Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"There's a strong prejudice against involving the RCM in what's seen as Union matters. The Dockworkers' Union is the de facto police in Martinaise. Now -- it appears -- they've started executing too. We cannot allow that."

"Let me just make this perfectly clear -- our job here... is to find the killer?"

"That's right."

"Of course. Yes. I understand everything now."

"Just to be clear -- we are police officers. It's our job to find the killer. That's the case. Uncover and arrest the killer."

"Hold on, and the RCM is?"

"That's us. The Revachol Citizens Militia. We're the police in this city."

The RCM, or the Revachol Citizens Militia, is the police force you and him are part of. A self-organized peace corps of the occupied city of Revachol, the RCM operates within a legal twilight, yet its authority is rarely questioned. It's super useful to know this.

"I still don't understand anything."

"Okay. Well. We are police officers. It is our job to find the killer. So that's what I intend to do. You should try too."

"They didn't identify themselves in any way. The tone was muffled using a device of some sort. The desk could identify neither the caller's age nor sex."

"Who was the caller?"

"To find him or her is one of our tasks here. For now all we know is that the tone was muffled using a device of some sort -- the desk could identify neither the caller's age nor sex."

"Mega cool. I've heard enough."

"Okay then. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"Wait, does the briefing say who the victim was?"

"A security guard or worker of some sort, hired by Wild Pines. This was just hearsay from Martinaise, of course. We need to find out the truth."

"Brief, yes. That sounds good."

"Literally anything about it -- I can't remember a single thing."

"Ah, yes. The case brief you missed. Now I remember." He opens his notes.

"Maybe you can tell me what you do know? To help me narrow it down a bit."

"A young woman told me a mercenary has been hanged, and the manager thinks it was the Union that did it. That's all."

"Then you're not that far behind, actually. Do you want me to brief you?"

"A young woman told me a mercenary's been hanged -- that's all."

"The guy behind the counter thinks some Union people hanged a man."

"I know literally nothing about it. Only what you told me before."

"Do you want me to brief you?"

"What did your preliminary information say about it? Before you came here?"

"You mean like a brief? Do you want me to brief you?"

"If we're from different precincts, why are we on the same case?"

"I'm afraid you and I are pawns in a..." He considers the phrasing. "A pissing competition."

His disdain is clear. This man would not use such an expression otherwise.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" His eyes narrow. "I assumed you were in on it."

"I don't remember being in on anything."

"That's good."

"Tell me about it."

"What's there to say? It's just stupidity."

Let it go.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know about the case?"

"What kind of stupidity?"

"The cop kind. Our Precincts can't decide if Martinaise is part of Jamrock or the Industrial Harbour. Yours or mine, as if we somehow own parts of the city. Typical street-gang mentality.... so we've let the Union make a mockery of law enforcement here. And now it's come to its natural conclusion."

"Ah, so this is a struggle over who runs Martinaise!"

"Well, sort of. It's less a matter of who gets to police Martinaise than who has to. It's an orphan district, in other words..."

"I think the dispatch desk just told both our stations about the hanging. There was quite the brouhaha at the 57th, I can tell you that. 'Time to settle it', they said, 'Cop Off'. But..." He leans in: "I assure you, I am not their finest or toughest, with one hundred-and-two cases solved. What I am is least interested in a pissing competition."

So he volunteered to represent the 57th, but not out of competitiveness -- on the contrary.

Somewhere in your mind hangs a dark green blackboard. There are two columns. One says: "cases solved", the other: "confirmed kills".

Close your eyes.

The rows are endless.

Look for: Precinct 57 -> Lieutenants -> Kitsuragi, Kim.

The name "Kim 'Pinball' Kitsuragi" appears before you.

Confirmed kills?

Six.

Blink.

Cases solved?

One hundred and four.

Open your eyes.

The lieutenant is thinking to himself. His eyebrows are slightly raised.

Look for: Precinct 41.

Jean Vicquemare, Judit Minot... A special consultant... what was his name? Then the rows degrade into green nothingness.