Conversation · The Hanged Man

"Can you reload it, please? I need another shot."

"The cadaver is already compromised bad enough. We don't have to make it worse."

It came out wrong, you made it sound like you're some sort of roulette addict looking for a fix, ask again, more controlled this time:

"Please, Kim."

There is silence.

"Vittupää wants to fuck up again, bad."

Swallow defeat.

Feels like shit man, how did this happen? Hit him straight in the chest... how horrible, you're so sorry.

Start crying -- you're sensitive.

It feels dry. Nothing comes out of you as you stretch and bend your face into a crying shape. You're too furious to cry, apparently.

"I can't even cry..." (Throw the gun in the mud.)

"What did he say?"

"The f****t can't even cry."

The lieutenant picks up his gun and then holsters it. "In the name of god, please get a hang of yourself."

He's definitely not impressed by the way you're handling it, but he doesn't hold it against you either. He's supportive like that.

Try harder. Try really hard to cry.

The lieutenant watches you jerk some tears, your shoulders shaking and your eyes dry. The gun begins to slip from your fingers.

"Jumalauta! The f****t can't even cry."

You hear that, Sally? They're laughing at you. Are you gonna let it stand? Are you, Sally? Or are you gonna CRY LIKE A BEAST?! Like a BEAAAST!

I'll do it, coach!

A tiny tear forms on your duct. The corpse stinks from the blackened bullet hole in his chest. A single drop of decay liquid runs out of it, then down his stomach...

The lieutenant gently picks his gun from your hand and holsters it.

Don't take coach Physical Instrument's advice. It's bad advice.

The lieutenant gently picks his gun from your hand and holsters it.

What was that?

DO IT!

"There's something wrong with your weapon, lieutenant. It keeps missing."

"The Armistice is sufficiently precise, officer. Especially at close range." He takes his sidearm from you and holsters it.

Feel the weight first.

The cold piece of bakelite and gunmetal is surprisingly light. Your finger fits right through the guard, instinctively resting on the trigger.

You've held this -- an A9 Armistice -- before. At some point it probably used to be your choice of firearm. It still feels comfortable, like you never laid it down.

"The fuck are you waiting for, Cuno?! Tell him to shoot himself in the mouth!"

Cuno is silent. Aggression gathers in the air, the trigger feels delicate and ready to break under your finger.

"No, no. I have mine too, I'm just an asshole who does things in a strange order."

"Fine, then." The piece shines in his outstretched hand.

Say nothing.

The lieutenant follows suit. He finishes loading the gun in silence, then hands it to you.

"Remember when I told you I didn't have my badge or uniform with me when I woke up -- I didn't have my gun either."

"That is even more unfortunate than the badge. 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."

"It's bad as it is -- us shooting firearms like punks here..." He pauses, then shrugs: "Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. Just don't hit the victim."

"Can I have the gun? I should try."

"It's bad as it is -- us shooting firearms like punks..." He pauses, then shrugs and proceeds to load the pistolette...

No, of course not -- this time we shoot someone else!

"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. Just don't lose it." The Armistice A9 shines in his outstretched hand.

"They only have ONE GUN!"

"This is the sorriest pair of pigs Cuno's ever seen."

"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. Just don't lose it." The piece shines in his outstretched hand.

"Can't someone else do it?"

"Someone else?" He pauses. "You mean like... the police?"

What was that about Processing, then -- weren't they supposed to take care of the boots? Why don't they help?

"Yes, exactly -- call the police."

"Someone already did. You know who came? We did. Because we have made bad life decisions."

"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 mean someone who's below detective."

"Someone like a paid garbage man? Or a cleaning crew? I have bad news for you -- that is a detective."

"Can't the boys from Processing take care of this?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Think of the boys from Processing as murderers. Only instead of people they murder crime scenes. Processing is a wrecking crew. They know how to commission off items and how to work the incinerator in the morgue."

"Okay then."