Lieutenant Kitsuragi could not possibly have expected the hungover wreck that is shambling down the Whirling’s stairs on Monday morning, but he knows all too well how to welcome the certainty that fills him at the sight, a feeling that is a known value, warm and trusted, the measure of his life: “stand by this man,” it says, “in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for he is your half brother, and you owe a debt to this ancient bond, signed in blood.”
It’s a recording that has been stuck in the lieutenant’s circuits for a long, long time, going in stale circles until today, when it adds: “he will understand you,” a prospect which is neither known nor trusted, not normal, and shakes him like a sudden lick of herring-flavoured egg and liquorice ice cream.
“He will get under your skin and unmake you from the inside out,” the feeling states at last, and Kim lets a shiver run down his back before he stands to attention, alert, collected, stiff and imperturbable, waiting for his new colleague to make his move.


(Kim's EDC is ridiculously high so it's only fair he gets his own first impression! And maybe his EDC is also a bit confused about what constitutes a feeling of brotherhood. Ice cream flavour courtesy of the normal cop thought)