Conversation · The Hanged Man

"Hands are clean." He inspects the wrist. "No sign of a recent struggle."

"Were we expecting any?"

"Not particularly -- him being dead when they carried him over..."

It is very hard to struggle when you're dead. Death is the end of struggle.

Write it down.

"Whooh..." He turns to the side to breathe -- it's not enough. He buries his face in the sleeve of his jacket. You hear a muffled voice: "That's all for the external. Well done! What next?"

"I was. Maybe I'm just not seeing them... Honestly, the stench is making it hard for me to think at the moment."

Working so close to the fumes coming from the corpse must be hard. You realize suddenly that the lieutenant has been barely keeping it together these past two items.

Pick up the hand.

His flesh is cold. Icy.

Pleased to meet you. Where are you from and what's your name?

I'm from...

I'm only fucking with you! I know where you're from -- from Coppodocia! And your name is Il Cobo. What can I do you for, Il Cobo di Coppodocia?

Pleased to meet you -- are you private military by any chance? I just want to be sure...

Do you need the assistance of private security services? Cobo, I'm afraid even we can't protect you from what's after you... The Great Shadow.

We should do this more often. Be close like this, I mean.

"Hands are clean," the lieutenant concludes. The dead man's fingers slip from your hand, cold and sausage-like. "No sign of injury from struggling."

Nothing. I got nothing.

Nothing is as nothing does! This was pleasurable. I sincerely thank you for touching my hand.

Pleasure's all mine -- tell me, are you a temple of pain and a stranger to tenderness?

You get me, Cobo. I feel like you were once for tenderness and kisses yourself... but then shit went south and now you're ahead of even me on the pain front!

It's good to hold your hand -- did you like it when I stroked your hair?

I did, Cobo, I did. Reminded me of when I was just a small boy. Before this happened to my face and my body. You did me a kindness there.

We've met before, I've touched your genitals.

That you have, Cobo, that you have! We're real tight that way. In that special, special way...

My name is...

"What the..."

The hand feels heavy, filled with decay liquids. Like it's ready to explode, if squeezed hard enough. You're suddenly repulsed -- so much so you feel compelled to drop it.

"Hands are clean," the lieutenant says as five cold, sausage-like fingers slip from your hand. "No sign of injury from struggling."

The hand is surprisingly heavy to lift, filled with decay liquids. Feels as though it could explode, if squeezed harder. You're suddenly repulsed -- so much so you feel compelled to drop it.

"This scarring is extensive. Way more than a law official's."

"Back is symmetrical and intact." He struggles to turn the corpse on his side. "Upper and lower extremities are intact, but asymmetrical. There are combat injuries on the right hand, thigh, and hip."

"The rope rises to a point, leaving a gap in the ligature mark. The suspension point is in the back of the neck." The lieutenant has kneeled closer, running his finger along the dark red groove -- until there's a gap.

Snap! The knot is slashed. Another cut and the belt falls apart like a flower bouquet, revealing the dead man's neck -- and the dark red ligature mark around it.

You jam the cutters right under the knot -- that seems like a smart idea. Yeah, somewhere there. Already they're buried deep in the man's flesh. Then you rotate them to get a better hold. Then...

"Fuckady-fuck..."

The lieutenant looks by, somewhat worried as you summon power words to your aid.

Enough, cut some!

"Yeah, fuck him! FUCK THAT FÄGÄRI! Corpse fucking time!"

"Told you my pig was hard core."

"I should have a go first -- I think I have a strategy." He steps in and takes the chaincutters from you.

"No, give them back, I was just about to cut it off."

"His head, yes -- you were about to cut off his head." He sinks the cutters into the knot, preparing to perform the cuts -- with his elbow to his knee for precision.

Yes. That's much better form than you had.

Let him work.

He sinks the cutters into the knot, preparing to perform the cuts -- with his elbow to his knee for precision.

Rotate some more!

A really, really bad smell is coming from there now. And... some kind of cracking sound.

Look for a good spot to cut.

The belt is equally tight around the whole circumference of his neck, swelling over the edges like white bread, rising from the yeast.

Would it be a good idea to cut the knot, instead of the belt? Seems the more conservative approach...

The knot is the weak spot. The chaincutters fit in there. Steady now, like a flower arranger -- two cuts and it should come loose.

"I'm not your pig, Cuno."

"You are," he says with calm certainty. "You're Cuno's pig."

Concentrate on the belt, not on who is whose pig. There is no pig. There are only the chaincutters -- and the belt.

Try to remove the dead man's boots.

Try to remove the dead man's boots again.

"3. Description of injuries -- summary."

"Alright. Bitemarks, contusions on head and chest, and a ligature mark encircling the neck."

Be thorough if you want maximum results.