A police badge on which you see the photo of a man -- you. Some seaweed is stuck to the…

A police badge on which you see the photo of a man -- you. Some seaweed is stuck to the back.

"Name: Harrier Du Bois..."

"'Harrier,' that's long for 'Harry'. So you are Harry..." He thinks. "Evrart was half right. Probably not a lot of people know your full name. Whoever told him you're Harry Du Bois didn't."

"Harrier Du Bois it is, then." (Accept it.)

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Harrier Du Bois."

The badge in your hands shines as you rotate it, catching light. You see lines of information:

He's not going to call you Harrier. He'll keep calling you 'officer' when he's angry with you and 'detective' when he's not.

"Strange. It doesn't say Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau."

"Not strange at all -- your name is Harrier Du Bois. Like it says on your police badge."

"Wait, what kind of name is 'Harrier'?"

"It's a wartime name. Revolutionary. The kind mothers give their sons during troubled times. Like 'Undying' or 'Boxer' or 'Ironhide'."

It's meant to keep you safe.

...from bullets, hunger, shrapnel, kidnappings, and worse.

"But... I don't want to be Harrier Du Bois." (Don't accept it.)

"Why? It's a cool name. I like it." He shrugs. "Besides, you're Harry anyway. No one's ever called Harrier."

A name like armour.

"Harrier Du Bois..." He looks you up and down. "It suits you. I'm going to call you 'Harry,' since it's short for 'Harrier'."

No, he's not. He's going keep calling you "officer" when he's angry with you -- and "detective" when he's not.

This document confirms it -- Harrier Du Bois, i.e. Harry, is really your name.

This is your name. You are Harrier Du Bois. Harry.

"Serial: REV12-62-05-JAM41..."

"That's just the serial number. Revachol, Jamrock, Precinct 41, with some numbers thrown in there for good measure."

The numbers are not there for 'good measure'. They have an administrative purpose. One that's unfortunately been erased from your memory.

Revachol, Jamrock, Precinct 41. You don't remember what the numbers in the middle mean.

"Rank: LTN-2JFR?"

"Lieutenant double-yefreitor."

"What is a 'lieutenant double-yefreitor?'"

"The lieutenant is a rank above sergeant and below captain. It's the highest rank in the RCM that still does field work. I am a lieutenant."

"And double-yefreitor?"

"The title of yefreitor is added to your rank when you decline a promotion to a higher rank -- in your case, captain," the lieutenant explains. "You have declined twice. Thus you're double-yefreitor."

"Declined?"

"There are many reasons one would do this. The rank above you in your precinct's décomptage might be taken. Or sometimes promoted officers do not want to replace their superiors -- out of respect."

"And sometimes," he continues, "they just prefer the type of police work available to their current rank -- in your case, lieutenant."

Heavy-duty case-solving machine.

Turn back to the document.

Such a small yet precious thing. Expensive paper caught between thick plastic like a fly in amber. It reads:

"I thought my rank was drunk."

"Yes, apparently you've had a rather successful career in the past and," -- he pauses to examine you -- "this leads me to believe maybe your current situation is only temporary."

"Thanks. That gives me hope."

"Good," he says with a quick smile.

"I don't want to get better -- I want to get worse."

"I... uh, don't really know how to respond to that, lieutenant double-yefreitor."

"I'm afraid there are no ex-alcoholics."

"People have been through worse and gotten back on their feet, lieutenant double-yefreitor," he says with a reassuring little smile.

"I won't forsake the drink -- it makes me happy."

"It does seem to be a rather special relationship the two of you have forged, yes, lieutenant double-yefreitor."

"What's a 'décomptage'?"

"Décomptage is the hierarchical system employed by the Revachol Citizens Militia. It means counting down to twos."

The countdown is modelled after the dual-leadership system employed by the Left during the Revolution. Which in turn was developed by last century experimental psychologists in the University of Koenigstein.

"The lowest rank is junior officer -- usually teenagers. Then there are the patrol officers. Then sergeants, lieutenants, and then a captain. That's basically it, except for a few kinks."

"What kinks?"

"Kinks like satellite-officers and the additional yefreitor rank I already explained."

The long and short of it is: you're his superior.

"So you've been putting up with all my bullshit because I'm your superior?"

"I'm not putting up with anything," the lieutenant says with a little smile. "You put your life on the line and we came out on top. That matters."

"More than driving your motor carriage into the sea. The upside of that is, of course, you finding your badge."

"No. I've been putting up with you because, despite an unconventional approach, you're doing good police work."

"It matters more than driving your motor carriage into the sea." He smiles encouragingly. "And now we've even found your badge."

He trusts you -- for now. Try not to spoil it.

Still -- he doesn't trust you completely.