THE LEDGER – When you discover a richly renovated foreman's office in the Antony factory ruins, shit goes down that turns the Next World's Footprint case into *significantly* more than political graffiti and costly vandalism. Inside, you find the man matching JV's informant's description of the contact he was meant to meet. The perp has no ID, sounds like he's from across the river, and calls himself "the book-keeper". Your *nom de guerre* for him is Ed's description: Green Windbreaker Ski Guy. He refuses to answer your questions, humming *We Go On* by *Ostentatious Orchestrations* instead. But when questioned about what is behind a padlocked door that you and JV heard him exiting, Green Windbreaker Ski Guy remarks "Just another dead rat" before producing a refurbished Kiejl Model 40 revolver (cross-ref. Lieutenant KK and Patrol Officer JM's *Antique Gun Pawn* case files). Ignoring your and JV's orders to drop the gun, he instead attempts to shoot you, and is killed by JV's return fire.

Behind the padlocked door, JV discovers two kids imprisoned in a toilet. Preliminary inspection of the girl's body indicates she's been dead for no more than two days. The survivor, Kuuno "Cuno" de Ruyter (cross-ref. *The Hanged Man* report) – a *fourteen-year-old* future junior officer who had the bright idea of paying for cop school with a le petit rat gig – is dehydrated. Following protocol, *if the files are to be trusted*, you and JV triage the situation and prioritize KDR, who requires immediate first-aid.

But you still have a new crime scene to secure, so you and JV take a moment to lift as much evidence as you can from the foreman's office and surrounds lest it should be tampered with before you can return for a thorough Jamrock Shuffle with what's left of your squad. You bag the ledger on the desk, and JV sketches and photographs the map on the wall (labelled 'B1'), and takes photos of the pile of refurbished guns ('B2'), and the gallons of industrial paint surrounding a covered hole in the floor ('B3') that needs to be inspected *yesterday*. (See also photographic-evidence 'A1' for custom boot-print.) Staring at the covered hole, KDR informs you it's a secret passage connecting the pre-Revolution storm-drainage system to L'Ossuaire Municipal, that he can navigate all the way down to Le Royaume, and that he has been "detecting shit" and wants to help you "fuck the ultra-f****ts with a barge pole" because "Cuno *cares*".

RHETORIC - Must be a Martinaise thing - fucking someone with a barge pole. 'Solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short'.

EMPATHY - But Cuno has turned his back on the Martinaise *state of nature*.

THE LEDGER - Sure. Anyway, you and JV support KDR out of the Antony ruins. Out in the open, future junior officer KDR *insists* that he can make it to the Coupris 40, shall we say, *without assistance*. Yeah, right. After about two hundred metres of trudging through flooded streets in the rain, KDR remarks that he's "seeing spots", then collapses. JV catches the kid before he can plant his face into the pavement, then stoically carries him in his arms the rest of the way to the armoured motor-carriage.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – We never leave a blue-souled brother behind, even though it is your partner's belief that when left with no other option, we should teach a blue-souled brother a lesson about his *Detective God* status before *scraping what's left of him off the pavement*.

EMPATHY - But maybe Jean is changing that belief …

THE LEDGER – While JV gives KDR first-aid for dehydration in the back of the motor-carriage, you radio your station to report the shit-shower and call in the processing crew. The blast of static filling the cabin of the motor-carriage makes KDR come to:

JULES PIDIEU – "10-2, 10-5. This is the 41st, come in! Over."

YOU – Are relieved to hear JP's rattly voice. "10-4, Station 41. Be advised, we have a 10-12 (visitor) here. Over."

JULES PIDIEU – "10-4, sir. What is your status? Over."

CUNO - "I'm not a 10-12. We're all pigs here." He straightens his back.

ESPRIT DE CORPS – The future junior officer speaks cop, or some of it.

YOU – "Jules, we encountered a 10-32 (shooter), and a 10-54d who may be a 10-57, so we need 10-55d (send processing). Over."

JULES PIDIEU – "10-4, sir. This is serious. 10-71 (advise nature of shooting) please. Over."

YOU – "10-4, Station 41: the 32 attempted to shoot me with a refurbished Revolution revolver. Satellite Officer Vicquemare took him out. Over."

JULES PIDIEU – "Glad to hear it, sir!"

CUNO - "9mm to the chest. Ultra-f****t down! Saved the Cuno, too."

YOU – Glance in the rearview mirror, and meet your partner's sad stare already studying your reflection as he bites his lip. "Me too, Jules," you say. "Me too." You wink at Jean's reflection, then look beyond the rearview mirror, through the rainy windshield, at the road ahead.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – You can just make out the bridge back to Villalobos. Above, like a flash-bang tossed from an aerostatic, lightning cracks and thunder bangs through the grey sky.

JULES PIDIEU - "I will 10-22 the captain. Over."

ENCYCLOPEDIA – The ancients believed the sky was really cracking, and that lightning was the white light beyond the veil of reality.

YOU – Really?

ENCYCLOPEDIA – I guess. I'm just relaying information stored in your fractured memory.

INLAND EMPIRE – Perhaps they were right – perhaps lightning *is* cracks in Elysium. The light beyond blazes like pain, like what you saw through Jean's cracks when he pulled the trigger.

PAIN THRESHOLD – Ouch.

YOU – Blink, avert your eyes. "Thanks, Jules."

PERCEPTION – Glance in the rearview mirror again. Jean is mixing an electrolyte-carbohydrate sachet into a squeeze bottle, then shaking it vigorously to make an oral rehydration solution. No cracks visible right now –

DRAMA – My lord, if I may intrude, thy partner is an expert at hiding depression. But to this master thespian, Jean's fake enthusiasm and forced surprise is overly familiar.

COMPOSURE – Focused on his immediate task, your partner has scraped his shattered shit back together for better or worse.

PERCEPTION -The rehydration solution turns electric blue as the agitated salts dissolve. It smells like Juicy Fruit.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Little sips at first, Cuno, or you'll vomit and make it even worse."

CUNO – "Bleh. Tastes like shit."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Great! I wouldn't know."

CUNO – Glares at him with something like respect, his green eyes beady.

YOU – Lift the radio-microphone back up to your mouth, and press the button to speak. "Jules, I was just thinking that the late-afternoon thunderstorm you warned us about is incoming."

JULES PIDIEU – "10-4, sir, I concur. Anything else to report?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Stop wasting his time on the line, Harry."

YOU - "We 10-78 (need assistance) – Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Patrol Officer Minot for a start – to 10-18 (complete the present task). Over."

JULES PIDIEU – "10-4, sir – I will relay the officers. 10-20?"

YOU – "The Forks, a hostel south of Villalobos – on the tributary. We'll set up a forward base for this part of the op there. Over."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Cuno needs the nearest hospital," he says, meeting your eyes again in the rearview mirror with his vacant stare, "which is why we need to ..." He tilts his head northward and clicks his tongue quickly twice.

CUNO - "What?!"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Exits the back of the motor-carriage. Sits beside you in the front.

CUNO – "Like fuck he does. You gonna call the boo boo wagon to cart me off to some butcher shop instead of the Precinct 41 lazareth? I'm one of you – Cuno's got bacon grease *all over him*."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You're not a cop, Cuno."

CUNO – "You gonna dump me at the butcher's like those ultra-f****ts dumped me in that fuckin' toilet?!" His chest rises and falls fast - short of breath. Freckles standing out against pale skin.

ENDURANCE - The kid is wearing himself out fast. If he doesn't stop soon, he may vomit, and he *will* collapse again from exhaustion.

EMPATHY - He's genuinely scared, threatened by the prospect of being left behind.

YOU - "Hold up, Jules - situation with our 12."

JULES PIDIEU - "Yes, sir," you hear him light a cigarette and take a long crackly drag, "I'm receiving it loud and clear. Over."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Sighs, pulls out his own packet, and shakes out a dark blue plastic lighter. "Nobody is *dumping* you, kid." He sticks a cigarette between his lips. "You need fluids administered intravenously for a quick recovery." He lights up. "*Medicine shit with facilities* - like you said."

ENDURANCE - The boy doesn't remember saying it. From the moment Jean aimed his flashlight at him to when he collapsed on the street, everything is like a fever dream, delirium.

SUGGESTION - Win-win.

YOU - Why is that a win-win?

SUGGESTION - Because Jean shot the perp when he tried to shoot you, then found the kids in the toilet.

CUNO – "Fuck does Cuno care?" He sucks on his blue fluid, then wipes sweat from his brow. "Listen, *listen *…"

EMPATHY – The way he's taking turns to look you both in the eye, and emphasizing, he *needs* you to take whatever he is about to say seriously.

CUNO - "What you mega pissf****ts need is me to tell you everything I know about the underground, yeah? Cuno's undercover oinker informant shit. Step into big boy pig shoes to prove myself."

YOU – "Gotta 10-10, Jules. But I'll make contact again soon. Over."

JULES PIDIEU – "Roger that, 10-10. Over and out." The cabin turns silent.

YOU - Twist around in the driver's basket so that you can look at both your partner and the boy. In Cuno's hands, the squeeze bottle shakes; his face is white. "That's enough, Cuno - you're in a safe space here with us." To Jean, you say, "The Aliments Act - I'm enacting it. We're taking Cuno with us."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You can't turn every kid into a cop –"

YOU – "I'm not turning every kid into a cop, just *this* one. We can find a Frittte and get him a tetrapack of sports drinks and some food. Then we'll go to the Forks, where he can recover, and tell us everything he knows about the perp and those tunnels."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "And then, mastermind?"

YOU - "Cuno's got junior officer material in him - I've seen it. He's a thinker."

CUNO – Nods at you with respect. "Yeah, Cuno reads about all kinds of shit in *books* – Cuno books shit all the time."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Goddamnit, Harry ..." Twisting around to face Cuno, he points his smoking cigarette at him. "You need to be fifteen to join the junior officer program, and you're how old – ten, eleven?"

CUNO – "Cuno's fuckin' fifteen, he's just small for his age! You got a problem with the Cuno's size? When he's your age, like, eighty, he'll be three time bigger than you."

EMPATHY – You've seen Cunoesse direct him. You've directed him too – away from her. Keep handling him.

YOU – "Cuno, we both know you're fucking twelve. Cops don't lie *to* each other, only *for* each other."

ENDURANCE – The kid is breathing heavily again; this conversation is taking a toll.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Cuno, you can't be a cop. You're twelve and you say f****t every *four seconds*."

CUNO – "I won't say it ever again! I promise!" He shakes his head. "I won't say any of it ever again." His teeth are clenched, his throat gulps.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Sip your hydration fluid." Looking at you, he says, "If, *if* he can act like a cop, how do you fucking plan to get him into the school, huh?"

LOGIC - Special Consultant Trant Heidelstam might be able to help.

YOU - "We'll ask Trant for advice, Vic."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Sighs again - in surrender. "Okay. Fuck it." Drags on his ciggie. "Let's go."

EMPATHY – That cold feeling? It shocks you, how easily he gives in to this idea. But don't be fooled. The apathy of his clinical depression has won this round - not you. For Jean, it's a loss.

SUGGESTION - You *used* it, took advantage of it, to win, didn't you?

YOU – Nah, it's not like that. *I'm* not like that - not to him.

SUGGESTION - Okay, you're not like that. Forget I said anything.

PAIN THRESHOLD - You're *not* like that. His loss makes the hollowness in you gape a little bit wider in welcome of a free-fall.

VOLITION - Don't fall, don't give in - when he's down like this, you need to stay afloat. Just keep focusing on your tasks, on scratching them off one by one. You've got this.

THE FORKS – You stock up on some supplies from a Frittte kiosque in South Villalobos: a tetrapak of sports drinks from the fridge, juice and croissants from the knick-knacks shelf, nosaphed and magnesium from the pathetic apothecary, and cigarettes. Then you drive south again to the hostel.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Turns in his seat to stare at Cuno. "Why do you wanna be a cop?"

CUNO – "What?! Bitches dream of the 41st. It's fucking violent – seen that with my own eyes twice now. But it's *good* violence – not like Cuno's dead dad. Your captain Pryce dusted like … a thousand people. Word is, they were all fucks."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Gives an amused half-smile. "Thank you, Cuno. You're being kind."

REACTION SPEED – Wait. What just happened?

EMPATHY – Cuno is improving your partner's mood – talking him out of the dark place, if only by baby steps. Perhaps the boy reminds Jean of his younger self?

YOU – That actually makes strange sense.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "But it's a severely under-staffed station - really, there should be three stations in the Jamrock quarter. It's a high stress job."

CUNO - "Yeah! Cuno *likes* that tense shit." He takes a swig from the bottle of an orange sports drink.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "With low wages."

CUNO - "Get real, man … sir. Low is better than no, and it ain't about salary - it's about reality."

RHETORIC – Oh, so it's *sir* now, is it? Interesting. Not only that, but the boy has stopped addressing you with slurs.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – This kid *is* a thinker. He's got the skill-set of Mr Thespian –

DRAMA – 'Tis obvious, sire.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Pieces Face –

LOGIC – True.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Book-Head –

ENCYCLOPEDIA – Cuno *books* shit.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – And Yours Truly.

INLAND EMPIRE – Detectives of the RCM have the authority to move almost through any space of Revachol. So you *can* change what there is, how things are – I've been trying to tell you all along. The Insulindian Phasmid actually exists now because you discovered it.

YOU – Glance at Cuno in the rear-view mirror. "Like discovering the Insulindian Phasmid – that changed our reality."

CUNO – "Necromancer Cop over here *gets* the Cuno."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Rubs his temples. "Do I even want to know why you keep calling my partner that?"

CUNO – "Seriously?! Martinaise. The hanged fuck case. Your man here shot that shitbag down from the tree - *boom*. Bullseye! Then fist-fucked him in the mouth like a fuckin' hand-puppet, got *right in there*, like ... up to the elbow! Pulled a bullet out of his fuckin' brain! Sir."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Yes, it's in the report. But your account brings light to my day."

CUNO - Squints up into Jean's eyes. "You shitting the Cuno?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "No."

CUNO – "Really?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "No, not really."

YOU – "We're nearly there."

EMPATHY – Relax – this is them getting along.

THE FORKS – Another gentrification attempt gone to seed, the hostel looms beside a boarded-up commercial strip, and a tenement sliding down into the Esperance, where a coffee-house and an overgrown park hunch in the shadows of the bridge. Even in the rain, industrial soot and ash dust everything – even you, peering out through the streaked windshield of a Coupris 40, its blue-and-white livery aflash with lightning.

YOU - Count one, two, three – and listen to the thunder's boom-crash opera.

PERCEPTION – No shit! The hostel trembles on its pre-war foundations.

THE LEDGER – Parked behind the Forks, you make contact with your station again, asking communications officer JP to connect you to special consultant TH, to whom you explain the situation with KDR. TH advises that with your and JV's signatures, you can vouch for KDR and enrol him a year early. Further, TH suggests that the Emergencies and Aliments Acts together ought to allow you to create a laissez-faire position for KDR in C-Wing, so that he can support himself throughout the junior officer program – *if* captain PP approves.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Everyone on the task force is hand-picked by you; Cuno will be no exception."

CUNO – "Gonna rock that law enforcement shit with you guys!"

ESPRIT DE CORPS – Detective Kuuno de Ruyter - *prodige* of Lieutenants Du Bois and Vicquemare, MCU task force, RCM. Pleasure to make your fucking acquaintance.

HALF LIGHT – In a few years. If you all survive the spring.

YOU – "Thanks, Trant. We owe you one. But" – you wince at the radio-microphone in your hand – "I need to ask for one more favour ..."

THE LEDGER – Special consultant TH agrees to pick up KDR and give him a lift back to Jamrock, as long as he's accompanied by the necessary paperwork with your and JV's autographs adorning the proper faint red boxes.

AUTHORITY – Pulling rank for a worthwhile reason.

THE FORKS – Anyway, there's only one other guest at the moment, or so you hear from the hostel manager. You ask for a south-facing room, and get the same tiny one as last time with the psychedelic wallpaper and bridge view. Stepping into it with your RCM Carry-All in one hand, you are awash with déjà vu.

EMPATHY – You've developed an emotional attachment to this space, because of what happened here last time.

INLAND EMPIRE – To your blue heart. You see an unbuttoned white shirt whirling and billowing, feel a thumb drag down across your lips, see seconds slipping away in glowing white stripes on the black dials of a wristwatch in the dark. And blue forget-me-nots blooming. Your heartbeat elevates, hot adrenaline trembles through you.

YOU – Over Cuno's carrot top, you exchange a look with Jean.

INLAND EMPIRE – Memories flicker like light in his eyes, a mixture of fear, pain, desire. But he looks away.

THE FORKS - After you and your partner take turns to freshen up in the bathroom, Cuno commandeers it to scrub the stubborn stench of death off while the manager launders his clothes in the hostel's industrial machine and dryer. The kid takes his time, and you suspect he has never enjoyed hostel amenities before – not even dirt cheap ones like this. That Cuno is no longer stinking up the space spells a glimmer of good news for your partner's perception, improving his mood from bleak to grim, though you really have to squint to notice the slight relaxation of his frown. What's his problem, anyway?

YOU – Clinical depression. Seven years and counting.

THE FORKS – Fucked up.

YOU - Study Jean, amidst the furies at home in the mirror on the wall.

THE MIRROR – The younger man feigns nonchalance, going through the motions as he hangs his cloak and cap on a hook, runs a hand through his overgrown black hair, brushes imaginery dust off his suit. Appearance is everything; appearances can be so deceiving.

YOU - Close your eyes. They're hot and sting, from all they've seen, as if you need more sleep.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – You hear the muffled sound of the shower running in the bathroom. The heavy slap of Jean's notebook impacting with the tabletop, the light crinkle of maps unfolding. A tired sigh, drawn from an abyss of sadness.

YOU – Open your eyes, and turn your back on the furies to face only your partner. "Vic?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Leaning over the table on his hands, and staring down at a point on his maps, he looks up to focus on you.

SUGGESTION – Okay, don't say you need to 'talk', because you'll be talking anyway. Just check in on him.

YOU – Step closer. "Are you okay?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Draws a breath to speak, but pauses slightly before replying, then says "No, not entirely."

REACTION SPEED - He considered lying there during that nano-second pause, then decided to tell you the truth. He doesn't lie to you, only to the *shitkid*, so why start now.

RHETORIC - No, he considered a rejoinder like "Why? Is it *are you okay day* today?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Something about your expression makes him try to nail his usual mask back on: "You know me – just can't help but be a pathological glass-is-half-*full* kind of guy." For a second, he enthusiastically mimics The Expression.

YOU – Shrug. "Let's talk it out, then."

SUGGESTION – Didn't I just advise you against this move?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Stares at you. "No," he says calmly, then lets the silence drag.

RHETORIC – Rephrase, then re-engage.

INLAND EMPIRE - Perhaps you shouldn't; best to let sleeping dogs lie.

EMPATHY – But Jean's black dog *isn't* sleeping.

YOU - "What happened earlier – that was karma, justice. I mean, uhm, I don't want to talk about that; I want to talk about *you*."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – A flash of anger. "Harry, *please* ... I said no, all right?"

SUGGESTION - Yeah, lay off. For now.

YOU – Nod quickly. "Okay, Jean. It's okay."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Sighs, rubs his face in frustration. "We need to make Cuno tell us everything he knows about all the tunnel systems, especially the city for the dead. Amend my maps."

YOU – Nod again.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – What are you, a fuckin' bobble-head?

RHETORIC – Coach is right. What will you stoop to next, grunts and hand gestures? *Form coherent sentences*.

YOU – Step closer, lower your voice to a whisper. "I'll handle him – I've done it before. Anyway, he's taken a shine to you."

AUTHORITY – Mm, hmm. The boy has been brought up to respect violent authority.

THE LEDGER – You and JV pick future junior officer KDR's brains for details on every nook and cranny of the layers below Revachol, amending and adding to JV's maps. KDR sits at the round table and sketches a map from memory, almost biting through his tongue in concentration. Scrawls some labels. According to the future junior officer, one can travel by tunnels from Martinaise to the Burnt Out Quarter without having to surface – provided one has "a flashlight, a spare, a *shitload* of batteries, and a bedroll."

ENDURANCE – What about water, food?

THE LEDGER – According to the future junior officer, there are "like, bunkers and catacombs down there, and people live in them. They tap into drinking water and even hot water for showers and shit from the pipes. It's like there's *another* city down there, under the surface of this one. The Cuno thought about living there for a bit, but nah ... Now get this: *Skull* fucks live there, working *together* with the *ultra* fucks on something. I'm not *supposed* to know this – but I was *detecting shit* for you guys."

LOGIC – If that's true, then you were right, detective.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – You told the captain that you'd find the idealogue and therefore the motive in the extremities – the pornographically rich and the sexy poor parts of Revacholian society and culture. The outliers outside the radar of the law.

YOU – Keep it to yourself for now.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Okay, one question: how *do* you know?"

CUNO – He points two fingers at his eyes, then at your partner's. "Kept eyes on them – other les petits rats. Heard things."

SAVOIR FAIRE – Kept *eyes* on you in Martinaise, too.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Well, this all sounds *great*." Scowling, he scribbles quickly into his notebook, then unconsciously sticks the blue plastic clicker of his ballpoint between his teeth, thinking. "Guess we'll see for ourselves tomorrow ..." He looks across at you, tapping the end of the pen against his lower lip. "We should check first – to confirm Cuno's account – and if it checks out, then we'll need to contact other precincts ... This shit is too big for one understaffed station."

CUNO – "It'll fuckin' check out. The Cuno's *solid* like that."

DRAMA – Not only is Cuno *solid*, sire, he is also being sincere.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "It wasn't my intention to suggest you're not *solid*, Cuno. It's protocol." Turning away from the frowning boy to look at you, he adds, "The fifty-seventh is close by, even if their jurisdiction is usually limited to the harbour. This raid may need to be a joint operation."

YOU – "Like the church ..."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Nods once, pulls the pen out of his mouth. "But what's the motive?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – The distinctive noise of a Coupris 40 engine down-shifting interrupts the cheap hostel ambience. A couple of minutes later, you hear a muffled conversation behind your hotel room door. Then there's a knock – polite, almost hesitant, as if the mind behind the fist is having second thoughts.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Assesses the sound of the knock, then says, "Special Consultant back-pedal."

CUNO – Sits up, pushing his chest out.

YOU - Stand up, walk over to the door and open it.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM – Stands in the corridor, carrying an RCM folder under one elbow. He's distracted by an older woman – her immaculate hair so blonde it can't be *au naturale*, faded blue irises that match her wet raincoat, smoke trickling out of her mouth and nostrils as she speaks around an apricot-flavoured cigarette with a golden filter. A pearlescent smile.

VISUAL CALCULUS – A dentist must clean her teeth regularly to maintain that shine, given how she seems to breathe nicotine and apricot esters instead of air.

ENDURANCE – You feel suddenly queasy and uncomfortably hot.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – But only because you like her mother-of-pearl teeth, those blue eyes -

INLAND EMPIRE – No, no, definitely not. That guy would bang literally anything - especially now that you're no longer sauced up and powdering your nose. You *like* black hair, overgrown, and you *like* overcast-grey eyes bright with light, knowledge, pain. And teeth? You *like* teeth that scrape against your shoulder, your neck, your ear, shooting sparks down your spine, as he gently thrusts -

TRANT HEIDELSTAM – Clears his throat, and gestures at the blonde with his free hand. "I thought you had a visitor, Harry, but -"

OLD BLONDE – "Because I mistook your room for mine, dotty as I sometimes am, officer." Her voice is raspy as the rain. "Hello, by the way. I do apologize for the interruption."

VISUAL CALCULUS – Refined accent – East Revacholian.

REACTION SPEED – The perp's cadence was similar.

YOU – "Hello, ma'am. I am indeed the law; and you must be the other guest?"

RHETORIC – Should you connect *all* East Revacholians to the case by proxy? Just pin it on the rich and *invent* a motive?

OLD BLONDE WOMAN – "I suppose I must be. I'd better leave you boys to whatever it is you're up to." She looks you straight in the eye. "I'm sure it's important police work."

RHETORIC – Dark sarcasm detected. What is she, a teacher?

SUGGESTION - Why is she slumming it?

AUTHORITY – That is not how a citizen should address an officer of the law.

YOU – "What brings you to these parts?"

OLD BLONDE – "A bit of business; a bit of pleasure. You know how it is."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You *do* know. Intimately.

OLD BLONDE - Biting down on her cigarette filter, she smiles, bearing those perfectly polished teeth. "Good night, officer."

INLAND EMPIRE – Like in the night, things here are not what they seem to be.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Seeing her in this dump makes you think of extremities, a *marriage* of extremities, like the Skulls and ultras working together - if Cuno is right. But the thought dissipates and you get that nagging mind-fuck sensation in your head that lets you know you're only half-right, the whole answer just beyond the reach of your outstretched fingertips.

YOU – "One more question, if you don't mind, ma'am. Are you a teacher?"

OLD BLONDE – Blinks at you a few times. In the half light of the corridor, her pupils dilate, then contract.

COMPOSURE – The rest of her is positively statuesque.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM – Looks pained as he awkwardly slips past you into the hostel room.

OLD BLONDE - "In another life, officer. Perhaps. Another life." She sounds nostalgic.

YOU – "What did you teach?"

OLD BLONDE – "Oh ... you know ... one of those high-concept classes at an East Revacholian university – Commodifying Culture. Low art meets high marketing. Poetry meets economics. That sort of nonsense."

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Like the Next World Mural?

YOU – "Like the Next World Mural, otherwise known as The Bummer – ever heard of that?"

OLD BLONDE – "I hear there are two such bummers now. Call me superstitious, but these things usually have a habit of occurring in threes, don't they?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - Behind you, in your hostel room, you hear Trant telling Jean that Kim and Judit are running late, and Jean remarking, "Super. Any other good news?"

THE LEDGER – Upon Special Consultant TH's arrival, you and JV update him on the progress of the case, and discuss his latest concerns regarding the Le Retour radio broadcasts transmitting from Coal City. You and JV sign the papers for KDR, and promise to check in on him, give him a job - something like C-Wing MCU clerk, TH suggests - after your tasks in The Burnt Out Quarter are done and dusted. Then you await the arrival of KK and JM ...

THE FORKS – You stand at ease at the window, your face bathed in dusk, watching Trant's motor-carriage cruise down the road till it vanishes from your line of sight, as the thunderstorm subsides. The sudden silence outside highlights the profound quiet in your hostel room.

YOU – How quiet?

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - Like a Dolorian church. It's *tangible*. Fills your ears, making them feel muffled as if you're under water. But – wait! Correction: You hear a rustle behind you – clothing sliding against skin, fabrics brushing against moving limbs.

YOU – Turn around to find your partner undressing in front of the wardrobe, where you both dumped your RCM Carry-Alls.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You lean closer to him, instinctively. This looks *promising*. Promising, and sexy.

INTERFACING - Jean's movements are quick, aggressive. A black wing of hair hangs over his eyes as he stands on one foot to tug his black pants leg off the other, then bends over his Carry-All and pulls out performance gear: loose-fitting charcoal grey track pants, a dark teal t-shirt, hi-top khaki sneakers.

YOU – "So ... the storm's settled."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "No shit." He does not glance outside.

YOU - Walk over to him. "Have you?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "I need to work-out - going for a run." He pulls on the track pants, then the t-shirt, dragging it down over a sea of muscles.

SUGGESTION – He really doesn't want to talk about it yet.

RHETORIC – Words like serratus anterior, external oblique, and rectus abdominus float to the surface of your mind.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – I have words: *unzip* and *party*.

SUGGESTION – Don't even acknowledge that guy, and don't listen to your glands right now. What Jean needs is -

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – [Legendary: Success] Sex-healing. Look at the definition of his *hard* obliques pointing your eyes down, down, down as the t-shirt falls like a peep-show curtain closing. Lift it!

YOU - Slide your tongue across your upper lip. "We could, I don't know, go for a jog together."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Nods, pushes the hair out of his eyes. "I've managed to jog thus far without a partner. I'm sure I'll keep managing *somehow*."

PAIN THRESHOLD - Acid spills from the goblet cells in your stomach, pressing against your esophageal sphincter. It hurts.

EMPATHY - That's the depression talking, not Jean. He seems, somehow, already full of regret. Give him a bit of space, a bit of time, to glue his shit back together.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - Looks at you, his face falls.

COMPOSURE – Are you being a touch *too * sensitive? Maybe dial that sensitivity down *a bit*?

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "God ..." He sighs. "Harry, *I* don't even *want* to do this; I *have* to. I'm forcing myself."

INLAND EMPIRE – He needs to *outrun* the devil on his back.

YOU – Nod. "I get it. Just, you know, look after yourself."

THE FORKS – You stand at ease facing the window, your face shadowed by night, the bridge lights reflected in your tired eye-shine. You can't see shit outside because the dark falls thick and fast here, because your hostel room, dim with electric light, is reflected in the panes. But you can hear the wind blowing through branches and hollowed-out buildings, losing some of its composure. You swear you can hear the hostel manager adding the ledger up aloud. And your partner isn't back yet.

HALF LIGHT – Maybe he's in a ditch. Maybe he was struck by a motor carriage. Maybe he topped himself. Maybe -

YOU – Maybe *fuck off*.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Failure] – *Fuck off*?! Yeah, sure. *You* fuck off, asshole.

YOU – Listen to the wind and shiver.

SHIVERS – All across Revachol, the wind sweeps the thunderstorm back out to sea – back north to its Ozonne origin.

YOU – What's up there?

SHIVERS – Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Patrol Officer Minot leave a *bloc obscure* – they'll tell you about it later tonight.

YOU – What's to the south – in The Burnt Out Quarter?

SHIVERS – The processing crew that you called in picks up the pieces of two lives. A map covering one wall has almost been completely obscured by a splash of black industrial paint, still wet and dripping onto the carpet.

YOU – What about closer to me? Where is *he*?

SHIVERS – MY TRUE LOVE HAS MY HEART AND I HAVE HIS ...

*He* sprinted down past the tenements to the river park, now a crooked wood. Everything is overgrown with rot. He's withdrawn to a lonely spot, and sits on a drenched bench with his face leaning in his hands. Behind him, the remains of a playground creak. He gets up, forcing himself to do pull-ups on the bar of a broken swing. He does so many, he loses count. The glassless windows and gaping doorways balk at the thoughts he exhales into Elysium. When his fingers finally give in and slip off the wet steel bar, he walks back to the bench, where smiling mothers used to sit and watch their children play, and retakes his cold wet seat. Tries to catch his breath and stares into the tangled green dark with all the world's sorrows in his eyes.

You should go to him. He isn't right

tonight.

YOU – Clench your teeth, shake off the shivers. Then grab your room key, and rush out into the night.

VISUAL CALCULUS – It's dark, very dark, in the park. Over the river, the bridge lights wink between the leaves and branches swaying overhead.

YOU – See him first in the dark, smoking on a bench. He takes a shaky drag – are his nerves bad, or is it muscle fatigue? - then wipes his tears as soon as they leave his eyes, swiping them off with his knuckles.

PAIN THRESHOLD – There's a heaviness in your chest, a tight pain. It's hard to breathe.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Notices your presence and his expression changes. "God fucking shit ..." He looks away, pinches the bridge of his nose.

EMPATHY – Not exactly over the moon to see you; but only because he really, *really* didn't want you to see him like this.

YOU - Like what?

EMPATHY - Not a *boring motherfucker in a suit and uniform*. Not *trying his best*. Vulnerable. *In pieces*.

SUGGESTION – Pieces means open ...

CONCEPTUALIZATION – Insides become new surfaces, the implicit explicit.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Well, what do you *want*?"

YOU – Amble over, take a seat beside him, your knee brushing his.

PERCEPTION – The seat of your pants soaks up the wet in the wobbly seat. Your body heat warms it. Feels like you've pissed yourself.

ENDURANCE – There are memories of that imprinted in your body. Unfortunately.

YOU – Ponder what to say.

RHETORIC – Choose your words with tremendous diligence, Can-Opener. Depersonalize it first, then get personal – unbalance him.

YOU – Peering into the green darkness, you say, "It's my partner ... He's always had my back - no matter what. I just want to make sure he's okay, and knows I've got his -"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Well, he's not," his voice is low yet forceful, just vibrations moving through your chest. "He's a sad sack of shit -"

YOU – "I've heard this one before."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "*I* heard he left you in Martinaise and then put you on fucking trial -"

YOU – "I deserved it. I was an asshole. I put him through hell."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Ignores your self-flagellation. "He never should have fucked off when you told him to."

YOU – "He's a great partner. He was looking out for the whole squad, being responsible."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "He was ... hurt ... more than anything. And today you repay me by not only uncuffing that evil motherfucker but also portraying me as some sort of *Hero Cop* - like I saved you from a bullet."

YOU – "He *was* evil. And you did save me. Anyway, I lost my fucking mind in Martinaise."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh, don't be so modest – you lost it *way* earlier."

YOU – "And my partner was just giving me a few days to find it. That's what *I* heard went down – even junior officers are talking about it."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh? What are they saying?"

YOU – Look at him. "That we always find our minds again, Jean."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Scoffs. "I don't know ..." He bites his lip. "Fucking exhausting, keeping up these bullshit appearances. And I *still* can't sleep."

SUGGESTION – Ask him whether he's still *trying*.

RHETORIC – Yes, do.

YOU - "But are you still *trying*?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "This world makes it really, really hard, partner."

YOU – "I know – it's fucking misery. But there is no next world - that's your belief, right? This world *is all there is* - you wrote that. You wrote that to have been loved for a *brief time will have to suffice*. What was all that about?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – He finally tilts his head to face you. "*Fuck you* is what that was all about. You know what I love about our relationship? How you really understand the need for privacy."

YOU – "I don't give a shit."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "Oh, since when? Because you *give a shit* about Lieutenant Kitsuragi's privacy. Isn't that why you still haven't told me what his *concerns* are? And we co-lead the forty-first's motherfucking MCU."

YOU – "'Co-lead'? You spent over a month meeting Pryce *alone*, not telling me -"

SUGGESTION – Stop!

LOGIC - *Think*.

SUGGESTION - He's distracting you on purpose.

EMPATHY – He's *jealous*.

YOU – "Listen, *are* you still trying? Because that's the most important thing right now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Lets out a deep sigh. "We're both broken men. But, yeah ... Yes." He nods, taking a drag on the cigarette. "I'm still fucking trying."

YOU – "Good, because you know what I love about our relationship?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE – In the dark, he lowers his cigarette hand to the bench, and unconsciously inclines his face closer to yours.

YOU - "I love all of your pieces, Jean."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Oh, fuck you," he says slowly, softly, caressing you with words. "You don't even remember ..."

INLAND EMPIRE – A sensation of loss.

PAIN THRESHOLD – A commitment.

YOU – "I love you, I *love you*. All of you."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You know what'll drag him out of that dark place into light? Flames and *heat*.

CONCEPTUALIZATION – But there's smoke with fire – it stings the eyes, obscures. And there's ash afterwards.

SUGGESTION – You can convince *yourself* to be private in public here. But can you convince him?

YOU – Test the waters, moving your hand on the bench, letting the edge of your little finger brush and rub against the edge of his.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – "You're in uniform," he says in a low, measured tone. "Do you have any idea how hard the -"

YOU – "It's secluded. Hang on - I have an idea."

SAVOIR FAIRE – Activate Stealth Mode.

YOU – Hastily remove your commander's jacket, turning it inside-out as you pull the sleeves off, to conceal all the RCM hologram patches and white stripes before putting it back on unbuttoned and unbelted with the black lining and care label exposed, disclosing in tiny embroidery that it's a Perseus Black number and that you're a lieutenant-yefreitor.

SAVOIR FAIRE – Forget the tiny postage-stamp care label. You're invisible. You're special forces.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Shakes his head slowly from side to side. But then flicks his half-smoked cigarette into the bushes, and puts his hand casually onto your thigh.

INLAND EMPIRE – He holds your gaze. Raw want flickers. His hand *burns*.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Fuck you're hard. There's a fuckin' police truncheon in your pants. Lube up! Meet, coincide, merge. Become joined-up men!

YOU – Shake your head, say, "I just wanna ... hold you."

INTERFACING – You both press close, limbs entangled as the canopy of branches overhead. His t-shirt is damp. His body is all sharp against yours. You knead his muscles, push at the stress and tension.

JEAN VICQUEMARE – Pushes back, then kisses you, Astra Chocolate and salt. "Wanna fuck? Let's go back ..."

YOU – Press a kiss onto the hair hanging over his forehead. "Wanna show me, remind me, how we demonstrated a 'serious commitment' ...?"