THE LEDGER – Between Villalobos and The Burnt Out Quarter, you and JV stop at a Seolite bakery to split a submarine sandwich that you wash down with coffee while going over new and updated details on the case. All the tables are out front, under a canvas awning leaking rain, so you take your lunch and paperwork back to the armoured motor-carriage.

COUPRIS 40 – The scent of freshly baked baguette fills the cabin, overpowering even the deeply ingrained smell of cigarettes and motor oil. The wrapper rips, your partner hands you half of the sandwich.

YOU - Watch him lever open a quarter-glass window, turning up the volume of the rain.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Picks all the translucent slices of tomato out of his half of the roll before flinging them outside.

REACTION SPEED - Why order a sandwich with tomato, then?

LOGIC - Because you're splitting it and you like tomato?

PERCEPTION – Seagulls swoop down out of nowhere. You hear them screaming war cries at one another as they battle over Jean's juicy donation.

YOU – Bite into the crusty roll, tease out a strip of spicy salami with your teeth, and masticate.

ENDURANCE – Let's be honest - *spicy* is what your partner would call a *gross understatement*. Your mouth is *on fire* – in a good way, of course – and the flames are licking your throat.

COMPOSURE – This is some strong shit. This salami is disco.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "*Whooh*." Assesses the sandwich as if it's a Villalobos gang member he's about to take out of commission with one hit. "Better than a kick in the teeth from a horse."

RHETORIC - Now, it might just be me, but I suspect that there's a short list of things better than that.

YOU – Clear your throat, nod. "Yeah, definitely hot shit."

ENDURANCE - You're a seagull, Harry. The body remembers. You'll eat anything.

COUPRIS 40 – As you devour your *whooh*, *hot shit* sandwich halves, your partner produces his notebook, and unclamps the clip on the front binder to free a small pile of maps that he unfolds one after the other across the dashboard.

VISUAL CALCULUS – A topographical map of Coal City, a resource map of a mine, a street map of The Burnt Out Quarter -

YOU - "*Am* I a seagull?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "What?"

SUGGESTION - You know, you don't have to verbalize questions of that nature. You can just think them.

YOU – "Nothing, nothing."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Thinks for a moment. "Because you, like, eat basically anything? Are seagulls extremely dangerous to themselves? If they are, then you're that."

RHETORIC - You stepped right into that one.

EMPATHY – He's still fixated on your little meltdown this morning. If you want him to be able to focus on your achievements instead, then you need to stop putting a loaded gun into your mouth – literally and figuratively.

YOU – "Okay, Jean - I had that coming."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You think?" He leans his notebook onto his knee, glances down at the colour-coded tabs sticking out of the pages, then takes hold of a green one and flips to a double-page spread of drawings.

YOU – Lean over for a closer look.

JEAN'S NOTEBOOK - On the verso, a topo map with a mineshaft running through the contour lines. On the recto, a densely labelled street-grid section.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Well, at least you don't think it sounded *cool*. At least suicide is no longer *aesthetic*."

AUTHORITY – You are running out of patience.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Should have snorted that sweet amphetamine. Who could have predicted that Martinaise would be your last fucking fix? *Was* it your *last* fix, by the way?

VOLITION – *Yes*. Say it.

YOU – "Yeah ..."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – We'll see. Drugs'll always be there for you. They're faithful like that.

YOU – "Do you think we could maybe concentrate on my achievements instead? Do you hear me still nagging you about trying to pull a Joseph Mills?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. Then leans back into the upholstered passenger basket to fish inside a pocket as he peers around through the rain-blurred windows of the motor-carriage.

PERCEPTION – There's a muffled jingle-jangle inside the cabin. There's no traffic out on the rainy street. The cabin's windows are starting to fog up.

YOU – Wind down the driver's door window three centimetres.

PERCEPTION – Cool air brushes the skin on your face, carrying flecks of colder raindrops. It feels gentle, nice.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Listen ... Harry ..." he says, adopting a lighter tone, as he presents an object on the palm of his hand.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - It's a teal cable keyring with a single blue key attached.

INLAND EMPIRE – A blue key for unlocking blue hearts? Hearts alight, blazing like Pale-Aged Vodka poured over flames.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "My spare key. I want you to keep it. If anything like last night ever happens to you again, I want you to use it. Understood?"

ESPRIT DE CORPS – The bond between partners is a *no-matter-what* commitment.

Whenever bad, bad thoughts went through your head, who'd you think of first? I'll give you a hint: *your partner*. For example, the Collapsing Tenement case: you called him at half past one, and he was *up*. Voila.

YOU - ...

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] – He caught us completely off-guard. Sorry.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION – [Medium: Success] *I'll* take that little metal trophy for you.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Blinks at you a few times, then looks away to study the rain flowing down the windshield as he rubs his hand slowly where you touched it.

YOU - Pocket the bendy teal keyring with its blue key. "I can do that, Jean. I will."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Good." The word vibrates out of him in one deep low breath. He shakes a cigarette out of his packet of Astra Chocolate and lights it.

EMPATHY – He's relieved yet unsure, wondering whether it was the right move.

REACTION SPEED - But he uses the security chain on his door. How are you supposed to open *it*?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – By equipping *chain cutters*.

HALF LIGHT - God, yes! *Snip-snip*.

YOU - "Hold on. How am I supposed to let myself in when the security chain's on?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "It's on when I'm home. I'll probably be up. I'll definitely hear." He flicks ash off his cigarette through the open window. "Or you could call first – but it is absolutely not a prerequisite. Okay?"

YOU – "Okay."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - But can you use the little blue key at *other times* of need?

INLAND EMPIRE [Godly: Success] - One hand clasped around the back of your sweaty neck, the other down in your FALN Modular Track Pants, squeezing and tugging while you gasp and moan alcoholic breaths into his mouth, your arms clamped around him. With a violent spasm, you rise higher than the fucking innocence on the wave surging from the depths of your pelvis. His godly fist, pumping your pulsing prick, sticky with your spilled offering, your mouth wet with his kisses, a tingle in your spine and brain as the world pivots drunkenly on the axis of your existence.

And then, panic at the disco!

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Is frowning at you, as the motion picture in your head dissipates, leaving a residue of feelings like remains. "What did you just *remember*, Harry?"

INLAND EMPIRE – Ask about the morning he finally convinced you to go jogging, and you turned up to his place, how do I put this, *still slightly inebriated* – an effect of Mack "The Torso" Torson challenging you to a drinking competition the night before. You didn't go jogging, but you still got a *jogger's high*.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – A challenge The Torso sorely regrets to this day, you Pale-Aged Vodka sculling champion.

YOU - "The morning we were meant to go jogging ...?" You flash a smile. "I'd say the 'jogger's high' you gave me was better than any I've had after regular runs."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Squints at you. "Would you now? Or would you say you panicked afterwards and bolted like a startled foal?"

YOU - Feel strange, outside yourself watching this drama unfold. "I don't remember *afterwards*. But I do remember it being like divine illumination, or intervention. No, no, hold on. More like acting on an instinctual level to perform the ceremony of some forgotten religious practice - like anointing an innocence, or something."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Are you done?"

YOU - "I'm just saying it was fucking *good*, Vic - the way you, you know, handled me."

RHETORIC - Be still my heart, a double entendre.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Raises his eyebrows and leans back. "Oh ..." He's taken aback, but remembers his cigarette and takes a quick puff. - "Well ... Good. But I didn't *handle* you."

VOLITION - He did handle you, both ways - made you face yourself.

YOU – Lean over, take hold of his cigarette hand and move it to your mouth for a hit of chocolate nicotine.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Stares at you a moment longer, then looks away and takes another, proper drag, exhaling a slow and steady stream of smoke thoughtfully through pursed lips. "*That* was the first time, Harry."

RHETORIC - Meaning *not* the other memory you discussed in the hostel.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The cabin is an armoured bubble of silence pressed upon by the calming white noise of rain.

YOU - "I, I don't know what more to say …"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - ...

VOLITION - He's coming to terms with a different version of your shared history, which is reconfiguring your current shared reality.

SUGGESTION - You have his spare key. Can you use it not only for tough times but also for the opposite of 'bolting like a startled foal'?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - A stallion, that's what you are. Fuck that seagull nonsense.

YOU - Are you sure this time, because -

SUGGESTION - If I'm wrong, you can march me behind that bakery, stand me up against the wall, and execute me by firing squad in the rain.

RHETORIC - Fusillading.

HALF LIGHT - Defenestrate him instead. Through the windshield!

COUPRIS 40 – Hold your horses. You've already *fucked* one RCM motor-carriage *too many*.

YOU - "Actually, I've changed my mind. I *do* know what to say: I have one more question concerning your blue key."

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Detectives always do.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Okay. Let's hear it."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You watch him simply being, breathing as he watches you watching him - inhaling to feed his inner fire and exhaling its burn.

INLAND EMPIRE - Of all the lights pinpricking Elysium, to you his is the brightest. It's why he suffers so, why they call him a *medical anomaly*. So bright he blinds himself.

YOU - "So, what if what happens is I need *you* - insurmountably? Would I be able to use the blue key in an imagined scenario like that?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Maps you out from head to toe, scrutiny like a touch.

EMPATHY – His face is expressionless, but the gleam in his grey eyes tells you otherwise.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Oh, well, if it's *insurmountably* ..."

RHETORIC - It sounds sarcastic, but ...

DRAMA - To conceal the *yearning*, sire.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Flicks his cigarette butt through the open quarter-glass window as he nods in reply and gives a thin smile.

INLAND EMPIRE – KEEPER

ESPRIT DE CORPS - OF YOUR PARTNER'S

AUTHORITY - BLUE KEY.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Coughs and jerks a stray strand of hair out of his eye. Focuses intently on the drawings in the notebook splayed over his knee. "Now let's *please* stop fantasizing," he tugs on his tie knot, "and get back to work."

THE LEDGER - Your partner JV takes you through the maps in layers, starting with the streets of The Burnt Out Quarter, followed by the mines below Coal City, ending with L'Ossuaire Municipal, except he calls it -

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "... city for the dead." He taps the map with a forefinger.

SUGGESTION – Now's your chance to ask about the Future Writing.

YOU – No, now's the time *to work*.

VOLITION – You can always bring it up later.

SUGGESTION – Of course. No one's forcing you to do anything. You do what you want.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you with important details?"

YOU – Blink, try to focus your attention back onto the maps. "No ..."

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] – They're marked in blue and red wax pencil to highlight and outline points of interest, calculate routes, bearings, and distances that extrapolate from point to point in lines joining the three maps together. You note that a mineshaft under Coal City has been extended in red, lining up almost perfectly with a street in the The Burnt Out Quarter. The map is so old there's even a landmark where a Dolorian Church of Humanity used to stand.

INLAND EMPIRE - Containing another 2mm hole in the world?

YOU – "... but I think I've got a handle on The Burnt Out Quarter now, so I'd prefer to keep it moving - blend the *important details* in my head with what's actually out there." You nod to the south. "I think better off paper."

THE LEDGER – This is where the case becomes one of those bad ones. You park the Coupris 40 near the new Next World Mural, on the northern edge of The Burnt Out Quarter, and radio Precinct 41 to log a 10-23 (arrived at scene), and relay the rest of the squad to be on standby with their raid armour ready. So far, so standard, and nothing about the new mural and aero-graffito has changed, except both are significantly wetter. In fact, half the aero-graffito is submerged because the storm-drain and sewage systems under the streets of the Quarter have collapsed in places. And where does all that stormwater collect?

YOU – On the streets, causing flooding.

THE LEDGER – Right. Anyway, you and JV empty the Coupris 40's toolbox, as dirty water sluices coldly over the toes of your sneakers. Swing your heavy black tarpaulin cloaks over your shoulders. Put on your lieutenant caps for extra protection from the element of water.

PERCEPTION - Your cap smells of Astra Menthol and typewriter ink; your cloak sports a scatter of three bullet holes on the front.

INLAND EMPIRE - From the second-last time you were shot.

THE LEDGER – So, you and JV proceed southwest on foot along Rue Principale, which follows alongside the River Esperance through industrial wasteland as far as the rain can see. The bloated river gradually curves south proper. This isn't the bad turn, by the way – we're still getting to that.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Stops at a T-intersection to survey the adjoining street from under the dripping black brim of his cap. He looks irritated with it. "According to my map, this is Rue de l'Église," he points down the street from under a wing of his cloak, "but the map's ancient, so it would be good if we could spot a sign to confirm ..."

ESPRIT DE CORPS – The corner of Rue de l'Église and Rue Principale is where Jean's informant Ed says Blixa sent him to meet a man wearing a green Dynamic Windbreaker Ski. Anyway, he was supposed to let Green Windbreaker Ski know about the station calls you dished out to the Belles Lettres. Though in truth Ed was also hoping to score more magenta.

INLAND EMPIRE – A *sign*? Easy peasy – there are signs everywhere.

YOU – Take a moment to stretch as you look around, searching the crumbling walls of brick and mortar for an actual street sign.

RUE DE L'ÉGLISE - The street looks back at you through the rain: ghostly grey shapes of ruins ripped open and burnt out by Coalition warships. It does all feel ancient suddenly.

YOU - Where was the Dolorian Church of Humanity that was burned down?

VISUAL CALCULUS – A block down across the road.

INLAND EMPIRE – You squint in that direction, and imagine you can just make out an X-shaped cross, the Star of the Perikarnassis, poking out of the rubble of history. Ancient and cold.

HALF LIGHT - Steer well clear of that plot of ash - getting *mind-fucked* by isolary entroponetics again is the last thing you need right now.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yeah, the pale messed with your neural wiring. It wasn't the drink and drugs and *other things*.

HALF LIGHT - I'm *serious* - the raid on the church in Martinaise? *You* led it. (With two other precincts - whoop dee doo.) That shit got *classified* for a reason.

PERCEPTION - A wet gust blows ash through the curtains of rain, turning them grey and black.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Fuck this shit. Let's get a move on."

INLAND EMPIRE – Wait. Stop. An air current carries a chemically sweetened scent - sweet as caramel.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) - What is that guy on about?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - What is that guy *on*?

SHIVERS - The gust blows rain against the nigh-impenetrable front of your cloak, droplets pitter-pattering against your front, poking fingers through the three bullet holes in the tarpaulin.

YOU - Clench your teeth and shudder.

SHIVERS - LOOK UP.

YOU - Tilt your face up to the rain to raise your sight, blinking as droplets hit your cheeks and chin like needles.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - A billboard teeters on the edge of a factory roof, threatening to jump. It's faded and worn to shreds, but even with some letters torn off by the elements and other accidents that have befallen it, you can still make out "Pa-nt it w- Ant-" over a once-colourful representation of a man and a woman painting the wall of a house with rollers and big shit-eating grins on their faces.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - *Paint it with Antony*. The town red!

INLAND EMPIRE - Their kid will eat the paint because the colour looks like dried apricots and lead tastes *yummy*.

YOU - Shrug inside your cloak. "Jean. I found a sign."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Hunched against the rain, he doubles back to you, tracking your gaze up to the billboard. "Think there's an Antony factory nearby – maybe where the informant was supposed to be taken after hooking up with the contact here?"

YOU - Nod. "I can smell it in the wind."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh, really?" Arches an eyebrow and gives you not a look but *the look*. "This again." Shakes his head. "Fuck it. Let's not get into that."

PERCEPTION (SMELL) – Your partner's perception is through the fucking roof, and he's thinking the air smells of ash and river-water reeking of industrial runoff. In fact, he has been breathing as shallowly as possible for a few minutes now – I'm just *a little* worried about him.

YOU - Close your eyes, turn slowly on the spot like a radar dish.

INLAND EMPIRE - There it is again – a swell of caramel in the currents. Let's follow it upwind.

YOU – Open your eyes to find Jean shielding his notebook from the rain as he uses it like a clipboard to mark the spot of the billboard on his map with an encircled X.

YOU – "This way." You take a couple of steps -

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Folds up his map, stows his notebook. "Fucking Harry …"

YOU – Step back to him, grab his upper arm through the waterproof cloak, and pull lightly.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Okay, okay – let's follow your spectacularly extravagant synesthesia." He sighs, but falls into step alongside you as the caramel vapour guides your patrol.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – This is him *indulging in your antics*.

THE LEDGER – 1200 metres southeast of the burnt-out church, you and JV discover the ruins of Antony Paints taking up an entire block where the river runs east.

YOU – Tap your partner on the upper arm, coldly wetting the backs of your fingers, and point at the hand-painted *Antony* sign. "Voila."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Says nothing.

YOU – Chant under your breath: "Admit it. Admit it, admit it, admit it. I *am* –"

RHETORIC – Do *not* say *Detective God*.

YOU - "– a pretty okay detective."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "I wanna tell you to get over yourself," he says in an undertone, "but I'm actually kind of impressed … So, you know what? *Kudos*."

AUTHORITY – A compliment from your partner. *Kudos* indeed, *detective*.

ANTONY PAINTS FACTORY RUINS – Weedy rubble lies shored up against a three-story edifice of brick, bent chimneys, and blown-out windows all held together by a confusing tangle of rusted pipes sprouting out of vats. A rusted staircase zigzags up to a bombed entrance, where its metalwork is too mangled to stand on let alone climb, then up to a rusty white door on the top floor. Sturdy bars have been attached to all the ground-floor window-holes.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Isn't admiring the industrial aesthetic – his scrutiny is directed at the cracked pavement under your feet, as if seeing through it to the underworlds below. He points to a storm-drain in the gutter, where grey water pours in. "The drainage system is intact here."

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - Water gurgles below in the dark.

INLAND EMPIRE - There might be a sea monster down there, clowning around.

YOU – Nod. "What might be under there – you extrapolated, right?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "That's what *I'm* going by." He beckons you into the boarded-up doorway of an adjacent ruin, takes out his maps and unfolds them. "Look at this," he murmurs, tracing a path with his finger over numerous streets and ...

VISUAL CALCULUS – Over the street you're standing on is an extrapolated imaginary line labelled B', drawn by your partner's hand with a ruler and red wax pencil, to extend a major mineshaft from the Coal City resources map into the street map of the Quarter.

YOU – "Motherfucker. Think we might find more than an entrance to L'Ossuaire Municipal down there? The idealogue, maybe?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Puts away his maps, stares intensely into your eyes, glances at your mouth once, twice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Now that the distractions have been put away, you're both intimately aware of just how tight this damp recess is. Beneath his protective layers of waxed black canvas and cotton, there's a buff body exuding skin-heated *!Excess* against yours.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Breaks eye contact to survey the street, pondering, as he picks at the edge of a reflective white rank band on his sleeve.

EMPATHY – He wishes you both weren't in uniform right now.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – That's not true. Pay no mind to that blasphemer and his sacrilegious lies.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Without warning, his hand slips out from under his cloak to tap you on the ass. "Let's go."

YOU – Smirk. "Is that a promise, partner? Gonna tap that tonight?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Yes - it's a hobby of mine."

Steps down from the doorway stoop into the rain, then turns back to you. "Should split up, circle the building covertly to find a quiet way in, map possible entrances slash exits. Meet you at the back. Okay?"

SAVOIR FAIRE – Did somebody say *covertly*? The rain's been helping with that – more than you know.

YOU – "Okay ..."

HALF LIGHT – Hold up. This place is not as deserted as it would like you to think.

YOU - "But let's not split up and say we did."

THE LEDGER – That bad turn? Here it comes. Don't say I didn't warn you. Circling the ruins together with JV, you discover that security is not exactly what it once was thanks the back wall having been blasted to smithereens.

ANTONY PAINTS FACTORY RUINS – Weaving your way through the rubble, you enter the spacious shell. Overcast daylight falls through industrial window-holes into shadow.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – You see drilled holes in the cement floor where manufacturing-line equipment was once housed, producing gallons of paint.

REACTION SPEED – Where are all the machines, the outdated workstations?

INLAND EMPIRE - A large spill of dry blue paint on the floor – deep lake blue you think it's called – resembles a crime scene in the half-light, reminds you of bleeding out on the plaza in front of the Whirling.

YOU – Clench your teeth to stop a shudder.

SAVOIR FAIRE – Speak only in whispers here – if you must. Hollow chambers like this have acoustics that are not conductive to covert op's.

YOU – Okay. Sure. But what happened to all the stuff?

INLAND EMPIRE – Salvaged for scrap, sold off, donated. Everyone on the salvaging crew suffered from lead-poisoning and, later in life, chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder – an effect of Eternite dust inhalation.

HALF LIGHT – This place feels *off*.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – If there was a clean-up crew, how did they remove the machinery without first clearing a path through the rubble – shouldn't they have cleared it, too?

YOU – Maybe the rubble was placed there on purpose afterwards – to keep down appearances?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Whispers: "That rubble outside – the bits of wall, pipes, gauges and other paint shit – is only for show."

YOU – Nod.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Unhooks the prybar from his belt to prevent it from knocking against something as he crouches low, and gestures for you to follow ...

ANTONY PAINTS FACTORY RUINS – Around the corner is a corridor that ends in a blacked-out area reeking of caramel so cloying it coats your tongue. Buried under it is the smell of damp and rot. Crouched on either side of the entryway, you and your partner peek around the corner. Beyond, white light glints off Isola-Tux cans littering a cement floor. There's also a palette loaded with 205-litre drums of the paint used for the murals. Around it, five-litre cans drip black and white. Are you getting this?

YOU – It's noted.

THE LEDGER – Upon entering the second space, you and JV see the frosty windows of a foreman's office glowing with electric light over an observation deck; a staircase ascends to a new steel door.

VISUAL CALCULUS – A *modern* electric light – cold and white. Ding, ding, ding, ding!

CONCEPTUALIZATION – A secret …

YOU – Squat right down, running a hand over the cement floor for balance, your eyes meeting your partner's.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Tilts his head in the direction of the windows -

PERCEPTION (TOUCH) – Your fingertips brush across the jagged edges of a crack.

VISUAL CALCULUS – Whoaa! What have we here? A construction code violation if ever there was one!

YOU – Peer at the floor as your eyes keep adjusting to the light: there's a crack which widens before vanishing under an iron plate surrounded by orange and white traffic cones. A ladder leans against the nearby wall.

YOU – What's down the hole?

CONCEPTUALIZATION – The secret entrance to L'Ossuaire Municipal?

VOLITION – Right now your priority is that foreman's office.

INLAND EMPIRE - Don't worry, you'll go down this rabbit hole soon – you, your partner, your entire squad, down there deep in the layers.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – A door opens then shuts somewhere above.

HALF LIGHT – Did you hear that?!

YOU – Exchange a look with Jean.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "I heard it." He points up at the foreman's office, then hand-signals that he's taking the lead to breach.

YOU - Nod, wishing you had a red key to ram through the door.

INTERFACING – You pull your Villiers 9mm out of its holster. It's fully loaded: a round in each of its three barrels.

SAVOIR FAIRE – Sticking close to your partner, with one hand lightly on his shoulder from behind, the two of you sneak up the steps to the deck.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Takes up position at the door, controlling his breathing, recalibrating.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Maybe you should exercise some warrior toughness too?

HALF LIGHT – Maybe the thinker can get fucked. Adrenaline and cortisol for the win! Prepare yourself!

INTERFACING – Your partner places the prybar into position with one practised move, driving its fork between the stop and frame, and quickly levers it back and forth like a pump.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION – The deadbolt and lock malfunction as the door and jamb separate with a groan, as Jean lowers the prybar and quick-draws his gun, as you become nothing but Man and Gun. As you both storm into the office -

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Police! *Gun*! Drop the gun now!"

HALF LIGHT – Gun!

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Sir, drop the gun! *Drop it*!"

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – Holding a Kiejl Model 40 revolver at his side, pointed at the floor, is a bald white male, fifties, wearing a green Dynamic Windbreaker Ski over a suit. He appears composed, but sweat is breaking out in beads on his forehead and upper lip.

AUTHORITY – Time to engage CAPSLOCK.

YOU – Aim your Villiers at his mouth: "Drop the fucking revolver *right now*, asshole, or I will FUCK YOU for the rest of my LIFE!"

WINDBREAKER SKI MAN – "Fine, fine … Homo Cop." The gun drops to the newly carpeted floor with a thud. "I'm just the book-keeper."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Pounces, forcing the perp to his knees, cuffing him, giving him his rights.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You lower your gun, sweep the scene. There's a giant map on the wall – you can't make out the details from here; a pile of refurbished Revolution weapons leaning in a corner; an expensive battery-powered generator with a red cable supplying power to the light. A desk with a ledger and a radio.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Where's the magenta blow? Shouldn't there be baggies here?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Crosses the room to a padlocked door on the end, assesses it. "What's behind this door?"

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – "I have no idea. As I said, I'm merely the book-keeper."

REACTION SPEED – You heard a door opening and closing – and this is the only other door up here.

DRAMA – *Liar*.

YOU – "Stop lying. It'll be easier for you if you cooperate with us."

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – "A Homo Cop, *and* an international-law lackey."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "That's … *exactly* right! *How* could you tell?"

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – "Your mother must be proud."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Wow, so witty. Allow me to say, sir, snappy and original zingers are really your strong suit." He beats the padlock off the with the prybar, then kicks in the door. And immediately covers his nose with the crook of his elbow.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) – Sickly sweet decay wafts out. Very early stages of cadaverine odour.

ENDURANCE [Formidable: Failure] – Oh, fuck, not again.

VOLITION – Pull your shit together this instant and do your damn job.

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – Starts to hum a song under his breath. It's annoyingly familiar.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Turns back to you, his eyes watering. "Harry," he coughs into his elbow, "flashlight."

YOU – Pull it out of its holster and toss it over, one eye still on the humming perp.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION – Jean catches it, flicks it on, and points its blinding beam into the darkness.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Detective Jean Vicquemare's day dims to black as the flashlight beam slides over a red-haired boy chained to a toilet, and an even smaller and younger black-haired girl lying on the tiles, her arm handcuffed to the sink at an odd angle.

"Host in heaven," Vicquemare mutters, his grip on the flashlight tightening till his knuckles stand out sharp and white against the skin. "Fuck this world."

Crouching before the little girl, he rests the prybar onto the floor, then holds a hand to her chest to perform the Stations of the Breath. It takes a second, a nervous tick. Then he turns to the other kid.

"Ain't dead," the boy croaks, squinting at Vicquemare's dazzling light. "Just need medicine shit. With, like, facilities."

Vicquemare releases a deep sigh of relief, then scans the boy from head to foot for any signs of visible injury.

"I know who you are," the boy says, no louder than leaves rustling in a breeze. He licks his chapped lips, but his tongue sticks. "Fuckin' hallucinating. You wore a wig and sunglasses. There's, like, a halo around your head … Why's it dark and square, though?"

Vicquemare stares at the boy, finally recognizing him. "What's your name?"

"I'm Cuno," the kid says, sticking his chest out a little, and trying to be louder, but his throat is so parched it sounds like rubbing two pieces of dry paper together. "You're Vicquemare. Du Bois's partner. Cuno's pig - total necromancer pissf####t, even after he got half his dick shot off. So Cuno made himself into a pig, 'cause I can make Cuno into anything. Didn't give a shit." He tries to swallow, but his throat glues. His breathing quickens. "Wanted to rake in enough reál for cop school, see? Le petit rat shit. 'Cause Cuno's poor. But those fuckin' fat dink ultra-f####ts …" He looks at the dead girl, his eyes almost as sad as the detective's.

Cuno's story has shattered Vicquemare's composure. He's barely holding it together, hanging on to all the pieces by sheer force of will. "You're gonna leave here with Harry and me in a minute ... Okay … Cuno?"

The boy squints suspiciously, then nods. Closes his eyes again and rests his cheek against the toilet bowl. "Knew I was fuckin' hallucinating."

YOU – Tap your foot against the carpet, glare at the handcuffed perp. "Stop humming and start answering: Who's dead in there? Did you kill them?"

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – Even handcuffed, he puts on a haughty appearance. "Why? Does *We Go On* not appeal to your faux-bourgeois moralist tastes? Is the genre of disco a touch too radical, officer?"

ENCYCLOPEDIA – Ah, that's it! We Go On by Ostentatious Orchestrations.

RHETORIC – His accent is cultivated - east of the river.

YOU – "I'm neither bourgeois nor political. I'm just an exhausted fucking cop who's interested in what you've been doing here – especially in that fucking room."

WINDBREAKER SKI GUY – "Just another dead rat."

YOU - Look across at Jean as he re-emerges from the room.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – His face is like a plaster cast. From it, dead eyes stare through you.

COMPOSURE – Warning: his ironic armour is missing. All that's left is the pristine suit and tie and uniform – the weakest chinks.

EMPATHY – This is bad. He's in a dark, dark place. You need to talk him out of it.

YOU – "Okay, Jean? Stay cool, partner. Let's just take a step back, breathe, and talk for a –"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "*Just another dead rat*." Aims his Villiers 9mm point blank at the chest of the handcuffed man in the windbreaker, and pulls the trigger.

Fire explodes from the muzzle, which then exhales a plume of smoke as if enjoying a ciggie after sex.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – Your ears ring.

YOU - …

HALF LIGHT – Do something! Fuckin' fix it! *Un-arrest* that fucker!

YOU - Bend over the executed man leaking into the carpet.

INTERFACING - There's a click and a metallic *zip* as you remove the handcuffs. Straightening, you hold them out to your partner.

COMPOSURE – I'm giving it my all to keep your hand steady.

INLAND EMPIRE – The perp didn't drop his gun when you told him to. Instead, he tried to shoot you. Jean retaliated – luckily.

YOU – "He didn't drop his gun when we told him to. Tried to take a shot at me. You saved me. Understood?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Points in the direction of the room. Falls back into the chair at the desk, drops his gun onto the open ledger there, his hat too. Then buries his face in his hands.