IDIOT DOOM SPIRAL - Word on the street is you went around the local hostel telling people that you're a police officer and that it would be *really* fucked up if you shot yourself in the head right in front of them. That's pretty high concept, if you ask me.

“That's 40 *cents*. Cents are a form of currency one hundred times smaller than the reál. I'm not even going to take this. Come back when you have 130 reál.” Isn't it... evil? The order of magnitude between what is asked of a person -- and what they have?

YOU - That's sad. LIMBIC SYSTEM - Yes, it is. And you drowned in that sadness a long time ago. YOU - What do you mean, “drowned”? LIMBIC SYSTEM - You lost.

SUGGESTION - They're leaving. They're all turning away from you. ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

INLAND EMPIRE - His corpse is marked by stars. YOU - What will mine be marked by? INLAND EMPIRE - Alcohol and heartbreak. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Your fist clenches suddenly. YOU - It will be riddled with disco.

KIM KITSURAGI - “We might need your help with something later,” he adds, suddenly regaining his confidence. AUTHORITY - As if he recalled that he's, in fact, a decorated police lieutenant, and not a naughty boy. ELECTROCHEMISTRY - The two aren't mutually exclusive.

Brother, you already *were* a ghost. Up there, screaming — along with all of them. Scaring each other. Haunting each other. It's the living who are ghosts. The dead are silent. They don't rattle windows or write letters in blood. The living do. Leave them behind. Rest.

MEASUREHEAD - AND THE WOMEN. WOMEN WHO SHAVE AND ARE CAPABLE OF UNDERSTANDING CONCEPTS LIKE POLYAMORY AND *COITUS CASUALIS* -- THE KOJKO AND THEIR PROMISCUITY ARE AT THE FOREFRONT OF ALL THAT.

GASTON MARTIN - “It is what it is... part of life,” he mumbles, only half-listening to you. “But to know someone for 79 years, then one day they're just *gone*...”

YOU - Found a corpse recently. He'd had a Tequila Sunset moment.

ENDURANCE - It's time to wipe that decadent homo-sexual grin off your face.

SHIVERS - I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT. I LOVE YOU.

ACELE - Ah! No. This is a *contact microphone*, it's for recording *inside* solid objects. Contact Mike just beats people up.

SHIVERS - In a little alley next to Boogie street, a man in stained overalls steps out of a workshop for a cigarette. His hands are bruised and soaked with motor oil and dirt. He breathes smoke out of his nostrils and closes his eyes. The next five minutes are his and his alone.

TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD -- FOR NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US.

LOGIC - Sometimes a kebab is just a kebab.

VOLITION - I can't help you. I am totally useless. Everything I've said is lies. I want the exact same bad things you want. To stand here, like a pillar of salt.

PALEDRIVER - “The look on her face -- like an orgasm. The wound in her chest. My hand in my father's hand...” She closes her eyes, her eyelids trembling. “Except I never had a father. And I never shot Her Innocence Dolores Dei.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 41 said they were sending their most seasoned detective. And you certainly look... seasoned.”

Are you... are you part of the *homo-sexual underground*?

KIM KITSURAGI - “You need to get your shit together.” YOU - “But I don't wanna get my shit together!” KIM KITSURAGI - “Then the world will turn away from you, and leave you behind.”

PALEDRIVER - “They are someone's memories. What difference does it make if it's me or not? They're beautiful. That is all that matters. Beautiful and true -- and they will win. They're *coming* for this, you know… All of this.”

YOU - What is beauty? KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER) - “When you have the fewest deviations from the norm. I've been told it's a type of mediocrity that I possess.”

Every so often, you might hear a gunshot pierce the air somewhere in Jamrock. But in Martinaise? No gunshots, no sirens. The people are languishing in boredom and complacency. This place is a sepulcher. We'll paint it red. We bring the raucous -- you bring the sirens.

YOU - No, I'll show you how a gentleman treats a doorbell! (Kiss the doorbell.)

KIM KITSURAGI - “Harry... it explains *everything*. The running around. The jumping. The *shot-put*. Your inexplicable facial hair...”

JOYCE MESSIER - Don't worry, Kras Mazov shot fifteen million people in the head. But that was all the way over in Graad.

MEASUREHEAD - PINKNESS IS A RACIAL QUALITY THAT HAS TO BE EARNED THROUGH CENTURIES OF ADVANCED BALLISTIC WARFARE AND CULTURAL DOMINATION THAT THE GRAAD PEOPLE HAVE UNDERGONE FOR DRINKING AL GUL AND SMOKING THE DEGENERATE *TABAC* HERB... AND FOR EATING *POTATO*.

JOYCE MESSIER - “Indeed. There is a term of endearment they coined for it. In the Dolorian century, when humanity was *high* on this world, discovering more and more of it -- these archipelagos included...” YOU - “What is it?” JOYCE MESSIER - “Elysium.”

And above all, you let life defeat you. All the gifts your parents gave you, all the love and patience of your friends, you drowned in a neurotoxin. You let misery win. And it will keep on winning till you die -- or overcome it.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Contemporary Revacholians prefer Drouin (a local blend from the southern islands) or Astra, a legendary cigarette from Graad. Tioumoutiri is favoured by older men who like its old fashioned paper filter tips, insane amount of tar and the sweet smells of colonialism and halva.

YOU - (Look at your wrist.) “It's apocalypse o' clock. Time to commence the Gloaming.”

SHIVERS - Snow falls and there is no answer. Some things are not for mortals to know.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - This is a serious violation of the karaoke code.

YOU - I can't give up. I have to keep going, for Revachol...

DOLORES DEI - I always loved you for it -- but it could not save us. It could not make me stay. ELECTROCHEMISTRY - You would be right to drown this shit in alcohol. Drown it... until your neurons depolarize. Until it's gone, melted.

YOU - No one wants to *do* anything with me... no one wants to party with me. KIM KITSURAGI - “Stay with me!” You feel burning hot tears streaming from your eyes. YOU - I don't want to be anymore. It hurts.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input.

VOLITION - Any plan to call him Pinball or Kimball is immediately wiped from your neocortex, as if with some sort of mind altering device. It is simply not going to happen.

YOU - “I approve of this, very futuristic.” (Tap on the girls kissing.)

EMPATHY - And he's sorry he couldn't be what he wants to be -- a good person. His last line, his revenge on the world.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - Julia Dobreva came from Graad. Jean Abadanaiz was born in Revachol. She was brilliant, charismatic, a revolutionary comet. He was her partner and stabiliser, the planet who kept her in orbit.

YOU - I can't forget it. Even when I drank so much...

YOU - I don't want to be this kind of animal anymore.

INLAND EMPIRE - It's all gone now. You never became a poet or an entroponaut.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - The funk soul brother at the back of his head has gone dark. Forever.

No. This is somewhere to be. This is all you have, but it's still something. Streets and sodium lights. The sky, the world. You're still alive.

KIM KITSURAGI - Never fuck with Kim Kitsuragi.

INSULINDIAN PHASMID - That must be incredibly hard. The arthropods are in silent and meaningless awe of you. Know that we are watching -- when you're tired, when the vision spins out of control. The insects will be looking on. Rooting for you.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - That's right -- 'worried'. I'm always worried about you. Every time you don't show up to work, or when you do -- but *stink*.