Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"Someone tried to exorcise the curse using technology?"

"No, that's not it. I think..." The lieutenant takes a step back, steepling his hands.

Like he's ready to lay out a fine theory, crafted together like a puzzle box.

"It looks like one of those popular pen-and-paper role-playing games -- only these people were trying to automate it. Make it work on radiocomputers."

"And by 'these people' I mean people in Soona's radio game company -- Fortress Accident."

Utter madness, he thinks -- as a compliment.

"What do you think happened to the company?"

"No idea... They stopped filling out the schedule on the chalkboard."

"And this was a role-playing game?"

"Indeed. Those welkins are a dead giveaway." He points to the chalkboard. "Role-playing people love that stuff. The world looks like a modified version of the Wirrâl boardgame... with heat death thrown in."

Super cool! Someone should give them millions of reál immediately. This game is too good to be left unfinished.

"Has anyone ever done this before?"

"Not to my knowledge. They make automated games in Graad, Messina, Königstein... You know, places with industry."

Not in Revachol West, among the ruins.

"But I don't think anyone has attempted to create an interisolary game before. We just don't have the technology."

"How were they planning to do that?"

"Through call-in stations." He nods at the fireplace. "None of the players have to be physically present... Anyone in the world can participate in the game, as long as they have a two-way radio."

"Then there's the Game Master Frequency that listens in on the smaller call-in stations. I think that was supposed to coordinate the stories. Functioning as a master of ceremonies of sorts."

His fascination has swept aside other concerns for the moment. He's a little hooked.

Coordinating so many games would take a whole switchboard of people, possibly divided into sub-frequencies.

"Wow." (Conclude.)

"Indeed. It's ambitious. And untethered from reality, but..." The lieutenant tilts his head, thinking.

"They were insane if they thought they could do this."

"Yes -- especially in here." The lieutenant looks around the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor in front of your feet.

"Okay," he concludes. "Let's keep moving."

"The curse got them, I see no other explanation."

"Ah yes, the doom of bad business practices..." The lieutenant looks around the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.

"Do we have any money? Let's give them more money so they can finish it and make it even bigger."

A half-smile breaks out on his face. "It's too late for that, I'm afraid," he says, looking around the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.

"It was just a play to cheat money out of their investor's pockets."

"I don't think so. I think they genuinely believed..." The lieutenant looks around the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.

"The world is cold and lonely. This would keep it company. Let's finish it."

"It's obvious -- this is what remains of Soona's radio game studio, Fortress Accident."

"Yes, I got that." The lieutenant shifts on his feet. "What I meant was -- what were they trying to achieve with this damn game..."

"What were their ambitions? Because this here looks rather advanced."

He has respect -- and curiosity -- for this failed endeavour.

He's right. This wasn't your grandma's game studio, this is something else.

"I don't know, I'm not an artist."

"Okay, well, I think..." The lieutenant takes a step back, steepling his hands.

Like he's ready to lay out a fine theory, crafted together like a puzzle box.

"It looks like one of those popular pen-and-paper role-playing games -- only these people were trying to automate it. Make it work on radiocomputers."

Utter madness, he thinks -- as a compliment.

"You're right, this isn't just a pen-and-paper role-playing game. They were trying to make it on radiocomputers."

"Precisely!" He agrees. "It's absolutely mad -- an automated role-playing game."

And I don't use the mad lightly, he thinks.

This is way above your tiny little policeman head.

"Looks like an undercover counterintelligence programme."

"It's just a failed business. The only question is -- what the hell were they making?"

"Yes, that is the question..." The lieutenant takes a step back, steepling his hands.

"No time. Let's move." [Leave.]

"Got you."

"What do you think is going on here with the radiocomputer, chalkboard, and fireplace?"