Conticent

I stirred awake when the car came to a halt, realizing we had arrived at Kiruha Police Station. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain, quickly pulling my hoodie over my head. The puddles on the ground mirrored the neon lights from the nearby buildings, casting pink and blue colors across the street. Helion locked the car behind us, snapped open his umbrella, and started toward the station's stairs. I fell in step behind him, my thoughts circling around the night’s chaotic events.

Helion paused at the station’s entrance, holding the door open for me. As I walked through, he shook the rain off his umbrella, his exhale audible over the storm’s roar. He gave a quick nod to the officer stationed behind the reception desk, acknowledging their presence with a half-smile.

“This city and its weather…” he muttered under his breath. “God, it’s unbearable.”

“Yeah,” I replied, running a hand through my damp hair.

“I mean,” he went on, clearly exasperated, “yesterday was so scorching, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Now it’s like someone turned on the monsoon switch.”

I shrugged. “You were raised in West Antapolis, Cap. You should be used to this by now.”

“Sure, we were both born and raised here. But that doesn’t mean we can’t complain, right?”

I grunted in agreement as we approached the elevator. The doors slid open immediately, and we stepped inside. Helion pressed the button for the second floor and took a moment to glance at his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair back. Meanwhile, I leaned against the wall, eyes closed, not bothering to check my own reflection—I already knew I looked like hell.

When the elevator dinged, we walked out into a narrow corridor. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow on the gray walls. Doors lined both sides of the hallway, each one labeled with bland, bureaucratic titles like Interrogation 1 and File Storage. The tile floor squeaked under our wet shoes, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant, mixed with the musty scent of old paperwork. Everything here had an impersonal, slightly worn-out feel, like a place that had seen too much over the years without ever being updated.

We stopped in front of the door labeled Observation Room.

“You ready?” Helion asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I offered a faint grunt in response.

“If you need anything, just knock on the glass. Someone’ll get it for you,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder before stepping back.

“Thanks, Cap,” I muttered.

“Mmh.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Look at that—I’m starting to grumble like you. Damn it, C.”

“Hmm…”

“Alright, see you in the morning,” he said, waving a hand as he turned to leave.

“Yeah, see you.”

Watching Helion disappear down the corridor, I pushed the door open and stepped into the observation room. The space was sparse and functional—nothing fancy. A single bed, a chair in the corner, and a small table. On one side of the room was a large one-way glass window, behind which sat a police officer at a desk, typing away at a computer. The walls were painted an uninspiring shade of beige, and the faint hum of the ventilation system filled the silence. A dim overhead light flickered slightly, adding to the room’s worn-down feel.

“It’ll do,” I muttered to myself, peeling off my soaked jacket and tossing it onto the chair. I laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the night still weighing on my mind. “Living together in peace, huh?”

"Officer Cra—" a woman’s voice crackled through the hidden speakers in the walls, echoing slightly. "Crañ… Officer C, please come closer to the glass."

I blinked, slightly dazed, and pushed myself off the bed. "Hmm?" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I walked toward the glass window.

The woman behind the glass, previously focused on typing something into her computer, now spoke into a small microphone set beside her. Her gaze met mine through the glass, and with a slight nod, she gestured for me to step forward.

A small compartment slid open on the glass, revealing a tiny bottle cap containing a few drops of red liquid. “It’s human blood,” she explained flatly, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.

Another panel opened just below the first, revealing a small, O-shaped device. The machine had slender cables attached to it, designed to wrap around my hand like a strange web of wires. They looked sharp and clinical, the metallic sheen reflecting the sterile light from the room.

Already knowing the procedure, I wordlessly placed my hand into the opening. The machine whirred softly to life as it hooked itself to my finger, the O-shaped head fitting snugly. Thin wires snaked around my knuckles, softly pulsing with a dim, blue light. The device felt cool against my skin as it began monitoring my vitals. The woman glanced at the readings on her computer screen and gave a satisfied nod.

“Go ahead. Drink the blood," she said, her voice neutral but professional. "I’ll monitor for any immediate changes.”

I picked up the cap and grimaced slightly before tipping it back, the metallic taste of the blood hitting my tongue. I swallowed quickly, trying not to think too much about it.

“Ugh, this…” I mumbled, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

“Just a moment,” she said, eyes glued to her monitor as numbers and graphs populated the screen— probably. I wasn’t able to see it. After a couple of minutes, she unclipped the cables from my fingers, the machine releasing its gentle grip.

The compartments closed with a soft click, and she leaned back in her chair. “Everything’s normal for now. I’ll check on you every hour,” she said, offering a slight smile, though her tone remained formal. “Sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

“It’s fine,” I replied. "Better safe than sorry."

I turned back toward the bed and flopped down, exhaling heavily as I settled in again. The weight of exhaustion tugged at me, but I knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy, not with them checking on me every hour. And I already had enough trouble sleeping as it was.

"Great," I mumbled to myself, staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, and, one more thing, Officer C.” The woman said. “After I leave for a bathroom break or something, please don’t masturbate like other officers did in the past. This room is under surveillance 24/7.”

“Huh—” I said. “There goes my plan for the rest of night…”

—

After running the final test, the woman gave a nod of approval and smiled faintly as she unhooked the O-shaped device’s cables from my fingers. She dialed someone quickly and stepped out of the room. A few seconds later, the door clicked open, signaling my release. I grabbed my jacket from the chair, shrugged it on, and walked out into the hallway.

“You’re all clear. You’re good to go,” she said, standing just outside.

“Hmm. Thanks,” I muttered, giving a curt nod before heading toward the elevator.

As the doors opened, Jane stepped out, freezing for a second when she spotted me. She gave a small, surprised laugh before continuing to walk in my direction. We met in front of the door marked “Interrogation Room 1,” which was slightly ajar, revealing the woman from the football stadium sitting inside.

“You broke out or did they let you go?” Jane asked, a teasing smirk on her face.

“The latter,” I replied with a dry chuckle. "What’s she doing here?"

“We thought it’d be safer for her to stay at the station. The suspects might still be after her.” She gestured to the door. “I was just about to talk to her. You wanna join?”

“Yeah, I’ll tag along,” I said, following her inside.

The room was basic—white walls, a metal table against the far wall, and a small coffee table topped with a plastic flower arrangement. The single light source was a dim, yellowish wall lamp, casting dull shadows across the room.

Jane flashed a reassuring smile and sat across from the woman, leaning her elbows on the table. I, on the other hand, shifted the flowerpot slightly and perched on the coffee table, arms crossed.

“Hello, Miranda,” Jane began, her tone gentle but firm. “I’m Jane Howard, and this is my partner, C.”

Miranda gave a nervous smile. “N—nice to meet you.” Her voice trembled. “Have the police caught those wraiths yet?”

“Not yet,” Jane responded, her tone softening. “But we’re working on it. I’m going to need your help, okay?”

Miranda nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I understand. What do you need?”

Jane leaned forward slightly. “That woman who was killed outside the stadium—was she a friend of yours?”

“No,” Miranda replied, shaking her head vigorously.

“Then how did you get caught up with them?”

“I don’t know!” Her voice cracked, panic rising. “Please, you have to catch them before they find me again!”

Jane raised a hand to calm her. “Take a deep breath, Miranda. We’ll get there, but I need you to answer the questions calmly, alright?”

Before I could hear more, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Seeing James’ name flash on the screen, I met Jane’s eyes and mouthed "James" before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind me.

“Yeah?” I answered, leaning against the wall.

“It’s nine in the morning. Your observation’s over, right?”

“Yeah, just got cleared.”

“Good. I tried calling Jane, but I think her phone’s on silent.”

“She’s in the interrogation room with Miranda,” I explained.

“Got it. So, listen—" James’ voice dropped. "We’ve identified the victim from the stadium. Her name was Alisha Brahk. She’s an illegal immigrant from India, which is why she wasn’t in our system initially.”

“How’d we find out?” I asked.

“We ran her through the Missing Persons Division. One of our boys recognized a tattoo on her shoulder—it was written in Hindi. Apparently, there were 24 missing Indians in Kiruha. We narrowed it down to eleven matches, as most of them were already found. In these eleven matches, four were men, and the rest didn’t have tattoos… other than Alisha Brahk.”

I paused. “Who reported her missing?”

“Her landlord. A guy named Jeremy Ack.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll check on Jeremy Ack with Leo, he with you?”

“Yeah, he is. We’re on our way to the station. See you soon.”

Hanging up, I returned to the interrogation room. This time, I stood behind Jane, crossing my arms and watching Miranda closely.

“Where are you from, Miranda?” I asked, finally breaking my silence.

Her eyes darted to me. “India.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Jane. “We found the victim’s name. Alisha Brahk. She was Indian, too.”

Miranda’s face drained of color as she clutched the edge of the table. "I-I don’t know her, I swear…"

Jane leaned in slightly. “It’s okay, Miranda. Just tell us everything you can. We’re here to help you.”

“I mean—there’s no way this is a coincidence, right?” I pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me, Miranda. Every little detail could help us.”

She hesitated, biting her lip as her hands fidgeted in her lap. “I… All I know is, they executed Alisha with a gun after they bit her…”

Jane blinked, taken aback. “What? So you did know her.”

Miranda nodded, her voice shaky. “We were both illegal immigrants. I got my papers by marrying someone, but Alisha… she couldn’t. She wasn’t as lucky. We weren’t close or anything, she was just a friend of a friend.”

Jane leaned in, her brows furrowing. “Where were you when this happened?”

“I was getting a hotdog,” Miranda stammered, her eyes wide and pleading. “I swear! When I turned around, I saw it happen. They bit her, then one of them knelt down and… shot her. That’s when I screamed and ran to the stadium.”

Jane tapped her fingers against the table, her tone turning sharp. “So, you two were friends.”

“Yes…”

“Don’t lie to us again, Miranda,” Jane said, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s backtrack a bit. Do you think this was planned? Were they following you?”

Miranda shook her head. “No. Two of them were already at the stadium. When they saw us, they started shouting, saying we should leave the country. They also said that, uh, something something Americans will save the country.”

Jane and I exchanged a knowing glance, her lips tightening into a thin line. “It’s the Noble Americans, C.”

I cursed under my breath, crossing my arms tightly. “Shit.”