Shivers · Voice lines

I'VE SEEN YOU, I'VE SEEN YOU! I'VE SEEN YOU WITH HER -- AND I'VE SEEN YOU WITHOUT HER. I'VE SEEN YOU ON THE CRESCENT OF THE HILL.

You can hear the ice crack underneath you. Outside the last century waterfront development is crumbling in the wind, a grapeshot row of falling houses. And so is Rue Saint-Gérôme and all the houses on Main Row. The Old Cinema is sinking underneath Villalobos...

YOU MUST MAKE IT RIGHT AT ONCE. UNITY IS PARAMOUNT. AND REMEMBER...

I AM A FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD SPIRIT, THE GENIUS LOCI OF REVACHOL.

IN 22 YEARS, THE FIRST SHOT WILL BE FIRED. NOT A SHOT FROM A GUN -- AN ATOMIC DEVICE THAT WILL LEVEL ALL OF ME. ALL OF ME.

On the coast of the Martinaise Inlet, in a small weather-beaten stave church built 380 years ago by settlers from the Occident, most likely to guard against an anomaly at its centre, an officer of the RCM is contorting his body into idiotically rigid shapes, as he invents the future of dance music... It's the hardest anyone has ever danced.

Music pounds through the hall of an old stave church on the coast of Martinaise. Several figures are lost in the beats, their bodies pulled this way and that by sound. One of them, an officer of the RCM, suddenly stops. He appears disoriented, then starts shaking -- violently, no longer in rhythm with the music.

YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. AGENTES IN REBUS, WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR COAT, YOU WEAR MY SOUL.

THE MODULATIONS OF MY VOICE ARE NOTED DOWN WITH THERMOMETERS AND BAROMETERS. YOU FEEL ME IN YOUR NOSTRILS, ON THE LITTLE HAIRS ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK.

You can hear the ice cracking underneath you. Outside on the pier the last century development crumbles in the wind, a grapeshot row of falling houses. And so does Rue Saint-Gérôme and Main Street. The Old Cinema is sinking underneath Villalobos...

You can hear the ice cracking underneath you. Outside, the last century waterside development is crumbling in the wind, a grapeshot row of falling houses on the pier. And so is Rue Saint-Gérôme and Main Street. The Old Cinema is sinking underneath Villalobos...

YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN.

This will be nothing.

You can hear the ice cracking underneath you. Outside on the pier the last century development crumbles in the wind, a grapeshot row of falling houses. And so does Rue Saint-Gérôme and Main Street. The Old Cinema is sinking underneath Villalobos...

Just like promised... You've stood here for what seem like aeons, guzzling the sickly fumes of lorries and carriages.

Two women stand on a small outcropping of rocks. One of them is wearing a purple raincoat. Thin lines reach out from the rods into the sea. Small droplets start appearing on the surface with increasing frequency.

In the harbour's dark, her cigarette is a beacon, dancing alone. The image comes to you effortlessly, as though you'd walked the same streets yourself a thousand times.

A woman is sitting by the kitchen table, eating buttered toast and drinking herbal tea. She opens the Salzneben Report, a quarterly business magazine. There, in shiny tricolour print -- him, triumphant and victorious, like an apparition from the past...