Chapter 27
Detainment
SMACK!
Special Agent Lopez's open hand connected with Leo's face, hard. He saw stars.
Leo laughed reflexively. “You hit like a little bitch.”
She smiled. “That's not surprising. I am a little bitch.”
“No, when I said little bitch, I meant someone who obviously flunked the beating prisoners part of their thug Special Agent coursework. I feel bad for putting you in this position.”
Special Agent Jones looked at her, surprised. “I thought you aced that class, Dez.”
“I did,” she responded.
SMACK! More stars.
“Was that better?” she asked.
“No,” Leo shook his head. “You got to put some weight into it. And maybe put on some gloves so you don't damage your soft little hands.”
SMACK!
Leo tasted blood in his mouth.
“My hands are fine.”
Teach: Not sure antagonizing these people is your best option, Leo.
Future Man 10/16: Use the time I gain for you to the best of your ability, Mr. Osmond. It’s all I can do at this point.
“Is your implant telling you to do this, Leo?” she asked. “If so, you should consider whether obeying your implant is in your best interest right now. In fact, I think obeying your implant would be extremely stupid.”
“Suppose we could cut off his fingers now?” Special Agent Jones asked.
***
41 years in the previous future
“It doesn't have to be this way, Goblin. Tell us where the shelter is.” The large man towered over him. The wrappings on the man's fists were covered with Goblin/Leo's blood. There was at least one other man out of Goblin/Leo's sight waiting in the background.
Leo/Goblin spat out some more teeth. "You hit like a little bitch." Losing teeth was no big deal. Same with the broken hands and feet. He just hoped they didn't damage his vision. Eyes took forever to grow back.
They'd found him at the worst possible time. He'd just escaped from an ambush from four Low-Level Bosses. Both Wind-Sword and Time Dilation were on cooldown. Also, at least one of the men who captured him was an implant wearer, with the ability to suppress Goblin/Leo's skills. He discovered this when he tried to cut his way free and escape the broken-down building where they were keeping him.
It wasn't that he had anything against begging and groveling for his life. He just knew it wouldn't do him any good.
“You've spent your life moving from shelter to shelter,” the large man said. “These people are nothing to you, Goblin. Work for us. We'll pay you in meal cards for every shelter you find us. Good meals, too.” The man held out some blue sheets of paper the size of playing cards, with the words, "food ration" on them.
“Those people are going to die anyway,” said a second man from behind him. “You might as well get something out of it.”
“Do you have steak? I like steak,” Leo/Goblin asked.
“We got cattle, we got chickens, vegetables, potatoes. Tell us what you want. I'll make sure you get it.”
Leo/Goblin spat some more blood on the floor. “Okay, I'll tell you...” He paused, catching his breath, waiting until his captors grew impatient. “The shelter is up your mother's ass. Can't imagine how you missed it when you were banging her last night.”
The man's fist slammed into his face like a wrecking ball.
Later, Goblin/Leo woke up, still manacled to the iron chair, only now he was on his back, choking on water being poured on him from the large man's canteen.
“Goblin, Goblin, I don't think you're taking this seriously,” the big man looked down at him sadly. “And my mother's long dead, you perverted creep.”
“Sorry,” Goblin/Leo said with a groan. “My mistake, must have been your sister.”
“I'll say, Goblin, you are always getting into trouble,” came a disembodied voice.
“Shit! Tyson!” the large man backed up against a wall, waving his gun.
Leo/Goblin looked up and behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the second man—Tyson? slump and fall to the floor, not moving.
“About time you showed up,” Leo/Goblin said through broken teeth.
“I was waiting to see if you'd sell us out,” the invisible man, Scorpio, responded. “I thought I might have to kill all three of you.”
“You bastard,” Goblin/Leo said. “How about setting me free?” He had access to his gifts again and could have freed himself with his wind-sword, but his fine control wasn't the best and he didn't want to cut himself in the process. His body was damaged enough already.
“Wait! Please!” the large man said, gun out, pointing it blindly in the air, searching frantically for an invisible opponent. “You don't understand. If I don't come back, they eat my kids! Please!”
“If you do go back, they eat my kids. Not seeing how this can be resolved with polite discourse,” Scorpio responded.
The large man let out a gurgling noise, as Scorpio slit his throat. He slumped to the floor.
Dead.
The radio came to life. “This is Central City, calling F patrol. Any news on that prisoner?”
“Prisoner's dead,” Scorpio said, in a perfect imitation of the large man's voice. “I hit him too hard.”
“Sucks for you guys. The Bosses are getting impatient. They want results.”
“Our dead prisoner, Goblin, came from the North,” Scorpio responded, using the same voice. “From what we could tell, he was too lazy and stupid to forage any farther away from the shelter than he had to. I'm thinking we're close. Gonna check.”
“Be careful. Central City out.”
There was a minute of silence as Scorpio pushed Goblin/Leo's chair upright and cut his manacles, freeing him.
Goblin/Leo groaned, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. “Lazy and stupid. Really?” He grabbed the open canteen, dropped earlier by the large man lying dead in front of him, and gulped down the remaining water.
“These bastards are getting persistent,” Scorpio said, ignoring him. “We're nowhere near their damn city, but they keep searching farther out. Go ahead of me, and make sure you take the scenic route back to the shelter. I'll leave a false trail to throw off pursuers. If you deviate from the scenic route, I'll know, and I'll kill you.”
“Scorpio, you're such a dick,” Goblin/Leo said. “I bet you'd kill your kids for not eating their vegetables.”
“I work hard to get them those vegetables. They'd better eat them,” Scorpio responded, not seeming to be offended.
“Give me a minute for my smashed feet to heal so I can walk,” Goblin/Leo said. “Did they leave any food?”
There were sounds of the room being searched. A meal bar got tossed in his direction. He spotted at least two more meal bars and a bag of jerky coming out of various pockets as Scorpio searched, but he made those vanish again.
Goblin/Leo grabbed his meal bar, tore off the wrapper with his still-healing fingers, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing painfully with broken teeth.
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When visible, Scorpio was an older man who resembled a small, mild-mannered accountant. But outside the shelter, the assassin remained invisible and wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.
It was closer to an hour before his feet healed enough for him to limp his way outside. “You know that if I'd told them the truth, they'd have killed me, right?”
“You think so?” Scorpio responded.
“Some little sneak they couldn't trust? No way they'd have kept me around.”
The bodies of the two men seemed to float in the air, then vanish. “Good thing you didn't tell them.”
Goblin/Leo limped away. The scenic route was a very long walk, most of it was underground with no actual scenery. Despite the meal bar, he was still starving and it would be a long time before he'd get a decent meal.
***
“It's like you read my mind,” Special Agent Lopez said to her partner. “Let's cut off a few of his fingers. See if that fixes his smart mouth.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a scary looking cigar-cutter.
Leo laughed. “Why don't you start with this one.” He extended his left hand in a fist, his middle finger raised in the air.
Detective Lopez grabbed Leo's middle finger and pulled him across the table, pinning Leo's hand to the table's edge so he couldn't move without breaking or dislocating his finger or wrist.
With her other hand, she slipped the cigar cutter over Leo's middle finger. “One joint, two joints, the whole finger? I'll let you choose.”
“Surprise me, Dez.” Leo pretended to yawn. “Come on, Dez, we both know you're not going to cut off my finger.”
Future Man 10/16: I'm sure I'll be fine. They think I'm a twelve-year-old boy, after all. But in the unlikely event I'm not fine, make sure my sister gets taken care of. Trent might help with that. He's got three stepdaughters around her age.
Teach: I'll do what I can, Leo.
Detective Jones's phone buzzed. “We're needed at base camp.” He stood up. “It doesn't have to be like this, Leo. We were prepared to be nice and give you a break because you're a kid, but you're not making it easy.”
“I guess we'll have to cut off your finger some other time,” Detective Lopez said with a smile, removing the cigar cutter. “In the meantime...” With no warning, she bent Leo's finger backward against his hand until it broke with an audible snap. “Surprise!”
Leo grunted in pain.
“And call me Detective Lopez.”
The two detectives pulled Leo from his chair and slammed him face-first into a wall, wrenching his hands behind his back. There was a clicking noise as they fastened handcuffs around his wrists.
The school bell rang.
They dragged Leo, now handcuffed, through halls filled with students moving between classes. Of course, Brick had to be one of them.
“You're not supposed to get caught, stupid!” Brick shouted at Leo. Then, to someone else, he yelled, “I get Leo's dealing drugs or whatever, but now he's busted and I'm never going to get my thousand dollars. What a loser.”
The detectives dragged Leo to a car. After putting a bag over Leo's head and banging him against the car door a few times, they pushed him into the back seat and slammed the door behind him. Leo could feel the car move, but had no idea where they were going.
The backseat was plastic and smelled of vomit, urine, and disinfectant. He leaned his head forward and felt a wire mesh between him and the front of the car. He felt around behind him with his handcuffed fingers. Of course, there were no door latches. No way for him to open the door and jump out.
In addition to his finger, his face and head hurt. He used his other hand to straighten his broken middle finger, but it still throbbed in agony.
“I suppose you're wondering why we didn’t read you your Miranda rights, Leo,” Detective Jones said. “It's because you're not under arrest. You've been detained to assist us in an investigation of implant-related and/or terrorist-related activities. We can detain you as long as we want.”
“And if we kill you during the course of this investigation,” Detective Lopez added, “we'll have to fill out a little paperwork, but then we'll get a week off for mental health. Torturing and killing children is stressful. I'm sure you understand.”
A few Demon Tears would help the healing, but if he used them that way, the detectives would figure out what he was doing and do something worse. He did his best to ignore the pain. At least getting tortured would raise his Vitality.
The car stopped. They dragged Leo out and made him walk. He could feel them entering a building and heard a door slide shut behind him. They stopped. His arms were wrenched upward behind him, threatening to dislocate his shoulders and forcing him to lean forward. His arms were then fastened to something to hold him there.
“Suspected implant wearer. Killed an old lady. Uncooperative,” Detective Lopez said to an unknown person.
“Left middle finger's swollen,” another voice said.
“He broke it resisting detainment,” she responded.
***
After a long day, they took him to a holding cell. The cell was even colder than where he'd been interrogated. Bright lights shined down on him. Bright enough that he could see light through his hood, though he still couldn't see anything else. Loud music played in the background.
They hadn't cut off his fingers, but they'd done plenty of other things to make his life unpleasant.
His hands were released from his cuffs and after an instant of welcome relief, his wrists were re-cuffed to the wall above his head, so high he had to stand on tiptoe. They left him there, shivering.
Detective Lopez's voice came over the intercom. “Sorry the music's so loud, Leo. Let me turn it down for you.” She turned the volume up.
He felt the chill air from an air conditioner coming on.
***
In addition to the lights, loud music, and cold, a foul ammonia smell filled the air.
He wondered for maybe the thousandth time that day if he was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, he didn't see a lot of options. If his being in prison allowed his friends to stay free, then so be it.
Imp informed him he'd leveled up in cold tolerance, loud-noise tolerance, oxygen deprivation tolerance, abusive behavior tolerance, and the ability to conceal how terrified he was. Whatever all that meant. And he'd gained eight more Demon Tears. He was tempted to use them to keep warm, but figured he'd better save them. He might need them later.
***
One and a half years post-Change
The large man laughed. “Hello food thief.” He took a large bite out of a slice of bread wrapped around some kind of sausage. The smell made Goblin/Leo drool uncontrollably, staring at it from inside his prison cell. “Don't know why they brought you in. If I'd been on that salvage team, I'd have clubbed you to death with a rock. Save everyone trouble.”
“Please. I'm so hungry.”
“So are we.” The man took another bite of his makeshift sandwich, bread crumbs falling to the floor.
“I'm only thirteen.” Leo might have been fourteen. It was hard to keep track when you were trying to survive.
“Don't worry, we're not total monsters. A little guy like you, the hangman's noose might not break your neck when you drop, leaving you to strangle slowly for hours or even days. We'll strap a 100-pound weight to your knees, so when you drop, your neck will snap like a twig and kill you quick.” He made a clicking sound for emphasis.
“You know a condemned man is supposed to get a last meal. Right?”
The large man laughed again and took another bite of his sandwich. More crumbs fell to the floor. “You're funny, kid. Must think we're some kind of libtards. Like them communist politicians blathering on about how 'food is a right', while sucking up to their corporate masters, making sure the price of food goes up and nobody can afford it. I'd kill those bastards myself if I could. Feed their bodies to our pigs. You think we'd waste food on someone who's going to die the next day? You're funny, kid.” The large man shook his head.
Goblin/Leo's hand shot through the bars, making a grab for the sandwich. The man pulled it away at the last second, so Gobin/Leo's hand fell short.
“Nice try, kid.” The large man turned to leave. “Watch out for the rats. They bite.”
As soon as the man left, Goblin/Leo reached through the bars, picking up every speck of food he could reach that had fallen to the floor, and pulling them back into his cell. He used the crumbs to lure rats within grabbing distance. He caught four of them before the rest learned to leave him alone. Anything tasted good when you were starving to death. Except rats. Rats still tasted lousy, especially raw.
***
He remembered the scared, lonely, hopeless feeling from that night. A feeling he'd relived for years in nightmares. Fortunately, the next morning someone with half a brain, one of the shelter leaders, an older woman named Ida, came by and realized Goblin/Leo, with his special stealth skills, might be useful to them. She put a stay in his execution and gave him breakfast.
It hadn't been easy for him, but a few months later he'd joined his first shelter militia, a job that came with a tiny room shared with three other men, regular meals, a make-shift uniform, one decent combat knife, a pistol that might have worked, and two bullets he suspected had been given to him because they were misfires.
As for Frank, the large sandwich guy from the first night? Well, he was pretty much a dick. It turned out nobody else liked him either. He chuckled to himself, trying to forget the cold and the worsening ache in his shackled arms. Being locked up sure brought back memories.
Leo's shackles became less and less comfortable as time passed. By adjusting his position slightly, he could move pressure from one set of body parts to another. By standing higher on tiptoe he could reduce the pressure on his arms, but the aches in his legs grew worse. So he alternated, moving from one position to the next. Soon all the positions were equally painful. This was in addition to the cold, stink, and noise. His thirst and hunger grew worse as time went by. They were trying to soften him up.
To distract himself, he thought about his previous future.
After his first night in the shelter prison, things improved. A few months and a bit of training later, he was able to use his special skills to scout out nearby areas no normal human could go near without a lot of firepower. For the first time since the Change, he'd found a place with people who accepted him. He remembered the two years he'd spent there with fondness.
Stinkbomb was the largest implant wearer Leo had ever seen, and the shelter's champion. The air mage, though large, wasn't heavy, since the majority of his mass consisted of different toxic gasses he synthesized within his body. They said he could float through the air, Goodyear Blimp style, raining clouds of toxic gas on his enemies.
Stinkbomb was a nice guy, but he stank, hence the name. Nobody wanted to get downwind of him. It had been a standing joke that if anyone was strong enough to take out the local city Bosses, it would be Stinkbomb, with his foul odor.
Sorry, Stinkbomb, Leo thought. Guess you didn't have what it took.
Leo's last memory of the shelter occurred two years after he'd arrived. He had watched from a distant hiding place as Stinkbomb's children (from before the Change) were driven onto a truck along with the other shelter survivors to be taken to the city and eaten. No sign of Stinkbomb. Leo hoped the man was dead, because the alternatives were worse.
Manacled to a wall, Leo thought about the Change and everything that would happen. It was hard not to lose hope. What could he do to prevent the horrible things from happening?
Teach: I've been making inquiries. I might—emphasis on might—have found people who can help.