NERO

Thursday, March 15, 2018

I couldn't read her nametag, but the woman told me that she was Jennifer Benson. Her friends called her Jenny, but I was to refer to her as Officer Benson.

"See how easy that was?" she said. Like me, she wore gloves, white ones — they were crossed now, sitting heavily on her desk. She also wore a sharp blue uniform and a policeman's cap, which shielded her eyes, but not enough that I couldn't see the hard edge in her dark irises. "Not hard at all. In fact, in civil society, it's quite common to introduce yourself when you meet someone new. Why don't you try, son?"

I wanted to steeple my fingers and lean intimidatingly across the desk just like Officer Benson, but with the handcuffs I doubted I would have the same effect. Not that I was afraid, despite the flop sweat dripping down my face. No, that was just because Officer Benson's office was small and suffocating, with barely enough room for her desk and my chair. It was also hot, despite the efforts of the madly-spinning fan clinging to the low-hanging ceiling; it felt heavy, poised to fall in and crush my head.

"Are you listening?" Officer Benson was annoyed. "Tell me your name. Or do I have to make one up for you? I'm willing to refer to you as John Doe if that'll move this conversation forward."

I shifted in my seat, making the shackles around my wrists jangle. I gave them another experimental pull, testing the strength of the chain, and anger slaked through my stomach when it held fast. I glared up at Officer Benson and tried not to spit. Don't make things worse. Stick with the plan.

But I didn't have a plan — right now I was struggling to see past the terrifying idea that I had lost Mag's trail, or that I was likely to lose it the more time I wasted in this police station in these cuffs. Unfortunately, I didn't have many options — only two, in fact, and only one of them was viable: use Pitch. Look Officer Benson in the eye, speak from the gut, and tell her to unlock these cuffs and let me walk out of this place without opposition.

I would've tried this already if not for the fact that the last human I'd used high Pitch on I'd given a terrible nosebleed — the last thing I wanted was for the other officers crawling about this station to think that I'd assaulted their colleague... Arceus only knew what they'd do to me, but for sure it wouldn't speed up my search for Mag.

That left the only other option: talking my way out. And if my Pitch was a disappointment, my social skills were a disaster. Learning how to have light conversation had never been a priority in the Army.

This conversation was proof of that.

Clank! I gave the chain another aggravated yank. Then what do I do? I suddenly wished that the merfolk had descended not from Kyogre, but from a Legendary Pokémon that could shoot laser beams from its eyes. Ones hot enough to melt these chains from my wrists.

"All right, John Doe it is," Officer Benson said, leaning back in her chair. "Stop pulling at your handcuffs. You aren't getting out of them without the key."

A key. One on her person? I scanned her utility belt and spotted a ring of toothed keys hooked in her belt loop, but she said, "Nope, not me. Officer Stanson has them. So face facts, John: you aren't going anywhere. Drop the tough-guy attitude and cooperate. Or do you want to stay in this room? Cause you aren't moving from that spot unless I say so — you realize that, don't you?"

More sweat appeared on my brow — Arceus, how could humans stand it? Salty rain dampening their faces every time they got nervous? But I settled, letting the chains be — she was right, fecklessly yanking at them wasn't going to get me anywhere. She nodded in approval.

"Good. Now that I've got your attention... Do you want to tell me what you did to my coworkers earlier? They claim you assaulted them somehow. Screamed or something, and it was like someone had stuck a white-hot poker right up the back of your skull. Ring a bell?"

That was another reason I couldn't use Pitch again: if I tried and messed up, which was likely, they would have proof that the first time was not a fluke, and that I could do something supernatural. I stared down at the cuffs, and when Officer Benson saw that I wouldn't respond, her mouth twisted a little in frustration.

"Okay," she said. "Why don't we try something else?"

The questions began. Who was I? Why had I been stealing clothing from the Summer Bargain Mart? Did I know how much trouble I was in? Did I live in the city? Why the hell was I wearing curtains with my dive suit? Why was my dive suit missing its legs? Didn't I know that was indecent exposure? Was I homeless? Did I need help? How old was I? Where were my parents? Did I know that the Summer Bargain Mart's shop owner was thinking about pressing charges against me? Did I know that I was going to have to stay in jail until I cooperated? Was I part of that school group that was staying at the Pokémon Center?

"What?" I rasped. That last question broke into my focus like a sudden thunderbolt.

Officer Benson jerked. "So you can talk," she said, leaning forward again — her lack in progress had made her slouch. "I was beginning to think that you were mute."

"What did you say?" I said. "About the...school group at the Pokémon Center?" The humans I'd been following were teenagers. Teenagers went to school. Could they be the same people?

The policewoman winced — my Pitch was out of control, high enough to make my voice grate like fingernails across a piece of granite. Rubbing her temples, she said, "Yeah, there's a school group staying at the Pokémon Center. Field trip, I think. Are you part of that group, John?"

My breath caught in my chest, no longer from fear, but from excitement. "No." Then I wanted to kick myself. Why hadn't I said yes?

"Heavens be praised, an answer!" Her brows knitted together. "But if you aren't, then why are you so interested?"

I ignored her. "Did they go diving sometime today, this school group?"

She flinched at the sound of my voice again, verbal nails. "That's not how it works, kid. You want me to answer your questions, you answer mine."

I went back to being silent again. She didn't like that.

"All right, have it your way." Her mouth became a thin, displeased line. "I told you that you were staying here until you cooperated, and I meant it. Maybe spending some time in a locked box will change your mind about answering our questions." She rose and motioned to someone out in the hall. A moment later, one of the officers that had apprehended me — the guy that I had vomited all over — strode in. He was wearing a new uniform — likely the other one was on the clothesline.

"Take our friend here to his new temporary abode, Stanson," Officer Benson ordered. "He needs some time to consider the folly of his bullheadedness."

What? I stiffened as Stanson seized my arm and lifted me roughly from my seat. He steered me out into the hall and turned me around a corner, where another officer joined us, falling into step on my other side.

"Hey—" I started.

"Oh, now you want to talk? Too bad." Stanson's grip on me went ironclad. "Move your ass, kid."

I dug in my heels, and he stopped and gave me a dark look.

"You want to turn this into something?" He freed something from his belt: a short rod that went bzzz when he hit the button. "Just say the word, and I'll light you up again."

Again? Was that what he'd used to shock me earlier? That had hurt — no way in hell did I want to feel it again. So I ground my teeth and stayed silent. Eventually, Stanson returned his weapon to his belt.

"Good choice," he growled. "Walk, and no funny business: you pull that banshee crap again and there's gonna be trouble."

I wouldn't have tried it anyway — that shocking thing was a little too close to make trying Pitch a good idea. As we turned another corner, I glanced down at the good officer's belt. Officer Benson had claimed that he had the key to my cuffs. Indeed, I saw a ring of keys swinging noisily from his belt, and wondered how fast I could grab them, find the right key, and run. I did a couple of simulations in my head, but they didn't look too good — it was two against one, after all, and there were a lot of keys on that ring.

But did I have a choice? They were going to lock me up, and that couldn't happen now that I knew where to go: the Pokémon Center. The school group. Field trip. All I had to do was figure out where the Pokémon Center was, and I would close a huge gap between me and Magdalene. It shouldn't be hard to find her once I was there...right?

My musing cost me — suddenly, we were in front of a metal door. A white room lay beyond, and I was roughly shoved inside. I stumbled, clattering to my hands and knees, and as I caught my breath I heard a click behind me and knew that I was in trouble. I jumped up and ran to the door, pulling at the knob. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.

Fury erupted inside me — I slammed my hand on the door. "Hey!" I screamed.

My voice split a crack in the glass window; a moment later, Stanson was peering through it at me, expression pitiless and a little triumphant.

"Pitch a fit all you want," he invited me, "but you brought this on yourself, brat. Benson extended the olive branch, didn't she, and you told her to stick it where the sun don't shine. So get comfortable."

Damn! "Okay," I said. I struggled to control my tenor, make my voice comprehensible, but it was hard — Pitch went wild when a merperson was panicked or anxious, and I felt seconds away from blowing my top. "I'll answer her questions, all right? Just let me out. Don't lock me in here!"

"Sorry, but that window of opportunity has closed. See you in eight hours, John."

With that, they left, leaving me staring after them, white-faced. Eight hours? They were going to leave me in this room for eight hours? What might happen to Magdalene in eight hours? What if she was hurt? What if she was made to battle, and she got injured?

Panic overwhelmed me, and I let out another angry screech, causing the web of cracks in the window to expand. I went over to the couch and sat, dropping my head into my hands. Calm down. My fingers curled, threatening to pry locks of white hair from my head. What does this matter? You know where she is. In eight hours, you'll get out there and find her.

My internal voice took on a different inflection, becoming someone else's... Titus. I don't know why: I hated the bastard, hated and feared him, yet imagining him saying those very same words slowed the erratic gallop of my heart, made the heat diffuse from my face, made the muscles at the back of my neck unclench.

A temporary setback, Titus whispered in my ear. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see him, eyes bright with pointed light, face like sculpted stone. So quell your temper tantrum. They'll return for you in eight hours, and you will use that opportunity to escape. You'll grab their keys and run. If that doesn't work, you will stun them with high Pitch.

I rubbed at my eyes. But what if I mess up and they—

If they bleed, they bleed. Your only concern is your safety, your freedom. No shame. No tears. No apology.

Yes, my safety... Mag's safety. Jude's safety. The sooner I was out of here, the sooner I could return to him, hiding away alone, in the dark.

I raked my hands through my hair — Jude wasn't the only one feeling unusually lonely. Normally I had someone with me — either Magdalene or Jude or both — but now, for the first time in two years, I was completely alone — it felt strange, and not in a good way. I felt smaller, exposed and vulnerable, and weak... Weak in the absence of those that needed my strength, like Jude; weak in the absence of those that fortified me, like Magdalene.

And weak in the absence of those that made me stronger, like Titus. He was a monster, one who mowed down anything and anyone that got in his way, but trapped in this place on land, away from both Jude and Magdalene, I couldn't help but crave his iron-like surety. I wished I could say it was the only time I'd wished for his guidance, but it had been only two years since I'd left the Army, and I was only sixteen years old... And at times like this, I realized how insanely young that was.

I dropped heavily on my side on the couch. I didn't expect to sleep, wired as I was, yet soon my eyes closed, and I fell away from the world. I didn't expect for my dreams to be good ones.

I wasn't disappointed.

--

FLOOD Artwork: Nero's Outfit

When I was first coming up with Nero's ensemble, I wanted it to be odd...but reasonable, too. Eventually, I settled on a modified dive suit (meaning with the legs cut off) and a set of curtains to serve as his kilt. Not very fashionable in terms of color schemes, but I don't think Nero's the type to care about complimentary colors: he goes for functionality rather than style.

—

FLOOD Artwork: Creating the Chapter Image

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]