“A lot of people ask me what Inspectors actually do,” James Kobayashi said as he paced about the room. “Other than stand around and tell people places are off limits.”

It was a small room, only twenty square feet, brightly lit with reflective walls. It was occupied by James, another man, the Bessmer chair that man was sitting in, and a holoplayer.

“And I’ll tell you now, I only pilot Draconis for Mecha Realm,” James continued. He stopped in front of the man shackled to the Bessmer chair.

Darren Kane. The leader of Centium, one of the most powerful gangs in Megacity 14. He bore an expression of pure hatred.

“What do you think it is that I do?” James asked him.

“Nothing. You’re a leech,” Darren snarled. “You never had to work a single day in your life.”

“Is that what this looks like?” James said. “Me leeching off my father’s money as usual?”

“You know what I had to do to get to where I am?”

James gestured to the metal bracelets that bound Darren to the chair. “I have a hunch.”

Darren clenched his fists. “Enough of this farce. My boys will have your head.”

“No they won’t,” James said. He took out his tablet and tapped a few controls. The lights that ran along the sides of the Bessmer chair changed from blue to red.

A look of confusion briefly replaced the disdain on Darren’s face. James forced himself not to smile.

“You don’t have to pretend like I unjustly imprisoned you,” he said. “We both know what you did.”

Darren narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you know what you’re sitting in?”

“Answer the question,” Darren demanded, punctuating every word.

“Of course you do. You have a mech team.” James let the edges of his mouth tilt ever so slightly. “But a lot of people don’t realize that Bessmer chairs do more than sync with robots. It’s an interface for the brain. For pilots, it simply pairs with the neurons that correlate to whatever sensors are on their mech. If some masochistic pilot installed a touch sensor… well, it could pair to that, too.”

Darren’s eyebrow twitched. There it was, the slightest bit of concern. If all went well, James wouldn’t have to inflict an ounce of pain before the gang leader began to sing.

“What do you want?” Darren asked.

“The weapons. Where are they?”

“What weapons?”

James craned his head forward. “The ones you stole from us.”

“You really think we, of all the gangs in this city, would need weapons?” Darren scoffed. “Figures when you’re holed up in a mansion your entire life.”

James didn’t understand why Darren was still being so imperious, but at least it made things more interesting. He wondered if he should forgo the buildup and tell him outright. An experiment of sorts.

“I don’t know who stole your weapons and I don’t care,” Darren said. “Now get me out of here.”

Yes, I’ll tell him.

“Look at this,” James said, showing Darren his tablet. “When I press this button, that chair will trick your brain into thinking you are burning alive. You’ll feel your skin peel off, your tears dry inside your eyes. And the worst part is, it’ll last as long as I let it.” James grinned. “But not a single hair on your body will be harmed.”

Darren’s mouth fell open as he struggled for words. His eyes widened in fear, then contracted with skepticism.

“You really expect me to believe that?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

James’ grin widened. “Want to see for yourself?”

Darren tensed up. “I don’t have your goddamn weapons.”

Truth be told, James didn’t care if Centium had committed the theft. He didn’t care if Darren knew who did. But he would gain one useful piece of information before leaving.

“I’ll give you five seconds,” James said.

“This is pointless. You’d be torturing an innocent man.”

“I’d hardly call you innocent.”

“I don’t know anything-”

James tapped his tablet. Darren looked down at the chair’s armrests.

“I didn’t steal your weapons!” he insisted, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know who did!”

James remained silent and counted to ten in his head. Darren’s breaths grew heavier, and his expression slowly slipped from determination to desperation.

Finally, James said, “You must know something. It could be anything. A name that was whispered, a location mentioned.”

“I don’t know-”

“Where’s your sense of urgency?” James chided. “You feel it getting warmer, don’t you?”

Darren’s mouth was beginning to quiver, and he seemed to be doing everything in his power not to nod his head.

“Do you enjoy pain? Did you secretly want this to happen?”

“No-”

“Then tell me something useful! Do it for your own sanity.”

Darren’s hands were trembling now, threatening to go rabid. “I. Don’t. Know. Anything.”

James sighed and waved his tablet in the gang leader’s face. “I can wait all day.”

Ironically enough, that was when the holoplayer behind him beeped.

James scowled at the device, refusing to halt the Bessmer chair’s simulation. Who was calling him at this hour?

He redirected his eyes on Darren, watching the slightest specks of hope float into the man’s eyes. Hope that the call was important. Hope that the holoplayer would save him. But hope would not give James any answers.

Unfortunately, it beeped again and a message popped up: This is urgent. Mecha Realm is compromised.

James frowned and pressed pause on his tablet. Compromised could mean a great many things, but none of them were matters to be taken lightly.

“One second,” James told the holoplayer. He turned back to Darren, who was panting in relief.

“You have a son? A protege?” James asked.

“What?”

“Who’s next in line in Centium hierarchy?”

Darren frowned. “My sister, Diana.”

“Oh, good. She’ll do well.”

Before Darren could piece it together, James adjusted a setting on the Bessmer chair, eliminating the resistance inside the piloting helmet. It instantly shorted Darren’s brain and killed him. Yes, James could’ve kept torturing him after the call, maybe gotten out a name or two, but he simply didn’t want to hear the man breathing in the background.

James received the call from the holoplayer, and a projection of Inspector Chideya flickered to life.

“Apologies if I interrupted something,” the inspector said. “There’s been word of foul play by the Manhunters.”

“We can’t do anything about that,” James pointed out. “It was gang business.”

“I’m not talking about the Sawblades,” Chideya said. “Word’s going around that they sabotaged Saberstar. Convinced them not to compete in Mecha Realm.”

Saberstar… “Which one’s that again?”

“Marvin Yao’s the pilot. Kit mentioned him when he was interviewing Immortal Ignition.”

“Oh.” James remembered how much Eleanor Hall disliked that comparison. “And he was threatened by the Manhunters?”

“That’s what some have said,” Chideya said.

That was certainly not good. If other gangs began to use similar tactics, the mech-fighting scene would dissolve into chaos. Corruption could not exist in the slightest; the Hosaka Roundtable had made sure of that for the last fifty years. Even if the rumors about the Manhunters were mere rumors, the gang needed to be made an example of.

“Keep an eye out for now,” James told Chideya. “I’ll give them a push or two, and hopefully they’ll implode on their own.”

Chideya tilted his head. “That’s awfully non-confrontational for you.”

James shrugged. “The Manhunters are a bit more… unpredictable than our friend.”

Chideya peered over James’ shoulder at the once venerated Darren Kane slumped in the Bessmer chair.

“It wasn’t Centium?” the inspector asked.

“Probably not,” James replied. It didn’t matter now; the situation at hand was far more important.

Chideya frowned. “You could’ve just let him go.”

James laughed. “And make an enemy out of Centium? Mr. Kane was caught in the crossfire of an airway chase. The medvacs recovered his body and will deliver it to his family.”