Chapter Text
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Nothing.
There is nothing. Only warm, primordial blackness…
YOU - Arby...
Shuddup and lemme sleep.
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Excuse me?
YOU – Look, mister. I just came from a ten-hour shift, so stop the doom n' gloom and let. Me. Sleep.
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - But brother-man, I worked so hard on this nightmare! It’s made from the finest ingredients, drawn up from the cool, dark cellar of your subconscious...
LIMBIC SYSTEM - As your filthy meat-bag sleeps like the dead, a flicker of terror flashes through dreams. Your muscles tense, your jaw tightens, your teeth grind against each other like sharp, scraping, stones…
YOU – Hey! Stop that, you hissy bitch, or I'm gonna sic Volition on you!
AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Or me.
YOU - Or him!
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - ...Alright. Fine. We’ll let you off easy.
LIMBIC SYSTEM - We are?
ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Only for tonight.
LIMBIC SYSTEM - …Yes. Only for—
YOU - Deal. Now, fuck off.
INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Your subconscious goes quiet. Sleep laps at the edges of your consciousness. You go under…
PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Trivial: Success] – BRRRIIIIIING!!! BRRRRINGGG!!!! The shrill ringing of your telephone drags you back to the waking world.
YOU - Groaning, you flop to your side and cover your ears with your pillow.
VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Answer it. You won't forgive yourself if you don't.
LOGIC - Because even if the caller deserves to die a slow, painful death for calling you at shit-o'-clock, it's probably an emergency.
HALF-LIGHT - A murder. A kidnapping. A hostage-taking situation.
YOU – You sigh. "Goddammit.”
HAND-EYE COORDINATION [Formidable: Success] - Pillow still firmly planted on your face, you reach over to your bedside table and blindly hunt for the phone. Cold plastic meets your fingers. You yank the receiver to your ear.
YOU - “Good morning, please die.”
GRAVELLY VOICE - “Fuck-a-doodle-doo to you too, shitkid."
PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Formidable: Success] - That's the voice of a man who finished his shift at 22:30, got home at 23:00, stared at his ceiling for two hours, and got a phone call at 2:00.
EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - You suddenly feel a wave of pity for the poor soul who had to call Jean.
JEAN VICQUEMARE - “Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, but something’s come up. We need you down here in Martinaise ASAP.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - The once-great district of Martinaise is a sprawling jungle of firetraps known for its dockyards and its pornographic poverty.
YOU - You squint at the clock.
“The fuck’s going on in Martinaise at 4 AM?”
JEAN VICQUEMARE - “Oh, you know," he sing-songs. "The usual shit. Drunk dockworkers. Smoke-belching lorries. A goddamned motor carriage that looks like it crash-landed into the ocean.”
REACTION SPEED [Trivial: Success] - Well, that escalated quickly.
YOU - “Casualties?”
JEAN VICQUEMARE - A beat. Then, “Maybe."
INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] – Two corpses—a man and a woman—lie within a crumpled hulk of metal beneath the ocean. The current strokes their crushed scalps with motherly fingers.
JEAN VICQUEMARE – “So are you coming, or do I have to go over there and drag your ass out of bed?”
DRAMA [Easy: Success] – That is not an empty threat, my liege. As you know from experience.
YOU - “Fine,” you mumble against the pillow. “I’ll be there in forty-five.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE - “Great. Bring your camera, 'cause I didn't bring shit.”
The call ends with a click.
EMPATHY [Easy: Success] – The satellite officer’s sleep deprived, so he’s grouchier than usual. Buy him a cup of coffee on the way to Martinaise.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – Coffee’s for pansies! You haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in years, and you’re doing great!
ENDURANCE – You also won’t live to see fifty if you keep up this excellent sleep schedule. But don’t tell Coach I said that.
YOU– You flick on the lamp and stumble out of bed.
CORKBOARD OF PRIDE - The lamp casts an island of yellow light around the room, illuminating a neat bachelor’s pad. A writing desk leans against one wall, right below a corkboard full of tacked-on notes, photographs, receipts, letters, and other post-able paraphernalia that you've accumulated over the years. Four post-its have the words, "THE END IS NIGH" scribbled on them in black, capital letters. You do not remember when or why you wrote them.
PERCEPTION [Medium: Success]- Your eyes land on a photo tacked onto the bottom-left corner of the board. A photo of Precinct 41's Major Crimes Division, which you've had the honor of leading for the past ten years.
SPECIAL CRIMES UNIT (MAY ‘50) - There are 21 officers in that photo. Captain Ptolemy Pryce rears up in the middle, a scarred pillar of dignity and strength. You and Jean stand on either side of him, dressed in your Perseus Blacks. Beside you, Chester McLaine makes a funny face at the camera while his partner, Mack Torson, strikes a bodybuilder's pose that shows off his bulging biceps. Trant Heidelstam beams over Jean's shoulder like the sun peeking over a black mountain. You see other faces: Judit Minot, Joe Mills, Hank McCoy, Sundance Fischer, Jules Pidieu, Nix Gottlieb, G-Bevy...
ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - You would die for each one of those faces in that photo. And they would do the same for you.
VOLITION - In other news, you have exactly 15 minutes to look like a functional human being. So get moving!
YOU – You gaze at your bed wistfully.
I should’ve just been a gym teacher forever. I could’ve had summer vacations, spring breaks, snow days...
ENDURANCE – Sorry, boss, but have you looked into a mirror lately? Feel anything heavy around the belly area? Like, let's say, a formidable layer of fat that you’ve accumulated from a balanced diet of kebab, shawarmas, and burritos, and having a bottle of beer every other day after work?
AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Your brilliance would’ve been wasted in teaching. The world's greatest detective, teaching snot-nosed punks how to dribble a ball!
CONCEPTUALIZATION - It would have been like using a sword to smear butter on toast. Or using a diamond as a paper weight.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Oh, remember that parent-teacher conference with that broad, Mrs. Thompson? You might as well have been buck naked, the way she was ogling you—
YOU - Okay, okay! I get it! Glad to be a cop! Woohoo!
BATHROOM MIRROR – The bathroom smells of mint toothpaste and aftershave. Your haggard face stares back at you from the mirror. There are puffy bags under your eyes and pillow creases on your right cheek.
COMPOSURE - Your moustache and mutton chops need trimming too. But you still look like an affable lion, not a prophet of the Apocalypse.
YOU - Stifling a yawn, you grab your toothbrush, smear toothpaste on it, and start scrubbing away.
Right, boys. Anyone got anything for me this fine morning?
HALF-LIGHT - Bring the camera if you want to live.
ENDURANCE – And a pair of gloves, ammonia, and an empty stomach. Unless you want to puke your guts out during the field autopsy.
YOU - You wince at the idea of touching cold, dead, human flesh again.
INLAND EMPIRE - These two will not surrender their secrets easily. They are formidable, even in death.
SAVOIR FAIRE - Don't forget to practice the Expression!
YOU - Of course. What kind of disco cop would I be if I didn't do that?
LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - A normal cop.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Challenging: Failure] - A boring cop.
COMPOSURE [Challenging: Failure] - A sorry cop.
YOU – Shuddering at those horrible options, you take a shower, dry yourself off, and march back to your room to perform one of the most sacred duties of your day.
SAVOIR FAIRE [Easy: Success] - It is time...
To pick out your outfit!
LOGIC [Easy: Success] – Wear the Interisolary Dress Shirt. You'll need the extra brainpower to connect the dots, given how sleep-deprived you are.
YOU - Done. Coat or blazer?
ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - The Disco-Ass Blazer has never failed you.
YOU - Blazer it is. Pants?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Buddy, I cannot emphasize how important it is that you wear those Flare-Cut Trousers today. Like. Trust me on this.
YOU - Why? Am I seducing anyone today?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - My lips are sealed. Zipped.
... But for the love of all that is good and holy, YES, you'd better seduce a certain someone today!
YOU - What's he going on about?
LOGIC [Legendary: Failure] - No clue.
INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Failure] - Absolutely no idea.
YOU - Shrugging, you take out the pants from the cabinet and put them on.
Alright, what about the shoes?
COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] - The Green Snakeskins will help you keep a straight face while talking to those dead bodies.
YOU - Your eyes drift to the pile of ties lying in a box at the bottom of your cabinet. A kaleidoscopic piece of cloth slouches on top of the pile like a polyester oil slick.
INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Yes. Definitely. Absolutely.
YOU – You pick up the tie and drape it around your neck.
HORRIFIC NECKTIE – Salutations, bratushka! We gonna to talk to dead people again?
YOU - That's the plan.
HORRIFIC NECKTIE - I'm gonna make 'em sing. What are you waiting for? Let's go!
YOU - Through your own free will (and absolutely not because your necktie told you so), you close your wardrobe, swipe your bag from behind the door, and grab the camera from your desk.
SAVOIR FAIRE - Wait! Expression practice!!!
YOU – Whoops! Sorry, Savvy!
BATHROOM MIRROR - You rush back into the bathroom and inflict your best impression of Guillaume le Million onto the mirror.
DRAMA [Trivial: Success] - Behold, my liege! Your majestic, utterly captivating visage!!!
SAVOIR FAIRE - Great angle! Now fire those finger guns!
YOU - You fire your finger guns at your grinning face.
SAVOIR FAIRE [Trivial: Success] - Whew, the world better be ready for you, because you're about to set it on fire.
RHETORIC [Trivial: Success] - Not literally, of course.
HALF LIGHT - Unless someone tries to mess around with you, and there happens to be some flammable liquid nearby...
YOU - With your morning routine duly and stylishly accomplished, you stride out of your apartment with a daredevil grin.
Let's crack this case wide open, boys.
A cold, dark night in Martinaise. On the second-floor balcony of a bar cafeteria, a lone figure smokes a cigarette, his dark eyes gazing southwest. Red and blue emergency lights glint off his glasses. His bomber jacket flaps in the breeze. The door behind him swings open, exhaling a warm gust of air.
“Titus,” the man says without turning around.
“Fuck, Ace,” Titus Hardie says. “You got eyes on the back of your head or something?”
The bespectacled man, Ace, smirks. “Lucky guess.”
Titus snorts. “Yeah, right.” He joins Ace by the guardrail and scowls at the police lights in the distance. “Didn’t think they’d show up this fast.”
“Someone must have called them.” Chestnut-scented smoke wafts from Ace’s lips. “Don’t worry. I don't think it's anyone from the village."
Titus’ jacket rustles as he crosses his arms. "Think it was our guy?"
“Most likely. Is everyone ready with their statements?"
"Yeah. Eugene and Angie finished their rounds before the cops arrived." Waves crash against the waterfront like rolling hammers. Titus waits for a few seconds, then clears his throat. “Hey, boss. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be around when the cops—"
Ace silences him with a single eyebrow.
“...Fine," Titus mutters once he’s regained control of his vocal cords. "But if those pigs step outta line—”
“I know, I know. You’ll unleash the full fury of the Hardie Boys on them,” Ace intones like a bored schoolchild. He angles a small smile at Titus, who flushes and looks away. “I appreciate the thought, Titus. But I’m staying right here.” He takes one final drag of his cigarette, then grounds it out on the sole of his boot. “Come on. Let’s go get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
Ace turns his back on the night and disappears into the Whirling. Titus moves to follow after him, but stops to throw one last glare at the fishing village. "Fucking pigs," he hisses under his breath.
The wind howls. Clouds race across the sky, blotting out the stars.