcade here, some time before the hostel -- what was it called, Theo?"
"Hmhm." His leg jerks.
"Hmhm." The old man smacks his lips.
"Hmhm..." Her eyes tense. Crow's feet radiate from them. She observes you: your bloodshot eyes and swollen face.
"Hmm! Well, first of all it's damn difficult to find -- which is why we've been knee-deep in the reeds laying traps for it."
"Hmm, I suppose that one *does* have a rather loud electrical engine." She does not quite understand what you meant. "A specific drone. In any case...."
"Hmm, I think you might be thinking about someone else I... dislike music," he frowns, "So I couldn't tell you who."
"Hmm, a grenade? Did you fight in a war?"
"Hmm, correct." The lieutenant examines the wall closely. "The density of the bullet holes is unusual, even in a general *average bullet hole frequency in Martinaise* sense. Grim affairs."
"Hmm, could be..."
"Hmm, for some reason it doesn't seem like it's going to be that easy..."
"Hmm, maybe you should let your voice rest, officer. Try again later."
"Hmm, maybe you're right and it's someone else... although I doubt it."
"Hmm, maybe. Darkness often has that effect on people."
"Hmm, me? I... uh..."
"Hmm, perhaps you're a more proficient *cruciverbalist* than I am. All I mean to say is that we have a puzzle on our hands, but not all the pieces... yet."
"Hmm, that does seem kinda *tenuous* now that you mention it."
"Hmm, the novelty dicemaker also mentioned that she didn't hear any signs of struggle."
"Hmm, we should probably read the rules, huh?"
"Hmm, yes. I didn't want to mention it before, but you really should find your clothes." He looks at his notebook.
"Hmm, yes. That would be a kairomone -- a pheromone that's seemingly beneficial to the host. It usually stimulates the affected nervous system -- not a human's, of course, but perhaps a predator's?"
"Hmm," she hums.
"Hmm," she says, looking up. "You're right, I should take a trip to the roof once the snow is gone."
"Hmm-hmm-hmm." You see a sturdy woman humming to herself. She seems to be browsing books.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm..." She's still browsing books.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm..." She's still mumbling to herself, now reading another paperback.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm..." She's still searching for a book, her eyes wandering over the colourful grid of softcovers.
"Hmm-hmm." (Stroke your chin.) "Enough about the curse... for now."
"Hmm-hmm..." (Take a peek at Kim's notes)
"Hmm. Drugs do go well with money, I agree."
"Hmm. Good luck finding people who'd want to play as communards."
"Hmm. I don't believe in giving anyone money for nothing, but maybe there's something to using *market incentives* to improve performance..."
"Hmm. I guess you've got a point there."
"Hmm. Well, it means nothing to me. I think I'll stick with the factory name. But thank you for the suggestion."
"Hmm... But she's in there somewhere, *has* to be. Have you tried investigating the machines?" He tilts his head, one hand touching the spikes in his hair. "Anyway, do let us know if you see her..."
"Hmm... I actually had other questions."
"Hmm... I heard about the assault after it had already gone down."
"Hmm... I'm not sure I agree with that, sweetie. At any rate, some argue that the kind green ape should also be thought of as human, especially because it has shown itself to be so *humane*. I don't dare form an opinion one way or the other without more information, though."
"Hmm... Well, if there was a *winch*, I suppose we could look into it. As a... side-investigation."
"Hmm... Yes, I suppose it's worth seeing if we can get in. Just to be thorough. As a... side-investigation."
"Hmm... but you *did* see the machines, right? And the spooky water basins set up in a ritualistic circle in the middle of the church?"
"Hmm... maybe I am?"
"Hmm... maybe you should figure it out, detective."
"Hmm... this button looks new. I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't been connected yet. Is it the dicemaker's?" He takes a step back, inspecting the other names on the list.
"Hmm... this button looks new. It's probably not connected yet." He takes a step back, inspecting the other names on the list.
"Hmm... what exactly is a *suzerain*?" (Conclude.)
"Hmm... why indeed? I'm just an old, tired cop. What use am I?"
"Hmm..."
"Hmm..." (Stroke your chin first.)
"Hmm..." He looks ahead, beyond the arch. "Either way, we ought to be careful. There were footprints back there. And I'm pretty sure they were fresh."
"Hmm..." He looks at the creature...
"Hmm..." He raises an eyebrow, thinking it best to let you make the next move.
"Hmm..." She looks eastward. "Maybe you're right. Most of them do speak three languages."
"Hmm..." She sits back on the blanket, ears red from cold. "That's odd. You should search her machine, maybe it says where she went?"
"Hmm..." She thinks "Some argue that the kind green ape should also be thought of as human, especially because it has shown itself to be so *humane*. I don't dare form an opinion one way or the other without more information, though."
"Hmm..." The lieutenant is staring at the wreck. "Let me think about it..."
"Hmm..." The lieutenant jots something down in his notebook. "What are you thinking? Bullet?"
"Hmm..." the lieutenant marks something in his notebook.
"Hmm?" He hums. "What about me, gendarme?"
"Hmm?" he hums honeyed.
"Hmmm, I do feel like my thinking has become somewhat *rigid*. Maybe a little diversion to keep the mind limber is just what's in order..."
"Hmmm, that could be *quite* bad, depending on what sort of place you're talking about."
"Hmmm, that wasn't very productive for *either* of us, was it?"
"Hmmm, that's a fair point. Alright, for the good of the investigation, what do you want to know?"
"Hmmm, this feels strangely anti-climactic."
"Hmmm, this wouldn't be the Deponte-Delgado case, would it?"
"Hmmm, too bad investing in your workers just isn't worth many points."
"Hmmm," the man thinks for a moment.
"Hmmm. But we're fairly certain the lady driver was present..." The lieutenant flips through his notes.
"Hmmm. Well, his expression is slightly grumpy, but his eyes are always bright and curious, like a small boy's. And his palms are quite coarse from all the field work, but he's quite gentle..."
"Hmmm." The man examines the jacket for a moment, a look of consternation on his brow...
"Hmmm... I don't know what to think of it."
"Hmmm... and the racist on the gates, pumped full of steroids?"
"Hmmm... looks like it does have a place in the future after all."
"Hmmm... maybe we should." The lieutenant raises an eyebrow.
"Hmmm... this doesn't look right to me. I think we need to start over, unfortunately..."
"Hmmm..."
"Hmmm..." He inspects you over the rims of his glasses. "You did look like you were gonna collapse and die when I told you about your lost gun."
"Hmmm..." The lieutenant falls deep in thought.
"Hmmm..." you hear the lieutenant hum.
"Hmmmm, a tried-and-true strategy for increasing the perception of value without improving the underlying asset. Not bad. But still..."
"Hmmmm," the lieutenant hums, watching you examine the document again.
"Hmmmm..."
"Hmpf!" She seems disappointed, like a kid who's been told no. "And what else can I do for you?"
"Hmph. I appreciate your concern, *officer*, but please leave this to the *experts*. Unless you have an *alternative* hypothesis you'd like to venture..."
"Hngfff..."
"Hngh..."
"Hnghh..." the lieutenant is unable to articulate his question.
"Hobbies are lame."
"Hobo chic."
"Hold on -- not once? Isn't that *already* a sign of decline?"
"Hold on -- the Coalition?"
"Hold on -- what about field autopsy?"
"Hold on -- what is this *money* anyway?"
"Hold on a moment --  does it mean we're now living in a world that has *holes in it*?!"
"Hold on a second... Is this why you broke in here? To find out whether you're Kras Mazov?"
"Hold on there. The Hardie boys are *not* the law -- I am."
"Hold on, *no one* takes a fifteen-minute leak."
"Hold on, I actually haven't done anything yet. I just wanted to ask a few questions."
"Hold on, I don't want to look at the big picture. I want to look at the drug trade you almost admitted to."
"Hold on, I just haven't washed myself after the autopsy..."
"Hold on, I still have my key, you know."
"Hold on, Katarzine Alasije is not an Oranjese name, is it? It's not even Mundi. It's *Graad*."
"Hold on, Kim, we should discuss this before we move on. What should we expect?"
"Hold on, Kim. I did not know this was a competition."
"Hold on, Klaasje only... likes truly buff men!"
"Hold on, Tricentennial Electrics? I thought I was calling Slipstream SCA."
"Hold on, an army? You mean like... *mercenaries*? Ready to *kill people*?"
"Hold on, and the RCM is?"
"Hold on, are you alone in the room? I need some confidential information about myself."
"Hold on, but they make Al Gul -- alcohol -- in IIlmaraa too. I was told they do."
"Hold on, did I hear you right? You said 'I'."
"Hold on, have you had any other names?"
"Hold on, he said he was *mentally done*. That's sounds like a broken man to me."
"Hold on, how did he survive to tell the story?"
"Hold on, how do you even know he was in special forces?
"Hold on, in the ocean?" (Feign ignorance.)
"Hold on, is this a *royalist* military tradition?"
"Hold on, it looks very blue." (Point to the sunken vehicle.)
"Hold on, man. Keep it slow and steady, don't succumb to fate. It can take time to come up with a really good one..."
"Hold on, of course I *get it*. It's a progressive soundscape, mixing nomadic rhythms with pop melodies."
"Hold on, officer."
"Hold on, so it's true? Frittte has actual *mercenaries*, ready to *kill people*?"
"Hold on, tell me what's going on. What did I do?"
"Hold on, the Whirling is part of the Doomed Commercial Area?!"
"Hold on, the gardener *used* to work there?"
"Hold on, what about that Shanky-fella?"
"Hold on, what are you going to do in Mirova?"
"Hold on, what do you mean by *milieus*?"
"Hold on, what do you mean by -- 'rapeable'?"
"Hold on, what happened to his eyes?"
"Hold on, what's a carter?"
"Hold on, what's the highest rank in Krenel?"
"Hold on, where did they all come from?"
"Hold on, where's that Shanky-fella?"
"Hold on, which song?"
"Hold on, who am I speaking to?"
"Hold on, who's Son of Liver Failure?"
"Hold on, who's this miss Beaufort you mentioned?"
"Hold on, why are you on a leave?"
"Hold on, why can't we talk later?"
"Hold on, why does a criminal gang need marketing?"
"Hold on, you are a cop with the RCM?"
"Hold on, you don't want to make *anything* work?"
"Hold on, you have a village elephant?"
"Hold on, you really don't feel anything?"
"Hold on, you seem anxious to know. Why's that?"
"Hold on, you're just a *little bit* proud of René's heroics, aren't you?"
"Hold on. After so much drinking and drugs... *how?*"
"Hold on. Have we met before?"
"Hold on. Her mind?"
"Hold on. Hyper...text?"
"Hold on. Pyrholidon addiction? What an interesting metaphor..." (Study his face.) "Or perhaps not a metaphor at all?"
"Hold on. What's Ozonne?"
"Hold on." She's behind the keyboard now, typing in some numbers that only she understands. The terminal beeps, and the light inside starts pulsing like a glowing heart.
"Hold on... *You're* Billie? I thought Billie was a man..."
"Hold on... Can I at least have a cigarette?"
"Hold on... Does it also attack people?"
"Hold on... There's something different about you Cuno..."
"Hold on... do you know how to use it?"
"Hold on..." The lieutenant inspects the dark interior of the refrigerator. "There's no use if the fridge isn't working. Let's plug it in first and then return here to move the body."
"Hold on..." The lieutenant leans over the corpse and examines his face. Two glassy eyes stare back at him, void of any signs of life.
"Hold on..." The lieutenant squats next to the corpse and examines his face. Two bulging eyes stare back at him, void of any signs of life.
"Hold up and stay frosty, everyone! Cops are here." The broad-shouldered alpha male turns to you. He's a full head taller than everybody else here.
"Hold up, Gaston was your human studies teacher?"
"Hold up, Jules. He doesn't fucking know where he lives?! Did I hear that right?"
"Hold up, her face -- what did it look like?"
"Hold up, lieutenant. Look at that pile of clothes."
"Hold up, piggo. There's something you gotta understand about the Cuno first." He drags his sleeve across his nose. "Cuno's gotta protect the Cuno name."
"Hold up, what does that mean?"
"Hold up, who makes it at the Whirling?"
"Hold up. Four pieces? Helmet, cuirass, gauntlets, boots... what about the leggings?"
"Hold up. What was that, Cuno?"
"Hold your fire!" He licks his lips. "Wait for my command."
"Hold your horses..." You hear the click of a night latch, before the lady on the other side gets caught in a coughing spasm.
"Holding a funeral doesn't mean you love death. Don't be childish. You're a police officer..."
"Holy shit! Tequila, how did you? Never mind -- I don't care, just let me see the jacket."
"Holy shit, that's even older than I thought!" He bursts out laughing.
"Holy shit, the average playing time for this game is one to *six* hours..."
"Holy shit, this is so *me*!" (Really get into the book.)
"Honest men and women. With rights -- to work. To be useful. Not toys for corporate interests." The man runs a hand through his steadily graying military haircut.
"Honest work, honest pay!"
"Honest, my ass. Just look at the guy, geez!"
"Honestly -- a dump. Nothing to see there, just heaps of garbage. Someone should let the sunshine in."
"Honestly -- a whole set of ceramics: the breastplate, the pauldrons... I wouldn't blame you. But these two? Not worth bringing Internal Affairs into your life over. Besides..." He taps the boot.
"Honestly -- being a cryptozoologist trumps most of the garbage I've seen people do."
"Honestly I just want to break into a radiocomputer, see what's on it."
"Honestly I think our investigation has not produced a single credible suspect." His voice is calm, matter-of-factly.
"Honestly I'm just trying to not screw anything up."
"Honestly, Harry, we might be moving a spot of drugs through this harbour, but I won't be caught transporting the light-bending mega-rich." He shakes his head. "I have reputation to protect."
"Honestly, Harry," he says with a chuckle. "Jamming a wedge between a man and his legal council is no small achievement. Sounds like you're handling this like a supercop."
"Honestly, I can't really see anything. It looks like a regular back room to me."
"Honestly, I didn't want to bring it up, Harry -- I heard you have become Measurehead's race pupil...?"
"Honestly, I don't get it. All these figures look half-finished."
"Honestly, I don't have an answer yet. There are still leads to be followed, like that strange radiocomputer-thing..."
"Honestly, I don't know diddly-squat about Revachol. What kind of place is this?"
"Honestly, I don't know how I do it... I just stumbled in here. Can you.. please explain this shit to me?"
"Honestly, I don't know what it was."
"Honestly, I don't know. Dementia, probably," he lowers his voice. "Dementia and Channel 8. And loneliness."
"Honestly, I don't really know anything about Revachol."
"Honestly, I doubt you'd find any of it comprehensible."
"Honestly, I drink so much I can't really remember anyone I've sent behind bars."
"Honestly, I feel bad about it. The article you wanted to write -- don't let this dissuade you from writing it."
"Honestly, I have no clue."
"Honestly, I just think missing persons cases are mysterious."
"Honestly, I think it's quite funny. I think he's still sending out holiday transmissions from Touloula or Tioumoutiri or Khasht-Kor, or wherever he is."
"Honestly, I think some of your selections are..." (Press your finger to your lips) "...more tasteful than others."
"Honestly, I was expecting you to use your *unorthodox technique* to keep her off-balance -- and you know... *not* volunteer us to be her henchmen."
"Honestly, I'm beginning to think *you're* a midget, Harry." Abruptly, he smiles and changes his tone. "I'm only kidding, Harry. You're not a midget. No one is. We're pals."
"Honestly, I'm not sure there *weren't* marks on his wrists. That part got blurry for me. The *stench...*" he covers his mouth. "But you're right. I was ready to call this -- now I think we should leave it empty. At least for the time being."
"Honestly, I'm not sure there *weren't* marks on his wrists. That part got blurry for me. The *stench...*" he covers his mouth. "But you're right. There should be signs of struggle. Let's leave the cause of death empty for the time being."
"Honestly, I'm not sure what to think of it."
"Honestly, I'm quite worried by what we've seen so far. The evidence seems to point to a rather extensive and well-organized operation."
"Honestly, I'm still not sure... This world is a puzzling place."
"Honestly, babe," says John McCoy, crossing his ankles over said desk, "I don't feel anything any more. It's just like brushing my teeth -- I do it once or twice a week and don't really think about it." There's no trace of guilt in his voice.
"Honestly, guys, we might be moving a spot of drugs through this harbour, but I won't be caught transporting light-bending mega-rich." He shakes his head. "I have reputation to protect."
"Honestly, it seems like this pendant thing is a scam. You could be doing so much more."
"Honestly, it's not my place to judge or express an opinion."
"Honestly, nothing springs to my mind right now. But I'll see if I can come up with a solution down the lane." (Proceed with task.)
"Honestly, the occult vision was too confusing for me to understand."
"Honestly. I don't know *what* he does for us, but it must be important because everybody likes him. Yes, they do. I think that's what he does, he makes everyone feel a little better."
"Honestly..." Her sad eyes scan your face, looking for signs of deceit. "I don't care. I don't think anyone does any more."
"Honestly..." She's avoiding your gaze. "Honestly I'm a little scared."
"Honestly..." she pauses. "I may have even *preferred* it, had the communards won. Who knows? They might really have built something better. But they didn't, because they lost."
"Honesty, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"
"Honesty. I *lost* it while drinking."
"Honorary rank?"
"Honour demanded it."
"Honour is a feudal atavism." He looks at the firepit. "My motive is class."
"Honour is everything to me," he says with grim finality.
"Honourable."
"Hooey," the lieutenant interjects. "No animal can be that large. It's a mirage."
"Hooray for us."
"Hope I remember those moves, man!"
"Hopefully it will finally take your fat ass to the other side of a cardiac arrest, Gaston." His words are slow and deliberate. "This doesn't mean anything. Doesn't *change* anything."
"Horrible, truly horrible," he continues. "I beg of you, don't ever subject anyone to this torture again. I mean seriously, you need to..."
"Hosiannah."
"Host Almighty," she prays, "guard me and my honest business venture from the curse that lurks behind the door, blessed be your name..."
"Host in heaven, did he lose his gun *and* his mind?"
"Host of Hosts," she prays, "guard me and my honest business venture from the curse that lurks behind the curtains..."
"Hours. It was an all-night drink-a-thon. Then at some point -- I think it was Sunday morning -- you got belligerent and wanted to talk about *Revacholian women*."
"How 'bout some WORK?"
"How *do* we? I was really hoping she'd be in the village..." The lieutenant sighs, then gets a hold of himself: "Okay."
"How *does* it come off?"
"How *truly* curious -- a sort of philosopher-detective!"
"How *well* could it have turned out for me. I mean... " She looks around.
"How *wet* are we talking exactly?"
"How I can keep going for *twelve hours* a day..."
"How I can run for *six hours* a day..."
"How about -- it's a ball."
"How about 41? How does 41st sound?" He shakes his head. "Never mind, I'm not going along with this..."
"How about 50%? It's more than a fair deal. We good?"
"How about I take you piggyback?"
"How about I talk them out of the drug plan?"
"How about an amber die?" she suggests.
"How about pyrholidon?"
"How about rekindling that camp fire so we can dry off?"
"How about something simple, like The Club?"
"How about the *Ex-* something."
"How about the *Sleek Fish*."
"How about we concentrate on the dishonourable thing that happened, huh?"
"How about we fire one of these bad boys up and play some ball?"
"How about we go and check out that tent again?" He nods at the shabby piece of canvas set up on the ice next to the church.
"How about we, you know, change to subject to something more light-hearted now?"
"How about what?!" Judging by his tone the old carabineer really wanted to honour his old unit.
"How about you deliver *me* a topping pie?"
"How about you fuck off now, huh?"
"How about you fuck off? I ain't saying *anything*."
"How about you share your information on the lynching -- now that you've seen his badge."
"How about you share your information on the lynching -- now that you've seen my badge."
"How about you tell me something else instead?"
"How about... Dolores."
"How are the lynching and the strike connected?"
"How are these talks going?"
"How are we going to find the right one?"
"How are you dealing with all of this?" (Conclude.)
"How are you doing?"
"How are you enjoying the cardio, lieutenant? I'm quite enjoying it myself."
"How are you ever going to get the officer's shit off your nose, Gaston? Or even climb out of his ass?" He shakes his head in extreme disdain.
"How are you going to fund your new independent harbour?"
"How are you gonna *get* to the island? Cuno has his ways, but that ain't for your fat old ass."
"How are you gonna make Cuno forget that shit, huh?"
"How are you settling in?"
"How are you?"
"How bad am I hurt?"
"How bad could one guy be? You seem capable."
"How bad do you think things could get?"
"How badly am I hurt?"
"How badly was he hurt?"
"How benevolent," she thinks for a second. "Hopefully they'll help you sort this whole business out... if they haven't already?"
"How big is this phasmid?"
"How big was it?"
"How can I believe you after all that foolishness?" She looks somewhat irritated.
"How can I forget about it?" He stops the slow clap. "It was *unforgettable*..."
"How can I forget." He nods at your tie.
"How can I forget?" She tilts her head to the side.
"How can I help you, officer?"
"How can I help you, officer?" She turns around.
"How can I read it?"
"How can that be?"
"How can you be so sure I'm from the police?"
"How can you be sure they haven't starved to death?"
"How can you be sure... Klaasje didn't kill him herself?"
"How can you not know that when you both live here?"
"How can you not know what you're hauling in your own lorry?"
"How come you don't remember though? Is it, like, some selective memory thing?"
"How come you're built like a brick shit-house, but the other scabs are so scrawny?"
"How come you're still open?"
"How come?"
"How could she? Who imagines this? She didn't *know* about the phasmid. This is the main thing here, what makes it a confirmed sighting -- she had no previous knowledge of the insect."
"How could this man afford such expensive hardware?"
"How could we have *missed* that..." He shakes his head. "And when was the tampering -- twenty minutes after death?"
"How could you see what she looked like? You said it was dark."
"How could you? This is a completely separate issue!"
"How cunning." He rises his brows and you're not sure whether he's mocking you or not. "I like men who take what they want."
"How curious." She returns the lieutenant's badge and turns to you. "Why is that, detective?"
"How dare you belittle my voyage through the void?!"
"How did *you* find the story to be, officer?"
"How did I *become* one? It was a business decision. I was a regular jeweller at first, but that's an unfocused field -- with too much competition."
"How did I *do* that?"
"How did any of us become friends? Bad things happening on the Insulindian isola. Oil platforms ablaze in the night. Civil wars lasting for years. Finally, the international community is forced to step in."
"How did he die exactly?"
"How did he end up hanging from that tree?"
"How did he know you were here?"
"How did it *do* that? Glide?"
"How did it go..." He looks at his gun in your hand and shakes his head slowly.
"How did it go..." He looks at his gun on the ground and shakes his head slowly.
"How did she get like this?"
"How did she know how to do this?"
"How did that community project work out?" (Conclude.)
"How did the liberals win it all?"
"How did the two of you meet?"
"How did they even get him up there?"
"How did this old woman get a hold of my gun?"
"How did this woman come to be in possession of the firearm?"
"How did those tape computers work?"
"How did you access the building? It's locked, at least now it is..."
"How did you almost catch a willow person?"
"How did you become a *cryptozoologist*?"
"How did you become a dicemaker?"
"How did you become so rich?"
"How did you end up running a pawnshop?"
"How did you even find this place -- this church?"
"How did you even get there?"
"How did you get *in* there? The hidden pinball workshop?"
"How did you get between here and the mainland?"
"How did you get close enough to see her bruises, Mr. Dros?"
"How did you get close enough to see the bruises, Mr. Dros?"
"How did you get hold of it?"
"How did you get into the trash container?"
"How did you get so cool, Kim?"
"How did you get your hands on it?"
"How did you get your hands on this thing?"
"How did you hope it would go?"
"How did you know I found him?"
"How did you know I was coming?"
"How did you know I was here?"
"How did you know I'd met them?"
"How did you know I'm a police officer?"
"How did you know I'm with the police?"
"How did you know it was me?"
"How did you know we were coming?"
"How did you know?"
"How did you like it in there, piggo-boy? Cuno's got a lot of cool shit there, right?"
"How did you manage to overpower him?"
"How did you manage to... come up with a plan? So quickly?"
"How did you meet?"
"How did you see all this. The bruises, that she was beaten?"
"How did you see all this. The bruises; that she was beaten?"
"How did you two even become friends?"
"How did you two meet?" The lieutenant's voice is quiet, calm.
"How did you..."
"How do *you* communicate with him?"
"How do *you* know about my lost gun?!"
"How do I do that?"
"How do I get *in* the building again?"
"How do I get to the other side of these gates?"
"How do I know you've told us your real name?"
"How do I know? Let me tell you about these people." He slams his fist on the desk. "That's their MO. It's what they do."
"How do I repeal it then?"
"How do I word the Mystery?" (Accept.)
"How do the Hardie boys know you?"
"How do the traps work?"
"How do they burn?"
"How do they stay up in the air like that?"
"How do we find them?"
"How do we get *inside* the harbour?"
"How do we get it out?"
"How do we get the lock open?"
"How do we get there? Joyce Messier had her sloop, but she's gone."
"How do you deal with anything? It's all just..." She looks at you with pleading eyes. "How do *you* do it?"
"How do you feel about *anodic dance music*?"
"How do you feel about manufacturing large quantities of drugs?"
"How do you handle the strain?"
"How do you keep it together?"
"How do you keep your shit together?"
"How do you know Evrart?"
"How do you know it's a guy?"
"How do you know my name?"
"How do you know she left?"
"How do you know that? You can't see inside my head." (Whisper) "Can you read my mind, Cuno?"
"How do you know the mercenaries were hired by the shipping company?"
"How do you know there will be a next racist?"
"How do you know this?"
"How do you know what I'm feeling?"
"How do you know... my name?"
"How do you know? Maybe it's a small body."
"How do you know? The bust is probably just a romanticized depiction anyway."
"How do you know?"
"How do you like it in the church?"
"How do you like it?" (Conclude.)
"How do you like the glasswork?" (Point to the stained-glass window.)
"How do you make money then? Money is very important -- everyone tells me that."
"How do you make money then? Money is very important." (Show her some money.)
"How do you mean? Forgive me, officer, but we've only just met."
"How do you pass through it?"
"How do you see him?"
"How do you think the questioning is going?"
"How do you think they're financing this strike? There are thousands of unpaid dockworkers going strong for the fourth month straight."
"How do you think this is connected to the Union?"
"How do you think today went?"
"How do you... *know* all this?"
"How does Philippe the Third factor into this?" (Point towards the monument.)
"How does anyone survive?" He looks at his worn running shoes. "I *steal*."
"How does it go -- the song?"
"How does ten reál sound?"
"How does that thing work?"
"How does the *bullet* in his head factor into this?"
"How does the lighting of this... fluid actually work?"
"How does this benefit us, exactly?"
"How does this curse manifest itself?"
"How does this curse... manifest itself?"
"How does what work?"
"How else are we gonna get through the gates?"
"How far along are they? The tribunal?"
"How far along is Krenel's *investigation*?"
"How fucking *convenient*..." He gives gives you a drunken stare -- then puts his hand on the gun.
"How good are those fucking eyes of yours -- you use binoculars?"
"How have I been?" she shakes her head. "You're not here to discuss *me* -- what is this about, officer?"
"How have you concealed yourself all these years?"
"How have you coped -- mentally?"
"How have you managed this long, mentally?"
"How have you survived all this time?"
"How interesting! Well, it's been a while since I've gone hunting for the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua..."
"How interesting." She turns to you, unfazed. "I wish you a swift recovery. In the meanwhile, you have my *full* cooperation. And the full cooperation of the Wild Pines Group."
"How is it then?"
"How is this connected to the strike?"
"How is your back, Gaston?" (Tap on the side of your nose and point to the sandwich.)  "Is it... *jerky*?"
"How is your health, Mr. Dros?"
"How is your health?"
"How large a *share* would you like?"
"How long ago was that?"
"How long did we party for?"
"How long had he *been* there?"
"How long had he been there?"
"How long had you been watching her?"
"How long had you known the victim?"
"How long has he been dead? Did you *identify* him, search through his pockets? Is he still there?"
"How long has it been there?"
"How long have I been out?"
"How long have those people been locked in there?"
"How long have we known each other? Almost eighty years?"
"How long have you been here?"
"How long have you been listening to their communications?"
"How long have you been married?"
"How long have you been on this island?"
"How long have you been staying here?"
"How long have you been wintering?"
"How long until it starts *swallowing*? I don't know."
"How long was I out for?"
"How long was I out?"
"How long will it take for the low tide to come in?"
"How long, do you think, until the hard wears us down?"
"How many casualties... on the Union's side? Total?"
"How many centuries have there been, then?"
"How many clues do you need, you already found the number? Besides..." He taps on the boot.
"How many of them were there?"
"How many of you guys are there in the Union?"
"How many people are there in the world?"
"How many people have you sent to the *chaise*? Ever felt remorse for them?"
"How many?" The lieutenant has been tracking your eyes movements.
"How much are we talking about?"
"How much are you selling this T-shirt for?"
"How much do I owe you again?"
"How much do you guys know about this place?"
"How much does that toxicology report cost the Police of Revachol? I can do it for *half* of that. Save you some money, make some myself."
"How much for the street light?"
"How much is it?"
"How much is the fish?"
"How much material are we talking about?"
"How much money does Wild Pines have?"
"How much pale is there compared to the world?"
"How much time do we have?"
"How odd." The man shrugs. "I don't know what to say, Harry. They told me they hanged him. A hanged man is what I saw when I took a look into that yard..."
"How odd." The man shrugs. "I don't know what to say, lieutenant. They told me they hanged him. A hanged man is what I saw when I took a look into that yard..."
"How old *are* you, Andre?"
"How old are you?"
"How old are your daughters?"
"How old do I look?"
"How old do you think the church is?"
"How old do you think these tracks are?"
"How old was he, miss?"
"How old? 58."
"How recently..."
"How should I know why you're squinting, officer?"
"How should I know? As I keep saying, he already had a bullet in his head when I got to him, and there hasn't been any useful gossip over the radio..."
"How should I know? Do I look like I spend a lot of time with the other camionneurs -- sniffing around -- when I have my movies to go to..."
"How should a true king rule?"
"How should we lay down the next Law?"
"How so, isn't this the IIR? There's like forty of them!" (Give them to him.)
"How so, then?" He leans in with his hands on his hips.
"How so?"
"How soon will it happen?"
"How strange," she says. "Well, if you're interested, my rate is 10 reál per set, unless you want something really unusual..."
"How the fuck do I know? Anyone could have shot him. Target practice maybe?" Another sip. He's tight-lipped suddenly.
"How then?"
"How they're beautiful and also whores and so on. How one of them fucked you real bad. After a short while you crossed the event horizon, looked sullen, got up, and left without saying anything."
"How to climb that ladder, you say?" He turns around, eyeing the bleak metal bars next to the giant mural. "I do know that the lomanthangs used *sticks* to climb battlements, there's even a special technique for that."
"How was it?"
"How well do you *know* her?"
"How were the talks going before the lynching?" (Proceed.)
"How were they planning to do that?"
"How will I see you *again* then?"
"How would Cuno know? Cuno's not a fucking doctor." He looks at you like an idiot.
"How would I know? She's a gruff one, but not violent. She doesn't go around toting a gun." She looks back toward her shack, thinking.
"How would you go about *returning* to this true life?"
"How would you know?"
"How'd you like to roll with me?"
"How's Cuno *dealing*? Cuno's dealing just fine -- he doesn't need you fucking with any of it. C doesn't either."
"How's everyone doing?"
"How's it going?" The dockworker lets out a big yawn, then stares at the cafeteria's terrace doors. Some fingerprints glisten on the glass.
"How's that extra high ether content working out for you? Does it do the trick?
"How's that going?"
"How's that?"
"How's the business going?"
"How's the project going? I see that your neighbours have moved in, but all I hear is anodic dance music."
"How... strange. *I* certainly didn't put them there."
"How...?" He looks sincerely curious.
"How? It seems to be ongoing. I see red banners on the gates."
"How? It's broken and unspooled. Do you think your new buddy knows how to fix it?"
"How? Like -- it's pretty fucking huge..." He nudges the man, gently: "How?"
"How?"
"How?" She leans back. "Imagine him lying in bed, *freakish* musculature laid out on the sheets. Scarred, of course. Tattooed. The sheets are dirty for some reason."
"Howdy, Lena! What's kicking?"
"However if you *would* have a spot of memory trouble -- well, let's just say a fat juicy folder could really fill in the blanks." He winks at you.
"However much you feed the wolf..."
"However, I would also suggest that you locate your blazer with your official insignia." He points to the white rectangle on his sleeve.
"However, I'm still not sure how it's relevant to our investigation."
"However, I'm still not sure whether we'll find our suspect here."
"However, a piece of professional advice. The next time, when you encounter a list of topics with numbers on then -- start with 1. Then: 2. Then: 3. Lists are numbered for a reason."
"However, the pipe suggests there may be an entrance to the basement around..." The lieutenant pushes aside the reeds and looks around.
"However, you found that the hanged man wasn't just hanged -- he was also shot. That was some excellent detective work."
"However," she says, with a touch of regret, "This isn't about my feelings. There's also protocol to consider. I'm afraid I can't say any more until I've seen that badge."
"However... We'll need access to the coast before we do anything. Evrart won't believe you got villagers' signatures if you can't even get to the village." He shrugs. "You can try a forgery as soon as we can cross the water lock."
"Hrm! I'm not that old, I'm doing just fine, thank you very much."
"Hrm, of course." She shudders. "Such violence and immorality... uh, I mean, enjoy!"
"Hrm..." The lieutenant's face goes stony as you take your turn. He does not appreciate you getting all his workers addicted to cocaine...
"Hug-by-hug."
"Huge Semenese guy standing up there on the overhead passage. Won't let anyone by. The access panel is right behind him."
"Huh!" She nods, understandingly.
"Huh, I don't even know what to say..."
"Huh, I guess you do know her then."
"Huh, I hope no one *dangerous* heard that."
"Huh, I see you're here again, off-sine-man." He rummages through his tools. "Did I mention getting us into the church would help?"
"Huh, alright. I guess that makes sense... somehow."
"Huh, interesting. A communard."
"Huh, interesting. I had another question..."
"Huh, it's in the wrong shelf... Annette's been moving things around again, has she! That girl..." She shakes her head. "No matter, I hope you enjoy... this."
"Huh, maybe I should have pursued a different strategy."
"Huh, spooky. Let's talk about something else."
"Huh, well what does a cop look like then?"
"Huh, what a freak." [Leave.]
"Huh, what do you mean?"
"Huh," the cleaning lady says, "I thought Revachol *was* the capital."
"Huh. This isn't good."
"Huh... haven't seen the RCM around for ages."
"Huh..." The first one pauses to think, then comes to some kind of conclusion. "He doesn't live there. He isn't there sometimes."
"Huh..." The lieutenant has his nose in his notebook. "I have no idea what you just said."
"Huh..." he mutters to himself.
"Huh? No. No, of course not. Why?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. The name, good. What is it?
"Huh? Yeah." He opens his umbrella, but the wind immediately turns it inside out.
"Huh? Yeah." He takes out his gloves and struggles to pull them onto his hands.
"Huh?!" A sip of beer makes the surprise go down easier.
"Huh?"
"Huh?" He a leans closer with a strange expression on his face.
"Huh?" He just stares at you with his watery eyes.
"Huh?" He looks surprised.
"Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."
"Huh?" He slowly taps his fingers on the counter. "What do you mean?"
"Huh?" She flinches at your remark. "Nothing. No one's cast any spells of compulsion to draw in customers. What a silly idea!"
"Huh?" She leans in closer. "How old do I think you are?"
"Huh?" She looks at the drugs in your hand. "Motherfucker took my Preptide! Looks like you owe me one, officer. I'm talking serious corruption here."
"Huh?" She looks up at you, distracted.
"Huh?" She looks up, puzzled.
"Huh?" Sudden financial duties snap him out of his daze. "Oh. No, I ain't got any money. They don't want to pay for unfinished work."
"Huh?" That flicked a switch somewhere. "What is it? What do you want?"
"Huh?" The big guy looks behind him.
"Huh?" The jolly man is scratching his head in bewilderment. He doesn't understand the situation.
"Huh?" The kid appears to be thinking. "That could've been there for years. Cuno thinks it's a dead end."
"Huh?" The lieutenant isn't quite sure he heard you.
"Huh?" The lieutenant raises his brow.
"Huh?" The lieutenant studies the swaying firearm. "My god, I think you're right."
"Hum. Well, this went... nowhere. Zero fun and excitement here. I'm getting real bored, how about we change the subject?"
"Hum... sir, please, no browsing in that shelf." She narrows her eyes. "That wisdom is not for free."
"Human psychology is definitely lazy, don't you think?"
"Human remains *have* been found deep in the forest, torn apart, then trampled into the mulch by large hooves. Infer from *that* what you will."
"Humanism leads to eating sugar and pigs. Humanism was invented to mass produce billions of humans. Billions of humans can mass produce *hundreds* of billions of pigs."
"Humanox... This stands for humanitarian aid, right?"
"Humans are humans. Do you need... neurological tampering for the *glands* to work. I don't know..."
"Humour me."
"Hunch is like ten times stronger than diamorphine and *waaay* more lethal. I think the name is... B-hydroxy-something."
"Hundred and thirty kilowatts is a lot of power, Kim."
"Hundred and thirty."
"Hundreds. Maybe thousands even..." She looks around. "The kids sometimes go there too, I know they do. On barges. I tell them not to but they bring back old bullet casings and such."
"Hundreds?"
"Hunted? By what?"
"Hurry up on that probe. The moment you tell me you're finished at the traffic jam, I will *gladly* tell you the company's side of the story."
"Hurry. This is one task we *cannot* sideline. With every hour, whatever we're looking for will become harder to find."
"Hush, Noid."
"Hush, baby."
"Hybrid airships, detective. Conventional rotors or jet engines no longer add velocity after the point of reference for motion is suspended -- once you've crossed from near pale to far pale..."
"Hydrodynamique E40? Sounds fast."
"Hyper cool." He nods solemnly, then breathes out a sigh of pride surveying the city around him.
"I *WOULD*."
"I *am *being careful. Treat it as a mere technical anomaly, makes it easier to bear." She runs her hands over the printout, searching for something...
"I *am* an enemy commander of rank -- put it down."
"I *am* an ill omen, alright." (Proceed.)
"I *am* curious about what's on the tape. But it's broken. There's nothing to do with it."
"I *am* responsible for making sound business decisions, yes, but not for my fellow tenants' misfortune."
"I *am* the police! Don't move! DON'T MOVE! Hands on your head! SUSPECT IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS!"
"I *can* wash it for you," she says after looking the jacket over, "but it's going to take about a half an hour. Think you can stay put for that long?"
"I *could* go for another try. Bring down the hammer of the law."
"I *did* -- I also had a side job selling insurance that I was really good at. Got picked up by a bank. *Competitive intelligence*, they called it."
"I *did* hallucinate a talking tie..."
"I *did* have a conversation with a corpse..."
"I *did* say there was an emergency on the dance floor, did I not? The emergency?! NOT ENOUGH KIM!"
"I *did*." She takes a step forward. "What is this? I called your *Desk*, or whatever it is. The numbers are all over town: Call 8-100-2 for Emergencies."
"I *do* believe you -- naive as that may sound. I simply can't imagine what you'd gain by *faking* such a condition."
"I *do* feel there is something terrifying about her."
"I *do* like me some disco."
"I *don't* either."
"I *had* them in my sights, both of them -- him and the whore. I was breathing with them, in phase, and I pulled the trigger and flew on the air until I landed in his mouth..." He begins to smile.
"I *hate* apricot chewing gum. It betrayed me."
"I *have* to, Harry. Really, I've already missed the 8:30..." Her fingers wrap around the bag handle. "I'm gonna go now..."
"I *have*. The only thing Evrart is a fugitive from is the *exercise machine*..."
"I *knew* I should've quit..."
"I *knew* it. I told you he wouldn't have it."
"I *knew* there was something off about that guy."
"I *knew* you would say that! I *knew* this would lead to a drinking..." He shakes his head vigorously. "No. No more. This is *paganistic* enough -- and it does *not* leave this room."
"I *know* it's real," the cryptozoologist says, brusquely enough that even he seems taken aback by it...
"I *know* what Jamrock is but... let's say I didn't."
"I *know* when people are uncomfortable around me. They haven't been."
"I *know* who Jacob Irw is. I wanted to give you a chance to stop *fucking* me. How naive of me. You drove a 45.000 reál police vehicle into the ocean -- what did I expect?"
"I *know* you didn't make the call."
"I *know* you're lying, please just give me a cigarette."
"I *know*." She tugs on the rope.
"I *know*..." He takes a long, wistful sip of his pilsner. "It was fucking awesome. And now it's all gone."
"I *let* her go. It was act of mercy. She was going to shoot herself if I didn't."
"I *let* her go. It was act of mercy." (Lie.)
"I *loved* that king. Fucking communists..."
"I *may have* gone inside and seen a collection of racist mugs."
"I *mean* we are on Le Caillou, are we not?" She raises her brow.
"I *must* stress that I did not expect a cryptozoological monstrosity to be in this trap."
"I *need* those FALN sneakers."
"I *need* to die." A droll smile stretches across his mouth. "You don't have medical facilities, you have guns. That's all they give you, toy guns."
"I *phase-shifted* through the roofing material."
"I *really* don't want to talk about this. Let's just forget about this, okay?"
"I *talked* to the phasmid. It said it's destroying him"
"I *think* I'm recording cracks in the ice, but there's no way to tell. Not without headphones. I think I just recorded your footsteps, too. Not sure how that will sound..." She scratches her forehead.
"I *told* you not to go after her! I TOLD you." He's hyperventilating. "What happened? Is she... is she..."
"I *will* stop drinking."
"I *would* drive him to Processing, but it's too late to do that today... I'll do it first thing tomorrow. No problem."
"I *would* have preferred if the right honourable king Guillaume returned to Revachol or even if that damn clown, Frissel, had risen from the grave and led us. Sadly that was not the case."
"I AM A DESCENDANT. THE NARROW STREETS OF ULUNBUIR ARE WITH ME IN MY GENETIC DREAMS, I SEE YOUNG SEMENESE WOMEN WALK INTO THE GREY MASS ON *ILE DE PHANTOM*, WAITING ON IMMACULATE CONCEPTION FROM THE PALE."
"I AM A POLICEMAN OF THE STATE TO COME!"
"I AM NOT LIKE THEM. I AM CRANIOMETRIC PERFECTION. I HAVE TAKEN THE TROUBLE TO PERMANENTLY DRAW A PHRENOLOGIC GRID ON MY SKULL AND FEATURES. THIS SHOULD DISPEL ANY DOUBT."
"I AM NOT SURPRISED YOU ENJOY IT SO MUCH. THIS HAS HAPPENED TO MANY OF THE SIDE-PRODUCTS OF THE INEVITABLE CULTURAL VICTORY OF THE SEMENESE RACE."
"I AM NOT THE FIRST LINE OF DEFENCE -- I AM THE LAST." He looks toward the coast, defiantly. "IN ADDITION, THESE SO CALLED *HARDIE BOYS* ARE AN EFFEMINATE CLIQUE OF BODYBUILDERS. THEIR COMPANY IS SPIRITUALLY DEGRADING."
"I CAN SEE THAT. THE SEMENESE ARE THE SOUTH ISLAND RACE. HAPLOGROUP A4A, THE RIGHTFUL MASTERS OF THE INSULINDIAN ARCHIPELAGO. WE DESCEND FROM THE AREOPAGITES OF ANCIENT PERIKARNASSIS -- AND ARRIVED HERE 4000 YEARS AGO."
"I CAN SEE YOU WERE ONCE AN ATHLETE. THEN DETERIORATED IN YOUR TWENTIES. IT IS TYPICAL OF YOUR HAPLOGROUP. LET'S BLAME THE FAILED EDUCATION SYSTEM AND LENIENCY TOWARD DEGENERATES IN YOUR HOMELAND."
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" she shouts, pointing at the enormous speaker that's churning out the sound. "THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD!"
"I CANNOT POSSIBLY IMAGINE WHAT ELSE WE HAVE TO DISCUSS, TYPE B REVACHOLIAN  -- YOUR LOVE FOR DISCO MUSIC AND VENEREAL DISEASE?"
"I DOUBT IT, MY MICROCEPHALIC RACE SERVANT."
"I HEARD THAT, GARY!"
"I JUST WANT TO SOLVE CASES BUT NO ONE WANTS TO ANSWER MY QUESTIONS. *I'VE GOT A FUCKING BADGE AND GUN HERE*!"
"I KNEW YOU WOULD GO STRAIGHT FOR THE VILE CAULDRON -- EVERYONE DOES." He does not look surprised. "YOU NEED TO FIRST LEARN ABOUT TYPE A AND B TO APPRECIATE THE DEPRAVITY OF THE CHIMERIC RACES."
"I KNOW, BABE."
"I LOOK LIKE A BURNING SUN."
"I LOVE YOU CUNO"
"I NEED MONEY!!!"
"I SANG ABOUT HOW I FEEL! Fuck all you, scum!"
"I absolutely fucked up. I shouldn't have gone after her."
"I absolutely understand, sweetie. It's for the best, believe me. And thank you for everything you've done for us, truly." She nods with a sad little smile.
"I accept your salute, Harry," he nods. "*All* of it is true. I've got the centre, I've got room for a retail complex, and in four years I'll get the church too. The wheels are turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo -- I won't stand for it. There are kids practically playing with their own *faeces* out there... It cannot go on."
"I actually *don't* like drugs."
"I actually *lied* that I opened the door. I didn't really do it."
"I actually do have one... the strangest of them all. But I'll need to *fortify* myself before I can tell that one..."
"I admire your handiwork,*chéf*, but few things I'd do differently."
"I admit there's some *poetry* in the idea. And like poetry, it's also useless. There would still be Edgar. They've factored it in. The Union is them and they are Martinaise."
"I admit, I wasn't sure whether I should give you the gun, but I'm glad I did. We still have to perform the autopsy, though. And there's more work to be done at the crime scene."
"I admit, I wasn't sure whether I should give you the gun, but I'm glad I did. Your shot enabled us to perform a field autopsy on the victim. I just wish we'd learned more."
"I admit, I'm a little out of practice."
"I admit, I've had my share of drinks, but only because *mediation* is so draining."
"I admit... it is a thing I would *usually* do. But not this time."
"I advise you to be *very* selective with what information you choose to share. This may have consequences beyond our line-of-sight."
"I agree -- it's very modern. But does the cheery guy not know he's dead, or does the dead guy not care that he is? What is the source of the irony here?"
"I agree with Noid, it's just luck -- *and* Egg Head's incredible mixing skills."
"I agree, detective." The lieutenant looks to the sea. "Something is coming -- *trouble*. It will be a hard spring. I don't know what exactly, but..." He shakes his head.
"I agree, officer. Let's focus on the hanging and later some junior officers can take care of the rest."
"I agree," he clears his throat. "Our assumptions could be wrong. Better not to have them confirmed just yet. Do you see anything else?"
"I agree," the lieutenant replies, a curious look in his eyes. "We should *definitely* investigate."
"I agree," the lieutenant replies, his eyes never leave the sunken vehicle. "We should definitely investigate."
"I agree. And we as an international community should strive to bring this prosperity to every kid on every isola."
"I agree. He also sounded inebriated."
"I agree. It happened a while ago. It's unimportant to our business in Martinaise now."
"I agree. Lividity pointed to a lynching."
"I agree. Police work is overrated. It is trying and stressful. However, it is still our job to get the dead body down from the tree." He takes his sidearm from you and holsters it.
"I agree. The waters are muddy enough."
"I agree. This equipment is *way* beyond what a guard can afford."
"I agree. Too dark."
"I agree. We should get someone from the Remote Viewers Division here."
"I agree."
"I agree." A sudden ring fills the air as the lieutenant pulls down the zipper of his orange jacket.
"I agree." The lieutenant holsters the weapon with a quick move. "Enough gunslinging for today."
"I agree." The lieutenant turns to her. "You wouldn't give us your real name -- not when people are after you."
"I ain't from no *marietti*, if that's what you're thinking. And the song I sing is silent as the Mother."
"I ain't going anywhere."
"I ain't gonna stick around for that." He shakes his head resolutely. "I only stayed because of Titus. *There* was a man born to lead."
"I ain't got shit..."
"I ain't got time for this whack shit." He picks up a new beer can. "I just hope she can game her way through the system and come out the other end."
"I ain't helping no pigs fool honest, upstanding citizens. I'm not an *antisocial element*."
"I ain't saying nothing."
"I ain't the murderin' type. But that's just me. Large organizations like our Union have all sorts of men -- with all sorts of skills."
"I almost had a heart attack..."
"I almost never sleep any more... if I do it's for an hour, four tops" She suppresses a yawn. "Go ahead -- ask me some questions. They are the *only* cure."
"I already *am* expressing my individuality."
"I already *ran*. I ran from an entire isola. There is... I can't run any further. Not with these people. This is as far as it gets."
"I already did it all, Cuno. Sorry."
"I already found a filthy jacket near the boardwalk."
"I already had some. It's a fine rum."
"I already have!" He holds out his index finger. "Tonight, starting 22.00. Near the old fish market on the coast. Be careful, Harry. I would never set you up for anything dangerous, but you *did* ask for this. Now..." He claps his hands. "Back to the fun stuff."
"I already said I don't want to talk about this! You're messing everything up again!"
"I already said that."
"I already spoke with them and agreed to help."
"I already told you -- I don't have any. Go bother someone else."
"I already told you -- I'm not interested."
"I already told you I don't care about any badges."
"I already told you, it's just a storage room for employees! I don't understand why it's so important to you..."
"I already told you." He puts his giant face in his hands and sighs. "We fucking hanged him."
"I also find it hard to believe."
"I also found footprints upstairs in the old workshop."
"I also got shot in the chest." (Point to your chest.)
"I also have a gun."
"I also have a problem with alcohol."
"I also have a question -- since we're piling them on. How do *you* know this? I'm not doubting you," he explains, "I'm simply curious as to how a detective of the RCM..."
"I also have holes in my brain." (Point to your head."
"I also have holes in my brain." (Point to your head.)
"I also know what a postcard is... it's a small cardboard picture that you can send to a friend or a loved one."
"I also looked into the mystery of the Doomed Commercial Area."
"I also solved the case. It's *solved*. All of it."
"I also wish I could see it."
"I always heard you RCM guys were cool." She gestures toward you with her cigarette. "You are."
"I always thought it was the Union, but... I sure as hell won't go around saying that any more. You have my word. I don't know -- and I won't be running my mouth on this subject any more."
"I always thought it was the Union... some Union hard-asses. Lynched him because of the strike. But almost everyone in town knows that. I wish I could tell you more..." He shakes his head.
"I always took you for more of a drunk than a chemical abuser, " he says as though it's self-evident. "Anyway."
"I always wanted to see 'The Only City in the World' in the worst time of the year. It's a tourist thing."
"I am 100% behind the dread moose. I *utterly* believe it exists."
"I am Detective Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau, at your service."
"I am Kim Kitsuragi from Precinct 57. This is an inter-district investigation, so joining me from Precinct 41..." He looks to you, realizing he still doesn't know your name.
"I am Soona Luukanen-Kilde, the former lead programmer of Fortress Accident and RSA Radios. I have over 16 years of programming experience and I'm proficient in both Vox and Orbis languages..."
"I am Tequila Sunset."
"I am The Law and an expert in these matters. Let me be the judge of what it is: hyper, super, or ultra hard core."
"I am a *legal council*," she intones. "Don't make this personal."
"I am a Krenel major with over 15 years of live-combat experience. When my colonel gets hanged by clay-monkeys I lead the platoon on a *retaliation strike*."
"I am a bourgeois woman and this is my fast, lightweight, interminably bourgeois boat."
"I am a bourgeois woman and this is my long, incredibly lightweight, interminably bourgeois boat."
"I am a deserter, a partisan and a prisoner of war. This is my termless surrender." His eyes turn to the reeds again, dead and dull.
"I am a gander and a hunter and a gatherer, feel like a traveller…" The man mutters to himself, accenting the beats as he goes.
"I am a highly experimental cop. But if I am right... this is *outré* even by my standards."
"I am a highly experimental detective. This was a method I used to solve the case."
"I am a notoriously difficult to work with *wunderkind* with extremely  unorthodox methods."
"I am a scion of Guillaume le Million."
"I am a son of a welder, and an officer of the Commune of Revachol." He spits a big one at your feet. "I do not collaborate with murderers and pederasts of the liberal regime."
"I am a turd, a lowly abject turd!"
"I am afraid he might be referring to himself as *Firewater*, sir."
"I am also sad and my head hurts."
"I am an Ultra."
"I am an alcohol-operated detective. If you want me to solve crimes or do whatever it is I'm here to do you need to insert alcohol into my mouth."
"I am an ultra-high-net-worth-individual. I understand how reality works. I have *seen* into it. My mind is clear." (Proceed.)
"I am at a loss as well. I could *swear* your shit was together, detective."
"I am beginning to think this really doesn't have anything to do with the case."
"I am conducting a personal investigation into the world I find myself in."
"I am conducting a scientific research here. You can't throw me out," she says, ready to stand her ground.
"I am drawn to its cobalt blue."
"I am fighting for the working class."
"I am fully deserving of the trials life has dealt me."
"I am glad that you do."
"I am glad to hear that. Because let me tell you: we are in *dire* waters. The sooner the probe is finished the sooner I can share *crucial* information with you."
"I am glad you see it that way. To repeal the act would mean *repealing* the Coalition government. The one that leases you the right to police West Revachol..."
"I am happy to oblige." She awaits your question.
"I am honouring myself, lieutenant."
"I am impolite with you, Harry, because you are the past. Me and those friends will have good times, together, in the future...." The evening wind blows in, the gown wraps around her like a white flag. She says:
"I am in Heaven. I need it all so bad."
"I am in dire need of financial assistance."
"I am in no position to give out personal opinions."
"I am invincible. It doesn't hurt..."
"I am looking for Martin Martinaise."
"I am looking for a lot of stuff, ain't I?"
"I am looking for the parents of a kid named Cuno."
"I am merely stating that nature, in her infinite wisdom, has made men more fit to perform certain... more challenging tasks than women."
"I am neither of those things, I can assure you. I'm a by-the-books, clean-as-a-whistle officer of the law. I'm not even tempted to touch intoxicants."
"I am neither of those things, I can assure you. I'm a by-the-books, clean-as-a-whistle, teetotaling officer. I'm not even tempted to touch intoxicants."
"I am not *called* Pinball. It was used to taunt me -- a long time ago. *Before* I became a homicide detective. And got my lieutenancy."
"I am not *un*-impressed. Let's leave it at that."
"I am not a 'man of the left'. I'm a patriot of Revachol."
"I am not a *binoclard*, I am a driver... and a police lieutenant."
"I am not a fool." He blinks his black eyes. "I know -- the material base for an uprising has eroded. The working class has betrayed mankind..."
"I am not at liberty to say."
"I am not doing as well as it looks I am..." She grasps her pendant. "I only have my Semenese wards to thank for the protection they provide."
"I am not drawing my gun... yet. But I don't like 'gifts.'"
"I am not easily swayed by young women. But on the other hand... the best liars are candid. And she was candid."
"I am not sure I understand."
"I am not sure whether working with Evrart is particularly ethical either... But I understand and respect your position." He looks off to the side, deep in thought.
"I am not unsentimental. And there's also the question of a truly unified inter-isolary market. A united humanity profits us all. Especially the license holders."
"I am not," she says dryly.
"I am not. There is more here, Miss."
"I am nothing if not consistent."
"I am performing *black magic*."
"I am pleased to meet you too, officer."
"I am pretty sure it was a clandestine operation. I don't know anything more about it. Why it was conducted, or who participated... I try not to pry into extra-district matters."
"I am relieved you think so. I don't think deciphering that tattoo should come before public security."
"I am sad to say I have shifted *copotype* since we last saw each other. I am a different cop now."
"I am sorry about that." She doesn't sound like she's actually that sorry. "Anything else, detective?"
"I am sorry for putting us in this situation -- I'll handle it."
"I am sorry for the inconvenience, lieutenant Kitsuragi. But we need them trapped here. This is a unique opportunity. I'm sure you understand."
"I am sorry to confirm it."
"I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. If there is anything else I can help you with, please ask."
"I am sorry we had to disappoint you, ma'am." He turns to you. "Can we go now?"
"I am sorry, I don't mean to be so impolite, just please don't go there! I can't allow that. You'll only make things worse and unleash *the powers*."
"I am sorry, dear," she looks around. "It must sound quite terrifying through the acute encephalopathy. Even scientific positivism isn't entirely convinced about what we're dealing with here..."
"I am sorry, detective," she looks around. "Philosophically speaking -- it must sound *quite terrifying*. Even scientific positivism isn't entirely convinced about what we're dealing with here..."
"I am sure it has. In the time we've spent together, I must have covered 30 kilometres. He has a *track and field* approach to police work."
"I am sure neither of us feels solid enough to keep loitering in this room -- let's go."
"I am sure you have the money. The question is how many years and how many lives are you willing to sacrifice."
"I am the Void-Revenant. I have the powers to de-bad all the bad energies."
"I am the finest of nothing."
"I am the last faithful kingsman. I will free the city of Revachol. I will turn back the sea. I will reverse time." (Proceed.)
"I am the law. I'm a detective. I'm doing a case. There's a hanged man."
"I am the law."
"I am the mic enforcer, I am the chicks checker, YEAGH!"
"I am the police and I need you to comply -- now!" (Take a step closer.)
"I am the police. You would do well to avoid this kind of language with me."
"I am the reincarnation of an ancient Iilmaraan warrior."
"I am the scum of the earth."
"I am the vilest of the vile," she says with a sudden flash of teeth. "A traitor, a devourer of nations and infants..."
"I am truly sorry for everything, Sylvie."
"I am trying to ask Revachol"
"I am trying to ask the wind."
"I am very likely a scion of Guillaume le Million."
"I am very sad to hear that, officer." Her voice is ice cold and laced with worry. "If you change your mind, please let me know. If not, good luck finding your badge -- and your memory."
"I am who I am, C, fuck you!"
"I am! That's why you should definitely agree."
"I am, yes. Unless you've been feeding us a set of very well rehearsed lies all this time..." She takes another drag.
"I am, yes."
"I am. But it doesn't matter right now. Let's just move on."
"I am. Care to elaborate, Miss?"
"I am. I am a destroyer. People lost their jobs -- good people. Not just C-Suite assholes. And the way I got into accounting..." She shakes her head at the thought.
"I am. So are you. What brings you here?"
"I am. The proudest owner of our little shop of culture." Her voice is high-pitched, as if to give it more penetration.
"I am. This generator proves the universe is material..." (Kick the generator.)
"I am."
"I am." (Lie.)
"I am." (Nod.)
"I am." (Rip out a fine slip) "For 250 reàl -- the maximum."
"I am." Her smile quivers. "They can never take my sash and my sceptre from me."
"I am." She tugs on the rope.
"I am..." (Rip out a fine slip) "For 100 reàl."
"I am..." (Rip out a fine slip) "For 20 reàl."
"I analysed it on the spot. Turns out I can do that."
"I analysed the evidence and it pointed to you. Nothing personal."
"I answer for my own actions. I don't hide behind some faceless organization."
"I apologize for my friend Noid's potty-mouth. *I* realize this is not how you speak to a police officer. He has authority issues."
"I apologize, but I only brought one with me. I have exactly one cigarette every night while going over my notes."
"I apologize," she replies with a nod. "It looked like you could face-down any horror in the world with that unchanging grin. Looked like a shield."
"I applaud the initiative, even though *you* can't shoot for shit, officer." He rubs his neck. "Still, that moment of confusion might just be the reason we are still standing here..."
"I appreciate the financial aid, but I do not appreciate dishonesty."
"I appreciate you placing your trust in me. Thank you again for looking into this matter. You have my gratitude -- and the gratitude of Wild Pines Group..."
"I approached it and had a conversation with it. We talked."
"I approve of this, very futuristic." (Tap on the girls kissing.)
"I arrested her."
"I arrested her." (Lie.)
"I arrive at the scene three days early, drink myself to oblivion, fully re-immerse myself in this reality and then work the case from an angle so crescent fresh it produces *never before seen* results. Not only for criminology, but for the human mind."
"I arrived at this conclusion through the *psychic arts*."
"I arrived three weeks ago..." She thinks. "Yes, in the middle of February -- the bay was still partially frozen then. I prefer to do these things on-site. Like the RCM."
"I asked Noid to install a measure against more drifters wandering in. A padlock. It's a temporary fix. Just something to contain the situation."
"I asked an employee out. She didn't want to come, but felt obliged to. It was a bad idea. Now what is so god damn fascinating about that for you? It's got nothing to do with the lynching."
"I asked for you opinion, not a bed-time story. Tell it to your grandma."
"I asked her where we are, what city is this, maybe even *what year*. Something like that."
"I asked you -- who are you in all this?"
"I asked you who's conducting the drug trade. You said you didn't *know*. Now you're saying you do."
"I assume so." Looks like he still doesn't want to talk about it.
"I assumed you were counting."
"I assure you -- I wouldn't consult for a corrupt unit."
"I assure you it is no small matter for me either. We *all* share the responsibility for disarming this situation -- I hope you have a badge for me as as soon as possible."
"I assure you, I am *not*. Now get your groove on, lieutenant!"
"I assure you, I of all people understand the importance of *education*. She will be back in school the moment the store takes off."
"I assure you, I'm not." He looks up at the stained glass window.
"I assure you, he is not about to tear it up in *any* style. In fact..."
"I assure you, it was him."
"I assure you, officer, these are *not* the sort of parties you'd want to attend."
"I assure you, there is no crisis," the lieutenant tries to salvage the situation. "We had questions, that's all."
"I assure you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You're among friends and the good news is..." He taps on the folder again.
"I assure you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You're among friends and the good news is..." He taps on the folder in front of him.
"I assure you, they drove quite a hard bargain for this space -- but you're right."
"I assure you, they drove quite the hard bargain for this space -- but you're right."
"I assure you, we are working on locating the missing sidearm as well."
"I ate your sandwich, Gaston."
"I believe Revachol is being managed by something called... the Coalition?"
"I believe everyone has the right to think and do whatever they want. Even if it's nothing at all. I'm very *adaptable*."
"I believe he *drank*," he turns to you. "People do that -- especially this one. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."
"I believe it was a Linnea G22."
"I believe it's following a pattern set millions of years ago by cosmic forces... But I suppose it *could* move quicker, yes."
"I believe it's the *shackle* you mean to cut, detective." The lieutenant points to the corroded loop with a gloved finger.
"I believe the ICP got them. They have a special division that deals exclusively with sub rosas."
"I believe the name you're looking for is the Remote Viewers Division."
"I believe the official title is Senior Labour Negotiator. In practice I'm a grocery clerk. I relay the Union's demands to Wild Pines, and return with Wild Pines' counter-offer..."
"I believe they were mostly white, though I believe I saw two Areopagites among them. And I am quite certain that one spoke with a Mesque accent."
"I believe we ran into your husband on the coast, madam. He seemed to be busy setting up some trap, so we didn't talk to him much."
"I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."
"I believe you mentioned something about the ground cracking open to swallow cities and dreams alike. Yeah... I remember that *simile* or whatever the fuck they are."
"I bet he was the jockey. He seems super committed to his sport."
"I bet he's got a shit-load of questions."
"I bet it did, I bet it did." He laughs, but his laughter is void of joy. "I guess what matters is that my message got across."
"I bet it was, Harry." He says with a grimace -- then the smile dissipates. "But seriously, what did you see in his apartment?"
"I bet she has a *fresh* perspective to offer us. Since we've already talked to Evrart in the harbour -- that interview is done. For better or for worse."
"I bet you are."
"I bet you did! Those were *some* advanced moves, man."
"I bet you do."
"I bet you don't even know anything about the hanging."
"I bet you liked that, didn't you? Let's be honest, that was some first rate karaoke."
"I bet you're playing aloof because you wanna know really, really bad."
"I bet."
"I bet." His cool gaze pierces deep, with noxious effluence wafting in the surrounding air.
"I blacked out -- from sheer heartbreak -- and lost all memory of the world."
"I blacked out after a night of heavy drinking and lost all memory of the world."
"I bought it back. I know it means a lot to you. You should have it."
"I bought it back. I know it means a lot to you. You should have it." (Give her the pin.)
"I bought you this figurine of a headless FALN rider!" (Give it to her.)
"I broke it. Drove my motor carriage into a billboard above the lock, blocking the gates."
"I broke the prybar. Where do I get a new one?" (Proceed)
"I brought them here. These are my machines. Please don't touch anything."
"I brought you some booze. Will you tell me about your name now?"
"I brought you the filament." (Give her the off-site copy.)
"I built it myself." She nods toward her torture device.
"I buried my man, mourned for a month and that was it. Life didn't really change that much for me and the kids. Not for the worse at least."
"I burned out all right."
"I call it like I see it, Cuno."
"I called it crime prevention. You'll have to go at it straight -- if you have it in you."
"I called my station's lazareth and they told me to 'drink less.'"
"I called your Station after the fight. The injury was logged in. They told me they've sent officers to join you on the site."
"I came all the way from Olduwai to work here!"
"I came back to pick up my die."
"I came in contact with the burnt out ruins of the past, lieutenant." (Conclude.)
"I came upon a few hidden maps illustrating the range of the smuggling network."
"I can *see* you recognize it. It's in your eyes."
"I can *tell* that you finally got him down. Thank you -- It was quite a disturbing sight, even by Martinaise standards."
"I can -- I will just pass time until my mind reconfigures from the abuse it's taken. I can do that now. I've taught myself."
"I can afford a better place this time. We can try again -- this time with money. I can *win* now."
"I can already see it, crème de la crème of Revachol..."
"I can answer that. Many men keep searching for *the one*. For so-called true love, which is actually just obsession masquerading as kinship. The thrill of the chase, the hollowness that fills your chest cavity after catching it."
"I can ask him to let you in."
"I can assure nothing like that will happen. Do you know why not?"
"I can assure you -- *nothing* in this world comes even close to being addicted to this devil."
"I can assure you -- there really, really are *not*."
"I can assure you I'm an expert circuit-bender. I'm not breaking into your computer, I'm using it to access Coalition military datalinks."
"I can assure you, Mr. Diodore, that despite his vices he is a competent detective."
"I can assure you, he is... a police officer. Very... knowledgeable."
"I can assure you, with absolute certainty: there are no sequence killings taking place in Martinaise."
"I can be a communist!" He nods. "If you want that -- do you want me to be a communist?!"
"I can be an ultra!" He nods. "If you want that -- do you want me to be an ultra?!"
"I can believe that. Shitkid made it all up to fuck with us -- because he's a psychopath. This is typical Harry behaviour. A sick joke. I told you, Jude."
"I can believe that. That rings true to me." He nods. "Carly works in the kindergarten, right?"
"I can believe that." He nods. "Carly works in a gun shop, you see."
"I can buy into that. A flaming rhino."
"I can certainly see how having him up there might start affecting *some* real estate values." He licks his fat lips and smiles.
"I can confirm that."
"I can cut the belt easily. Where are those chaincutters you mentioned?"
"I can do better."
"I can do business with him. For a socialist he's reasonable."
"I can do that!" He nods. "If you want that -- I can be a conduit for the mystical nationhood!"
"I can do this on my own. She's not an immediate flight risk. See you tomorrow morning, officer. Downstairs, at the Whirling-In-Rags."
"I can drive him to Processing today, no problem. Since we stalled with this... But this *does* mean I will be gone for the rest of the day."
"I can finish this without listening to the tape." (Do not take it.)
"I can fix it to the plaque and have a... new bird in the establishment I guess?" He hesitates. "So, I don't know... thank you? I'm gonna go with *thank you*."
"I can give you my paperwork -- there's an autopsy form there. Several actually. But *only* if it helps move things along."
"I can give you the *time* too, it was late. After midnight. 12:20." She breathes in. "I know I have not been 100% truthful with you. But I *am* now."
"I can handle it."
"I can hear the waves."
"I can just walk in the hostel now, after a good wash. They all think I'm an antisocial, a vagrant. Closing hour is a good time. The kitchen's empty then."
"I can just walk in there now, after a good wash -- I told you they think I'm an antisocial. Closing hour is a good time. The kitchen's empty."
"I can never tell with these Aboriginals..."
"I can not rescind that promise." She smiles apologetically. "To my knowledge, the drivers are still at the roundabout. I will tell you *everything* I know -- when you've finished with them."
"I can pretty much finish the case from under that boat there. It's dry, weatherproof, and *free of charge*."
"I can respect that."
"I can see how the helmet could wash up on the island. And the scope -- maybe Mr Dros lost it? But to seek out this would be *very* unusual behaviour for an anthropod."
"I can see it, bright as day. Oh, if we were SKULLS right now..."
"I can see it," he nods. "Through the scope of a rifle. The shooter would be prone, lying on the mattress, barrel resting on the embrasure."
"I can see it."
"I can see that, Harry." He studies your face. "Alcohol has left its marks, but you're doing better than when I first saw you. Rich-man is shitting himself -- the working class, sober!"
"I can see that, but do you have to do it where everyone can see you?" He looks shocked.
"I can see that, yes. I'm not judging."
"I can see that," she nods, a clever flicker in her eyes. "Everyone can see you think well of yourself. Now are you interested or not?"
"I can see that. And you've partied *very* hard for a *very* long time, haven't you?"
"I can see that. Further sine-matching would do good for us. One way to achieve sine-synchronicity would be by getting us into the *church*."
"I can see that. The potted plant under the table is a Seraise Fern. They have those in Tien En too. All things considered..." he looks around, as if to check.
"I can see that."
"I can see that." He takes a step toward the door. "You're the RCM's own Soldier of the Apocalypse, aren't you?"
"I can see that." He takes a step toward the door. It looks like he'd like to leave now. The atmosphere is oppressive.
"I can see that." She nods. "I'm glad all this *onward going* has brought you to me."
"I can see that." She takes a sip. "It suits you."
"I can see that." The lieutenant steps away from the stage, ready for your performance.
"I can see the similarity, yes." She breathes out, through her nostrils. The air smells of menthol.
"I can see there's more to this story, detective," he says quietly. "But you're not the first corrupt cop in the RCM."
"I can see you're disappointed." A brief smile. "You're right to be -- I don't speak a word of seolite. I've never met either one of my grandparents. I've never been to Seol. I'm a regular, garden variety Revacholiere."
"I can see you're drunk."
"I can see you've a taste for luxury, officer!" says the shopkeeper. "Can't keep your eyes off those sneakers?"
"I can see you've put *quite a a few* things here -- they don't all give you a point."
"I can see your hand is getting tired now -- there is no need to continue. No one is keeping score."
"I can see, and it saddens me. But devotion can save you -- it saved me."
"I can see," she nods, eyeing you up and down.
"I can see," she nods, pointing to your war-paint, "the stripes."
"I can still fix it"
"I can still make your lungs glow, I know I can. If you only let me."
"I can suddenly see how it's hard to indict someone who is not actually a person, but an ideology..."
"I can tell him." (Accept.)
"I can tell that this is taxing for you, so I'll just ask *one* more question. What regime are we living under? What mode of government?"
"I can tell you this -- trouble's ahead."
"I can tell you what this one means. Only one." He squints at it. It's so small. "You wanna hear what happened here?"
"I can tell you who we're not, cop. We're *not* snitches, f****ts or SKULLS."
"I can totally help you find your missing husband."
"I can try to guess."
"I can try to shoot him down myself."
"I can try..." (Blow gently on your bruised knuckles.)
"I can understand how you would mistake Jacob Irw for a powerful electric vortex."
"I can't *believe* that helmet, man. I kicked into the fucking ocean washed up here. Or... do you -- do you think the *phasmid* brought it here?" He squints, looking around.
"I can't *believe* the inert lumpen out there. They just let her drive her little boat like that. No violence, not even a robbery. The working class has lost their appetite for justice..." His voice trails off in disappointment.
"I can't *tell* you who I am. I have a secret plan to win man kind three thousand years of peace on this planet. I have to be ominously vague..." (Proceed.)
"I can't accept this thing." (Refuse the task -- for now.)
"I can't answer your *other questions*, Harry. Not any more... I have to go."
"I can't be 100% certain, but..."
"I can't be a police officer... This is insane."
"I can't be one hundred per cent sure, but I believe he died due to complications from venereal disease."
"I can't believe it's snowing again..." The young woman resting by the wheelbarrow sighs.
"I can't believe it, Cuno's dad can't be a loser! It *must* be someone else."
"I can't believe it, Cuno's dad isn't a loser! It *must* be someone else."
"I can't believe it... I was so sure it was Sylvie. Even worse, I thought she was trying to send me a *message*. Symbol of hope and all..."
"I can't believe the pig is stroking him *again*..."
"I can't believe they're fucking useless!"
"I can't believe this turned into another Mike thing... Fine, okay, I'll stick to it." She takes the device from you and places it in her lap. "I'll knock it out in three rounds."
"I can't but feel partially responsible for the unhealthy culture that poor woman latched onto. I'm sorry."
"I can't disclose any details of an on-going case."
"I can't do it. I'm sorry."
"I can't do that any more. I'm not eighty years old, I'm thirty two. People my age are not supposed to mourn..." She breathes out, it sounds more angry than a sigh.
"I can't even cry..." (Throw the gun in the mud.)
"I can't even understand how we're talking about something that doesn't exist, let alone measure it."
"I can't for the life of me understand why you did it." He spreads his arms. "I mean... I would have just left him up there. You must really like cleaning up other people's shit."
"I can't forget it. Even when I drank so much..."
"I can't get into the Doomed Commercial Area. Your mother won't let me through the back door."
"I can't get involved in this..."
"I can't get it..."
"I can't give you what I don't have." She turns away from you, focusing on the books again.
"I can't go extinct, officer! I've got kids to feed. Once an economy goes extinct, it messes up the whole eco-system. You got to think about the consequences!"
"I can't handle the headache."
"I can't have you end up... like... opening a police store next door and stealing my customers, oh no."
"I can't hear you, darling... speak up, please."
"I can't help you with this right now. I need something else, something *extra*..."
"I can't imagine it any more." (Conclude.)
"I can't just 'let it go', it's part of a police investigation."
"I can't leave my post here." He smiles. "Besides, it don't bother me none. Crab's no worse than a man, if you think about it."
"I can't let a kid go and take a murder suspect to the Station."
"I can't operate in this world without knowing it's basic terms."
"I can't prove it, but I *know* he was sent by the Wild Pines. They hire merc-shit like that. Story of every strike from here to Samara."
"I can't quite tell... what *kind* of gun is it?"
"I can't remember." There's a pang of regret to her voice.
"I can't say -- probably not. Sounded like you were flying solo."
"I can't say I'm *fully* satisfied with that part. We should search for prints maybe..." He points to the spring mud around you.
"I can't say I'm satisfied with that part yet. I still want to know what's in that trash container..." He points to it.
"I can't say I'm satisfied with that part yet. We should search for prints maybe..." he stops to look at the spring mud. "And the trash container too..."
"I can't say it increased my faith in the RCM. No offence, gentlemen." He shakes his head.
"I can't say it's the best part of town, but I wouldn't worry *too much* about a pair of grown men travelling together."
"I can't say that it does, no. When I need to think, I just use my notebook..."
"I can't see a book..." Kim pats his pockets. "So he took the book to the library, then came back and thought -- I'll have one."
"I can't see any prints fitting the armoured boots the victim was wearing, can you? Someone had to carry him. Are any of the *other* prints deep enough?"
"I can't see anything."
"I can't see how that was worth the ruckus..." He looks at the crate. "Except for seeing the crane in action. Which, I admit, was satisfying."
"I can't see it happen. Too many things would have to go wrong first."
"I can't see why it *wouldn't* be okay. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I can't seem to find Ruby. Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"I can't shake the feeling he was doing something *else* when he died."
"I can't stop a grown man from learning about the fundamental geographic and entroponetic features of our world, can I?"
"I can't take it any more. Just go." (Don't attempt to destroy the compressor.)
"I can't tell -- I can't see my face."
"I can't understand how I didn't notice a giant ice bear fridge myself..."
"I can't wait to get my gun back. I'll use that thieving Pigs for target practice, of course..."
"I can't, my rubber dinghy..." He points to the broken tire. "My tire is broken, it won't inflate."
"I can't. But that's how you read this story. The points themselves don't have letters, numbers, anything. Their size, location on the body and distance from each other tells you what they represent."
"I can't. That's how simple it is. One may dye their hair green and wear their grandma's coat all they want. Capital has the ability to subsume all critiques into itself. Even those who would *critique* capital end up *reinforcing* it instead..."
"I can't. This man was no sailor -- and these are no ports. I can understand geographic fragments, but not their meaning."
"I can't..." She covers her mouth. "I can't believe he's still *there*, this is *madness*."
"I can. And I'm sorry, Kim. I promise this is the last time."
"I can." His voice is so silent, it seems the words are echoing in your head, not coming from his lips. "Cuno can smell that violence shit. I know what you were thinking..."
"I cannot be bought!" (Throw the sandwich on the ground.)
"I cannot. I cannot live without this job... fuck you then.! And fuck me! I'll go."
"I changed my mind about the key. I'll look into the spookers for you. Just give it to me." (Get the task.)
"I changed my mind, I want you to sign the documents." (Give her the envelope.)
"I changed my mind. I would like you to sign the documents." (Hand her the envelope.)
"I changed my mind. I'll help you find your missing jacket."
"I chased it with a net -- not very elegant, but you can't be elegant in the field -- and, well, it was faster than me!"
"I checked the records. This jurisdiction dispute -- who polices Martinaise -- reaches back to the thirties. It's as old as my Station. And all this time we can't decide who gets Martinaise? I think, yes, both Stations would prefer a win."
"I circle it, nurtured by the silence bestowed by the Mother. One of these days, I'll be pure enough to go drink from it directly."
"I cleaned it, like I always do."
"I come from the woods, *kyttä vittu*... You don't wanna go there with me... you don't wanna see what I've seen."
"I come from there." (Point to the mainland.) "I can assure you, that is *not* what the people are planning."
"I completely forgot." He looks at his notes. "Sorry, I had a rough night's sleep. It's them, by the looks of it -- loud and nasty, just like the manager said."
"I confiscated drugs from Cuno's dad."
"I confiscated these four a little while back. We can take them to the pawnshop down by the Martinaise Canal."
"I considered forgery and ruled it out. It's illegal and unethical."
"I considered her a good friend, yeah."
"I convinced my partners to reinvest some of our profits in an even-more high-concept 'cultural incubator' called "Thin Air". The artists were happy, the clients were happy."
"I could do it. It's well within my repertoire."
"I could do with a party.. A *killer* party, not a lame-o one!"
"I could have done more."
"I could have learned something about the phasmid's behaviour. Searched for it with them."
"I could help -- by brutally dismantling the free market."
"I could if I were a bartender. But I'm not, I'm the cafeteria manager. So I won't."
"I could probably use a good run myself."
"I could say something, but I'm not going to, because I don't gloat."
"I could see it in his eyes."
"I could see they've returned now. To show their real face -- the face they don't dare show their bourgeois voters back on Mundi, with their families and polyester clothes..."
"I could see who she was, too," he nods. "A spook. On the run. Revachol's the cloaca of capital now. All the bagmen and arms dealers end up here. To do drugs and have sex like animals."
"I could settle it for you, but not right now. Tell me something else, Egg Head."
"I could still be wrong, but... I'm probably not."
"I could teach people to protect themselves against bad energies and to fight crime."
"I could try to ask Evrart to pay you some money..."
"I could use a breather before another *runny* day begins..."
"I could use a breather, it's been another *track and field day*," the lieutenant says, rubbing his thigh.
"I could use a coat like that. The rain is freezing."
"I could've eaten it for all I know. I don't remember anything. This world, this city. Nothing."
"I could, but I'd rather not." He smiles. "I don't want to take up your time with trivial details, officer."
"I couldn't even pay a hostel bill."
"I couldn't find my other shoe, and I refuse to wear shoes that aren't as cool as the shoe I'm wearing."
"I couldn't just sit inside with that view. I wanted to thank them... or I don't know what I wanted."
"I couldn't possibly shower thanks on you as enthusiastically as my wife has," he says with a friendly nod, "But I am grateful for your assistance, officer."
"I couldn't reach up and grab a tie from a spinning fan without unbearable pain shooting through my arm."
"I couldn't say -- it's impossible to hear people speaking from over here." She nods toward Room #3.
"I couldn't say. In truth... so far, mostly drinking."
"I couldn't see their faces well, and there were quite a few of them. But they were very loud and very... Martinaise..." He pauses, looking for the right wording.
"I couldn't tell you exactly. Less than ten. Maybe eight?"
"I couldn't tell you," he says, exhaling a little puff of smoke. "We don't usually see much of the *gendarmerie* around here."
"I dare not dream any more."
"I deal in goods, not services."
"I decided not to pawn it. You should have it back."
"I decided not to pawn it. You should have it back." (Give her the pin.)
"I decided to stop. Completely. Forever."
"I defied bourgeoisie morality in here. Defied it *hard*."
"I definitely don't have a birthmark on my left cheek."
"I definitely left that one stocked. Hmm..."
"I deserve this. My body deserves to suffer for being this *weak* and *disappointing*."
"I detected psychic emanations from within and was compelled to investigate."
"I developed the paradigm, worked within the paradigm. But the burden of leadership weighed heavily on me, so I went jogging every so often to keep myself sane."
"I did all I could there."
"I did all I could. Every second was a struggle."
"I did and I'm *so* sorry."
"I did and I'm sorry." She doesn't appear surprised. "For what it's worth... which isn't much."
"I did and he is." She takes a step back. "He's also an alcoholic."
"I did everything I could. The company had hired unvetted..."
"I did get to talk to the crab man, though."
"I did go inside. He had the glorious flag of *Revachol the Suzerain* on his wall."
"I did go inside. Weasel had the flag of the Old Revachol on his wall."
"I did it -- my way."
"I did it because I'm a delusional washout cop who thinks he's a superstar. I just *do* shit."
"I did it for man kind. For *all of man kind*."
"I did it for the Union. For the rights of the workers."
"I did it for the World Revolution."
"I did it in a last ditch effort to ward of the End of Times. And it didn't even work."
"I did it out of sympathy for alcoholism. It's a cause dear to me."
"I did it, Evrart -- I made it even shadier."
"I did it, Evrart. I turned it off."
"I did it, Kim! I teleported!"
"I did it... I can't believe I did. I'm so fucking boring, but..."
"I did my best."
"I did not *just* come up with this. I've had my doubts since we found no signs of struggle on his wrists. No claw marks on his neck -- why? Why didn't he fight for his life?"
"I did not kill him to defend myself from rape," she says. "I told you before. That wasn't what happened."
"I did not know this was a competition, Kim."
"I did not want us to be indebted to Evrart Claire. I wanted us to be able to deal with it ourselves. That is *clearly* not the case. We need help."
"I did not, Harry." He shakes his head energetically. "Although I am very, very glad he's dead."
"I did not." He gives you a blank stare. "But I'd say it has been here since last Saturday or Sunday."
"I did not." She takes a drag of her cigarette and smiles. "Mystery solved then. I kept wondering where it led."
"I did not." She takes a drag of her cigarette. "Do you think this has something to do with what happened?"
"I did right not to give you the drugs. Let's conclude this." (End the conversation.)
"I did see it, yes. Let's better not jump to any conclusion."
"I did see one lorry with the trailer doors open on my way here. Do you know what happened?"
"I did see them both, yes."
"I did some research into this *armadura*. Let's say I have friends at the library," he explains with a wry smile. "I didn't get into the material science, just how it comes off."
"I did that, didn't I?" He snickers. "She thinks of herself as a guerilla fighter. These middle-class kids and the books they read are crazy, Harry. I think she would rather be an *insurgent* than a lawyer. I hope it's a phase."
"I did think that, yes -- that she's a *little* crazy..."
"I did what?! Can't remember shit, I was wasted."
"I did! I knew it! That's why she didn't fuck me at Fatty's birthday party."
"I did, didn't I. And now you've come for me." She scoffs. "But fuck them all the same."
"I did, thank you. Big improvement."
"I did," he breathes out with a wheeze. "And you opened it -- how?"
"I did," she replies. Her little fists tremble...
"I did. *I* happened to myself."
"I did. I knew the negotiations would go better with police officers telling her horror stories from inside the harbour. It's scarier this way. Turns out it was a magnificent strategy. I never thought it'd so fundamentally fuck her up."
"I did. I shouldn't have. It was a mistake..." A tremor passes the left side of his face.
"I did."
"I did." He almost smiles. "She had a face like an archipelago, with those birthmarks. And a body, hard and lean and bruised all over -- black and yellow. I could see she's taken a beating."
"I did." He nods. "A needless, sentimental gesture. I should have spared the bullet for a deformed monster of liberal capitalism. Shameful really..."
"I didn't *ask* for things. It's too late to give me anything. I would have liked the Headless FALN rider -- back then..."
"I didn't *ask* for things. It's too late to give me anything. I would have liked these things, a long time ago -- the Headless FALN rider especially..."
"I didn't *intimidate* her. It was a misunderstanding. She thought I was sent by La Puta Madre."
"I didn't *lie* to you -- no one *lies* to you. You were so fucked up on booze you couldn't recognize your own partner."
"I didn't agree with you, by the way. The spectral hand of the market makes sure everyone gets exactly what they deserve." He takes a long sip of beer.
"I didn't ask for them either. They're just a folk tale that has nothing to do with my reign, or the direction I have set our species on..." She glances over her shoulder, then back at you.
"I didn't ask you about diamonds, did I? I don't care about that."
"I didn't break anything, did I?"
"I didn't deserve this handout. You should've forced me to *hustle* harder."
"I didn't do it, fucker! It wasn't *my* plan."
"I didn't even notice it. The work comes first, you know."
"I didn't exactly *disguise* it. I just muffled the mic and nicked the landline a little."
"I didn't find any counterculture people in apartment #10 -- it was just a real estate agent setting up the room for new tenants."
"I didn't find it funny."
"I didn't have a home anymore, so I started keeping it in the basement, in the ice bear refrigerator (near where I went to sleep). It was perfectly safe there, the temperature conditions were *optimal*."
"I didn't have to. Came in through the storm drains."
"I didn't have what in me? To arrest her?"
"I didn't imply that." He turns to you. "Detective?"
"I didn't know *what* to say to him later. Then you came and destroyed the place. So I left without explaining. I should have told him maybe..."
"I didn't know I had to do that." She looks puzzled.
"I didn't know I was a cop. Are you sure?"
"I didn't know insects had any rights -- or activists."
"I didn't know it was in here." He cracks his neck. "We have to get rid of it. Dismantle it. Can't dance with a giant *mass murder* lookin' at you. Not a good look for the club."
"I didn't know that was even possible. It must be a great burden."
"I didn't know the phasmid was so important to Lena."
"I didn't know they *let* binoclards become cops."
"I didn't know this can happen, so I reached my arm and touched the thing. It felt just like a stalk of reed, but it moved. Swaying, towering above me..." She looks at you. "After a while -- 20 seconds? a minute maybe? -- it left. Went into the reeds."
"I didn't know you could... do that."
"I didn't know you smoked, Kim."
"I didn't lie. Not a lot. I've done my absolute best *not* to. I just..."
"I didn't like him as much as I like you."
"I didn't like him. Hardened mercenaries aren't particularly likeable types."
"I didn't live and fight for forty years to end up as a collaborationist. I've heard it -- on Channel 8, 40AM *and* Radio Revachol Late Night..."
"I didn't lose my gun, I have my gun!" (Show him the gun.)
"I didn't mean it as a bad thing."
"I didn't mean to imply that Seolites are in any way inferior to us. In some ways, they are superior -- every species has its advantages and disadvantages."
"I didn't mean to offend you." (Drop the subject -- you don't want drugs.)
"I didn't mean to overwhelm you with information. You seem a bit... lost, officer."
"I didn't meant to, I'm sorry..." The girl is visibly shaken.
"I didn't notice anything -- what kind of *shit* are we talking about?"
"I didn't rape her."
"I didn't realize you were so petty and insecure."
"I didn't say 62, I said 58." He squints, looking at you for a second.
"I didn't say I'd *prove* she had the murder weapon -- just that we need to find her." (Move on.)
"I didn't say anything."
"I didn't say you wrote it."
"I didn't see a case in the church story."
"I didn't see any signs of smoking inside, though. If people live there, they keep it tidy -- this here may also be a smoking spot."
"I didn't see the other spooker, just some machines."
"I didn't show up to a rendezvous. They don't take that *lightly*." She rushes to explain: "I didn't show up because I was afraid they'd... do something to me. The job was finished -- I'm just a liability now."
"I didn't think I had a shot like that in me anymore. I did. I saw him kneel there with his mouth full of death and that stupid look on his face." The smile quivers. "And his dick still in her..."
"I didn't think you had the stomach for it." He nods grimly. "And I can usually tell."
"I didn't think you were spiritual."
"I didn't want it. Kim has it."
"I didn't want to fight you. You're the tiny ape I loved."
"I didn't want to say it, but it *was* pretty lame of you to imply otherwise. Anyway, you got more questions?"
"I didn't want to, sir. And he's *still* hanging there..." She looks away.
"I didn't want to, sir. But if I hadn't, he'd *still* be hanging there.."
"I didn't want to, sir. But if I hadn't, he'd *still* be hanging there.." She looks away.
"I didn't, man -- I told you, I was *hoping* it's not her. That she wouldn't be mixed up in it."
"I didn't," the lieutenant says quietly. "Let's not do stories. Let's do *questions*."
"I didn't. He's a government official. I don't trust governments."
"I didn't. It's the wind. You misheard."
"I didn't."
"I didn't." He turns to the lieutenant: "I don't appreciate this. What is this?"
"I dig your style, man."
"I disagree. It sounds like a strike brew -- *and* you made them *more* drunk? Aren't they corked enough already?"
"I discovered a new species."
"I discovered a run-down gym."
"I do 'little things' for Evrart myself. Nothing wrong with that."
"I do 'little things' for Evrart too. I feel terrible about it."
"I do -- but as you can see my fuel tank is running quite low, if you catch my drift..." He spins the bottle in his hand. Not a single drop of liquid remains.
"I do -- one of those mercenary buddies of his could've done it. They got guns. Training. Years of bad blood, probably. Or it could've been someone else from Krenel..." He pauses to think.
"I do apologize for the intrusion, madam. We're with the RCM, you see."
"I do drugs to keep working, cleaning up this *shit* you've created here."
"I do drugs. I've got a vision beast myself."
"I do drugs."
"I do feel the urge to save the world, yes. I guess that's why I'm on this case."
"I do get the feeling that someone or something may have messed with the trap..."
"I do have a form..." He looks at his notes.
"I do have one mystery that still needs solving... the radio ghost in the Doomed Commercial Area's electronic doorbell."
"I do have some money, yes, but that's not what's really important here." He brushes it off like it's not a thing at all.
"I do hope so," she bows. "I hope we are able to remain collegial despite my monstrousness. The ultras didn't have anything against the king *or* the Commune, you see. It was just business."
"I do hope so. Please don't call me again. Bye." She's ready to hang up.
"I do hope you're able to bring his killer or killers to justice. We must show that the rule of law still applies... even in Revachol."
"I do it by.. asking questions. And I have some for you."
"I do like disco, maybe I should get into it?"
"I do like the sound of that... another Revachol. Free. Independent."
"I do like the sound of that..." He returns her smile.
"I do my best to keep my distance from all manner of butchery. Bad for business, bad for everyone."
"I do my studies at home at the moment. I have to help Mom keep this place running."
"I do not *expect* you to share anything Evrart told you with me -- not being a corrupt *würm* myself." She pauses. "However, if you felt like passing *some* information..."
"I do not appreciate your tone. This is no way to talk to an officer."
"I do not approve of this *abuse* of power nor your *redistribution* efforts." His features stiffen. "That's not the Revachol *I* fought for. Here..." he hands the sandwich to Gaston.
"I do not harbour a sentiment for revolutionary air brigades in particular."
"I do not have a *thing* with revolutionary air brigades in particular."
"I do not want to shoot myself in the head." She tugs on the rope.
"I do not." He turns to her, the cuffs still in his hand. "What exactly about your relationship with this person made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"I do some Lo Manthang stick fighting now and then."
"I do that too, yes. It's unbelievably effective. Especially when combined with cigarettes. And drugs."
"I do want you to feel at home, Harry, truly. But you'll have to excuse the humble accommodations."
"I do what I want, C." He spits. "Learn it."
"I do, yes. A stroll on the beach sounds nice, doesn't it?" She nods. "Alright. I'll see the kids haven't killed each other and we'll meet at Land's End in... fifteen minutes."
"I do, yes. A stroll on the beach sounds nice." She nods. "Alright, I guess I'll be seein you at Land's End in the evening. When it gets dark, alright?"
"I do," he nods, straightening his back. "Fire from heavy artillery."
"I do. Most of them are post mortem. Maybe even all of them. The delinquents have made our jobs harder with their little sport."
"I do. Some *advertising* cockroaches used their accumulated capital to erect a new, ironic version of it. We tore it down with honest working class plastic explosives --but there it is again, grinning..." He shakes his head in disgust.
"I do. You drove it into the water. Everyone on this street saw you do it. It's going to be a local landmark too -- on the brochure. Thank you for fucking us, Harry."
"I do."
"I do." He coughs.
"I do." She lights another one.
"I do." The lieutenant marks something in his notebook. "One of them carried him over."
"I do." The lieutenant marks something in his notebook. "The fat guy, I think I heard them call him Angus -- most likely to have carried the victim over."
"I do." There's a pause, then he continues: "I heard it was a particularly bad one. The place was shot to pieces."
"I do: KK57-0503-0815"
"I do?" The question is addressed to herself more than you. "Gareth? No I..." She raises the megaphone and screams: "AGGRAVATED ASSAULT, MAN DOWN, SUSPECT ON FOOT!"
"I dodged the second shot. I can also get *not shot*."
"I dodged."
"I don't *care* about the Wayfarer Act! Get out of here!" (Stomp your feet.)
"I don't *know*." He smiles a peculiar smile. "I don't know where she went. She just up and left. Got real scared too. Wouldn't tell me where -- however *hard* I asked. Wanna know why?"
"I don't *sit*. It's kind of my thing."
"I don't *think* I've chosen any sides yet."
"I don't *think* it was a stroke."
"I don't *want* to tell you anything, you grotesque murderer."
"I don't *want* to. But you discovered a new species. And solved the murder..." He shrugs.
"I don't actually remember much of what I've done."
"I don't actually want to talk about my personal life with a stupid voice behind a wall."
"I don't agree with you."
"I don't answer to *anyone*. Mother fucking anyone, butch."
"I don't ask you to, lieutenant. If there's one thing I know it's that you'll get *nothing* from there."
"I don't believe in equality. Never seen it work." She shakes her head and returns to sweeping.
"I don't believe in them either."
"I don't believe it. I've never known those boys to have manners."
"I don't believe that for one moment, officer." There is a pause, then her stern expression clears. "I'm just going to assume that departmental regulations prevent you from saying anything more..."
"I don't believe that. Police showing up here, collecting signatures -- this had Union written all over it."
"I don't believe the fat man's *youth centre* is gonna change anything. But what other choice do we have? It's not like the Coalition Government is coming to save us..."
"I don't believe you!"
"I don't believe you!" she disappears entirely behind the fence.
"I don't believe you. Poste L'Aventurier said the same thing. They tried to get me to be their postman. So fun, so easy, they said. It's just walking." He shakes his head at the memory.
"I don't believe you."
"I don't believe you." He squints. "You're drunk. You let a suspect *escape* -- a certain Klaasje. Because you were you too *drunk* to assess her flight risk."
"I don't believe you." He squints. "You're drunk. You let a suspect *escape* -- a certain Ruby. Because you were too *drunk* to take her in."
"I don't believe you." He squints. "You're drunk. You made a suspect shoot herself in the head. You went in drunk and *intimidated* her."
"I don't blame you. I mean, I wouldn't believe me either. I'm surprised Noid did. Andre I expected, but Noid..." She shakes her head.
"I don't buy it. Why do you smell like a *corpse* then? Huh?"
"I don't buy this theory."
"I don't care -- he can't be a cop.  He's just a kid. A kid who says 'f****t' every four seconds."
"I don't care -- he can't be a cop.  He's twelve. And says 'f****t' every four seconds."
"I don't care about disco, I only care about the Commune."
"I don't care about kings. Tell me one more thing..."
"I don't care about my gun. Keep it."
"I don't care about their other ideas, I just want to hear about the bear. Did the bear work?"
"I don't care about their politics, it just *looks* cool."
"I don't care about your stinkin' badge. Just come in," she manages to say with a wheeze.
"I don't care and it's not really our concern." [Leave.]
"I don't care if you are a cop -- you *do not* just ruin someone's game. It's so goddamn disrespectful!"
"I don't care if you have a *new gun*, I only care about your *old gun*. Your official sidearm. You lost it, didn't you?"
"I don't care what delinquent said."
"I don't care what it is, I only came to tell you about why you haven't failed yet."
"I don't care what your drug lab is called..." He calms himself. "Fuck it. You're done as a cop -- become a pollonium dealer for all I care"
"I don't care, I don't care about crab men." She barely looks up, now tinkering with the machine's printer.
"I don't care, I don't like the crab man and I don't like his ideas, his ideas are spooky. Next, please!"
"I don't care, I'm *loco*. I just wanted you to know that I know about the plan."
"I don't care, you can't stop me! I'll open them." (Continue.)
"I don't care," she blurts, then reconsiders: "But thank you anyway."
"I don't care. I don't care what happened 50 years ago. This is now and I need to keep the city safe."
"I don't care. It's not to kill civilians and local law enforcement officers."
"I don't care. Where is the gun the RCM gave you to kill people with? Where is that one?"
"I don't care. You took some drugs from some kid. And then snorted them. It's all right -- honestly. *Anything* but the drink."
"I don't care. You're not putting a dead body into my fridge."
"I don't care."
"I don't deserve 'er, I don't deserve anybody..."
"I don't deserve it. I'm scum."
"I don't deserve that information, I didn't earn it..."
"I don't deserve this." (Don't take the medal.)
"I don't dispute that you have been charged with protecting the people of a particularly... challenging district. But poverty does not make one a loser -- poverty is just... poverty."
"I don't do drugs."
"I don't do karaoke, man. I'm too good."
"I don't do names either. Names are *out*. I don't care what mine is."
"I don't do orders on credit. Come back when you have the full amount."
"I don't doubt you, lieutenant. If you say it was the Insulindian Phasmid then it was the Insulindian Phasmid."
"I don't doubt your physical prowess, officer, but that's aircraft strength material. And we do not have a secure platform to perform the procedure on."
"I don't doubt your physical prowess, officer, but this is a gruelling surgical procedure. I saw twenty steel strands in there -- and we do not have a secure platform for the cutting."
"I don't eat worker-food!" he blurts out, immediately regretting it. "Look, officer, I like different, *classic* food. Fine dining, not *worker backs*. Please, just drop it."
"I don't either, but wouldn't you rather eat a *virtuous* sandwich? One free of the *bourgeois* guilt-baggage?"
"I don't either, but wouldn't you rather eat a sandwich free of the *bourgeois* guilt-baggage?"
"I don't even care about those whores any more..." He stares despondently into the reeds. "Get it over with. Take me in."
"I don't even have a cockatoo. And guess what?"
"I don't even have a gun!"
"I don't even know how I was able to do that."
"I don't even know what -- *Hell* maybe?"
"I don't even know what that is."
"I don't even know what to say to that..." he shakes his head. "What is your god damn station?"
"I don't even know what to say. I'm so disappointed."
"I don't even know what to say. That's a small number of discoveries."
"I don't even know what... *Inferno*?"
"I don't even know which jacket he's talking about. There have been... many things that he's found. He gets meticulous. But it's okay."
"I don't even know why I told you. This isn't about Evrart..."
"I don't even want happiness, or *un-unhappiness* -- I just don't want to die."
"I don't even want to know what all of that means -- brew, shady, alcohol, turned off. I'm gonna let the world *surprise* me."
"I don't expect you to share anything he told you with me. I'm not a *corrupt würm* myself." There's a pause. "However, if you felt like passing *some* information..."
"I don't feel as if I have any kids."
"I don't feel comfortable being separated from my multitool."
"I don't feel comfortable continuing this discussion." [Leave.]
"I don't feel it, but..." He looks ahead, beyond the arch. "We should still be careful. There were footprints back there. And I'm pretty sure they were fresh."
"I don't feel like I haven't gotten the whole picture yet."
"I don't feel so good."
"I don't get attached. Definitely not to things."
"I don't get it, contain what exactly?"
"I don't get it. What do you mean *partied*?"
"I don't give a shit, I don't need the locusts anyway. Shit is all lame now." He turns toward the fence. "C was right."
"I don't give a shit, I'm fucking *done*. I'm done mentally." There's a feverish gleam in his eyes. "This is the fucking end, loincloth."
"I don't go for that foreign piss. Proper booze is made in Mundi, or sometimes I like a dram of that Yugo-Graad vodka. Kojko's ain't worth much, but they do know booze."
"I don't have a *boule*, but will this do?" (Hold out the shotput ball.)
"I don't have a comment on drugs."
"I don't have a gun."
"I don't have a home."
"I don't have a problem with Al Gul. I just drink a little on the weekends."
"I don't have a top ten list of things I'm most suspicious of. But if I *had* one, the left-right complex would be number one. Number two would be their sole accomplishment -- the pig/wheat paradigm."
"I don't have an opinion on employing teens, I just want to know -- did it work out for the business?"
"I don't have any money. I spent all I had on other things. I had the urge to buy things. With *all* of the money!"
"I don't have any on me right now."
"I don't have any on me right now." (Lie.)
"I don't have anything to say. This is just something we have to do, Kim."
"I don't have anything to sell at the moment."
"I don't have anything... What can I offer you, Cuno?"
"I don't have clients, only friends."
"I don't have lists." (Lie.)
"I don't have questions."
"I don't have that -- I have something cooler. What was that? Mambo and Jambo?"
"I don't have that kind of money."
"I don't have that one. I don't have my sidearm." (Lie.)
"I don't have that. I don't have the sidearm."
"I don't have time for explanations, not amidst all those *visions* I'm getting."
"I don't have time for this. My leg hurts from running around, and I have to get to the island..." (Look at the tent flap.)
"I don't have time for this. Straight to the motive, please."
"I don't have time for this."
"I don't have time for this." [Leave.]
"I don't have time to feel good, I'm a very busy officer of the law."
"I don't have time to read any papers. Don't you have any *practical* advice?"
"I don't have to *believe*. I know you ain't got shit." He squints at you.
"I don't have to call anyone, I'm a ghostwhisperer myself."
"I don't how how. Maybe it's better not to..." (Back off.)
"I don't know *what* this is."
"I don't know *why* I did it. I just *do* shit. I'm an accident waiting to happen."
"I don't know -- Frittte?" She shrugs.
"I don't know -- you tell me."
"I don't know about good..."
"I don't know about stealing people's *very colourful* clothes like that..." He looks on disapprovingly.
"I don't know about that, but this *is* a big tent organization and we have all kinds of people with their quirks."
"I don't know about that. Anyway, like I said before, bossman said that weasel's not a friendly *boia*." He touches his beret. "So thanks for helping out."
"I don't know about that. Could we not?"
"I don't know about that... At around two o'clock, the disco stopped, and there was a change of pace."
"I don't know about that... But I imagine life is great when you're famous."
"I don't know about that... at around two o'clock the disco stopped and there was a change of pace."
"I don't know about that..." He takes his glasses off to clean them. "It was a different time. A different war."
"I don't know about that..." She turns north, to the bombed out buildings lining the waterfront, then shivers slightly.
"I don't know about that..." The lieutenant smiles an uncomfortable smile.
"I don't know about that..." The tattoed man yawns and settles more comfortably on the bench. "I'm comfortable here... don't think any sliding would really help right now."
"I don't know about the rest, but it's clear I should stop drinking the ancient Iilmaraan mind poison Al Gul."
"I don't know about things of that scale, my expertise lies in nations and trade routes, one or several layers below *everything*."
"I don't know any of this..."
"I don't know anyone like this, mister -- maybe he's one of mister Evrart's fancy friends. He knows all kinds of fancy people, with suits and perdy carriages." Leo falls silent.
"I don't know anything about fate. I just wanted to talk about a medical issue."
"I don't know anything about that either. As I said, I didn't write it."
"I don't know baby," Cuno shrugs. "I don't know why he's such a f*g."
"I don't know but I won't give up, Cuno."
"I don't know either..." He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of those, make sure it's all there. Official notes contain informants' names, undercover operatives even. If some of it has fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
"I don't know either..." He points to the ruined notes. "You should take stock of your notes, make sure it's all there. Official notes contain informants' names. If some have fallen into the hands of the RCM's adversaries, bloodletting may well ensue."
"I don't know exactly. A pre-war place. It used to be something." She shrugs. "Before the war. I wasn't here then, you know. Was born in Samara."
"I don't know how *good* it is, but this investigation has taken long enough. We can't afford it to take any longer."
"I don't know how I feel about my name, actually."
"I don't know how I feel about the Seolites knowing everything about me..."
"I don't know how Union has a trained killer up there, but that one's no joke. And my men are tired. And hungry. They're WORKERS, not fighters."
"I don't know how a semen sample works, officers. How many days after intercourse does it have to be -- I don't even know if he had sex with someone else. We didn't *go steady*."
"I don't know how good of a detective I am, really..."
"I don't know how he got in there."
"I don't know how you've all survived with it -- it's a huge accomplishment."
"I don't know if I really want to know."
"I don't know if I was ready to let him go..."
"I don't know if that's completely accurate..."
"I don't know if you're familiar with this, but the Vespertine Department of Justice has published a rather interesting paper on the criminal profiling in former socialist states. Have you read it?"
"I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't know where I am, or what I'm doing. Or *anything*."
"I don't know man, have you *been* down Boogie Street? It's a little bewildering."
"I don't know my mother -- but I'd go on strike against her too. For my rights."
"I don't know shit, and if I did I wouldn't tell you." He puffs on his cigarette.
"I don't know the password."
"I don't know the reputation of... *anything*. Don't even recognize the war."
"I don't know the technical term, but it needs less *bzoot-bzoot*."
"I don't know this Garte -- but something tells me he won't."
"I don't know what I was thinking, barging in like that..."
"I don't know what I would have done differently."
"I don't know what I'm doing here. I just go wherever life takes me."
"I don't know what I'm even doing here."
"I don't know what got *into* me. Stuffing my garbage in another man's property, it's... I've been having trouble at work lately. The kojkos are price dumping us out of competition."
"I don't know what got into him, officer... Thank you for letting him off easy. He won't forget it; we'll make sure he won't."
"I don't know what got into me, really.. work has been stressful lately. Damn kojkos price dumping us out of competition. "
"I don't know what got into me... Giving keys to a 20-ton motor-lorry to a child -- give 'em back!"
"I don't know what happened either." The lieutenant inspects the doorbell. "We should probably stop playing with this thing."
"I don't know what happened, Harry. I wanted you to feel like Mr. Martinaise! And, of course -- I also wanted you to *find your gun*." Great sadness comes over him. "But... it's like I can't completely trust you. Yet."
"I don't know what it is."
"I don't know what makes me say that."
"I don't know what that *means*..." She sighs with frustration. "My friends are waiting for me on the platform. I can't let them wait -- it's impolite."
"I don't know what that is..." He shakes his head.
"I don't know what that means either."
"I don't know what that means, Harry. But I love it!" He chuckles. "I love your initiative! Knowing you're out there keeping things running lets me focus on the big picture stuff."
"I don't know what that means, Harry. Shady brew? There are so many moving parts in my operation I can't keep track of them all..."
"I don't know what that means. It just popped in my head. Let's move on."
"I don't know what the fuck that means. Oranjese lit? What is that shit? Literature?"
"I don't know what the hell that is..."
"I don't know what this means..."
"I don't know what those are..."
"I don't know what to do any more... I'm just a busted old piece of meat. This case is all I have -- and you're not helping."
"I don't know what to make of this."
"I don't know what to say exactly..."
"I don't know what to say to that."
"I don't know what to say."
"I don't know what to tell you, officer. I didn't call you, because I didn't want to get in trouble with the others, with the Union. I'm sorry about that."
"I don't know what to think about that."
"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..."
"I don't know what to think. What do you think?"
"I don't know what you mean by *death's head* but it certainly looks like you're becoming a racist, officer."
"I don't know what you mean, Dolores Dei?" She looks at you quizzically. It does not seem like a mystery she wants to get into.
"I don't know what you're talking about, kind sir, but when I'm out, then I'm really *out*. No corpses. No mausoleums. Just *quality-time*."
"I don't know what you're talking about, kind sir, but when I'm out, then I'm really *out*. No ex-anything. Just *quality time*."
"I don't know what you're talking about, kind sir, but when I'm out, then I'm really *out*. No malt grains or whatever. No poetry-stuff. Just *quality-time*."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have thousands of fans. I am surrounded by love and support all the time."
"I don't know what, yet -- but it's going to be a hard spring for the RCM. We need to get ready. Infiltrate. Investigate."
"I don't know where he picked up these views, but wherever it was, he seems to be sincere about them."
"I don't know where they go..."
"I don't know where you got that idea."
"I don't know where you heard that, but it's wrong. The RCM is principled and *strong*, unlike you socialists."
"I don't know who I am. I am an amnesiac." (Proceed.)
"I don't know who I am... But who are you?"
"I don't know who Katarzine Alasije is, but it's safe to say it's not her either. In short: we got lied to, again. Good luck to whoever is questioning her in the 57th right now."
"I don't know who Katarzine Alasije is, but it's safe to say it's not her either. In short: we got lied to, again. In a way she's *still* lying to us..." The lieutenant can't help but smile.
"I don't know who killed him, I'm not the police. That's your job."
"I don't know who my mum *or* my dad was..."
"I don't know who that is..." He blushes. "But all I meant was there are not many Seolites around here."
"I don't know who these *bosses* think they are, but that sounds like a good arrangement -- for them."
"I don't know who's writing this shit, but I get the feeling they aren't experts on homicide investigations."
"I don't know why I do the things I do, lieutenant Kitsuragi."
"I don't know why I said *but*. There is no but."
"I don't know why I said that. I thought it's something a cop would say."
"I don't know why I said that. We're not looking for a drummer, we're looking for a group of dockworkers."
"I don't know why I said that."
"I don't know why I unplugged it, I do things without any reason."
"I don't know why I'm talking about this. It's some kind of... mind-reaction." (Point to your head.)
"I don't know why she left you. Let's go."
"I don't know why the bookstore hasn't gone bankrupt yet -- that's what I'm here to investigate."
"I don't know, Alice... just connect me."
"I don't know, Glenny." Ratface leans across the desk. "Ruby's a little secretive, isn't she? Wasn't like she told you every little thing..."
"I don't know, I don't even know her name. She just rolls with the fleet and acts like a big shot. Some dyke probably. I haven't even seen her for days."
"I don't know, I don't remember any of the other officers."
"I don't know, I indulge a little too sometimes..."
"I don't know, I just feel it."
"I don't know, I just walked right in here instead."
"I don't know, I'm a bit of a dopehead myself..."
"I don't know, I'm just scared. Maybe it's going to be something terrifying. Maybe it's going to tear the world apart."
"I don't know, I'm not an artist."
"I don't know, I'm not here for some science, I just want to solve a murder so I can go home."
"I don't know, Kim, it just *feels* special."
"I don't know, Lizzie. I guess *theoretical* things don't make me emotional." He turns to you. "Now was there anything else? I was sorta going to get my brewskie on."
"I don't know, are we? That's what I'm trying to figure out here. But how *do* I figure it out?"
"I don't know, at home now? Out drinking with his friends? Working?"
"I don't know, but I'll find out."
"I don't know, cop -- why don't you find your *lost gun* first?" The tattooed man bursts out laughing at his own joke.
"I don't know, could be. The washerwoman was clearly withholding something -- and she *does* rent this place out to people."
"I don't know, is it?" The lieutenant looks back, stone-faced. "I was going to take them into evidence, but they weren't necessary for conviction. He never asked them back."
"I don't know, it was just the only thing I could come up with in my head -- to ask you. I need to get money *somehow*."
"I don't know, it's not like we're joined by the hip. Anyway, I need assistance."
"I don't know, just seems like something we could do."
"I don't know, just, you know -- shoot up there maybe?" (Point towards the branch.)
"I don't know, let's wing it."
"I don't know, little things?" He pauses. "But you're right. We've gotten everything we can from the Union."
"I don't know, look at the clock. It's right behind you on the wall."
"I don't know, man. I'll decide later."
"I don't know, man. Sounds like an order. I don't take those."
"I don't know, man... things. Just stuff you need for life."
"I don't know, maybe?"
"I don't know, sir. I said I have no idea what to make of them. Honestly, I think they're just trash"
"I don't know, sir. It was stupid. I was drunk too. I was *probably* afraid the Union was listening in -- locals say they have ears in the wires."
"I don't know, some fucking..." He looks around, trying to come up with something.
"I don't know, some kind of a... store?" She pauses to think. "Maybe a general store... Look man, fuck the hat."
"I don't know, some whistleblower's I think?"
"I don't know, that's what I'm asking. Is this the personal log?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."
"I don't know, the most talkative one?" She's ready to put that question aside.
"I don't know, the thrill of the criminal lifestyle?"
"I don't know, what?"
"I don't know," they say almost in unison.
"I don't know. Am I?" He looks at you, taking stock of your cop-ness and finding it lacking.
"I don't know. An hour or two tops."
"I don't know. At this point..." He stops mid-sentence.
"I don't know. But it was not Katarzine Alasije. Or Annouk Meijer-Smit. Or Klaasje. Whoever she is -- when we get back I need to warn our holding cells. We need to double the security around her.
"I don't know. But it's not Katarzine Alasije. Or Klaasje. Or Annouk Meijer-Smit. We didn't even scratch the surface with her, detective."
"I don't know. Containers... contain, I guess. I'm making assumptions. We should move on."
"I don't know. His friends have rifles, maybe those psychos did it? Coalition military have rifles. I'm not a munitions expert -- and I did not shoot him."
"I don't know. I am not a philosopher."
"I don't know. I don't know what it's doing there."
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since."
"I don't know. I just went for it."
"I don't know. I liked the previous racists better."
"I don't know. I think the *dangerous* theory you presented on Klaasje was wrong. We have not found a motive, or a weapon for her."
"I don't know. I think the theory you presented -- it being Ruby -- did not add up. If we ever find her, we can pursue her on many offences, but not this one."
"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."
"I don't know. I think your *incredibly dangerous* theory about *you* being the killer was incorrect, however. There is not one piece of evidence to support it."
"I don't know. I think your *incredibly dangerous* theory on Titus Hardie was wrong. More than six people saw Titus downstairs that night."
"I don't know. I told you... I don't know her name."
"I don't know. I was thinking *you* would know..."
"I don't know. I zoned out. Harry --" He turns you. "Did you just pick up some island bum and pin it on him?"
"I don't know. I'm not persuaded."
"I don't know. It could have been quite a while." He looks you in the eye, as if inspecting your mental state.
"I don't know. Let's just aimlessly wander until a clue presents itself."
"I don't know. Let's talk about something else. This making me feel sad."
"I don't know. Maybe it's too far fetched."
"I don't know. Nothing really. I don't have any right, I'm sorry."
"I don't know. Please..." She shuffles from one golden-sandaled foot to the other. In the distance a street car screeches.
"I don't know. Really *long*?"
"I don't know. She can just read me I guess. She does that well..."
"I don't know. The further we get, the more this building seems to be tied to the case..."
"I don't know. What I *do* know is -- there was no giant stick insect on the island. That would be insane."
"I don't know. What about it?"
"I don't know. What do you mean?"
"I don't know."
"I don't know." (Wink.) "Maybe I have?"
"I don't know." He makes a note in his notebook.
"I don't know." He shrugs. "Some kind of bitch fight, I think." He snaps his fingers at you. "Hey, bitches! No fighting in the Union booth! Talk or walk!"
"I don't know." He throws his hands in the air.
"I don't know." She stares at the heart of her computer. "That's what I'm scared of: I don't know. It could be *anything*."
"I don't know... 1? 2? I don't know what I'm supposed to say? How old is a newborn cop who doesn't remember he's a cop?"
"I don't know... 21? 17? 16? When does the male libido peak?"
"I don't know... 40? I was like 9 when OO peaked. That was, what? 19 years ago? I liked them when I was 9. You couldn't have liked it when you were 40..."
"I don't know... 41? 45? What am I supposed to say? What's the most *boring* age a human being can be?"
"I don't know... 80? 100? 1 years old? I don't know what I'm supposed to say? How old is the *sorriest* age?"
"I don't know... As old as time itself? *Ageless*? 50 000 years old? I don't know what I'm supposed to say? How old *is* an Apocalypse Cop?"
"I don't know... Do I look like a dweeb?"
"I don't know... I assume it's somewhere close to the ice bear fridge."
"I don't know... I did not want to lie to you? Maybe I thought you would *see through* it if I did? It was a mistake. If you file this in with my name..."
"I don't know... I'm not local. I don't know anything about that."
"I don't know... feels pretty."
"I don't know... further up the coast. She tried to leave quietly but the hinges on that door screech like a cat in heat -- woke me up. I heard her rushing in those heavy boots, heading up north."
"I don't know... maybe? If she is, I haven't gone near her. I don't get *involved*, I told you."
"I don't know... one million years old? 21? 17? How old are superstar police officers usually?"
"I don't know... someone left the door open. Cuno comes home and she's sleeping under the desk, under a pile of clothes. Like a dog."
"I don't know... the abandoned kind? It used to gather every spring, but there's nothing to do there now. Just drug addicts."
"I don't know... why are you?" He gives you an odd look.
"I don't know... you *don't*? Or maybe we'll find a new one. I don't carry more than one prybar with me..." He looks up at the bell-tower.
"I don't know..."
"I don't know..." He inspects the odd sole more closely. "They're about the same size. Not the same *boot*, no -- but they *could* be the same person."
"I don't know..." He looks at you suspiciously as you come out of your thoughts. "Someone left the door open. Cuno comes home, she's sleeping under the desk, under a pile of clothes. Like a dog."
"I don't know..." He pauses to think. "What does anything mean, really?"
"I don't know..." He rubs his neck. "That's been there for years."
"I don't know..." He squints at you suspiciously. "It had *shitkid* written all over it.
"I don't know..." He taps on his forehead, thinking. "A sad stack of shit?"
"I don't know..." She frowns, uncertain. "Was there anything else? Back there?"
"I don't know..." She looks down at the yard -- then back into her coffee.
"I don't know..." She throws away the cigarette. "To spend my days with smoke and drink and dance -- wallowing in shit. Just like everyone else."
"I don't know..." She's still avoiding your gaze. "I mean, why would I want to talk to you?"
"I don't know..." The boy who made the claim finds himself unsure of it. He looks around.
"I don't know..." The lieutenant squints, trying to assess their depth: "Are you sure? I could swear you're *lying* to me."
"I don't know..." she looks around. "Whatever's on the radio I guess. What does this have to do with snow, or gardening in March?"
"I don't know..." she looks around. "Whatever's on the radio?"
"I don't like beaches. They accumulate too many photons, it's always chaos out there. But live your life, man. You can use it at a beach party if you want."
"I don't like being lied to!"
"I don't like dead bodies."
"I don't like either set very much, to be honest, but there are many parents among my customers."
"I don't like guessing, cop. *No one* does."
"I don't like her name. Or her, for that matter."
"I don't like her. She looks like a *leaver*."
"I don't like it either, but that's the way it is. The streets seem safe enough to me. If anything, taking out the mercs made things calmer. For now..." He flicks off the radio. Silence.
"I don't like it either. What if she intends to commit a crime and blame it on the Citizens Militia?"
"I don't like talking about them," she says mostly to herself.
"I don't like talking about those people," she looks down the hallway.
"I don't like the colouration. The lividity did not convince me."
"I don't like this game."
"I don't like to waste time, you know. My mind moves fast -- the rest has to try to keep up."
"I don't like where this is going, officer. Don't you think we should do something else now?"
"I don't like your machine, lieutenant. Looks impractical."
"I don't like your tone."
"I don't look like shit!"
"I don't mean to disrespect, sir, but *you* are being a bit of a cockatoo here."
"I don't mean to keep Gaston's tongue from your rectum, officer, but do you actually have any *police* business with us?"
"I don't mean to pry, but I need your help -- looks like she may be involved in drug trafficking."
"I don't mean to pry, but I need your help -- she may be involved with the drug business."
"I don't mean to sound paranoid or anything, *but*..."
"I don't mind a little foul language here and there."
"I don't need *help*, I need a real book that tells it how it *is*, not this drivel."
"I don't need a patrol cap."
"I don't need a warrant if I suspect there's been a *break-in*."
"I don't need it, I only wanted you to help me with the Hardie boys."
"I don't need much. This sounds just fine."
"I don't need my gun. I'm not going to mail it." (Cancel task.)
"I don't need privatization paeans from a rent-a-cop." Her expression stiffens. "Just do your *job*. Ask your questions. Then get out of Martinaise."
"I don't need that shit."
"I don't need to hear any more." (Conclude.)
"I don't need to listen to this. Firewalker out!" (Turn off the radio.)
"I don't need your ID, I just need to ask you some questions."
"I don't need your button. I will enter the harbour on my own terms." [Leave.]
"I don't need your cooperation. I've got this." (Show him the Triangong 4-46.)
"I don't need your pity money. Now where were we?" (Don't take the money.)
"I don't need your pity. And you misunderstood me, I'm not a liberal, I just... am I a liberal?" [Leave.]
"I don't need your pity. The working class will rise in a sea of blood and you and your rich-boy master will drown in it." [Leave.]
"I don't need your pity."
"I don't normally do this without a formal pitch deck, but to hell with it, what's the point of being rich if you have to follow all the rules?"
"I don't operate in that capacity. I'm not a *granter of passage*." He takes a swig and points up the stairs with his flask. "The passage grants itself."
"I don't owe you shit."
"I don't play fetch."
"I don't pray, officer. Faith in non-existent helpers is a sign of weakness. Not for proper Revacholian men such as ourselves."
"I don't quite understand what you just said."
"I don't quite understand what you're talking about. What's a *posse*?"
"I don't really believe you."
"I don't really care, I just wanted to crack the case. Do what you want and I'll do what I want."
"I don't really drink. But work *has* taken me to some. Which one was it?"
"I don't really have an answer for this. Tell me something else, Egg Head."
"I don't really know anything? I mean, I'm fifteen."
"I don't really know much about *anything* in this world, to be honest."
"I don't really know my name."
"I don't really know what Hypnogamma is. I guess it makes you feel less shit? It's recommended to use after lots of partying, studying or exercising."
"I don't really know what I'm doing. They use synthesizers, too. I don't have a synthesizer."
"I don't really know where that came from..."
"I don't really know who the Semenese are. I've recently experienced head trauma."
"I don't really know why I do things. Everything just *happens* to me."
"I don't really know, but I'm eager to find out."
"I don't really know. Further down the peninsula I guess. I mean that's where they were heading." She points north. "Who else are you looking for, beside Snow Men?"
"I don't really know. I was there one night and she was crying, like a child -- in the corner of her room, on the floor. Like she does sometimes...."
"I don't really know. You'll have to ask her."
"I don't really know... some seedy hotel?"
"I don't really like it."
"I don't really like this detective-deduction game any more..." (Conclude.)
"I don't really need you to *say* anything, I just need the money."
"I don't really remember what I was saying..."
"I don't really wanna talk about that right now."
"I don't really want to DEAL with this. It's too much."
"I don't really want to talk about it." [Leave.]
"I don't remember *anything* except this lynching. There is only this coast -- and this lynching."
"I don't remember being here."
"I don't remember being in on anything."
"I don't remember where my home is."
"I don't remember you being such a dick before, Tequila..." He takes a slow, despondent sip from his bottle, then looks out across the bay toward the  skyscrapers of La Delta.
"I don't remember you being such a dick before, Tequila..." He takes a slow, despondent sip from his bottle, then looks out across the bay toward the glittering lights of La Delta at night.
"I don't remember."
"I don't see a single thing wrong with that argument."
"I don't see any other major wounds. Do you?"
"I don't see how *my* life is pertinent to the investigation."
"I don't see how bugs help with that shit... Like? How? Anyway..."
"I don't see how it could have gone any better."
"I don't see how it's appropriate for a representative of the law to ask a wealthy person for money. This shines a... bad light on the RCM, if you catch my meaning."
"I don't see how this is going to give new results." He measures the door, stoically. "There must be another way in there."
"I don't see how your problems are relevant right now, officer," the lieutenant says in a quick, clipped tone.
"I don't see how your problems are relevant right now, officer," the lieutenant says in a quick, clipped, *annoyed* tone.
"I don't see it, officer. I don't see a person take a shot here and hit something there..." He looks east, over the coast. "In the Whirling-In-Rags."
"I don't see why you're getting all bent out of shape over a *word*."
"I don't seem to have my badge, actually..."
"I don't suppose anyone ever questions whether you belong here. No matter how badly you fuck up, no matter what a mess you make, you never *stop* being Revacholian..."
"I don't suppose anyone ever questions whether you belong here. Whatever your faults, you're a decent-enough detective. No one will ever *doubt* that you're a real Revacholian..."
"I don't suppose anyone ever questions whether you belong here. Whatever your faults, you're a solid detective. You're *obviously* Revacholian..."
"I don't think I *do* know what you mean."
"I don't think I am moralist, ma'am."
"I don't think I can ever *re-become* this person... What's the last number?"
"I don't think I can make it."
"I don't think I can say one way or another. I do think it's somewhat unlikely, though."
"I don't think I have *any* money." (Proceed.)
"I don't think I introduced myself properly -- I'm Billie. Would you like something to drink?" She looks around in the kitchen. "Tea, lemonade? We're out of coffee..."
"I don't think I need anything else. Stay masculine!" [Leave.]
"I don't think I understand."
"I don't think I'm a detective."
"I don't think I'm a moralist. Moralism sounds incredibly boring. I want more action."
"I don't think I'm ever gonna find my gun."  (Look around.)  "The world is so big and my gun is so small..."
"I don't think I've ever been 14."
"I don't think I've ever heard anything less relevant to any investigation."
"I don't think I've ever heard of this Feld Electrical." (Proceed.)
"I don't think anything about this. We're wasting our time having this conversation."
"I don't think curses are real."
"I don't think grounding one or the other side into pigsfeed will do anyone favours. I am really, really smart."
"I don't think he *enjoyed* dying, officer. He had too much left to do -- too many third world conflicts. Couldn't tap out just yet."
"I don't think he can help, he's completely out of it."
"I don't think he is."
"I don't think he understands, officer... We need to find some other way to make ourselves clear."
"I don't think it's a romance story if the main characters break up, though..." She pauses, trying to figure out the appropriate answer.
"I don't think now is the time for this, officer." The lieutenant tries to nip it..
"I don't think now is the time for this, officer." The lieutenant tries to nip it...
"I don't think now is the time for this, officer." the lieutenant tries to nip it...
"I don't think questioning 4-year-olds without their parents present is gonna crack the case," says the lieutenant.
"I don't think she actually..." The lieutenant shakes his head. "You're right of course. This could've been very bad."
"I don't think she can do anything about it."
"I don't think she killed the mercenary." The lieutenant taps on the page. "It looks like she might have been... framed?"
"I don't think she's on drugs," the lieutenant whispers. "Being *off* drugs might actually be the problem here..."
"I don't think so. I think they genuinely believed..." Kim looks around in the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.
"I don't think so. Why did you do it?"
"I don't think so."
"I don't think so." There's a short pause. "Are you ready to limp?"
"I don't think that's going to work..."
"I don't think that's how fame works, sir..."
"I don't think that's how history works."
"I don't think the "Doorgunner Megamix" will be good party material. Something about the name..."
"I don't think the curse is real, I just want you to let me in there." (Conclude.)
"I don't think the hole has grown in the last 300 years."
"I don't think the pheromone will do anything." His whisper turns to a sceptical hiss -- but he has stopped now.
"I don't think the suzerain *cares* much about the welfare of its workers. Here, watch this..."
"I don't think there was anything else he wanted. Was there? You got the medal, now let's solve the crime."
"I don't think there's any more to it. I'm a joke of a cop, or I joked about being one, and I drank too much. I'm also old."
"I don't think there's any need for that. In her current state -- and without the gun -- she isn't really a threat to anyone."
"I don't think there's any way to be sure."
"I don't think there's anything to discuss." [Leave.]
"I don't think they have funerals for motor carriages."
"I don't think this case requires us to go undercover. Or raise hell...  In fact I don't think the jacket will be useful at all."
"I don't think this case requires us to go undercover. Or raise hell... In fact I don't think the jacket will be useful at all."
"I don't think we should *do* anything just for the hell of it. Besides..." The lieutenant taps on the boot.
"I don't think you did." He stares at the firepit. "You live in a delusion. Radio shows, speed racing, and sporting goods. It's not real..."
"I don't think you really understand how bribes work, detective..." He looks at you, then the vendor.
"I don't think you should live life with that fear." She stamps on her feet. "Just try to be the best you can!"
"I don't think you understand how that joke goes, but -- do continue. You were asking about the strike."
"I don't think you're as *down* with our fight as you'd like me to believe, *brother*. Why's the saffron-man still there? Talk to him -- I don't know anything."
"I don't think your colleague would appreciate that -- he has already been so patient with this whole... exercise."
"I don't think..." He tries to explain, patting slightly: "I don't think it had *anything* to do with the ox-spray. It was just scared."
"I don't trust cops, but... I can see you understand the --" He raises his voice and chants: "RIGHT TO WORK! RIGHT TO WORK!"
"I don't trust that ladder. The assailants didn't use it. It's rotten and less sturdy than it looks. And I don't see another good way up there."
"I don't understand -- what's so vile about that?"
"I don't understand a single thing you're saying."
"I don't understand what I did wrong."
"I don't understand what that means."
"I don't understand what this conversation is about anymore." She's trying to look elsewhere.
"I don't understand what you're saying."
"I don't understand what's so cool here."
"I don't understand, René..." He looks around with an expression of complete bafflement.
"I don't understand. Ruby's a woman, right? It's a *woman's* name."
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"I don't understand. Why would you prolong your life? Being alive is terrible."
"I don't understand."
"I don't understand." He turns to you. "Do you, detective? I don't understand this part."
"I don't understand." The lieutenant sounds incredulous. He still has the cuffs in his hand. "What exactly in your relationship made you think she's romantically interested in you?"
"I don't understand... I *had* the pheromone...."
"I don't understand..." He shakes his head.
"I don't wanna do this any more, this is boring."
"I don't wanna know! Stop."
"I don't wanna talk about the dimple any more."
"I don't want a funeral. I *hate* death."
"I don't want a stupid hat, man!"
"I don't want hear about this sick shit anymore."
"I don't want it..." She doesn't take it. "It looks expensive. I don't want it."
"I don't want them to be scared. I want them to think, 'Wow, I feel so safe. I like Evrart.' I only want weasels to be scared."
"I don't want this, thank you very much."
"I don't want to be any more. It hurts."
"I don't want to be here any more, I want to go home! Please come and get me..."
"I don't want to be seen talking to the *gendarmerie*, if that's okay. I just want to finish my cigarette."
"I don't want to become an indentured servant in a brothel on Boogie Street -- and I don't want my relatives to pay the ransom."
"I don't want to dedicate this song to anyone. I performed it for myself."
"I don't want to die."
"I don't want to do that, detective."
"I don't want to do this."
"I don't want to endorse the Hardie boys' inflated sense of self-worth. They're not cops -- we are."
"I don't want to get better -- I want to get worse."
"I don't want to get in to this argument with a police officer," he replies calmly. "Let's just say that in the last eighty-two years I have repeatedly seen my beliefs confirmed in full."
"I don't want to give you any alcohol. I'm not an enabler." (Don't do it now.)
"I don't want to lie to the law. It's not my style." She smiles. It's a sad little smile, like she's some miniature bird or tiny field mouse.
"I don't want to make anything work," she replies, her expression unchanged.
"I don't want to roll again."
"I don't want to talk about god damn social democrats. Traitors is all they are. Brain dead..." He waves his arm, agitated and despondent at the same time.
"I don't want to talk about it. Let's just go."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"I don't want to," he argues, glancing at you worriedly. "Look, officer, I like different, *classic* food. Fine dining, not soil. Please, just drop it."
"I don't want to. I want to know what the pale is."
"I don't want to. They're all traitors -- pigs, rabbits and dogs. Men without ideals are only animals."
"I don't want your money, I just wanted to see whether my profiling skills were working."
"I don't want your stupid FALN crap, man!"
"I don't want your stupid rice hat, man!"
"I don't z'ink conclusions should be rushed at z'is point."
"I don't, in fact." She shakes her head. "I'm afraid what I need to tell you is wholly unrelated to art. I really need to discuss it, however. With the RCM -- and I need your badge for that."
"I don't, officer. You should stay away from drugs, and vision beasts..."
"I don't. All I see is a cop who's about to kill himself -- again."
"I don't. But us working folk don't have the luxury to be bed-sick with melancholy." She crosses her arms. "I buried him, mourned for an appropriate amount of time and went on."
"I don't. I told you it could have been his own mother... I'm pretty sure it wasn't a anyone from the Union. Maybe it was the mob... or maybe he killed himself 'cause he was a closet socialist? Truth is, I simply don't know."
"I don't. I'm simply providing a service -- or, really, facilitating the offering of services to *paying* customers, and..." He runs out of steam. "It doesn't matter. I don't have to explain myself to you."
"I don't. I've seen enough of that dead body already."
"I don't. It's a profession, just like any other."
"I don't. Let's go."
"I don't."
"I don't." He looks over his shoulder. "Fucker giving me the evil eye."
"I don't." She shrugs. "How do *you* live with yourself?"
"I don't... even know what to say to that."
"I don't... know what happened to them."
"I don't... really know."
"I don't..." He's extending his hand into the dust now, for some odd reason. Smearing his finger in it, like a confused child...
"I don't..." She looks around. "I don't know what to say."
"I don't..." She squints. "How did you know that?"
"I done my share of illegal shit. Used to be in a gang, the whole deal. But even memories of that time are fading... Most of them are already gone."
"I doubt it, but I can try to answer any questions you may have."
"I doubt it, sweetie. The traps aren't big enough for humans to get caught in them. They're for the insect. Anyway..." She looks around
"I doubt it," he marks dryly. "Anyway, I grabbed the prick and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."
"I doubt it." She shakes her head. "You can't bury that kind of fire. What brought you back to me, Fire Man?"
"I doubt that we can find any. It's just idle fishermen's gossip to scare away the kids." He looks at the stained glass window.
"I doubt that. Besides, I'm pretty sure it's impossible to catch him climbing up there."
"I doubt that. Once confirmed a hoax, so-called sightings of the rhino stopped.." A cough. "Was there anything else, or..."
"I doubt that. You're probably up to no good."
"I doubt that."
"I doubt the electricity still works... Good thing we have a flashlight on us. Don't forget to take it out of your bag before we move on."
"I doubt the electricity still works... Good thing we have a flashlight on us."
"I doubt the electricity still works... We should find a flashlight if we want to go on. There should be one in my Kineema."
"I doubt you will succeed." She shakes her head. "So, what is this about, officers?"
"I doubt you'll learn anything from that fishing rod."
"I drank so hard I forgot *literally* everything."
"I drank so much I lost my memory. And I'm now *slowly* recovering it."
"I drank too much and now I can't do anything right anymore."
"I dream about you all the time."
"I drink alcohol and go to heaven..."
"I drink."
"I drove it into the ocean when I was drunk."
"I drove it to the ground within a year. I didn't have what you would call a *viable* business plan."
"I drove my motor carriage into the sea, you know. It sank."
"I dunno what you're talking about," the other kid nods along.
"I dunno what you're talking about." The boy stuffs his hands deep into his pockets and kicks another rock.
"I dunno, man... doesn't it feel like a major hindrance to you?" He rubs his jaw. "A spooky guy climbing around when all the guests are trying to have nice friendly hyper-time?"
"I dunno."
"I dunno." She shrugs. "It stops people from robbing Frittte, I guess? If they know there's an army, I mean... I wouldn't want to fuck with them, anyway."
"I dunno... and it's not something they properly understood either. What it does. But it's what this Soona person is looking for, and trying to measure." He nods toward the woman.
"I dunno..."
"I envy Theo. To go out in the twilight of your life in a blaze of glory..."
"I even agreed with you. About the Ecclesiastes being okay with this..."
"I even brought my own overalls!"
"I even tried throwing it away once, but he just dug it out of the bin. Can you believe it?" She's looks back at you, shaking her head.
"I examined the insect. Up close."
"I expect the case itself to be less challenging than navigating these *community matters*. This district isn't used to the RCM's present, and the Union rarely overplays its hand -- as it appears to have done in this case..."
"I experienced a minor malfunction. I'm okay now."
"I fail to see *any* humour in it. Officer, please write down the right serial number: E50.100.1000"
"I failed *AGAIN*!"
"I fear I've told you all I know." She takes the photo. "It's an Oranjese Map of the Waterways -- or some version of it. It depicts the travels this man made while he was still alive."
"I fear this mindless barbarism may have wiped out the elusive creature entirely. Sightings of *towering luminosities* have grown rare recently. While they once used to be constant..."
"I fear..." The lieutenant lowers his voice. "I fear you're misinterpreting this situation."
"I feel 20 years younger every time it rains."
"I feel I already *have* what you have. In some way."
"I feel a capitalist plot coming up."
"I feel a solid object, right under the skull."
"I feel as though we may cross paths with him yet. One way or another."
"I feel deprived of human contact."
"I feel fantastic. Let's.... rock."
"I feel for you, my friend. It's bad enough to *know* who you miss... missing like that doesn't feel like it has much of an upside."
"I feel for you, my friend. It's good to miss someone. I like it. Knowing there's something *more* than what I have with me here."
"I feel good about our work here today." The lieutenant nods. "It's all about the little things -- like bringing people random stuffed animals."
"I feel like *I* was in a war..."
"I feel like I got to know your dead friend. During our investigation."
"I feel like I just went around apologizing all the time."
"I feel like I've been decomposing for longer than that."
"I feel like a Du Bois, but not quite like a Harry. Something longer."
"I feel like it was something else."
"I feel like there's something you're not telling me."
"I feel like you may be laying this on a bit thick. What's really so bad about these 'dopeheads' and 'burnouts'?"
"I feel like you're making fun of me."
"I feel like you've given me a hint previously, but it isn't connecting..."
"I feel that's illegal."
"I feel wretched. Tell me, how do you know I'm with the police?"
"I felt within that thunderous crash a soul plunged into chaos."
"I find it alarming."
"I find it strange that you keep bringing this up. You moralist types are eternally fascinated with these race topics. Helping the ruling class conduct their swindle."
"I find that hard to believe, miss." The handcuffs jingle in his hands...
"I find that hard to believe. But at this point... what difference does it make?"
"I find that highly unlikely. It's not unusual for detectives to feel complicit in the crime until the perpetrator is apprehended. Especially when the investigation is dragging. So let's get back to it, shall we?"
"I find that highly unlikely."
"I find that very suspicious. May I have a look?"
"I find us not opening it highly unlikely."
"I for one *do* have an opinion on Measurehead that people need to hear. And it's not positive."
"I for one hope I don't have to use my service weapon at all -- like a *normal* police officer."
"I forgive you -- but only because you're charming."
"I forgive you that you're pregnant. I can deal with it. Just..."
"I forgive you."
"I formally reprimand you for your corrupt activities."
"I found a Doomed Commercial Area in Martinaise proper. Maybe it's the same thing the Ubis were trying to contain?"
"I found a key hidden under a stone. Was it yours?" (Show him the key.)
"I found a library card from his pockets, but I haven't examined it yet. The body is still there."
"I found a library card from his pockets, issued to someone named Billie Méjean by the Jamrock Public Library. The body is still there."
"I found a little more than I bargained for."
"I found a note from the ice bear fridge. It said the off-site copy had been moved to 'a safer place'."
"I found a plate covered with powder residue -- know anything about it?"
"I found a working class drunk and I thought he might be yours."
"I found eight sets of footprints, but there's only seven of you. Where is the eighth Hardie boy?"
"I found eight sets of footprints, but there's only seven of you... Where is the eighth Hardie boy?"
"I found it on the ground. At the Whirling-In-Rags."
"I found jars of chemicals and some taxidermied animals."
"I found lodgings in the village. I'll spend the night there."
"I found my badge!"
"I found my gun, but then I realized I didn't need it, so I left it behind."
"I found out what the *pale* is while you were gone."
"I found research about something called *ULAN* frequencies related to the operation."
"I found some drugs in the coal room. Yours?"
"I found some mouldy mannequins that were completely naked."
"I found some things in the phasmid's nest, Mr Dros."
"I found someone who saw the hanging. A witness."
"I found the building's intercom, but seems like most of the doorbells are not working."
"I found the coordinates!" She lets out a celebratory laugh.
"I found the ice cream maker, but couldn't get it open -- it's completely frozen."
"I found the locusts in a nearby shack. Some kid's built a city of them."
"I found the victim's clothes in the trash container out back."
"I found the victim's clothes."
"I found the victim's jeans."
"I found these letters I'd thrown in the trash. They *might* have something to do with it."
"I found this jacket, but it's filthy. Could you wash it for me?"
"I found this mug in the trash." (Show it to the man.) "Yours?"
"I found this next to you." He pauses. "I'll tag along for the rest of the day if you don't mind. My business is concluded anyway. Are you okay to go?"
"I found this over at downtown Martinaise." (Give him the bundle of magnetic tape.)
"I found this reel of tape, maybe you can use it to hard-up Eyck's jam." (Give him the fixed hawthrone tree tape.)
"I found this strange radiocomputer-thing, but I didn't really get anywhere with it."
"I found what looks like an old hairdresser's shop in the back room."
"I found you guys a new *boule*." (Hold out the ball.)
"I found your buoy. It was empty. Just seawater."
"I found your jacket."
"I fuck shit up, too."
"I fuckin' knew it!"
"I fucking know what they sang!" he hisses. "I watched those little fuckers die in my arms -- little ones came to help us. Got cut to shreds..."
"I fucking rocked that shit."
"I fucking say 'I' when I wanna and 'Cuno' when I wanna. Cuno's free. Cuno's free to fucking *die*, bitch."
"I fucking well can, *bitch*!"
"I fuelled the generator. Then used the console."
"I generally prefer to start with searching the scene and then move on to dealing with dead bodies."
"I generally prefer to start with searching the scene and then move on to removing dead bodies."
"I get by. Now where was I with that padlock..."
"I get down."
"I get how sawing it off and redoing the wiring could add to the cost, but what else?"
"I get it -- You're one of those *old school* detectives." (Nod respectfully.)
"I get it -- someone has to be the unpopular guy."
"I get it! Okay, man..." He's still shaking a bit...
"I get it, Titus. You guys really are *the authority* around here."
"I get it, hush-hush about the secret technology." He pats the side of his nose with his index finger.
"I get it, you don't want to talk to me. No one *ever* wants to talk to me."
"I get it. I get it, you have to go to the aerodrome!"
"I get it. Life would be boring if we all liked the same things."
"I get it. Nothing wrong with looking good."
"I get it. Okay. But what is the motive?"
"I get it. You were *purposefully* shit. So original. I'm not letting *anyone* up there again -- ever. Now what did you want?"
"I get that. I'm a major party animal myself. MAJOR."
"I get the feeling you're leaving stuff out. What else is going on?"
"I get the feeling you're not really Dolores Dei."
"I get ya. When they really *click* it makes the world see manageable. Good to be on the same page." He gives you a thumbs up.
"I get you. I, for example, can't stop making this face." (Point at your face.)
"I give credit where credit is due and that -- was crazy. To throw a petroleum bomb at him and then *miss*. Maybe not super effective, but very *crazy*. I was watching until that, then crawled inside. Bullets started flying. Anyway..." He clears his throat.
"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.
"I give credit where credit is due and that, sir -- was a nice shot. I was watching until you hit him, crawled inside then. Bullets started flying. Anyway..." He clears his throat.
"I give credit where credit is due and that, sir -- was an honest effort. I was watching until it *went* down. Crawled inside then. Bullets started flying. Anyway..." He clears his throat.
"I glimpsed a *foreclosed* apartment down the hallway."
"I got *that* key right here. And let me tell you, it's mighty good of you to help us out during the strike -- working class solidarity, as they say."
"I got 3.10 for it. Here's the money."
"I got 3.20 for it. Here's the money."
"I got 3.20 for it. You should have it." (Give her the money.)
"I got 31 cents for it. Here's the money."
"I got Lilienne's signature. Will you sign the papers now?"
"I got a bag of speed. Let's do this again."
"I got a clear picture. Let's proceed to another term."
"I got a freebie, when I purchased a whole carton of cigarettes." He produces a white pen with brown logos. "Smoke cigarettes, get a free pen. Deals don't come any sweeter."
"I got a hunch your love life is about to take a *very* pleasant turn."
"I got a keen eye and it's telling me this sandwich is gonna destroy your back."
"I got a very strong *hunch* there's something of importance in it. Something I must find."
"I got bad news for you, Andre. Things don't add up."
"I got balls. That's it."
"I got drunk and apparently drove it in the sea."
"I got fucked by some chick. Fucked real bad."
"I got it from the head of the Samaran delegation on my trip to Lo-Manthang. It's made from a *special* charcoal-coloured bamboo. It's an emblem of the formal normalization of our diplomatic relations."
"I got it, Harry! It was Radogost. Radogost the Kebab." He smiles smugly. "But enough of kojkos and kebabs. What else can I do for you?"
"I got it..." You hear the lieutenant whisper, as the creature's shape develops onto photo paper in his hand: a polychrome ghost of white streaks against the reeds and the sky. And you, as a shadow before it.
"I got my badge right here." (Show it to them.)
"I got my recordings to do, I feel better outside..." A wave breaks close-by and covers her in a cold spray.
"I got one of those scientific ampoules a few months ago. 'Torpedo' they call it. It's supposed to keep a man from takin' a drink." He spits a nasty yellow clot on the ground before you.
"I got shot in the foot. It was pretty bad-ass. You would've liked it."
"I got shot in the left shoulder and went down. Just a flesh wound, but just as I turned over, the prince fell into the mud next to me. He was missing his lower jaw."
"I got shot in the leg." (Point at your limb.)
"I got shot too -- in that fight." (Point to your leg.) "I did my absolute best."
"I got shot!"
"I got so drunk I forgot literally everything."
"I got that open a long time ago. Some bourgeois game-merchant lived there -- I don't know... fifteen years ago? He left spare keys all over and I took one. Then I saw her turn the light on one night in my scope..." He points toward the Whirling-In-Rags.
"I got this special strike brew the Union uses." (Give it.)
"I got you some more booze, can you tell me the next story now?"
"I got you this banging Megamix." (Give him the Great Doorgunner Megamix.)
"I got your hint. Found the key right under that stone."
"I gotta ask... who is Cuno?"
"I gotta go." [Leave]
"I grabbed my sidearm and shot the beast in the head. Then everything went black."
"I grind."
"I guess I Iike to be thorough."
"I guess I can't really think of any good reason."
"I guess I could live through a week or two of peaceful coexistence."
"I guess I got my answer." The lieutenant gives you his usual firm stare.
"I guess I should go ask around in the fishing village."
"I guess I understand..."
"I guess I'll just notify my station. They'll contact the Sanitarium and handle the logistics."
"I guess I'll keep the die then."
"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."
"I guess I'm a simple man, I don't really have any opinions on hair styles."
"I guess in the end the Insulindian Lillies were just another piece of the Old Insulinde, the royalists had to surrender to the Mazovian insurgents. It doesn't really matter any more."
"I guess it can't be any riskier than speculating in exotic derivatives... how much are we talking about here?"
"I guess it does."
"I guess it doesn't really matter any more. You do what you have to, like the rest of us... So how can I help?"
"I guess it just wasn't the time yet." She tucks a strand of hair under the headscarf.
"I guess it's better than nothing. Keep fighting on, my fellow comrade." Then she breaks up the hug, her cheeks flushed.
"I guess it's better than nothing." She shrugs. "She'll have to try harder next time."
"I guess it's fair to say you guys have it on life support."
"I guess it's not a *massive* problem, now that I think of it."
"I guess love *can* be pretty hard core..."
"I guess men with authority have their quirks." She waves you off. "What brings you here, Lawbringer?"
"I guess no one is in." The lieutenant looks uncomfortable.
"I guess one could write an entire treatise on the thing. But what for?"
"I guess so. Doesn't feel like a lot to me. I could be doing *more*. Maybe there's someone missing from your life?"
"I guess so." She hesitates. "Anyway -- what else?"
"I guess that makes sense. Minding your own business."
"I guess that makes sense. You have been drinking *a lot*."
"I guess that makes sense."
"I guess that makes you into some sort of a terrier." She picks on her net. "Either way, I can't help you out."
"I guess that's better than nothing."
"I guess that's it for now." [Hang up.]
"I guess that's just your way of saying you'd side with the company."
"I guess that's that."
"I guess that's true."
"I guess the boys got a bit too rowdy and had to let out some steam. I don't really know the details. That's just how boys are you know..." Another chuckle. "I haven't been in a fight since I was in middle-school..."
"I guess the inordinate amount of time they poured into drawing mythical creatures did not generate a return on investment."
"I guess the stress of peace-keeping and order-maintaining can get even to the best of us." He scratches his earlobe.
"I guess they do look alike."
"I guess we'll never know."
"I guess we're both the law around here, if you start to think about it."
"I guess we're gonna see, aren't we?"
"I guess what I want to know is... how did he die?"
"I guess what I'm trying to say here is, thank you for intervening, coppo -- that was mighty brave of you." He extends his hand.
"I guess what I'm trying to say here is, thank you for intervening, fellas -- that was mighty brave of you." He extends his hand.
"I guess you *don't* need glasses, then."
"I guess you can find some temporary solace in that, yes."
"I guess you can say that, yes. A bit. Lovers is such an emotional word. But there was something there. We did enough drugs for there to be."
"I guess you don't really need taste buds for police work." He looks disappointed. "Is there anything else, officer?"
"I guess you have a point." (Proceed.)
"I guess you just *know* people, Leo. It's like a special ability you got."
"I guess you kinda get to be the village chief. He oversees the harbour, makes deals with the owners or other relevant parties. Watches out for his own."
"I guess you were right. The men with guns were coming for me after all."
"I guess you're not a winner after all."
"I guess you're right, Harry." He chuckles. "I appreciate you coming back to report on your progress. Now, what can Evrart Claire do for you?"
"I guess you're right, I should." (Conclude.)
"I guess you're right, it was pretty irresponsible of me."
"I guess you're right, plus the fridge is too small anyway."
"I guess you're right. It was really the sign's fault. Anyway, you can go back now."
"I guess you've got to start finding at least *some* of the things you've lost, before they hurt someone..." He sighs.
"I guess, I can come along for a quick stroll..." The lieutenant looks at you apologetically. "I mean if the ma'am insists of course."
"I guess, it might not be as black and white, but disagreeing makes me uncomfortable."
"I guess, yeah."
"I guess, yes. People in books are always very interesting. Especially the romance-people."
"I guess. He came from Lelystad -- it's short for that. And it was his *army name* apparently. He said his real name wasn't *his*. I tried to pry it out of him, but it was no use."
"I guess... there is something... that's been making my life hell."
"I had Garte open the door to your room." He closes the notes. "You were running a low bacterial fever the first night."
"I had a *premonition*. And *omen* even. Call it what you want... I need to see what's in that container."
"I had a a deluge too. In my head." (Point to your little head.)
"I had a chat with this kid, Cuno. He promised to stop stealing the locusts."
"I had a feeling." She smiles, but says nothing more.
"I had a few more questions about Ruby..."
"I had a few more questions about the curse..."
"I had a major collision with him on the subject. He yielded, and is now striving to be a crypto-fascist. That is: a regular police officer who *thinks* these things but doesn't say them. So that's... yeah."
"I had a partner once. They called him Eyes, because he had to show me things. It's that bad."
"I had another question for you."
"I had another question."
"I had another question." (Conclude.)
"I had once..." (Wink twice.) "But then I *lost* her..."
"I had some other questions." (Conclude.)
"I had some questions for you, if that's not too much trouble?"
"I had something else in mind..."
"I had something else. Before we go. A little thing."
"I had the strangest... I'm not even sure."
"I had to do it in a hurry. Not my best work... But it should hold for a while."
"I had to kill the bear to *become* the bear."
"I had to, I *had* to fight it. I had to never stop..." The old man falls silent. His black eyes keep piercing your skin as he looks to some great distance behind you, shaking his head slowly -- retreating from it.
"I had to. For Mr. Claire. I'm a bad cop, I know, but I felt like I had to do it..."
"I had to. I *had* to fight it. I could not stop anymore..." The old man falls silent. His black eyes keep piercing your skin as he looks to some great distance behind you, shaking his head slowly -- retreating from it.
"I hate being that. I don't want to be anything for you. I hope the decades it takes for you to get over me had already passed."
"I hate deviants."
"I hate guessing. District something? A *precinct*? Something municipal?" (Rub your temples -- you're getting a horrible headache.)
"I hate it when that happens."
"I hate objects. I am part of the Anti-Object Task Force."
"I hate the socialist rabble," he continues, "but even siding with *them* is better than living your entire life on the fence, never committing to anything. Pick a damn side already."
"I hate to break this bonding moment, but the red containers mean they're replacing the company livery with the Union livery. Which means this strike isn't gonna stop any time soon."
"I hate to say it, but looks like we're going to have to ask Cuno if he knows of a spare fridge around here."
"I hate women too, you know."
"I hate words too."
"I have *no idea* what that means."
"I have *so much* confidence in the ability of your organization. I'm relieved you're doing this and leaving me to do what *I* do best -- helping people. With the power of *politics*."
"I have *three* cafeterias I manage. Three. Get over it."
"I have *very little* idea of what I'm doing."
"I have -- is that why we're stopping?"
"I have 30 minutes to spare, would you still wash the jacket for me?"
"I have a bad taste in my mouth. You better make sure this ends up saving lives."
"I have a beer-problem, but not a problem with beer. I also have *no* idea how to do my job. Like you."
"I have a big fat folder on you, Harry. I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask -- maybe I can help you out?"
"I have a cadaver situation. I would really appreciate it."
"I have a cigarette every night when I go over my notes. It's something of a ritual."
"I have a cigarette every night while I go over my notes. It's something of a ritual. Now then..."
"I have a family!"
"I have a fascinating photo of a corpse here." (Show him the photo.)
"I have a feeling Siileng's involved in this."
"I have a feeling some local kids may have stolen the locusts."
"I have a feeling that this is going to cost me a lot."
"I have a feeling... we didn't." He looks around, then points to the back of the cavern. "Her tent. We should check it out."
"I have a few more questions about the building."
"I have a few more questions about the intercom."
"I have a few questions about those apartments..."
"I have a greenhouse in the yard there." She gestures over her shoulder. "I've been trying to get some work done..."
"I have a little problem. The person who was hanged is still hanging there. I still haven't taken him down."
"I have a major sinus infection. Stuffy nose. We all do. Shit's all blasted up. Winter. Can't even breathe."
"I have a medical condition of my own -- nothing unusual, though. I'm *old* you see."
"I have a new gun now." (Present Ruby's gun.)
"I have a photo of the victim's tattoos." (Show it to her.)
"I have a possible explanation in my mind."
"I have a prybar in my Kineema, in case you want to try again. Though it might be that my prybar isn't strong enough for that lid..." He eyes the ice cream maker suspiciously.
"I have a question for you." (Conclude.)
"I have a question." The lieutenant looks him in the eye. "Why do all these men follow your leadership?"
"I have a search warrant."
"I have a theory, yes." There's a pause, then he continues: "There was a police raid a while back. I heard the place was shot to pieces."
"I have a theory," she says, as the filament clicks into place, "Lintel was able to divine the anomaly's location from this broken copy. I want to repeat their calculation, only this time with better equipment."
"I have a theory," she says, as the filament clicks into place. "Lintel was able to divine the location of the anomaly from this broken copy. I want to repeat their calculation, only this time with better equipment."
"I have a theory. What if there are places where, if you were to cross them, you would disappear like you never even existed?"
"I have a witness, Mr. Dros."
"I have absolutely forgotten to take notes -- I hope I remember all this." He shakes his head. "This will one hell of a report -- they'll think we're insane."
"I have absolutely forgotten to take notes. I hope I remember all this." He shakes his head in disbelief. "This will be one hell of a report -- thank *god* we have the photo."
"I have absolutely no idea..." The lieutenant whispers back. You hear the familiar ring of his jacket unzipping -- slowly. Painstakingly so...
"I have accomplished things no normal detective ever has. I have detected a..."
"I have all kinds of screws." He holds up a handful.
"I have an *opinion* on the Moralintern." (Conclude.)
"I have an indirect role to play, I'm sad to say. My employer experienced a *momentary lapse of faith* in me. In that moment they elected to deploy a private military contractor. As an *insurance* measure. They called it my 'security detail'."
"I have an opinion on this -- wanna hear it?" (Proceed.)
"I have analysed the bullet that killed him -- it was jacketed."
"I have and I don't really..." She hesitates.
"I have another person in mind."
"I have another question."
"I have another, serious question for you."
"I have assigned the case to lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Please follow up on this library lead to identify the man. We'll send someone to take the body to the morgue."
"I have become Dance, the destroyer of worlds."
"I have been running out of that stuff..." He licks his lips.
"I have been to the precipice. I have seen the end."
"I have behavioural difficulties too."
"I have big news, Kim." (Tell Kim about how you no longer obsess over your sexuality.)
"I have certainly been entertained. Thank you. Whatever you are, you should stick to it. Otherwise..." She extinguishes her cigarette.
"I have compared the coordinates to a map of Revachol West. Turns out it's only 800 metres from here. The address is Saint-Brune 1147. I am going there to look this thing in the eye..."
"I have considered the same. The bad news is -- there were *seven* pinewood churches built in the first decade of Revachol's settlement."
"I have discovered a new species -- I will name it in your honour. The Dolorian Phasmid. It's beautiful like you and also has a white head."
"I have done everything a man can do. What have *you* done?"
"I have feeling the international community does not approve of him."
"I have forgotten my name."
"I have gardening gloves, maybe they are enough?"
"I have gotten it from disco, actually."
"I have grown accustomed to the *power*, miss."
"I have had this doubt since I inspected his hands, officer -- there were no signs of struggle. No claw marks on his neck. Why? Why didn't he fight for his life?"
"I have heard about your *medical condition*. People talk. And I have no patience for it. Or pity."
"I have hobbies. Just like all normal people. Because I'm a normal person."
"I have it right here -- let me refresh your memory. Let's take a..." (Pause bitterly.) "...trip down memory lane." (Start reciting.)
"I have managed to stop obsessing about my sexuality."
"I have more questions about the crime scene."
"I have more questions about the deceased, but I need my partner here before I ask..."
"I have more questions about this building."
"I have my Villiers right here."
"I have my ways." A cracked smile appears on his dried white lips.
"I have no idea E." He shakes his head. "I don't know what a pussy-boy is. I'm old fashioned."
"I have no idea how you arrived at that conclusion, but it's *wrong!* Look, we even have speakers!" He points at the speaker.
"I have no idea what 'lesson' you think you taught me. Somehow I don't think this is going to work out well for *either* of us..."
"I have no idea what that means."
"I have no idea what that means." He looks toward the exit, longingly.
"I have no idea what you mean by that. We've been standing here long enough. We should look around, or get out."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I have no idea why she'd be scared. I'm just a normal cop with regular thoughts in his head."
"I have no idea why those skis and blades are still lying around in the house... Not much use now, I guess."
"I have no idea why. I just do things. There's no underlying reason."
"I have no idea, officer. This ice cream maker isn't important enough to requisition a special tool."
"I have no idea, officer." She looks at it calmly.
"I have no idea. Don't we have... a boat?"
"I have no idea. I just know that my room's window is broken and needs to be dealt with."
"I have no idea. I've never even heard of anything like this."
"I have no idea. Maybe the local children threw it in the water? But why is it there? In the reeds where it was hiding..."
"I have no idea."
"I have no idea." The lieutenant taps his foot, frowning.
"I have no intention of doing that.""
"I have no interest in drinking while on duty."
"I have no interest in what she is doing, but I myself have *nothing* to hide. Your business is your business and I respect your privacy. Just remember, none of this..." He makes an all-encompassing gesture. "... is secret."
"I have no memory of drinking them. I'm not paying for the drinks."
"I have no time for tapes. There's a murderer on the loose!"
"I have not deceived you. I told you who exactly who I was -- Rejoyce Leyton."
"I have nothing against communists, they are honourable boiadeiros." He takes a swig from his flask. "And they have good analysis."
"I have nothing to say to you. Get out of my sight."
"I have only a cursive knowledge of the science of cybernetics -- I would not know if it were. But it's not *quite* complex enough, is it?"
"I have only one thing to add to this." The lieutenant looks at you. "You're one hell of a cop, detective."
"I have only two ampoules, so nobody move -- I don't want to waste one." He points the camera at the corpse, peering into it. The lens needs adjusting. Then:
"I have other business to take care of now." [Leave.]
"I have other questions about this."
"I have other questions first."
"I have other questions for you."
"I have other questions."
"I have other questions." (Conclude.)
"I have podagra, asshole!"
"I have pretty much maintained my vehicles by myself ever since one was assigned to me. You inevitably pick up some knowledge on the way."
"I have re-entered reality to conquer it. To bend it to my will. I am the law."
"I have really outdone myself..." He takes a bite out of his sandwich. "This is divine."
"I have reason to believe the lynching was a cover-up."
"I have reason to doubt my ability to see through her lies."
"I have returned from the void. A para-detective from a long line of para-detectives."
"I have seen her in a laudanum-induced delirium. The paranormal instinct whispers her name into my ear."
"I have seen them. The Union is well prepared to take on Krenel."
"I have slow metabolism, Dennis!"
"I have some armour..."
"I have some good news for you. My Sunday friend is visiting me tonight. I told him about you and he'd like to say hello. Step in, he's already waiting." He nods towards door #28.
"I have some ideas about who it might have been."
"I have some loose ends to tie up."
"I have some other questions for you."
"I have some questions for you."
"I have something here we could sell. Look in the back, in the suspect transport enclosure."
"I have something in the back we could sell so you can pay for your room. Open the suspect transport enclosure."
"I have something pressing to discuss with you first."
"I have spoken to the dead man -- in a *bizarre* occult vision."
"I have spoken to the head of the Union."
"I have stomach cancer, so no. I can't say I've survived much physically either. Been throwing up blood since autumn." he winces once more. "Shitting it too."
"I have successfully located my 9mm Villiers pistol. It's on me now and I won't lose it again."
"I have sympathy for your *highly* unusual conundrum, sir. And I believe you. But as it stands I cannot share any confidential information until I've seen a badge."
"I have the tape now. You *have* to let me sing karaoke." (Give him the tape)
"I have this blue oblong pen." (Lend him your pen.)
"I have this commemorative pin, but before I sell it I have some questions." (Show him Lena's pin.)
"I have this commemorative pin."
"I have this giant novelty cheque."
"I have this strange feeling that it was an undiscovered *cryptid* that took your documents."
"I have thought of that, yes. But the tyre tracks would compromise the scene. Any prints would become illegible. That's *if* we get it through the hole in the fence..."
"I have three cafeterias to manage. *Three*. Sylvie tends the bar here, not me, I'm only standing in."
"I have to admit, that's pretty high-concept. Still not as awesome as a headless rider in a FALN tracksuit, though."
"I have to admit: that's a well put-together plan. And far-removed from you."
"I have to agree. We barely have what we need to solve the case we've got now. We can't afford to run around chasing after quasi-mythical pieces of drug paraphernalia..."
"I have to ask -- what does the City of Locusts *mean*?"
"I have to check out the church before I can decide what to do with you." (Decide later.)
"I have to consider and investigate all possibilities."
"I have to look into the spooker situation before I can decide what to do with you." (Decide later.)
"I have to run." [Leave.]
"I have to say -- this is *not* disco."
"I have to say that you do look like someone who might be part of *the underground*. You have that very distinctive "I-can't-understand-what's-going-on-here" look."
"I have to say, it's beginning to look unlikely we can get him down without *assistance*."
"I have to warn you -- I may have discovered that Whirling is part of the Doomed Commercial Area."
"I have to wipe it all off me -- and be clean again. I want to be a good person again, not this. Not what you made me into."
"I have trouble remembering things too."
"I have two machines registered to this company name in Martinaise -- one on Saint-Brune, the other on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine."
"I have yet to *catch* a cryptid, if that's what you're getting at, but I have come close."
"I have your money.
"I have your money."
"I have, uh, somewhere to party. Right now." [Leave.]
"I have. And they *will*. However, these orders take time to reach what is basically a rogue unit out in the field, here. Until they do -- it's all on us."
"I have. It's a great story, Harry." He nods. "Did you also know how the bee colony kills the giant hornet? They swarm and blanket it entirely, until it suffers a *massive heat stroke* and dies."
"I have. Yes."
"I have."
"I have?"
"I haven't -- but don't worry, I can take it."
"I haven't approached anyone! I've hid. It was Edgar who came to me."
"I haven't done anything!"
"I haven't examined it yet."
"I haven't had a chance to travel to *Koko Nur*, no. And I likely never will. The Samarskilt desert region has been embroiled in a small civil war for the last eight years."
"I haven't had a job for years!"
"I haven't harassed any kids!"
"I haven't learned anything I didn't know before." The lorryman shakes his head with indignation.
"I haven't lived and fought for forty years to end up as a collaborationist. I've heard it -- on Channel 8, 40AM, Radio Revachol Late Night..."
"I haven't lost this satin shirt." (Smell your armpit.)
"I haven't managed anything. I have holes in my brain. There are years, missing -- others filled with pain only. A decade of..." his eyes roll into his skull and back.
"I haven't paid the cafeteria manager for damages yet."
"I haven't read many of... those. Maybe you should ask Mom?"
"I haven't really had any problems myself... though some of my customers have complained about inconsistent law enforcement."
"I haven't said anything racist!"
"I haven't said it aloud in such a long time... that name." She shakes her head.
"I haven't seen any drunks yet, though..."
"I haven't seen anyone else drive a souped-up Coupris Kineema motor carriage either."
"I haven't seen him for... Well, to hell with him!" She has completely forgotten about her books, staring blank into the distance instead.
"I haven't seen much of this world, but from what I've seen *social justice* is an adolescent term. Sounds almost liberal... what's got me shaken up is the *people's struggle* and it's got me shaken up *bad*."
"I haven't seen that sticker before. And I am not a youth."
"I haven't seen these flowers anywhere else in Martinaise. Only here."
"I haven't seen very many other cities personally, but everyone says so. Revachol is a rare jewel. This city used to rule the world... Though it has seen better days."
"I haven't the slightest. There's lots of weird stuff out here in the reeds, though -- insects, trash. Could be the wind shifting some garbage nearby."
"I haven't. I have holes in my brain. Years missing, others filled with pain only. A decade of..." His eyes roll into his skull and back...
"I haven't. I have stomach cancer -- I've been throwing up blood since winter's solstice." He winces again. "Red like beet root. Passing it in stool too."
"I haven't."
"I hear the murderer of the hanged man talking."
"I hear they have a shack where junkies sometimes crash. Time for you to step up."
"I hear you and it's... uh, pleasure meeting you, *Harry*." He nods. "But do keep an eye out for an alternative, alright?"
"I hear you have singled out a *suspect* and are in pursuit. This is cause for cautious optimism -- I would not want to delay you..."
"I hear you, f****t cop. Talking shit 'bout The Cuno. Come here and say it to Cuno's face!"
"I hear you, f****t! Talking shit 'bout The Cuno. Come here and say it to Cuno's face!" the boy shrieks at the top of his lungs.
"I hear you, friend. What about it?"
"I hear you, ma'am, look..." (Start slowly bending over.) "...hands going on the ground."
"I heard him and I'm on it. "
"I heard him."
"I heard she was a heavy drinker with anger issues. You ever witness that kind of behaviour?"
"I heard something about a *complex operation* earlier. This adds up."
"I heard something about a weasel and it didn't sound like a local *polar* weasel, if you know what I mean." (Wink.)
"I heard that one of the drivers is a woman, but I haven't seen her around. Do you know this *lady driver*?"
"I heard that the Union has squeezed out all the local business to fund their strike... How is your store still up and running?"
"I heard that they ran out of money."
"I heard the forewoman before Evrart disappeared."
"I heard the rumours. I saw the others drivers looking at me *strange* when we talked. And she told me too -- that she's had a violent life. But I wasn't afraid of her, more like *for* her."
"I heard there was a girl here who has armoured gloves. Is that you?"
"I heard they're also planning on building a drug lab."
"I heard this is where the washed up disco has-beens go."
"I heard you in the passages. And I've been preparing for quite a while."
"I heard you kids might have gotten into the Feld building?"
"I heard you kids sometimes play in the abandoned Feld building?"
"I heard you talking to my friend outside... Very good. Super. I am here to assist you in any way possible. Ask me about the hanging."
"I heard you'd lost your mind *and* your memory. I wanted to see if it was true. And it is, Harry -- you're totally insane now. Good job."
"I heard you." A muffled voice suddenly clambers through the thick, solid metal gates.
"I helped him turn up the heat on the borscht."
"I helped scare someone for Mr. Claire."
"I helped some young ravers turn this place into a nightclub. And the play these weird neo-disco beats there..."
"I helped them up the bass beat. It's getting pretty *hard core*, but there's something missing. A melody line to complement the beat. I'm feeling this tape might be it."
"I helped you get your husband back. You *owe* me some sweet cryptid facts as a reward!"
"I honestly don't know."
"I hope I can answer it better."
"I hope I could help your investigation, in my small way." He's visibly relieved it's over.
"I hope I've been useful"
"I hope I've been... you know... helpful. All things considered."
"I hope it is."
"I hope my inquiry into the nature of reality will ultimately converge with our murder investigation. They are two halves of the same case."
"I hope my mom isn't dead..."
"I hope not, although the work you are doing for all of us *is* quite dangerous." Her eyes glimmer with admiration as she looks up at you.
"I hope not," he says, looking up from his browsing.
"I hope not." A pause. "Actually, I *know* that's not the reason. I'm careful about that kind of thing. Not crossing the wires, you know. But that's probably where they got the rape idea."
"I hope our investigation will help improve the situation here. At least do *some* good."
"I hope she wasn't a serious suspect then -- as to the suicide -- that must be *difficult*. Yet, in your line of work..." She tilts her head.
"I hope so! He's going to catch a cold, staying out there for so long..."
"I hope so, I truly do. If I may suggest -- hold on to your colleague Kitsuragi. I ran a check on him and he is very competent. In the meanwhile..."
"I hope so. Anything else I can do for you?"
"I hope that settles it... or wait..."
"I hope this entertained you."
"I hope this has been refreshing for you, detective," the man says, watching her leave. "Let's return to our search with a fresh pair of eyes."
"I hope we are able to continue as friends despite my scaly bulk. And the treacheries committed by my people against the Suzerain and the Commune."
"I hope we do." He covers his nose. "It's getting *really* late for an autopsy..."
"I hope you are not just tricking an old man out of the little he has left." He says solemnly and hands you his sandwich.
"I hope you can find the solution quickly. The wards are broken, the passage has been opened..." She shudders. "Now tell me, what's back there?"
"I hope you can help her. Help her become less afraid or something..." She looks at her freezing hands, before hiding them into her coat sleeves.
"I hope you do."
"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, it's just a collegial observation. In the 57th we call it the 'Jamrock shuffle'. Officers from Jamrock's 41st Precinct tend to move a bit erratically."
"I hope you get to experience one of our light-smell shows sometime, sir," he says with a smile, nodding his blonde, spiked head vigorously. "It'll be a blast."
"I hope you get to experience one of our light-smell shows sometime, sir," he says, nodding his blonde, spiked head vigorously. "It'll be a blast."
"I hope you haven't been littering here. This is unspoiled wilderness."
"I hope you learned your lesson, Kim."
"I hope you learned your lesson," the lieutenant says with a sharp smile.
"I hope you pass out from it, you goddamn jellyfish. Men like you are the reason this nation is sinking." Standing tall and proud he looks at his partner with disgust.
"I hope you were able to pawn that old trinket!" She smiles up at you earnestly.
"I hope you're happy now, happy that you've *ruined* everything... Now that you've broken the door the curse is coming to get *me* as well." She closes her eyes and starts mumbling something to her pendant.
"I hope you're joking, sir." His voice is dry and humourless. "I only meant that there's been some talk in the station, that's all. But there's always some talk in the station. You know how officers in Jamrock are..."
"I hope you're not trying to dance with that leg of yours," the lieutenant says, worried. "Healing from a gunshot wound takes time and patience. Be careful."
"I hope you're right. I hope it's not too bad..."
"I hope your at least your partner is recovering quickly. Also!" He raises his finger. "You're staying here for free now. That's right, this establishment supports cops. The stay is free -- the drinks are not," he adds. "Just felt I needed to specify that."
"I hope your at least your partner is recovering quickly. Also!" He wags his finger. "You're staying here for *free* now. That's right. This establishment supports cops. Even cops like you."
"I hope your confidence will translate into results, officer."
"I imagine a man like you can take quite the *lashing*." She sizes you up. "But I believe were talking about the *strike*."
"I imagined a woman, laughing at me beneath her pity. Terrible and beautiful."
"I imagined the pyknic face of the desert pygmee laughing at me, crooked teeth grinning."
"I intend to live forever too. As a symbol."
"I just *mourn*." He stares right through you. Then blinks again.
"I just *saw* you climb the ladder," the lieutenant shouts from below. "You just climbed it, like a regular person."
"I just *showed* you a breechloader -- that any child could have."
"I just blew this shit right open."
"I just break things. It's the way I am."
"I just can't go around telling confidential information to strangers. I've signed a contract."
"I just can't wait to shoot more shit. I think I was born with a gun in my hands."
"I just can't, man. I'm not *naive*."
"I just didn't want to bore you with unnecessary detail, officer."
"I just do."
"I just don't know any more... about anything really." He slowly shakes his head, then remembers your presence. "But you... you must need something?"
"I just don't know."
"I just don't know..." She shakes her head. "I don't know anything."
"I just don't like it very much. Movement on the road never really gelled well with the movement of my thoughts."
"I just don't understand. We had been making *real* progress toward solving the case..."
"I just don't want any. Please, enjoy, and then let's move on."
"I just feel this sense of doom, like an awful thing has happened."
"I just forgot to ask for a reward."
"I just found a *bullet* -- in the hanged man's head."
"I just fuckin' nailed you. Supercop of Jamrock.
"I just got this feeling. From what you said. Do you agree?"
"I just got too worked up. Big man lost his shit." He shakes his head. "It's cool now."
"I just have to do one more round, see if the phasmid has taken the bait... Then we're going." He refastens a bit of netting that has come loose in the wind.
"I just have to find out what caused that data loss and be done with it. Still don't understand how it managed to wipe out the backup when the backup *wasn't even connected to the front*. I know, I know... everyone thinks it's impossible; they say I must be lying. I'm here to set it right."
"I just haven't gotten a lot of sleep these past few days."
"I just hope that none of this affects the nightclub... I've become fond of those silly little speedfreaks. The joy in them." Her eyelids flutter as she looks at the ravers going on about their business, oblivious to their surroundings.
"I just hope you don't share Evrart's view on things. After all, as he said: one's *dead* now. The Pines certainly hasn't killed any of theirs."
"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.
"I just let him have it. Left, right, lights out."
"I just like the name for some reason."
"I just nailed you. Me. Fucking *me* -- this sorry cop."
"I just need a few minutes of your time. Police business."
"I just need to be needed."
"I just needed to do that. I'm sorry."
"I just renewed its safety inspection last month, officer. It is completely seaworthy. In fact, it's taken part in not one, but *two* Insulindic regattas, and finished once."
"I just so wanted it to be Pierre... Have a pleasant evening, prankster."
"I just thought a hat would look nice on you!"
"I just thought it would be a nice gesture. I'm sorry..."
"I just thought you might have heard of them, that's all."
"I just told some people some things. No big deal. Things are calmer now."
"I just took a whack in the dark."
"I just try to smoke as much as possible."
"I just try to stay away from the crab man, but he talks to Noid. They seem to have some 'thing' going on."
"I just want to ask you some questions." (Take another step closer.)
"I just want to be in a normal, right wing police force. That's all I want."
"I just want to do my job, that's all," she says quietly and looks away.
"I just want to do my job, that's all."
"I just want to know what's in my personal file. Who am I? What happened to me? You owe me that much, at least."
"I just want to know your name, little lady. No need to get defensive."
"I just wanted to know more about the place before I check it out. That's normal."
"I just wanted to know what kind of music you listen to. I was just curious!"
"I just wanted to make sure he was really dead."
"I just wanted to see what would happen if I yelled."
"I just wanted to talk about music and now there's a conflict all of the sudden... it's too much." (Nervously shake your head.)
"I just wanted to thank you again."
"I just..." He seems barely able to keep his head up. "...there's nothing left. NOTHING!"
"I kicked the programmer out, she won't bother you anymore. Time to dance!"
"I killed her," the lieutenant repeats himself. "And that's what happened."
"I killed her." The lieutenant takes a cigarette from his coat pocket and lights it. A bitter smell fills the room. "And that's what happened."
"I killed the bear." (You unplugged it.)
"I killed your dad, Cuno."
"I kind of miss being adrift, though -- nameless, gunless..."
"I kinda wanted to hear the circus, boss..."
"I knew I shouldn't shave! I knew it and still did it. What an idiot..."
"I knew from the get go we could count on you." He looks at his friends. "We can make this work -- the dance club will have a future!"
"I knew he enjoyed the moment he died. I could see it in him."
"I knew he was dead. Before he fell down on top of me."
"I knew he wasn't gonna do it, though! I knew he'd pussy out!"
"I knew he wouldn't get it, Jean." The woman looks half-bored. "He's like a cop or something."
"I knew it -- the colouring in his lower limbs looked faint."
"I knew it can't be real" (Conclude)
"I knew it wasn't a good idea to meddle with that machine..."
"I knew it! I knew I was someone well known. A superstar."
"I knew it! I knew you couldn't really be a traitor!"
"I knew it! I told you he didn't have it."
"I knew it! The bitch sees it. Bitches are fucking *smart*. But you dicks are dumb as fuck! It's real, I told you."
"I knew it! The man is back for those sweet, sweet questions!" The young man smiles at you. "What will it be?"
"I knew it! Titus, I knew she was professionally trained -- by her walk!" Glen seems excited. "I told you she was a beauty queen!"
"I knew it!" A tremor runs through her. "Oh, such horrors that have been thrust upon us..." She shakes her head.
"I knew it, Kim! I knew I was a superstar."
"I knew it, Kim! You're not human!"
"I knew it. "The lieutenant sighs. "We're gonna be chasing made-up insects with *cryptozoologists*."
"I knew it. Didn't I tell you, Trant? I told you it was our shitkid."
"I knew it. I knew no normal human being can run like that. He's an-honest-to-god gym teacher."
"I knew it."
"I knew it." He repeats. "Where there any back there? In working order I mean?"
"I knew it." She sighs and shakes her head. "Shameful behaviour. She's incorrigible."
"I knew it..." The would-be leader drops his spiked head between his knees...
"I knew it..." you hear Kim say quietly to himself.
"I knew that wasn't the whole story, but thought, fine, I'll take it and move on."
"I knew that! I could have said that!"
"I knew there was a chance you'd get them to tell you. It's what you do. You're the police."
"I knew these guys were f****ts." His voice is deeply approving.
"I knew they suck each other off."
"I knew this man was a commie." He smiles, tilting his head. "And it's a good thing you're doing too. Thanks."
"I knew we'd get to use this mailbox -- for something."
"I knew what I was getting into when I married a *cryptozoologist*, of course. It's just... Waiting for him to come back from field work is always nerve-racking..."
"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."
"I knew you could handle it. I know my special policeman. Anyway, I'm glad you're alright and armed again, Harry. Now, what can Evrart Claire do for you?"
"I knew you pigs were too naive for this shit. Good thing Cuno's got her under control. Cuno keeps her calm." He feels eyes on the back of his head -- and stops.
"I knew you were up to something."
"I knew you weren't a god damn scab leader!"
"I knew you would be too closed-mined to understand *the anomaly*."
"I knew you would sympathize." She nods. "Most Revacholians will never know what this place means, our home -- this island of matter. Or why they were ferried over in the first place..."
"I knew you'd get it. You're one smart cop."
"I knocked Cuno out" (Point to the yard.) "The kid needed discipline."
"I knocked you out like a god of martial arts."
"I know *a little*."
"I know *everything*, Harry. Right now I know that you're worried. Don't be worried. Everything's going to be alright."
"I know -- because I, too, am insane. I just hide my illness better. And I'm rich."
"I know I wouldn't be as hard core without drugs."
"I know I'm shit -- I know. But I haven't done anything. At least nothing illegal."
"I know La Revacholière. It's the marching song of the World Revolution."
"I know a *Weird Cop* when I see one." The lieutenant adjusts his glasses. "It doesn't work. *Weird Cop* only confuses the suspect and the *Weird Cop* himself, while all he should have done, was just ask normal questions."
"I know a friend of a friend who used to freelance for the Coalition," she says nonchalantly, scratching her ear. "I was actually aiming for the military-grade Rehm Rational series, but couldn't find one."
"I know a girl just like that. She works in Fritte as a cashier and she's not particularly friendly."
"I know a guy who works with trash collection services -- CS Municipal. He gave me a master key for the trash containers of Martinaise."
"I know a hundred kids with nothing, Harry. We can't make them all cops."
"I know a little girl in the village -- Little Lily."
"I know about *Cryobacter katlensis*."
"I know about the most dangerous cryptid -- the Gnome of Geroma."
"I know all about magnesium. I rock it all the time."
"I know all about the kind green ape!"
"I know exactly what you mean."
"I know exactly what you meant. You think my *kind* doesn't belong here. That I should *watch myself* and *behave*."
"I know for a fact that you smoke."
"I know her." He looks around and an uncommon silence fills the room.
"I know it seems unintuitive. But trust me."
"I know it took us a while to arrive at the scene. But it also took you a while to call us. It was you who placed the call, correct?"
"I know it'll take time. Don't sweat it."
"I know it's bad -- try not to move."
"I know it's difficult to believe, but I will do it. For the white banner of the Commune."
"I know it's difficult, miss. We can return to it later."
"I know it's hard to admit that you have a problem... I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look at the damage *el vino* was doing to my mind and my spirit."
"I know it's hard to admit that you've got a problem. I was like you once -- couldn't take an honest look into my own heart and see I was in pain."
"I know it's hard. But I assure you -- the others won't come to help us. And we have a *growing* sanitary concern here. We need to get him down, fast."
"I know it's just ink," she replies, as the filament clicks into place, "but Lintel was somehow able to divine the location of the anomaly from this broken copy. I want to repeat their calculation, only this time with better equipment."
"I know it's the '50s, but I'm not sure about the year."
"I know literally nothing about it. Only what you told me before."
"I know my rights! And don't you 'ma'am' me, boy!" the voice snaps back.
"I know myths and legends are enticing, but in the end they're just stories for children... to teach them lessons, or to frighten them." He gestures toward the waves.
"I know nothing about a murder." His reply is snappy and terse.
"I know she's gone." He looks to the city. "Locked up, or on the run.... She kept staring into the scope, you know. In the end, this last week. At the fort. Like she *knew*."
"I know that you don't know shit."
"I know that, Harry." He smiles broadly. "I *know* you. And rest assured, your secret is safe with me."
"I know that. But the people around here -- they don't see it that way. And if I am to stay here I need to get along with them."
"I know the Remote Viewers Division, they have taught me perception beyond this world."
"I know the biggest cryptid -- the Giant of Koko Nur."
"I know the kind," he says with a frown. "Gaston here is the same. A weathervane. Never stood up for anything in his life either."
"I know the woman you're talking about. We have it under control."
"I know things about it. I think it reproduces by parthenogenesis."
"I know this might sound weird, but are you... a firefighter?"
"I know this sounds fantastic. But I'm a four times decorated lieutenant of the RCM. I do not make up encounters with *cryptids* to spice up my day. I am very, very sane."
"I know those types, yes. There have been some here, but they never make their rent. So they have to move out. I know their type..." She coughs.
"I know what I heard, Korty!" The radio operator looks at him. "They said they killed him. They said it was a good way to end a Sunday night."
"I know what I heard, Korty!" The radio operator points at Titus. "They said said they hanged him. All of them together. They made it *real* clear."
"I know what I meant -- I meant to say *butch*, you have a problem with it?"
"I know what I saw, cheater."
"I know what I'm doing. It's not my first day on the police-job."
"I know what happened here, in this city. You rabid lunatics tore it to pieces and killed 50 million people."
"I know what it feels like. I lost people because I was weak too."
"I know what it looks like. But I have secret plans to turn the RCM into a Mazovian revolutionary unit."
"I know what it sounds like. That's why I didn't want to tell you before." She raises her eyes to meet yours. "But she *knew* what had happened -- when I came downstairs."
"I know what the RCM is."
"I know what this sounds like. That's why I didn't want to tell you before." She raises her eyes to meet yours. "But she *knew* what had happened -- when I came downstairs."
"I know what this tactic is, Silo Sam." He stares at you, eyes pink from the alcohol -- fingers tapping the pistol. "You're gonna die for them. Right here. Today."
"I know what you mean, officer," he says excitedly. "Then there's the blood sugar and don't even get me started on the bladder troubles..."
"I know what you mean. Sitting around with these bums you really get to know the nitty-gritty of *reality*. And it isn't good." He looks at his buddies with mock appreciation.
"I know what you meant." He looks toward the exit, longingly.
"I know what you thought: 'I'm gonna fuck that Cuno up, I'm gonna shut that shit down...' You know what? You should've, because now..." He raises he's voice again.
"I know what you've been thinking, Glen. We'll talk about it -- once the murder charges have been cleared."
"I know what's going on here. I've been *wronged* too. I got this fucking dark shadow over my heart."
"I know where they are. At the disco, dancing nasty."
"I know you *want* to tell me -- have you killed anyone with that gun in the last week or two?"
"I know you are."
"I know you can do that -- just let me come in on my own. In two months. Or maybe even one month. That's all I need..."
"I know you did. It's all right."
"I know you don't like old things, but do you... sell antique rifles on the side?"
"I know you pawned them. Likely for lab equipment and drug ingredients."
"I know you still love me." (Kiss her.)
"I know you think we were snacking on funny mushrooms. It's easier to mock someone than to admit that the world might be more interesting than you've imagined."
"I know you took the locusts from the traps the cryptozoologists set up."
"I know you wanted to hit me..." He lets it linger. "You got that 'I'm gonna fuck that Cuno up' look that Cuno's dad gets. The murder look... the rage look..."
"I know you're feeling pretty uncomfortable right now. Don't move too much or fight it. That'll just make it worse," says the shadowy figure by the machine.
"I know you're in there!"
"I know you're lying, Shanky." He writes in his notebook.
"I know you've been giving me the run-around. Fess up, where's the lady driver?"
"I know you've got a lot riding on me. I won't let you down."
"I know you've killed some people in the line of duty..."
"I know your pain! I've been let down by women too."
"I know, I know -- stunning, right?"
"I know, I know it is, but... could you *please* turn it down just this instance? Just *this* on time -- maximum is *not* the only way, okay?"
"I know, I know!" The little man raises his index finger excitedly. "Fattie walked on all fours. He's so fucking fat