Medium · Esprit de Corps ≥ 4
Relax, he thinks. There's no one in there. If we can't open it, neither can anyone else.
Psyche
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
623 · Voice lines
Relax, he thinks. There's no one in there. If we can't open it, neither can anyone else.
There's no time to dwell on this moment. You've got to keep moving...
The officers go, leaving behind the writing -- still smouldering. ONE DAY, it says, I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE.
Patrol Officer Judit Minot points west. "The fishing village..." She glances at her watch. "We meet in 15 minutes. It's a ten minute walk."
The officers go, leaving behind the writing, still smelling of petroleum. ONE DAY, it says, I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE.
Two police officers step out of the Whirling-in-Rags cafeteria. Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare inspects giant letters across the plaza mosaic, in dark red government-marked heavy fuel oil.
Two police officers step out of the Whirling-in-Rags cafeteria. Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare inspects a series of burnt black letters splashed across the plaza mosaic.
Patrol Officer Judit Minot points west. "The fishing village..." She glances at her watch. "We meet in 15 minutes. It's a ten minute walk."
Meanwhile, in the antechamber of the Station 57 lazareth, a neatly packed pair of cargo pants and an orange bomber jacket sit in a locker. Nested on the jacket -- a small block of milled aluminium, tucked away in a leather case.
An instant camera -- the Trigat Sunshine Mini. A moan of discomfort sounds from the lazareth, as he turns onto his side...
"He must be really out of it, yelling like that. Well, at least he's alive...." Officer Minot in the blue uniform frowns: "Jean, maybe something happened? He's in distress..."
A camera -- an instant colour camera the lieutenant keeps tucked away in his coat pocket. A moan of discomfort sounds from the lazareth, as he turns onto his side...
Three-hundred metres inland special consultant Trant Heidelstam cups his ear. Satellite-Officer Vicquemare nods to him on the jetty: "I heard it."
Meanwhile, in the antechamber of the Station 57 lazareth, a neatly packed pair of cargo pants and a black bomber jacket sit in a locker. Nested on the jacket -- a small block of milled aluminium, tucked away in a leather case.
"He must be really out of it, yelling like that. Well, at least he's alive...." Officer Minot in the blue uniform frowns: "Jean, maybe something happened? He's in distress..."
Three-hundred metres inland, on the jetty, special consultant Trant Heidelstam cups his ear. Satellite-Officer Vicquemare nods to him: "I heard it."