***
“Mrs. Moses… You’re a capable, intelligent, and hardworking woman~” there was such a lilt in Detective Treadwell’s voice. He was a portly man with the most shaggy blond hair, a hardy chin, and a smile of a dope that one would be surprised at the fact he ranked so highly. Isabella figured that added to his craft.
Such a personable, jolly fellow… Too bad the broken woman knew that she wasn’t talking to him.
She saw him die firsthand and this was a different breed of interloper. Not Subsumed, but something if someone doesn’t stop them or whatever their aim is, it could be so much worse.
Isabella remained firm, she had to. Gripping her hands together as she placed them on the wooden table, her twitching back pressed against a metal chair. Everything about this… Whatever this scenario was, was completely informal. Whatever took the shape of Detective Treadwell across from her, and one officer on his left and two that’s “on” his right, but they hang around the door of this blank cube of a room.
Yet everything, even the furniture of the room, was framed around this sole, black and glossy telephone—dab middle of the table that Isabella sat at.
Regardless. This entire exercise is a game of Chicken. They want her to admit, to really drop her façade first, before they can.
Once again, perhaps much more than usual, the broken woman rued the fact she’s become so ruined. Useless.
“A-as…” Isabella sighed, controlled, trying not to break and maintain some semblance of innocence. “As I’ve been saying… I was visiting a student of mine, in critical condition. Then—something, a group of people an—and something akin to pack animals, suddenly people were getting gravely injured. I quickly had to make my escape, I left my chair, I was so afraid. Call it will, or call it adrenaline… I crawled and crawled until I got to the café. That is all that I know.”
“Of course!” the thing posing as Treadwell chipperly responded. It wasn’t something to soothe the would-be-normal Isabella, as if he completely misheard or ignored the panic in her voice. “But there’s a lot of the story that we’re desperately trying to learn. Not only that… There’s still a ton of missing pieces to yours~”
At least the Subsumed, the raving mad, would’ve giggled or barely contained their mirth at being in control of the situation. Hell, Subsumed in general would’ve chanced this, and immediately attacked Isabella in this closed-off space. She’s dealt with that, can deal with that…
Whatever these beings are… Radiating such a communal zeal. A smugness that they’re in this collective and despite being such a low number—they were bigger in a warped sense of importance.
“I told you,” Isabella admittedly injected way too much of her actual, stern state. “Everything that I’m able to relay to you all. 1) This was a traumatic event, people going through such can barely remember the entire details because they rather want to forget, and 2) Eyewitness accounts are horribly unreliable. I don’t understand why I’m still here, I’m beginning to worry that there’s something ulterior at play…”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
The former detective leaned in. If anything, this mob shared the same, exact look of scrutiny despite the different faces.
“I think we all know why you’re here, Mrs. Moses.”
Good. Isabella was ecstatic that they fired the first shot.
Yet as she began to let her claws manifest from her laced-together fingers, the telephone rang out to undercut the tension.
One of the gaggle instantly answered, listening to whoever called with bated breath. Clearly, the one puppeteering these flesh-made dolls.
“It’s your one phone call, Mrs. Isabella~” the lady officer offered the phone cheerily.
The broken woman sighed, and reached for the receiver, putting it to her ear.
“Saaaaalutations, my fellow denizen!”
Isabella gritted her teeth. The sweetness being incredibly intoxicating.
“And what do I owe the pleasure, Martha?”
“I don’t mean to be a Paranoid Peter right now… But there’s been a very, very, very distressing matter we’re all dealing with.”
Isabella shifted in her chair, leaning back with her unused arm draped behind it, “You really must be out of touch with your humanity if you think I have any involvement in this.”
“Hey-hey-hey! I can’t help that I’m a very busy woman, helping our town expand while maintaining our colonial soul! You have to understand where I am right now; running my day business and improving my night business only to see the crossover in the worse possible way…”
“Like you don’t want a crossover,” Isabella squinted as if she were looking at the woman, facing her. “The reason you’re calling me is you’re afraid that someone either took one of your twisted ideas or came up with it faster than you.”
There was a long, wistful, and overdramatic sigh that Isabella was forced to listen to. Deal with.
“It’s the former… Someone from our ranks did a messy mistake and now we’re paying for it. So many passed, so many Subsumed were exposed or eaten or now have to hide with the body they’ve stolen. I can’t replace the victims this fast! We’ll be found out at this point!”
Isabella could barely hide her disgust.
“So. That demonic compound you’ve made is able to rise the dead somehow? And here I thought the invasive body modifications were horrible enough—”
“Indeed! Well, it’s not rising them—we can’t do that yet at least—but yes! My Miracle Matter can replicate the fallen now. Personalities, histories… But, recounting all of that, it might as well count as outright resurrection, yeah~”
The broken woman slammed her hand on the table, causing Martha’s minions to draw their guns on her. She didn’t care.
“You pervert.”
“If that means giving people their deserved second chance? Call me what you may!”
“These people are gone! We can’t change that, you’re upsetting the balance! There’s a reason why miracles are such—otherwise…!”
“‘Otherwise’? Isabella dear. I don’t mean to be… Well, mean. But what’s your point? Your solution? You devoted your entire life to continuing this nightmare war we’re in. At least I’m offering something else. Building another path.”
The broken woman was so tired. So tired and in pain. Despite this time, it wasn’t radiating from the back, but deep within.
“Why not be the one to put me out of my misery, then?”
“Because what’s the point in all that~? We’re intelligent, mature women here, Isabella. We need to collaborate here, come up with a plan, especially when there’s so much at stake. I know you don’t like me all that well, but I have the resources you need to make this no-good, terrible day into just a really bad one.”
“…” Isabella took a deep breath, before plunging herself into the dark depths. If that means saving someone from drowning. “I have relevant information and people on the case. I’m afraid I can only do so much now. But if we’re going to survive this Terrortide, we must trust in the next generation…”