A cardboard sign hangs from the arm pointing out to sea. Written in shaky marker pen are…

A cardboard sign hangs from the arm pointing out to sea. Written in shaky marker pen are the words: 'PALE SWALLOWS ALL'. What was once a gesture of great power has been hijacked to signal the ceaseless march of annihilation.

"Hard to disagree with the sentiment considering what we just survived." The lieutenant solemnly looks toward the plaza, then turns to you.

Look -- up there! It is he who sirens. Syntagmatarchis Trypa! Here, upon us, to warn of the mangy jowls of The Gloaming.

Has The End not already come? Stones were wetted, bloods were coughed, the locals cast under greater shadow. Is this not inappropriate when tribute should instead be placed?

Citizens must be warned. This is not only a declaration of the dead but a warning for those still alive. It comes, indomitably.

(Shout.) "Listen to your leader, people of the coast -- the worst is yet to come!"

"Khm," the lieutenant clears his throat, keen to move on.

"Detective, I have a few questions if you don't mind..."

"About what?"

"About this... pursuit of wealth... pursuit of recognition." He looks up, trying to find a name for your actions.

"No, I don't mind."

He nods, eyes still on the doom crier above, on the arm holding out the portent in the cold air.

"Why did you do it?"

A figure in a day dress, cuddled up in an armchair... she looks up and smiles at you across the living room.

"It's not what I wanted. This is all Idiot Doom Spiral's work."

He nods. The roundabout is quiet, almost eerily so under the brilliant sunlight. The doom crier waits to be swallowed by the bright sky, his cardboard omen flapping in the wind like live bait...

Good -- take no responsibility for this disaster. It was supposed to promote you, not make people fear you.

Don't you see? Idiot Doom Spiral has finally achieved something remarkable.

It's far too soon. This portent is grossly inappropriate.

"But was it all worth it? Everything that came before -- Cindy, the stocks, even the street lamp."

"100% worth it. I'd do it all over again -- but this time with more profit."

"Ah yes. Spoken like a true businessman." He smiles gently.

"Alright, shall we? We still have some things left to do before we can go home."

"Okay, let me have one more look at the monument..."

"Sure, whenever you're ready."

The doom crier towers above, mounted on a horse. Numerous rods and ropes still hold the original reassemblage in place.

"Wait, I want to talk to Idiot Doom Spiral first."

"I don't think we have time for that. And even if we did, I doubt he's around anymore. Everyone's left."

"Hey, it's the system. I did my best to support artists, employ people, give back to the community."

"Ah yes. Spoken like a true philanthropist." He smiles gently.

"I really don't need to be judged like this, especially after the amount of tax I've paid."

"Tax? What tax? We're in Revachol." He looks around, as if looking for hidden taxation, then shakes his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"You managed to gather quite a fortune, kicked off by underpaying a young artist..."

And don't forget about the lying... or the way you conned an honest pawnshop owner.

You had to pay her so little, otherwise you wouldn't have made any profit -- and if you don't make a profit, you don't have money to invest!

The lieutenant speaks as if you're rich -- a common misconception -- especially if you count the tax. No, we've got a long way to go before we can feel financially comfortable. The hustle never stops!

Underpaying? But you paid the highest possible price!

Underpaying? You paid according to the market -- not too much, not too little...

And don't forget about the lying...

And don't forget about the way you conned an honest pawnshop owner.

"But was it all worth it? Everything that came before -- Cindy, the stocks, the thing with Idiot Doom Spiral..."

"I wanted better for myself."

He nods. The roundabout is quiet, almost eerily so under the brilliant sunlight. The doom crier waits to be swallowed by the bright sky, his cardboard omen flapping in the wind like live bait...

Honest. Maybe even too honest... Didn't we talk about giving back to the community?

Nothing wrong with raw ambition.

"And was it all worth it?"

"Don't you think we should make the most of the short time we all have left?"

"I don't think anything. I'm just asking questions."

You've been through a catastrophe and still haven't reaped a single benefit from this doomspeak. Drop it already!

A white lie -- of course he has opinions.

"One more question, if you don't mind -- was it all worth it?"

"To win her back."

"Who?" The lieutenant meets your eyes with a questioning glance -- then looks up again.

Yes, who are you talking about?

He's talking about pussy. Our guy's gonna be swimming in it now that he's loaded!

"Never mind. Another question -- was it all worth it?"

"The free market demands it."

He nods. The roundabout is quiet, almost eerily so under the brilliant sunlight. The doom crier waits to be swallowed by the bright sky, his cardboard omen flapping in the wind like live bait...

Demands what? Endless reconceptualization? The lives we lost? The charade?