This is the transcript for Day 6 of the game. Some portions of the transcript may differ slightly from what is spoken in-game. Mouse over such parts to read what is spoken in-game.
Jack heads for his office, but Emma holds out an envelope for him from her desk.
Emma: Mr. Boyd, there was a man here earlier. He left you this.
Jack: A man? What man? Who let him on this floor?
Emma: I don't know. I've never seen him before. I asked him his name, but he just ignored me. He was talking on a big telephone - you know, one of those portables. He gave meenvelope and left.
Jack: Damn. Okay, let's see about this.
Jack takes the envelope into his office, takes a seat at his desk and opens it there.
If the player agreed to help Francis Kendrick...
Jack opens the envelope to reveal a photo of Kendrick and his family boarding a plane.
Jack (Aside): Of course, they could have shot him the second they took the photo, but I knew Kendrick and his family were all right(sic). Either way, the message was not that they got out. It meant that I was in. My servitude to the mafia had begun. I'd only been in my new position five seconds, and I already knew why Kendrick called it a "contract": you sound doomed if you call it what it is: a curse.
If the player refused to help Francis Kendrick...
Jack opens the envelope to reveal a photo of Kendrick and his famiy's disembodied heads hanging from a chandelier.
Jack (Aside): The photo could have been doctored, of course, but Sand doesn't go in for cheap theatrics. Kendrick is dead, his family is dead, and they probably died slowly and painfully. But Sand's got a bigger game. He's not trying to frighten me. He's just trying to clue me in on the facts. I didn't agree to work for him on my own, so now they're just going to insist.
Regardless of the player's choice, the rest of the transcript remains the same. Jack's phone rings, which he picks up almost instantly. On the other end is his new boss.
Sand: Good morning, Jack. I believe you just received my message.
Jack: Who am I speaking with?
Sand: Oh, I'm sorry. I forget some people don't recognize my voice. But I assure you, Jack, if I were sitting right there in front of you, you'd have no trouble recognizing me, like I was a member of your family. Even better than a wife perhaps. A wife... can betray you. No man is immune.
Jack: I don't talk to people who don't tell me their names.
Sand: Oh, Jack, don't be so childish. You're too old to run away from strangers. Yes, we both are. And in our old age, friendship becomes rare and all the more precious. But of course we must work with new people, and find out new names. So if you insist, Jack, let us formally meet. Hello, Jack Boyd. I'm Christopher Sand.
Jack: Wonderful, Mr. Sand. And what is it you do for a living?
Sand: Oh, you'll soon find out all about that. Well, you'll learn much more than a simple policeman could ever expect. You're a simple policeman no longer, Jack. Don't turn off your phone. You start today.
Sand then hangs up. Jack promptly slams the phone again soon after, and then walks over to a push-board with numerous papers and files pinned to it.
Jack (Aside): "Eight in ten." It's been my go-to principle, since my first day on the job. I've got to let my colleagues hush up what they need to, two out of ten times, so that they'll help me with the remaining eight. Eighty out of a hundred, eight hundred out of a thousand. I'm proud of those statistics. It's not so bad for Freeburg, right? But now I just officially became a mafia whore. I'm supposed to be fearing for my life, for the lives of my wife and children. But the only thing I can think: what's going to happen to "eight in ten"?