Chapter Text
A dark stage. The Orchestra tunes, from discordant screeching to one harmonious chord. The conductor taps his baton, and the music begins.
It begins slowly, with angst and anguish, a waltz. The leitmotif of Where I Wanna Be is followed by the theme of Murder Murder, Nobody’s Side, Pinball Wizard, and Hang the Bastard, finally slipping into the driving new wave of Good Morning Revachol.
You awaken unwillingly. The sound of a bright saxophone crescendoes. As you blearily open your eyes, something outside feels like a drumbeat. You lift your aching body from the floor and noises start crawling out of your throat.
Woah-oh-oh, woke up today
Feeling some way,
I wish I’d not
Woah-oh-oh hungry for something
That I can’t eat-
Or maybe some speed
You realize you are singing. You like karaoke. You’ve got a pretty decent set of pipes. But this is, uh, not karaoke night.
The rhythm of town
Start’s calling me down,
Fuck, where’s my tie gone?
Oh shit, my heart.
The drum pounds. The world spins around you. You’re pretty sure that’s not the rhythm a heart is supposed to have, but you have no control over it.
Oh-oh-oh, don’t make me wait,
I need meds,
Or a drink just to start…
You throw on clothes and move to the hole in the window. There’s a cityscape before you. Nothing looks familiar. Where are you?
I Love you Revachol!
…what’s Revachol? Why do you remember that name?
And some day when I wake on the floor,
The world’s gonna wake up and see
RCM and me…
You step out on the balcony, and people you can vaguely see stretched across…wherever you are, are moving in rhythm to the song. You do find your shoe. Bonus!
Even, in a refuse-laden corner, you see wildlife getting in the act, and it even creeps into the lyrics.
The rats on the street, all dance ‘round my feet
They seem to stay “Harry, it’s up to you.”
Woah-oh-oh, Don’t hold me back
‘Cause today my worst dreams will come true
You go back inside the building, and pass a woman, smoking on the balcony. Her foot is tapping to the music, but as pretty as she is, you decide to step past her and downstairs because it’s not every day you see a dancing rat!
Good morning Revachol!
There’s the smoker who rents next door!
You tread heavily down the steps.
There’s the barkeep behind the stools!
Looks at me like I’m such a fool!
The guy behind the bar and the sweet old lady in the wheelchair are echoing your lines like a very small and peculiar Vespertine Chorus, though the barman in particular seems less than happy about it.
And I promise Revachol!
That someday when I get off the floor
The world’s gonna wake up and see!
RCM and Me!
RCM and Me!
RCM and MEEEEEEEEEE!
You finish the number standing on a beat-up excuse for a stage under the stairs, arms stretched wide as the music crescendoes for the big finish with a wailing saxophone outro and a clash of symbols.
You see no orchestra. Not even a decent tape player.
“...What the actual fuck was that?”
Drama: Excellent, my liege. But Once more, with Feeling!
Authority: We don’t have time for a fucking encore. What the hell is this shit? You’re a cop for fucks sake, act like it.
You straighten yourself and look across the room. The man with the glasses nods to you, and you make introductions. It’s difficult when you don’t remember what your own name is.
His name is Lt. Kim Kitsuragi, and you feel as though he will be important. There is a murder case, you are a detective, and there is a dead body hanging in the courtyard outside. Obviously that is very important and you should go handle that.
But you kind of feel like the random music number that just erupted from you like a volcano, or stomach trouble is also kind of important.
White Check: Perception - sight: Medium - SUCCESS.
If nothing else, one thing really stood out about Lt. Kim Kitsuragi - he was the only one who had not been singing.
Logic: You should mention it. If your amnesia is accompanied by auditory and visual hallucinations, he wouldn’t see them too. But if he does…
You turn to Kim. “Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Officer?” Kim said as they stepped out into the plaza, tucking his notebook away into the breast pocket of his very cool jacket.
“Did you hear everyone… singing just now?”
Kim stops. He retrieves his notebook.
“I see I was not the only one to witness that.” he said, making a note of it. “This is the second time today. The cars on the 81 were moving in a coordinated fashion, and it seemed like someone had hijacked the radio signal in the Kineema.”
It isn’t just you. You aren’t sure if that makes it better or worse.
“That’s…not normal, right?”
“Correct, Officer. Spontaneous music numbers don’t just happen.” Kim looks out over the water, past the coast on the other side, to a ring of pale clouds on the horizon.
Empathy: He’s worried, but not going to admit it just yet.
“Then again, so far it doesn’t seem to be related to our case. We should proceed as normal.” Kim nods to you.
You nod back.
As long as the corpse itself doesn’t start singing, you’ll probably be okay.