Physical Instrument
Rhetoric
You know little about ULAN frequencies other than that they exist. Maybe? It's impossible to say.
Conversation · Feld Mural
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The lieutenant clears his throat. "Let's move on. I don't think we need to stand around anymore."
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Apologies! You just need time to remember. There has to be something there. Go do other things around the coast. That might help.
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"Could Ruby be in there?"
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"In there? She could. Or..." The lieutenant points behind you. "She could be in the identical ruin over there, or in that boat shack. In that church tower, maybe..."
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"She?" The man hears you. "I don't know who you mean, but... the building seems long-abandoned to me."
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You try to peer in but there are no windows on this side. Only the disinterested whistle of the wind.
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Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands in front of a mirror, fixing his black bomber jacket. You should be asking him that question.
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Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands in front of a mirror, fixing his orange bomber jacket. You should be asking him that question.
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Suddenly there's a sigh, carried on the molecules around you, moving, flowing from high pressure to low pressure. Like that of a woman emptying her lungs. She wraps the collapsing stone box in front of you in her breath, flowing through it...
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Even though you're sure you succeeded, all is quiet. There is no cold hand brushing against your forehead, no rustle in the reeds -- the wind has died down. The ruin in front of you is silent as a tomb.
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How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. Look around. West of here there are people, talking. Who could it be, you cup your ear and think?
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How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. West of here there are the cryptozoologists -- helping them might give you a reason to map out the place.
How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. You've already mapped it out while checking the traps. So you know the place.
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And then there's the church. You look at the bell tower rising into the clouds -- a prominent place to hide, but maybe she's reckless?
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And then there's the church. You look at the bell tower, rising into the sky -- you look East and remember you already searched it. And found no trace of Ruby.
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Anyway -- you do it sector by sector. Go over the whole peninsula, ask the locals, enter the places which you can enter first.
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"How do we? I was really hoping she'd be in the village..." The lieutenant sighs, then gets a hold of himself: "Okay."
"She's probably north of the village and this place is a peninsula. I think there's people west of here, we could ask them..." He looks to his right and cups his ear.
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"She's probably north of the village and this place is a peninsula. We've already talked to the cryptozoologists..." He looks to his right. "Working with them might give us a good excuse to run around -- give us some structure..."
"She's probably north of the village and this place is a peninsula." He looks North. "We already scanned most of the outdoor areas on our wild cryptid hunt, so we have an understanding of the geography, at least."
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"And then there's the church." He looks at the bell tower. "If I were a murder suspect I would not hide in the most prominent building here, but who knows? Maybe she's reckless..."
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"And then there's the church." He looks at the bell tower. "We've already searched that and can rule it out. I know it doesn't feel like progress, but exclusion is a step too."
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"Anyway -- we do it the old fashioned way: sector by sector. Go over the whole peninsula, ask the locals, enter the places where we can enter first. Like we did in the village."
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Indeed. You hear what sounds like two men arguing where the lieutenant is pointing.
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First you need to tune in to the coast, get to know its residents. Then you can search where you can't enter: bunkers, storm drainage, this building here. You can always come back and talk to the wind again -- look where it already got you.
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- Walk the coast, the old boardwalk, the reeds... You can always come back here and talk to the wind again. Look where it already got you.
- First you need to tune in to the coast, get to know its residents. Then you can search where you can't enter: bunkers, storm drainage, this building here. You can always come back and talk to the wind again -- look where it already got you.
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Trying to talk to the wind, or the city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there with your hands fallen to your side.
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Trying to talk to the wind, the city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the dark. With your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the pale of the morning. With your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there with your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the dusk hour. With your hands fallen to your side.
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Is trying to talk to the city something you've done before? Is it in your secret repertoire -- a trick for when you're out of ideas?
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"Then -- if we're desperate -- we can look where we can't enter. Bunkers, storm drainage, this place. I'm sure it won't come to that." He looks behind him, at the dark red box crumbling across the chasm.
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Walk the coast, the old boardwalk, the reeds... You can always come back here and talk to the wind again. Look where it already got you.
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Be honest. You're praying. It's that bad.
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For what? A song carried on the breeze? Or children laughing, far away? You walk and walk these city streets and deserted coast, and all it ever tells you -- is cold.
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THERE IS NOTHING ELSE. The thought makes your bones rattle, like the skeleton of some deserted building ready to collapse.
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"What? I didn't say anything." He looks at you. "What are we doing here? We keep returning and you act strange."
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"Of course. Black magic. The most potent type of magic. If we're that desperate -- may I suggest getting shovels and digging?" A quiver of a smile.
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He stops to consider your words. "Ask Revachol sounds like an expression. For when you have no idea. We should continue our search. Perhaps even get a little desperate..."