Conversation · Interfacing

"I used to be good. That's some solace I guess. What's the last number?"

"I would have thought there'd be more."

"It's quite a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of all RCM officers..."

"Is that a lot?"

"Wait, eighteen years I've done this?"

"That's what it says. I might've guessed even longer based on your age... what did you do all those blissful years of your youth?"

"Got drunk like a megastar?"

"Yes, that does seem quite likely. Your youth coincided with some heady days for Revachol. But let's move on, shall we?"

"I walked the land telling whores and liars of the End to come. There are 9,855 days remaining."

"Cool. I'm glad you joined us. Not a lot of money in doomcrying... Let's move on, shall we?"

"I was a hobo and I lived under a boat."

"You know, the RCM is a volunteer's organization. We would have no qualms with vagrants joining our ranks were they qualified... but let's move on, shall we?"

"Probably a some boring office job. Same as everyone else."

"No shame in working a regular job, detective. Sometimes after a long day of doing this, I even envy it... Let's move on, shall we?"

"I feel like I just went around apologizing all the time."

"Maybe you were a diplomat? Or in PR? Doesn't matter, I suppose... Let's move on, shall we?"

"Okay, let's go." [Put the ledger away.]

"Right. I'll go turn off the lights..." He presses a remote control on the key.

You can now see your statistics on your JOURNAL page -- to the right of the task description.

As you hold your ledger's clip under the headlamp, an iridescent hologram appears: a street grid and the veins of a great river. A familiar sensation washes over you...