97 Poets of Revachol: The Tale of Lumen Boulanger (Day 1 - Part 2)

You see mysterious strangers in the night. Leaning against unlit doorways, engaged in hushed conversation. A shadowy cabal exchanging looks, whispering in dark alleys and unmarked locales. A radical cell conspiring against the state -- and perhaps even against man and woman. Was that a secret handshake? What’s going on? Who are these secretive people? How will they accomplish their sinister and world-altering goals? And most importantly -- are you one of them? You could be. Maybe you forgot…

-Disco Elysium, Homo-Sexual Underground

CW: Drug use, xenophobia

20:00

I do my best to replace the last of afterglow with political determination as I round the corner to the Joy and Leisure Room where the first plenary meeting will be taking place. The room itself is about as cozy as things get in La Cage: Cool blue lighting, a recliner under parasol, giant inflatable chairs, and a twin sized mattress in the corner

I would later sleep in this room more than once during the break between Run 3 and 4. It was quite nice considering that it was otherwise located inside a place that was definitely haunted (by literal or metaphorical ghosts, I'll leave to your own imagination).

Can’t let myself be distracted by simple joy though. I am here with a goal:

To organize the anarchists to do something to help the workers.

Should be simple enough. We all want liberty, and building solidarity is the best way to do it, right?

I arrive a few minutes early, so I’m unsurprised to only find one person present - An elderly man in a long skirt, clutching his cane. He looks me over like he’s judging whether a diamond in the rough is salvageable. I decided to break the ice .

‘Hey! How’s it going? My name’s Lumen.’
‘I’m Hope. It’s going well. Yourself?’
‘Good! Just been… a weird day.’
‘That it has.’
‘But hopefully, soon it will be a productive one!’
‘...Maybe, if anyone else decides to show up.’
‘I’m sure they will! They all wanna help out and we need each other to build something better, yeah?’

He gives a thought hum, clearly unsure if that’s true, but willing to humor me. Just means I need to convince him. 

A few moments pass and awkwardness begins to set in, so I decide to ward it away with the only other thing on my mind.

‘By the way, kind of a weird question, but uhh… Do you know anyone named Rex Poe? Or Blue?’

He raises an eyebrow at me.

‘...No, I can’t say that I do. How come?’
'Just need to talk to them. I found out something that I think they should know. Assuming that they’re real people, of course. Not even quite sure they exist yet.’

He presses his lips into a flat line and squints at me, briefly intensifying his appraisal because seemingly letting it go.

Over the next few minutes, a handful of people wander in: My neighborhood friend Gabriel, the migrant mother Valja (Yes, the same Valja I would be playing in the next run), and the intense youth Zenna. We’re still missing two others, but after 5 minutes, we decide it’s best to move forward for now.

I’m quick to take the lead.

‘So! I’ve been talking to a lot of workers today. I’m not sure which of you have worked a shift in the sweatshops, but suffice to say: It’s really bad, pays worse, and everyone knows they’re being fucked. This means we have an opportunity to organize them and show them that they don’t need violence or the government to protect them.’
‘Yes, you’re right!’ Valja chimes in ‘I worked a shift today. They promised me 50 reál, but only paid me 20 because I’m an immigrant.’

I throw my hands up in disgust.

‘Ya see!? That’s nearly a third of La Cage being underpaid and exploited. But even then! - Valja, do you think your work was only worth 50 reál?’

Bitterness spreads across her face. ‘No. Not at all.’

‘Because it wasn’t! They’re screwing over Revacholians as well! No one is being treated fairly here, and we NEED to do something about it!’

Hope watches in silence. 

‘So, what, like a strike or something?’ Gabriel asks
I snap my fingers. ‘Exactly! Or a walk-out, or sabotage, or something! Something to help these people get what they deserve!’

A beat passes as everyone thinks.

‘I don’t know…’ Zenna says, arms crossed. ‘You’re talking about helping the workers and organization and all of that and it just doesn’t sound like anarchism…’
‘What do you mean?’
He seems offended at the question. ‘Anarchism is about fucking shit up! It’s about doing what you want and not letting anyone tell you otherwise! And then you come in here, acting like the leader, telling us what we SHOULD do and it sounds a lot like orders! We should just be talking about how to be free from all this bullshit!’

I mentally lasso a rage inside me. Deep breath - He’s young and doesn’t know any better. But he has energy. He has fire. He has the spirit. I can work with this. I can channel it.

(I consider Lumen to be early 20s, for the record.)

‘And tell me, who’s keeping you chained in all that bullshit?’
Zenna shrugs. ‘Society? The government?’
‘Exactly! People who want to institute hierarchies while stealing from you! The fucking Coalition and Moralintern, the fascist fucks running the sweatshops downstairs, capitalists in the apartment charging you on rent for something they didn’t build! THEY are the ones keeping not just you, but EVERYONE from their freedom! It’s bullshit, and we all know it! But we have the power to make it right and liberate everyone! And the first step of that is making sure that the people know they have the ability to take power into their own hands - that they can save themselves. That the rulers need them more they need the rulers. This is the perfect chance to do that.’

As I finish my sermon, the door opens. Our local reporter Jez adjusts his hat as he enters.

‘Sorry I’m late, got caught up with some stuff.’
‘No problem, glad you could join us!’

I catch him up as quick as I can. He spent the morning interviewing people in the sweatshops, so he’s eagerly on board and willing to use the connections he has to help make this happen, maybe even publish an article about it if he can get away with it.

Zenna still pouts at the end of the table.

‘Man, this is bullshit! I didn’t sign up for this, I want to fuck shit up!’

I snap a bit.

‘You wanna fuck shit up? Good. We need that. But who are you going to fuck up? If you just wanted to fuck up any random person, you’d be with the Iron Cadence, right? But you’re here for a reason. Participation in this is voluntary - If you don’t like this, you are free to leave, no hard feelings. But If you stick around, I promise you that you’ll get to fuck up a lot of shit and piss off people who deserve it.’
‘Fine, then I’ll go jump a fascist, whatever.’
‘And then what? That’s one fascist, temporarily out of action, and now able to talk about how violent the left is. You’re an immigrant, right? What are you going to do when they pick up on that and beat the shit out of people who can’t fight back like Valja here? Violence is just giving those fascists fucks the sense of glory they want. If you want to fuck up them and the capitalists funding them, then THIS will do more damage than any of that random violence you seem so hungry for.’
‘And you REALLY think that this will change anything?’

I see my chance. I shoot up from my chair and lean over the table, looking him dead in the eye.

‘Yes! I KNOW it can! People are out there crying out for change and we CAN be it! They just need to believe in it! They want to control us, but their control is fucking pathetic, a flimsy illusion designed to convince us that we’re powerless, but it’s a lie! The worst thing we can assume is that nothing can be changed. If that were true, they wouldn’t have to spend so much time convincing us of it! And if anyone here believed that things are fine as is, you wouldn’t be here, right?’

Silent looks of agreement. Even Zenna nods his head.

‘So we all know: We can do this! We can see anarchism in our lifetimes! Better things are possible and they can start here, with us! There is still hope for La Cage, for Revachol and I REFUSE to let anyone tell me otherwise! But to do that we need solidarity, we need achievable goals, and we need victories! We need to show everyone out there that it’s the oppressed versus oppressor! We need to! We must…! I…’

I begin to lose steam. Perhaps its the drugs finally wearing off, or just heartbreak that the world is the way that it is. I feel the ability to believe my own words slip through my fingers like so much ash. I slouch into the chair as the polemic gives way to exhausted honesty:

‘...I just want things to be better. It doesn’t have to be this way. I know it doesn't. We all deserve better. All the people I spoke to deserve it. Better things are possible, even now, in spite of it all. So please - Help me build it. And help me fuck up shittiest people alive in the way that will hurt them the most.’
‘Here here!’ Hope says, raising his cane to cheer me.
‘I’m in.’
‘Me too.’
‘Yeah.’
I look at Zenna. After a moment, he looks back ‘Alright. Just tell me what the plan is.’

At last, we coordinate. Here’s the plan:

We spend the rest of the day talking to every worker we can and getting them on board. Tell them it’s a walk out if they demand specifics, leave room open for a strike, but most of all keep it quiet. If the owners get word that this is going to happen, they will side step it. We need to keep them reactive and on the backfoot. We’ll meet tomorrow morning after breakfast for a check in, then work a shift in the sweatshop to connect with the workers already there. After that, we see where we’re at and adjust appropriately. 

Everyone agrees.

As we finish confirming the specifics, everyone notices that it’s been almost an hour. Suddenly, a sense of urgency fills everyone - places to be, things to do. We double check we’re all on the same page one last time, before basically everyone dashes out of the room. With them gone, I take a deep breath as I sink into the chair, emotionally drained, tilting my head up towards the ceiling and let myself savor the feeling of actually having organized the inherently unorganizable. Exhale.

‘That was a good speech.’

I bring my gaze back down and realize that Hope hasn’t left yet.

‘Just trying to give them what they need. Zenna’s a good kid but needs direction, and everyone else needs a reminder that we have power. Gonna need everyone on board to make things happen’

Hope plants his cane on the ground as he stands up.

‘Quite so. You really impressed me today.’

I can’t help but smile. It’s nice to know that someone sees my effort as encouraging rather than just fucking annoying.

‘Thank you!’
‘I lied before. I do know someone named Blue. He’s one of the people who lives in the sewers.’

What.

‘...Oh! T-thank you for letting me know, holy shit.’
‘I will send him your way. If you see someone coated with a blue face, that’s him.’

Huh. Guess that explains the odd name.

Hope begins to make his way towards the door.

‘And also… if all of this doesn’t work out, but you still want to help change this place for the better, let me know. I can introduce you to some people who might help.’

He doesn’t state it, but I can still feel the implication lying beneath: People who might help, using violence.

‘We’ll see! But I’m hopeful that this will be able to do a lot of good on our own. I believe in us!’
Hope smiles ‘Good! Good. I’ll be rooting for you all. See you at the next meeting.’

For a speech pulled entirely out of my ass, I think it’s pretty alright. Helps that it was one of the moments where I felt 1:1 with what my character was saying. Tried my hardest to believe every word as I said it.

Really missed my calling by not getting shot in 1930s Catalonia. Never too late though, I suppose.

The moment I’m left alone though, I am suddenly hit with a realization that changes everything:

Wait… so my vision… was real?

Which means that the supernatural… is actually real?

I wander out of the room, pondering the implications, just in time to see a Wild Pines mercenary in full armor walk by.

21:00

I do nothing about it. 

Of course I do nothing about it. He still has an assault rifle on his back, and I figure anyone that far down the corporate rabbit hole sold their soul a long time ago and would be overjoyed at the chance to kill someone for fun. Thus, with everything else squared away, I turn my attention to the cryptic letter I found earlier. I wander out into the courtyard, and proceed to spend the next hour and a half looking for it.

I never find shit.

One of the things that impressed me most of all about this game is how immaculately designed the whole thing is. The more time you spend in it, the more the wheels within wheels within wheels nature of it all becomes apparent. It’s truly a stunning Rube Goldberg machine of a game designed to funnel nearly 100 people, through a series of incredibly subtle incentives and manipulations, towards en end which makes sure that you end up where they want you to in some form or another while feeling like it was YOUR choice the entire time. Time feels precious, because it’s your most important resource and you want to make the most of it. This gives an urgency to even the most trivial tasks which both makes the whole experience immersive and fun in it’s own way. 99% of the time, the quality of the design was just as awe-inspiring to me as anything happening within the game itself.

This was that 1%. 

The quest to find the unmarked grave is the only moment in either run where I felt like the game just broke. I looked in every location possible and never found anything resembling what I believed I was supposed to look for. In hindsight, this was not helped by the timing of the letter: Getting it right at lunch meant that I got it right before the 3P meeting, which was then immediately followed by the Anarchist meeting. Consequently, by the time I got outside, it was impossibly dark. There was nothing on the letter indicating that it would be there tomorrow, so I can only be left with the conclusion that I guess I was supposed to skip one of my character’s major events in order to go on a treasure hunt for something that I’m still not sure I knew how to recognize. 

Sincere question: Who is going to do that?

Only reasonable answer: Someone who doesn’t know better, and has yet to appreciate the importance of scheduled events.

I appreciate that part of the dramatic tension in these games is that you might miss a major event because something more important takes priority (again, in a very Pathologic way which I love), and that does happen to me a couple times in this story. This, however, was not that.

This felt like a noob trap, and one that would cost you the chance to lay down the foundations for your character. As we’ll see, these two meetings I had at the beginning here will echo through and influence EVERYTHING that follows for Lumen, and the idea that someone might miss that chance because they went on a wild goose chase breaks my heart to even consider.

For what it’s worth though, I think all of this could be remedied by putting the letter with Lumen’s starting gear with a note to not open it until the game starts, and making the grave itself a touch more obvious. A petty complaint, all things considered.

I give up. Exhausted and defeated, I accept that it’s probably time to let myself have a bit of a breather before I meet up with the Hardcore underground kids. The stairway up to the main hall has never looked more inviting.

‘Jasmine!’

I hear a familiar voice crack above the crowd. In the distance, a Wild Pines merc turns around to face an elderly woman assertively marching towards him. He straightens his posture, trying to look presentable.

I recognize the woman as Jacqueline Bacieu, leader of the local Block Council (and mother of one of my partners, Eli). And she is talking assertively to a merc, seemingly giving orders.

A government leader collaborating with a heavily armed Wild Pines goon. 

That can NOT be good.

It feels like a possible betrayal to the community.

And, as the cherry on top,

Jacquline is Hayley’s character.

22:30

I follow them up to the bar, hoping to catch a moment with Jacqueline alone.

And so I wait, outside of the bar. I’m still too embarrassed to actually go in. Last time I set foot in there was when I showed up drunk for work. It was… not my strongest moment. 

The owner, Placide, is currently handing out drinks. I feel the impulse to want to apologize to him right now. I think he should have been kinder about it - I’m far from the only person to have been drunk on the job but I’m the only one to have been fucking fired for it - but all the same, I do at least owe him that much. If I can’t bridge this kind of divide, how can I expect to fix this community? 

Peace starts with me. Once I get a chance to talk to Placide alone.

I must have stood out there for over 30 minutes. Impatience tells me to go find a chair, but I refuse to leave this kind of betrayal of La Cage unexplained, much to the frustration of my swollen feet.

Eventually, Jasmine wanders out, not even taking note of me. About 5 minutes later, Jacquline stumbles out, in a hurry to be somewhere. I begin to walk beside her.

‘Jacqueline!‘

She turns towards me, caught off guard and confused.

‘Yes?’
‘Do you have a moment to talk?’
‘I’m sorry, who are you?’
‘Lumen Boulanger, I live in Apartment B, I believe you’re one of my representatives.’

She shakes her head in disbelief that this is happening.

‘I represent the entirety of La Cage. If there’s something you would like to discuss, please bring it up at the next Council Meeting.’
‘It’s a bit more urgent than that. You’re tasked with safeguarding La Cage and its people, yes?’
‘...Yesssss? Again, if you need to-’

I step in front of her.

‘Then why the fuck are you working on a first name basis with the Wild Pines mercs who have already shot one of our citizens?’

She stops. She was expecting a lot of things, but clearly not that.

I proceed to list off all the reasons this is fucked, demanding some kind of explanation before I start spreading word of this to every ear that will hear it. The annoyance on Jacqueline’s face shifts to something between sorrow and pity, etched deep with heartbreak for how fucking stupid I am. This only pisses me off more. She pinches the bridge of her nose before snapping at me.

‘Listen here child: I am talking with them to make sure they don’t shoot any MORE people. Do you understand that?’
‘Because corpo mercs famously stop shooting people just because you ask them. Do you really think you keep them under control?’
‘We. Have it. Under. Control. I’m currently in talks with both the Union and the mercs to find a peaceful resolution to safely get them out of here with no more bloodshed. If you ACTUALLY care about this situation, you will leave it alone and let the adults handle it. Understand?’

The condescension makes me sick. Reminds me of my father. But I figure that’s a good enough answer for now.

‘I really, really hope you do, for everyone’s sake. Thank you for your time.’
‘Thank you for your concern.’

Bitch.

I shouldn’t think that. Some internalized misogyny to work through later.

23:30

Pulsing anodic dance music welcomes me to Second Club, so named because it was the second club to be opened in La Cage after the disco halls of the Bearded Vulture Club stopped allowing new music. Fascists.

Inside are the other Hardcore kids, running preparation for a huge party set to take place tomorrow night. There’s discussion of logistics, where to get drinks, drugs, food, etc. It is, on the whole, rather boring, not helped by the fact that we were all clearly exhausted (as both real life people and characters).

Until a cop shows up.

‘What’s going on here!?’ He thunders over the music

Nothing illegal was happening, but everyone goes on the defense all the same, cause fuck em'. We tell him to fuck off and come back with a warrant, that there’s no crime here, his time is better spent else where.

‘Oh there is absolutely something wrong here! What in god’s name is this music!?’ He says as he wanders into the unoccupied DJ booth. Suddenly the driving heartbeat of the hardcore music is replaced by the slick gloss of disco.
‘There! We! Go! Much better!’ The cop exclaims as he begins to dance
‘Hey, you can’t just come in here and change the music! This is our club!’
‘Oh yeah? If you want it back, then come take it from me!’ He challenges as he begins to dance more assertively in our direction.

Is he fucking serious?

The first challenger steps up, and is quickly defeated.

He is fucking serious.

The second challenger takes their turn, followed by the fourth. Nothing slows him down.

I can’t let my friends be humiliated like this. I step in and give it my best effort.

He absolutely fucking smokes me.

The last couple contenders don’t fare much better. Despite our best efforts, the cop slides victoriously across the dance floor, gyrating away to music we all fucking hate. Nonetheless there is unanimous agreement amongst us all, as a collective, that we must begrudgingly acknowledge this as one of the most Hardcore things we’ve ever seen in our lives. 

Perhaps we still have much to learn.

I don’t think I have ever in my life met anyone better able to sell Harry DuBois energy. To Marie’s Run 3 player, if you read this: Absolute fucking master class of roleplaying. I would die for you.

Having been thoroughly owned alongside all my friends, and with the party planning largely taken care of, I decide that’s probably the correct moment to call it a day. I head back up to the student flat, change into something cozy, and collapse onto my mattress, as I emotionally prepare for tomorrow to be overwhelmingly productive - but not before recording a brief video dairy of how I’m feeling in the moment while the room was empty .

(That dairy will be getting added to this article after I get back to the States and have a chance to trim it slightly)

As a player, the first day felt like a rousing success. The game had been everything I’d hoped for and more. I had hoped that it would be emotionally investing, that it would make me feel driven to take it as seriously as I’ve taken experiences like Pathologic, New Vegas, Bloodborne, Final Fantasy 14, Virtue’s Last Reward, and so on. I knew it was a high standard to hold it to, maybe even an unfair one, but it was already living up to it in spectacular fashion while bringing me something new that I’d never felt before in a game: The sense that it truly was ME behind the wheel, making the choices, and deciding what kind of story I wanted to have; That I had the agency both as a player and a storyteller to make this uniquely my own.

As we’ve already seen, no two Lumens are likely to end up in the same place, even if they share a foundation, because different players will be inclined to focus on different elements of Lumen. This, in turn, allows you to turn your player character into who you want (or need) them to be. It’s just a matter of time though until the boundaries I’d put in place for myself would begin to be tested, and the question of ‘Who is Lumen’ becomes much fuzzier for both me as a player and her as a character. Extreme circumstances have a way of destroying the narratives about ourselves that we come up with, and I knew those circumstances were just on the horizon.

In the moment however, this prompted two questions that hung around the back of my brain like a miasma for the next couple days:

1) How is this different from the way I always choose to play Daniil as an exhausted public servant rather than the elitist prickly prick others turn him into? Obviously there's a difference - But what is it?

And 2) With so much freedom on offer, how could a game like this funnel everyone towards a shared core theme which could make it equally cohesive, thought-provoking, and engaging for not just me, but everyone else?

There was only one way to find out: Continue committing, as hard as I could. Take this all as seriously as Lumen would, till the very end. I would probably have been less excited about it had I known just how physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining it would turn out to be, but the excitement still buzzed all the same. As my head hit hit my pillow though, the physical exhaustion won out over all else. 

Last thing I remember thinking was how strange and delightful it was going to fall asleep, and then wake up, as someone who I was not. It nice to have a vacation from yourself sometimes.