Medium, Visual Calculus ≥ 4
For seven days the cadaver is quite well preserved. Surprisingly so -- there's no deflation, no apparent fly larvae in the abdomen.
Intellect
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
Voice lines: 507
For seven days the cadaver is quite well preserved. Surprisingly so -- there's no deflation, no apparent fly larvae in the abdomen.
Where the buckle ties the rope to the branch -- that's a good spot to aim.
Could be. The shape of the branch supports the theory.
You would still like the hypostasis marks in the neck to be a bit more pronounced.
This is a trick. You've done it before. Pink is where the blood settled in the first hours postmortem. You can use it to see if the corpse has been tampered with -- does his position at the time of death match the discolouration?
Indeed. From this angle it does look like the neck isn't going to take much more. Being dead for a week has all but liquefied his muscles.
The slow movement of the branch in the wind and your shoulders directing the gun sync up, dancing hypnotically.
The commandant -- the one who gives the order. Machine gun fire crackling through the air, the lights of the muzzle flashes dancing on his face...
The sun blazes high up in the sky... baking the planks, the sand, your skin. The order was carried out in the afternoon.
A long time has passed since the moment of this fusillading. Rain and brine have since washed all the blood away. Not a trace remains.
A row of ghostly shades facing a crumbling wall, with another seven shades standing ten metres from them. A single person stands on the sideline.
Ten metres away -- other shades are lined up in an orderly manner, automatic rifles primed. A gust of wind blows by -- the coats of the firing squad flap slowly in the breeze. A single person stands on the side.
A host of men, probably in everyday clothes -- ragged from the conflict and covered in dust. They were not sitting (a common practice for executions in some nations), as demonstrated by the height level of the bullet holes.
The sun falls slowly toward the horizon... the last light of the day. The order was carried out in the evening.
Droplets of rain fall on the wooden planks, the surrounding sand dunes. The clouds block out any rays of light...
It's dark, very dark... faint lights flicker at the edge of your vision. It's rare for the order to be carried out at night...
A row of ghostly shades stand facing the wall. There are many of them, a dozen at least, their heads lowered and eyes blindfolded. It's quiet. No sound, no movement.
Unable to piece together the big picture just now. There's a hole in the hypothesis.