KitsuragiBot

Sunrise, Parabellum.

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Quote List

If there is something specific you're looking for, I highly suggest using CTRL + F. All of the quotes are mostly out of order, filled about 20 pages on Google Docs, and totaled to just abou 11,000 words, so it goes without saying that the list is pretty damn long.Current quote count as of [12/16/24]: 425If you do not see a quote here and you want it added to the rotation, please DM me!

One more thing: Everything below is the intellectual property of ZA/UM, and is sourced from Disco Elysium.
The creation of this compilation could not have been possible without: My brother's and I's personal playthroughs of the game, YouTube lets plays, and most notably FAYDE, which made the whole process a lot less tedious and a lot more fun.

"Hello, I'm Kim Kitsuragi." His grip is firm. "Lieutenant, Precinct 57. You must be from the 41st...""Yes, well..." He doesn't even process what you just said, just moves on."So, the body is still in the tree... where it has been hanging for seven days straight.""I am Kim Kitsuragi from Precinct 57. This is an inter-district investigation, so joining me from Precinct 41..." He looks to you, realizing he still doesn't know your name.""No..." He thinks for a moment. "But isn't that an expression, not a place?" ("An expression?") "A saying. Up on Marvel Hill - a great, high place. One that is impossible to climb back to.""This is the Coupris Kineema, my motor carriage. You can use the toolbox and the radio if you'd like." He nods at the cabin."Take what you need, officer. It's going to be a long case. I'm not *protective* of my tools. Like some men are..." (He's clearly *a little* protective of his tools, but what can you do? Work is work.)The lieutenant exchanges a look with you.("Kim, what should we do?") "*We* shouldn't do anything. I don't tempt such forces." ("What forces?") "You will see.""It's okay, happens to everyone." The lieutenant hands you his white handkerchief: "Keep it.""If you don't mind me asking, how could you have let your paperwork end up in the trash?""Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."("I burned out all right.") "That's okay." He nods, then turns back to his own case files. "We all do, sooner or later.""Again, in your defence, I seem to have named one..." He peeks into his notes. "THE MAN WITH THE HOLE IN HIS HEAD. That was a real person, his death was real. Still I named it that. To amuse myself." He smiles. "I pray his loved ones never find out.""Could we make it less *poetic* somehow? Just a normal case name, you know? Think -- What would that be? A good *normal* name?"","Great! That's great. That's actually what *I* was thinking too -- THE HANGED MAN. Good, strong name. We have a very good name for the case now.""Detective, is everything alright?""Drink -- water." The lieutenant is extending a small canister to your mouth.("The ammonia didn't help at all...") "Nor does the wind right now..." You feel the lieutenant pat your back, rhythmically. (The weight is reassuring. Like a crenel on solid fortification. Pat pat pat...)("You seem to be fine.") "I think I've lost my sense of smell." There's a pause. "Not being hungover helps too.""You need to get your shit together."The lieutenant isn't studying the powder in the mirror. He's studying you."You could probably make the jump. You look like you've done some track and field in your day."The wind is aggressive up here. The lieutenant looks at the enormous crane towering in the distance, over the container yard. (The look in his eyes is a mix of the engineer-like interest and the wonder of a six year old seeing a horse for the first time.)("I wonder where this door leads.") "You do?" The lieutenant regards you with patient scepticism. "It's a door in the back of the kitchen. Why do you care where it leads?""By *ka-ching* do you mean..." He tilts his head. "Let's not log them as evidence, let's steal them?" ("No, that's not what I meant.") "Of course." He nods. (The lieutenant nods often. It's part of his un-plastic expression range, communicating both professionalism and sarcasm. This time, the latter.)("Cool machine.") "Yes..." He slides the camera closed and tucks it away on his belt. "It is pretty *cool*, isn't it?""God damn it."He sighs. "Okay. Let's do it the lousy, dangerous way.""Have you tried concentrating on something other than your personal affairs?"("I'm afraid this is a medical situation.") "Really?" The lieutenant gives you a look, thorough as if performing triage. "You look fine to me.""This psycho-drama is unbecoming of an officer.""I'm afraid you and I are pawns in a..." He considers the phrasing. "A *pissing* competition.""I don't see how *my* life is pertinent to the investigation."("You don't look like other people around here.") "That's because I'm half Seolite. Or quarter. My father's father was from Seol -- so was my grandmother, but from my mother's side..." He shakes his head. "It's not an interesting topic.""You're barking up the wrong tree. I don't speak a word of Seolite, I've never met either one of my grandparents. And I've never *been* to Seol." He seems almost proud of these things. "I'm a regular Revacholiere."("Tell me a secret about yourself.") The lieutenant narrows a single eyebrow. "No."("I get it -- You're one of those *old school* detectives.") "So, what? That makes *you* the *new school*? Gods spare us...""For real detective work, nothing beats a good notebook by your side..." The lieutenant produces his small blue notebook and idly thumbs through a few pages.("You seem to be following me.") "Excuse me?""You have a..." He's looking for the right words. "a *distinctive* way of walking. If I were to walk *in front* of you, we would surely collide."He turns the pre-heater on, waits, takes out his keys and says: "All right. Ready. I turn, you press START -- it's next to the pre-heater." (He's downplaying his excitement -- the lieutenant is more than happy to show off his precious carriage.)"There she is: Revachol West." There's a note of pride in the lieutenant's voice.("Have you ever killed anyone, Kim?") "Yes," he says, declining to elaborate."Everyone has their own method of coping, some more effective, or self-destructive, than others..." He gives you a meaningful look. "Personally, I find it helps to keep up a few hobbies.""This is not going quite as I hoped it would, detective." The lieutenant's voice is hushed.("We could just, you know, find my badge.") "Oh," he nods slowly. "That would be *fantastic*. But do we have the time? The world is large -- and your badge is eight-by-six centimetres."("That's what... a seven-litre V12?") "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully."I knew you could do it!" The lieutenant exclaims. "My climbing down might not have been as disco as your jump, but at least we can explore the harbor now.""It's *unfortunate* for the Union to just leave their paperwork lying around like this..." (...let's see what's inside, he thinks.)("Lieutenant, I think there's something *special* about this container...") "You do? Because I don't.""You go ahead, detective." The lieutenant nods at you, then the chair. (Whatever he has in store for you, it can't be good, he thinks. I'll do my best.)"And who are you?" The lieutenant fires back. "What is your business here? Why are your clothes four sizes too small for you?""Ace's high!" The lieutenant raises his right hand, waiting for you to slap it."Okay," he mumbles for a second, then lowers his hand. "Maybe it's not customary in the 41st to perform an Ace's High. In the 57th we've carried over the custom from the Revolution. Maybe it's bad luck... anyway."("How did I *do* that?") "By being a damn good shot -- Ace's High!"The lieutenant takes a little hop to perform the customary salutation. Your palm hurts from the slap. It's precise and down to the point.The High arrives with a sharp slap. As you turn around there is a moment of doubt -- feels like that Low ain't gonna *connect*... (Chill. It's *gonna* connect.) But then it does -- and with furious precision! The lieutenant is not one to leave an Ace's Low *hanging*.("I think he's dead.") "I agree." ( There are crows feet in his eyes, he's laughing silently.) "Totally dead.""Daba-doop-doop-dead," he says without a hint of melody. Not one muscle in his face moves."Yes. And the belt around his neck; the hanging; even dragging him to the yard... *all* of it was done after this man was already dead." ("Dead, daba-doop-doop.") "Deadady-dead-dead."("He smells good. Why on earth does he smell so good?") "He *smells* good..." The lieutenant squints his eyes, trying to hold back laughter. ("That's weird, right?") "He smells good and that's weird." "..."("His shirt... why is his shirt always unbuttoned?") "His shirt..." The lieutenant squints his eyes, trying to hold back laughter. ("His shirt.") "His shirt...""His shirt... No, I don't know why his shirt is always unbuttoned." His mouth tightens, as though trying to hold something back. (He's barely holding it together. It's all he can do to keep from bursting out in laughter.)("He's such a good listener, I liked talking to him.") "You liked talking to him..." The lieutenant squints his eyes, trying to hold back laughter. ("It made me feel *special*.") "It made you feel *special*..." "..."""Okay." He thinks for a moment. "I don't like pinball because I had to learn to play it for an undercover job at a pinball ring. And it's a lame, boring, and unchallenging game -- there. We can move on now.""So *now* he remembers..." He looks at you in the silence of the workshop -- then takes his glasses off and cleans them. "Fine. I'm Kim 'Pinball' Kitsuragi." he puts them back on. "AKA The Kimball. You remembered -- congratulations."("You don't seem to really 'like' pinball.") "No human being should. It is a game that requires no skill and a childlike affinity to flashing lights. And to fantastique, science fiction, and historic romance franchises." "It is *lame*.""I am not *called* Pinball. It was used to taunt me -- a long time ago. *Before* I became a homicide detective. And got my lieutenancy."He puts his glasses back on. "Fine. I was a juvenile police officer -- for over 15 years. It's how I started out in the RCM. Once I had to infiltrate a pinball ring. As you do -- when you're a juvie cop." ("Lame.") "Unbelievably." He nods."To do that I needed to become a... *pinball champion*. I trained for nine months. The job was successful and I was moved out of the juvenile wing -- to homicide."("You were a juvie cop for 15 years?") "That time is over now." He looks at the pinball machine and breathes in. "I was already a 38 year old man. It was unbecoming. As was playing pinball.""No, I love it -- I love pinball. Who doesn't love pinball? Let's move on.""Goddamned pinball."("Who's the king of pinball, Kim." You hold out your fist.) "Congratulations, your highness," the lieutenant replies. His knuckles touch yours and he smiles. "That was really impressive.""Hell yeah!" The lieutenant exclaims. "My climbing might not have been as disco as your jump, but can we still get an Ace's High?""A scoop of ice cream would have been nice, yes," the lieutenant agrees. Someone's stomach grumbles. The room feels very cold."We're done." Then a breath of cold sea air fills the church as the lieutenant opens the door and steps out.""What's going on here?" The lieutenant looks at you and the speedfreaks grinding around in the church, a group of unhinged lunatics. "Delinquents," he grumbles.The lieutenant squeezes the bridge of his nose. The lights reflect off his glasses... "A Code 31 emergency? Really?" ("Yes, officer in need of assistance... ON THE DANCE FLOOR!") The lieutenant crosses his arms with a bemused look."WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" The lieutenant is forced to yell over the futuristic music blasting from the speakers. "HOW THE HELL ARE YOU DANCING WITH THAT BROKEN LEG OF YOURS?"("I *did* say there was an emergency on the dance floor, did I not? The emergency?! NOT ENOUGH KIM!") "Oh, c'mon, Harry..." (Did that just cheer him up a bit? Could be... It feels like the lieutenant cracked a little smile there.)"Okay, you psychopath..." He adjusts his spectacles, then pops his collar as high as it will go. "I see what you're doing there. It's jacked-up footwork, plus some... Is that Ubi folk dancing?""Yeah..." The lieutenant snorts. "Whatever.""Oh yeah? I did 15 years in the Juvenile Crime Unit. I can *do* age-inappropriate." "Now check *this* shit out!"The lieutenant begins to heel-kick the church floor with such intensity, it's reasonable to fear he'll kick a hole right through it, causing the floor to crack and the pillars to collapse, bringing the church roof down on all of you. (It doesn't look like he'd *give a shit* either.)"Get my *what* on?" The lieutenant leans closer, unable to make out your words over the pumping beats."I've noticed the same." The lieutenant says to you quickly, then turns to Titus: "Yes. He meant a professional dancer. Women are always dancing, right?""*Sunrise, parabellum*," the lieutenant says. He's in the middle of a freshly cleaned room, with the fan above his head like a halo. His face is covered in bruises."Sunrise, Parabellum. Sunrise, Prepare-for-War. It's an old revolutionary saying.""God, please..." the lieutenant says quietly, without trembling. He aims, face pale.."You're bleeding out!" Nothing. Darkness, blurring lights of pain. Out of it, a silhouette emerges -- crouching over you. A familiar voice, filled with urgency and fear."Yes! Keep talking!" The lieutenant pushes down on your wound, hard. "Stay awake! Look at me!"That's all it takes. There is no room for hesitation. The lieutenant moves, like a spring unloaded. He grabs the gun from your bloody hand and fires behind him.A red circle has appeared on the lieutenant's jacket. It's growing fast. Like a pillow, he falls on you. Cold nylon and blood slumped on you, as the lights go out. All the lights. The last thing you hear is the sound of his spectacles landing on the pavement next to you."No harm? In drinking 98.7% alcohol with a god-knows-how-old tie in it? I wouldn't be so sure." The lieutenant tilts his head slightly. "However, I'm not here to judge. Let's go.""You know the expression 'The clothes make the man'? The right outfit, in the right situation, can make all the difference in the world." ("Okay. You're a sharp dressed man. We could be style buddies.") "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, detective..." (A warm smile.)"Good technique." The lieutenant nods with approval."As I said -- an Insulindian Lily, or a May bell. Girls pinned them on their boys during the Revolution."("What is the Revolution?") "A big political and military conflict. Ask around, or buy a book." He seems annoyed by the question."It all seems unreal, detective. In actuality, the pale is no more unreal than, say, water. Or death. Or that we're stuck behind our eyes, between our own ears, talking..." He looks around, pensive suddenly."It's cold now...""... It's been a long winter... Long and cold..."("Lieutenant, this used to say: 'After life, death -- after'...") "...death, life again," he nods. "After the world, the pale; after the pale -- the world again."

"Harry... it explains *everything*. The running around. The jumping. The *bicep girth*. Your inexplicable facial hair... The fact that you don't seem to *know* what homo-sexuality is... And how you're able to perform a 360-degree spin-kick too!""You seem a little unsure, officer. Have you spent too much time undercover lately?" He cracks an uneasy smile to let you know it's a joke."Stop obsessing about your sexuality officer, you're about to seriously compromise the coroner's case."("But I don't wanna get my shit together!") "Then the world will turn away from you, and leave you behind."("How about I take you piggyback?") "How about I take *you* piggyback?" After a moment’s silence, he raises an eyebrow.("Yes, exactly -- call the police.") "Someone already did. You know who came? We did. Because we have made bad life decisions.""Yes. That is a downside of having a 130 kilowatt engine." His voice is tinged with pride. "It lets the bad guys know when you're coming.""Got any dope? We need some dope bad." He scratches his nose, then his armpit through the jacket. "I got the *Boogie Street* shakes.""You didn't stop at all, did you? You're just obsessing about *other people's* sexuality now." ("Yeah, but...") "... but am I? I'll spare you another *20 hour mind-project* -- yes, I am. Now let's get back to work.""Fine, if only to end this discussion: Theoretically, if I were a juvenile delinquent -- if I were to already be down that path -- I think 'PISSF****T' is the stronger of the two statements."""Damnit, detective. Give me the piss-jacket." (Now he is become the *Pissf****t*.There's no stopping you now.)"The problem is..." the lieutenant says, glancing at the lapels, sleeves, and studs, "it really does look cool to have both of these jackets on right now." (I can't believe I've climbed aboard the piss-train.)"Yes, I've definitely never seen you cry before, nor lent you my handkerchief to dry your tears."A thought flickers in his eyes, and is then extinguished. He shakes his head. "Keep them, detective. You earned it." ("You sure? Seriously, you can have them if you want.") "I am sure," he says, smiling at the plastic-wrapped shoes in their neon glory.He opens one hand and looks at it. A moment passes. "Which school do you subscribe to -- Mambo..." He opens the other hand: "...or Jambo?" ("Wait, which one is the one where you hear your tie talk to you?") "Mental illness.""It's good to have...." His mouth twitches as he comes up with the expression: "...an *ambidextrous para-detective* in a labour dispute. I can see why they sent you -- should we go?""I can't stop a grown man from learning about the fundamental geographic and entroponetic features of our world, can I?" (Perhaps I shouldn't have tried, he thinks.) (Perhaps I was overprotective, is what's insinuated.)"I have, on a few occasions -- when I was young and foolish -- smoked hemp."("We should hit a blunt some time.") "How about we 'hit' the crime we came here for instead. And by 'hit' I mean 'solve' it. Solve it *hard*."("You know I have to take this to Internal Affairs, don't you, lieutenant?") "Of course. Here's my gun and my badge." His hands reach out empty. "They'll put me in the chaise for this, but it feels good to have it off my chest." ("Very funny, lieutenant.") "Good.""Okay. I wanted to become an aerostatic pilot. Then I turned ten and realized we no longer have an air force.""Yes. I'm an unrepentant spoilsport." The lieutenant appears pleased with this."Okay." He takes a step back. "Style me." (It's impossible to tell whether he's serious or joking.)"I don't need a patrol cap." ("An *orange* patrol cap -- you need it.") He thinks for a second. "Okay, maybe I do."The lieutenant's posture becomes rigid and uncomfortable as you lean forward and sniff the area just above his shoulder blade...(The lieutenant is fastidious as a cat in matters of his personal upkeep. And yet, in the folds of his jacket you can just perceive the stale and acrid traces of oil rags, transmission fluid, and brake pads.)(Wait-wait. There's something else there, something that sets your GABA-receptors aflutter.) (The lieutenant's aftershave. A common drugstore brand. Strong hints of pine needle.) "Do you *need* something, detective?""I do like to *hang around* the motor pool every now and then, but that doesn't make me a mechanic." "Sort of like how hanging around the liquor store hasn't made you into a master distiller.""Yes, uhm..." The lieutenant stares at your shaven face, his eyes narrowed. "Uhhhh..." he mumbles. "I don't know what to say." He coughs. "Perhaps...""Yes, cannabis. The hemp. I rolled it into a small paper tube and lit in on fire. Then I *inhaled* the fumes. I was young."("That's not a secret. Everyone has smoked cannabis.") "No, there are couple of people who haven't smoked cannabis. I'm sure of that." (There's a hint of defensiveness in his voice. Even this minor act of rebellion is important to the lieutenant's self-construction.)("He's always leaving... Why is he always leaving, Kim?") "Who knows, detective? It's a... mystery," he says, turning his face away from you. (There, he's laughing again!)("By the way, I'm really digging the view here.") "Wait, suddenly you're *digging* things?" the lieutenant whispers to you, shaking his head.He looks at your snakeskin shoes and smiles, suddenly. "Nice shoes, by the way. I like the green. Goes with the orange.""What are you *talking* about?" ("I speaketh the tongue.") "Do-eth thou also thorough inventories?" He points to the ruined notes."I see, yes. You're what we call a *bad ass*, aren't you?" He makes little quotation marks around the words, indicating he is unsure of its actual badassery.","Tell me, *see-eth* your bad ass more in there or are we done here?" The lieutenant peers into the trash.From the corner of his eye, the lieutenant gives your feet a worried glance. Rain drips from his glasses."I never got the hang of it. Hyperopia." He points to his glasses. "Do you see anything out of the ordinary?""Cool." The lieutenant nods approvingly. "You really showed that mail collection box." (He does not actually think it's cool. If anything, the lieutenant feels sorry for the poor box -- he's leaning in to inspect the layers of graffito that deface it.)The lieutenant pats the box, ever so slightly. (Dodged the bullet there... He must see the box as the weaker of the two, and you as a bully -- something he doesn't stand for.)"Very dramatic. Nevertheless, I would appreciate it if you'd just put your clothes back on." He looks at his notebook."Officer, what *haven't* you lost?" ("I haven't lost this satin shirt.") "Maybe you *should*?" He looks at his blue notebook and sighs.Maybe you're imagining it, but there are some remarks in there -- and they're not all negative! You're referred to as 'the 41st' -- by your station number. And... ("And what?") And 'the 41st' comes off as a moderately competent detective."High school. Harry! Your goings-on with Cuno, Andre, Acele -- the whole thing on the ice. That's why you're so *juvie*." (His smirk suggests barely contained laughter.)The lieutenant tries to remain impassive but the slight arch of his eyebrow tells you that he's liking it."I know exactly what you meant. You think my *kind* doesn't belong here. That I should *watch myself* and *behave*." "But you see, I'm an officer of the RCM -- it's actually *my* job to make sure *you* behave. I would advise you to remember that."("Fuckin' A, Kim. I've got your back.") The lieutenant exhales and resumes his regular calmness. (You sense slight embarrassment for the outburst. Or is it pride? Impossible to tell.)"No. Of course not. *We're* not peones. But *if* we were... and one of Madre's drivers were to be stealing from him -- then it's a good peone's job to find out who that is." (He's surprisingly good at this. Not bad at all... Look at him lurching.)"It's not a hard job. It won't take a long time. It won't make Padre Madre *angry*." He looks at him. "But a stupid fucking racist is standing in the way, *protecting* this fucking thief...""You've seen that corpse in the ceramic armour there?" The lieutenant points to the yard. "Did his shitty little guild protect *him*?"The lieutenant turns and gives you a barely perceptible nod. (I've softened him up. As best as I could. Now it's on you to finish the job.)"Don't you *Welcome to Revachol* me," the lieutenant fires back. "My grandfather came here from a three-thousand-year-old racist-isolationist culture, while your ancestors came to this island a mere three hundred years ago.""Every school of thought and government has failed in this city -- but I love it nonetheless. It belongs to me as much as it belongs to you."("Hey Kim, where are we?") "In someone's abandoned shack. On the coast. In Martinaise..." He looks at you. "In Revachol." (He's afraid you've forgotten suddenly.)"It's just a piece of clothing you've picked up. You do that, officer -- you collect clothes sometimes." (He sounds a little worried. It's an odd habit.)"Work *with* Pryce?" A crooked smile quivers on his lips. "I'm flattered, but I don't know if I..." (Would fit in? Am crazy enough? Can take the stress? He doesn't know how to finish the sentence.)"Still smelling for communists, detective?" ("What makes you say that?") "No offence, detective, but you're not particularly *subtle*.""You're smelling for..." "You know what? I'll just leave you to it. Carry on, detective." (It is a mark of the lieutenant's respect for you that he does not press you on this decidedly *extra-curricular* errand.)("You okay, Kim?") "Oh, I'm fine. I was practically *born* to infiltrate underground communist cells..." He takes a quick look over his shoulder."Hmm. What is it they say about ties? That they're like kissing your sister... or in this case, I suppose, your partner."("I was thinking it might be fun to see a bear fight.") "They're quite the spectacle, as I understand. I've heard they make the people in the front rows wear plastic sheets..." "On account of the blood, you see."("I was thinking it might be fun to partake in a bear fight.") "I suppose that *would* be something to see." The lieutenant seems amused at the thought of you wrestling a bear.The lieutenant looks at you evenly for a moment, then returns to his notebook without a word. ("Kim, you left me hanging there.") "My apologies, I thought leaving your partner hanging was simply the style at the 41st."("You and me, we're on the same wavelength. It's why we're always finishing each other's...") Your words hang in the air as the lieutenant scribbles something in his notebook. At some point he realizes you're waiting for him and looks up with a tightly knit brow.The lieutenant looks at you evenly for a moment, then returns to his notebook without a word. ("Kim, you left me hanging there.") "Did I? My bad, detective. Won't happen again." He doesn't look up from his notebook.("You and me, we're on the same wavelength. It's why we're always finishing each other's... sandwiches.") "That happened exactly once, and only under extreme duress.""In fact, if right were a country, you would be deported immediately. You would be *persona non grata* in the Country of Right." ("Okay, Kim, I got it.") "Really? Because I'm not entirely sure that you *do*, detective."("Women, am I right?") "No, you ridiculous fool. You're *not* right. You're not even remotely right." "It's as though *right* is over here..." He holds up one hand. "... while you're over here..." He holds up his other hand, as far apart from the first as possible."Do you know what the worst part is, detective? The more time I spend with you, the more I feel myself *becoming* like you..." (Are there more terrible words to hear from your half-brother?)"In my experience, when you make the wrong decision, you can tell right away. It's the right decisions that won't leave you alone..." (Perhaps someday the lieutenant will tell you about some of the decisions that won't leave him alone, but it won't be this day.)"Because the thing you're running from is *inside you*, detective!" (The lieutenant's final words are nearly swallowed by the roar of the aerostatic's main rotors...)"For the last time, detective. You. Did. Not. Commit. The. Murder. Archer, please disregard his nonsense."("How does this compare to your DynaWave, Kim?") "It doesn't, frankly. Don't get me wrong, this appears to be a *fine* transceiver for a general audience, but it's not something a serious radio-head would use." He shrugs.("I'll show you yet, Kitsuragi.") "Show me what, detective?" The lieutenant seems immensely pleased by your irritation."When I crank the volume on my DynaWave, it's like you're in the front row at the National Concert Hall." ("I didn't know *Speedfreaks FM* had a concert series.") "Joke all you want, detective. Whatever radio you manage to scrounge up won't lay a *finger* on my set-up.""Forget it." He waves his hand. "It would become an imbecilic discussion. You two continue. It's more *hard core* that way." (He does not feel left out. In fact he probably just wanted to say "hard core.")"I think this racist is better than the last -- but the next racist will be the really good one.""Hmh." He seems surprised at your choice of racist, but then slowly nods.The lieutenant shoots you a sideways glance. "And I am his private partner, John... Shao. Together we run the pre-eminent spousal surveillance firm in Revachol." ("We are truly private in our partnership.")He turns away, but not before you can see a small hint of a smile -- he's struggling to not crack up."What do you see?" the lieutenant asks, whispering conspiratorially. ("I see *monsters* crouching in the dark.") "No, what do you *really* see?" ("I see more of those little trinkets. It looks pretty insane.") "Spooky," the lieutenant comments. "Quick, she's turning around..."The lieutenant looks worried. "We can take a break if you're feeling unwell," he says to you under his breath."Excuse us -- my partner here of course knows that net worth is not *legal tender*." The lieutenant gives you a quick glance."We are not the fashion police." The lieutenant looks at you. "We're the real police.""No," the lieutenant gently removes the glasses from your face, setting you free again. "You're definitely not buying those.""No, I can't... We can't walk around with you looking like this." His hand has already risen mid-air, but he stops. "Okay, fine. Go ahead. If you want to look like a walking mid-life crisis, then who am I to interfere?""What are you doing?" the lieutenant asks when he sees you climb half-way inside the furnace. ("I'm hallucinating.") "Wait, really?" The lieutenant sounds concerned. "Take your head out of the chimney, please. It's not safe."

"A dead body in an ice bear fridge -- this is some of the best police work I've ever done." ("I'm not sure I believe you.") "Of course you don't. Look at that! What have we *done?* We stuffed a dead body in an ice bear fridge. This does *not* leave this room.""Weightlifting was never my favourite, either." The lieutenant is obviously *handling* you. "At the station gym, I mean. I prefer running. It clears your head..." The lieutenant steps away from the barbell, letting you recover in peace."The RCM is a self-managing organization that operates on donations. We promote our own leaders. It would be like striking against your own... mother." ("No -- *your* mother.") "I don't think you understand how that joke goes, but -- do continue.""A-ha." The lieutenant looks at you with his usual lithic mask of a face."Fine." He gives you a resigned shrug. "Let's *blast* Sad FM then.""Why am *I* the corpse?!" He turns his eyes to the cook, who gives you both a big bright smile."Alright, but -- and, forgive me, this is just something I have to ask -- if you have shoes, then *why aren't you wearing them*?""It's impressive, especially for a man your age -- and in *those* heels..." He nods thoughtfully, tapping his finger on his cigarette."I have a cigarette every night when I go over my notes. It's something of a ritual."("How did you get so cool, Kim?") "You mean this?" The light of his cigarette illuminates a fleeting smile. "This isn't cool -- it's an unnecessary trial of will. And unhealthy." He flicks the ash."Yes. I *did* -- when I was younger. In my twenties I considered myself a moralist. *A blue forget-me-not, a piece of the sky*," he quotes. "They're not all that bad.""Do you?" The lieutenant arches his brow, then pulls on his cigarette. It's a slim white thing in his fingers."And one more thing..." He pulls the black plastic over the dead man's face, then looks at you. "This was *very* good work, detective.""WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" The lieutenant jumps away from you. ("I am honouring myself, lieutenant.") "Well... uh... don't!" The lieutenant looks truly shocked.The lieutenant leans in confidentially. "You wouldn't be able to hear if he were wearing anal beads," he whispers."Do you remember how when we met Measurehead and I said the next racist will be the *really* good one?" ("Yes.") "Well..." He gestures toward Gary as though he were presenting a work of art. "*This* is that racist.""Right." It does not look like he thinks you're right. "Anyway, that's for the cryptozoologists to figure out now." He adds, for clarity: "*We're* not cryptozoologists -- we're cops.""Always up for a good jog -- otherwise, would I still be *on* this case with *you*?" He smiles and raises his collar. It's windy."Stay with me!" You feel burning hot tears streaming from your eyes.There is no room for hesitation. The lieutenant turns around and fires, his body falling on yours in the course of the motion..."Well..." The lieutenant shrugs. "Life has a way of pulling the rug from under your feet. But things can only go up from here."("Things were going so well, we were just whistling merrily...") "You can still whistle," the lieutenant says with a smile. "Besides, the night is always darkest before the dawn."The lieutenant gives you a quick glance. Then, still looking straight ahead, he joins you with a higher-pitched and slightly more melodic trill. (Two birds on a wire, whistling by the seaside. Looking at the water. And a sunken car.)("Would you rather sit on an anthill for an hour or stand in a river of leeches?") "Well..." The lieutenant rubs his chin. "Historically, leeches have been used to prevent and even cure many ailments..." ('Okay,' he's thinking. 'I can do this. Let's do this. Who'd want to sit on an anthill? There are no therapeutic benefits to...')("You have a Coupris too. What a coincidence!") "Actually not a coincidence. The Kineema is the next generation sports edition of the old 'Forty', which was a real work horse. Favoured by the *police* all over the city..." He raises his finger."I think I know now, what my favourite blue thing is." He nods. "Yes, my favourite blue thing is a blue police uniform... or blue police livery.""Yes. Quite." The lieutenant seems to be inspecting you more closely than the motor carriage."A precinct, yes!" He tilts his head and continues in a soft voice. "A police precinct. Precinct 41 -- *your* precinct.""People are more valuable than machines." He's trying to cheer you up now. "Training a police officer is even more costly.""Thank you for sharing this wonderful opinion on human sexuality." He pretends to read the economics book open on the table.The lieutenant gives you a sharp look. He's bailed you out, again, but he's none too pleased about it.("Kim...") The lieutenant is too far away to hear your yelp. The sea wind blows..."That is unhygienic. And dangerous. And it does not endear you to me -- just wanted to make that clear, okay?""An amateur-entroponetic police officer... I'd like to say I've heard stranger things, but I'm not sure. This is a hell of a guess, however. Well worded I might add...""Something the matter, detective?" ("Kim, would you describe this woman as a *smoking dame*?") The lieutenant narrows his eyes and contemplates the book for a moment. "I would certainly say she fits that description, providing that's your type.""Something the matter, detective?" ("Nope, all good here." You casually adjust your pants.) The lieutenant nods. You think you detect the faintest trace of a grin on his face, but you can't say for certain."Honestly, I was expecting you to use your *unorthodox technique* to keep her off-balance -- and you know... *not* volunteer us to be her henchmen.""Right. Okay. Anyway, I'm glad you told me your necktie has been speaking to you. That must not have been easy."For a second it looks like he's about to add something... (We're all under stress. This is turning into a great big mess. I'm not judging. Just keep it together.) ...but then he turns away -- his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Let's go," he concludes."I've got to ask..." he says, a peculiar look in his eyes. "What are you doing?" ("Mind your own business, binoclard!") "Alright." The lieutenant's face stiffens as he turns to look at the road ahead. "I won't ask again.""Basically, yes -- although it's mostly about frequency range, not the wires making *bwee-* sounds. Still -- I'm impressed." (There's respect in that curious look. Definitely.)"Yes." There's gentleness in the lieutenant's voice as his eyes run over the vehicle's contours. "An extraordinary machine."("If we ever get this case solved, maybe we can do it together?") "You want to help?" He glances at you and smiles. "Thank you for the offer. That might be fun. Let's do the case first though, alright?" (He liked the idea.)"No, that's... *porno*-tuning.""Those spinners were elegant, sleek..." He pauses, looking for words. "Radiant, even. What you're suggesting is *porno*."("It's what?") "Porno. That's short for pornography." ("Pornography is something completely different, Kim.") "That's a negative on the porno. Thank you, though.""I have pretty much maintained my vehicles by myself ever since one was assigned to me. You inevitably pick up some knowledge on the way." (There's pride in there. A trained driver, *knows* his ride.)"Hang on, you're telling me you remember all these little mechanical details, but you have trouble remembering your name?"("I might not know much, but I *do* know I like motor carriages -- must be a subconscious thing.") "Strange... but plausible, I guess." He gives you a quick side-glance and turns to go. "I guess you're a bit of a... torque dork too." (He seems to like the idea.)("Kim, do you have a pen?") The lieutenant looks at his blue notebook. *Two* fat, shiny pens hang from the binder, like large calibre bullets on an ammo belt. He is not really saying anything. Just standing there -- looking at them. ("Can I have one?") "Know that I give this to you..." He pulls one from the loop. "...with *resentment*."("I think I need to wash myself.") "Oh." He nods. "You *really, really* do. I am glad to hear you say that. Your room in the Whirling-in-Rags should come with a bathroom. Be sure to make use of it in the evening."He raises the bag under his eyes and says: "Unknown calibre. Rifled. Some kind of brittle alloy, fractured on impact..." ("Keep it, lieutenant. As a gift.") "No-no, you deserve it. We can log it later." The lieutenant drops the bag in your bloody hand. It feels light.("Keep it, lieutenant. Also, I'm sorry for calling you a binoclard.") "Don't be silly." A smile comes across his face. "You've earned it. Consider the binoclard episode forgotten." The lieutenant drops the bag in your bloody hand. It feels light."This may seem like *odd* behaviour for a police officer, ma'am, but it's a perfectly common side effect of his..." He squints at you. "... unusual medical episode.""Yes!" The lieutenant takes a step closer to you, rubbing his hands together. "There is a *stranger* reason, isn't there?" (He gives you a slight nudge on your side, apparently enjoying himself.)("What do you mean it's not part of *reality*?") "Ma'am." He turns to her again. "Remember, you're dealing with a very *sensitive* and *impressionable* police officer who is still recovering from a recent medical episode.""Good." The lieutenant returns. "You have not passed out from it. Perhaps I worried for nothing... Are we still on the reality low-down -- or should we do actual policework now?"("You needn't have worried.") "But I did. Anyway..." He looks around, a little uncomfortable now. (Dammit, you're a grown man, the lieutenant thinks. Shouldn't have gotten *protective* here.)("That was fucking insane. Kim.") "Yes, well..." he thinks. "The rest of us have dealt with it for thousands of years, so..." He looks around, a little uncomfortable now. (You will have to deal with it too, the lieutenant thinks. This is why I didn't want you to know.)"I'm not your partner." He says quickly. "This... this union is temporary.""It's an urban myth," the lieutenant says quietly. "About an officer who is so far undercover he can't remember who he is. As I said -- just an urban myth. *You're* not the Son of Lung." (He's trying to protect you from further rough handling dished out by this sun-glassed man.)("I knew it, Kim! I knew I was a superstar.") "I fear..." The lieutenant lowers his voice. "I fear you're misinterpreting this situation.""What are you planning to do, throw a dinner party? Please refrain from culinary experiments until after we've finished the investigation."("You're not... afraid, are you?") "No. I just don't want to walk into another *embarrassment*. I am a creature of pride, you see..." There is silence. "I'm afraid of becoming a joke." (It's not something he's proud of, but that's the way it is.)"The door has withstood your *demolishing* attempts." He measures the door, stoically. "There must be another way in."("You're Lieutenant Kitsuragi to me.") "Not only to you -- I am *Lieutenant Kitsuragi* to everyone." He nods. "Now -- we really need to continue our sweep of what appears to be a secret path through the Whirling."("I'm gonna call you *Kimball* now.") "No. You're *gonna* call me Lieutenant Kitsuragi -- or on rare occasions 'Kim', because it's shorter." He nods. "Let's go.""You do *not* need to know that." The lieutenant taps on his notebook. "What you need is to ask normal police questions -- like..." He waits for you to finish the sentence. (Get a grip, he thinks. At least do your *personal* stuff when I'm not here.)"Yes," he says incredulously. "It was just *locker room talk*." The lieutenant looks at the tape. You are familiar with this look now -- it's his *look of suspicion*."Women like women too, officer. Try not to fixate on this. Let's move on."("How old do I look?") "How old? Fifty-eight." ("Oh my god, that's really old -- really?") "You asked." He shrugs.("Kim, you look cold -- maybe a thicker coat?") "I'm okay. You on the other hand, yefreitor... you look like you're about to turn into a popsicle." ("Copsicle. You meant to say copsicle.") "No. I did not. We *Seolites* don't do paronomastic humour."("Kim, you look cold -- maybe a thicker coat?") "I'm okay. You on the other hand, yefreitor... you look like you're about to turn into a popsicle." ("What if I *want* to be a popsicle?") "Don't be silly, no one wants to be a popsicle.""It's not *ouch* time yet. You just got a *drouamine* pill an hour ago. Wait until it wears off.""I shot and wounded him. While Glen took a bullet in the spine. It was meant for me -- he did not survive." There's a pause. (This is not the first person to die in his place. He goes on.)("I thought you only smoked one a day.") "This is the one.""And..." he smiles: "We are still alive -- both of us."("If not my station, then who treated me?") "I did."("Are you hurt?") "Not very." He rubs his chin. "I have a concussion from the major beating me with the butt of his gun. I try to not move too much." "Things would be much worse if you didn't warn me." There's a pause. "Thank you. I did not see him coming. Stupid of me..."The lieutenant has taken a small step back. He looks at your face illuminated by the flames and nods silently. Then the fire falters... (The flames warmed him too. Not at all in a bad way.)"Shut up." The lieutenant jabs you in the ribs with his elbow, then turns to the boy..."You know, officer..." He looks at you with a touch of concern. "You *can* rest here if you're feeling tired. I will keep watch. You could use some rest for what's ahead.""Good." He pats you on the back, three small pats in a row."It's only *moderately* effective cop work until we have the weapon. It will not be, how do you say it..." He looks north, over the fortification. "*Boo-yah*, until we have that..."He frowns. "I did not want to wake you -- perhaps I should have? Was it a job dream?""Are you alright?" The lieutenant steps closer, his eyes soft and worried. "This looked... pretty intense and painful, I must admit.""No, no. That would be silly. I just..." He hesitates. "I don't know why I kept them. It doesn't matter. I couldn't put them on this MC anyway. A cop with spinners -- that would be outrageous." ("Yes. Outrageously cool.") He flashes a smile, barely visible in the dark.("What do you mean you 'confiscated' them?") "A couple weeks ago I stopped a young man for going slower than the speed of traffic. Turns out he was some Coalition official's son -- and high." ("Isn't that *corruption?*") "I don't know, is it?"("I get it, I would have confiscated them too -- they're mesmerizing.") "That they are." The lieutenant looks at the spinners and sighs. "I was going to take them into evidence, but they weren't necessary for conviction. He never asked for them back.""They're spinner hubcaps -- frivolous things you put on your wheels. When the wheels come to a stop," he makes a spinning motion with his hands, "the caps keep on spinning. There's no real use for them, it's just for vanity." (A vanity he wouldn't mind.)("You lying to me right now, Kim?") "Excuse me?" ("Nothing. Never mind.") "Mhm." The lieutenant frowns at you.

"God-damn-it!" The lieutenant moves quick as a viper as he switches off the radio and sets it on primeline. Then he turns to you: "Look, it helps me to stay alert on long nights, okay? It's a method. I'm not some kind of *speed-freak* or..."("What about *heavy of foot*?") "You would be too if you had this motor carriage," he snaps half-seriously.("Just one more thing -- give a shoutout Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. He *coincidentally* has you saved to his radio.") "Huh?" The sound bubbles out of him, even to his own surprise. (Look at that! His eyes dilate. That's joy, my man.)"We aren't discussing this." After a few bars, the lieutenant turns the radio back to PRIMELINE. (What a reserve of willpower. It's taking all he's got to not smile.)(Elsewhere in Revachol, the lieutenant has also just turned on the radio. In his privacy, he doesn't even try to stop himself from smiling.)("*Speedfreaks FM*, huh?") "Oh, is that what it was called?" He's trying hard to act surprised.He's not looking at you as he says: "Someone must have been messing with the radio, or maybe it picked up a random frequency... You wanted the primeline, right?" (He's still avoiding your gaze -- and his ears glow red.)"You're right." A vainglorious smile spreads over his face as he pats his machine."I didn't take you for a motorcar enthusiast. Do you also like TipTop, detective?" ("TipTop? Adore it!") "Really?" the lieutenant looks at you. "Well, I'm not indifferent on the matter either." He adjusts his glasses, visibly pleased to have found a fellow fan.("What's TipTop?") "An interisolary racing series. You should definitely give it a go if you like motor carriages -- it has fantastic competition." He smiles again."You don't surprise me anymore, officer." The lieutenant's gaze cuts through you. "Let's finish with this case. I want to be done with it, now.""What was that?" the lieutenant asks in a soft voice, gently grabbing your shoulder. "It's okay, detective.""It's okay, you're just having a *little* panic attack. Try to breathe as slowly as you can, alright?" He shakes you gently by the shoulder."Hey, hey... what's happening? You okay?" He sounds genuinely worried.("I don't *want* to be Harrier Du Bois.") "Why? It's a cool name. I like it." He shrugs. "Besides, you're Harry anyway. No one's ever called *Harrier*." (He's not going to call you Harrier. He'll keep calling you 'officer' when he's angry with you and 'detective' when he's not.)"Harrier Du Bois..." He looks you up and down. "It suits you. I'm going to call you 'Harry,' since it's short for 'Harrier'." (No, he's not. He's going keep calling you "officer" when he's angry with you -- and "detective" when he's not.)"The lieutenant waits for your reply. Patiently. His foot taps only a little."Officer? Look at me. I need to see if your face is drooping." He sounds incredibly worried."Thank you, I'll try," he says dryly. "Please understand that Kim in this story was an allegory for *you*. You shouldn't try to hide the truth."The lieutenant gives a smile only you can see."He's *thinking*. Let the man think." The lieutenant defends you. (He fires a nod of solidarity in your direction, as if to say: take your time. It's okay.)"Then you'd better get ready." He frowns, then quickly adds, "Whatever happens, I've got your back.""You must be joking." He pauses, reflecting. "Although our pay does sometimes feel like a joke."("You're no fun, Lieutenant Killjoy.") He scans your face as though searching for clues. "I did not know murder investigations are supposed to be *fun*."The lieutenant watches you take the transceiver with barely disguised envy. ("You jealous, Kim?") "Not at all, detective. A Kristallsprach is a fine piece of equipment, but I'm quite satisfied with my DynaWave." (Oh, he's *totally* jealous. He can barely hold it in!)"Of course, you need a certain level of *discernment* to really appreciate the difference in quality." (He's reaching for naked snobbery because he knows you've got him *beat* from a technical angle.)"*You* could reach the Coalition and have your talk about *la responsabilité*... *I* could grow 10 centimetres and become a flanker for the Stormers."The lieutenant doesn't utter a word, but his face says 'I told you so.'Lieutenant Kitsuragi gives you a small nod when he sees you step outside. Looks like he's been waiting for you."You are really starting to remind me of him. It's not a compliment. I don't like it." "Alright, let's go. It's getting cold.""Right..." He nods, covering his mouth with the back of the hand. "Did he teach you a way to turn back time?" (Trying to hide a smile.)"Wasn't that back when you became his 'race pupil'?" ("That was about race. *This* is about sex. I admire him.") "Oh, of course. Now it makes sense." He nods, looking down at the lorries. (That makes absolutely no sense, but I really don't want to get into it with you.)"Are you fucking insane?!" the lieutenant snaps at you. "Don't answer that! And STOP doing it! Let's go.""No, but you see, you don't," the lieutenant explains patiently, although his voice is suddenly very tired. "You're not an icebreaker or a firewalker, or even Tequila Sunset."("I'm fine, don't worry about it.") "You don't look fine and I'm *very* worried about it." He crosses his arms on his chest. (Should I contact his station's lazareth? Behind his back?)"No, but you see, you don't," the lieutenant explains patiently, his voice suddenly tired. "You don't plough anything, you help me solve this case, please remember.""You know... to hell with it, let's have more cryptids.""Really?" The lieutenant looks at you, the corner of his mouth curved into a smug grin. "You don't have a single guess?"("I'd like to dedicate this song to my partner, Kim Kitsuragi.") The lieutenant doesn't say anything, but gives you a quick smile, before turning away. (He's incapable of blushing, but if he weren't -- he'd blush.)"My fuel oil is for my Kineema. Use your own fuel if you are unable to contain your artistic impulses, but please, leave my Kineema out of it."Through the sudden sharp pain in your head, you hear the lieutenant mumble something to himself. ("Fucking hell" and "Why me?" you hear through the white noise.)"Right behind you, officer." Eyes closed, the lieutenant is doubled over. He's still alive and breathing."*Ask the wind* sounds like an expression. For when you have no idea. We should continue our search. Perhaps even get a little desperate..." He looks around. "Like -- maybe we can get shovels and dig?" A quiver of a smile. "Don't mind that -- a bad attempt at humour.""Perhaps *you* can climb them. *We're* not climbing anything. I'm 43 years old -- and I plan to live to see 70."("I did it, Kim! I teleported!") "I just *saw* you climb the ladder," the lieutenant shouts from below. "You just climbed it, like a regular person.""This really has nothing to do with... adventure. We're dealing with basic physics here." ("It won't hurt to try.") "Oh yes. It could hurt. A lot."The lieutenant looks at you with that 'I-know-you're-thinking-the-stupid-thing' look -- as you grow tired of clenching your buttocks and give up.("I'm seriously running out of shits to give, Kim. Fuck you.") "Fuck me? Please leave the *rage* you have for after we finish the investigation.""Well, detective, it appears you've solved the case..." The lieutenant looks around, writes something in his notebook, and turns to you... "Of the locusts. For the missing locust case, which is a sub-case of the imaginary insect case. So at least *that's* going well."("Stop being so sarcastic, Kim.") "Oh, I'm not being sarcastic *at all*. We are making *real* progress here.""Right. I just wish I could remember what I was talking about..." (Something here is eating at the lieutenant, as much as he would like to move past it.)"The concept of getting dressed *is* familiar to me. Perhaps more than to you," he adds, glancing at your attire. "But wearing jackets like these isn't appropriate for an RCM officer.""They're called SKULLS because when you're shot dead in the middle of the street, the skull is the only part the stray dogs won't eat." (Just trust me and follow my lead.)"There are a million containers here. Why are you fixating on this one?" ("You're right, it's probably nothing.") "Damn it, now you've got *me* curious... this is *not* what we came to the harbour for."The lieutenant stands there, dumbfounded. His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. ("Kim, are you having a stroke?") "No, I am *not* having a stroke. You're just... still full of surprises. Most of them bad, but some good...""Oh, lord, not this again." ("What's the matter, Kim?") "Oh, nothing. It's just that we've got this *murder* to solve, and yet you go around asking everyone about *money*. And every time I ask, 'Are you sure this is related to the case?', you say, 'Sure, Kim. I think it is'...""Lieutenant-yefreitor, you've stood there for over five minutes..." The lieutenant's calm voice echoes in the cold air of the church."Okay. It's just that you've been looking at that window for quite long now. And it's cold in here..." He takes off his glasses to clean them."This church. The coast in general... we shouldn't linger here. This isn't a good place to get lost in." (An imperceptible tinge of fear. The lieutenant is afraid of the church. He does not know why, but he is.)"You are brutal and *dumb*." He says, his voice ice cold."I understand. People are usually afraid to do things if others aren't already doing them. Dancing makes you dance like sneezing makes you sneeze. Or yawning makes you..." "Anyway..." He looks around, a little embarrassed of the enthusiasm of his interjection."Hard core, *shmard core*... I did 15 years in the Juvenile Crime Unit. I can *do* age-inappropriate.""Good for you!" He looks around the church hall. "Rock on, then..." (Somehow you manage to hear him sigh.)"Press your damn cheek against Lamby, okay?" The lieutenant sounds authoritative -- and surprisingly gruff."Well, at least you're not married." The lieutenant points at the ring on the man's left hand, the flesh around it swollen and grey.("You taught me that points are arbitrary. I decided to play the game how I wanted instead.") The lieutenant opens his mouth as if to issue a blistering retort, then hesitates... "You know, detective, there's... something *admirable* about that, in its own way..."The lieutenant looks over the rulebook before he sees something that makes his eyes go wide... "Holy shit, the average playing time for this game is one to *six* hours...""I'm not sure we can afford to set aside *that* kind of time for a *game*." (So he says, but his gaze lingers a moment longer on the rulebook than is strictly necessary. He could *make* time, if he really wanted to.)"Never fuck with Kim Kitsuragi.""I hope you learned your lesson," the lieutenant says with a sharp smile. ("Yeah, never play board games.") "Never fuck with Kim Kitsuragi."("Who died and made you the fun police?") The lieutenant gives you a sour look. He may or may not hate fun, but either way he does not appreciate your attitude..."What, you're not going to offer to let *me* punch any of them out?"""Hrm..." The lieutenant's face goes stony as you take your turn. He does not appreciate you getting all his workers addicted to cocaine..."Okay-okay. They are all necessary. Let's share the sandwich, if it matters that much to you." The lieutenant breaks the sandwich in two and quickly eats his half."I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry.""You know, Harry, one of your problems is that *nothing* ever seems to be your fault. Have you noticed that?""It's dark," the lieutenant states the obvious. "And the flashlight works a lot better if you *hold it in your hand*." ("Flashlights go *in* hand?") "Yes," the lieutenant says. "You might even call it a *feature* of the universe, that you need to *hold* tools to *use* them."(Twenty-eight kilometres to the northeast, in the infirmary of Precinct 57, Lieutenant Kim 'Pinball' Kitsuragi rests under a heart monitor. A triage sign coloured yellow hangs from his injury record -- safe, it means. He coughs, propped up against the pillow.)("Then why are you wasting time here?" coughs Kim. "He's out there. In Martinaise. Unsupervised, *without cover*. You need to get there..." His cough gets the best of him, he grabs a glass.)(Sitting at a desk, Lieutenant Kitsuragi fiddles with a pen, then writes something on the paper in front of him. He shouldn't be doing that, he should be here discussing the footprints.)(Lieutenant Kitsuragi lies in the hospital, recovering. Barely. Are you really done here, he would ask you? Are you done with the investigation?)("Two's all you need. Me and Kim are the same way.") "Kim and *I*..." the lieutenant mutters under his breath. He scribbles something in his notebook but adds nothing else."Yeah. Drugs. Shit. Fuck. We don't care." He smirks."You fucking asshole. I'm not here to be your *loyal assistant*, and I never have been...""Stop, STOP. You won't even call me by my *actual title*. It's always, 'Kim this, Kim that.' Has it even occurred to you how disrespectful that is?"("To me, you're my partner.") For a moment the lieutenant seems to be suppressing something uncomfortable. Then he clears his throat... (The lieutenant's not comfortable with emotional openness. He's eager to change the subject.)The lieutenant leans in. "Hey, you promised you'd only ask about one cryptid." ("But, Kim... Don't *you* want to hear about another cryptid too?") The lieutenant pauses thoughtfully. (Something in him breaks.) "Ah, fuck it. Let's have more cryptids.""I think this racist is better than the last -- but the next racist will be the really good one." ("That will be our lucky racist!") "He will grant us three wishes.""("Kim, I know the alphabet now.") "Good. I also know the alphabet." (It is a very useful skill to have, he thinks. For all sorts of life-activities. Like reading, and...)"Alright," the lieutenant coughs abruptly. "It's a good moment to stop. My neck was starting to hurt. If there's nothing more, we should get going." (He would follow you into death itself... and you would do the same for him.)(Meanwhile, his colleague is filling in the last clues of his nightly crossword when he hears what seems to be some kind of animalistic howling from the adjoining room. He directs his eyes toward the door of their shared bathroom...)(He sets down the paper and quickly scribbles the date and time in his notebook, along with a note: 'HDB possible relapse? Check in first thing.')It is quite a scene - the two of you standing next to the broken wall of an abandoned building... nodding. Nodding along. (Two officers of the law against the world. Nodding in unison. It is your source of power. The bond of camaraderie between you... is palpable...)"You're bad with kids," the lieutenant remarks with evident glee. ("And what are you, Kid Master General?") "Maybe I am?" He grins.The lieutenant must think it's rather funny. He smiles and quickly turns away. (You keep blowing.) "That's right. Just keep at it, it will come to you."("Only if you promise that we'll talk again. It's *important*.") Something flutters in the corner of the lieutenant's mouth as you're saying those words. (It's laughter!)

"Let's go, officer." The lieutenant closes his notes. "These people wouldn't know a good performance if it bit them in the ass." ("You... liked it?") "Lieutenant Du Bois..." he bows lightly. "It was downright *tragic*. Now let's go." (I mean it, he thinks.)The lieutenant matches your nodding pace. He's a true professional at this. (Keep nodding, goddamn it! Stay the course!) A small bead of sweat runs down the side of the lieutenant's face as he maintains his nodding...(Just one more nod.) As the lieutenant takes out a handkerchief and softly taps the sweat off his temple... a faint crack echoes through the coast..."Why did you take that?" the lieutenant asks, glancing at the photo. ("I'm making an artistic photo collage, Kim.") "Of course you are," he says matter-of-factly. "What murder investigation would be complete without an arbitrary photo collage."("Wait, Kim, do *you* hear a high pitched noise?") "No. I don't hear the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua -- and neither do you." (Of course he doesn't. He's DEAF.)"I am at a loss as well. I could *swear* your shit was together, detective."("What? Aren't you having *fun*?") "Even relative to examining a week-old corpse, I'm not sure mucking about in the reeds qualifies as *fun*... but have it your way, detective..." (If you think it's important -- you *have* been right before.)("You don't need to *supervise* me, Kim.") "Except that I *do*, detective.""What I'm trying to say, is that in your own twisted way, you're *almost a genius*, a genius who's dedicated his entire malignant existence to devising new and spectacular ways to be *wrong*."The lieutenant takes a deep breath, appearing to gather even more energy and rage, but when he opens his mouth to continue his fulmination, he just sighs..."It's his leg. Did you know he was *shot* just a few days ago? He shouldn't be dancing like a madman, he should be in bed, *resting*." (The lieutenant sounds genuinely worried about you -- and furious with himself, for not stopping you from running around.)""The lieutenant sighs. "Alright, party-boy, can you stand?""That's wonderful, officer. My opinion of you has lowered. Go ahead, write down a stupid nonsensical number in the autopsy form too -- instead of E50.100.1000.""Well, except that one time when he stopped to sing karaoke. Which, by the way -- I have to disagree with you, Mr. Vicquemare -- was a valiant effort. He really sang his heart out."("Yeah, I'm what they call a *master 'bater*.") The lieutenant lets out a long, nasal sigh."And, detective..." He turns to you. He smiles. "Thanks for this. It's been interesting."("I walked the land telling whores and liars of the End to come. There are 9,855 days remaining.") "Cool. I'm glad you joined us. Not a lot of money in doomcrying... Let's move on, shall we?""No?" The lieutenant's expression is stern and impenetrable. He points at you: "You *will* get your shit together." (You're sure this has not affected his impression of you in a good way.)"This 'washed-up TipTop racer' knows how to sew a lapel and center a back vent." The lieutenant raises one eyebrow at you. (That's why his clothes fit so well...) "So if you want to wake up next to anyone other than *Commodore Red*, you might do well to take notes."("Have you ever wanted to change your name, Kim?") "Change? No, not exactly. But I think all of us at some point imagine what our lives might have been had we been something else."He pulls a long, pensive drag. "Even if I were to change my name now, upon hearing any syllable that sounds like *kim* in the street, I'd turn to see who was calling me.""Told you we shouldn't play Sad FM." ("But you didn't say that, Kim.") "I did." (We have entered a world where he said you shouldn't. It is the only world.)"Repressed sexualities are something of an *idée fixe* of his."The lieutenant looks at you almost gently. "Yes. That is a pity. But for now let's focus on the things we *do* get to do. Like the murder investigation for example." (He liked the Coupris funeral idea.)("I don't know.") "I think I might," the lieutenant mumbles under his breath."Focus on *other* people's troubles. Not your own. That is the relief." ("Thank you, oh wise man.") The lieutenant blinks, his mouth slightly open and his body motionless. A microsecond passes."Excuse me. I was lecturing you. I shouldn't have. You should consult a medical professional if you feel that you need help. You can use the radio in my Kineema to call your station's *lazareth*."("What's wrong with personal affairs?") "Not a fan. It's just the nature of lieutenancy."("So what *should* I concentrate on?") "Try work. The case at hand. It can work miracles.""You stole the boots." He looks at the gleaming technological footwear you're sporting. "Congratulations. That must have taken an enormous, concerted effort. *Considerable* ingenuity. And timing. Now -- I'm going to report you and you're going to go to jail.""Now -- I'm going to report you and you're going to go to jail." ("You are?") "It was a joke, sadly. There's nothing I can do about your delinquency." He sighs."What's done is done. Let's get back to policework." (I don't care about your insane theft, the lieutenant thinks and looks away from the boots. Just know: if anyone asks me, I *will* snitch on you.)("You're joking.") "Am I?" He arches his brow. "Anyway, did you want something -- related to policework?""Then I was right to spare you from it, no?" He cracks a little smile. "Anyway, the pale is no more terrifying than, say, water. Or death. Or that we're stuck behind our eyes, for all eternity..." He looks around, pensive suddenly. "Excuse me. Large topics are not my forte."("Where *are* we, Lieutenant Kitsuragi?") "In Elysium," he replies. "Behind our eyes. Like all human beings, detective." He looks around and sighs. "The world is what it is. I'm glad to see you're stable. Keep it that way."("Kim! We need to talk about... *responsibility*.") "Ah, I'm glad to hear it, detective. I was wondering when we'd get to this very subject.""If you ask me, it's past time for you to lay off the *street drugs* you've been abusing. They really aren't helping us solve the case." ("I can't give up street drugs now. I *just* got addicted to them!") The lieutenant's quizzical expression gradually deepens into a frown.("Murder in cold blood seems like a thing I'm capable of -- if I just dare. What if I *already* dared?") "Teenage nonsense," he dead pans. "You would have had to be ready to use lethal force long ago, when you joined the RCM.The lieutenant's disappointment is palpable. It's like someone just shot his dog."This is a broken man," he whispers to you. "He probably feels that he should have been able to protect the others somehow. And now he feels guilty for not dying with them, or instead of them.""Thank you for your advice, Eugene. And you too, Alain. I do always appreciate a good use of the expression 'milkers'."The lieutenant gives you an acknowledging little nod.

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Misc.

So um. A couple things!First, thanks for checking this out. The whole thing is something I did purely for fun and my own personal enjoyment, and I ended up getting WAY more into it than I thought I would.The way I formatted this bot and the "quotes" ultimately ended up being a little bit more than literally just quotes. The longer I worked on the bot, the more I realized how much more impactful/humorous/etc. some of these lines/actions are with a little bit of context.To keep things simple, Anything not in parentheses comes straight from the in-game text box labeled KIM KITSURAGI.Any dialogue in parentheses ("Like This") are Harry's spoken lines. I could have added spoken lines from other characters as well, but I figured it might make things a bit more confusing than they had to be.Lastly, any text in parentheses not spoken aloud (Like This) is from the skills. The most frequently featured skills in the list are Esprit de Corps, Empathy, Rhetoric, and Composure.As of typing this up, the bot has one whole follower (me!) If more people end up liking it, I will consider upgrading tiers on GimmickBots, which is like six dollars a month. In doing so, I can make the intervals between tweets shorter (if that is something people would want) and I could make other bots as well! (UPDATE 5/13/24: I can make more bots without needing to upgrade; see home page)I'm hoping to keep KitsuragiBot running as long as possible, regardless of if it has 3 followers or 3,000. There are 390+ unique quotes so I'm also hoping the randomness of the code doesn't spit out the same 5 over and over again LOL. I suppose only time will tell! Thanks for stopping by!- @alllisonisdead

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