We're not wasting time. There *is* no time!

Actually, I *don't* want to hear you say things.

I've been there: Perhaps it's *not* because he's a petulant teenager in a 40-year-old man's body. Perhaps it's pale-related? Perhaps it's extraphysical?

But as you're still staring at me like a calf stares at a freshly made gate... I assume there was something else.

Keep your weird bullshit to yourself and be professional for once, for fucks sake...

You lost your fucking gun!? (He looks around.) I knew it. I knew he lost it. Didn't I tell you? I told you he lost his gun too.

(‟I'm going to ask you straight: are you or have you ever been a firefighter?”) Well that depends, (the man with sunglasses says tilting his head.) Define *fire*.

God... (He sighs.) There are four wings, Harry: A, B, C, and D. We're in C. It's made of losers and clock-punchers. You and I *re-conceptualized* it as a task force. It was a mistake.

Cause it's not my job. Why don't you go and fucking do yours and solve this damn hanging?

Guess I'm just pathologically a *glass is half-full* kind of guy.

God... (He sighs.) There are four wings, Harry: A, B, C, and D. We're in C. It's made of losers and clock-punchers. You and I *re-conceptualized* it as a task force. It was a mistake.

You *bitterly* drop *Dearest Dora* and *really tore me a new one*... twice a week I think? It comes up.

He's there, doing... *what* exactly I don't know, (Satellite-Officer Vicquemare points at the ruins.) Behind that anti-aircraft-something. That's why we can't see him.

Fucking *politics* again... You know what I'm more interested in? (‟No.”) You solving the case you're on. (He takes a quick breath.) I'm passionate about that. So maybe -- get to it?

Oh don't be so modest, we're looking at several months' worth of damage here. Kind of a miracle you're still up and at it, to be honest..

People say you've been out of your mind. I asked around.

Harry, you're a cop with 'Pissf****ts' on his back! Do you have any idea how hard the liberals are going to fuck us for this?

Goddamnit, you leave her alone! (The man with sunglasses snaps at you.)

He doesn't have it... (He points to the sea.) Here's an idea. Maybe you could look in the mother fucking motor carriage you drove into the sea? Maybe LOOK THERE?!

Stupid is a gross understatement.

What does that say on your back... (He squints.) 'Pissf****ts'... what the *fuck* is wrong with you?!

Don't pity yourself. You've managed not to die thus far. You'll manage now.

(He blinks aggressively.)

You fucking idiot. You stupid fucking idiot. You're even worse than before. How is that even *possible*?

Just some regular boring motherfuckers in suits and uniforms. Nothing spectacularly extravagant like you -- the Far Out Son Of Lung.

I knew it. Didn't I tell you, Trant? I told you it was our shitkid.

Did you? (He adjusts his tie.) Or did you literally not recognize my face? We've been partners for how long, Harry? Don't answer that -- you don't *remember*.

Thank you for the input, Lieutenant Kitsuragi. I didn't mean to suggest you didn't handle the situation... (He brushes a stray strand of hair out of his eye and coughs.) (AUTHORITY - He thinks of apologizing but decides against it.)

Funny apery. (Vicquemare finally manages to pull his gloves on. There's a small tear along the inside seam of the left glove.) Male-centric workplace humour. Have you seen him?

But as you're still staring at me like a calf stares at a freshly made gate... I assume there was something else.

(you call your partner. JV (only initials available) is up. He comes immediately. He didn't take building safety, but he believes you. He brings five more officers. Together you knock on *every door* and explain the situation.)

Why yes... (His eyes peer over the sunglasses.) Yes, I am a male nurse -- how could you tell?

What is this, a joke? We *will* dump you, Harry. We will leave you here -- you'll be just another bum on the coast. This is a *trial*. Stop fucking around.

That's great! *Entroponaut* is a great new career for you -- *after* police officer. I don't care. Go live in the fucking pale.

Oh, you think it was *cool* -- you saying that? *Aesthetic* somehow? You were crying when we got here. Breaking things. You said we were going 'into the abyss'. None of us wanted to see the abyss, so we fucked off. (He sighs.) Like you told us to.

You snorted the drugs. I know you did. Fuck it. It's all right. I mean -- honestly. *Anything* but the drink.

I didn't *lie* to you -- no one *lies* to you. You were so fucked up on booze you couldn't recognize your own partner.

Oh, you're still here, (he says, opening his eyes.) Must have had something really important for me?

Not the prophet shit again... (He looks away.)

Don't make this about Lieutenant Kitsuragi. He's a *great* cop -- and you almost got him killed.

Sure... (he squints at you.) You're not a... *superstar law official*. Talk on the town is you're Guillaume Le Million reincarnate. I know this shit. Nothing has changed.

You told us to fuck off. You said we're *cramping your style*. You're *Detective God*. Fuck everything. All will burn. Detect or die!

Lieutenant -- is it somehow *connected* to the case? (He pays you no heed.)

Huh? Yeah. (He opens his umbrella, but the wind immediately turns it inside out.)

I can believe that. Shitkid made it all up to fuck with us -- because he's a psychopath. This is typical Harry behaviour. A sick joke. I told you, Jude.

I'm clinically depressed, Harry. Sorry if I wasn't in the mood to butter you up after you told us to fuck off.

(You feel his eyes behind the shades mapping you out.) How about 41? How does 41st sound?

No! (he exclaims excitedly.) ‘Cause in this thought experiment we are police officers. In a police station. We don't do crimes -- we're not crime bros.

We've come to scrape what's left of you off the pavement.

I'm going to say... *no*. Just to see what you'll say to that. What do you say?