‘Concrete walls and floor, check. The smell of coffee and cheap vape smoke, check.’

Inside a blue-walled interrogation room, a young man with brown hair and an unusual white streak in the front was sitting in a metal chair. He was in his early twenties at most, but his grey eyes and youthful features had an almost timeless quality about them. His fingers were lightly running across the arms of the chair as it felt cold and sterile to the touch.

He was currently examining the room to see if he could distract his mind by thinking about what he could see. Presently he was running through a checklist of standard features for a standard police interrogation room and quietly murmuring to himself. It would be a recognisable tactic for someone who was trying to stay calm in a difficult situation.

‘…Cheap wooden table pinned to the floor, check. Belongings were removed from me and bagged before entering the room, check. Two lightweight aluminium chairs, check. Cheap painted walls, check. Double mirror on the wall, check. Hidden camera, check.’

The police officers who had brought in the young man hadn’t said a single word to him since they had removed him from the convenience store where he had been browsing the sweet snacks section. His attempt at discussion had been politely rebuffed with a shake of the head but he had not been read his rights.

The young man had been escorted into the room while being held in both arms by two armed uniformed police officers who let go once, he had been put into the back of the police vehicle which had been removed once they had entered the interrogation room and then one of them brushed off one of the seats as if to invite him to sit down before they left the room.

The entire process had been quite short and there was no case of booking him into the police station. The desk sergeant on duty had not recorded his arrival and any further police officers at their desks or leaving the station had only glanced at him before turning away. He was especially good at recognising details, he recognised that all of the police personnel that he had seen so far had expressed a sense of tenseness in their body language. When he had been escorted past normal conversation resumed again but he hadn’t been focusing on any of the spoken words.

What surprised the young man is that they both left the door unlocked after they had left the room. Not a single word was exchanged, and neither was he stopped from leaving.

He had tried his best during the whole ordeal to express a sense of non-hostility in both his body language and the expression on his face. Thanking the police officers for their time and consideration he took in the surrounding area before taking a seat by the lone table facing the door.

It was only himself in an empty clean but sterile room. He felt a little bit disappointed that nothing else had happened, usually in crime stories he would be left alone in a locked room before a pair of detectives came in and began questioning him.

‘Concrete floor, check, secure unlocked door, check. Embedded lights in the ceiling and edges of the room, check.’

He raised his head as he heard a sound coming from outside of the room. It sounded like someone talking, but he couldn’t quite make out the conversation. He was able to work out that it was several people talking, perhaps it was the police discussing with a senior officer.

The young man was slightly annoyed but not overly worried about the situation. He had been picked up when he was walking back home from university. The police officers had been rather surprised at his lack of reaction to their presence and the fact that he had put both hands in front of him as though expecting to be handcuffed before he was put into a police car and driven to this particular station.

He was presently wondering why they hadn’t handcuffed his hands to the table in the room before he heard a sound outside of the door. Given the silence in the room, it was likely that he would soon have a visit from a police officer or several.

That would be a standard tactic of the police forces and an interrogation in general. Torture did not produce the results that were wanted and even though he was located in a major city governed by a democratic legislative process it remained a minor possibility.

Next, he heard the sound of a pair of boots thudding on the floor. A rush of air came into the room as a middle-aged woman walked in. She was dressed in a dark leather jacket, trousers, shirt, and matching heavy boots. If another person saw her, they might feel that she was a woman growing older that felt the need to come across as younger. Either that or they would stare at eye-patch before trouble began.

She was in her thirties at most her matt black hair was cut short with one side shaved closer. One of her eyes was a light green while the other was covered in a red eyepatch. It made an interesting contrast; Duke was unable to help himself but stare before his eyes dropped to the table in front of him. He had no idea why someone would want to dress up in a black leather jacket unless they wanted to pretend to be tough. She might take offence if he chose to stare at her eyepatch, so he tried to avert his gaze towards the floor and continue counting the items that made up a police interrogation room in his mind.

He continued to murmur to himself. ‘One person of authority here to ask questions, check.’ Speaking these words so softly to himself just under his breath that it would have been impossible for an average human to hear the sound of his voice.

‘Hello, Duke.’ She grinned with a toothy smile. Aside from the sound of him breathing softly, it was all that could be heard inside the room.

Soundproofed walls, check.

Duke chose not to respond. It would be better if he let her start the conversation so that she could ask her questions and he could work out the appropriate responses that would cause the least amount of conflict. Sometimes, he said something that would rub a person the wrong way. Not on purpose but his very nature seemed to encourage conflict with others just through a few words, he was trying his best to become a better person though. It was hard work so far, but he hadn’t made another person angry in several months at his workplace in the museum.

To make the situation come across as easier in his head Duke began to re-run through his checklist of the room in his mind. Everyone had their coping mechanisms for stressful situations, and this was one of his.

No police officers, un-check.

The woman didn’t seem taken aback by the lack of response from the young man despite her greeting. Her grin grew even wider. It seemed wrong somehow, as though he was seeing a cat that enjoyed seeing a mouse that it wanted to toy with. He had read about that type of expression in a book with a cat and a lost girl called Alice. A funny-coloured cat had grinned before it vanished, the woman’s smile reminded him of that picture. He wondered if the woman would vanish before his eyes as well.

Stolen story; please report.

‘Lucky. Do you think that you’re lucky?’

The woman asked him while looking straight into the double mirror that was part of the wall on the side. She started to scuff one of her boots along the floor making a dragging noise on the hard concrete floor. The noise echoed in the room.

‘Duke, I asked you a question.’

The metal chair opposite mine, check.

Keeping to his policy of refusing to respond until he was clearer on the situation, Duke kept his mouth shut. The best option when in police custody was to keep quiet first, also he didn’t want to create an awkward situation where he commented on her appearance and caused accidental insult.

The woman didn’t choose to sit down in the opposite chair but continued to stand by the open interrogation room door instead. She looked down at the young man sitting down before leaning back against the door and crossing her legs. Her black boots looked heavy and strong, and she continued to scuff one along the floor. Duke looked at her boots a bit more, strong, they looked good and strong. He supposed that she enjoyed walking a great deal.

‘Would you like anything to eat or drink?’ spoke the woman.

Duke felt surprised at the gentle tone. She didn’t come across as a police officer, given that she wasn’t wearing the uniform of one. A plain-clothes detective then, it would make sense regarding her appearance. Duke thought that she might have lost her eye in the line of duty. Or an accident involving a game of pool. A mystery that had nothing to do with him.

Her tough appearance didn’t match the tone of her voice. Strange, she was trying to rile him, to increase his emotional range beyond what he was comfortable with.

He struggled to think of a decent response. People skills weren’t his strong point, he wasn’t bad at making friends but occasionally he would say the wrong thing and accidentally upset people. He decided that his best option right now was to sit down in the same chair indicated by the police officer, put his hands on his lap and sit with his back straight. A firm, but open-to-listening pose.

He stopped gazing at her black boots and tried to avoid looking directly at the red eyepatch she wore over one eye. She might consider it offensive. Best to focus on the space directly above her head.

‘…I don’t know.’ He said uncommitted. ‘I don’t taste much when I eat or drink.’

If the woman heard the strangeness of his answer, she ignored it and carried on with her questioning tone.

‘Did the police treat you nicely? Did they bother you in any way?’

‘No’ Duke replied. ‘They didn’t talk. Nor were they hostile towards me in any form. I expressed my gratitude for their hard work and tried my best to be a model prisoner.’

‘A prisoner? The woman clicked her tongue. ‘Oh, you aren’t a prisoner. I’d like your help. It’s good that you know how to play with others.’

Duke frowned at that. If he felt confused, then he would show it on his face.

‘You know, you ought to smile more. Being blunt to people doesn’t lead to good results.’

Her grin wavered for a moment as her face became sterner in appearance.

‘Yes. Thank you. I’ll try and remember that.’ Responded Duke. He sat up straight in his seat and gave her the brightest and happiest smile that he remembered seeing from a recording of video and images.

‘Someone has done a brilliant job training and conditioning you. Haven’t they? Either that or you’ve self-taught yourself to respond to human responses in the right way. You do have a nice smile, and very clean teeth.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your compliment, ma’am.’

He had the sudden thought that the woman knew about the rules that he was meant to follow. One of them had been not to talk about the rules it had been repeated twice by his mentor. He decided that it would be best not to talk about anything to her but to continue being polite and concise.

Still, he felt something odd about this whole experience. If he wasn’t under arrest, then why did the police need to handcuff him and bring him to the police station? An interrogation room was for criminals who were meant to confess their crimes. He didn’t think that browsing for a chocolate bar of his choice in a convenience store would be considered a crime. Unless he stole it on purpose which he had not.

The woman stepped up beside the interrogation room door and placed her hand on the metal handle. The door had been left open when the police officers had escorted Duke into the room, and it was presently attached to the wall with a magnetic lock.

‘Would you prefer if the door is open or closed?’

Duke hesitated for a moment trying to think of the right answer before he opened his mouth. His answer ideally would placate her.

‘…I don’t have a preference thank you, ma’am.’

This time lines on the woman's face showed as her features creased in anger. Her sudden shift in her facial expression made him feel uncomfortable. Had Duke made a serious error in social judgment again? He didn’t want to ask the Professor for help. Not this time.

He thought that he had said the wrong thing and that she would get annoyed as a result. He tried hard to remember the social rules that he had been taught, offending her wouldn’t lead to a good situation.

‘I don’t like that you think that being non-committal is going to get any results.’

‘Ma’am?’

Her grin faded away and she crossed her arms clenching her hands into fists. She stood firm by the open door. He tried to read her body language but found it difficult to work it out, she was either angry or frustrated. It was more likely that he had offended her in some way.

‘Would you like some police officers to come in here and shout at you? Waving their hands, hitting the table, and getting angry. Does that sound good to you? It’s easy to arrange.’

She waved her hands around in the air in front of her as though to show him an example of how an angry person of authority would behave in front of him. Duke felt confused at the display, he registered her actions as hostile but not with any actual intent behind them. Facial expressions and body language remained hard for him to process.

‘We’ve had reports coming in. From several different alleys in the next district across from the museum. Disturbing reports. The police called us to investigate because they’d never come across cases like this. They feel disgusted even. Crimes against the natural order I heard one of them say.’

The young man dropped his gaze to the table. He found when he directly looked at people in the eyes for too long it made for an uncomfortable experience. It was always harder to read their emotions and body language when you felt your soul was being stared into. He had to follow the rules that the professor had laid out for him. He owed her. She had saved him.

‘Boy. Raise your gaze. Do it. Now.’