Conversation · Logic

"So..." He looks at you with mild concern. "We should get going maybe?"

(Get up.)

And you've been recently shot in the leg.

"That was great, but I'm all out of juice now, guys. Besides, I should really talk to my partner." (Get up.)

"That was great, but I'm all out of juice now." (Get up.)

"I spoke to the City of Revachol!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"I bet you did! Those were some advanced moves, man."

"That's all great, but we should really get going. We've spent enough time doing aerobic exercise for today."

"That's all great, but we should really get going. We've spent enough time doing aerobic exercise for today."

"I don't know about good..."

"Had a good rest there?"

Keep the thought to yourself.

BY THE WAY, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR PARTNER AT ONCE. UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT.

What are you afraid of?

DEATH -- IT IS TERRIFYING. I NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME FROM DEATH. I CANNOT PERISH. LOOK AT ME. I CANNOT END.

IN 22 YEARS, THE FIRST SHOT WILL BE FIRED. NOT A SHOT FROM A GUN -- AN ATOMIC DEVICE THAT WILL LEVEL ALL OF ME. ALL OF ME.

I knew it. I knew the end of the world was coming!

I CANNOT PERISH WITH IT, OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. YOU CANNOT LET ME.

I won't live that long.

YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN.

But... what can I do about it?

All this eloquence -- it's in service of something. She's afraid.

Beneath the grandness, there is fear.

THE MODULATIONS OF MY VOICE ARE NOTED DOWN WITH THERMOMETERS AND BAROMETERS. YOU FEEL ME IN YOUR NOSTRILS, ON THE LITTLE HAIRS ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK.

What do you mean, you are the city?

I AM A FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD SPIRIT, THE GENIUS LOCI OF REVACHOL.

MY HEART IS THE WIND CORRIDOR. THE BOTTOM OF MY AIR IS RED. I HAVE A HUNDRED THOUSAND LUMINOUS ARMS.

COME MORNING, I CARRY INDUSTRIAL DUST AND LET IT SETTLE ON TREE LEAVES. I SHAKE THE DUST FROM THOSE LEAVES AND ONTO YOUR COAT.

I'VE SEEN YOU, I'VE SEEN YOU! I'VE SEEN YOU WITH HER -- AND I'VE SEEN YOU WITHOUT HER. I'VE SEEN YOU ON THE CRESCENT OF THE HILL.

Music pounds through the hall of an old stave church on the coast of Martinaise. Several figures are lost in the beats, their bodies pulled this way and that by sound. One of them, an officer of the RCM, suddenly stops. He appears disoriented, then starts shaking -- violently, no longer in rhythm with the music.

The beats that had you all fired up just a moment ago now seem overwhelming, nauseating. They shift and multiply like pieces of coloured glass in a kaleidoscope.

You're gripped by panic, alongside a dizzying feeling of deja vu. Then everything goes silent.

I should get help.

What are you going to do, call the lazareth again? And if you were to go to a regular hospital... Do you know how long it would take to figure out what's really wrong with you? The interviews, the poking and prodding that you'll undergo?

All this excitement of dancing and dancing harder and even fainting real hard is better than dragging your feet from office to office, examination room to examination room, all mercilessly white, bright, and smelling of antiseptic.

Besides, you've got a case to solve right now, and you won't get to solve it if you turn yourself into a lab rat. Whatever's wrong with you can wait.

Do you know how long it will take to figure out what's really wrong with you? The interviews, the poking and prodding that you'll undergo?

I feel like this has happened before.

Could be. It was almost like the utter unpleasantness of the experience was breaking through the barrier of your recent memory loss...

Maybe your memory loss was caused by something like this.

What's happening to me?

Not sure, but it's definitely not a normal dance-floor experience. There's something seriously wrong with you, brah.

What happens next?

You'll lay here in complete darkness for a while, far away from everything and everyone.

Then consciousness will slowly begin to return. It won't be fun.

But you already know -- it rarely is.

Waking up, you see the lieutenant talking to the young people, a worried look on his face.

"I've seen this thing happen before to people partying this hard..."

"It's his leg. Did you know he was shot just a few days ago? He shouldn't be dancing like a madman, he should be in bed, resting."

The lieutenant sounds genuinely worried about you -- and furious with himself, for not stopping you from running around.

"Nah, man, don't worry, he's just dehydrated. Happens all the time in night clubs. He'll recover."

He bounces up and down, pointing at you. "Look, he's awake!"

"What happened? Are you feeling alright?"

Your broken hip reminds itself again with a dull, but persistent ache.

"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."

"I think I had a seizure..."

"Naw, you just raved too hard. The beat gets so hard, you know, and you were rolling super hard on it..."

"It's not the beat, he was shot," the lieutenant says, irritated.

"Has anything like this happened to you before? Like... a seizure?"