A slew of system messages floods his still exhausted mind, one after another, the torrent of information sounding in his mind like garbled noise, leaving him unable to process the torrent of information. As time passes, more of the lingering mental fog fades, releasing its scattering force on his thoughts, allowing him to focus with some difficulty. “Mind repeating that?” He quips in annoyance at the system. To his surprise, the system complies, repeating the messages, droning on in his mind in the same monotone voice. The surprise disperses more of the mental haze, allowing him to focus on the messages. Despite the limited nature of his discovery, it makes him optimistic that other such system commands may be available in the future.
Listening to the system messages, he beams with excitement and shock over the sheer number of skills and skill levels he acquired. However, his concerns grow as the system announces several Error messages and status conditions. The [Mental Exhaustion] condition makes sense to him, given his current condition. Despite his best efforts, his mind is still spinning, and maintaining focus is a taxing chore, but he finds the [Mental Fracture] condition disconcerting. This status condition implies that he has experienced a fracture in his mental state, but he is unable to detect any discernible changes in his mind. Despite the mental haze lingering in his mind, he takes a moment to consider his thoughts and the state of his mind, but regardless of his best efforts, he cannot detect any anomalies. “I’ll need to look into this more once I recover.”
Ignoring his concerns, he focuses on the skills that he has gained. He had gained two levels in Attention, increasing the level to three, but he was unsure of its improved effect. “Maybe it’s letting me focus despite feeling like I have a hangover from hell?” Pausing, he considers how the skill could affect his focus and mental state, but unfortunately, he does not have a way to verify his suspicions. Shaking the thoughts away, he ponders the four level one skills that he acquired, Hunch, Ponder, Energy Manipulation, and Minor Soul Recovery; each of the skills was self-explanatory, unlike other skills, but his curiosity lingers on why they had only reached level one, while several other skills managed to reach level three. “It makes seance that Soul Recovery and Energy Manipulation are lower levels, but I have been making hypotheses and pondering information ever since I woke up in this world; why are they progressing so slowly?” He considers the possibilities for a moment before shaking off the thoughts.
Shaking off the swirling thoughts, he directs his thoughts to the three most important skills he has acquired. Initially, he was trying to gain a mana-sensing skill, but despite his best efforts, he failed. He was unsure whether the failure resulted from his lack of mana or some other factor, but despite his failings, he gained three skills that far exceeded his expectations. Energy Sense, Life Sense, and Soul Sense are three exceptional skills that will allow him to sense the respective energies of the skills. Though he doubted whether grass and insects would possess souls, they would most certainly have life force and physical energy. Regardless, these skills would allow him to sense entities around him, or at least that is his hope. “I’ll need to run some tests to see how these skills work in practice.” Initially, he was using these skills to sense his internal energies and was unsure what range, if any, these new skills would possess.
Reaching out with his new senses, focusing his hazy mind, he spreads his senses out over the area, reaching out for the feeling of the familiar energies. The world illuminates his senses, bombarding his mind with a torrent of information, allowing him to feel several large and small sources of life force and physical energies around him. The information swirls together, overwhelming his exhausted mind in a deluge of sensations. The skills work far too well, allowing him to feel his and all of the surrounding energies in a three-foot radius, bombarding and overwhelming his mind and new senses. Before he could react to cut off the skills, his mind spins, his consciousness battered and scattering to the wind like leaves. He falls into the growing mental fog of his mind, drowning in the overwhelming bombardment of information. His mind thrashes on instinct as the black abyss pulls him into its depths, the black consuming his mind and consciousness.
----------
-----------------------------------------------------------
----------
A blond man sits in a cold brick interrogation room, his hand shackled to the metal table. He shivers, his blue eyes glaring at the two-way mirror, his blood-caked face from a vicious gash over his right eye, staring back at him in the reflection. A military guard opens the door, breaking the cold silence of the room, allowing a man in a black suit to enter. “I want a lawyer.” The shackled man exclaims in anger. The agent ignores the man’s demands, turning on a camera and adjusting its settings before placing a folder on the table and sitting down. “Hay, are you deaf?” The shackled man exclaims, anger in his voice. “I’ve been askin’ for a lawyer for the past few hours, and nobodies even tellin’ me why ya arrested me.” The agent sits across the table from the shacked man, ignoring his exasperated remarks, reading through the thick folder of documents.
After reading through the document for a minute, the agent addresses the blond man. “Jonathan Ryan Archer, age forty-two, currently working at Ironwork’s Construction, married to Anna Elizabeth Archer; is that correct?” “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ till I get my lawyer.” The blond man argues. The agent, still reading over the documents, replies in a cold, detached voice. “That will make things more difficult. You will not be receiving a lawyer.” Jonathan’s eyes narrow with anger. “What the heck you on about? You can’t question me without my lawyer present.” The agent stacks the documents, looking up at Jonathan with disinterest. “Yes, under normal circumstances, that would be true, but suspected terrorists like you do not get the luxury of lawyers.” His eyes open wide in shock at the agent’s words, the color draining from his face.
Jonathan stares forward in complete shock, his mind grappling with what the agent had just uttered. The agent broke the silence as he spoke. “Now, hopefully, you will do the smart thing and answer my questions truthfully; otherwise, we will have to use more unpleasant methods to extract the information.” Jonathan’s eyes snap to the agent sitting across the table from him. “Please, there’s been some kinda mistake. I ain’t a terrorist; I swear, I don’t have anythin’ to do with that kind of people. I’m tellin’ ya, someone made a mistake.” The agent ignores Jonathan’s pleas, maintaining a cold, indignant expression as he glares at him. “There is no mistake; you have been deemed a threat to this nation and will be dealt with accordingly. I’m not here to listen to your pitiful excuses. Now, I recommend answering my questions, as refusal will only make your situation worse.” The agent’s cold gaze bores into Jonathan, like a predator gazing at its prey, ready to devour him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The agent slides a document across the table, allowing Jonathan to read it as he speaks. “You are Jonathan Ryan Archer, age forty-two, currently working at Ironworks Construction, married to Anna Elizabeth Archer. You have three children, Jamie Elizabeth Archer, Michael Finn Archer, and Elijah Cole Archer.” The stress of the situation presses down on Jonathan as he reads through the document containing all his personal information. “Ya, that’s right.” He replies, apprehension in his voice. The agent nods. “Good; were you present at the Astral Lounge on the sixth of March?” Jonathan shrugs. “I don’t know. I go there from time to time.” The agent sorts through the files, pulling out a photograph of Jonathan and placing it on the table before him. The image shows Jonathan sitting at a table talking to another man at the Astral Lounge. The date and time stamp of the picture indicates the sixth of March, ten fifty-eight PM. “Is that you?” Jonathan examines the image. “Ya, that looks like me.” The agent sorts through the documents as he speaks. “So, you were at the Astral Lounge on the sixth of March.” Jonathan shrugs again. “Ya, looks like it, I guess.”
The agent pulls out another photo and places it in front of Jonathan. “Do you know this man?” Jonathan examines the photo, eyes widening in recognition. “Ya, that’s Oliver Moore. I know him from back in the day.” The agent pulls out another document. “Yes, his name is Oliver Jonas Moore, also known as Ollie. He is a former Navy SEAL and a current member of the terrorist organization known as Liberation Front.” Jonathan leans back, his eyes wide in shock, the shackles clanking against the table, restricting his movement. He could never imagine that his old friend would join a terrorist group. “We have witness testimony and video recordings of you having drinks with Oliver Moore. In addition, you received goods and money from him on several occasions. We want to know about the location of Oliver Moore, Liberation Front, your role in the next attack, and what Liberation Front is planning.”
Jonathan leans back, his shackles pulling against the table, restricting his movements and digging into his wrist. He looks down at the shackles in thought, unable to accept what the agent said. After a moment, Jonathan relaxes, placing his hands back on the table, shaking his head, his voice wavering as he speaks. “I can’t believe Ollie would do that; I knew him from back in the day, but we didn’t stay in touch after I left the military. I ran into him a bit ago, and we had some drinks to catch up, but he ain’t say nothin’ about that kind of stuff.” The agent glares at Jonathan with contempt. “Throughout your youth, the two of you were friends, playing football in middle and high school together. After graduating from high school, you both joined the military; you joined the Army Rangers, and Oliver joined the Navy SEALs. You maintained intermittent contact throughout your military service, and you expect me to believe you just bumped into each other by happenstance one day? That seems quite convenient.”
The agent glares at Jonathan with cold contempt. “Fine, why don’t you explain why your long-lost friend popped up out of nowhere, giving you money and goods? Because, from my point of view, it looks like you got in touch with your old friend to do some off-the-books work. Ether, selling information of access to pay off your mounting debt.” Jonathan looks down at the table in confused contemplation before speaking. “Ollie and I grew up together, and we stayed in touch over the years, but after I left the military and got married, we didn’t keep in touch. Between work, my wife, and eventually, kids, I just did not have the time, but I still can’t imagine him joinin’ a terrorist group. Last I heard, he was plannin’ to stay in the SEALs for the full thirty years before retirin’, but that was years ago.”
Jonathan furrows his brows in thought. “When I met Ollie a few months ago, he said he was just passin’ through, so we went to the bar to grab some drinks and catch up. We talked for a bit, and I told him about my wife, kids, and money troubles, just ventin’ about my problems for a bit, and he told me about a military contractor he was workin’ for. It was Lobos or somethin’ like that.” The shackles clank as he tries to gesture with his hand. “He offered me a job as a contractor, but I turned him down. I’m hard up for money, but I want to be there for my family, and regardless of how good the pay is, it would’ve kept me away from home for months at a time.”
Jonathan sighs. “After hearin’ me out, Ollie offered me some money, said it was a gift for missin’ the wedding; I refused at first, but he insisted, and I need the money, so I accepted. I let him crash at my place for the night, and the next week, he stopped by again, droppin’ off some food and a large chest freezer. He crashed at my place for the night, and I haven’t seen him since.” The agent gathers the documents and returns them to the folder, sighing with irritation. “I had hoped you would be more forthcoming, but what else should I expect from you, Maggots.” After making his final statement, he stands, reaches out to the camera, switches it off, and walks out of the room, leaving behind the lingering silence of his words.
Sometime later, Jonathan found himself back in the cold stone room, his face sunken and his body gaunt, heavy bruising and blood coating his wrists and ankles from the shackles. His gaze fixates on the middle distance, his vacant eyes devoid of expression, reflecting a sense of emptiness. The agent enters the room and turns on the camera before sitting down. “I’m happy to inform you that we stopped several bombing attempts, but unfortunately, not all. Liberation Front used the access you gave them to forge Ironworks Construction documentation, giving them access to multiple construction sites and repair contracts in the city and surrounding suburbs. Though, you should already be aware of this. We were able to avert any major casualties inside the city; however, several minor targets in the surrounding suburbs detonated prematurely, resulting in a few hundred casualties.” The agent glares at Jonathan’s blank expression with contempt. “If you had been more forthcoming, we could have prevented significant suffering. Though, I suppose that was your goal.”
The agent snaps his finger in Jonathan’s face, trying to get his attention. “Are you listening to me?” This action draws Jonathan’s focus, his vacant eyes staring through the agent before drifting back into the middle distance. The agent chuckles. “Well, I don’t care. Perhaps this will get your attention.” The agent places a document on the table in front of Jonathan. “Your wife has been kind enough to sign a witness statement stating that she overheard you selling access to Ironworks Construction’s servers.” Jonathan looks down at the paper on the table, staring at it blankly, his eyes focusing on the document. He reaches out weakly to the paper, the shackles clanking against the restraints, stopping his hand just shy of the document, tears welling up in his eyes. “What’d ya do to her?”
A mocking smile spreads across the agent’s face. “Nothing you need to worry about. At the moment, we are treating her as a witness. The higher-ups want to rap things up with a confession, but personally speaking, I would prefer getting rid of all you Maggots.” The agent pulls out another document. We have prepared a confession for you to look through and sign. Between your wife’s signed witness testimony and your signed confession, we will not pursue any further charges against her. However, she and your children will still need to go through a re-education program, though I’m sure you would agree that it’s preferable to your children becoming orphans.” Jonathan stares blankly at the paperwork in front of him for a minute before weakly speaking, his voice little more than a whisper. “I’ll say whatever ya want, but I want it in writin’.”
The agent smiles, clapping his hands together. “Good, it’s nice to see you have finally come around; we have already prepared everything ahead of time for you.” He pulls out two documents and slides them across the table. Taking the papers, Jonathan reads over the contents carefully before speaking in a weak voice. “Fine, do I need to sign these?” The agent pulls out a pin and slides it across the table. “Yes, sign both documents, and you will also need to read the confession for video documentation.” Jonathan signs the documents, hanging his head in defeat as the agent collects the documents. “You’re not done yet. We still need a video recording of your confession.” The agent slides a transcript of the confession document across the table. “Take some time to memorize it, and remember to look into the camera while you read it, and don’t do anything stupid. We will call off the deal if you try to pull anything.” Jonathan stares at the table for a minute before reaching out with a weak hand to pull the paper to him.
Jonathan takes several minutes to review the document, committing its contents to memory. He raises his head, staring at the camera with vacant eyes, reciting the prepared confession, his lifeless voice and gaunt body making him look like a talking corpse. The agent crosses his arms across his chest, disappointment painted across his face. “You could have put some effort into your last words.” He sighs, shaking his head, returning the documents to the folder. “It does not matter much; we can clean it up for the new release.” The agent stands, turning off the camera as Jonathan looks at the agent for the first time today. “I could never believe what ya said about Ollie, but if this is how ya treat people, I think I can understand.” The agent stops at the door and laughs. “I don’t care what a piece of trash thinks. I recommend you make peace with your God; your execution will take place within the week.” The door slams behind the agent, leaving the broken man to sit in the cold silence of the room.