Sunrise, Parabellum. #DiscoElysium #KimKitsuragi Full quote list, along with a few extra things about the bot can be found at the link below! ☀️

The lieutenant's disappointment is palpable. It's like someone just shot his dog.

"For real detective work, nothing beats a good notebook by your side..." The lieutenant produces his small blue notebook and idly thumbs through a few pages.

("How old do I look?") "How old? Fifty-eight." ("Oh my god, that's really old -- really?") "You asked." He shrugs.

He turns away, but not before you can see a small hint of a smile -- he's struggling to not crack up.

"I've got to ask..." he says, a peculiar look in his eyes. "What are you doing?" ("Mind your own business, binoclard!") "Alright." The lieutenant's face stiffens as he turns to look at the road ahead. "I won't ask again."

"Okay-okay. They are all necessary. Let's share the sandwich, if it matters that much to you." The lieutenant breaks the sandwich in two and quickly eats his half.

The lieutenant gives you a quick glance. Then, still looking straight ahead, he joins you with a higher-pitched and slightly more melodic trill. (Two birds on a wire, whistling by the seaside. Looking at the water. And a sunken car.)

The lieutenant looks at you almost gently. "Yes. That is a pity. But for now let's focus on the things we *do* get to do. Like the murder investigation for example." (He liked the Coupris funeral idea.)

"Have you tried concentrating on something other than your personal affairs?"

"Fine." He gives you a resigned shrug. "Let's *blast* Sad FM then."

"If you ask me, it's past time for you to lay off the *street drugs* you've been abusing. They really aren't helping us solve the case." ("I can't give up street drugs now. I *just* got addicted to them!") The lieutenant's quizzical expression gradually deepens into a frown.

"When I crank the volume on my DynaWave, it's like you're in the front row at the National Concert Hall." ("I didn't know *Speedfreaks FM* had a concert series.") "Joke all you want, detective. Whatever radio you manage to scrounge up won't lay a *finger* on my set-up."

"In fact, if right were a country, you would be deported immediately. You would be *persona non grata* in the Country of Right." ("Okay, Kim, I got it.") "Really? Because I'm not entirely sure that you *do*, detective."

"Yes. Quite." The lieutenant seems to be inspecting you more closely than the motor carriage.

"No," the lieutenant gently removes the glasses from your face, setting you free again. "You're definitely not buying those."

("Kim, you look cold -- maybe a thicker coat?") "I'm okay. You on the other hand, yefreitor... you look like you're about to turn into a popsicle." ("What if I *want* to be a popsicle?") "Don't be silly, no one wants to be a popsicle."

("Murder in cold blood seems like a thing I'm capable of -- if I just dare. What if I *already* dared?") "Teenage nonsense," he dead pans. "You would have had to be ready to use lethal force long ago, when you joined the RCM."

"Don't you *Welcome to Revachol* me," the lieutenant fires back. "My grandfather came here from a three-thousand-year-old racist-isolationist culture, while your ancestors came to this island a mere three hundred years ago."

The lieutenant's disappointment is palpable. It's like someone just shot his dog.

"It's okay, happens to everyone." The lieutenant hands you his white handkerchief: "Keep it."