Conversation · Steban, the Student Communist

Just theorising here, but if you don't have as much control over your muscle groups as you'd like, perhaps you could try something you know is bound to fail...

Wait, you're saying I could try to really lay this kid out, knowing I'll probably screw it up?

Precisely! It's brilliant.

Assuming you don't accidentally succeed...

Hit him, but not too hard.

As with all applications of violence, the key is the appropriate amount of force exercised with absolute control on the part of the wielder.

At the moment of contact the high-performance gripping that covers the palm of your glove causes your hand to stick for an instant against the young man's cheek. As your hand pulls away, his pale skin appears momentarily to follow with it.

The young man staggers back into the couch, eyes agog and momentarily dazed, but not seriously hurt.

"Not the best look for the RCM, but I suppose it could've gone worse."

"Steban? Are you alright?"

"Who's the baddest communist now?"

"That... was amazing. Uli, perhaps we should tangle with the gendarmerie more often." The young man rubs his cheek.

It doesn't hurt, yet. The rush of endorphins will keep the pain at bay for a while yet.

In the meantime, a small indigo flower begins to bloom just below his cheekbone.

"Yes, this worked out quite nicely." He seems immensely pleased with himself.

"And with that, welcome to the most ideologically advanced materialist reading group in Martinaise!"

"Here's your first assignment. It's an overview of infra-materialist theory. A little basic, as you'll see, but one has to start somewhere."

"I'll add it to my very extensive reading list."

"You're going to fit right in, I think. Come back when you're done. We'll be here pretty much every night after 22.00."

"Do be sure to take your time with the reading. We'll be eager to hear your thoughts."

(Say nothing, just take the book.)

"Come back when you're done." He gives you a brief nod as he hands you the slim guide. "We'll be here pretty much every night after 22.00."

"Guess it's time to see what this 'book' stuff is all about."

"It's sweet how excited you are. Come back when you're done. We'll be here pretty much every night after 22.00."

"You need this?" (Offer him Kim's handkerchief.)

"No, keep it. I feel... great, actually..." He turns to his companion. "Perhaps we should tangle with the gendarmerie more often."

He isn't bluffing. He appears invigorated, as though he's truly experiencing life for the first time.

That would be the sweet endorphin rush. You've granted him a natural high, at least until the hurt sets in.

Say nothing.

"I'm fine. Better than fine, actually." The young man rubs his cheek. "Perhaps we should tangle with the gendarmerie more often."

You've earned his respect. See how you've marked him?

A little ice on it will keep the swelling down. He'll be fine in a day or two.

At the moment of contact you feel the wool of your fingerless gloves entangling with the wiry hairs of the young man's beard. His eyes are wide as a pair of old silver coins.

The actual moment of contact is ever-so-slightly disappointing, as the feeling is dulled by the yellow latex shell that contains your hand.

Ensconced in your ceramic armour, you barely notice the moment of contact. Striking the young man's face is almost indistinguishable from swatting away a fly.

At the moment of contact you feel the pads of your bare fingers brush the wiry hairs of the young man's beard, as though caressing a wad of kitchen wool.

TOO STRONG, KILLER.

En route to its target your FALN glove traces a strangely pleasing black-and-white blur through the air, like some kind of ultra-sonic weasel.

Of course, it's not actually ultra-sonic, that's just an illusion produced by good branding. Still, the force you've unleashed really is tremendous.

"Steban, can you hear me?"

"Good god, detective! What's wrong with you?"

"Errrrck." The young man cradles his jaw and looks up, his expression blank.

You're both lucky you didn't shatter his cheekbone. He may want to count his teeth before he goes to bed tonight.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry? You nearly took my fucking jaw off!"

You think you can hear a slight popping sound as he moves his mouth.

"It seems the face of violent reaction has revealed itself..."

Say nothing.

"What? You're just gonna stand there after you nearly broke my fucking jaw?"

That's right. You don't owe him any explanation.

"Let that be a lesson to you."

"What lesson is that, huh? That the RCM are assholes? That they'll take your fucking jaw off?"

It certainly won't improve your precinct's image within the community.

At the moment of contact you're reminded of a fight you once witnessed between two homeless men in an alleyway. Could it be that you've set out to recreate that moment now, right down to the smelly fingerless gloves?

Even through the yellow latex shell containing your hand you can feel the force of the impact against the young man's cheekbone.

Ensconced in your ceramic armour, you barely notice the moment of contact. But you do hear the distinct ting of your knuckles catching the young man's cheekbone.

Oh god, tell us you haven't done it again. Are you twice the killer now?

Oh, no. Tell us you didn't really kill him.

You feel a bright pain as your bare knuckle collides with the young man's oddly prominent cheekbone. At the moment of contact his eyes are wide as old silver coins.

"This is absurd. I don't want to hit you." (Cancel task.)