The pavement under Evalyn’s boots rumbled as she walked. If it was tank tracks, low-flying jets or infantry to blame, she could not tell. As if it made much of a difference. The advent of the army’s rule had arrived with the sound of sirens and announcements, announcements that were seared into Evalyn’s mind through simple, excruciating repetition.

“Citizens of Sidos City, regarding the recent events that have unfolded over the past few weeks and the local police authority showing clear incompetence, the government has imposed martial law on the city. The following units will be stationed in and around city limits. The fifth, seventeenth, thirty-third and forty-second infantry brigade, the third artillery division, the sixth and seventeenth artillery regiment, fifth reconnaissance and thirty-second wings, the first higher armour battalion…”

So on and so forth. The city was under its first hours of heavy lockdown after S.H.I.A. had shaken the hornet’s nest—violently. Evalyn’s commute had only been a ten-minute journey the day before, but now that felt like a distant memory. Ten minutes ago, felt like a distant memory when waiting at a checkpoint.

A crowd of bodies stood in front of a barricade of barbed wire, no one daring to try their luck. A single gap in the fence was where the waiting line originated, and Evalyn found her place in it. For minutes she stood, occasionally shuffling forward as the constant threat of rain loomed over her. Each minute that ticked by her place in the world would shift slightly, and that pace made even the prospect of reaching the other side worthwhile.

She desperately wanted to travel along the rooftops, yet if she was found, she’d surely be shot at with no hesitation.

Approaching the fence itself, she found the reason for the crowd’s absolute compliance. She had let the announcements pass through one ear and out the other before, remembering it more as a string of sounds instead of meaning. Yet she could recall it being mentioned. The forty-second division.

A pair of troops, encased in bulletproof plates from head to toe stood in front of the checkpoint. Every piece of their armour, even the gas mask reflected the same dull gleam as the rest of the city after rainfall, their beacon white eye pieces pierced holes into people just as well as their rifles probably could. Each troop was robbed of any humanity, only defined by the stories told by those who miraculously got away from them.

Evalyn wasn’t the fondest of them, at the very least.

She approached the checkpoint and produced her papers and identification, fully aware that she was armed. The rifle had remained at her lodging for obvious reasons, yet her sidearm was on her person. She had permission for it, but seeing eye to eye with a foreign military was never her strong suit. Especially with those who refused to show theirs.

The soldier took her ID with their gloved trigger hand, the other being gauntleted. The white eyes scanned over the information on her card until they came to her license.

“Show me it,” the soldier asked, their voice so heavily distorted by the mask that nothing identifiable could be heard from it. She obliged and unholstered the gun on her shoulder, presenting it to the guard. He took it, gave it a once over before checking the permit once more.

“Any others?”

“No sir,” she said. He stared at her. Gripping the handle of his gun, he ordered his partner to perform a frisk. Evalyn was used to it, the uncomfortable feeling of fingers uninvited across her body, yet the public most likely wasn’t. Through several layers of clothes, it still felt incredibly invasive, instinct would cause someone to recoil, yet that same instinct was too terrified to move.

However, it would be stupid to complain.

The frisk test came back negative, and the two soldiers silently stepped aside, the thudding of their feet and the clanking of their armour replacing the greeting that might’ve been said otherwise. Evalyn did not care. She had seldom seen them since the war and wasn’t particularly keen on seeing them again.

Yet her path was simply rife with them. It had only been a minute or two of walking before she reached her destination. The government building that she had been in just the night before was now a literal fortress. A line of soldiers, all from the forty-second stood like stone guard dogs along the perimeter to the front steps. No doubt there were more stationed elsewhere.

Evalyn’s eyes however did not see them first, far from that. For the last few minutes, her vision had been solely square on the two giants positioned at the perimeter’s corners. Two machines of the first Higher Armour Battalion towered over everything, anything else even remotely anthropomorphic. Their birdlike legs and humanlike arms of pipes, pumps, steel and joins almost resembled the bones and muscles of a human, protected by a solid metal skin. An octagonal cabin rose from where the legs met, riveted shut save for a sliver of a window allowing for the pilot to see their heading, to target their enemy.

A rifle twice the length of a car was propped against one shoulder and pointed at the ground, its bayonet almost scraping the pavement. No insignias, no flags or painted callsigns. These machines had been completed at their factory and were brought straight here.

As warfare went, it was as new as humanity could get. And innovation was more dangerous than anything Evalyn could think of.

She kept her course steady as she met with the growing crowd of onlookers. A small demonstration by a lone man had amassed a gathering, yet the sheer presence of the military had kept them from becoming too aggravated.

“Would someone explain to me the state of affairs?! The tragedy that has befallen this city once more!” A preacher had dared to climb a few steps further than anyone else. Perhaps a S.H.I.A. plant. Nonetheless, an order was needed to make an arrest. In cases like these, however, it was more trouble than it was worth.

Martyrs. They were meddlesome to such a strong-arm government.

“You all say that this city has returned to war once again! No, war never left us, it has morphed. Unjust war! Against an invisible enemy that those on their thrones have created! Terrorist, they say. Terrorists wishing to bring war back to the country. War never ended, and our enemies never changed, yet we now turn on each other. Those bombs were Aether! Spirits! Reports will confirm so! We are a people who are strong but misguided. Like a cannon pointed in the wrong direction. Unfinished business lies beneath our feet, haunting us, hanging above our heads like the brooding clouds that block out the sun. And truth is that sun. That truth is in all of us—”

Evalyn pushed past the crowd shoulder first. Barely anyone took notice, they were too busy whispering, muttering to the person next to them. The sentiment was weak, but it was spreading. Discontent at the state of affairs was not something Evalyn could judge; she had received the honour of mouthing her own discontents to the Prime Minister herself. Her two cents had been given, there was no point giving the preacher the time of day.

“You there!” he said. His intensely outstretched finger singled out at Evalyn, who had begun climbing the steps to the building. “You have business with those scoundrels?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t seem enthusiastic; may I ask why?”

“You’ve heard of picking the lesser evil, haven’t you?”

She began to ascend the stairs, indicating she was done, yet the preacher persisted.

“You must be mistaken then! The greater evil is surely those that wish to defy the wishes of the public! The public is the nation itself, not its government!”

Evalyn kept on walking, yet the preacher persisted.

“Pacifism is no different to allegiance. Do you really wish to show your true colours here? Ugly shades of evil green?”

“Perhaps it is allegiance. Yet I wouldn’t side with people who’d shoot at a child just to make a point.”

The crowd was silent as Evalyn’s voice echoed up the steps.

“Pah! Baseless claims. Even if they were true, what guarantees that those with the rifles, not a few metres away wouldn’t do the same?”

“Me, frankly speaking.”

“What? What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Hardridge. The same.”

She left the crowd, pissed.

The inside of the building was frantic, a sombre contrast to the hushed anxiety outside. Evalyn cut through the chaos, escorted by one of the Prime Minister’s personal guards. In every office she passed, every window she looked through, the flow and processing of information was constant, fast and everchanging. Keeping networks across the entire nation as the law began to solidify in the mind of the populous. Every village and town had a connection to the city, whether it was through children who had moved for work or supply chains that were vital for business.

There was no chance that the situation would be contained to just the capital. S.H.I.A.’s biggest strength came from outside the city limits after all.

The escort lead Evalyn down a fire escape staircase to a lower level, skipping the hassle that was the office floors. She re-emerged into the claustrophobic mole holes that she had previously associated with the building. Turning left, right, left and left again as if it was a maze.

They finally came to a stop and the escort opened the door for Evalyn, shutting it behind her. Another cramped room awaited her on the other side. Darkly lit with a large window to one side. The surveillance room of an interrogation area. A woman sat at a lone table set, placed crudely in the corner.

“Sleep well?” Minister Fault asked.

“Piss off. Why are you here?”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“I’ve been overlooking the interrogations, what else?”

“Being a public figure? You’ve got a pretty passionate preacher right outside that’s giving you a run for your money.”

“I’ve got a public announcement scheduled later today. Things are moving so fast; you forget it’s only been a few hours. I think everyone else has as well.”

She sat down in front of the one-way mirror, stretching her joints.

“It’s tiring, being a dictator,” she said, prodding Evalyn. “Even though I try my best to be benevolent.”

“Trying won’t get you anywhere.”

“We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

“…what have you gotten so far?”

“So far? No confessions. She sure learnt how to speak like a real politician. Everything we’ve gotten neither confirms nor denies anything.”

“Huh, and what are you waiting on now?”

“You. We thought we could let you have a crack at her before we figure out where to keep her.”

“I’ll pass. I’m not an interrogator.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we need, seeing we haven’t gotten anything valuable out of her.”

Evalyn remained reluctant.

“This is your last chance to get something out of her. The search on the trucks is proceeding, but we haven’t gotten any definitive results yet.”

“What results have you gotten?”

“The number of delivery trucks reported stolen on the day number in the tens. They’re not all going to Salan court either, they were due all over Excala city before they were taken. For now, we’re telling companies to phone their clients, give the IDs of the trucks and recommend increased security, but there's just too many. Talking to her might be the only chance you get.”

“What happens with her if something does happen in Geverde?”

“Their spooks might want a shot at her. If anything, saving her from that fate is reason enough to get a confession.”

“Right….”

“It’s your last assignment from Sidos. Geverde has given you a job to station in the city. We’ll have your payment ready for collection by the time you get back.”

Evalyn, seeing this really was her last opportunity at any useful leads passed into the other room. The door creaked behind her, and the click as it closed brought with it a uniform silence, save for the buzzing light above her head.

She hesitated for a moment as her gaze met the woman. She walked softly, her boots barely making a sound until she reached the table.

“May I?” Evalyn asked.

“Go ahead. I don’t see why you’re asking.”

Evalyn took a seat across from the woman. She expected her to be fidgeting, picking at her nails, or showing a modicum of nervousness at the very least, but she was calm. Calm on the surface, as an ocean might be while currents raged on underneath.

And if there were, it was something Evalyn could take advantage of.

“Evalyn, private investigator. Nice to meet you,” she said as she outstretched her hand, bridging the gap between them.

“Krimea Marlin, political activist,” the woman answered, taking Evalyn’s hand politely.

“Is that what they call S.H.I.P. members?”

“Sidos Human Independence Party is officially unofficial,” she said with a disinterested tone, leaning into her chair with her arms folded. Evalyn had only read briefly about interrogation tactics, the ones that did not involve torture anyway. Such an attitude was an attempt at disengaging from the situation, suggesting guilt. That, or she genuinely was upset about her party’s status.

“What would get it to be official? Some sort of recognition?”

“What are you trying to do here?” Marlin asked, leaning forward, seemingly agitated. Evalyn could still sense a disparity in the conversation’s dynamic. Marlin still felt that she was driving the engagement. If Evalyn was to extract any information, they’d at least have to be on equal footing.

“I’m trying to build rapport. What does it look like?”

“A good cop routine.”

“Never been a fan of the alternative, what can I say? So?”

The ‘activist’ sighed, giving in to Evalyn’s sound tactic. It was unusual, yet consistent.

“Do you really think a rival party like us would even be allowed in Parliament without handcuffs on?”

“No, not at all. I’ve seen how it works. Had some choice words with the Prime Minister herself.”

“Choice words?”

“I was tired and emotional.”

“Drunk?”

“No, take that wording literally.”

“Ah, I see. I guess only someone like you would be able to talk to her like that?”

Evalyn’s conversation suddenly cracked. A small wedge had fit itself in it and was slowly forcing the fission wider and wider.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re Hardridge’s daughter, aren’t you? I heard your first name had appeared at a cabinet meeting only yesterday.”

A false alarm, perhaps. If that is what Marlin thought her secret identity was, then she had no reason to worry, yet…

“Why do you think the leader of a progressive party would want to talk to Hardridge’s daughter? He’s more someone that your camp idolises, no?” Evalyn prodded.

The woman played with her suit cuffs as she spoke, seemingly still in her place of authority.

“His name still carries weight. He did a lot for this country after all. Good and bad.”

“But mostly good?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

She put her arms down on the table, resting her cheek on one of her palms as if she was a schoolchild pondering a math question.

“He had the right idea. Yet if he had learnt his daughter would end up becoming a Spirit herself, he would’ve gone about it differently, no?”

The woman knew. The woman knew who she was.

“No…I guess I had a problem with his parenting more than his policies. When you keep someone down in a canary cage for so long, they tend to start making a ruckus. Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Mmm….”

“I think the worst part about it was when he’d tell me, ‘I’m doing this for you’. I think that’s what got me in the end.”

“At least the cause was noble.”

“Was it? There’s a difference between noble and misguided.”

“Is there?” Marlin asked. “If you have confidence in your cause, the difference between noble and misguided depends on who’s watching.”

“Good point. How much would you say your noble cause is worth to you?”

“A lot, why do you ask?”

Evalyn sat forward in her chair, matching Marlin’s position above the table. She did not dare break eye contact as her voice lowered.

“Well, I’m guessing you know who I am?”

“Most certainly. A woman with orange hair, waist-high in this whole mess. Who could you be but the rumoured superhuman at Chestral Manor?”

The rumours had stuck before the Federal Police had gotten to the operative. Evalyn bottled her frustration, making damn sure none of it bubbled into her expression.

“To think that the same woman would be Hardridge’s daughter…I only worked it out when you mentioned your name.”

Evalyn gave an internal sigh of relief; Marlin’s revelation had stayed contained to the interrogation room. She was safe, and so she pressed the advantage.

“And being in the same room as that woman doesn’t make you scared?”

“Not really,” she said. “You don’t intimidate me, so the danger barely feels real. Intangible fear, I suppose.”

Evalyn, for someone relatively desensitised to fear, had learnt to value it. The very feeling of her heart sinking was rare and terrifying. This woman had not experienced it the same way she had.

“What was that moment of tangible fear then?”

“Is this a therapy session?”

“We can share if that makes you feel better about it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Do you have anything better to do?”

Marlin was silent.

“Alright then, I’ll go first. Let’s see…the earliest moment I can remember that still makes me shiver was when I was…let’s say seven. It was one of the rare days I was allowed outside the manor grounds. I was on some sort of publicity trip with my father, I don’t exactly remember the details.

“Anyway, our car had come to a stop at an intersection. I was looking out the window over some buildings and I saw a speck in the sky. I thought it was a plane at first until sirens started blaring. It was the first time a Spirit attack wasn’t just a report on the radio to me. It came straight for the intersection and crashed into it. It had this long, winding body that was practically clear. It crushed a couple of cars before it began coming towards us.

“My father had already heroically jumped out of the car and had drawn his pistol. The first time I had heard a firearm so close. Four, five…no it was six times. He shot six times, dead-on into the temple of the Spirit. It had a rounded head with massive human teeth. Seeing it dead was the first time I had witnessed it, death that is.”

Evalyn cleared her throat and Marlin took the opportunity to interrupt.

“Was that your tangible fear?”

“No, no it wasn’t actually. My father pulled a knife from his boot after the poor thing had stopped moving. He began to stab it over and over and over again. Not angrily, just, like it was normal,” she said as she motioned the movement with her hands. “The look he gave me when he turned around with flesh and liquid Aether across his face. ‘I did this for you,’ he said. Genuine fear.”

“Are we done?”

Marlin at this point looked uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the useless talking or the story itself, but Evalyn felt as if she was getting somewhere.

“No, actually before you get your turn, I just remembered another one. Do you know the Spacehoppers that Geverde employs? Particularly the government, the government loves them. Those small dragon Spirits. There’s one being paid to connect my country house to a city apartment block. Massive time saver. Well, those guys are also used in military simulations, the best ones in fact. If they’re powerful enough, they can simulate environments, tricking your nerves into thinking you’re there.

“Once I had an exercise like that. Before the war, just before it. In an act of tough love, my godmother made me decide if I really wanted to fight, if I knew what that meant. At that point, I only barely had an idea of what war was. I had killed someone for the first time and that had messed with me. She tried to stop me by cranking the simulation all the way to one hundred per cent. I met a simulated forty-second division that day, just before I would meet them in real life. They had rifles, all full metal jacket bullets thankfully. They tore right through me and poked holes in my flesh like cheese. But of course, it was a simulation. I couldn’t die.”

Evalyn paused her story, removing her jacket. She revealed a white collared shirt she began to unbutton.

“It was only localised, nor was it as serious as it could have been, but there’s small spots across my body where my nerves are damaged.”

She pointed out two points on her stomach through her undershirt, one on her chest and three across her shoulders. She lifted her undershirt, showing small round scars placed where she had pointed out before. Marlin stared at her, seemingly in disbelief. She glanced up at Evalyn, who shrugged.

“Tangible fear. That was the second time. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. It turns out you can’t feel it when a bullet hits you, especially if it’s an FMJ. It’s not even in your body by the time you feel it. But for an instant there’s a split second where you feel a chill, then you feel your bones crunch against the open flesh, and then the pain hits you and you realise what’s happened. I didn’t have time to go into fight or flight. I was on the ground in an instant.”

Evalyn started to refit her clothes back on her body as she continued to talk.

“And there is a chance that the spooks in Geverde will use something like a Spacehopper on you as a method of torture, but I don’t think it’ll be as simple as that.”

“What…do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, your organisation has threatened the safety of my family. I will do everything to burn your little social studies project to the ground, yet certain things I still do not wish on you.”

Evalyn had no pride talking about how ruthless Geverde’s tendencies were when it came to national security, which was why the way she saw it….

“Answering my questions is the only way you’re going to get out of this with minimal damage. Physically, but more importantly psychologically.”

Marlin’s body retreated into her chair, her gaze dead set on Evalyn and Evalyn alone, her ears purely squared on what she had to say. She could tell Evalyn was serious, and Evalyn made that as obvious as she possibly could.

“If there’s anything they understand, it’s how fear can most of the time feel intangible, more like a cautionary tale than actual danger. Physical harm is effective, but it’s hard to deny responsibility if people come knocking with lawsuits. They will find out whatever moment it was in your life when you felt genuine, tangible fear, and they will play that over, and over, and over again,” she explained, gaining ground across the table.

“They’ll have fun with it. Everyone in S.H.I.A. had someone in their life that died in a Spirit attack, who was it for you?”

“My…”

“Go on. Might as well.”

“My brother. Debris…in a Spirit attack.”

“They’ll extract that memory with one Spirit and feed it to the Space Shifter. Now you watch as your brother’s torn limb from limb by the Spirit who’s eating him in front of you. You watch as his bones crunch like pork crackle and he screams for your name, asking to be saved. You can feel him, you can feel his bloodied hand, but you won’t be able to save him,” she explained. Her delivery was frank, brutally honest as if she was speaking normally. Her words were laced with poison that emphasised her point, yet her tone suggested truth. Nothing but the truth.

“They’ll play that a few times over before they get bored. Then they’ll ask themselves, ‘how else can we kill her brother, oh! I saw this one in a comic the other day.' They’ll do this over and over again as you watch it happen. Perhaps they’ll change the scenario, the person, and even find another memory entirely. They’ll do this until all you know is death. The deaths that never existed. Now doesn’t that sound fun?”