The silence after my last answer stretched longer than usual.
'Not a good sign,' I thought.
In my experience— ones recently gained— people either got angry, confused, or started yelling. The woman that stood leaning across from me had somehow evolved beyond all three.
She simply watched in patience, like she knew time itself was on her side. Which, considering the restraints and complete lack of escape routes, was probably true.
I shifted slightly; the chains rattled.
"You know," I began—
— no response— "I miss the monster."
That earned a blink.
'Victory.'
I pointed immediately, "There. That. I got a reaction."
"You miss the creature," she ignored my teasing.
"It was simpler," I scoffed.
The woman stared.
"The giant nightmare-abomination was easier to understand," I gave her a carrot.
"Explain," she bit.
"It tried to eat me."
"And?"
"It was very straightforward about it."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them— not that I wanted to. For the first time, I thought I saw a flicker of danger behind her eyes. An understanding, nothing of anger or annoyance— which I expected those. The understanding eyes somehow felt worse.
"You prefer honest enemies."
"I prefer enemies that don't ask questions," I corrected her.
Her gaze sharpened, "interesting."
"— no: concerning," I leaned back, "as a general rule, when a giant horror wants me dead, I know where I stand."
I paused.
"When an intelligent person wants information, that's when things become complicated."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then—
"You believe I am your enemy..."
I considered that.
"Honestly?" I reckoned.
"Yes."
"I don't know," words no more true than death itself.
The answer surprised both of us. The truth behind the three words...
In retrospect: she hadn't hurt me. Hadn't threatened me— verbally at least. Hadn't lied to me. She'd been very direct as of late— terrifyingly direct— but direct nonetheless.
Which made her difficult to categorize.
That seamed to interest her, "why."
I shrugged, "you haven't decided yet."
The room became completely still. The expression on her face didn't change, but something had.
A subtle shift; a realization. The sensation reminded me of accidentally stepping onto a mine and hearing the click.
Slowly, carefully, I continued—
"— see? That's the problem."
"What is."
"I don't know if you're trying to help me—"
Her eyebrow moved slightly
"— or determine whether I'm worth shooting."
The silence that followed felt significant.
Then—
"I have ordered the deaths of innocent people."
The statement landed so abruptly my brain stalled.
"...what," I barely gave a voice, the inquisition's motto playing in my head.
"I have ordered the deaths of innocent people," she repeated. No emotion or hesitation. Stated it like fact.
Like a simple discussions debating weather or logistics.
She wasn't threatening me, I've come to understand...
My smile disappeared— she wasn't boasting too.
She was explaining.
"Innocent?" I asked.
"Yes," the answer came immediately.
"Why?"
"Because allowing them to live would have resulted in greater loss of life."
I stared, felt the room grow colder. Not because of what she said— it's how easily she said it. Not a trace of guilt, pride, or remorse— only terrifying certainty.
The certainty of somebody who had made impossible decisions and survived.
I swallowed, "that's... not a normal answer."
"No," a quick and resolute reply from her.
"You don't seem particularly bothered.
Her eyes met mine, "when enough people depend upon your judgement, personal comfort becomes irrelevant."
There it was...
For the first time— not the interrogator— not the investigator— but an inquisitor. The person behind the title. A woman trusted with authority far beyond anything I could imagine. A woman who could condemn cities. Maybe worlds—
— and still sleep at night.
Because somebody had to.
For the first time since waking up, I didn't have a joke ready.
Apparently she noticed, "good."
I frowned, "good?"
"You stopped performing."
"Performing?"
"The Humor."
I felt mildly offended, "the humor is genuine."
"No," the answer came instantly, "it is armor."
"..."
"..."
"That was uncomfortably accurate," my eyes shifted sideways for a second.
The corner of her mouth moved.
It wasn't a smile, something smaller— far more dangerous.
"Yes."
I sighed, "see, this is why I liked the monster."
The moment left immediately, her expression returned to stone, "unfortunately for you."
I groaned, "here it comes."
"You are significantly more interesting than the monster."
My head fell backward against the chair, "that's somehow the worst thing anyone's said to me today."
— and judging by the look in her eyes—
— she meant every word.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
— then something shifted behind my eyes. Not pain nor another memory, a sensation. Like an incredibly large machine had finally finished warming up.
The room didn't disappear. I still saw the restraints, the table, and the inquisitor— but another layer unfolded across reality. Lines of text... ancient symbols... entire sections of information appearing faster than I could read them.
My breath caught.
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
MONARCH FRAMEWORK
Designation: Monarch
Name: [SEALED]
Status: Uncrowned
Authority Tier: I
Seat of Power: None
Capital: Unestablished
Territory Controlled: 0 Acres
Population: 0
Subjects: 0
Military Strength: 0
Influence: Negligible
Threat Rating: Insignificant
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
"..."
I blinked. The text remined.
I blinked again— still there.
The inquisitor narrowed her eyes, "you saw something."
I looked up, "no..."
A pause, "that was a lie."
She countered fast.
"Yes," I replied back.
The honesty seemed to throw her off slightly.
I pointed upward, "to be fair, the lie was very bad."
"What did you see."
The answer arrived instantly:
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
ACCESS RESTRICTED
NON-MONARCHAL PERSONNEL
UNAUTHORIZED
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
I stared, then slowly looked back at her.
"I have good news and bad news."
The woman's expression didn't change, "the bad news?"
"The voices are back," I answered, thinking that I sounded heretical.
There was a brief silence, "the good news?"
I squinted at the system, "they appear to be extremely organized."
◃───────────▹
Several levels above, a maintenance worker exited an elevator. Nobody stopped him, none questioned him. His credentials passed inspection. His route matched assigned duties. His expression never changed.
A rifle barrel rested inside his tool case beneath layers of equipment.
He continued walking.
◃───────────▹
Back in the interrogation room.
Another screen unfolded:
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
MONARCHAL OBJECTIVES
□ Establish Seat of Power
□ Secure Loyal Subjects
□ Create First Military Unit
□ Claim Territory
□ Expand Influence
□ Discover Lost Assets
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
I stared, reread the first objective. Then reread it again. I eventually looked around the room— on the concrete walls— the steel restraints— one table— one inquisitor.
I raised a hand, the chains rattled.
"Question," I asked genuinely.
"What," she humored.
"How difficult would you say it is to acquire real estate around here?"
The room went silent.
She stared at me as I stared back.
The objective remined visible
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
□ Establish Seat of Power
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
The time felt suspicious.
"You're joking."
"I wish I was."
"What kind of question is that?"
I pointed vaguely at nothing, "apparently an important one."
The woman's eyes narrowed further. A remarkable feat considering how narrowed they already were.
◃───────────▹
Elsewhere.
The maintenance worker passed another checkpoint.
Green authorization rune: access granted.
The guard barely glanced up.
A minute later the worker entered a service corridor connected to the detention sector.
Still unoticed.
◃───────────▹
The system shifted as new sections unfolded.
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
PERSONAL PROJECT
ACTIVE OBSESSION:
MECHANIZED COMBAT PLATFORMS
Status: Ongoing
Strategic Necessity: Questionable
Monarch Justification:
"They're cool."
Assessment:
Approved.
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
"..."
I stared, reading it again. Even for a third time.
Then looked upward, "who approved that?"
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
MONARCH APPROVAL CONFIRMED
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
"..."
"Oh."
I rubbed my face, "that's concerning."
The inquisitor folded her arms.
"What is."
"The possibility that future me was an idiot."
The system immediately responded:
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
WARNING
INSULTING THE MONARCH
MAY CONSTITUTE TREASON
▒░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒▓█▓▒░░▒
I nearly choked.
"What?" the inquisitor tilted her head.
"Not you."
The woman's face somehow became even less amused.
◃───────────▹
Several corridors away.
The maintenance woker stopped before a sealed door. His hand touched a control panel.
|Authorization accepted|
The door opened.
Beyond it lay the detention sector.
He entered without hesitation.
◃───────────▹
The system continue relentlessly.
✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠
PERSONAL PROJECTS
Active Obsession: KNIGHTLY ORDERS
Status: Ongoing
Purpose: Undefined
Monarch Justification: "Every empire needs knights."
Assessment: Approved
✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠ === ✠
The chains rattled as I covered my face with both hands.
"No."
The woman watched, "What."
"There were two of them."
"What."
"The idiot with the giant robots."
I pointed at the new screen, "and the idiot with medieval cavalry."
The system offered no defense— which I considered an admission of guilt.
Then another section appeared:
▬▬▬▬▬▬ ❖ ▬▬▬▬▬▬
PERSONAL PROJECTS
Active Obsession: BEAST MASTERY
Status: Ongoing
Monarch Justification: "They deserve names."
Assessment: Approved
▬▬▬▬▬▬ ❖ ▬▬▬▬▬▬
"..."
My hands slowly lowered, dragging on my face. I stared absently into the middle distance.
The inquisitor remained silent; waiting.
Eventually I spoke, "okay."
The inquisitor waited.
"I may have been the problem."
For the first time since she entered the room— for the briefest fraction of a second— I thought I saw the hint of amusement in her eyes.
The it vanished.
Gone so quickly I couldn't be sure it had existed.
The system wasn't finished as one final panel unfolded.
This one larger, older, heavier.
Every instinct I possessed told me it mattered.
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
SEALED RECORD
True Name: [SEALED]
Origin: [SEALED]
Lineage: [SEALED]
Coronation Rights: Verified
Recovery Status: Incomplete
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
The humor vanished— so did my smile.
Something about those words felt different. Not the amusing kind, nor were they strange. Simply... important— dangerously important.
For a moment I forgot the room. I forgot the restraints on me and even forgot the inquisitor. I forgot everything except the single line.
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
CORONATION RIGHTS VERIFIED
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■
Somewhere deep inside— beneath earth. Beneath the memories and everything— something ancient stirred.
No awake— not yet— but listening.
The system vanished. With it, the room returned.
She was still watching me— unfortunately.
"You," her voice cut through my thoughts.
"What," I replied with a snark, not really wanting to continue this charade.
For the first time since the interrogation began— the woman looked genuinely concerned.
"What exactly are you seeing?"
For once—
I didn't have a joke ready.
◃───────────▹
Three corridors away, the assassin stopped. A tool cased opened. Within it, a rifle began assembling itself piece by piece.
No alarms sounded.
No warnings came.
The facility remained unaware.
The distance between the prisoner and his executioner continued to shrink.
◃───────────▹
Several miles away.
Evelyn sat atop a stack of rusted cargo containers with a half-disassembled auto gun resting across her lap.
The weapon wasn't hers to clarify. That had never stopped her before. A screwdriver spun between her fingers as she removed another panel from the receiver.
"You know," she muttered.
Nobody answered.
Which was expected.
"The owner would've just sold this thing for scrap anyway."
The justification sounded perfectly reasonable— at least to her.
A small pile of salvaged parts sat nearby. Most were worthless, some weren't. One would probably explode if fired. She placed that one aside. Eventually, a mechanical chirp interrupted her work.
Evelyn glanced toward the source. A small servo-skull floated into view. The machine hesitated, as if reconsidering its life choices. Then drifted closer.
She narrowed her eyes. The servo-skull immediately slowed.
"Don't"
The machine stopped, then slowly turned around.
"That's what I thought."
The servo-skull departed and Evelyn returned to her work.
A few moments passed.
Then she frowned. The tool in her hand stopped moving.
Something felt wrong— just wrong. Like a goon unaware of a spider above them. The sensation lingered.
Irritating.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the weapon.
"....Numen."
The realization arrived with all the grace of a brick.
Evelyn immediately frowned harder, even closed her eyes, "oh for the love of..."
Somewhere inside the hive, a man with the survival instincts of a concussed grox was unsupervised.
A man who somehow treated catastrophes like personal invitations. The fact that she immediately knew who was responsible for the feeling of annoyed her more than the feeling itself.
She set the auto gun aside and stood.
The city stretched across the horizon, of smoke, steel, and rust.
A monument to poor decisions.
Somewhere inside it was Numen, which explained everything.
Evelyn folded her arms and stared toward the distant hive.
Several seconds passed; eventually, she sighed.
The sound carried the exhausted resignation of someone who had already accepted the outcome long before reaching it.
"I can't blame him too much, fucker just woke up."
She looked up at heaven, "Isn't that right: me."
Her gear was gathered in practiced motions. A knife, a pistol with spare magazines. Various items of questionable legality.
Satisfied, she slung everything into place.
"Fine," the word sounded less like agreement and more like a declaration of war, "if I have to save him again, I'm charging him.
A pause, "... he can't pay me."
Another pause, "that's not the point."
A final pause, "maybe... a kiss?"
She stopped.
"No."
A pause.
"...maybe."
Another pause.
"Shut up."
Decision made, Evelyn stepped from the container stack and began walking.
Not toward where Numen actually was. Toward where he was statistically most likely to cause a disaster— which, through some cosmic joke, happened to be almost the same direction.