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Disco Elysium – Part 6-3

In addition to a suspect, we now have multiple possible locations from which our victim could have been shot. Turns out this “killing time” business is a good way to advance our investigation.

Streamed at https://www.twitch.tv/newdarkcloud
Andre at https://www.twitch.tv/kupoyogaming

As an adult in my early 30s, I am now at an age where I am able to wax poetic about the ravages of time, and how places I used to spend my youth have either decayed or been abandoned.

I have a memory of getting sick, shortly after Covid vaccinations were rolled out for free across the United States, of setting up an appointment with the doctor I had not gone to since I was a college student. The drive was inoffensive, and eventually I found myself at her clinic. It had been over a half-decade since my last visit. When I entered, what struck me first was the eerie silence. Not a soul resided in that waiting room, littered with old health magazines and vouchers for prescription discount programs. Though the building was small, it felt massive in the absence of anyone save the doctor and her secretary, both women who appeared to be in their early 60s at the youngest. The doctor, a woman I had known most of my life, was clinging tightly to a walker as she prepared to call me in and take my measurements.

It was not the first moment I had ever been confronted with the reality that the indicators of my youth were in the early stages of fading around me. However, it was the one that impacted me more than any other before or since. It was difficult to accept the juxtaposition of my memory of the place at its prime, filled with patients all around my age and their parents, taking time away from their busy days to make sure their children were cared for, with the vacant room and its now eerie silence as what staff remained worked silently in the other room. Thought my illness was ultimately nothing of concern, I nonetheless left that place with a melancholy I had not entered with: One that sat with me for the rest of the day.

When I look at Revachol, and the way it unravels itself for us over the course of our investigation, I am often transported back to that lifeless room, to feel the touch of that same melancholy. I wonder if that’s what its people see, or if they dare to look beyond and picture what their city could be, if they give it the attention it deserves.