Conversation · Policeman Cloak

"Flying f****t... winged pig... shit is airborne..." These are the only words the wind coming in from the Insulindian ocean carries to you.

His words remain indiscernible. No matter -- it's time to start thinking about the landing.

The corpse is dominating the yard and the stench is nauseating, even so far from the epicentre. It brings tears to your eyes.

We'll take care of that body too. We'll take care of all of it!

Continue the voyage through the salty air.

As the concrete floor welcomes you, you realize it's been a while since you felt so alive, alert, capable. Must be the adrenaline.

"Hell yeah!" The lieutenant exclaims. "My climbing might not have been as disco as your jump, but can we still get an Ace's High?"

With your feet firmly planted on the concrete, the noise of the harbour rushes back in.

"I knew you could do it!" The lieutenant exclaims. "My climbing down might not have been as disco as your jump, but at least we can explore the harbour now."

"FRANCONEGRO!!!"

No one hears your shouts, but it makes you feel powerful inside. Now, with your feet firmly planted on the concrete, the noise of the harbour rushes back in.

"Not bad, not too bad at all."

No one is listening to your words, but it doesn't matter. You feel pride. Now, with your feet firmly planted on the concrete, the noise of the harbour rushes back in.

Holy wow, that's high! You'd have to be a total madman to jump. This is certain death!

"Right, I can't do it right now -- I'll make the jump next time."

"Sure." He looks at you, worried. "Just be careful, okay? Looks like you almost strained a muscle there."

Will you? Because it feels like you strained a muscle there. Or two.

You could have died there! Shit, shit, shit, shit... I'm failing you. This wasn't part of our deal!

I got you, I got you, bratan. Let me just adjust your breathing a little bit... There, isn't that better?

(Tug on your tie.) God, now I can't breathe at all... Stop doing this to me, necktie, you were supposed to be a friend!

"Hey, hey... what's happening? You okay?" He sounds genuinely worried.

"I'm alright, Kim... I... I just..." (Keep tugging on your tie.) "I can't breathe."

"It's okay, you're just having a little panic attack. Try to breathe as slowly as you can, alright?" He shakes you gently by the shoulder.

The necktie lets go a little, its vicious grip easing around your neck. Colours return to the world around you.

"Thanks, I think it's working." (Let go of your tie.)

"Good. We can always come back when you're feeling better. It's just a cloak after all." He looks around.

Feel the squeeze, baby!

Tears run down your face. You're clutching your chest and mumbling incoherently. How much worse can it get?

Just let it all out, let it go, let it happen.

As you let go a tidal wave of tears breaks through the dam and washes away everything.

The sadness, the stress, the failures of the past and present and the weight of being you. It would wash you away, too, if it weren't for the firm grip of your necktie.

The necktie is guiding you through this. It's your spirit animal, both your nemesis and friend. Suddenly a feeling of ease brushes through you -- you're fine again.

Just let me fucking breathe, Horrific Necktie.

Fine, be boring, breathe! -- Get high on some of that sweet-sweet O, baby!

"Hey, hey... what happened?" He sounds genuinely worried.

"I'm alright, Kim... I... I just can't do it right now."

"I understand. We can always come back when you're feeling better. It's just a cloak after all."

The tears just come. From nowhere. Like a sudden guerrilla attack from the bushes, they overwhelm you.

After a while your sobbing stops. Up here no one saw the little meltdown you just had and your heart actually feels lighter now. Time to proceed.

[Leave.]

Looks like someone left his tarpaulin cloak hanging on the railing here.

Man down! A trooper has been left behind the enemy lines!

You could swear it's more of an instinct than anything else, but you know it's a cop's cloak.

Just a cop's cloak... I don't want to deal with this right now. [Leave.]

"A cop's cloak! It's a cop's cloak!!!"

"Yes. It is probably yours. It does bear the RCM insignia after all. Now -- how to retrieve it?" He judges the drop.

"You could probably make the jump. You look like you've done some track and field in your day."

Unaware of your existence the cloak continues its helpless flapping.

Considering the limited police presence in Martinaise -- you think we might take a leap of logic and say it's yours?

You son of a gun, it's my cloak!

Nailed it!

The white rectangle, now clearly visible in the wind, seems to confirm your hypothesis. But who's the cop?

You are the cop. It's your cloak. Don't make things complicated.

When the wind ruffles the cloak you can most definitely see a white rectangle on its back.

The cloak does not concern me at the moment. [Leave.]

"You son of a gun, it's a cop's cloak!"

Indeed it is.

"Look, lieutenant! (Point to the flapping cloak.) Someone left his cloak behind."

Ignore the cloak. [Leave.]

I guess it's probably nothing. [Leave.]