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Morian Police Station, Morian District, Melbury City, State of Melbury, Central Republic
09:15 AM
The hours pass boringly while I am in this cell, in the Special Block of the Morian District Station, waiting for the Detective to come and ask me for information about her Father's murder case.
The good part is that I slept a bit. Even though now, thanks to the 99.9% blockage of my power, I am like a human, I still retain resistance to sleep. However, that doesn't mean I can't sleep like any ordinary human. So, since I was bored, I took a little nap, having woken up about 10 minutes ago, heh, heh.
—Fuaahh –I yawn after staring at the white wall of this cell, which is in front of me, for a good while. Then, I stretch, without getting out of bed yet–
I've really lost track of time, as there is no clock in sight in this white room, and I don't have a cell phone either. I left it three days ago in a hotel on the other side of the world, after my sister, Elaine, called me saying she wanted to talk to me, which resulted in both of us ending up falling into a trap created by Aren, the Fallen Seraph; Lumen, the Bearer of Demonic Fire; and Zakech, the Dark Knight of Blood—minions of Luciel, the Regent and absolute ruler of both Gehenna and all existing hells on this planet, Astel—culminating in my powers being blocked by the poison Zakech injected into me, and Elaine ending up not only with blocked powers but also murdered by them.
Yes. Truly a journey worthy of a movie. But what can I say? Someone as perfect as me always has these kinds of adventures, heh, heh.
Besides, sincerely, having previously been a being for whom time was an almost irrelevant concept—since I was immortal and invulnerable to a level where no one in this world could even scratch me—paying attention to the passage of time hadn't been one of my most deep-rooted habits.
So, to find out what time it was and how much time had passed, I had no choice but to try to check the time with one of the heavily armed agents who now guard this sector of the Special Block. Or more specifically, those guarding my cell, placed on each side, who remain as if they were dead (yes, they do breathe).
Were these guys here before? Not that I recall. Before entering cell 01, after Detective Montenegro sent me to this Station, I was brought through the station hallways by a single uniformed man, and it wasn't like his body was that of someone burly. So, where did these two come from? Well, they appeared out of nowhere (not literally, of course, but their arrival was stealthy and efficient), shortly after I was locked up, at some point, maybe when I was asleep, since upon waking the first thing I saw were those two standing next to my cell.
When they heard me waking up, they introduced themselves without looking at me, simply saying they were "Delta Team" while showing their police badges. From there, they said nothing more. They simply remained at the sides of my cell, one to the left and another to the right, standing still, inert as statues, holding imposing high-caliber shotguns in their hands.
In addition to the shotguns, they also had special pistols holstered on each side of their thighs, and even hanging on their backs, a long sword, straight and very sharp, made of Malakite—a highly expensive mineral that is only obtained in the Altern, the earthly space where the Surnaturel live, and which looks like common metal but has divine properties that even the Surnaturel, who repel these types of weapons, can use. Even if you have special eyes, you can see a golden halo exuding from this mineral itself, and therefore, from the designed weapon.
If this is the standard equipment for fighting Demons in this country, the Central Republic, I must say I am pleasantly surprised by their level of preparation, as they are not only very well equipped, but even these items are expensive and difficult to obtain. I can't help but give them a "like" in my mind, and I even congratulate them in a non-ironic way, for they know what they might face (or at least, what they think they face), and they are prepared for it.
And in fact, now that I look closer and more focused, the weapons—not the sword, but the shotguns and pistols—look almost on par with those that Officer Montenegro, the commander of this Station, and I used in the confrontation with Lumen this morning. Although, well, the firearms look like they have magazines, contrary to the SMG and the shotgun he and I used, since unlike these, their magazines were integrated, having a special mechanism that generated ammunition from the absorption of energy from one of the 5 Primordial Energies: Mana, Aura, Divine Power, Qi, or Spiritual Energy.
If these weapons are similar to the ones Officer Montenegro and I used, then he surely had contacts in the Military Agency Private, as this is special weaponry designed by them for the Mehr-Wissen—whether for Sehwert, the type the Officer belonged to, or for any of the other 14 types of Mehr-Wissen. In other words, current technology designed for beings who have existed for billions of years, created by an organization of absolute immortals who have been in this world for 2,030 years.
—Excuse me, officer, would you be so kind as to tell this poor man named Sariel what time it is? –After stretching, I get out of bed, walk to the bars, and ask the subject lying to the left of my cell. My tone is deliberately soft, almost like that of a child who has been scolded and is now asking for a small favor.–
—Silence, demon –The man snaps without even looking at me, his voice a harsh growl full of hostility–
—God dammit, I'm not a fucking demon –I grumble to myself, my patience beginning to run thin–
Well, I can't really blame them entirely. Many have believed me to be a Demon throughout the 4 billion years I've been in this world, so it's almost inevitable. I know perfectly well that I possess many of their characteristics—among them, the most distinctive mark, my gothic appearance. I have rebellious black hair that slightly covers my eyes and ears; I dress in black suits; I have eyes as red as venous blood, which, if you stared at them, you could easily lose yourself in their color; and I also have a lean but athletic body type, coupled with being six-foot-three. Even my skin is paler than normal. It's like seeing any gothic film actor in real life. And it's a look that easily attracts the babes, heh, heh.
So, it's normal for them to mistake me for something like that, especially with my power depleted and in these circumstances, where my powerful halo—which before would have forced them to beg on their knees so I wouldn't kill them—has vanished, making me relatively docile. But also, thanks to my hundreds of billions of years of existence and accumulated experience, they make me look like someone carefree and hedonistic, the very behaviors that many demons tend to have.
Besides, let's admit it, I am very handsome, and demons—at least in their human form—usually are too, as it's a useful tool to attract the unwary and unsuspecting souls. That's why you can see female demons of impressive beauty, with excellent curves, great "personality," and excellent seductive skills, as well as male demons with dangerous vibes: tall, muscular, handsome, and well-endowed.
An example of this was Alistair, the Commander of my Armies back in the Grand Duchy of Lumière, in the Altern, who was of Primordial Rank (the second highest in the Demonic Power Hierarchy, equivalent to a Seraph). He, sincerely, is a very handsome guy. Not as much as me, since I am very beautiful, heh, heh, but he could easily conquer the heart of anyone, whether man or woman.
Pity I don't know where he is. I lost track of him after I blocked his powers and banished him from the Grand Duchy due to his hunger for battle and power, as a form of punishment to educate him. Otherwise, I'd surely call him to help me, at the risk of him mocking me…
—Ahem –After hesitating for a while, I decide to try another tactic with the stoic guards of Delta Team. Perhaps a bit of charm and a selective truth will work where my previous attempt failed– What if I told you I'm a good demon? –An innocent smile forms on my face–
—Ha. A good demon? No such thing exists. All of you are the same. –The agent on the left snaps. His tone completely disdainful and mocking– The only good demon is a dead one–
—Seeing that this tactic wasn't working, I decide to apply a new one– Actually, I'm not a demon, you know? I've collaborated many times with Mikleo. You know, that celestial being who is an Azelvi Rank, who in the Celestial Hierarchy is only behind the Creator Goddess Astel but above a Seraph, and the same one who not only rules the various existing heavens as well as the Araboth, but is also the Temporal Administrator of the planet while Astel, the Creator Goddess, returns from her state of hibernation after having sacrificed her physical body to contain Chaos Incarnate… if she ever does. A demon could never do something like that, right? –I try to persuade them with a name that should inspire some fear, as Mikleo is their natural enemy, and with a story that brands them, the Surnaturel, who in the past were called "Corruptions"–
In the past, Astel ordered the Heavenly Host to eliminate the ancestors of the Surnaturel, the Corruptions—creations of both Universal Chaos and its Herald, Chaos Incarnate—so they would not continue proliferating and infecting the planet. However, eventually these creatures acquired consciousness, becoming Conscious Corruptions, with intellectual, sentimental, and emotional capacities, free will, etc. Even so, Astel did not care about this and ordered their absolute elimination, which would eventually cause the Great Celestial War to break out. There, another Azelvi, Luciel—Mikleo's brother and husband to Erste, the first Corruption to acquire consciousness—rebelled against Astel and fought her to protect the Conscious Corruptions and his wife. A war where, ironically, even the humans—the creatures created by Astel herself—joined in favor of the Conscious Corruptions.
In this case, Mikleo was the one who took Astel's side, but not because he believed in her tyrannical and absolutist vision, but for reasons of filial piety. Astel is like his Mother, as she was the one who created the Azelvi and the rest of the Heavenly Host (as well as humans), so it was normal for him to take this side. After the war, upon taking command of the planet as its Administrator, he "de-monized" the Conscious Corruptions and even allowed them access to his heavens, something that before, with Astel, was impossible.
—In fact, he is a very good friend of mine –I continue recounting my relationship with Mikleo, the guy who loves everyone, even the Surnaturel themselves– We've shared many battles. We also share creations, like some Mehr-Wissen, you know, humans whose powers come from different divine entities. For example, the Sagatore, whose function is to confront, seal, or eliminate the Narren, which are entities that arise from written works or even oral narrations, taking on a life of their own and affecting reality. And even every 25th of Ende, that is, the last year of the 12-month calendar, which is the anniversary of when Astel arrived in this world to be its Administrator, we usually meet to drink celestial mead, crafted by Seraphs specialized in alcoholic beverages–
—Yes, yes, of course, and I am His Divinity Luciel, the Regent of Gehenna and Holy Patron of us Surnaturel –The one on the right mocks, his voice a deep, sarcastic rumble–
—Not really –I place a hand on my chin to analyze the guard who said that– You look nothing like Luciel. He is quite handsome, and you, although you are good-looking, don't compare at all to the beauty he possesses. Besides, you are very muscular and not that tall. In contrast, Luciel has a slender build, no muscle, despite being a warrior, and is shorter than me, standing at six-foot-three, though only by about 5 centimeters–
Well, maybe I shouldn't have said that last part, or it could be misinterpreted. I don't want these guys thinking I have any particular inclination toward Luciel's appearance or any man's in general. First, because he was the one who ordered the 99.9% depletion of my power to obtain them, sending his loyal hounds—Aren, Lumen, and Zakech, the Infernal Triad—after me. Second, I don't swing that way. Using terms invented by Humans, I'm heterosexual… unless I see an extremely feminine man, heh, heh.
—Hmm –A rough murmur is heard from the muscular uniformed man. I could even see how he slightly tightened his grip on the handle of his shotgun–
—Ush. Fine. Okay, I'll be quiet –My voice takes on a childish grievance after seeing this. Better not to bother them… for the moment–
In the end, seeing that my attempts at conversation are useless, I say nothing more. I simply go back to my little bed inside this cell and lie down on it to take a nap. Yes. Sleeping again. But what can I do? It's not like I can leave. While it's true that the Akrani Circles—the magic circles designed by the Cazden, another type of Mehr-Wissen specialized in hunting demons—do not affect me, since they only affect those types of creatures and I clearly am not one, having no powers now—or well, having them blocked at 99.9%, leaving me with stats similar to 5 or 10 humans—I can't do much.
Surely the bars are made of celestial iron, a mineral a thousand times stronger than common iron. Besides, even if I could break them, there's still escaping Delta Team, and these guys with one shot can send me back to Mikleo. And well, while it would be good to leave, I can't do it because of the promise I made to Officer Montenegro as he was dying in my arms after killing Lumen: to find, care for, protect, and teach his daughter, Detective Salieri Montenegro Neiruk.
—Clack–
However, just as I was about to close my eyes and let exhaustion carry me away into the world of dreams, the metallic, sliding sound of the thick metal doors of the Special Block is heard, startling me a bit.
Seconds later, clear light-tipped heels—probably about 2 or 3 centimeters according to the sound of the footsteps—resound on the white marble floor. Every step, every click of the heels, sounds full of innate elegance but also of absolute firmness.
—Detective Montenegro, my deepest condolences –Once the clicking of the heels stops, a female voice is heard, with a tone laden with genuine sadness–
—Detective, I am so sorry for your loss –A male voice adds, his voice oppressed by grief–
—Detective Montenegro, you have all my support in this difficult moment –This time another female says, her tone tinged with affliction– Anything you need, you can count on us–
—Detective, please receive my most sincere condolences –A new male voice is heard, his words heavy with pain–
—Thank you, thank you all –Then, my ears catch a voice I hadn't heard for a few hours and that, for some reason, I already missed. That pleasant tone, warm from the words of comfort received, but also tired, probably from what happened this morning– Is he in this Block?–
—Affirmative, Detective. The suspect named Sariel is located in here–
After those last words from another of the officers, the female's heels resume, but this time accompanied by the tactical boots of the nearby officers. All of them approaching my cell, with a determined and unhesitating step.
—Hey –Says the same female voice from before, the one that was different from the rest, now resonating much closer than before–
Upon hearing her, my eyes turn slightly to look at her from the corner of my eye. My eyes then catch a young woman, almost 25 years old, with snow-white silver hair and scarlet eyes, dressed in a neat and formal black suit that perfectly hugs her hourglass figure—with its respective pants, short-heeled shoes, and jacket of the same color—along with an impeccable white shirt, perfectly designed to cover her five-foot-seven height, leaving only her neck and face exposed, as she was even wearing black gloves. Additionally, a police badge could be added, hanging from her neck, where one could read "Homicide Unit, National Police."
This same young woman observes me from her position with an indecipherable expression, as if her rational and human mind had previously fractured slightly after finding some interesting clues regarding this case. However, unlike when she sent me to this place, there was no longer so much of that killer coldness from before, stemming from believing that I was the one who killed her Father. Only a typical coldness of a Homicide Detective.
And if she is here, looking at me this way, I must assume she discovered, one way or another, that I didn't do something like that—that I was not Officer Montenegro's murderer, and that I even fought by his side to finish off Lumen. Or at least, that the evidence she was able to gather while at the Lanel Recreational Center, the crime scene, told her something similar.
—Hayoo –I form a "V" with the fingers of my right hand as a greeting. A typical peace sign. Simultaneously, I flash a smile at her–
However, my smile fades slowly, seeing that my greeting does not please her in the least, as her brow furrows notably. Her precious and captivating scarlet eyes narrow, while her gaze does not waver from me, almost as if she were driving hundreds of scrutinizing knives into my chest, face, or wherever she is looking. If she keeps this up, I might even cover those parts and look at her with a pout while my eyes tell her "pervert."
—Take him to the Interrogation Room –She orders the Guards at her side, her voice now devoid of any previous softness. Could this woman be bipolar? Because sometimes she looks at me with coldness, and other times with softness. For example, the first time we met, she looked at me like a typical woman in love at first sight… Although well, that was surely an effect of the Destined Pairs System– I have some questions to ask this suspect, and I need a quiet place where no one disturbs us –She adds, raising her tone, typical of a law enforcement officer–
—Understood, Detective –Two of the nearby Agents respond in unison–
The two members of Delta Team—my custodians and apparently now great "besties" (according to me)—enter my cell without saying anything, grip me firmly by both arms, and roughly pull me from the bed and my small, and strangely comfortable, temporary room.
Upon exiting into the Special Block hallway, four other Agents—two females and two males, with the same intimidating equipment as my prison watchers—join us, forming an escort that blocks my escape points, as they positioned me in the middle of them, as if I were one of those prisoners about to be condemned to the gallows.
—Can't I get your autograph? –I joke, trying to break the oppressive and tense atmosphere that has formed– I like you guys very much. You look cool with these weapons and that gear–
—Silence, Demon –One of the new guards snaps, his voice as hostile as the first one, like my friend who glared at me–
—Ush, you guys are no fun –I murmur with another pout, even crossing my arms, resigning myself to the walk–
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While the members of Delta Team lead the six-foot-three young black-haired man—dressed in a formal suit stained with someone else's blood—Detective Montenegro observes the procession with a mixture of intrigue and growing strangeness.
During this moment, she cannot help but wonder why there is so much surveillance and such a display of force for a single individual, even if he is the primary suspect. She had visited this station before, though on rare occasions as her father was the Commander of this place, yet she had never seen so many heavily armed agents guarding a person in this manner. Even less had she seen police agents of the Central Republic carrying swords on their backs as if it were part of their standard equipment, given that the Central Republic is a highly technological country where such weapons would only be seen by collectors or historians.
—Hey –After a few seconds, she stops a uniformed agent, one who passes nearby and who, while not part of the direct escort, seems to be aware of the situation. This, with the purpose of trying to resolve her doubt– Why so many heavily armed people?–
The agent—a Surnaturel in his Seige form, the human mask they use in the Aynu, the human earthly plane, and whom Salieri obviously would not recognize, since to her he is just another human, not a Mehr-Wissen like Officer Montenegro—hesitates for a few crucial seconds before answering.
While this happens, he quickly evaluates the Detective. He knows that she, Salieri Montenegro Neiruk, is the daughter of Leon Montenegro Solís, and that she is also the Heir of the Montenegro Family, the same one she fought to consolidate her Title against the family. This was after the Old Patriarch repudiated her Father for marrying her Mother—a woman with the same appearance as Salieri herself—depriving her of being a true Montenegro from birth until she was 20 years old, after the Old Patriarch passed away, and she has followed a fierce struggle of nearly 5 years to completely consolidate herself.
However, despite all this, for the Altern—the supernatural world where they and he live—she remains a simple human. Even though she is the daughter of Officer Montenegro, a Sehwert, a type of Mehr-Wissen that is the most powerful of all and whose power comes from the Creator Goddess Astel herself. A human who, though strong by human standards, was still someone ordinary.
Therefore, telling her that the reason for such a deployment is because the detainee is suspected of being a high-ranking demon would only result in her not believing him, or worse, causing unnecessary complications and violating strict protocols that prevent the Surnaturel from showing themselves in the Aynu, at the risk of the Veil Security Forces—the Vesefo—and the international police of the Altern arresting and condemning them.
—Well… –Finally, the agent chooses to use the most mundane and credible explanation possible, using Leon himself as an excuse for his answer. Although he knows it is immoral, he has no other choice– It is likely that this man is Officer Montenegro's murderer. We have to be sure he doesn't escape our custody. After all, one must not skimp on risks with someone as powerful as him, capable of doing this to a Commander who was also the Heir to the third richest family in the country and the second richest in the Aynu, I mean, on the planet… We don't want to have to look for him all over the City and have him end up disappearing, right? –He says, trying to sound as serious as possible, but letting slip a bit of nervousness and a term that humans are unfamiliar with.–
—Salieri nods slowly, her scarlet eyes fixed on the agent for an instant longer, processing the answer. Still, she feels a sting of dissatisfaction because while the explanation is logical on the surface, it doesn't quite fit with the level of specialized weaponry she has seen, nor with the almost palpable atmosphere of fear surrounding the detainee.– Very well, I understand. –She says finally, nodding her head slowly, though her tone denotes that she is not completely convinced.– You may leave–
She doesn't truly understand it all, but seeing the agent's clearly evasive attitude—the way he avoids her gaze, as well as the sigh of relief after she nodded her head—she decides not to press further for now.
It is more than obvious to her that this agent is lying, that he holds many unspoken answers that could help her in her investigation, and that this person clearly does not seem willing to offer them. And while she could make him talk using both her institutional strength and her physical force, she prefers to avoid that kind of persuasion, as she is not someone who truly needs it.
Besides, she wasn't entirely bothered by this interruption and the concealment of possible evidence, for she already knows she has her perfect "answering guinea pig."
And with this in mind, a malicious smile—but without real malice—sketches across her face as she walks behind the escorts toward the Interrogation Room, to be able to speak alone with this strange man who has drawn strange feelings and emotions from her since she met him early this morning, at the crime scene where her Father passed away.
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As I move through the corridors of the Morian Police Station, flanked by the imposing escort of Delta Team members, I feel how my wrists—joined by cold handcuffs that exude a divine white halo that only I, with my Divine Eyes, the Reveler, the special gaze of the Mehr-Wissen, or the Surna Sight of the Surnaturel, can see—are a constant reminder of my precarious situation.
And not only that. Even with every step, I feel the gazes of other agents and station staff digging into me from the desks and office doors we pass. Their expressions are a mixture of barely concealed fear, open hostility, and a strange curiosity.
I can't help a tired smile—almost a grimace of resignation—drawing across my lips as I notice their constant attention toward me. But I can't blame them for looking at me this way, since I was the one who caused these kinds of moments.
Thanks to my unfortunate joke about being a demon, made in the patrol car that transported me to this place, everyone here must firmly believe that I am one of those creatures, and they probably already hate and fear me with the same intensity they do those subjects. Perhaps even more, if they believe that I was the one who murdered Officer Montenegro, a person deeply beloved by the supernatural community.
Considering the words spoken to the Detective—the condolences—by now everyone, or at least most, should know about Officer Montenegro's death. I'm sure that right now versions are circulating where I am the ruthless assassin who killed probably the only good Sehwert that exists in this world, and that's why everyone sees me like this and even wants to end my life.
—Remember this for next time, little Sariel –I say to myself, scolding that part of me that loves to crack jokes without reading the room or the context– Jokes about being a demon are only funny among supernatural beings who understand irony. Or also, when you possess an incredible power that makes it clear it's just a joke, that you aren't that kind of guy. So, don't commit this stupidity again, especially when you are in such a delicate situation and with your power almost non-existent.–
____________ >> Interrogation Room >> ____________
After a few minutes of walking through several corridors, escorted by my personal retinue called Delta Team—dedicated solely to guarding my safety and comfort (heh, heh)—and who seem to take their role as jailers with a seriousness that makes me laugh in my mind, they finally leave me in what I assume is the interrogation room.
—Get in there –My dear jailer indicates, the one who seems to love using unnecessary force against me, giving me a far-from-subtle shove toward the interior.–
—Yeah, yeah –I mutter between my teeth, regaining my balance after the lunge–
I look ahead, toward this pleasant and very cozy room set aside at this moment solely for me, and probably also for the beautiful Detective who comes after us. Without a doubt, a perfect place for romance, heh, heh~.
—Nice place –My voice sounds as if this place were a dream come true for me, granted personally by Father Nohel–
I look everywhere, engraving the place into my eyes. It is a small space, almost a perfect cube, bathed in the cold and uniform light of several square panels on the ceiling. The walls are a clinical white and smooth, except for a large rectangular panel on one of them, which makes one believe there is nothing there, but it is more than clear—even to a blind person—that there is something in that spot. What is it? You might ask. Well, obviously a classic one-way mirror, where behind it will be the observation and recording room, designed for the delight of hidden observers.
Continuing with the room, my eyes move toward the center, where a simple table is placed—metallic with a gray surface—with two chairs on each side. One, destined for the interrogator, is an ordinary plastic office chair. The other, reserved for their "special guest" (meaning me), is a masterpiece of anti-demon hospitality: a robust chair made of black-painted metal, whose legs are firmly anchored to the floor with metal plates. To add an extra touch of welcome and confidence, several thick chains surround it, securing it even more to its anchors, and it even possesses more chains for the guest.
And, of course, to complete the decoration and ensure that the "dangerous Demon" doesn't try anything funny while enjoying his seat of honor, there is also an unmistakable glow of another Akrani Circle engraved on the floor, strategically situated right under the chained chair. However, unlike the one in the cell that was visibly striking to anyone, this one was almost invisible to a mundane gaze and even to our superior sights.
—I wonder if they can put up red, pink, and wine-red lights, so the Detective and I can start a prison romance arc inside this room –I say to myself with the kind of smile one would wear while watching an Oriental romantic drama– Will my extreme beauty work on the Ice Queen who is looking at me as if she wants to bite me? Will we finally have a romantic drama between a Detective and a criminal? I don't think that's been seen before–
—Move –Says a deep male voice, the same one that completely shatters my romantic illusions with a new, heavy shove–
My dear jailer—the one who seems to particularly enjoy using force against my person—after seating me forcefully with his hand, finishes securing me to the chair with special chains and shackles that they themselves had brought for this charming man who clearly couldn't go anywhere, and which continue to exhale that characteristic white halo.
For a few seconds, the constant sounds of the chains clashing against each other as they move them to tie me up, the clank of the shackles fastened to my ankles and wrists, and even around my stomach, can be heard in this small room whose walls further magnify the metallic audio. The good part is they didn't tie my neck. I don't like feeling suffocated.
—My, my, what kind of intimate sadomasochistic game is this –I wonder in my mind, without stopping my smiling, looking at myself through the reflection of the metallic table. Anyone who saw me, tied everywhere with chains, would mock me.– Could this beautiful Detective, who now looks at me with a raised eyebrow and a slightly mocking expression, be my playmate? Did she bring a red ball to put in my mouth? And the whips? It would be interesting to see her as a femdom–
After the jailer finishes tying me with these chains, he turns toward Detective Montenegro, who before was only watching with tranquility and even a mocking smile, leaning against the wall near the door, as this handsome man was treated like an infamous criminal.
—Detective, shall we stay with you? –The Delta Team member asks Montenegro, his tone showing a deference toward her that contrasts with the brusqueness he directs at me–
—No, it's fine. It's not necessary for you to stay. Also, I don't want anyone in the annex room, and don't activate the cameras and microphones either –The Detective orders with a nuance of genuine gratitude in her voice, though also with a firmness that admits no reply– And don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Thanks to the training I received from my Father, dealing with him won't be difficult at all –Then she directs her gaze toward me, while raising her fist to threaten me from afar–. If he tries anything funny with me, my fists will teach him a lesson–
The Delta Team Agents, my jailer, and other ordinary uniformed officers waiting in the hallway outside this room, exchange glances. Their concern is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife and spread it on a nice sandwich bread.
Well, I can understand them. Leaving a Detective, no matter how trained she is, alone with a "dangerous demon" who slaughtered two uniformed officers and a powerful Commander—according to their erroneous but firm belief—must not sit well with them at all.
—Is something wrong? –She asks, the Detective, noticing the hesitation and tension in the air, her expression slightly confused–
—No. It's nothing –The female member of Delta Team says after a few seconds, hesitating whether to speak about her concerns and run the risk of an undercover Vesefo Agent overhearing them and detaining her, or to keep quiet– We'll be right outside for anything –In the end, it seems she chose the latter. It appears that for them, the Vesefo are no joke, even though for me, that's precisely what they are–
—Good –The young woman with silver-white hair nods, while pushing herself off the wall–
Before my jailer can fully withdraw and leave me alone with the intriguing scarlet-eyed Detective, I manage to tug at his shirt sleeve with my still-handcuffed hands, stopping him in his tracks.
—Is all this really necessary? –I ask him with a theatrical sigh, gesturing with my chin toward the chains, the handcuffs, and the glowing Akrani Circle beneath my feet– I feel a bit pampered with all this –I put on my abandoned puppy eyes to see if it works and they take off at least some of the chains, because they're heavy– Don't you think so too?–
—The agent looks at me with narrowed eyes full of clear and deep disdain– Silence, Dem-... –His word gets stuck in his throat as he remembers the Detective is still here– Silence, suspect –He finally says, his voice a contained growl–
—Heh, heh~ –I mock him, flashing a clearly taunting smile– This is my little revenge, heh, heh. Give my regards to the Fuseve, my darling~–
With a final strong tug, the subject frees himself from my grip, his face a mask of disgust and a bit of fear, and he leaves the room with firm steps without looking back.
And so, once all the uniformed officers have left the threshold, Detective Montenegro closes the metallic door of the interrogation room, locking it, and ensures with a device taken from one of her tactical belt pockets that there are no technological observers watching us.
When she finishes, she approaches the table, standing elegantly in front of me, and placing one of her attractive hands—with long, slender, well-manicured fingers wrapped in tight black gloves—on the cold metallic surface. Her scarlet eyes shine, not literally of course, with a scrutinizing intensity that makes me tremble.
—Now, tell me everything that happened. I don't want any lies or false words, or otherwise, I will be forced to use force to get the truth out of you –The Detective's tone, though soft, admits no evasiveness–