The Offworlder
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Offworlder:
Noun
1. a person or race from another planet or from outside of Earth.
2. Someone who is born from outside the sphere of ones homeworld
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Prolouge
October 17th. 2129
New London Correctional Facility
One Month after Bombing of Central Square
Handcuffed to a table, Reila Wu sat placed in a dimly lit interrogation room. She had dried blood on top of torn clothing. Gazing down with a vacant face, she leaned her head on the table.
Tragedy, sorrow, anger, and retribution were the themes of the previous month that led to this very day. The light in her eyes had disappeared altogether as she did all she could to ignore the searing pain that was slamming against her chest as she became mired in the draining memories of the past. It was a profound, all-encompassing sensation of loss as Reila recalled the days where no tragedy had happened. When she could look at herself in the mirror and see a representation of Humanity without seeing shattered glass.
As she delved into the proverbial abyss, the door being opened broke through the silence of the interrogation room. When footsteps drew near, Reila just turned to look at the person who had entered, rather than raising her head.
The Interrogator, a rather generic looking male with white skin, brown hair, and brown-black eyes set a file down on the table. He regarded Reila with a hard and stern look, his eyes briefly flickering down to look at her bloodied clothes and handcuffs. He sighed as he sat down in the metal chair across from her. He then opened the case file that he brought with him.
The interrogator begins. “Reila Wu, forty-seven years of age. Nationality? American, Ethnicity? Chinese-American. Moved to the City of New London with her son, Nathaniel Wu, seventeen years ago. Occupation? Bookstore owner. Co-owned said bookstore with a man known as Liam Winters; thirty-nine years of age. No known military history. No known criminal records.”
The Interrogator continued, flipping through the file and pulling out a page before continuing to read. "No known affiliations of interest. No known connections to terrorist organizations or criminal groups. No known enemies. No known grudges." The agent looked up at Reila, waiting to see any kind of reaction, but she remained as stoic as a statue.
"Quite the interesting file you got there," Reila finally spoke, her voice flat in a rather mocking tone. "You gonna tell me something I don't already know?"
“How about the several counts of first-degree murder? Vigilantism? The several charges of arson, possession of illegal explosives? Torture, and assault on local law enforcement.” He pauses with a slight chuckle. Reila made no emotion as the Interrogator said this. She then shrugged nonchalantly, feigning disregard for the man's accusations. Despite the weight of the guilt that rested on her shoulders, she showed no remorse as she replied.
"And what's your point?” Reila says. Her tone is monotone and accusatory.
"I have to say. It's been a while since we've had someone like you with a rap sheet this interesting." He smiles at Reila, as if he's almost impressed. "I mean. How did a woman like you get your hands on fissile materials?”Reila Wu simply glares at him, her eyes void of any emotion. Despite her appearance, she wasn't some common criminal. Her voice was hoarse and emotionless as she spoke with a weary expression on her face."I have my ways. You'd be surprised what a woman can accomplish when she's got the right connections.” The interrogator paused for a moment, studying Reila’s face closely. He seemed a little taken aback by her response, but quickly regained his composure. He opened the file in front of him and began flipping through the pages, presumably looking over her rap sheet once again. The room fell silent for a few more moments as the interrogator examined the file. Reila let her head rest on her hand, her eyes drifting to the wall across from her. Her expression remained stoic, betraying nothing of her inner thoughts and emotions.
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“Let’s talk about your son, Nathaniel Wu. Nineteen years of age. Graduated from King Georges School for Talented Youths in 2125. Was accepted into the University of New London for Aeronautical Engineering.
The mention of her son's name sent a pang of pain through Reila's heart, but she hid it behind a mask of indifference. She kept her expression neutral, her eyes narrowing slightly.
What about my son?" She replied, gritting her teeth as she stared at the Interrogator down.
The Interrogator studied Reila’s reaction closely, noting how the mention of her son seemed to elicit a slight response of irritation. He leaned forward in his chair, pinning Reila down with a stern stare.
"It's tragic, really. Losing a child is never easy, but I wonder... What exactly did this do to you? Why did you go out and start a one-woman war on every terrorist in the city?"
Reilas' eyes narrowed as she listened to the agent's questions. She clenched her jaw tighter, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. Despite her anger, there was a hint of pain in her voice as she spoke.
"...You wouldn't understand. You have no idea what it's like to lose a child, to lose part of yourself."
The Interrogator observed Reilas reaction closely, clearly noting the shift in her demeanor. He leaned forward in his chair, a hint of sympathy in his voice.
“I actually do. Lost my brother a few years back.” he replies. Reila paused at the agent's confession, surprised by the blunt admission. Her expression softened slightly, a hint of pain flashing in her eyes. “Motorcycle accident. He was coming home from morning shift when an automated transport malfunctioned and t-boned him at the intersection.
"I'm sorry about your brother. It's not easy losing a loved one." Reila said to him.
The agent seemed surprised by her response, taken aback by the sudden show of compassion. He studied her for a moment, trying to gauge her true feelings. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice softer than before.
"We all grieve in our own ways. But what you've been doing... It's not normal. You know that, right?"
Reila’s expression darkened again, the mask of stoicism returning once more. She slumped back in her chair.
"Don't give me that nonsense. You think I don't know that what I'm doing is wrong? But what the hell else was I supposed to do? Sit back and watch as those bastards who took my son away walked free?" Her voice was low, but the anger was impossible to miss.
The agent nodded, listening closely. He leaned back in his chair with a look of understanding in his eyes.
“I understand your pain,” He says sympathetically. “But taking the law into your own hands won’t help anyone. Even you.” He leans forward again. His tone becomes more serious.
“You need help, Ms. Wu. Professional help. And a prison cell, most likely.”
Reila barked a bitter and mirthless chuckle at the Interrogator's words. At its simplest form, it sounded more like a scoff than anything else.
“Help? I don’t need your damned help! Nor a damned prison cell. You think putting me in prison will fix things. Will it help me bring my son back?” Tears stung the corner of her eyes, a mixture of anger and grief.
The Interrogator remained calm, watching Reila with a measured look. He knew that she was grieving, the strain and pain in her voice was evident enough. The look in her eyes showing daggers. The Interrogator sighed once more. He turns his head slightly to the side, looking at the black-tinted glass window. He turns back to Reila before speaking up once more.
“Listen, Reila. Can I call you Reila?” He asked.
Reila’s anger subsided, if only for a brief moment. She sat back in her seat, her gaze shifting slightly as she glanced at the window and then back at the agent.
After a moment, she muttered reluctantly, "I guess…Just don’t get comfortable with it.”
The Interrogator begins again. "I've given my sympathies already. We all have, but now I think it's time for us to get serious. We're here to talk about what happened this past month. About your loss. About the bombing. About what you did and the consequences you will face."
Reila narrowed her eyes as the agent spoke. The mention of the bombing sent a pang of pain through her chest, but she refused to let her emotions show. Her jaw clenched, and she replied with a dry tone.
"You want to talk to me about what I did? Fine. Let's talk about it. But let me tell you something first." She leaned forward, her voice filled with an icy coldness that sent chills down the agent's spine.
"I don't regret any of it. No matter what you say, or what you do to me, I don't regret any of what I did.”
"...Then let's start from the beginning." He replied, straightening his tie before flipping the case file back to the opening page. Clearing his throat, he looked back up to Reila, "Now then... Tell me where you were before the bombing at the Central Square."