"Agent Lockheed? Agent Lockheed? Are you alright mist ..."

Agent Lockheed snapped awake from his reverie. The intern’s concerned eyes were boring into him. He was supposed to rejoice, yet something felt terribly wrong right now. The fact that he could not pinpoint what made him think so frustrated him to no end. He bit on his cigarette, squeezing out the remaining smoke before the fire died out.

"You should worry more about yourself, girl!" The middle-aged man spat back. "Today might be quite the catch. Prepare for the worse!"

The recruit lowered her head, her face slightly flushed. Her superior took the lead into the building the police was encircling. The inhabitants were peeking through their windows in bewilderment. Both officers silently crossed empty corridors. Their target was alone on the highest floor after everyone had been evacuated.

"Smith family … Mrs Frau … Larry Johnson! That’s here!"

Inspector Lockheed stopped in front of the door, virtually burning a hole through. Intern Zhang’s right hand went for her holster as she gulped. The senior officer knocked; the noise reverberated like thunder in the aisle. Slow steps pounded on the other side. The hinges grinded. The agents held their breath.

Lockheed grimaced: before him stood a scraggy hairless and browless young man. Teal sunken eyes glanced nonchalantly over the two of them.

"Hello, good sirs. How may I help you?" The youth croaked.

A groan almost escaped the policeman. "Hello. Are you Larry Johnson?"

"In the flesh!"

"My colleague and I are from the city’s police department. We have the obligation to search your apartment." He showed his badge.

Hmm… Sure, go ahead!" The suspect checked it in passing, then invited them in.

They rufled through his belongings, even checking the computers, but found nothing out of place. The lack of physical evidence did not matter, though, since Mr Johnson was to be brought for interrogation. Lockheed shivered ; he had trouble believing that he was in the infamous Frightful Hobgoblin’s den. The hacktivist had been a thorn in every government and company’s side. The devious imp would leave no stone unturned when it came to retribution: blackmailing, information leaks, impersonation- no one could reliably estimate the extent of the damages he had inflicted over his career. Far from what rumors envisioned, this place was … plain, to say the least.

The elder carelessly kicked a glass bottle lying on the floor, making it clink loudly. The intern jumped at the noise, her fingers brushing her arm’s grip.

"Calm down, Junior Zhang! There’s no need to be that skittish. This kind of behaviour spells needless troubles. Relax!" The experienced officer nagged.

The bashful owner rushed over to sweep the trash under his bed; the search resumed. Upon finishing, the two police officers, both empty-handed, turned to him. When they were about to speak, he cut in, looking straight at the old man.

"James, may you do this dying man a favor? Do you mind sharing a drink? I’ll follow you without a question afterward."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The junior officer gasped in outrage. She was about to shoot him down, but Lockheed was quicker.

"Fine. No alcohol for me though." The latter exhaled.

"Is tea fine?" He nodded, followed Larry- was that his real name?- to the kitchen, sat down on a run down chair. His freshly-minted colleague glowered at the two of them, still up and distrustful. The Frightful Hobgoblin downed a first glass of liquor while waiting for his guest’s water to heat up.

"Who was it that spillt the beans? MagikFork? Sealane? Sl00perman?" He asked.

"No, it was Trench Cancan, or so I heard."

"Gosh! How? Dude’s loyal to a fault."

"You know there exists … unsavoury means. Lots of people want your hide, after all."

"Right." He fell in contemplation, staring at the rolling drops of amber on the glass’ bottom. His conversation partner did the same.

The whistling kettle pulled them out of reflection. The host finally poured a cup of tea.

"Let me entertain you, now that you’ve been served!"

Hob raised his glass and began singing. The intern watched warily. The voice tremored in a clumsy crescendo.

Oh, bourgeois’ happy life ! Whether Aprils sprout

Or Decembers freeze, they stand proud and content.

This dove is only loved three days by its other significant.

It is enough to him, he knows how short’s love’s clout.

James gazed into the boy’s glazed eyes. This child could have been his son- if he ever had one. Yet here was this child, burning the remainder of his brief life to toss and cuss in defiance. Although the pathetic display could barely be considered a last stand, he would leave him this little bit of dignity by calling it as such. There is no point in mocking the legendary figure- only the ill-advised would belittle him because of his current appearance. The monster had been expecting his end for months: he had wiped his devices clean, and had certainly taken dispositions to ensure none of his former enemies could escape his mighty clutches. Lockheed definitely did not want to be around when hell broke loose!

He focused back on the song with a shudder.

She had done her duty, that meant not even once

She’d had unfulfillable whims, she’d never had an ounce

Of dreams of the moon, nor desire for junks

Taking her with no helmsman to unknown river banks.

Everyone’s made the same, rliving the same day all over,

For those people, the thought’s far from waygone.

This duck has a single beak, and has neither

Wished for having two nor for having none.

A few stanzas were lost to a coughing fit. Sanguine drops added bright spots on the already-stained table. The tea tasted unusually bitter.

Look at them passing by, those are the ferals.

They go where their desires will them, above vales,

And forests, and seas, and winds, and far from slavery.

The air they’re drinking would burst your bronchi.

Look at them, before reaching their phantasm,

Many with broken wings and eyes that blood would douse

Will perish, those poor souls also have mother and spouse,

And know how to cherish more than you – there’s a chasm.

Hobgoblin got up and wobbled to the agents while slurring verses. Paling to a blueish hue, Zhang drew her weapon, pointed its muzzle at the drunken man, and screamed.

"Stop right here!"

The drunk man did not listen to her: he continued approaching. Faint-hearted Zhang was quivering.

Look at them, old rooster, model goose youngling,

No part of you will ever rise to their altitude,

What from them will reach you are their droppings,

BANG !

The bourgeois are troubled by the blatant turpitude.

The husk of a criminal wheezed as red dribbled from the corner of his upturned lips. He then broke out into raucous laughter. After a minute, the gurgling noise finally receded to strangled sobs. James caught words the collapsed man mouthed soundlessly.

"Thank you."

Ah, it did taste bitter.