Challenging · Esprit de Corps ≥ 6
While Evrart is distracted by your odd behaviour, the lieutenant's eyes are mapping everything around you. The folder, desk, papers on the wall...
Psyche
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
623 · Voice lines
While Evrart is distracted by your odd behaviour, the lieutenant's eyes are mapping everything around you. The folder, desk, papers on the wall...
Under Precinct 41, where typewriters fire long into the night, and officers walk the great steps and the bridge. Long after the card has landed in the cold shore waters, its writing dissolved. Material disintegrated.
This would also be a good time to finally name the case -- if only Lieutenant Kitsuragi were here so you could coordinate. No use naming it without him... maybe at a later time you can come back to this?
Somewhere -- not here -- the helpful Lieutenant Kitsuragi is making notes in his blue notebook. He tilts it ever so slightly, a glowing rectangle catches the light. He could advise you with this. The next moment...
Somewhere in a station lazareth lieutenant-detective Kitsuragi turns on the side and says: ouch. The wounds are agonizing.
God knows I've made my share... he tries not to think of them.
How many years you've been on the force, he's thinking. It'll have that.
The lieutenant should clearly be here for this. You're lost.
We didn't fall for it, he thinks. There's pride in there.
Suddenly, you recall: Two officers must be present for a field autopsy. You take your hand from the dead man's face and open your eyes. You will still need to come back with the lieutenant.
His brow furrows while his eyes glaze over. The lieutenant looks regretful for not figuring this out before.
We almost fell for it, he thinks. Almost.
Meanwhile, the lieutenant is sitting behind his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork. His help would be invaluable right now.
On the other hand... it's not that I'm not interested in abandoned radiocomputers.
Be very careful, what information you're gonna share with her.
I really do, the lieutenant thinks -- is she thrown off, yet? He's looking at the woman, assessing her...
Somewhere in an office lit by a single green desk lamp captain Ptolemaios Pryce -- 58, bald and bespectacled -- is writing in a ledger on his desk. Rows and rows of days and weeks, laconic remarks in a single column: patrol, case, vacation, injured...
IN MARTINAISE, LOOKING INTO KRENEL, he writes in one. Then the man puts down his pen and rubs his temples with both hands. Outside there is a siren, distant gunshots on the streets of the Jamrock Quarter.