YOU – Did you just say that there are vines out there?
NARRATOR – Yes, vines. Shrubs. The odd flower. All sorts of plant life grows outside the confines of the airlock. But what truly catches your attention is not the minor greenery clinging along the walkways.
It’s the trees.
Mighty evergreens, meters in width and dozens more in length, grip to Thespir’s walls – hanging from them horizontally. They tangle and twine themselves together at the roots, trunks and branches. Their leaves, varying wildly in size and shape, nearly block all view of the sky beyond, save for a miniscule gap allowing the blazing light of a blue star to shine through.
You barely realize you’re moving as you step onto the rust-caked walkway. You must see more of this wonder. This vertical jungle before you. Some of the larger trees even have paths – human paths – carved into their bark and lined with makeshift rails of wood and rope.
A rainforest is suspended dozens of kilometers above the ground, sideways.
LOGIC – Wu-w-wa- What?! This… it shouldn’t be possible! Microbes can barely survive at altitudes like these – much less entire rainforests. I-it, what you’re looking at doesn’t make sense! You’re hallucinating. You’re having another stroke from staring at that damned star. It is the only possible explanation.
INTERFACING – No, you’re fine in that regard. For now. This is real.
LOGIC – But- h-how?!
RHETORIC – Well, isn’t it possible that these are alien plants which have naturally adapted to such conditions over the eons?
LOGIC – No! Even if these are xenoflora then the conditions required for them to adapt to environments like these are absolutely impossible in the natural world. Mountains almost reaching into low orbit? Preposterous!
AUTHORITY – Then couldn’t these plants have been genetically engineered by humans to survive at these altitudes?
LOGIC – Yes, but that doesn’t explain how they’re holding onto a metal wall fifty kilometers above the ground. How are they supporting themselves with so much weight? How do they even get enough water and nutrients to allow for such growth?!
ENDURANCE – Life finds a way. This tower is a scaffold – a helping hand to allow these hardiest of plants to adapt to such extremes over a matter of centuries.
LOGIC – That doesn’t answer my questions at all!
ENDURANCE – …I didn’t get a chance to say my piece before.
INTERFACING – Theoretically, at least some moisture and minerals could be constantly getting introduced into the ecosystem from leaky pipes lining Thespir’s outer wall. Especially from those which are part of the sewage system.
YOU – Wouldn’t stuff like that be repaired?
INTERFACING – Have you noticed the state of the walkway you’re standing on? You cannot see a single part of it that isn’t corroded. I don’t think very much maintenance gets done around here. In fact, I would watch where I step if I were you…
NARRATOR – Then, a blur floats across your sight – almost in slow motion. Squinting at the hazy shape, you see an iridescent insect, about the size of your hand, fluttering between the leviathan branches. Its six buzzing wings beat against the thin air in a fevered pitch…
LOGIC – Okay, now what the actual [Belgium] is that?
ENDURENCE – A bug. Obviously.
PERCEPTION – It actually seems to possess more in common with arachnids – a distinct class of arthropod which are not bugs or insects.
LOGIC – I… I’m going to sleep. Somebody wake me… in a few hours.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION – You can do that?
LOGIC – I’ll find out.
NARRATOR – A shiver runs down your spine as you feel a… segment of your brain, of your mind isolate itself, and shut down.
YOU – That felt… weird.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – No kidding…
NARRATOR – The Bartender walks over to your side, gazing into the wilderness just as you. Unlike yourself, however, he expresses no interest in the miraculous treescape. “What? First time seeing Markinsialigotoriallerfrest?” His tone is filled with enough sarcasm to poison all the oceans of Old Terra. Clearly, he views your obvious bewilderment as some odd act or pretentious trick. Not unlike, well, everything else you’ve done in the last half hour.
SHIVERS – Half hour? Try weeks.
COMPOSURE – For that matter, he doesn’t believe your amnesia story either – at least, not fully. He knows that there is something seriously wrong with your head, though not quite to that extent.
YOU – But how can he be so casual? How… how could anyone not be amazed by this?
CONCEPTUALIZATION – Live next to anything for long enough, and it will become normal. Average. Expected.
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 8/10 (+2 Portmanteau): 5 = PASSED) – ‘Markinsialigotoriallerfrest’ is also a portmanteau – Upper Thespir is quite fond of them. The exact words which comprise it are somewhat obscure, though it basically means ‘The Garden of Bounties and Markinsian Will’. Something like that.
SAVOIR FAIRE – Most people call it ‘The Jungle’ besides, so it doesn’t really matter.
CONCEPTUALIZATION – I prefer the Ulioughti version myself. ‘Verdanta’ just has a better ring to it...
NARRATOR – The Bartender turns to you. “So, are you ready to see the corpse? I’ve been waiting for quite some time on that… all of us have.” You take a few moments to think of your response, to think of your questions, but in the end, you disregard those notions. That conversation can wait for a few hours.
YOU – “…Yeah. You lead the way.”
NARRATOR – He nods, makes an about face, and marches down the creaking walkway. The… loudly creaking walkway. The walkway that is definitely not supposed to be a reddish-brown, or have small, jagged holes gaping through it.
INTERFACING – Again, watch your step. Closely.
NARRATOR – The man stops in his tracks, doubtlessly having noticed that you’re not following him. He sighs. “What is it this time, Detective?”
YOU – “These walkways… don’t seem the safest. Is there any other way to the crime scene?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender does not turn around. “No, Detective. Every possible route to the crime scene includes these platforms. Come to think of it, this is probably the path with the least of them. Don’t worry, they’re perfectly safe. Come on now…”
YOU – “There are holes in them!”
NARRATOR – He sighs once more, almost groaning, actually. “Yes, bullet holes. They don’t compromise the structural integrity one bit – if they did, then they’d have already been replaced. Trust me.”
YOU – Bullet holes? That’ll be another question for later. “…Are you sure there isn’t any other way?”
NARRATOR – Your guide begins irately stomping on the rust-coated floor. Every impact of his foot against the walkway causes a small cloud of rust flakes to form around his legs, but nothing else. The platform remains stable. After a moment, he stops and gestures vaguely to his feet. “See? It. Is. Fine. These maintenance paths have been here for centuries, and they’ll stay here for centuries more. Come on now, the bloke was hung out this way…” He continues walking away.
EMPATHY – Don’t push him any further; he’s been at a breaking point for quite some time now… Just do what he says for a while; let him calm down.
NARRATOR – While your worries do not exactly evaporate, you are somewhat reassured by the show. Gingerly, you follow The Bartender – running to catch up with him. D30 trails you, silent save for its whirring joints.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Wait, he said that these walkways have been out here for centuries… but that can’t be possible. Even the strongest of alloys surely would have decayed to ash by now in conditions like these.
YOU – Since when do you have any interest in things like metal corrosion?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – It’s literally in my name! Electrochemistry. And the process of rusting and decay is ultimately a chemical reaction. Yeah, sure, I mostly care about chemical reactions as they relate to your body, but I know about other stuff too. Plus, with Mister Doctorate snoozing, I’ve taken the liberty of promoting myself to King Science for a little while…
AUTHORITY – Y-you can’t just do that!
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Oh really? Then how did I do it?
NARRATOR – You reach The Bartender as he turns a corner on the walkway, leading you and your companion further away from Thespir’s main body. Now slowed down in pace to a pleasant walk, you decide that it wouldn’t be a bad time for some conversation.
YOU – “So when you said that these walkways have been here for centuries, did you mean, like… actual centuries? Because that doesn’t really seem possible.”
NARRATOR – He rolls his eyes. “No, I was exaggerating. These specific segments of the maintenance system haven’t been here for literal centuries. Again, don’t worry – everywhere I’m taking you is safe. This route is used by myself and my hotel’s staff every day. We haven’t lost anyone out here in sixteen years, and that was from the explosion.”
YOU – “Explosion?”
EMPATHY – The deafening screech of combusting promethium. The murder of so much innocence…
NARRATOR – Your guide nods, a haze clouding over his eyes. “Yeah, just a few years before I took over the place from my dad, some kind of terrorist stayed a night in our hotel. At least, we’re pretty sure he was a terrorist. Don’t know what he would have used the bomb for otherwise…”
YOU – “A terrorist bombed your hotel?”
NARRATOR – “No. Well, not on purpose – we think. My family hadn’t done anything overly political or pissed anyone off, so we’re pretty sure he was just resting here before he hit his actual target.”
From behind, D30 buzzes a question. “Was there any indication of where this terrorist could have been targeting?”
A look of mild surprise overtakes The Bartender’s features as he glances back at your assistant.
COMPOSURE – He hadn’t expected the android to speak. At least, not to him.
NARRATOR – It’s only a moment before the man seamlessly regains his composure. “Never met the bastard myself, so I’m probably not the best account on his mentality. One of my cousi- hmm… Everyone was questioned a few days after, but the investigators never got any concrete leads. Case went cold and it got abandoned eventually.”
INLAND EMPIRE (SKILL CHECK 4/12: 3 = PASSED) – Eliara Maek idly fussed with her blouse’s neckline, ensuring that it was suggestive, yet not overly so. She couldn’t afford to be obvious. Her parents would not approve, to say the least.
Truth be told, she didn’t either.
But her family needed money. Desperately. And the work she did in between her official shifts had kept her siblings and cousins full many times before.
That night was unusually busy for the Drop Off Hotel – the recent attacks further up in the Gaenikan Section had driven tens of thousands southward. Both in search of shelter, and to outrun the quarantine. It was a tragedy for most, but for her family, it was a godsend. Not only were they completely booked, but there were many potential customers for her to service.
She was walking towards the elevator to go to the second floor, where there would be fewer prying eyes, when she heard something fall next to her in the lobby’s din. The sound was followed by a stream of gruffly muttered curses.
Turning, she saw a large man fumbling with an array of bags and cases held in his arms, attempting to grab a keycard from the carpet without dropping anything else. He was a stout, hardened fellow. And from a glance she could tell that he was far too stubborn for his own good – otherwise he would simply set his luggage down to pick up the card.
He was, to be certain, a fighter of some sort. He had that grizzled, brutal look about his eyes that said that he had killed before, and would do it many more times without a second thought. He surely did these killings at the behest of some faction or another. Maybe the Pelaenco, Peomilune, or one of the hundreds of gangs and criminal syndicates of Northern Fol. But even if he was a Blackened Eye, those psychotic druggers, Eliara did not care.
Killers were good customers.
The young woman paused, panned her head about the lobby to confirm that there weren’t any of her family members nearby, and casually sauntered over to him.
She stopped in front of the man, and bent over to grab the fallen key – incidentally shoving her rear into his crotch. Experienced in ways that she should never have been, she lingered in that position for far longer than necessary, then stood straight. She waited a moment idly stroking the keycard, as if deep in thought, then turned back around and handed it to the now-flustered man with a sultry smirk on her lips.
“Be a bit more careful next time, big man.”
The killer was stuck, for a moment, then he grinned and took the card from her. “I will, Miss. You have my word on that.”
Hefting his luggage, he began to trundle off towards the elevator. “Room One-Thirteen, Miss. Double if I’m the first of the night. I’ll know.”
Eliara smiled, this time the expression genuine.
Killers were very good customers.
NARRATOR – With a sudden shudder, you are back on the rusting walkways. Your heart flutters erratically within your chest, and a migraine pounds at your temples. You lean onto the railings for balance as you rub your sore skull.
YOU – Great, more visions.
NARRATOR – Your companions stop as you groan out your discomfort to the world, The Bartender raising an eyebrow. “Detective? Is there something wrong?”
YOU – “…I’m fine, just a bit… hungover is all. Keep up with your story.”
NARRATOR – The Bartender accepts your explanation with a nod, and you resume walking.
DRAMA – A mysterious terrorist? No known motive? No known intent? That sounds like a proper case for you to solve! In your own time, of course.
ESPRIT DE CORPS – It’s been over a decade-and-a-half since the explosion occurred; any threat to the Neralian people was eradicated long ago. You must focus on the present – and the future.
NARRATOR – The three of you make another turn, heading now even further away from Thespir, as The Bartender continues his tale. “Anyways, whatever the explosives were for didn’t matter because the guy was clearly an idiot. Messed up something in the bomb and it went off in the middle of the night. A couple of rooms were completely obliterated, a lot of people got killed, and the blast caused a couple of walkway sections to collapse… One of my brothers was on them; he died.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
YOU – “Oh… sorry for your loss.”
NARRATOR – He glances at you, lips drawn tight, and makes a slight nodding movement.
COMPOSURE – It’s one of those awkward expressions of vague acknowledgement. The kind people make when they don’t know what else to do.
NARRATOR – You walk in silence alongside your party for a moment, not sure what else could be said. Then, The Bartender stops. “Okay, now we go this way.” He points to your right, to a gap in the railings, and a massive tree extending far off into the wilderness. A path has been meticulously carved into its sapwood and lined with wooden posts and rope to prevent incautious travelers from falling to their deaths.
YOU – …I’m not getting on that.
NARRATOR – As you stare at the tree in mute horror, The Bartender nonchalantly steps onto it and begins walking down its length.
SAVOIR FAIRE – Just keep following him; there’s not any more risk of falling from this path than from the walkway you’re currently on. Don’t look down, though. That probably wouldn’t be a wise decision.
NARRATOR – Of course, this comment only makes you look down, beneath the tree-path. Though, surprisingly, there is not a several-kilometer drop into the clouds before your eyes, but instead dozens of dozens more thick, tangled trees extending from Thespir’s walls. Many of them carved into ‘roads’ like the path that The Bartender currently marches upon, seemingly in slow motion.
A few of these branches even possess makeshift shacks made of wood and scrap metal, connected to Thespir by tangled messes of tubes and cords.
INTERFACING – They’re most likely siphoning power, water and pressurized air from the city’s main body. Legally or not.
NARRATOR – Below all this dense foliage is a massive outcropping of Thespir – almost like an entirely separate, normal building that has been carelessly shoved into its side. In fact, you can’t see the sky at all from where you’re standing, no matter where you look.
SAVOIR FAIRE – See? Even if you do fall, which is again unlikely, it’ll only be for a few meters. You might get… a sprained ankle at most.
NARRATOR – You gingerly step down onto the carved path, running to catch up with The Bartender as a question echoes in your mind. Walking next to the man, keeping a hand on the rope-and-wood railing as a security-blanket of sorts, you ask him your query.
YOU – “Hey, how come I couldn’t see any of this from my room’s window?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender scoffs. “You remember that terrorist? He was staying in Room One-Thirteen – your room. When the bomb went off it wasn’t only the hotel that got damaged; just about everything outside was uprooted and flung away…”
The Bartender trails off for a second before resuming. “Once that section was rebuilt, we decided to market those rooms as deluxe; they had the best skyview of any spot on the entire level. We keep the view by clearing out any plants in the area before they get too big.”
YOU – “Huh…”
NARRATOR – With nothing else to say, you direct your attention to the tangled branches surrounding your living pathway.
The trees are nearly covered in parasitic flora – small vines, shrubs, and ferns, for example. You cannot help but notice the plethora of flowers many of these plants bear. No two seems alike.
Some are larger than your torso with massive, trailing stamen that possess bulbous fruits in lieu of anthers. Others are long and tapering, bearing more in common with Old Terran chili peppers than anything else, and only recognizable as flowers due to tiny blooms at their ends. Still more float through the air on rhythmically flapping petals.
Truly, this is an alien world. As if everything else you’ve seen was not enough to convince you.
YOU – Hey, while we’re on the topic, why are these trees so damn big?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Well, using my position as KING SCIENCE, I theorize that these trees have grown to such diameters… as a method of… Uh… Oh, yes, that’s right! Retaining more water and nutrients. Much like cactuses. I also suspect that they extend so far outwards from Thespir due to… reasons. Due to reasons, yes.
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Typically, trees grow upwards due to natural jockeying for sunlight. It is most likely that the trees growing further outwards in this environment would be for the same reason.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – And that is a reason. So I was correct.
ENCYCLOPEDIA – I am not, however, aware of the specific evolutionary pressure that is causing these trees to grow such wide trunks. It could possibly help fight against gravity, but I can’t be sure. He could be right on that one.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – As I am on all ones. I am King Science, after all.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – Alright, can somebody wake up the puzzle-face? Somehow Electrochem is even more grating than he is…
INTERFACING – Hm… Maybe if I…
NARRATOR – You feel a presence begin intermittently… ‘poking’ at a segment of your brain.
INTERFACING – This should work, just give me a few minutes. Then we won’t need to listen to EC as much…
VOLITION – Thank goodness…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Hey! I was doing a pretty good job at the nerd’s job. I should even get a permanent promotion!
AUTHORITY – Pipe down, filthy drunk.
SUGGESTION – He seems to get rowdy when you haven’t had a fix…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Yeah, so get one already!
NARRATOR – You decide to distract yourself from your internal feuding with some outward conversation, almost blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
YOU – “So if this guy was hung out in such a remote place, how did you find him?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender grunts. “I didn’t. The bloke was found by the maids while they were doing their morning routine.”
YOU – “What kind of morning routine includes venturing out into an untamed jungle?”
NARRATOR – “I’d hardly call it untamed… And, well, they were coming out here to grab the fresh linens.” Your brain takes a few seconds to properly absorb that statement.
YOU – “…You have a laundry room out here?”
NARRATOR – “…Yeah, the wind helps with drying the sheets.” Just as you are about to respond, he holds up a hand, motioning forwards to a dense tangle of leaves and branches which halo the walkway. A tunnel cut through the greenery reveals a sharp turn in the path. “Anyways, we’re here.”
You are forced to duck slightly as you walk underneath the foliage, but with a few more steps, you emerge before a massive platform made of wood planks and sheets of metal. Cylindrical washing machines fill the majority of the floor’s space, connected together by a network of tubes and wires. The platform is itself supported by a plethora of nanocarbon ropes bound to lashing rings bolted along the rim, amongst the safety rails. These ropes extend high into the canopy above – beyond your sight.
Sheets, pillowcases, towels, hotel uniforms, and dozens of other miscellaneous garments dangle from clotheslines stretched across the open air, relentlessly beaten about by the brutal winds of this altitude.
PERCEPTION (SKILL CHECK 4/7: 4 = PASSED) – But none of this is what you came for. No, the reason why you’re here, Sir, sways silently in the distance, slowly dripping rotten viscera into the void below…
NARRATOR – Indeed, a bloody scene of decay hangs over the boundless clouds beneath. The rotting cadaver before you, strung up by its ruined, unnaturally-bent neck is… barely recognizable as human.
Local scavengers have clearly had their fill – skin, fat, and every internal organ has been entirely consumed. Only the barest of meat still cloaks the skeleton. Both legs are gone at the knee, as well as one of its hands at the wrist, but you cannot tell if this is due to the killer’s actions, or those of wild animals.
You are incapable of ascertaining the condition of the victim’s head, for it is completely sealed away from the world by a black, encompassing, featureless helm. Perhaps it has allowed the face to escape relatively unharmed…
However, the most shocking fact of the corpse is not its advanced decomposition, but instead the grey, pulsating, beachball-sized sphere of flesh nestled within its ribcage – holding itself to the body with four massive tentacles wrapped around the spine’s mottled remnants. Alongside this horror are dozens of miniscule… cephalopodic insects that cling to the victim’s semisolid meat, tearing off wet chunks of gore with razor-sharp tendrils.
One of these creatures, having obtained its prize, crawls towards the sphere and wriggles into its mass via a bright-black orifice. Seconds later, more emerge from the fleshball’s confines, immediately setting about procuring more putrid biomass.
The sphere it… exudes a presence of some sort. A thrumming, buzzing pressure that sets your migraine alight.
YOU – “…What the [Belgium] is that? Why is it on the corpse?”
NARRATOR – Behind you, The Bartender chuckles as he leans against a washing machine. “It’s called a lovecraft hive. Not sure why, honestly; they don’t have much relation to romance or anything of the sort. It showed up yesterday after the smell got really bad and its little minions started chewing into the bloke.”
PERCEPTION – He means the smell of the laundry drying nearby – it would have been impossible for anyone to smell through their rebreathers.
EMPATHY – It would also be appreciated if you would remove the corpse as soon you can. Obvious reasons aside, washing the hotel’s linens isn’t possible if they become tainted with the smell of rotting flesh the second they’re taken out the washer.
NARRATOR – D30 suddenly marches towards The Bartender, who flinches back as the android shoves its ‘face’ into his, very nearly headbutting him. “And the hive was left on the victim’s corpse? There was no attempt made to remove it from the crime scene?”
The Bartender scoffs, pointing at you. “Hey, don’t blame me. It was Detective’s orders. We notified him about it as soon as we could, and he told us it was fine.”
The android turns to look at you, a moment passing in silence.
YOU – “…Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I did say that…”
NARRATOR – In an instant, D30 steps away from your guide, shifting to a neutral stance. “Understood, Detective. Following the orders of a trusted protector of the Neralian people is always to be commended.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Indeed.
NARRATOR – A presence then reappears in your crowded mindscape. Disorientated, though quite well-rested.
LOGIC – What happened? W-where are we? Have the hallucinations disappeared yet?
INTERFACING – Sorry it took me so long. He’s a heavy sleeper…
VISUAL CALCULUS – Good to see you back; we need your mind on this.
LOGIC – Mind on what?
VISUAL CALCULUS – Show him.
YOU – …I… Don’t think I should.
LOGIC – Why?
NARRATOR – ‘He’ll be angry’.
LOGIC – Why would I be angry?
YOU – …
LOGIC – Why would I be angry?
VOLITION – He’ll see eventually anyways. There’s no avoiding it.
NARRATOR – Wordlessly, your eyes flick to the hanging corpse.
LOGIC – …Is that the victim?
VOLITION – Yes.
LOGIC – …Did you… Did you let him be stripped to the bone by wild animals?
YOU – …
VISUAL CALCULUS – Yes.
LOGIC – What have you done?! How in the world are you supposed to obtain any relevant information on the murder from this? The man is literally a skeleton! How are we even supposed to identify any weapons used against him? Whether he struggled when he died or not? Why didn’t you have the corpse removed from the hot, humid jungle when you arrived?
NARRATOR – A nervous sweat breaks out across your face.
LOGIC – For two weeks you let that man rot! And now you’re supposed to find out who murdered him from evidence that’s been so heavily degraded and altered, you might as well not have it at all!
YOU – “Well I… I was busy…”
VOLITION – Don’t lie to yourself. You weren’t.
NARRATOR – D30 crackles at your self-mutterings. “Detective?”
YOU – “Nothing. Just thinking.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – It’s actually a miracle the corpse is still so intact, considering what conditions it was left in. The second it started to decompose, every scavenger within at least a kilometer would be salivating…
AUTHORITY – Logic is back. You are no longer ‘King Science’.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Hey! This falls under my area of expertise regardless!
LOGIC – King what?
SUGGESTION – You know, the hotel’s staff must have come out here a few times every day for the laundry. You could probably get some information about the corpse from them. For example, maybe Its hands were tied before one of them fell off. That would imply the victim was still alive when he was hung.
NARRATOR – Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you walk to the edge of the platform – as close as you can get to the cadaver. However, even if you were to climb to the other side of the safety railing, it would still be a full three meters away from you. A full three meters over the open sky…
YOU – “So… how are we going to get this thing down?”
NARRATOR – To your surprise, it is not D30 who speaks first, but instead The Bartender. “I’ve had some time to think about it – not much else to do these last few weeks. Needless to say, you’ve got to be careful. If there’s any mistake while it’s being brought down, it’ll fall and, well, it won’t exactly be recoverable.”
HALF LIGHT – A fine red mist upon the docks…
NARRATOR – Before you can even think over the image, your robotic companion buzzes. “May I remind the civilian that this is an active crime scene.”
In response, the man rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get the message. I’ll be back in the hotel.” With a half-hearted wave goodbye, he begins marching away.
YOU – “Wait!”
NARRATOR – The Bartender turns back around, an eyebrow quirked.
YOU – “I think we’re going to need your help with this.”
NARRATOR – The eyebrow raises further. “…Alright. But uh, tinbuk isn’t going to chuck me over the side, is he?”
D39 snaps to attention. “My direct superior is the Detective. I will follow his command unless explicitly ordered otherwise by a Protector-General. You, Lolehrr Maek: Citizen, have been temporarily granted Gamma-Level Security Clearance as it pertains to this investigation.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Gamma-Sek clearance for a random sciv? You sure you want to hand that sort of knowledge out?
YOU – It… doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 6/24: 17 = FAILED) – ‘Sciv’ is an informal term for ‘civilian’ used most commonly by members of Pedef-Thien.
YOU – Okay, but what’s a ‘Protector-General’? Sounds like a pretty big title. Is my boss one?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – …I don’t know.
SUGGESTION – Ask D30. Later.
NARRATOR – With The Bartender back at your side, you look up at the hanging corpse.
YOU – “So… what was your plan?
NARRATOR – He sighs. “Well, I can’t really see any way of getting it down safely without calling in a flyer. There’s a Peomilune skyport just a few dozen levels down. You should be able to get something useful from them.”
YOU – I can call in flyers?
ESPRIT DE CORPS – You are a Detective of the Pedef-Thien. The amount of resources you can requisition in your defense of Neralia is theoretically limitless.
AUTHORITY – So long as you do not step on the toes of your superiors.
SUGGESTION –I doubt the commander of that skyport will appreciate your demands.
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Any pure, loyal Neralian would be overjoyed to assist in your crusade against the tainted and imperialist forces that besiege us.
YOU – “Uh, yeah. I could do that… D30, can you do that?”
NARRATOR – The android gives a stiff shake of its head. “Negative. Apologies, Detective. I do not possess any telecommunication abilities. However, your own comtab is capable of directly contacting any of Neralia’s governmental branches, including the Peomilune.”
YOU – “Oh, okay. I’ll-”
NARRATOR – You don’t have a comtab.
SHIVERS – Again, all of your pockets are empty.”
YOU – “…Actually I’m just remembering that I’ve… misplaced my comtab. Is there any other way of requisitioning a flyer?”
NARRATOR – Your android assistant pauses, silently processing your words, before shaking its head. “Negative. Apologies, Detective. Even if you were to personally speak with the skyport’s commander, your comtab is the only method of confirming your identity and position. You were completely erased from all Neralian records once you were promoted to the rank of Detective. Same with all others of your duty. The only exceptions to this system-wipe are the personal archives of the Prosecutor-General and Executive Protector-General.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Complete anonymity is essential in your line of work…
NARRATOR – “But no worries, your missing comtab is programmed to self-destruct three days after leaving its owner’s general vicinity – with enough force to immediately terminate any who may have been abusing its power. A new comtab may be requested at any time from any observance node, though it may be several hours to several days before you receive it. The Prosecutor-General himself will have to approve the requisition, and he is a very busy man.”
VISUAL CALCULUS – I’d be surprised if the victim’s neck lasted under this strain for another hour. You do not have days.
LOGIC – In other words, flyers aren’t an option.
YOU – …Maybe we could find mine?
SHIVERS – In an hour?
PERCEPTION – That is unlikely, Sir.
LOGIC – And how can we know if it even still exists? You could very well have lost it a week ago. The self-destruct timer is only three days long, so it has most likely detonated by now.
YOU – Okay, so we’re going to need something else. Any ideas?
VOLITION – …Build more platform beneath the corpse?
CONCEPTUALIZATION – Let it fall. Make a statement.
INLAND EMPIRE – Just levitate it towards you.
YOU – Okay, any useful ideas?
INTERFACING – …Well, I have one. Don’t get me wrong, it’s bad. But it’s all I can really think of that actually has a chance of working…
YOU – What is it?
INTERFACING – …You could… use a pole – maybe a pole with a hook on it – to pull the corpse closer and then safely cut the rope.
LOGIC – …
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – Even if you were in shape for something like that, which you aren’t, this position wouldn’t give you anywhere near enough leverage.
VISUAL CALCULUS – The victim can’t be that heavy anymore; quite a bit of him has rotted away.
YOU – Logic? Thoughts?
LOGIC – …The idea is awful. But it’s best we’ve had so far. D30 should hold the pole. I assume that it is by far the strongest one here. Maybe you and The Bartender can support it – make sure it doesn’t topple over the side.
SAVOIR FAIRE – Oh, you could also try to climb up to whatever branch this rope is wrapped around. Untie it there and dangle the cadaver over the platform. Simple as.
LOGIC – That could… also theoretically work. Though the other plan is far less dangerous.
NARRATOR – Whatever you do, it must be done now, or the corpse will be lost forever. Even now you can hear its vertebrae creaking…