"Well, it's just questioning, right? You're questioning me -- it's what cops do."

"Well, it's just questioning, right? You're questioning me -- it's what cops do."

Fast and clean! A good one. Can't quite say it's a lie, but feels like one. She's better at lying than she'd like everyone to know.

"Have you been questioned before?"

"Once or twice, yeah. I'm sorry I haven't had the Revachol experience they get east of the river."

"So, what trouble you've gotten into -- with the police."

"The usual. I had a shitty run as a teenager."

"What's the usual?"

"You know, drinking, getting into fights. The ugly stuff that happens when you move out of your parents' place at thirteen. In Faubourg."

Interesting term. Time to glean some knowledge!

"Wait, what is In Faubourg?"

"Is this a rhetorical question?"

"Why did you need to move out at such tender age?"

"My dad was a drunk. Plus, I guess I just wanted to drink too, you know? Get my party on."

"I had another question."

"I get that. I'm a major party animal myself. MAJOR."

"Alright..." She smiles a little, without meaning to.

"Drinking, partying and disco music are bad for you. You should take me as a warning example."

She nods, very cautiously.

"You know what? I think you've really learned something from all those times you've been questioned. Some of your lies have been pretty good."

"Um... thank you?"

The girl is truly proud of herself.

"Lying to the police is nothing to be proud of. Now, another question, if you can manage to tell the truth."

"I'll try."

"Yes, I can't even remember how many you've told or which ones I picked up on. Now -- another question."

"No. I literally can't remember even the most basic terms sometimes."

"Khm..." The lieutenant steps in. "Faubourg -- not In Faubourg -- is a massive banlieue south of Jamrock Quarter. It is the largest ghetto in Revachol -- possibly the world."

"I know what Jamrock is but... let's say I didn't."

"We're Jamrock. Sort of. Martinaise is called North Jamrock sometimes. Jamrock is also a ghetto, only smaller than Faubourg."

Jamrock is a district of Revachol comprised of the following quarters: Pox, Villalobos, Central Jamrock, Grand-Couron, Old South and the Valley of the Dogs. Learning is great!

"C'mon, man. We're in it. This is North Jamrock -- Martinaise. Sort of. The technicalities are confusing."

"Okay... it's a huge ghetto just south of Jamrock."

"I had another question." (Conclude.)

"What's east of the river?"

"Rich people. Rich people are east of the river."

(Sneer.) "I bet they're really rich. They must be very special people to be so rich..."

"Oh, they are. And I'm scum."

"You're not scum."

"Oh, but I am."

"I'm scum too."

She nods, apprehensively.

"Oh, okay. Good to know."

"Yeah..."

(Lean in and whisper.) "Let me guess, these rich people are not from around here..."

"Aren't they?" She seems perplexed. "I thought they were as Vacholiere as any of us, just way richer."

"Oh no, they're foreign bodies. Agents of international capital. You only need to look close enough."

"Hmm..." She looks eastward. "Maybe you're right. Most of them do speak three languages."

(Look awestruck.) "Who are these rich people? They sound wonderful! I'd like to be one too."

"Good luck crossing that river on your police salary then."

"Strange. The existence of rich people does not stir any emotions in me."

"Bet they like it that way," she mutters. Quietly, under her breath.

"You keep them rich."

"We do, don't we? Mind if I question you some more?"

"This?" She breathes on her freezing fingers. "It's a portable recording device. It's for field recording. Low quality, but still."

"And the wires?"

"Actually just one wire, I picked on it till the braiding came loose. The wire leads to a contact microphone."

"What's a 'contact microphone'?"

"A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice."

Your mangled brain would like you to know there is a boxer called Contact Mike.

What am I supposed to do with this?

No idea.