Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A chessboard of old wooden houses in the snow, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street disappearing into the rain on the horizon...
The great district hums in the falling rain: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
You close your eyes and hear the dogs bark. A lone woman sits by a factory window, dreaming of meteorite strikes. On Rue Saint-Gérôme a square bullet slides into a square-shaped chamber. In Old South a man without eyelids smiles. Spring has come. It's time.
The great district hums with the noise of human habitation: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the distant horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A black chessboard of old wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the darkened horizon...
Under the afternoon sky the great district hums: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
Under the pink morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street disappearing into the rain on the horizon...
The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...
Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A black chessboard of old wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the darkened horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the dark horizon...
Stop and you can go to the Burnt Out Quarter. And meet me there -- wafting above the burnt ruins. Like the smell of caramel -- Le Retour is waiting.