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Voice of Reason

Voice of Reason

Wagwan, bitches?

Ya naa, if there be one thing we humans are all born equal with it’s the fact we are all given a voice.

It’s the unique ability each and every one of us has to chime in and speak up for ourselves.

That be the theory, anyways. All a brotha has got to do is open wide and let the words flow from his mouth, mon.

Only here in Arcadia, it be easier said than done.

Take the journey south to the lower levels and you will find people down there in the doledrums strivin’ for justice – tryin’ to make waves by makin’ their itsy bitsy voices heard.

Heh heh.

More often than not, these motha fockers be on a hidin’ to nothin’, ya feel me?

See, when people do finally buck up the courage to speak out an’ have their voices heard, they are swiftly muted into silence.

Some try to express themselves by way of photography. They go about their business secretively, takin’ pictures to help them join up the dots to their undercover stories, only to then have their hard work spoiled by those they were tryin’ to expose in the first instance.

Then there’s other that try to speak up the traditional way, ya feel? They act purely on instinct, standin’ up to the people who only exist to harm them, simply to then have any recollection of their aggressor’s actions towards them erased from memory.

Heh heh heh.

You naa, you be no different to those people yourself, Manfred Curze. In the deepest, darkest corners of Arcadia you lurk, carin’ only to make your voice heard – but how effective do you consider that to be?

Sure – your whispers pervade the outer reaches of the Bleak – seepin’ through the cracks in the walls and resoundin’ with anyone who dares to enter. Not only that, but you also leave your callin’ cards lyin’ around in the shape of human remains as a warnin’ to others of what they might expect from encroaching your pitted domain.

Only like everyone else in Arcadia who strives to impart their voice on others, the warnings you stage fall on deaf ears. When Narcissa Balenciaga entered your blackened lair, Night Haunter, she ignored your idle threats in favour of a quite different voice, didn’t she?

The cry of compulsion, you might say.


You see, white boy, it is I who is the one true voice of Arcadia.

When people around here desire something to give them a platform from which to project their voice, Big Slim takes them by the hand and leads them into temptation. I listen to what they truly want and offer them what they need; just as I can you.

All you’ve got to do is speak up, Manfriedo, and ol’ Drexl will hand over the goods to free you from suppression.

I can help you reclaim the voice that has long escaped you.

I have the perfect pick-me-up, just for you.

All you you’ve gotta do… is ask.