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I have never before prayed for an outcome in a game until I saw i only had a 83% chance to warn kim.
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Oct 16, 2020 19:50
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So I had the thing that makes you fail all red checks on for this scene and didn't realize. It played out very differently, to put it mildly.
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Oct 18, 2020 14:51
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Ouch. I remember forgetting about it and then going through quite a bit of the game wondering why does my luck suck so much, but that would cause me to reload I think 
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Oct 18, 2020 19:28
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Solis posted:So I had the thing that makes you fail all red checks on for this scene and didn't realize. so why does thing thing exist
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Oct 18, 2020 22:56
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"all red checks fail" is the penalty you take while internalising the "the precarious world" thought. it's a pretty fitting representation of ruminating on a lack of successes in life.
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Oct 19, 2020 09:17
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Turpitude II posted:"all red checks fail" is the penalty you take while internalising the "the precarious world" thought. it's a pretty fitting representation of ruminating on a lack of successes in life. I assume the payoff for that thought is equally huge, too.
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Oct 19, 2020 20:51
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Notahippie posted:I assume the payoff for that thought is equally huge, too. The reward is pretty huge but is also as big a liability as it is a boon and honestly not worth the 4 hours you spend unable to pass red checks unless you carefully structure your time so you don't have to make any. In case you're wondering (we won't be seeing it in the LP), the payoff is it increases the threshold for critical successes/critical fails by one each. So you can now auto-pass or auto-fail a roll with an 11 or a 3.
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Oct 19, 2020 21:06
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To be entirely fair, I have always found it pretty easy to dodge making red checks in 4 hrs, you just need to read a book or get a reality lowdown or any of the exposition conversation trees. In fact, on my 4th playthrough, I vow never to pick either that TC option, nor Hobocop, nor 15th Indotribe, nor Wompty-Dompty-Dom-Centre, nor Actual Art Degree, nor Mazovian Socio-Economics to freshen up my playstyle.
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Oct 19, 2020 23:02
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Yeah, Wompty Dompty Dom Centre and Actual Art Degree made the game into easy mode and I just stumbled into them.
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Oct 20, 2020 01:16
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 ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Brother, you already *were* a ghost. Up there, screaming—along with all of them. Scaring each other. Haunting each other.  LIMBIC SYSTEM: The fight? There is no fight. The fight is over—it was lost. A thousand years ago. You have laid here forever. Keep falling. Deeper… take the door. ARIST: [Legendary: Success] No… You can’t. That’s not how this ends, that’s not a story… I am the part of you desperate to find meaning, to impose narrative upon the desperate chaos of life… I am the part of you that tells the story, and there’s yet more to tell… LIMBIC SYSTEM: He’s *not* taking it. His body is not taking it. Oh god, no, he’s not disintegrating—he’s swelling up instead. Over the hours. Hurting. Moaning in his sleep. And rotting. And being disinfected. And smelling of drugs and feeling saliva in his mouth. Drifting in painkillers. Thrashing in his wound sleep. VOLITION: [Medium: Success] He can’t go. Not before the case is solved. PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] There is a radio in the distance. A radio of the world. Playing sounds: good morning, Elysium. Soon you will return to the world.    Chapter 51: 9:06-10:18: Aftermath  ARIST: [Medium: Success] Kim…    KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s not *ouch* time yet. You just got a *drouamine* pill an hour ago. Wait until it wears off.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “Sunrise, Parabellum. Sunrise, Prepare-For-War. It’s an old revolutionary saying.”   KIM KITSURAGI: He looks out the window. “The gates of the harbour are boarded up. The streets are a little more empty. Apocalyptic violence is yet to erupt, I am relieved to say.”     KIM KITSURAGI: “Very. He died in the hospital.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “You were bleeding out, you said something, I don’t know what…” he thinks. “And you warned me. I was able to disarm officer de Paule before she got the jump on me.” ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] Thank you.      KIM KITSURAGI: “Because we *deterred* them? Or Joyce did? Maybe the harbour—in full lockdown—is too costly a target. Or maybe…” he breathes in the fumes, thinking.    KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, officer,” he says calmly. “Six people are dead. It’s not a success. But what’s done is done. The violence is cordoned off, the hornets did not get into the beeshive.” He rubs his swollen chin. “The worst scenario has not materialized—yet. And…” he smiles: “We are still alive—both of us.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] He did not expect you both to survive once you stepped between those two armies.  KIM KITSURAGI: “Pretty bad, officer. You’ve suffered two wounds. The first is below your shoulder. The bullet passed through your shoulder blade, luckily missing your lung—and heart.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “We will see.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “No.” ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] A man and a woman sit in the front seat of an armoured motor carriage. The woman is driving, the man lights a cigarette. Jean Vicquemare is his name, the asphalt vanishes under the wheels of the machine. Ahead, harbour cranes rise to the sky…   KIM KITSURAGI: There’s a pause. “I’m sure they’re worried about you.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know.” DRAMA: [Challenging: Success] He may have some idea—but he’s not gonna get into it with you.    KIM KITSURAGI: “Not very.” He rubs his chin. “I have a concussion from that woman beating me with the butt of her gun… I try not to move too much.”       KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know what to think. It might not have been a *bad* idea. There is a *pin* somewhere in the machine. Something is keeping Krenel from sending in a death squad…”   KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know. I think the theory you presented—it’s someone else, outside our circle of suspects—was right. It’d better be. Everyone within the circle is either dead or gone.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Don’t be narcissistic. Half the cops in Revachol West are his *peones*. Even if you are, it is not a decisive factor in this case.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don’t have to keep *everything*.”     KIM KITSURAGI: “We should go upstairs, rethink the ballistics *in situ*.” A light nod, through some pain. “I agree with this. What else?”   (I don’t generally like to point out spelling or grammar mistakes in this game because English is apparently not the author’s first language and the writing is really excellent even before you take that into consideration. Most of the mistakes I’ve noticed it’s been relatively clear what the intended meaning was so I haven’t bothered, but I feel the need to point out here: “There are thousands lying, around *we* found one.” is I think supposed to read: “There are thousands lying around. *We* found one.” Again, I only point this out because it’s a couple compounding mistakes that result in a bit of a confusing sentence at first glance) KIM KITSURAGI: “We could find thousands more if we wanted. All of Revachol is full of them.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “It can feel that way sometimes, yes.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “Good.” There’s a pause. “Where do you want to limp?”          ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You enter Kim’s room. The enigma unravels just a tiny bit more…       We’re going to put a point into Pain Threshold because we just took two bullets and could probably use the relief. Also because we’re cool roleplayers like that.  ARIST: [Formidable: Success] You look down into your hand and for some reason, you’re holding your gun. Put that away! While we’re at it, we also put the Eight-Eyed Teratorn Tie back on because we forgot to do it after losing the  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Despite your talk with the lieutenant, you don’t head straight for Klaasje’s room. You instead head downstairs. There’s some things you’d like to know first.  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “You’re welcome. I thought it would be nice for you to wake up in a clean place after you—let’s be fair—defended this establishment and its clientele from gunfire. I give credit where credit is due and that was a crazy move—crazy *effective*. Petroleum bomb, never seen anything like that… I was there until it struck him, crawled inside then. Bullets started flying. Anyway…” He clears his throat. SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] He really wants you to realize that he was also on the balcony looking by. In the *danger* zone, so to say.    GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Yeah, I was, yeah.” He nods. Trying to remain aloof. “That’s because I’m a *bad rear end*.”  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: He nods back at you—even more stoically. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Easy: Success] Just two bad rear end men nodding, stoically.   See you around, cafeteria manager.  ARIST: [Medium: Success] As you walk up to their usual spot, your immediate thought is almost confusion—confusion that the Hardies are missing half their number. You already knew what happened, but for that instant it hadn’t hit you. The empty space between them weighs down the atmosphere, coloring every word they speak to each other. They’ve noticed you walking up by this point. For a second, they fall silent. EMPATHY: [Challenging: Success] Just as quickly, though, they’re smiling. They’re happy to see you. Or at least pretending to be.  TITUS HARDIE: “Crazy motherfucker…” He lets out a whistle. “Didn’t think you had that fury in you, but I guess I’ve misjudged a lot of people lately… There I was, thinking—where are we gonna find a tin opener large enough for those cans? Then coppo loco shows up and just sets a man on fire. Impressive poo poo, copper. None of us would be breathing right now if it wasn’t for…” He pauses, then extends his hand. “I guess what I’m trying to say here is, thank you.”   TITUS HARDIE: His bruised face stiffens. “Theo was old. I think he’d be pretty happy with the way he went. Never could imagine him withering away on a sickbed. But Angus…” He gulps. “He was just a stupid kid. Didn’t realize the mess he’d gotten into… trusted me… Still, the balls on that kid! Went down fighting for someone else’s poo poo like a fat angry bear.” EMPATHY: [Easy: Success] Here it comes. The last one is the worst one. He only deals with it by drinking copious amounts of 8% beer.   TITUS HARDIE: “Well yeah… *memento mori*, right?”  ALAIN: “Absolutely! Today, I’m going to get drunk, eat good food, and bed a good-looking gal, ‘cause tomorrow a motor carriage might run me over…” EUGENE: “Or you might die of a heart failure… Or syphilis?”  TITUS HARDIE: “*First*, we’re gonna find Dennis…” ALAIN: “*I’m* going to find Dennis,” he interjects. “I’m going to find him and then I’m going to kill him.” ARIST: [Medium: Success] Well, uh… so much for saving *that* life!  TITUS HARDIE: “Mhm,” he nods without really listening. “We’re hunting that rat down—let it be known what happens to cowards. And then…” He thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ll take a closer look at our Union members. There’s bound to be some ambitious fellows there who’d love nothing more than advancing social democracy by bustin’ some heads. Might even ask Tibbs if he’s tired of replacing windows and maybe wants to have some fun with his brother.” He pauses. “Anyway, don’t you worry—as long as Titus Hardie’s standing, there *will* be Hardie boys.” LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] From the way Titus has talked about Angus and Tibbs here, you gather that Angus was not actually the third Hardie brother like you seemed to think.  TITUS HARDIE: “Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll be glad if I never see that loving woman again.”  TITUS HARDIE: “Nope.”   TITUS HARDIE: “Judging by the sight of you…” He looks at your bandages. “I’d suggest crawling into bed with a big bottle of whiskey in one hand and a big tit in the other.” ALAIN: “Yeah, go pay Monica a visit in Jamrock. She’s got a knack for making men forget about their worries. Biggest pair of milkers in all of Revachol.” EUGENE: “Hell, you both look like you could use some feminine company right now.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you for your advice, Eugene. And you too, Alain. I do always appreciate a good use of the expression ‘milkers’.” RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] It sincerely amuses him—how hard these guys typecast themselves.  TITUS HARDIE: “Take care, coppers,” he says with a warm smile. “You two look after yourselves now. Death passed on you today, but men don’t get that lucky twice.” ALAIN: He nods to you and then to the lieutenant. “Coppo loco… and the, uh, normal cop, I guess. Good luck in Jamrock. Scars make the best tattoos, they say.” EUGENE: “Thanks for getting involved, guys. Not a lot of cops would step in that line of fire, but you did.” TITUS HARDIE: “And if you ever feel like the uniform is holding you back… I’ve got a few vacancies. You’d make one hard Hardie boy, copper.”  TITUS HARDIE: “I will, coppo. That’s a promise.” He puts his can down. “Now scoot, ‘cause the Hardie boys got some mourning and drinking to do.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Take it easy on the drink. The danger has not passed—this town needs you on your feet.”       So, this thought was bugged for a long-rear end time after launch and just would not pop for any reason until they eventually patched it, which is why it’s suddenly popping now despite us not having really done anything to earn it here.  All right, let’s head up to Klaasje’s room.   KLAASJE’S NOTE: “I’m sorry I hosed everyone over. PS. I didn’t kill him. PPS. Gift upstairs.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I am not drawing my gun… yet. But I don’t like ‘gifts’.” HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] He says he’s not, but his hand moves instinctively toward his holster as he studies the note.        Just a joke, Kim. We’re sober now!     KIM KITSURAGI: “This is ballistics. She’s left a trajectory for us…” The lieutenant tests the thread with his finger. Drawn taut, it rebounds instantly.  VISUAL CALCULUS: It suggests the bullet came from the extreme upper quadrant of possible angles—from a point beyond the roof: B triple prime.    KIM KITSURAGI: “She was there that night—she would have known precisely where the bullet hole was in the glass…” VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] She had a long time to think about it after. Standing on that roof—staring at the glass…  KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know. At this point…” He stops mid-sentence.  KIM KITSURAGI: “So it is.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I just haven’t gotten a lot of sleep these past few days.”  KIM KITSURAGI: The wind blows in from the open window. The lieutenant sighs, looking into the cold distance across the water… LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] The lead is flimsy. You might as well go around Martinaise looking under every rock and talking to every person—but *what else is there*?   KIM KITSURAGI: “Could be the makings of a sniper’s nest…” he nods.     We’re going to the island. It’s the last and only thing we can do for this case now.
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Oct 21, 2020 19:27
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Surely this time Klaasje is telling the truth, and this isn't yet another dead end. Yes, I definitely believe this.
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Oct 21, 2020 20:20
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Anything with this much inevitability has to be true, it makes so much narrative sense
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Oct 23, 2020 04:57
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Chapter 52: 10:19-11:38: Fire Guy Oh? What’s this?     KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant crouches, touching the fuel oil with his finger.  KIM KITSURAGI: “And blood. Some of it is even yours.”    Would not have pegged Interfacing for a pyromaniac, but I guess it makes sense.  One of our side missions for today will be going around to everyone and seeing what they have to say about us getting loving shot. If I don’t cover someone, they had nothing to say.    CUNO: “People. They say you kind of *died* for a moment. That you let your poo poo out already, but then came back. So I guess that’s what’s cool now. Just don’t think coz’ you got half your dick shot off—and you’re an invalid now—Cuno’s gonna treat you different. Cuno doesn’t reward weakness,” he says looking at your pathetic limp. “It’s business as usual with Cuno. Cuno’s cold like that.”       Well goodbye, horrible nightmare children.   TOMMY LE HOMME: “Man, what a day… I missed out on most of the action, but I heard it was quite the encounter.” He nods thoughtfully. “Had a strong sense of *finality* to it.”    TOMMY LE HOMME: “gently caress it,” he shrugs. “I’m a bad guy now. There’s things more important than holding a grudge. It’s okay—you’ve been through enough.”    TOMMY LE HOMME: “Okay…” He seems a little apprehensive. DRAMA: [Easy: Success] Is it… *wise* to share information about the case like this, sire? KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant throws you a quick glance.  ARIST: [Medium: Success] gently caress it. TOMMY LE HOMME: “Whooh… good on her. And good on *you* too, my man. That’s…” He looks for the words… “*Merciful*. Downright merciful—you cops keep exercising *that* muscle and people will be more willing to cooperate, you know.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] He’s clearly relieved.      The dockyard is locked down. Measurehead and his goons are absent, as is the racist lorry driver. That said, we can still go talk to Call Me Mañana.  CALL ME MAÑANA: He shrugs. “There are types of danger. The one I’m usually concerned with is lung cancer, or getting mauled by wildlife. Not… bullets.”    CALL ME MAÑANA: “I’ll be okay here, doing lookout.” He surveys the red flags, draped from the harbour gates. “Quite the sight, aren’t they? Getting to like that red, I am…”   I realize, looking over these shots, that I forgot to check if the Paledriver was out and had new lines, but… not worth going back! She probably didn’t anyway!   PLAISANCE: “Oh my god, even the *police* can’t take care of all this… just look at that limp! Someone should do something about this.” She rubs her pendant between two fingers, thinking. “Maybe… I should close the bookstore and open a *psychic studio*! Yes!” She nods to herself. “It makes sense. Crime is the sixth element, you see. The darkest element.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, what Martinaise really needs is more vigilantes roaming the streets.” ARIST: [Godly: Failure] Wait, poo poo, was that what she was suggesting? Man, you kinda zoned out there. Plaisance is exhausting. PLAISANCE: “Exactly. It’s a brilliant idea. Thank you, officer! I’m going to start drawing up business plans right away.” This should go well!        LOGIC: There isn’t. If only you had more time… more resources… who knows what you could have come up with? Maybe if there had been more money… and less speed… ELECTROCHEMISTRY: [Easy: Success] Or *MORE* speed!  Rats.     COUPRIS KINEEMA: No reply. Only the mindless drone of static, crawling through the air. KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s been this way for a while now.” The lieutenant shrugs. “My guess is, the Union is listening in on our conversations—and jamming outward communications to protect themselves from Krenel.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “No more dangerous than stepping between three armed mercenaries and eight Union men, I hope.” He glances over his shoulder. “I don’t like it either, but that’s the way it is. The streets seem safe enough to me. If anything, taking out the mercs made things calmer. For now…” He flicks off the radio. Silence. “You can try calling again—just don’t mention the tribunal. And remember, they’re listening in.” PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] Everything sounds okay. No drumbeat of total war yet. If anything, everything sounds *too* okay…       WASHERWOMAN: “Aye, even *I* can see that. I told you not to bring your trouble with you, policeman. We’ve got troubles of our own here…”  WASHERWOMAN: She nods. “I’m not sure those were the last of the men with guns, either. There are always more coming for your kind, officer.”         That it has!   Acele is the only person in the church who gives a single poo poo that we’ve been shot. And we have to bring it up first! ACELE: “Ouch.” She looks at your leg. “I did notice you limping, but I thought maybe it was your *thing* or something… When I was sixteen I used to date this guy who had a limp. But it only showed when he was sober, so I guess it wasn’t real or something. I don’t know.” She shrugs, eyes glazed over…  Well, that’s all the people we can talk to about that. Let’s go head over to Lilienne and ask about that boat.     LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: Doesn’t look like nothing. Looks like you got banged up real good. What happened to you anyway? We heard gunshots from the town. They were closer than usual.”  LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “That’s nothing to brag about, officer.” KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s not serious. He’ll be okay.”       KIM KITSURAGI: “Of course, ma’am. It’s only for a day or two—official police business.”    LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “Mhm, used to be some kind of fortification there before the war—for the communards. An anti-aircraft gun, I think. Bombed to bits in the landing… I haven’t been there myself—always steered clear of it.”  LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: My husband used to drink there. Him and his drinking buddies. Always seemed like a bad place to drink to me. People died there during the landing, you know, my mother told me…” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] This must be one of the many fortifications that was used in the dying days of the Revolution. Against Coalition forces—before they took this city.   KIM KITSURAGI: “Can we maybe ask your twins about that place—before we go? Would that be all right?”  LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “Well—most of it’s sunken. Underwater. That means concrete under water—cut your boat if you’re not careful. Be sure to enter from the south side, water’s deep there.”    Let’s talk to the twins again.   LILIENNE’S TWIN: “That’s… uhm… nothing?” The boy pauses to think with his finger in his mouth. It’s just a sea fort and some plants. You can take a raft there. It’s great.” LILIENNE’S OTHER TWIN: “And! And!” the other one butts in. “We make a fire. We make a… we make a fire.” LILIENNE’S TWIN: “Mhm,” his brother nods. “Gather the sticks for the fire—and bullets. Or not real bullets, empty bullets.”   LILIENNE’S TWIN: “There are lights. The fire guy comes and asks us to put the fire out.” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Your nerve endings *sting* from the mention of a *guy*.  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “No,” the boy answers, shaking his head vehemently. LILIENNE’S OTHER TWIN: “Yes,” he says.  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “Because… because…” The boy pauses to think.  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “Uhm… I don’t know. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like people to be there. You shouldn’t go.”  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “I…” starts one of them—it’s hard to tell which one now. “I don’t know.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Did you mean there are *electrical* lights?” He points to the streetlight.  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “No, he doesn’t live there. I don’t think.” LILIENNE’S OTHER TWIN: “No, he lives there.” The other nods. “He’s been there twice, two times.” LILIENNE’S TWIN: “Huh…” The first one pauses to think, then comes to some kind of conclusion. “He doesn’t live there. He isn’t there sometimes.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Anything else? What does this guy look like?”   LILIENNE’S TWIN: “Our father killed himself.”  LILIENNE’S TWIN: “I don’t know…” The boy who made the claim finds himself unsure of it. He looks around. LILIENNE’S OTHER TWIN: The other watches him, brows knitted. “It doesn’t even have anything to do with this, you. Father isn’t the fire guy.”    ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Okay. There’s a fire guy. You’re going to the island, where a fire guy may or may not be waiting for you. Another piece of the picture puzzle falls into place. Hopefully the result is what you’re after.   INLAND EMPIRE: [Easy: Success] Once you get in, that’s it—one pull of the starter handle and you’re off into the bay. A strange trepidation comes over you: are you sure you want to go *now*? SAVOIR FAIRE: [Easy: Success] Have you made all the necessary preparations? Closed all your accounts?   KIM KITSURAGI: “Fine.” He gives you a resigned shrug. “Let’s *blast* Sad FM then.”  Boat Ride (Watch this)        PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] In the silence—a sputter of wings. A flock of quails takes off in the distance…    And so, we’ve made it to the island.     KIM KITSURAGI: “For bringing munitions to the island, maybe? And supplies. You could also *lock* the bay, when you raise the chain.”          PERCEPTION (HEARING): On the islet? There is almost no wind, just the light movement of air through the reeds. Bulrushes swaying on the waterline, long dried leaves chafing against each other.       KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes?”     KIM KITSURAGI: “Insulindian Citizens Militia. It’s the official name of the communards’ army. The Black and White Army of the Revolution.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s impossible to say.” He looks toward the darkened doorway. “It was chaos after the war. The name was good for getting people to join us—Revachol West was mostly workers and criminals…” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] …nice *political* thoughts rush through your neocortex.   KIM KITSURAGI: “No.” He looks at it. “An *upside down* star.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “No. That’s the *uninhabited archipelago.*”  KIM KITSURAGI: “After… He thinks. “44 years? That’s not nearly enough to hide what happened here, lieutenant-yefreitor.”     From here, our only option is to head inside through the nearby door.     KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant puts his hand on the metal barrel, checking for warmth…   KIM KITSURAGI: “Liquid carbon, I would imagine it takes *mazut*.” He points to the open fuel cap on the side of the dynamo. The kind that’s favoured by vagrants and fuel thieves. It’s been a long winter… Long and cold.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “Someone with basic electrical skills has restored it in order to keep the room warm. Maybe it’s the *fire guy*…”           PAIN THRESHOLD: [Medium: Failure] A flash of pain interrupts you, making you wince instead of letting the words out.  ARIST: [Easy: Success] Some sleep… might be nice…    
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Oct 26, 2020 21:42
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Accidentally sleeping until evening when you have things to do. The ultimate pain. 
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Oct 26, 2020 23:57
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Conceptualization is the best headmate.
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Oct 27, 2020 10:55
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Kind of sad you didn't set the words on fire.
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Oct 27, 2020 15:10
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Chapter 53: Someday The Dream Will End ARIST: [Medium: Success] …Kim?        ARIST: [Challenging: Success] ...Wait, what? You’re not actually going to—     ARIST: [Heroic: Success] Oh.  ARIST: And here you stand, in front of Dolores Dei herself. SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] Okay, don’t say you need to ‘talk’ right away. Melt the ice first—this way you’re *already* talking. VOLITION: [Medium: Success] But you don’t even *want* to talk to her! She would only be cold and mean. Let her go. ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Easy: Success] Let her *go*? This is the holy queen of the territories of Mundi and Insulinde! Think of the historic knowledge we could glean! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—to win her back!    DOLORES DEI: “God, Harry…” She shakes her head, her eyebrows knitting together with worry. “You have to take care of yourself. You’re not a young man anymore. If you keep going like this you’ll…” She falls silent.  DOLORES DEI: “I’m sorry. I was heading to the aerodrome, I just don’t have time to…” She stops mid-sentence, glances to her right. Then looks at her bag.  DOLORES DEI: She sighs and looks over her shoulder.    DOLORES DEI: “Oh, this?” She corrects the wreath on her forehead. “This is just a wreath. The Crown of Immortality is made of rareified light, manna and raw palladium. It was passed on to me by the rulers of late antiquity…” She looks at the suitcase, not knowing what more to say, then over her shoulder.  DOLORES DEI: “No, Harry.” She shakes her head sadly. “No. I don’t want a *massive epic showdown*. I want to go to the aerodrome. I have tickets for the 10:20 flight to Mirova…” She looks at you plaintively. “Really… We don’t have anything to talk about anymore. Every combination of words has been played out. The atoms don’t form anymore, us, our love, our unborn daughters… It’s all gone. I have to go to the aerodrome. I have to leave Revachol and you. And you have to be alone—in hell, forever. That’s just the way it is.”    DOLORES DEI: “That’s it, yes,” she looks up from her toes. “We’ve talked about it a million times. You will get over it, just like I did. People do. Things will get good for you again…” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Where? In *HELL*?  RHETORIC: Oh yes! She’ll come around now. I made her love you again, Harry. VOLITION: Are you *stupid*? RHETORIC: She’s about to say something. Here is comes. She’s starting to *love* him again. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Oh buddy, no… DOLORES DEI: Her innocence Dolores Dei fiddles with the handle of her airport bag. She has a *pained* expression on her face. It’s agonizing. VOLITION: See?! She isn’t saying anything! RHETORIC: I don’t understand. It was… she herself said… DOLORES DEI: “We were bad for each other, okay? I was bad for you. Can you not see, I’m *bad*? I had to stop, I couldn’t just turn into a bad person… You *will* get better. It just takes some time. For you, I think it will take something like… twenty years maybe? It was hard for me too, you know—I used to think I couldn’t live without you…” She looks you straight in the eye—her irises are light blue, flecked with green. “But—I can.”        DOLORES DEI: “Oh my god, Harry! Stop. I don’t want to hear anything about *the mourning*, mourning someone who’s still alive—*any of that*!  DOLORES DEI: “Wasn’t I Dolores Dei just a second ago? Now I’m the *ex-thing*… You’re confusing me. Look, I have to be at the Lausanne Aerodrome at 10:20 PM. I still have a light rail to catch…” She keeps glancing over her shoulder nervously. “I haven’t even bought the tickets yet…”  ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Everyone.  DOLORES DEI: She sighs with frustration: “My friends are waiting for me on the platorm. I can’t let them wait—it’s impolite.”    DOLORES DEI: “Call me like that…”  DOLORES DEI: “Oh, Harry? Do you really think so? We haven’t talked in *years*… I don’t want to call you. I don’t want to hear from you. I think of you less and less every year, weeks go buy without me remembering you… Months already. Soon it will be years. Every season that passes the lights get less clear. I sit there, in Mirova—in the holy gratitude of my bliss—I put my hand on my belly and *smile*…” The air gets cold around you. She looks down on her stomach, then up at you. Her eyes are full of tremendous distance and mystery. HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] The DEATH BLOW is coming.       DOLORES DEI: “Oh no, no-no-no-no.” She shakes her head. “We’re not doing that again.”   DOLORES DEI: “See?” She smiles—as if a weight is lifted off her shoulders.  DOLORES DEI: “Yes, Harry. I am. Things have gotten *much* better for me—now that I am the ruler of the known world…” she pulls up the silvery sleeve of her gown, to check the time. “Oh god, it’s already so late, I have to *go*, Harry.”    DOLORES DEI: She looks at headless FALN rider between your fingers and doesn’t know what to say.  REACTION SPEED: Yes. I thought it would be good. SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] A form of communication where words have failed? REACTION SPEED: Yes.    DOLORES DEI: “We both said a lot of things. We were very young.”  DOLORES DEI: “As *queen regnant* I write a lot of letters.” She brushes a strand of white hair out of her eye.       DOLORES DEI: “Very well,” she sighs. “I wrote it. It was morning, you slept. There was hoarfrost on the ground when I left. On Voyager Road. It was autumn, the first autumn. But Harry, please understand—it was a million years ago. No… it was *a hundred million years ago*. I was someone else then—filled to the brim with love for you. Hanging on your every word. Oh Harry, you were the *coolest*… But I am no longer that person. This…” She points to herself. “…has taken her place. It will devour you. Harry—I will eat your mind.”  DOLORES DEI: “The coolest…” She closes her eyes: “With your leather jacket and your boot cut pants. Smoking in the bus stop. I wanted you to be the rest of my life that day. And you were—some of it, at least. You were my first. My first kiss, my first time to have sex.”  DOLORES DEI: “Yes. Let’s talk about that too.” She nods. “Let’s bring it up—the zoo. In Le Jardin. The day we went Easy of the river. To the aquarium first… I was sad about my mother. I don’t even know why. The shimmer of the fish tank on my face, the octopuses…”    DOLORES DEI: “And my Crown of Immortality? No.” She shakes her head. “You scared her out of me. With your crying, your…” She stops. “The awful time we wound up having. In the cheap rental flats you could afford… Can’t you see—I can never think you’re cool again. I can only think that way about *new* people.”  DOLORES DEI: “Yes. I have found someone. For whom I can feel the same—a copy of my love for you, only this time he is careful and rich. He will not lose me. It will go somewhere. It will grow…” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Your heart burns. Through the blackness you feel the treacle of blood on the mattress below you…    DOLORES DEI: “There.” She points across the water, into the darkness. “You could not pay the electrical bill. It became a lightless tomb. The years you spent training for the militia, my parents’ money… It was not good.”    DOLORES DEI: “That is *very* contested by modern historians,” she tramples her little feet for warmth and adds: “Very contested. Plus… You’re only saying this because things didn’t work out between us. I have to go to the aerodrome now. I don’t have time to defend myself from these accusations.”   DOLORES DEI: She shakes her head. “I am actually very ordinary, Harry. Below this gown and wreath I have an ordinary souls and ordinary thoughts. The only thing inhuman about me is this…” She looks around.  DOLORES DEI: “My lungs do not *glow*, Harry. I am just like all the others. None of us have glowing lungs—stop making me into some kind of…”  DOLORES DEI: No answer. The arches of her brows quiver as she looks you in the eye and backs away from you… EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] You won’t do any of that. You can barely make her cry. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] All the roads will miss her footsteps when she’s gone from here.   ARIST: No…       DOLORES DEI: Her chest rising like a pillow, warm exhalations against the side of your mouth—her tender soul moving through her lungs.    DOLORES DEI: Her hand does not return the grip. Her body is rigid. A current of unease courses through it.        DOLORES DEI: “No, Harry. Not yet. There is one more thing you have to see…” She slides her hands down her chest, and onto her lower stomach. And smiles.  DOLORES DEI: “Yes. He did it.” She looks down at her belly, then up into your old eyes…  DOLORES DEI: “Now, go ahead…” She wipes her palms into the silk of her gown. “…ask me more questions. Let’s talk about *something else*.”  DOLORES DEI: “I *have* to, Harry. Really, I’ve already missed the 8:30…” Her fingers wrap around the bag handle. “I’m gonna go now…”   DOLORES DEI: “Light, life, *culture*… It’s so much better than here. Everything here reminds me of you, and the horrible times we had. The nights we stayed up fighting for our dying love.”      DOLORES DEI: “Right here. Tomorrow night. Once this dream starts happening it keeps happening—three times a week. At least. And Harry, it really, really looks like it’s started *happening* again. There’s the video rental…”  DOLORES DEI: “Oh, yes. This is real darkness. It’s not death, or war, or child molestation. Real darkness has love for a face. The first death is in the heart, Harry.” 
Arist fucked around with this message at 17:52 on Oct 29, 2020 |
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Oct 28, 2020 21:13
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Ah. I can see why failing that pain threshold check may have been a Bad Thing given our current situation.
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Oct 29, 2020 03:00
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the long string of the most brutal sequences. Hard to really convey how rough these scenes are if you aren't playing the game yourself but good lord God willing it's not so dire in future
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Oct 29, 2020 03:59
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This whole sequence is so brilliantly done. Talk about showing instead of telling, instead of just saying how Harry put his ex on a pedestal, we get this whole dream-logic association conflating Dora with this world's most important historical figure. And we get the whole weird pointless questline with the figures, to show off his obsessed brain clinging to some broken bizarre game logic. And all the different dialogue trees and minutia to delve into, all equally pointless as we get to discover for ourselves, and Harry gets to re-discover for himself, how much he's spinning his wheels dwelling on the same poo poo over and over. I love the skills sounding just as confused and pained as Harry, and arguing amongst themselves as Volition reacts in disgust. I love the way Dora's dialogue is done, sometimes sounding realistic like it could be something she really said once, sometimes sounding like an exaggerated reflection of how Harry must be bitterly imagining her trying to twist the knife on purpose, sometimes playing into the Dolores Dei character but only to rub it in further the difference between them, and how unfair things feel. It makes this dream feel so incredibly real, an accurate depiction of how Harry would inaccurately depict her.
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Oct 29, 2020 04:21
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This entire sequence just had me in a constant state of "Oh, Harry, no...  "
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Oct 29, 2020 05:51
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haha well we've all been there, right?
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Oct 29, 2020 05:57
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It would be extremely on brand for us to not wake up, but I know we're going to. Kim's watching and he seems like the kind of guy not to fail the check to notice we're in a rapidly spreading pool of blood.
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Oct 29, 2020 06:24
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Arist posted:[i]ARIST: No… Bifauxnen posted:I love the skills sounding just as confused and pained as Harry, and arguing amongst themselves as Volition reacts in disgust. Xander77 fucked around with this message at 08:13 on Oct 29, 2020 |
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Oct 29, 2020 08:11
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Xander77 posted:Trying to walk away before the conversation even starts results in one of Volition's best lines. Please tell me you have a screencap ready, this has gotta be good
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Oct 29, 2020 08:14
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Can you avoid this dream if you just throw away the letter in the secret compartment and don't make the phone call etc? Or do you get railroaded?
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Oct 29, 2020 12:33
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CountryMatters posted:Can you avoid this dream if you just throw away the letter in the secret compartment and don't make the phone call etc? Or do you get railroaded?
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Oct 29, 2020 12:41
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Xander77 posted:Yes. You also don't have to go to sleep period (which, imo, is a poor decision on the developers part) That's good. I was a bit worried from the way the dialogue is phrased here that no matter what you were going to get forced into having Harry relapse and be a sadsack abusive prick forever.
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Oct 29, 2020 13:21
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Xander77 posted:Trying to walk away before the conversation even starts results in one of Volition's best lines. Bifauxnen posted:Please tell me you have a screencap ready, this has gotta be good I don't have a screencap, but... it doesn't work. The next line starts with "...is what you *want* to say, but you don't", and Volition has a heartbreaking comment along the lines of "I'm useless. Everything I've told you is lies. I want all the same things you want. To stand here like a pillar of salt and ask..." followed by the question prompts. None of your skills handle this conversation well at all, not even your noblest one.
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Oct 30, 2020 05:42
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Meiteron posted:None of your skills handle this conversation well at all, not even your noblest one. On the contrary, Pain Threshold loves it!
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Nov 1, 2020 11:31
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"I know you still love me." (Kiss her) is one of the most disheartening dialogue options I've ever seen.
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Nov 8, 2020 21:40
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Chapter 54: 13:10-13:31: Island Time     KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant nods solemnly.     Put a point into Reaction Speed and continue.    READING MATERIALS: Most are softcovers: serialized *fantastique* and detective stories from the Twenties and Thirties. This disparate digest includes the classic “Animal Adventures.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Popular depictions of man versus nature by amateur naturalists T. and T. Harpin (husband and wife). Widely read by people from all walks of life. Who doesn’t like nature? Who doesn’t want to *survive*? READING MATERIALS: Among what is mostly commercial fiction and serialized stories, you find a “Magazine Cathodique” for electrical engineering. Then it’s back to pulp: light erotica, an international thriller about circuit benders…    CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe it’s a little old-fashioned? There’s a nude mag? More than that, you can’t say.     KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at the door, then at its bigger brother, then at the lock… “Maybe this is one of the doors we *don’t* open?”         KIM KITSURAGI: “Possibly…” He inspects the dials. “‘Urgence—Ouvert!,’ ‘Allumer,’ ‘Radiodiffusé.’ It sounds like this device was used to control the electronics here. Maybe it still does?”  KIM KITSURAGI: Nothing happens. “We need to restore power before using this, officer. The generator…” He looks upstairs. “It didn’t look like there was fuel in it.”    KIM KITSURAGI: “But, officer,” he looks you in the eye, “then we would have to *swim* back to the mainland. Let’s just look around, okay.”   FELD “INSULAR” CONSOLE: The dial slides under the glass, silently. You make out defunct stations on the UKV frequency. The words “FELD INSULAR” are written on the band.    ARIST: [Medium: Success] Nuts. Whatever, just go look outside for some fuel.              Found some!  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Out of a diseased curiosity, you head over to the spot from your dream where you walked on the water…  INLAND EMPIRE: Perhaps there’s someone there? Under the water. Waiting for you.   INLAND EMPIRE: Yes, yes, yes, yes.  INLAND EMPIRE: In the still mirror of the bay you see Martinaise, reflected. Tall edifices of ruins reach into the water, like shimmering towers. And the shacks too. Pine trees and motor lorries, upside down…    ARIST: [Easy: Success] Just head back to the generator. There’s nothing for you here.  KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant assists you, holding the canister up to the fuel as you tilt. Dark brown viscous fluid pours out and the room fills with a chemical smell.  MICROGRID GENERATOR: The recoil start wakes the old generator up. The machine sputters like an old war horse before settling down to a rattle.  Now back to the console…  KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s on…” He smiles. “Turn: emergency, open.”      KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know.”     We put a point into Inland Empire.    INLAND EMPIRE: [Formidable: Success] As you step outside, you can feel it waiting, feel it getting closer with every ragged limp. It’s here…    ARIST: You see the smoke before you see the man—totally unfamiliar in all respects—through the reeds. You approach cautiously. REACTION SPEED: Huh? Who the hell is this? INLAND EMPIRE: The ultimate despair.
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Nov 14, 2020 18:47
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I am aware that I missed something important in the area with the gas can. Don't worry about it.
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Nov 14, 2020 18:47
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Arist posted:Don't worry about it.
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Nov 14, 2020 19:34
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Inland Empire really doesn't want to keep going without our good friend Horrific Necktie, does he?
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Nov 16, 2020 08:27
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Chapter 55: 13:32-15:09: The Final Missing Piece THE DESERTER: …then spits it out into the extinguished fire before him. He raises his black eyes, hooded by creased eyelids, to meet yours. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Unclouded by cataracts—his eyesight is sharp.   THE DESERTER: “I may have. All sorts of little rats have come sniffing around, trying to give up the position…” SAVOIR FAIRE: [Medium: Success] The *position*? Sounds like a hiding place…     THE DESERTER: “Reactionary rock and roll music.” He gestures north. “Playing on the water.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I did.”  THE DESERTER: “Sad FM, huh? I always hated that station. Phlegmatic, counter-revolutionary dirges… Sadness is a mental illness, a weapon of the bourgeoisie.”   THE DESERTER: “It’s a Triangong 4-46.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] South-east Samaran-made. Exotic. Must be defunct too. No modern rifle manufacturer of that name springs to mind. KIM KITSURAGI: “It was sent to us by our brothers in the Hsin-Yao Commune. Military aid.” He pats the rifle.   THE DESERTER: “Yes, I bet you’ve killed a lot of people with it…” His eyes narrow. “…you fascist *gently caress*. Have you come to make me one of them?” His grip on the rifle tightens. COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] His right eye twitches—with what? Fear? Rage? KIM KITSURAGI: “We have *come* to ask you questions, nothing more.” The lieutenant puts his hand on his holster. “If you do not comply, we will take you in. Do you understand?”  KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant pulls his pistol from the holster. THE DESERTER: “You’re a glorified night-watchman.” He looks you in the eye. “This is a service rifle. I can only lay it down before an enemy commander of corresponding rank.”     THE DESERTER: “A big wheel of the 4th Regiment of the pederast army.” He sighs. “To hell with it. It’s a walking stick anyway…”   THE DESERTER: The rifle’s in a shabby state, like a crutch that’s seen too much travel. Hieroglyphs are embossed into the forearm made of walnut.  KIM KITSURAGI: “No one said it had to be a Belle-Magrave…” The lieutenant does not take his eyes off the old man. “We were just guessing.” VISUAL CALCULUS: From ballistics, it could easily have been a Triangong too.  KIM KITSURAGI: “The right type and the right calibre,” the lieutenant nods—glancing at the gun.   REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Some kind of involuntary response? Something is slightly off with his motorics…  THE DESERTER: “My name…” He looks across the water, then back at you: “…is Iosef Lilianovich Dros, Political Commissar of the 114th Anti-Aircraft Division of the 4th Army of the Commune of Revachol. I am a deserter, a partisan, and a prisoner of war. This is my termless surrender.” His eyes turn to the reeds again, dead and dull. KIM KITSURAGI: “The Commune of Revachol…” The lieutenant forgets to close his mouth. “Do you mean the ICM? You’re a holdover form the…” THE DESERTER: “From the Insulindian Citizens Militia—the Army of the Revolution. I was recruited in Jamrock in ‘07, trained in the Ecole de Contrôle Aérien and consigned to emergency defence duties in ‘08. I left my unit on the eve of the Landing. When I returned here on May 14th the Commune has fallen. Still armed—and *ideologically trained*—I wrote a criticism of myself. And resumed partisan duties.”  THE DESERTER: “No.” He looks into the fire—a wisp of smoke rises from somewhere between the charred logs. “I’ve been on other islands too.”   THE DESERTER: “It’s not how a human being should live, but I had to…” He grimaces, clearly in pain. “…I couldn’t just forget. I couldn’t just forget what I saw.”  THE DESERTER: He nods. VOLITION: But he can now. KIM KITSURAGI: “What have you been doing during all this time?” THE DESERTER: “Hiding, fishing, waiting…” He looks across the water. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] Where the afternoon grows late. On Rue-de Saint-Ghislaine people walk home, streetlights will soon be lit. Further inland the streets are alive with workers: men, women, children. Streethawks and migrant labourers. The temperature is steady. Altocumulus clouds form above Precinct 41. ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] 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. 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.  THE DESERTER: “For her to return.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Her, who?”   THE DESERTER: “A waste.” He blinks his black eyes. “The material base for an uprising has eroded, the working class has betrayed mankind and themselves…”   THE DESERTER: “You could say I misunderstood the historic role of the proletariat, and thought Mazovian socio-economics were fallible. For a second I doubted the irreducible laws of historic materialism.”    THE DESERTER: “It’s the same thing… you haven’t seen *it*. Not really—not naked. It’s impossible not to be afraid.” RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] It remains unclear what *it* is. He makes leaps he doesn’t expect you to follow. KIM KITSURAGI: “And this was… when?” The lieutenant instinctively looks to his notebook, but does not take it out.  THE DESERTER: “The combined might of international capital, all at once—all the greed and terror in the world—tore into Revachol. It lifted streets from the ground and turned houses into ghosts. We were in the flak tower…” He gestures toward it. “…huddled on the floor. The artillery was eighty kilometres away in Ozonne but I *knew*, I knew the Commune would fall. We would all be turned into ash. So I said I was going to the map room…” He looks east.   THE DESERTER: “Airships. I climbed out.” He closes his eyes: “Into hell. The Landing was complete. The chain was submerged, I had to swim back. The fortress was half-submerged too. Shattered.”  THE DESERTER: “The mask of humanity fall from capital. It has to take it off to kill everyone—everything you love; all the hope and tenderness in the world. It has to take it off, just for one second. To do the deed.”      THE DESERTER: “Coalition military called it Operation *Death Blow*.” He winces. “I later found out, on the radio. They called it…”      THE DESERTER: “Supplies, vegetables…” He winces. “I collect rainwater. It’s the life of a dog, not a human being.” He coughs once more, then puts his hand on his belly… KIM KITSURAGI: “How is your health, Mr. Dros?” THE DESERTER: “I’ve been throwing up blood since winter. Red, like beet root—been passing it in stool too…” VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: Success] He does seem frail, gaunt for his age, more like 75 than 65. Trouble putting on weight could mean cancer. KIM KITSURAGI: “The RCM can provide medical services. You need to be looked over.”    THE DESERTER: “I haven’t. I have holes in my brain. Years missing, others filled with pain only. A decade of…” His eyes roll into his skull and back.  THE DESERTER: “No wonder. All your minds are rotting from the radio waves…” He nods toward Martinaise. “I watched the *traitors* of this city turn the lights back on. More and more each year. Ruins, glittering in the dark, like a loving merry-go-round… It’s disgusting…” He looks down at his shoes; his face parched from the sun and the wind—there’s a wince of pain in there somewhere.  THE DESERTER: “It was hard into ‘10s…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t have partisan training, they were searching for stragglers, those bloodhounds…” He closes his eyes. “Floodlights on the water at night.” KIM KITSURAGI: “There were posters. Campaigns.” THE DESERTER: “We communards still hopes and they needed to snuff that hope out. The East capitulated, Martinaise and Coal City were turned to dust…” He looks south. “But Jamrock, Fauborg, even Couron; and Boogie Street of course—those loving kipts had Mazov coursing through their veins…”  THE DESERTER: “At night. I used a dinghy…” He nods toward the deflated tire in the reeds. “I only went after dark then. When I got to the city I stayed underground. Patrols. You lot. The commons too, they’d started snitching…” KIM KITSURAGI: “In the city you move underground?”  THE DESERTER: “I don’t want to. They’re all traitors—pigs, rabbits, and dogs. Men without ideals are only animals.”   THE DESERTER: “I know.” KIM KITSURAGI: “So you’ve been there?” THE DESERTER: “Sleeping…” He coughs. “Some nights. Ammo-scrounging on others. Those Magraves were poo poo even before they corroded—some had bullets in the chamber, however.”  THE DESERTER: “The propaganda bunker?” He coughs. “I used to, but not anymore.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Propaganda bunker?”     RHETORIC: [Formidable: Success] You can’t possibly be this naïve. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Hey, whose side are you on!? THE DESERTER: He stares at you coldly. “You’re the RCM—you represent the Moralist International, the enemies of humanity, who took this city. I represent their adversary, le Parti communiste d’Insulinde. Take me to them as a prisoner of war. I have relinquished my weapon, I can no longer serve. No superiors can relive me of my duty, you bulldozed them all to a mass grave for trying to free humanity…” His hand shakes and he breaks into a coughing fit. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] A spray of blood from his mouth, on the black charcoal in the firepit…  THE DESERTER: “Liberal reactionaries signed that instrument—traitors, who should have been burned alive…” He draws his breath. “I answer to the Communist Party.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Is that part of why you’ve been here all this time? Because the Party didn’t surrender?”     THE DESERTER: The old man does not answer. He tilts his silver head and looks at the reeds—you see a small tremor pass through his legs. KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant speaks softly. “His job was to assure the army answers to civilian control—and follows the ideology of the commune.” THE DESERTER: “Scientific communism!” The tracksuit-clas old man is suddenly reanimated. “A *commisaire politique* is a knight-philosopher of the Revolution, a future human.” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Awakened from shutdown by the promise of *ideology*.      KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective.” The lieutenant gives you a stern look. “We have not come here to discuss ideology.” He then turns to the old man. “We have come to ask questions regarding a murder investigation.” THE DESERTER: The old man spits into the fire pit. He does not say anything more. A hitter passes his lower body… COMPOSURE: [Challenging: Success] The expression on his face is unreadable. There’s some sort of interference there… neurological?   THE DESERTER: “I’ve used it for killing people.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Killing people?” THE DESERTER: “It’s a gun. That’s what they’re for. You want a moralist euphemism—defending your family and your property? I haven’t done that. I’ve used it to kill people.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Interesting.” The lieutenant nods. “During, or *after* the War?” THE DESERTER: “There is no *after* the war.” He shakes his head and smiles, his teeth rotten black: “Class war is never over.” LOGIC: [Easy: Success] So he’s continued killing *after* hostilities ended. Okay, okay…  REACTION SPEED: This is what you *live* for. This is *the poo poo*. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: The great serotonin jackpot.  RHETORIC: [Easy: Success] Go in straight, no euphemisms, he doesn’t like those… HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Easy: Success] No-no. Be careful now, slow and steady does it. Make him repeat it first. ARIST: [Easy: Success] You’re not really sure why your hand/eye coordination is giving you conversational advice right now, but you push the thought aside. HAND/EYE COORDINATION: I have useful things to contribute too!  THE DESERTER: Nothing comes to you. Silence, his black eyes look at you.  SHIVERS: ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS. KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective?” The lieutenant turns to you, with well disguised impatience.  THE DESERTER: “What did I just say…” He keeps shaking his head, erratically suddenly. He brushes something out of his eye…  ARIST: You were saying? HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Aww… THE DESERTER: “I don’t *want* to tell you anything, you grotesque murderer.”  THE DESERTER: “The who now?” He leans in and cups his ear.  THE DESERTER: “Oh yes… that one,” he looks up at the sky and clicks his tongue. “Ugly piece of work, that boy…” KIM KITSURAGI: “Did you *kill* him?” The lieutenant takes a sudden step toward him.  LOGIC: [Easy: Success] Exhaust him with proof. Pile it all on him, get a confession. HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] The gun. The murder weapon is the perfect opener. PERCEPTION (SMELL: [Trivial: Success] The scent of blood in the air… but what else? There was something you can’t remember…  THE DESERTER: “Heh…” KIM KITSURAGI: “Not a lot of guns around that use military grade ammunition, are there?” THE DESERTER: “It’s a real gun,” he points to the lieutenant’s holster, “not like your little musketeer pistols. I’ve seen you prance around with those, jumping hoops for the liberals… You look like imbeciles. Why don’t you ask them to give you real weapons, huh?” He chortles. “Going against automatic rifles with a *flame bomb*… of course you got all those boys killed!” HALF LIGHT: [Easy: Success] drat, he saw you. He’s watched it happen.   THE DESERTER: “None of those people mean *anything* to you. The vultures feed on this city and you prepare the meal for them.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] You’re getting diverted. Push the gun. Only the gun matters. KIM KITSURAGI: “So you watched the fight?” The lieutenant points inland. “Did you like what you saw? The mayhem? It was all your doing. Your plan. *You* got them killed.”       We put that point we just got into Rhetoric.  THE DESERTER: “Murder…” The old man does not say more—he just glances into the reeds and then twitches once more… VOLITION: [Formidable: Success] Like a marionette, on some invisible string…   LOGIC: Who cares—there were may bells in the grass when you got her! And on Klaasje’s balcony!  REACTION SPEED: You got it! Remember, the boot prints were like no *modern* sole… ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] Maybe don’t beat yourself any more though? You’re not immortal… KIM KITSURAGI: Nothing else comes up. You see the lieutenant watch you try to stimulate thought processes by hitting yourself.  THE DESERTER: “Almost *where?* Almost ready to bleed to death?” He looks at the bloodstain on your pant leg…   Okay, let’s talk to the lieutenant.  ARIST: [Medium: Success] You’re fairly certain that Dros can still hear you.    KIM KITSURAGI: “Good.” He nods. “We’re doing very good. He *wants* to confess—I can see that. We just need to pile it on, a little more—the more we have on him the closer he is…”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Ballistics. Let him cook here for a minute or two—we can have another look around the island for a sniper’s nest.” He looks to the small tower on the coast. “I think we should check out the post.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Remember,” the lieutenant whispers. “He wants to tell us—but he doesn’t want to *help* us. It needs to looks like we already have everything.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There is palpable excitement in his tone. He likes him for this—*a lot*. But there’s something more too…    Okay, let’s return to the tower and see if we missed anything when we picked up the gas can.  ARIST: [Trivial: Success] Oh, hey, look at that. A huge loving *mattress* just laying in the middle of a cold tower next to some firing slits. How the hell’d you miss this, idiot?  MATTRESS NEST: A single-person mattress. Modern, civilian use. Brand name: Marjorie. There’s a fuel stain on the cover, along with cigarette burns.  PERCEPTION (SIGHT): The silhouette of a tobacco picker adorns the paper filter. The brand: Tioumoutiri.     MATTRESS NEST: The springs screech as you lean on the mattress and crane your neck to look out… INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Trepidation. A tingling feeling in your stomach.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Do you have line of sight to the window?”  KIM KITSURAGI: “A pair of binoculars? Or the scope of a *rifle*?” He points to the makeshift bed. “You’d be prone, lying on the mattress, barrel resting on the embrasure…”       EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] The lieutenant pauses. Regret comes over him.   We put a point into Logic, and get ready to return to the deserter. This time, we’ve got him for sure.
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Nov 17, 2020 19:32
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It was all some unrelated guy that just shows up at the end? Not what I was expecting
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Nov 18, 2020 13:49
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CountryMatters posted:It was all some unrelated guy that just shows up at the end? Not what I was expecting It's not over yet, but even if it all ends up being him it still makes sense to me - there's a lot of themes of history and path dependency in the game, and the idea that "the past isn't even past." Having the killing be a holdover from the war makes sense.
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Nov 18, 2020 19:29
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Is this it? Did we really find the perp?
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Nov 18, 2020 19:42
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| # ? Jun 7, 2024 00:24 |
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What a hardcore partisan.
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Nov 18, 2020 19:58
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