The officers sat in front of a table with various items that had once belonged to the Clemans. Even though Pherson and Scott had gone through the house with a fine tooth comb, they had only found a few items of significance, mainly papers relating to Don and Zey's previous occupations.

There was no laboratory. And there was no stash of stolen goods.

"I just don't understand," Pherson said. "I thought that they were responsible for all of those uranium robberies that have been occurring over the past six years."

Scott nodded. "I still think they are."

"Why do you say that?" a voice with a thick, german accent asked. The policemen looked up to see Dr. Seinmen, the police force's leading scientist. Those his expertise stretched into many fields, his specialty was biology.

"Don and Zey were robbing the top most secure Uranium bank in the world," Scott explained. "In order for them to get past security, they would have to be trained experts."

"Besides, it's not everyday that you find uranium robbers," Pherson added. "It's a very unconventional item to rob."

"That is true," the scientist agreed. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his lab coat and handed it to the officers. "This is what we have discovered so far. According to our analysis, the Clemans used silent explosives in order to detonate the—"

"Silent explosives?" Pherson quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's a new technology. It operates by excreting man-made chemicals, resulting in exceedly high-frequency waves with the power to detonate even the most durable materials."

"Wow," Scott said.

"Incredible," Pherson said.

"Yes," Dr. Seinman replied, quite bored.

For a moment, the three stood in silence.

"Is there anyway to prove that the Clemans were involved in the other robberies?" Scott finally asked.

"You can try to interview them," the scientist sighed. "But as far as I am concerned, you can only convict them of this one."

"I think you're right," Officer Pherson agreed. "We'll interrogate them now, before we take Myrae back to the house. Oh, and don't forget about Myrae's examination this afternoon."

Seinman nodded, and the policemen exited, heading to the interrogation room.

***

The lights in the interrogation were dim. Don Clemans sat at a table with his cuffed hands neatly folded on top. A smirk stretched across his face, but his eyes betrayed his true fears. He knew that once the house was searched, very little could save him from his fate—prison.

Footsteps echoed outside the door, growing louder and louder, until they stopped right in front of the room. The lock clicked, and in walked Officer Pherson. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Don.

"Clemans," Officer Pherson said.

"Officer," Don relied through clenched teeth.

"How are you doing today?"

"Dandy," Don lied. "Just dandy." He wore the fakest smile Officer Pherson had ever seen.

"Wonderful; let us begin, then." Officer Pherson took his seat across from Don.

A fluorescent light shone from above. Don squinted, his face contorting for a moment from the brightness. Then, he was back to normal.

"Tell me Don, when did you and Zey meet?"

Don's pupils grew wide, his grin faltering. A moment of surprise. He quickly tried to mask it, leaning back in his chair, his grin growing wide again. His pupils shifted to the right.

"2030."

"Where?"

Don looked the Officer straight in the eye. "At a bar."

"Interesting. What is your occupation?"

Don held the officer's gaze, but his eyes couldn't mask his conflict. If he told the officer his true occupation, it may be incriminating. But if he lied, the officer could find out nonetheless.

"I'm a scientist."

"What is Zey's occupation?"

"She's a scientist too."

"What specific field of science do you study?" Officer Pherson asked.

"Biology."

"I see. And the specific area of biology is genetics, correct?"

"No."

"Really?" Officer Pherson said. "Because according to our records, you got your major and masters degree in genetic engineering. For ten years, you worked as a lab technician at the Institute of BioTechnology, conducting research in the effects of human genetic manipulation on the brain."

Don was silent.

"Am I correct, Mr. Clemans?"

Don looked up, his eyes filled with venom.

"Yes," he spat. He couldn't argue against facts.

"And then you quit on January 6, 2045. Is there any particular reason why? Was that a special year for you?"

"No."

"It's not a special year for you?"

"No."

Officer Pherson paused, contemplating his next question.

"Tell me, Clemans, is Myrae adopted?"

Don's brow furrowed. "No."

"So the year she was born is insignificant to you?"

"No," Don quickly said, searching for words. "I just...forgot."

"And then," Officer Pherson continued, "Following 2045, there were a series of bank robberies, totally 7,360,000 dollars."

Don remained deadpan.

"Any response, Don?"

Don shook his head.

Officer Pherson glanced down at his notes. This was not going as well as he'd planned.

"Tell me, Don, why doesn't Myrae remember anything?"

"I don't know."

He was lying; Officer Pherson could tell. Whenever he told the truth, his eyes shifted slightly to the right, as he was recalling information. But whenever he lied, he looked the Officer straight in the eye, so as to appear more sincere in his answers.

"Do you ever give Myrae tea?" Pherson questioned.

"No."

"Really? Myrae says that she is made to drink a terrible tea at times."

"Myrae can't remember anything, you said so yourself."

Pherson paused for a moment. Then, an idea popped into his head. "But your wife, Zey, told us that you do give Myrae a tea that she dislikes greatly."

Don pursed his lips. His face was calm, yet every last muscle in his body was tense, as if he were about to explode.

"Oh, right. That tea. Yes, it's good for her...digestion."

Another lie.

"Alright, I think I'm done here," Officer Pherson announced. "Good chat, Mr. Clemans."

***

"Hello, Mrs. Clemans," Officer Pherson greeted the woman sitting across from him. Zey sat at the interrogation table in the exact same position as her husband—hands neatly folded on the table. Only her hands twitched, her body vibrating ever so slightly. She wasn't as good at hiding her nerves as her husband.

"How are you doing?" the officer asked.

The woman sniffed, trying to regain her composure. Her eyes were bright red, like she had been crying.

"Fine, how are you?"

"Doing well. Shall we begin?"

Zey nodded. The Officer took his seat, looking Zey straight in the eye, though he made sure his expression was softer for her than it had been for Don.

"When did you and your husband meet?"

Her eyes shifted to the right. "2030."

"Where?"

Again, her eyes rolled to the right. "In college."

"You both attended the same college?"

"Yes," Zey replied.

"What did you study in college?"

"Chemistry."

"Two types of chemistry, right?"

Zey's eyes flicked to the left. "No."

Officer Pherson made a mental note of that. Her eyes went to the right when she told the truth, and to the left when she lied.

"And yet you were a double major in biochemistry and demolitions."

Her eyes flicked to the left again. "Oh, yes. I, um, forgot since I haven't used demolitions in a while."

A lie. Pherson guessed that she was the brains behind the silent explosives.

"So you only took an interest in biochemistry. Do you explore the effects that genetic engineering has on the chemicals in nerves in the body, and how those nerves affect the brain?"

Zey's fingers clenched into a fist, then released, over and over again. Something came into her eyes. They looked...smug.

Pherson would have to fix that. "You both are very talented individuals."

Zey sat up a little straighter.

"And yet you both got caught."

Her gaze dropped to the table. Pherson knew he was getting somewhere.

"You thought that you could do anything, didn't you? You both pulled off tons of uranium robberies without a hitch. You had specially designed explosives, and of course, your own skills as robbers. You spent countless hours working out break-in strategies. You thought you were invincible, didn't you?"

Zey's eyes turned glossy as tears began to form in her eyes.

"But you're not. You're not able to pull off the big heists, are you? You can only steal from the small uranium banks, not the major league ones. Your skill, strategy, and technology can only get you so far. You know that now, don't you?"

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"How did you slip up? After six years, what brought the downfall of the infamous masked duo?"

"We thought we could change it!" Zey yelled. She stared at the officer, heaving her breaths.

Her momentary lapse of composure didn't last long. Quickly, her guard was put up again. She broke her gaze, looking at the floor. Nevertheless, Pherson had her exactly where he wanted her.

"Why does your daughter not remember anything?"

Zey's head snapped up, a deer in the headlights. "Um, I don't know."

Her eyes betrayed her. She knew exactly why. Could it have something to do with genetic engineering?

"You know why," Pherson corrected gently. "Your husband told us all about it."

Zey's eyes narrowed. "No he didn't."

"Yes, he did. He told us about Myrae. The only thing we don't know is one little question: why?"

Pherson sat at the edge of his seat, hoping that maybe once she started talking, she wouldn't be able to stop.

Maybe she'd spill the whole story.

Zey's lip trembled. "You want to know why? Because without us, she would have been nothing."

Zey sucked in a shaky breath, placing her hands back on the table. Tears slipped down Zey's cheeks. But the tears cried were not of remorse, or guilt. They were of frustration and anger. Her eyes were narrowed, practically glaring at the officer. She would not be talking anymore.

***

Myrae scanned her bedroom one last time. She had asked the Officers if she could go home to retrieve any items she may want, since the house was most likely going to be turned over to the city. After all, her "parents" were criminals.

With one final look, Myrae swung her backpack over her shoulders and headed down the stairs.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" Officer Pherson asked as she walked down the steps.

"I think so. I got my toothbrush and toothpaste, a few tops and pants, a pair of sneakers, my schoolwork, and my pajamas."

Officer Pherson raised an eyebrow. "No toys?"

Myrae shook her head. "I don't have any."

Sadness showed in the policeman's eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. "Are there any more rooms you want to see before you go?"

Myrae thought for a moment. "Well, I guess we could go to see the lab. There were some film reels down that I've always wanted to watch."

Officer Pherson frowned. "Lab?"

"Yes, it's right here." Myrae marched into the kitchen and grabbed the set keys that were kept there. Then she headed to the cubist painting, removed it from the wall, and opened the trap door. Myrae coughed as moldy air filled her lungs.

"Scott!" Officer Pherson yelled. Officer Scott popped out of the living room, where he had been scouring for any more incriminating evidence. Pherson pointed to the trap door, and the three headed inside.

Myrae carefully descended the creaking, wooden ladder. When she reached the bottom, she flicked on the light, illuminating the Clemans' laboratory. The room was tidy, everything in its proper place.

Myrae strode to the gray cabinets and stove. She hoisted herself onto the counter in order to reach the top and retrieved a glass jar filled with a paste of leaves and oil. She hopped down from the counter like it was no big deal, and handed the jar to Officer Pherson.

"This is the awful tea that I have to drink," she told him. Officer Pherson unscrewed the lid, only to wrinkle his nose at the putrid smell.

"That smells like rotting garbage," Officer Scott said.

"Mixed with feces," Pherson muttered under his breath. "We should have Doctor Seinman examine this."

"Definitely," Scott agreed.

The two policemen returned their attention to Myrae. She stood in front of the filing cabinet and sighed heavily.

"I don't know how to open this," she lamented. She glanced at the policemen, slumped over. "I've always wanted to see what the films were like."

"The films?" Scott asked.

"Yes, there are reels of film that are kept in there."

"By who?"

Myrae frowned. "I-I don't know. I just remember that there are reels of film inside of there." Suddenly, Myrae's eyes lit up. She pointed to the holster on Officer Pherson's belt. "Is that a gun?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Can you use it to open the filing cabinet?"

Pherson's eyebrows shot up. "W-well, I suppose. Where did you learn that?"

"I saw it on TV," Myrae replied.

"And you remembered?" Scott asked.

Myrae's eyebrows knit together. "I guess I did."

The policemen exchanged a look before Officer Pherson shot the lock off the filing cabinet. Inside, there were countless film reels―just like Myrae had said.

"Can we watch them?" Myrae asked.

"Yes, but we need to wait until we get back to the police station," Scott said, glancing at his partner. They both knew that the real answer was that the footage had to be screened first, since it may be incriminating evidence in the case.

Myrae tilted her head to one side, frowning slightly, but didn't press the matter. Instead, she walked over to the camera in the center of the room. She stared at it for a few moments, deep in thought, before suddenly saying,

"I always wondered if the camera was stealing my memories." She looked at the two officers. "Do you think the doctor will be able to find out?"

Officer Pherson forced a smile. "I'm sure he will."

"Really? Because I'm not so certain." Once again, the officers were surprised by the small girl's words.

Myrae wandered to her father's desk, running her hands over the smooth wood. There wasn't a paper in sight. Her eyes dropped to the drawers. Gently, she tugged at the handles. They didn't open.

"Can we open this desk too?" she asked.

Pherson nodded. "Step away from the desk, please."

The sound of bullets striking metal echoed through the empty house. Once he was done, Myrae opened all of the drawers, removing files and binders of information. The officers stared in awe at the treasure trove they had just discovered.

That Myrae had just discovered.

As Pherson and Scott flipped through the pages in one of the binders, they realized that Myrae had stumbled upon all of the Clemans' research.

Myrae reached down and opened the bottom drawer in the desk.

"Look!" she cried, pointing to eleven, raisin bran cereal boxes. Officer Pherson raised an eyebrow.

"What in the world?" he murmured.

Myrae's brow creased. "I wonder why these are down here." She gently opened the box. Her eyes went wide as she looked inside. Slowly, tipped over the box. At least fifty bundles of hundred dollar bills thudded to the floor.