◆Fetter◆
“When I heard you weren’t at your usual station, I thought you’d run from me. When I heard you were here, I thought you were desperate to hide.” Detective Tusmon took off his duster and undid the top buttons of his shirt while loosening his tie, desperate for any relief from the scorching heat. “And now that I see you, I think you’re just insane.”
The Investigator stared down at the man who didn’t seem perturbed at the extreme environment in the slightest, sitting in the middle of a lava field on one of the more solid pieces of crust. Fetter had been scribbling away as usual, writing whatever came to mind.
“I had an idea for a character that was experiencing extreme heat in the desert,” The Mime justified his whimsy.
“Then why aren’t you writing in the cosdamned desert!” Tusmon spat at the lunacy.
“Because I can’t feel that heat,” Fetter explained coolly. “But I can feel this. It is rather warm.”
“No zjik,” Tusmon began contemplating removing his shirt entirely, joining The Mime in his voluntary sauna. “If this is ‘just a bit warm’ for you, then maybe you should try bathing in the lava itself.”
“Hmm, not a terrible idea,” The Mime pondered. “I was thinking of experiencing a sand bath, but that might give a similar feeling. One unfortunate side effect, though, is the paper I originally brought kept catching on fire. So I had to purchase something more resilient. They’re not as pleasant to write upon.”
“Tch, I’ll never understand you artsy types,” The Investigator quickly started to lose patience for such mad ideas. “Always going to such extremes just because you believe it’ll improve your work. But I suppose that’s none of my business.”
“So you’ve decided to become a writer. I guess that’s a fine enough profession, assuming you can make a living off of it. But your actual status should be felon. Or I suppose that would have changed by now. Your sentence would be up, and you would have been released—a free man, atoned and reformed. Yet now if you’re caught again, you could easily face life in prison.”
“I know we promised no arrests during this cooperative session. But why shouldn’t I go after you once our partnership has finished?”
“Tell me detective, do you really believe that prisons provide reform?” Fetter countered, attacking his ideals directly. “In the prison where I was held, they never even made an attempt. We were stuck in cells all day. No exercise, no books, no interaction with other prisoners. Guards only came by to bark orders and throw food at us. How is that supposed to change us from what we were? Animals being treated like rabid animals. And they expect us to walk out and be people again?”
“Atonement. That part rings true enough. We were certainly punished for our crimes. But if the goal is for us to be reformed, I’d say justice missed the mark. Now I’m sure some other prisons do it well, and I understand that I was specially imprisoned because of my crime and the world's lack of understanding for what I was. But I will never believe they intended for me to ever be free again.”
“Even if I was released, which I’m sure they would have found some reason to keep me locked up, I’d be on their chain for life. There is no true freedom to be earned in their system. I’d say that you’ve learned that yourself. You ask why you shouldn't arrest me. But answer my question then detective. Do you want to? Knowing what would be in store for me, stealing my freedom for the rest of my life when I haven’t harmed anyone since my release—well, anyone but you. Do you want to make me suffer?”
“No… I don’t,” Tusmon was openly honest. “All I want is to get the zjik out of here. Farewell Fetter. Enjoy your freedom.”
◆Senli◆
“Hmm, a pair is missing,” Senli stared at the children’s shoe locker at the school. “Ah, I know where they are.” The caretaker rushed back outside for a moment, returning with a pair of shoes. They were covered in dirt, so she took a moment to brush them clean before setting them neatly with the other sets of shoes.
“And tomorrow they have gym class, which means that she left her clothes in the laundry. Yep, she did,” The Eavesdropper grabbed the uniform, folded it, and then placed it neatly in front of one of the children’s doors.
“He forgot his homework?” Senli suddenly turned to look at the ceiling.
“What’s going on?” Chiulu wondered as she’d been observing the girl this whole time, sitting in a chair in the school’s foyer and watching the caretaker scramble around the facility.
“The ceiling just let me know that one of the students is tearing their room apart looking for their homework. And knowing him, I bet…” the girl walked away before finishing her thought. Only to be back a second later with papers in hand. “Yep, it was in his desk.”
She then went down the other hall to the dorms and knocked on the door. The kid answered, just a crack, clearly flustered and not wanting to let anyone see the mess he’d just made. “Did you forget something?”
“Oh thank you! You’re the best, Senli!” The boy took the papers and tried to immediately close the door, but the caretaker stopped it with her hand.
“And I expect all this to be cleaned up by tomorrow.” She then slid her hand away, letting him close the door with a guilt-ridden face.
“You’re really good with them,” Chiulu smiled with admiration when the caretaker returned. “I don’t know how you manage to do it- ahh, bricks.” The Bureaucrat spilled her drink all over her own face when she tried to take a sip.
Stolen novel; please report.
Without missing a step, Senli marched over, and began wiping down Chiulu’s face with a handkerchief she always had on hand—not even really realizing what she was doing, having done it hundreds of times already, and reacted on autopilot.
“Oh sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking,” The Eavesdropper apologized.
“No, it’s quite alright, thank you,” The Bureaucrat took the handkerchief and finished cleaning herself. “The detective says that I should wear a bib anytime I eat or drink something, but it’s just too embarrassing! Not that having to clean myself constantly in front of others is any less mortifying, I suppose.”
“But as I was saying. It’s a wonder how you do all this and still manage to keep up with your own schooling. The children are lucky to have you. I wonder what they’ll do after you graduate. Or do you think you’ll stick around here?”
“I… really don’t know,” Senli sat down in a chair next to the woman. “And you, don’t make that noise. It’s disgusting!” The caretaker scolded the furniture underneath her, leaving Chiulu wondering what exactly it had done. But Senli ignored it and continued. “How am I supposed to think about tomorrow when I’m so busy today? That’s how it feels anyways. There’s always so much going on, that I’ve never really had the time. Or when I do, I don’t exactly have the energy or motivation.”
“Well, it’s a hard question,” Chiulu openly admitted. “When I was in highschool, it always seemed like most other people had everything figured out. There were still a few, of course, who either planned to figure it out in college or trade-school, or planned to begin working immediately after graduation. But most believed they knew exactly what they wanted to do, and how they were going to do it.”
“I’m sure almost all of them were wrong. Something almost certainly changed. Plans fell through or interests changed. Or they just weren’t ready for how chaotic the world actually is. And for me, I was a blind fool among them.”
“Believe it or not, I actually always wanted to be a potter. And you wouldn’t guess it by how I am, but I was actually pretty good at it. Out of our art club and a few hobby classes, I was always the best. Could make the most stunning looking pieces, sculpted to perfection.”
“But something always went wrong. Either I’d use the wrong glaze or mess up my paints, or fire it at the wrong temperature. Or when it’s finally done, just drop the whole thing and shatter it. And when I accidentally tripped over the kiln’s power cord, ripping it out so they had to replace the whole thing, that was when I was kicked out of the art club and had to begin rethinking my life.”
“Turns out that the only thing I’m suited for is office work. I’m just too clumsy for anything else. Believe me when I say that being stuck behind a desk all day is far from what I wanted. And even then, though I like to think I’m a hard worker and all my bosses appreciated it, my clumsiness was still too much. I got passed around to so many departments and jobs that staying at any of them for a month felt like a grand accomplishment.”
“It got to the point that I’d given up and accepted that was how the rest of my life was going to be—completely abandoned the idea that I’d ever find somewhere I’d belong. Cosmos knows I never expected to end up in this line of work. But I love it.”
“Working with Detective Tusmon, stopping crimes, catching bad guys, helping people. It’s all amazing. And when I was your age, I would have scoffed at the idea. Life’s crazy like that, and I wouldn’t change it. And thankfully, he’s someone who can put up with my clumsiness, even though he mostly grins and bears it. But even despite that, he’s never once blamed me for any of it or tried to get rid of me. I can never thank him enough.”
“The point is, you don’t have to figure out what you want to do right now. No one’s going to pop up and demand you figure out your entire life. Even if you make plans, odds are that they’ll change in some way or another, and who knows where you’ll end up. So it’s fine if you want to stay here for more schooling or just to work, or go off to college or on another adventure. No matter what you decide, I’m sure these people will support you. So don’t worry too much about the future, but when you’re ready, really think about what it is you want to do.”
“Thanks, Chiulu,” Senli was genuinely appreciative. “I didn’t know I needed to hear that, but I definitely did. You’re right, I’ll give my best today and see what it is I want to do tomorrow. There’s no need to change things if I’m happy, right? But that doesn’t mean I should let myself fall in a rut. For now, though, I have no complaints, so I will just enjoy my last year of highschool.”
◆Ipucco◆
“And where is this one from?” Tusmon picked up the antique drinkware—with permission, of course—looking into the hole that had been punctured through on just one side.
“That flask belonged to a Pimitrad captain,” Ipucco explained. “From the war between their country and Domister.”
“I’ve never actually heard about that one,” the detective continued his examination, now testing if the top would still unscrew.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” The Headmaster began his lecture. Ever since the Drazah War, most before it have been forgotten, even with some now left out of history books and untaught in their classes—downgraded because they weren’t on a global scale. But to the people in the moment, it was their everything, what felt like the end of their worlds. And back then, war was far too common.”
“In a way, that wholesale of mass suffering did some good in the end. War has been left at the wayside and left us in an era of peace—for the most part. The question is, how long will that last? How long until we’re back to the old ways where violence is the solution to all problems? Too many have forgotten the endless tragedies that occurred mere decades ago. But I’ll still remember them, and repeat their lessons for as long as I still live.”
“As for that flask, it saved the Captain’s life from a sniper shot to the heart—a surekill, and an undeniable miracle. But… it didn’t do anything to stop the next shot through his skull.”
“Funny, that you mention that,” Tusmon finally set the flask down. “I’ll admit that I was never the best student, especially in history class. Never really paid attention to the wars or dates. It was too boring. Or maybe I never had a teacher who could present it in an interesting way.”
“I’m sure you know this, but back before Fiends had stolen the monopoly on special epithets, they mostly went to war heroes. And there was one I always loved as a kid. In fact, you could say he was one of the main reasons I wanted to join the police and hunt criminals.”
“He was called The Stalker—a legendary sniper from a few decades ago who always got his target. If they ran, he chased them to the ends of Rathe, even killing them in places assumed unbreachable. Nowhere was safe.”
“It was believed that he was a wandering mercenary, joining whichever military he judged to be on the right side of history, offering his services for free. He was such a major inspiration in how I conduct myself as an officer, to never give up until the job is done. Shame his tales ended suddenly, like he just vanished one day.”
“Say, you were a sniper that was active around that time period, weren’t you? According to my records, you served quite a bit yourself. Perhaps one day you and he may have crossed paths.”
“Hmph, myths are made for a reason,” Ipucco turned around, now staring at the large window of his office. “They’re often heavily overembellished, designed to inspire soldiers with ideas of grandeur. The real story is often far less interesting. But if a person were to exist as you’ve said, history would be better off forgetting about them.”